Blood on the Sand (Z Plan)

by Lerma, Mikhail

  Cale walked away from the inferno that was once his best friend, and back into the house. He barricaded himself back in and went back up stairs. He wondered where he’d go from here, and how he’d manage it alone. He then retrieved his iPod from his pocket; he should try to get some rest. Cale lay down and stared at the bed that Zach once occupied. A feeling of guilt rushed over him. He put his ear buds in and turned on his iPod, searching his play lists for the set of songs that relaxed him. He finally found the title--- Mellow, it was a mix of Deftones, Nirvana, and a few others. Starting his play list, Cale grabbed the blanket and threw it over himself, hiding his face from the doomed world. It wasn’t late but he was exhausted. Cale hung on the edge of sleep. For hours he nodded off and would snap back awake. Mere shadows crossing the light disturbed him. The dreams he did have were haunted by the undead. Even in his moments of rest he was being pursued by the teaming masses of rotting corpses. Eventually he fell into a light sleep.

  Part II

  His Wrath is Come

  “Their people will become like walking corpses, their flesh rotting away. Their eyes will shrivel in their sockets, and their tongues will decay in their mouths. On that day they will be terrified, stricken by the Lord with great panic. They will fight against each other in hand-to-hand combat”

  -Zechariah 14:12

  Restless Soul

  It was dark in the cellar. It had been about an hour since he’d heard any movement upstairs, but time no longer mattered to him. Ingesting warm flesh was the only thing on his mind. He stiffly crawled back up the stairs and began to claw limply at the trap door. It was about a half hour before he managed to get his legs positioned directly under him, and with one lucky push he opened the cellar door with a loud thud. He was out now; free to roam the house again. The hunger called out to him, “Feed, must feed.” He could smell the warm flesh waiting upstairs. It was time to eat.

  He stumbled around the house for a while, bumping into the walls as he went. He found himself at the foot of the stairs. Awkwardly he gazed up at the top. There was bound to be a meal up there. He began to climb the steps, silently stalking, his shadow hunched and eerie along the wall. He made it to the top of the stairs. The whole house was quiet, but the fresh aroma of the next tasty morsel waited in the room ahead. His prey just passed through here--- And not long ago. The door wasn’t closed all the way, and it pushed open easily. The room was dark. There on the bed lay his victim. He tried to hurry to his meal, and clumsily his decayed hand reached out to the figure shrouded in blankets. He had found his buffet.

  Palm Trees and the Undead

  Cale was having the dream he’d always had. He was standing on some foreign beach, with the delightful sound of the ocean hitting the sand. In the sky hung two moons, one red and the other blue. The stars were twinkling in the darkness. The leaves of the palm trees were luminescent. The coral in the bay was glowing in the light, the neon pinks, greens, yellows, and blues overwhelmed him. He’d had this dream ever since he could remember. It was peaceful and serene.

  Suddenly, bony decaying hands shot out of the sand and began groping for his legs. Screams blocked out the once peaceful sound of the ocean. His dream had turned to a nightmare. Hoards of people started climbing out of the water. The dark swarm of undead began to approach from the line of palm trees. There was no time for escape. The bloody hands closed tightly around his ankles and wrists. Faces of horror crowded all around. The face leading the undead attack was Zach’s. But at the same time it wasn’t Zach’s face. His eyes were black, blood dribbled out of his mouth. His gnashing teeth were closing in.

  Cale lurched up out of bed, drenched in a cold sweat. His iPod’s battery had died. There was nothing but silence. He searched the bedside for the charger. He found it in his left cargo pocket. Seemingly useless, the charger helped power one of the few things that kept him from slipping into insanity. He connected the items and tried to return to sleep. Cale’s eyes jerked open at the sound of a loud thud.

  Something was in the house! The bedroom door was tightly shut, but it was only a matter of time before whatever got in would be pounding on it. How did they get in? Where in the house were they? Cale reached for his rifle.

