Can You Survive the Zombie Apocalypse?

by Max Brallier

  You break away from the crowd. Long strides. This is your life—the whole thing—and it all comes down to how fast your out-of-shape legs can run.

  You’ve never moved this fast before. Speedy Gonzalez meets Sonic the Hedgehog.

  You’re going to make it.

  You hear them behind you.

  No. You’re faster. You want it more. You want to live.

  Horrific moans.

  Run. Run. Run. Run!

  You throw a glance back over your shoulder. No.… The lawyer leaps. Cold, dead hands wrap around you and pull you to the ground.

  More hands on you. One rips into your arm. The lawyer buries its face in your belly and begins ripping through you.

  You go into shock. The pain subsides. Your head rolls to the side.

  As you begin to fade out, you see the rest of the group. They’re all suffering the same fate. You’ve incited a massacre.

  You’ve gotten every single one of them killed…

  AN END

  IT’S A ZOO OUT THERE

  Yakuma goes for the door. You grab her shoulder. “Don’t. There’re too many out there—it’s suicide.”

  “You got a better idea?”

  “Yeah, I do. Drive. Don’t stop. Let’s just get away from here. I live—I mean, my parents live, outside Boston. We could go there.”

  Yakuma’s not happy. But she takes a look out the window at the thousand beasts approaching, and acquiesces.

  “Goddamn it. Fine. Rick,” she yells up to the front, “keep driving.”

  “Yakuma…”

  “Rick—I like you. Don’t make me your cut your fucking head off.”

  Rick slams his hand down on the wheel, furious, but he does as she says. He peels out of the parking lot and takes off up the avenue then up the on-ramp onto the parkway. It’s complete gridlock. Every lane packed.

  Hours pass. You sip from the glass bottle of Cîroc. It calms you some.

  And then, like a tsunami, they come. Out of nowhere. Ravaging everything. Some people, bitten, stumble out of their cars. They swarm up the highway, moving through the traffic.

  Rick floors it and smacks into the car in front of you. Then, screaming, he gets out and runs. A moment later, he goes down. Tackled by a monster in a Windbreaker.

  The things surround the limo. Dead, disgusting faces press against the glass. Three of them gather at the door, slobbering on it. Your heart pounds.

  Yakuma goes for the door.

  “No!” you scream, terrified. “Let’s wait, maybe they’ll leave.”

  “I’m not a ‘let’s wait’ kind of girl,” Yakuma says, then kicks open the door, sending the three sprawling back. She leaps out and slashes them.

  Oh shit, here we go again. You take the bottle of Cîroc and follow her out the door. One gets close. You whack it across the head with the heavy glass bottle.

  You cross the lanes and jump the guardrail. A wooden fence stretches along the side of the highway.

  “Help me,” Yakuma says, looking up.

  You interlace your fingers and give her a boost. She grasps at the fence. Your eyes are drawn to her rear.

  “Knock it off,” she says.

  How’d she know? “How’d you know?”

  She wiggles her butt at you in response before making her way up. A second later, she appears over the side, hand out, and helps you up. You get one leg over. The second one’s harder. Christ, like gym class all over again. Finally, Yakuma grabs you by your belt and pulls you up.

  You’re on the roof of a small building. You look out over the sprawling land in front of you. A monorail hangs above you. Perfectly laid out little streets. Huge trees.

  “I—I think we just jumped the fence into the Bronx Zoo.”

  Yakuma takes it in. “No way,” she says. “I’ve never been to the zoo. It’s so empty.”

  “We’ll find out.…” You climb down over the side of the building. It’s a little restaurant—the Dancing Crane Café. Empty. Like everything else. You grab a zoo map. Try to locate the Dancing Crane Café on the map, but you give up. Too hungry. So you hop the counter and go for food.

  You’ve got half a chicken tender in your mouth when you hear the squeal of tires. A Bronx Zoo van rips around the corner.

  “Uh-oh,” Yakuma says.

  Coming around the corner after the van are hundreds of them. Every visitor to the zoo on this particular late summer Monday—now a zombie.

  The van flies past you, the driver’s eyes wide with fear. He takes a turn and the van goes up on two wheels and bursts through a heavy metal fence. The van flips and rolls down a hill, coming to a stop against a tree. Electric sparks fly around the gaping hole in the fence.

