The Z Chronicles

by Ellen Campbell

  I quickly reached over with my left arm and swiped the home screen. With a half-dead arm, I clumsily held the phone to my ear.

  “Hello?”

  “Vince Lager?”

  I shook my head to try to clear my mind. The voice on the other end of the line was definitely not Kat Ellison. It was a male voice, authoritative, yet familiar.

  “Yes, you got him. Who’s this?”

  “This is ZFL Commissioner Rod Parnell,” the voice on the other end announced. Even though he wasn’t in the room, I sat up a little straighter.

  “Yes sir. What can I do for you?”

  “I’d like to see you in my office this afternoon. You know how to get there, I assume?”

  I had never been there myself, but everyone knew where the ZFL was headquartered. I’d find it, one way or another.

  “Yeah...I mean, yes. I’ll find it. I’ve got a walk-through practice this morning with the team. How about 2 o’clock?”

  “See you then.”

  By the time I put the phone down, the feeling in my arm had begun to come back. Sharp, stabbing needles prickling from the inside out, reminding me I had fallen asleep holding the phone. I mentally kicked myself for pining away for Kat. She obviously had it in for me and the league. I guess Parnell must’ve figured out our connection from ASU.

  I slid down into the pile of pillows at the end of my hotel bed. I tossed my phone away from me, and tried to collect my thoughts. This whole Kat Ellison thing was getting to me. She...dammit. She was the best thing to ever happen to me, Z Ball or not. But there wasn’t a choice to be had right now. Z Ball paid the bills and Kat wanted nothing to do with me. In fact, after her report, it was clear she had a vendetta against me.

  A blinking light brought my attention back to my phone. I had a voicemail. How did that happen? Whoever it was must’ve dialed in during Parnell’s call. I entered my passcode and sat up once I heard Kat’s voice.

  “Vince? Um...I got your call. But you didn’t say anything. I just wanted to check to make sure you’re okay. So...if you get this, um...shoot me a text or something. Okay?”

  My thumb must’ve had a mind of its own after I’d fallen asleep. I had dialed Kat after all, somehow allowing my unconscious and subconscious to rule over my waking mind.

  The next few hours were a blur. Of course, you still want to be on top of your game at practice. There have been incidents in Z Ball practice before. The league supplies the teams with a few Z for use in practice—the older, and slower ones. Usually missing a few limbs or having a pre-cracked skull or something like that. Practice came and went. I annihilated a few Z, but it was all muscle memory. When you’ve been playing Z Ball as long as I have, you can just about play in your sleep.

  Just about.

  Once practice ended, I readied myself for a trip to see Commissioner Parnell. I’d met him before, of course, but mostly just for photo ops.

  Being commissioner of a professional sports league where some of the players occasionally had their throats violently ripped out on national television required a certain lack of a soul. For Rod Parnell—a trial lawyer before the Z event—that requirement was no problem at all.

  I arrived at the league offices early for my appointment and was directed towards Parnell’s office on the top floor. I cracked the door, and heard Parnell inside call me in. The office was large, almost half of the entire top floor by itself. I was immediately taken aback by what I encountered just past the door. There was a small hallway before the proper office space, but the sides of the hall were actually fiberglass enclosures, each side containing one of the undead, almost like trophies for Parnell.

  On one side, a woman, still dressed in business attire, like she had stepped out of the office next door and had been infected. To my left was a man, wearing jeans and a flannel shirt, complete with a thick leather belt—almost like a handyman or plumber. They both were still at first, but as soon as I set foot past the doorframe, they screamed and lunged at me, slamming into the barrier separating me from them. Instinctively, my knife came out, but there would have been no way for me to protect myself against two that close, that fast. Eventually my heart found its way back into my chest and I heard Parnell calling to me.

  “Vince? Hey, come on in, my star quarterback!”

  I didn’t make a show of it, but I hurried past the small hallway and into the office. Parnell motioned for me to sit, and I did in a chair across from his desk. The commissioner had a fairly sparse office for someone as powerful as he was. I didn’t even get a chance to say anything before he launched in.