  “Ah, shit,” he whispered.

  He’d left the weapons in the other room. He speedily got to his feet and scrambled for the door. Cale quietly entered the hall and looked down to the ground level. He could see a dark figure approaching the foot of the stairs. He silently dashed left into the living room. Retrieving his weapon, Cale hastily checked to see if it was loaded. The magazine had at least five rounds he could see, plus the one in the chamber. With his back to the wall he edged his way to the door frame. He peeked around the corner and observed as a decayed man silently pushed the bedroom door open. He waited a moment to see if any others would follow. Carefully Cale crept down the hall, looking down the stairs first to make sure everything was clear. Was there only one? That wasn’t likely though; where there was one, there tended to be many.

  Cale waited in the hall for the man to return. It wouldn’t be long till he would walk out and follow him, looking for the meal he so desired. It was quiet for the next few minutes. No sounds emanating from anywhere within the house other than the moans of frustration coming from the bedroom. He thought he could hear someone moving downstairs, but it was only the undead banging at the door. Cale realized that if they were still banging on the only door to the house, then his visitor in the other room had to have originated from inside the house. But how could that be? There definitely wasn’t any place for him to hide. Unless they’ve learned the ability to wish themselves through walls, there was no way.

  The decayed old man emerged from the room looking down the hall for his prey. His glazed eyes panned the length of the hall searching for dinner, not noticing that Cale was right by him. He was too close, way too close for Cale to properly aim. Cale began to slide back against the wall toward the living room, and the butt of the rifle struck the wall as he did so, making a loud thud in the silence. The assailant reacted quickly to the noise. With a jerk he lunged in Cale’s direction. Cale tried to raise his firearm but the monster was too quick. There in the hall they both struggled, Cale fired off a shot but it only struck the figure in the abdomen. As the infected pushed what was left of his full weight onto Cale, he dropped the rifle. In the darkness it was kicked away. He was surprisingly strong for a corpse, Cale thought. With a shove, Cale sent the man sprawling backwards, but the corpse quickly returned to his feet and pursued him. The gun, now lost in the hallway, left Cale out of options.

  He retreated into the living room, cornered. Cale glanced at the window and wondered if it would be safe to jump out. He looked through the open door frame, back down the hall. Cale regretted removing this door. With renewed speed the infected charged Cale. As he ran backwards Cale forgot that they’d moved the couch into the middle of the room for Zach, and he toppled over and behind it, hitting the floor hard. Cale sprang back to his feet just in time for his pursuer to sail over the couch and at him. He side stepped to the right as the creature fell flat on his face. Cale was backed into the corner now, knocking over the lamp, his attacker blocking his exit. The little moonlight shining in from the window, and the overturned lamp gave the room an eerie feeling of despair. Was this his fate? To end in a brawl with a decayed old man? The man growled with frustration, arms outstretched, hoping that his meal would come close enough for him to grab. But Cale once again evaded his attacker. He was getting winded now. Still backed in the corner, Cale felt that this was the bleak end to his adventure.

  He was learning not to underestimate these George A. Romero zombies. They may be slow, but in close quarters, and with enough momentum, they were deadly. His assailant was quick, awkward but quick. He moved rather mechanically, and still he was like a cat, ready to pounce at any moment. Cale grabbed the small lamp and threw it at the reanimated corpse. It stunned him for a brief moment but that was all. The man dashed toward Cale, and that�
�s when Cale saw his opportunity; Zach’s knife. He’d forgotten he’d removed it from his friend. Cale charged the man, pushing him onto the couch, but falling to the floor in the process. He scrambled for the combat knife, and with it firmly in his hand he leaped to his feet and spun around, but his attacker had already changed course. The man rushed back at Cale, tackling him to the floor. He felt a jolt of pain in his side, as they both wrestled. Fuck, had he been bit? He didn’t have time to check, because the man was crawling toward his arm. Cale rolled away as fast as he could, and was quickly halted by the chair, but with the knife firmly in hand.