  You turn. The army of the undead has its eyes on you.

  You grab Yakuma by the wrist and run down through the hole. She passes you, making her way downhill. You lose your footing and tumble. But you’re back up in a second, running. You pass the overturned van. Catch a glimpse of the driver, blood pouring down his face. Unconscious.

  You don’t stop. You race through a small wooded area and come out in a massive field. Giraffes in the distance. Tall grass, up to your waist.

  “What did we just run into?” Yakuma says, taking it in.

  “I think the T. rex exhibit.”

  She doesn’t laugh.

  You glance behind you. The zombies have stopped for a moment to dine on the poor driver.

  Yakuma takes off through the grass. Still running, you pull the map up. It flies up in your face. You try to hold it down, get your bearings, without stopping.

  You find the café. See the line that indicates the fence.

  “Yakuma,” you say, through sharp breaths. “You’re not going to like this. But we’re in the middle of the Wild African Safari.”

  “Great,” she says, sounding legitimately excited.

  “Sixty acres of wild Africa, it says. Oh cool. Water buffalo.”

  Behind you, the beasts blast through the trees. The grass catches at your arms and waist as you continue through the field.

  Then a roar. You turn to look. In the back of the mass, a zombie body flies up in the air. Then another.

  And then a massive lion bursts through the front of the group, sending the zombies sprawling to the ground. It roars, sandy hair shining in the sunlight. Two come at it—it slaps a massive paw, sending the zombies stumbling back. It gets one in its powerful jaws and shakes it back and forth.

  It rips another in half, right at the midsection.

  Twenty of the undead jump on top of the lion. It roars, rises. More leap on top of it. Dig their teeth in. Two hang on to its front leg, chewing it up. Together, the beasts and the animal fall into the tall grass.

  Yakuma yanks your wrist. “C’mon.”

  You continue through the plains. Through the tall grass, then into a wooded area. Massive trees. Monkeys swing from vines. It gets thicker. Yakuma hands you one of the blades. Together, you hack your way through.

  Up ahead is a swamp. Beyond that, one of the monorail’s many elevated towers. If you can climb that, you can get the hell out of this jungle…

  A crashing behind you. Then a rush of sounds—branches breaking.

  “They’re back,” you say.

  The swamp stretches out wide to the left and to the right. With the beasts so close behind you, the only way forward is through the swamp.

  You take a step into the water. Then there’s a violent splash from the center of the swamp. You rip your foot out, your heart pounding.

  A huge tail whips up. Two eyes come out of the water.

  “Fucking Christ, is that an alligator?!”

  “Crocodile, I think,” she says. “But yeah. Let’s go.”

  The horde continues through the woods behind you. You’ve got no choice. Yakuma steps into the muddy water, blade out, and begins wading through. You follow her, close behind.

  You’re about halfway across when, in a flash, a huge snout bursts from the water, tremendous mouth open. M
assive, jagged teeth.

  You scream like a little girl.

  Yakuma stabs the sword up. The blade slices through the crocodile’s armored scales, through its lower jaw, pierces its tongue, and then bursts through the roof of its mouth. Its eyes go wide, but it makes no sound. It struggles to open its mouth, but only cuts itself further.

  Yakuma rips the sword out and begins swimming. You hear splashes behind you as the zombies enter the water. You dive in, swim madly.

  You and Yakuma come out at the other end of the swamp. You sprint for the tower. You begin climbing. Yakuma follows. Halfway up, you stop. Clinging to the ladder, you pull the map out.

  Through jagged breaths: “If we catch the monorail, we can hitch a ride to the aquarium. From there, we can walk to the Zoo Center.”

  Yakuma grunts. “Just keep climbing.”

  You make it to the top, nearly five stories. The monorail track runs across most of the zoo. You see one coming around, minutes away.

  Below you, the crocodiles tear a group of the zombies to pieces. Body parts float in the water. The brown-green swamp water mixes with the blood, turning the water black.

  The monorail approaches. You crouch on top of the tower, not looking down. The train car approaches. You steady yourself. Ready. Do this wrong, and you’ll plummet to your death.

