The Day After: A Zombie Apocalypse Thriller

by Bartholomew, K.

  “Maybe one day, we’ll get our own statues.” Drake revved the engine and shouted out the window. “Go, boys!”

  Encouraged, the ringleader thrust a closed fist at the sky and then grinned as he entered the front seat and shut the door. He revved the engine himself and then screeched forwards. The arm snapped off the statue and was propelled straight through the back window before the SUV crashed into a tree and threw the man out through the front windscreen in a cloud of shattered glass.

  “My bad,” Drake muttered and accelerated away from the scene. After another minute, he said, “Suds, you gotta feel the power in this thing, you wanna have a turn?”

  Jeff had spent most of the last few blocks observing the numerous blacked-out cars parked outside various buildings. Vehicles with tinted windows were not uncommon in Frisco, there were many asshole celebrities who had little desire to be spotted by the plebs and just as many normal individuals who wanted everyone else to believe there was a rockstar in the car they were driving, but today was conspicuous by the sheer quantity, as well as their uniformity because they were all sleek Chevrolets, black, and with no other distinctive markings or signs. Early on, Jeff had noticed several of the cars stopping outside select residences but it wasn’t for several blocks that he finally witnessed two men getting out. They were large and walked with the assurance of military-trained men, but by far the most conspicuous detail about them was the bizarre all-red suits they donned, almost like they’d been hired straight from the sexual fantasy of some Star Trek fan.

  Drake was too busy enjoying his new motor to notice. “Yo, earth to Suds, you wanna turn?”

  Jeff waved it away. “You’re alright.”

  It wasn’t until some time later, after Drake had stolen a full tank of gas, that finally they drove past two men in red leaving an apartment block, a stout man with buzz cut leading them out with a pair of Glocks pointed at his back. Shortly after that, Jeff saw another man getting marched out before being bundled into the back seat with cable ties binding his wrists.

  “What’s all this about?” Jeff asked Drake, who himself had noticed now.

  Drake shrugged. “If I know Graft then it’ll be something he’s had all planned out years ago. Best guess is these are the people most likely to organize a fightback. Take them down early and there’s little chance of that happening; known Republican hardliners, key military personnel, police chiefs, priests, rightwing YouTubers and shit posters, maybe they’re making an early start on the middle classes. Who knows? Who cares?”

  “Right,” Jeff replied.

  A clue came the next day when Drake received an email from Graft. “Looks like Weiner’s having some sort of a big ceremony tomorrow, swearing him in, officially declaring us an independent nation and all that shit. It’s sort of being made our official birthday.”

  “That’s great.”

  “No need to sound so excited, Suds, but maybe this next bit of news might cause a flicker of happiness to appear on that beautiful face because guess who’s expected in Sactown for the occasion, front row seats and all the hospitality?”

  “Who?”

  “Who do you fucking think?” Drake shook his head and sighed. “Fuck, maybe we’ll even get to meet the man himself. But before that, Graft wants us to drive over to some company, a Silicon Valley microchip place owned by a notorious Republican donor and have our own man installed as the new overseer.” He grabbed the keys to an Aston Martin he’d since plundered from the estate. “Might as well make a start, he says, and he wants our feedback on how the first round of seizures and confiscations are going, cos there’s gonna be an awful fucking lot of them.”

  Arriving, the parking lot was only about half full. Maybe staying at home until all the uncertainty and rioting died down was the safe idea. The six soldiers who’d been assigned to the two army veterans arrived immediately behind in a Humvee.

  ‘Our own man’ turned out not to be a man at all, but in fact three different people, three people who would soon be taking the place of one. If this was how the new regime was intending to designate labor then it was hard to see how California would possibly be able to compete against even a third world country. It got worse.

  The first was a morbidly obese wheelchair-bound cripple with long purple hair and a badge of a hammer and sickle over the star of California pinned to the collar of his Megadeth t-shirt. He went by the name Derek and reeked of garbage. Jeff wondered if he didn’t catch the evil eye from the man, for what reason, other than being able-bodied, he couldn’t imagine, or maybe he’d just sensed the hostility oozing from Jeff. It often did these days.