  “Vince, my man. Let me get right to the point. You and Kat Ellison.”

  No question there. He proved he knew about me and her. Maybe he’d always known, but our history hadn’t been an issue until now.

  “Me and Kat,” I repeated.

  “As you can imagine, her little...report...has ruffled some feathers around the league,” Parnell said.

  He didn’t ask a question. I didn’t respond.

  “So how close are you two?”

  I sighed. “We used to be inseparable. Then...I got in the way of us. Really haven’t had much contact since college until last week,” I said.

  “Yet, since then, she visited your apartment and then you called her last night,” he said. Parnell leaned back, trying to gauge my reaction.

  Should I have been surprised? I suppose, but after everything Kat said about the league, I figured at least a certain percentage had to be true. If they were bold enough to take people off the streets, what would stop them from invading every inch of the privacy of the star quarterback?

  “To answer your question—we aren’t close. She’s vindictive and wants to ruin me. I called her, but I never reached her. She just came by my apartment to gloat. I finally make the Brain Bowl, and all she wants to do is destroy my life,” I said.

  “Really?”

  “Really.”

  I could see Parnell was conflicted. There was no way he was comfortable with his star QB hanging out with the very journalist who was trying to sabotage his league before the biggest game of the year. But I wasn’t giving him the pleasure of admonishing me for my relationship.

  “Then here’s what I’d like you to do: I want you to get closer and to find out what else she knows. If I go down, you go down. Say goodbye to football, forever. She clearly hates you, but the line between love and hate is thin. I want to use her feelings against her.”

  * * *

  I left the meeting with the commissioner—walking right down the middle of the hallway to avoid the Zoo of the Undead I’d encountered on my entrance—and immediately called Kat again. I figured she wouldn’t even pick up. She answered on the first ring.

  “Hey you,” Kat answered.

  “Hey. We should talk,” I said. I was reminded by the fact she said the same thing to me just a few days earlier.

  It was almost as if I could see her look to her left and her right.

  “Are you ready for the truth, Vince?” Kat asked.

  “Isn’t that what you’ve been giving everyone on TV this week? The truth?”

  “Yeah...well, I’m going to blow this story wide open. We all know words aren’t enough to convince the public. They need to see the truth. It’s taken a lot of work, but I’m almost ready to give it to them.”

  Her words reminded me of the girl I fell for back in college. So sure of herself. So sure of her future. So sure of the truth—what was right and wrong. I was scared of what she had found.

  “I want to see it, too. I’m ready.”

  “Okay. Meet me Friday night. I’ll text you details an hour before we meet. I’m looking forward to it, Vince.”

  The way she said it almost convinced me she was serious. That there was some spark left after all these years. Perhaps there was something left. Or perhaps I was imagining everything after all.

  I’d told Commissioner Parnell I would spy on Kat for him because I was sure she was dead set on my failure. With just days
to go before the Brain Bowl, I hoped I figured it out soon.

  * * *

  Practice was relatively calm. By this point in the season, the league was down to the bottom of the barrel with their Z supply, especially for practices. On Friday morning, they sent us one without half of its rib cage. Seriously. I couldn’t believe my working conditions sometimes.

  But between the practices and the media sessions, I only had half a brain on the game. My other half was already with Kat Friday night. I didn’t know what she wanted me to see, but whatever it was might destroy my career, so I was understandably a little apprehensive.

  The text came in and I was to meet Kat at an industrial park on the outskirts of Dallas. “Come alone,” the message said, “and be ready for anything.”

  “Be ready” in the post-Z world meant come with a weapon strapped to your body or be prepared to have your body ripped limb from limb. But with Kat...I wasn’t so sure. I grabbed a couple of my favorite blades and a pistol just in case. Even if I wasn’t meeting my ex-girlfriend, I would have brought lethal weapons with me. Her presence just meant I needed more.

  The cab dropped me off in the old meatpacking district, just south of the Trinity River. I had no idea where I was, but the cabbie who dropped me off had no trouble filling me in.