  Cale quickly looked at his injury. During the scuffle he’d stabbed himself. He crouched there on the floor, ready for the final round. The man got to his hands and knees and lunged one last time with all of his strength. Cale thrust the combat knife out, at the man’s head. With a sickening sound, the undead cannibal began to quiver. He gargled for a moment, and then started to spew up nasty black ooze. The regurgitated fluid covered the floor and Cale. He looked at the dead face, eyes glazed over, and teeth falling out. What hair was left now was grey. Parts of his flesh were clearly decayed and had been eaten off. Exhausted, Cale staggered to his feet, using the chair as support.

  “FUCK YOU!” he yelled as he kicked the corpse.

  His side pulsated with pain as he did so. Well, at least he wasn’t bitten. That was a relief. And it wasn’t a deep cut. Outside, he could hear the groans of a newly formed crowd.

  The Letter

  Cale went downstairs to clean up, and make sure his cut wouldn’t get infected. What puzzled him was, as he looked at the still secured door, where did the man come from? Cale ventured into the living room and saw the answer. There was a gaping hole in the middle of the room. The rug was folded under an open hatch that had concealed the entry way to the cellar. Cale descended into the darkness. It was cold down here. The room appeared to be a food pantry. The air tasted musty and stale, and the stench of the man was still lingering in the room. There didn’t appear to be any entry from the outside, so he must have been trapped in here the entire time. With no obvious entry points from the exterior of the house, he went back up the wooden stairs. He felt around in the dark for the handle to the cellar door. With little effort he slammed it shut, straightening out the rug to conceal it again.

  Cale walked toward the second door of the living room, and into the kitchen, around the table and into the bathroom. While lifting his shirt, he grabbed wads of toilet paper to stop the bleeding. It was deeper than he’d thought, but it wasn’t that bad. He was lucky he managed to cut shallow and miss anything vital. Cale inspected his cut with the assistance of the broken mirror.

  “Don’t think I’ll need stitches,” he said, as he dabbed it with some water. He was talking to himself again.

  Cale strolled back into the dining room to look for a towel. It too, was a small room with a low ceiling. There used to be a table in the middle of the room, but he and Zach had moved it into the kitchen. The kitchen was definitely the largest room in the entire house. The windows in this room had been boarded because they were large and very accessible. Anyone could easily break the glass and climb into the dwelling. Against the wall was a china hutch. Most likely it was filled with expensive dinnerware. Cale reached and opened both of the fine oak doors on it.

  “Of freaking course,” Cale said.

  Inside were towels and bed sheets. He grabbed a soft green towel and marched for the kitchen. He needed to wash his clothes; they reeked of the old man’s festering blood. Cale stripped down till he was completely nude, and threw his clothes into the kitchen sink. It was a large stainless steel one, like you might see in a restaurant. With his clothes balled up in the sink, he dumped dishwashing liquid onto the smelly pile, and then ran hot water over it. He burned his hands more than once as he stirred his clothes around. It was time to let it sit. Cale walked into the bathroom and started the hot water. Placing the stopper in the bottom of the tub, he then started the cold water, to make the perfect balance. With some discomfort, he climbed into the bathtub, inching himself slowly into the warm water. He wondered what time it was, as he’d left his watch up at his bedside. It had to have been a little after midnight. He’d slept all day and now his stomach was rumbling. After soaking for a while and washing up, Cale got out of the tub, shivering. He toweled himself dry, and then wrapped the towel around his waist. Then he went into the kitchen and ate an MRE cold. Imitation Pork Rib--- he’d definitely had worse. As he ate, the pounding at the door grew louder. Right now all he wanted was to hold his wife and child. He finished his meal and then sat and stared at the table. Eventually he tuned out the banging at the door. He thought about his family, hoping that they were safe, that maybe the United States had controlled the outbreak.