  The second was a lanky black guy with huge thick-rimmed glasses who wore trendy clothes that sagged like a bag on a rake. One of those blatant overt homosexuals, he must have been twenty-one if a day, and was about to become co-chief overseeing officer of a company that used to be valued in the billions of dollars. Like the fat cripple, he wore a communist badge, only this was pinned to an Armani shirt. His shoes and jeans were also Armani and Jeff decided not to ask if he’d spent the day before looting. He went by the name Tyrol, lingered with a sickly handshake and immediately commenced giving Jeff the kind of puppy dog eyes that made him uncomfortable.

  Finally, there was Rosa, an obvious feminist with green hair and a t-shirt with the slogan The Future is Female. Doubtless root canal surgery would be preferential to being under her. Jeff decided not to ask what made any of them qualified to run the place, other than that they would all toe the party line.

  It was a large open plan lobby the group entered with a ceiling supported by huge steel columns. There were plush couches, a large aquarium and what looked like a fucking games area. A fun place to work. At least it used to be. Today it had the aura of a snow day at school, with people pottering about wondering what the fuck they were even doing there, and could they possibly get away with bunking off early. Some guy was flirting with the receptionist and gave the newcomers a look that suggested he wasn’t entirely surprised to see them, along with the rifles carried by men with angry expressions, though he did make a double-take at the three creatures shuffling in behind everybody else. If only he knew.

  It was Drake who approached the desk, marching across the imposing lobby with all the authority of a man who now owned the building, even though he didn’t, and he gave just enough of a shove to the guy standing nearby that anybody watching would know exactly who was in charge. “I’d like directions to the CEO’s office,” he glanced at his list that contained other businesses in line to be seized on behalf of the state, “Kevin Stoddard, where is he?”

  The woman behind the desk instinctively picked up the receiver and poised, checking, unsure. “May I ask who’s here?”

  “His replacements,” Drake said, simply. “No need to call the man, just tell us how to find him.”

  With reluctance, she did, and then it was only a matter of attempting to remain serious, commanding and authoritative when trying to squeeze eleven people into an inadequately sized elevator in full view of everybody when you have an entitled feminist brat, some gay black dude and a cripple all demanding preferential treatment. It should have been so simple.

  “What are you trying to insinuate by making me wait until last?” Derek yelled at Jeff, who being the spare wheel in the operation had offered to push the bastard. So much for good deeds.

  Jeff hesitated before the opening. “Last in, first out.”

  “Well, how do you know it doesn’t open from the other side, look, there’s a door at the far end.”

  Jeff’s grip tightened about the handles. “How the f…, how was I supposed to know that?”

  “That’s why you have eyes,” he said without twisting his head. “I’m sick of being treated like a second class citizen just because I’m in a wheelchair. There’ll be no more of that when I’m in charge. And you three, make room.”

  It just so happened that Drake, along with Llewellyn and Schneider, was one of the three he was demanding move. “J
ust get in,” he said, glancing briefly over the top of the man toward the small gathering of curious onlookers. Usually, Drake was the very last man to take this kind of shit, which was why Derek was lucky Horseman was in a good mood.

  “There should be a separate elevator for women,” the voice came out muffled from the far corner, Rosa’s face was smushing into Nestor’s back, “this is assault, this is sexual assault.”

  “Niggers should also have their own elevator,” returned Tyrol, “that’ll be my first job after we’ve turfed out this white dude. If necessary, rip the canteen and bathrooms out to make it happen.”

  “Back to the days of segregation, huh?” Someone squashed in the middle remarked. “Funny how we’ve come full circle.”

  Jeff’s face scrunched up as he attempted to ram forwards with the wheelchair.

  “Ow, you’re crushing my fucking legs,” Derek shouted.