  Once on the sidewalk, I was immediately greeted by two hands on my back. Gut reactions took over and I reached into my jacket, fully prepared to go to battle with whatever was behind me.

  “Whoa, whoa. Hold on there.”

  I recognized the voice, but it wasn’t Kat.

  “Cal?” I turned around and found my old college buddy next to me. He had his hands up, slightly defensive, but ready to move should the situation turn. “What are you doing here?”

  “He’s with me,” Kat said. She stepped out of the shadows and under a street lamp.

  “But...Cal, you’re married,” I said.

  “Not that like, you dope,” Cal muttered. “I’m her...protection. I was...am her source.”

  I squinted at him. “What do you mean?”

  “My job,” he began.

  “...is being an offensive lineman in the NFL,” I finished.

  He shook his head. “It is during the season, but the sport doesn’t pay like it used to. Not since Z Ball took over the country. I had to take an offseason gig.”

  I looked from Cal to Kat and back again. Neither were smiling. “What do you mean? Like working as a trainer?”

  He pursed his lips. “Something like that. Come on, follow me.”

  Kat immediately zipped up the dark hoodie she had on, and pulled the hood down over her golden hair. A pair of thick-framed glasses concealed her appearance; if I came across her on the street, I wouldn’t have spotted her. She handed me a ball cap. “Put it on,” she said. I did, sliding it down just above my eyes and ears. Cal didn’t seem to care about altering his look.

  “Where are we going?” I asked.

  Cal didn’t look back, but answered me nonetheless.

  “Hell.”

  The closest building was a large steel-frame structure. Nothing different from a dozen other buildings within walking distance, but Cal headed straight for a set of stairs affixed to the outer skin of the warehouse. He paused at the bottom of the stairs, his head down.

  “Come on, Cal. You’ve got to show him. Show him what his sport does,” Kat said from behind me. I looked back at her. Her eyes were partially hidden by the glasses, but I could see fear and apprehension on her face. But there was more. There was determination. I knew that Kat.

  “Okay. Please, remember the man who protected you in college, not one who protects...this,” Cal said. He swiftly took the stairs two by two, not waiting for me or Kat. He pulled out a key to unlock the facility and ushered us inside.

  Once inside, I realized the building itself was insulated. The noise inside was almost deafening, a cacophony of guttural voices, slamming against walls and every surface on the interior. It was dark, though, so I couldn’t immediately see what Cal was bringing me to see. The open door to the outside was shut, spreading darkness everywhere until Cal slammed his hand against a switch on the wall, unleashing dawn inside the building.

  The sight before me took my breath away. Almost as if she anticipated it, Kat reached out and gripped my hand in hers. Her skin was so soft and warm, a stark contrast against the death surrounding us. For an instant, if I closed my eyes I could have almost pictured the two of us back in college, untouched by the loss of the Z apocalypse.

  But the Z apocalypse wasn’t over. Proof was locked up in cages on the warehouse floor beneath us. Z everywhere, mostly milling about, but some were definitely more aggressive than others. Those berserkers rapidly strafed around the room, searching for an out, searching for blood, searching for brains.

  “What…?” I managed to eek out. I managed to deal with maybe a dozen or so each week at games and a couple during practice, but there were hundreds below my feet. Maybe even thousands.

  “Shh, quiet,” Kat whispered. She nodded to Cal, who grabbed my arm and led me to a small alcove, shrouded in shadows. We could still see out, but no one could see in.

  Just as quickly as we’d snuck into the warehouse, we heard another group enter from a different second story entrance on the opposite side of the building. I heard muffled voices, talking, even laughing with each other. I was able to get a good look at the group—a few men with large boxes. Wooden crates the size of refrigerator boxes. I asked myself what was in the boxes, but somewhere deep down, I knew. Kat had been right about everything.

  I tried to turn my head, and Cal shoved me in the back with his elbow. “You don’t get to pretend this isn’t happening anymore. Watch.”