  You dive inside. Phew. Safe, for the moment. Below you, giraffes graze. Zebras, close by, mill about. Through a canopy of leaves, gorillas bask in the sun. And then the zombies—they’re everywhere. They pay no attention to the animals.

  The monorail passes over a polar bear exhibit, then closes in on the aquarium.

  “Ready?” you ask her.

  “Ready,” she says.

  As it passes over the aquarium roof, you toss the swords out. Then you leap. It’s only ten feet and you make it fairly effortlessly—skinned palms, but nothing broken. You collect your sword, Yakuma does the same, and she follows you into the dark aquarium.

  You gasp. There, directly in front of you, a zoo worker. Trainer or something. Green shorts. Green T-shirt. Poor attempt at looking like he just stepped out of a savannah.

  His face is torn to shreds.

  He leaps at you. You reel back, turn your head away, and thrust out the sword. He skewers himself, sliding up to the blade’s hilt. Blood spills out on your shoes. The thing grabs you by the shirt. Teeth gnash. You try to raise the sword and lift the beast up, but the blade just cuts up through its chest.

  Yakuma lunges over, grabs the beast, and rips it off the sword. She has its hands pinned behind its back. You grab its legs and together you lift the beast up and throw it over the side. It drops into the tank, thrashing. Water splashes over the side. The thing sticks a dead arm out at you, stretching its fingers, moans once, then goes under.

  You catch your breath, then follow Yakuma down the spiraling ramp, past the glass tank. The undead zoo worker sinks, moving along with you. It continues to thrash as it sinks farther.

  Then from the bottom of the tank come a rush of tiny fish—each one no more than half a foot long. Hundreds of them.

  You see the sign on the tank: RED-BELLIED PIRANHAS.

  The entire school swarms. In a moment you can no longer see the zoo worker’s body—just the fish, completely covering it. Hundreds of little black and red fins. Blood fills the water. Then, twenty seconds later, the fish split, swimming off in different directions.

  All that remains of the zoo worker is a meatless skeleton. One piranha continues to pick at one last piece of its brain, then scurries away.

  Dear Lord…

  You look away and continue down the spiraling path. You come to the bottom and step outside into the bright sunlight. A perfectly paved path stretches out in front of you, a fence running along the side. At the end is the visitor center.

  And there, blocking your path, is the massive female lion. Its fur slick with blood. It paces back and forth. Shakes. Twitches. Its eyes wild and red.

  A goddamn zombie lion.

  Yakuma spins the sword. You do the same—spraying the dead zoo thing’s blood on the ground.

  The lion paws at the ground, then charges, hurtling toward you.

  Yakuma charges the animal and just before it pounces, drops to her knees and slides across the ground. She swings the sword, cleanly slicing off the animal’s front right leg. It takes its next step with a bloody stump and crashes to the ground. It whimpers. Lashes out at you with a hairy paw.

  Yakuma stands over it, knees bloodied, and chops the animal’s head off.

  Then a tremendous roar.

  You look up. At the end of the path are three more massive lions. And behind it, a wall of zombies. The animals are bloodied, ravenous. Just like their zombie friends.

  You and Yakuma look at each other. Sad. Defeated.

  And then they all charge…

  AN END

  ALL TOGETHER NOW

  You wait to see which one jumps first. But they all come at once.

  The kid leaps, throws its arms around your waist. It’s like a goddamned Chucky doll. You rip it free before it gets its teeth in you.

  You feel your arm flesh tear. You scream. The mother zombie has its nails in you. It digs deeper, pushing them into your arm. You try to shake it loose.

  But the dad creature looms over you. It jumps, throwing all of its weight on you, taking you and its family down to the ground. Your head whacks against the cement and your eyes tear up. Through the mist, you see the father’s face, hovering over you. Sick, rotted teeth. Disgusting smell of death on his breath

  A drop of saliva falls from his decaying lips, lands on your tongue, sending a cold shiver through your body. Then his mouth opens wide, ready to eat…

  AN END

  THE COMIC-CON MASSACRE

  You went to Comic-Con International the summer you interned in San Diego. You remember the craziness. A hundred thousand people packing the showroom floor, many in costume. And not just costumes—staggeringly detailed outfits, complete with metal helmets, thousand-dollar chunks of armor, and real-deal weapons.