  Jeff very nearly tipped the thing over, let the cards fall where they may. “If you have feeling in your fucking legs then you can fucking stand.” No response. “Horse, how about we make two trips? Make the cripple and the nig…um, Tyrone, wait for the next one?”

  That caused outrage, despite it making perfect sense, and the next five to ten minutes were wasted arguing over who was the most oppressed and should therefore go first and why exactly had the angry white oppressor suggested that the black guy should go last. When it was suggested that nobody gave a damn and that the three of them could all go first and Jeff would gladly wait outside along with anyone else who’d had enough of their shit, he was accused of insensitivity, and did he refuse to ride an elevator with a disabled person, person of color and a strong, independent, empowered female, even though a few minutes earlier they’d each been demanding their own elevators.

  Throughout, Drake grimaced whilst he stared straight ahead, stoically keeping his mouth closed. Jeff knew that look. Drake was seconds from turning someone’s face to pulp, unless somebody was quickly able to solve this conundrum that put the fox, the chicken and the grain riddle to shame. In the end, it was solved only when Turner, a squat soldier with a strong penchant for Mexican food blew out his ass and cleared the elevator of all but himself and the two new overseers who were already inside. Jeff held his breath, gave Derek a hard shove, and the doors closed just after he rolled through.

  “I’m taking the fucking stairs,” Drake gasped and everybody followed.

  Up on the twelfth floor, the others were already waiting, and by now Jeff was so volatile that he held a finger up in warning to the three of them. “The next person who crosses me will find out what real fucking oppression is, you got that?” They nodded. “Right, let’s go.”

  It looked like the part of the building where most of the finance shit happened, the employees had that kind of look to them, like death was preferential to turning in every day to crunch numbers. A visible minority of the staff were waving at the new arrivals crossing the floor. Maybe they didn’t know they were all about to take a pay cut.

  It was obvious which was the CEO’s office, it was at the far end, slightly raised up with a huge glass partition, bestowing the man with a look over everybody else. Behind, the view of Palo Alto, San Francisco Bay and further, Newark and Union City was breathtaking. Stoddard, another billionaire, was already standing in anticipation when the automatic doors opened first for Drake, who peeled off his black leather gloves and flung them onto the desk.

  “Your replacements are here,” Drake declared profoundly, whilst taking no small amount of satisfaction. He glanced over a shoulder, expecting to find the Three Stooges already present, but they were still shambling through the main office, not that that mattered now, overly, because the big entrance was already fucked beyond all repair. This was hardly the scene from Casino when the feds burst in and started making arrests. Drake pinched at the skin atop his nose, “Christ, sorry, one moment.”

  Stoddard nodded solemnly and waited, squinting whilst the three special cases finally pottered into the office and began checking out their new furniture. Stoddard didn’t look like the typical billionaire, whatever that look was, rather the kind of father every kid wished they had. Despite this being a terrible moment for him, he at least attempted to smile and greeted every single person as they entered. According to what little internet research Jeff had done, Stoddard was in his mid-sixties and had built the company all on his own. He had warm eyes with a tidy gray beard but lacked any kind of domineering and commanding nature that perhaps might have been expected. He glanced at Jeff. “All I ask is that you look after my staff.”

  Jeff held up his hands, “oh, no, sir, I’m not the new…”

  “It’s because I’m in a wheelchair, isn’t it,” Derek grunted and managed to maneuver his contraption at a surprisingly fast speed when he wanted, bringing it to within a threatening distance of Stoddard, “that you assume I’m not capable of being overseer?”

  Drake, Jeff guessed, had anticipated the next words from the mouths of the other two, and was quick to twist around, giving them both the kind of stare that stopped the words before they could manifest.

  Stoddard closed his eyes. “I do apologize. Might I then make the same request of you?”

  Derek grinned. “They will fulfill their quotas or the new regime will make use of them some other way.”

  “Right, of course, yes, well then,” Stoddard collected his hat from the peg and then glanced athwart the room, “then I’ll wish you all the best of luck.”