  So I watched. I watched the men load the boxes on a pulley system and lower them into the pit below. It was an area free of Z. With the flip of a switch, an electronic sound chirped and the boxes swung open. A group of men and women—mostly homeless from the look of their clothing—slowly emerged, dazed, but very much uninfected by the Z virus.

  Once they were all free, the boxes were closed and raised again and the men hauled them outside. The people huddled together, seeing what was in the cages on every side. There was no exit for the Z, which meant there was no exit for those pinned between the cages, either.

  Another chirp, and the doors to the Z cages swung open. I felt my stomach drop as a feeding frenzy began. Blood splattered on the floors and walls, and the sound of bones cracking and crunching made me want to vomit. I felt lightheaded, but once again Kat took my hand.

  “This is the truth. This is what the league does. Commissioner Parnell has approved every bit of this. They pick up people—people who won’t be missed—and they turn them. Just so they can line their pockets with TV revenue. Just so you can get paid.”

  I regretted everything. I had made a huge mistake, the last of which was texting Parnell before I had taken the taxi to the meatpacking district. I wanted to run—to be the coward I knew I was, but I ached to hold Kat’s hand for as long as I could. I knew once we were found, she wouldn’t ever agree to be near me again.

  “Aha!” a voice shouted. A couple of large men just out of sight pulled us out of the alcove. Apparently our location was not as much of a secret as Cal had thought. The last thing I saw was a boot getting ready to slam into my head.

  * * *

  My mind was a fog. I tried to shake it out, but found myself weighed down. I almost couldn’t move, but then noticed I was wearing my uniform. Helmet, pads, and all. I glanced down and saw bright green with white chalk lines.

  I was on the field. At Cowboy Stadium.

  I’d woken up in the middle of the Brain Bowl. I gave myself one more second to clear my head, and then I got to my feet. If I was already on the field, it meant...the Z were coming soon.

  “And your starting QB for Chicago—Vince Lager!”

  The public address announcer’s voice echoed throughout the stadium, and thousands of fans cheered and jeered. Normal
ly I would soak up the attention, but I’d lost over a day of my life. The last memory I had was in the warehouse with Cal and Kat. I looked over my arms and legs quickly and didn’t see any bite marks. Whatever had happened, it hadn’t involved the Z that had been swarming in the warehouse below us.

  I looked around, and didn’t see anything out of the ordinary for a Z Ball game. My teammates were on the sideline with me, waving to the crowd. The team from L.A. was lined up on the other side of the plexiglass partition, getting ready for the opening whistle.

  Once again, muscle memory took hold and I went through the motions. My body was here, but my mind was elsewhere—back at that warehouse with Kat. I tried to put it out of my thoughts. I tried to focus on the game. If I could just get through the Brain Bowl, then I could get out of here and figure out what happened to my friends.

  As I lined up on my 40-yard line, I heard a voice inside my helmet. Usually, I had the speaker turned off. Coach Foster liked to talk to us, but let us focus on the game while the clock was ticking. This voice was not Coach Foster’s though. It was Commissioner Rod Parnell.

  “Hello, Vince. No need to talk back, there’s no microphone on your end. All you need to do is listen.”

  I looked around and found Parnell’s skybox. It was almost directly on the 50-yard line, where he could see both teams equally. But he wasn’t watching L.A., he was looking down at me.

  “Here’s the thing, Vince. You’re a good quarterback, don’t get me wrong. But I’ve learned something running this league the past few years. Everyone is replaceable. Even you. What about your buddy Pilson? He was going to be the next big thing, but then he got himself bit and played for the other side first chance he got.”

  I had a terrible feeling in my stomach. I’d faced down scores of the undead, but the most frightening thing in my life was the voice of Parnell in my ear at that very moment.

  “So we followed you last night. Even if you hadn’t agreed to help us out, we were going to find Kat and Cal. I knew about your relationship to both of them a long time ago, but with Cal, he insisted he wouldn’t involve you. He was in breach of contract, so we had to terminate him, unfortunately. As for Kat…”