  You grip the boy’s hand and push through the thick crowd. Need to find the back exit—now. Their defenses won’t hold long.

  The boy looks around in awe at the convention attendees. A middle-aged Wonder Woman. An ugly version of the Bride from Kill Bill. Most of the crew from the Watchmen. Frank Miller’s depiction of the Joker. A puffed-up Bender. A so-real-you-can-hardly-believe-it Guts Man. Edward Scissorhands, his blades shimmering, sharp.

  Glass shatters behind you. People scream. It won’t take long for the beasts to flood the convention hall floor and overrun the entire place. Bodies push past you. You get swept up in the crowd, carried onto the main floor, and spit out into one of the convention hall’s long aisles. Somehow the kid has managed to hold on.

  Behind you echo the sounds of battle as the zombies clash with the cosplay crowd.

  You drag the kid down long aisles lined with tables and booths, stocked with action figures, comic books, T-shirts. Huge banners hang from the ceiling: DC COMICS, MARVEL, NICKELODEON, CAPCOM. Great—all sorts of cool shit—but where’s the goddamn banner that says EMERGENCY EXIT?

  It’s like a hedge maze, only it’s packed with people, all in full-on panic mode. You pass the remnants of the Mattel booth, slipping on Matchbox cars as you run. Transformers toys scatter the floor in front of the Hasbro booth. A sign promises a Shia LaBeouf signing.

  You take a left turn. Then a right. Fuck—zombies at the end of that aisle. You turn, back the way you came. Another left.

  Goddamn it! You’re back where you started.

  And in front of you is an epic, full-on Night of the Living Dead meets Braveheart battle. Thousands of undead New Yorkers trying to devour thousands of costumed geeks.

  The battle pushes them back, onto the show floor. Fighting in the aisles. You turn to run—then realize, horrified, that your hand is empty. The boy is gone.

  You look around, frantic. “Kid! Where are you?” />
  You sprint down the closest aisle, searching for him.

  A fat man in a Freddy Krueger costume sends a case of Super Mario figurines crashing down on an approaching beast, which slows it momentarily. Fat Freddy slashes the thing in the face, splitting open four parallel slices of flesh.

  Then Fat Freddy swings his open hand in a roundhouse, slamming the four blades into the thing, the steel piercing its skull. The monster drops. The next one gets Freddy, tackling him. Freddy swipes, tearing its shirt, but it’s useless. The monster rips into his face, tearing at his mask, and then sinking its teeth into the flesh beneath it.

  In front of you, a mock Doc Brown gets his ear ripped off by a wounded zombie, sending him falling back, screaming. He crashes into a table, sending a ten-foot statue of Bart Simpson tumbling over, pinning a young, freshly turned female zombie. Her teeth snap, biting at the air.

  “Kid!” you shout. “Where the hell’d you go?”

  You leap over a guy in a plush Snoopy costume, laid on his back. Costume shredded, pieces of polyester stuffing and fabric spilled out on the floor, along with his guts.

  What appears to be the entire crew of the Battlestar Galactica is trapped in the large Warner Bros. booth. An undead Dominican woman closes in, chunks of flesh in her thick black hair. A young guy dressed as the old Doc Cottle shrieks and faints.

  Boba Fetts—why are there so many goddamn Boba Fetts??—are dying all around you.

  You turn down the next aisle, desperate to find the boy. Trekkies are littered about—either dead, dying, or rising. One gets to its feet. A goateed man, looking nearly identical to half-Life’s Gordon Freeman, bashes it in the head with his crowbar.

  A massive Hispanic man dressed as Alex from A Clockwork orange sends one of the zombies flying across the room. The rest of his droogs get it right quick in a stunning bit of the ol’ ultraviolence on the undead.

  Three zombie firemen stumble down the aisle toward you. A cute little blond thing done up as Buffy jumps in front of you swinging a frighteningly realistic version of the famous Vampire Slaying Scythe. But the zombie firefighters don’t burst into bad CGI dust—they spill blood as they’re cut to pieces. Fucking hot, Buffy.