  Drake put his arm out to stop the man’s progress. “I’m sorry,” he sighed, “but you’re required to stick around just long enough to train your replacements.” Drake gave him his best apologetic look, evidently understanding what the poor bastard was in for.

  Stoddard’s eyes widened. “Really, you need me to train my replacements?” He blinked several times. “In that case, wouldn’t it be simpler to just leave me in post? I’m doing a good enough job, or so I thought.”

  Drake was quick to thrust out a silencing arm in the direction of Tyrol. “I’m just following orders. You’re a Republican Party donor. Irredeemable.” As Drake spoke the final word, he seemed to be glancing around at the numerous family portraits spread about the office; the three happy kids, two boys and a girl, wife, skiing, picnics, dogs, what looked like some charity event. “Sir, would you please train these people in managing this government enterprise?”

  Stoddard looked into his opened hands. “I built this company over thirty years, sweat blood for it, was twice bankrupted over it, lost a marriage for it.” He glanced beyond Drake toward his three replacements. “I’m sorry, I wish you no ill will but after everything I’ve put into this company, I would consider it beneath my dignity to be forced to train my own replacements against my will.”

  There was silence for a while as nobody knew what to do next. He was supposed to train them up, and at least pretend like he was enjoying the privilege.

  “Ah, shit,” Drake scratched at his head and Jeff could see how anxious he looked, “sir, don’t do this to me, please.” It would have been so much easier had Stoddard been a jackass.

  Jeff had been carefully watching the scene before him play out. Before, when they’d been appropriating mansions, they were loading the former owners onto trucks and sending them away, to where, Jeff had been too afraid to find out, and sure, witnessing people being dispossessed is somewhat easier after they’ve attempted to kill you or you’ve been assured they’ve been profiteering while putting ordinary people out of work, even though, Jeff knew, not all of those folks had been like that. In Presidio Heights, he’d at least attempted to remain as emotionally detached as possible, as well as physically distant from the crimes. But things change when you have to see things up close, when you see the victim standing inside the company he spent a life building, hear his stressed voice, see the portraits of his kids.

  Now, here, with this Stoddard guy, things just seemed different. This was a man who’d done everything right his whole life, who’d su
ffered and sacrificed for everything he’d built, and it was easy for anyone to see there were people who loved him, that he wasn’t a bad guy. He was being asked to do something that was far beneath any man and, quite rightly, was refusing. On a human level, Jeff related. He also suspected he knew what happened to dissenters.

  Jeff touched Drake on the arm. “Can I have a word outside.”

  Drake nodded and followed Jeff out the office, past the waiting soldiers and into a clearing. “I know what you’re thinking so please, don’t give me a hard time over it.”

  “Can’t we just leave this one guy,” Jeff did not put it as a question.

  Drake barked. “Why? Because he’s not a complete cunt?” He gave a bemused smile. “Come on, man, you ought to know as well as anybody … the only reason Stoddard’s not threatening to kidnap all our families is because right now, he’s in a position of fucking weakness. What choice does he have? Everybody’s nice when you turn up with six men wielding rifles. Come on, let’s get this over with.” He turned to leave but Jeff spun him back by the shoulder. Anger shot across Drake’s face. “Look, Suds, there is not a single business in the entire fucking country that will not become state owned, it’s only a matter of getting around to them, one by one. There’s no escaping just because this one dude reminds you of your pops.”

  Jeff shook his head. “Is this new ideology of yours really so important that you’re willing to harm people like this?” Jeff hadn’t realized he’d cared, in fact, he was shocked at how much he did. He hadn’t felt compassion in a long time and the truth was, he didn’t want to be feeling it now. No, it was a fucking handicap, a disability that would prevent him getting his own life back on track if he gave into it.

  Drake sounded calm, cold even. “What does that even matter? Either he’s dispossessed by us or he’s dispossessed by the next people the incoming government sends to do the job. And he’s a Republican Party fuckin’ donor, Suds, don’t forget. He’s lucky his job requires some degree of knowledge and skill, he’s bought himself some time because of that, but if he refuses to train his replacements then…”