  Cale drummed on the table, thinking about how he was going to get home. He was on the opposite side of the world for God’s sake. How was he going to make it all that way? He slowly felt himself falling asleep. Rousing himself, he stood, and moved to the sink. He reached in and pulled the rubber stopper from the bottom. Cale sat there as the water lowered until it became low enough that a small vortex formed around the drain, like a tiny underwater tornado. It began to make a gurgling sound. It had been a long time since Cale had sat and listened to that sound. He wiped his hand on his towel. He was about five-eleven, with an athletic build. His body type mostly matched that of a runner, having small, toned muscles. His once bright eyes were now dim. The house was still dark. Cale refilled the sink with fresh water; it was probably best to let his clothes sit soaking for a while longer in fresh water.

  The wall clock in the kitchen read ten minutes till two. The sun wouldn’t rise for another four and a half hours. Cale sat back down at the table. He looked at the seat Zach had occupied twenty four hours earlier. It was his fault Zach was dead. He’d been the one to suggest splitting up. It was a mistake that weighed heavily in his heart. After silently torturing himself, he drained the sink yet again, and found a place for his clothes to hang and dry. Still in his towel he went back upstairs. His brown bag sat in the corner of the bedroom. He rummaged through it for another uniform. What was left in his bag were his personal hygiene items and a sleeping bag. The core of their supplies, food and water, they’d left in the truck. He began gathering his things. He laid all of his firearms on the bed before him. He’d now inherited Zach’s rifle and 9mm pistol. For the rifles he had three full magazines, and one that was about half full. The two pistols, which he wasn’t really proficient with, had nine clips of ammo between them, but he’d also discovered a box of 9mm ammunition in Zach’s bag.

  They’d managed to conserve ammo because Zach would kill the infected with his knife. He felt weird going through his belongings. But Zach wasn’t here, and Cale continued looking. It was mostly clothes and hygiene items. Then he found a tan notebook. Cale recognized it; the pages were waterproof so a soldier could keep it on him all the time. They were sold in the Post Exchange. He flipped through the pages and found it was filled with mission notes: dates, times, road conditions, Intel, what we were transporting, and radio frequencies. Near the back, Cale discovered some writing that was personal. It was a letter to his wife. He wasn’t sure if he should read it, but quickly gave in.

  Jo,

  If you’re reading this, then I didn’t make it home. I don’t know how I died, but know that I was thinking of you when I did. I’ve been sitting here all day, staring at this piece of paper. Trying to figure out what to say. I told myself I wasn’t going to write one of these, but I saw Cale working on one the other day. I decided I’d rather be safe than sorry. I want you to know I love you so much. That day in Spanish class was the best day of my life. I wanted to ask you to marry me right then and there.

  Every day I wake up in this hell hole I regret fighting with you before I left. You know, the fight we had about having kids. I know I said I wanted to wait, but really I just didn’t want to leave you alone while you were pregnant. I wanted to be
there for you and with you. And again if you’re reading this, then I’ll never have the chance at being a dad. I shouldn’t have shouted at you like that. Just know I didn’t mean it, and nothing would have thrilled me more than to start a family with you. Those are little faces neither of us will get to see now. I’m so sorry honey.

  Somehow while I sit here all I can think of is how I should have listened to you more. We should have gotten married sooner; we should have started having kids sooner too. I imagine you sitting at my funeral surrounded by family but alone. I feel alone without you. Like I’m not even an entire person. Does that make sense? I don’t want to be corny like Tom Cruise in that movie, but you are my other half. The good half. You know me better than I know myself.

  I wish I’d have told you that I love you more often. I wish that I’d held you longer and kissed you deeper. I pray that you’ll never have to read this. I hope to God I make it home to see you, to spend my life with you. And to cherish every moment. I love you Jo, and I always will. I’ll be waiting for you in heaven.

  Love,

  Zach

  Cale wiped the tears out of his eyes. It was because of him that she would never get to see Zach again. If she was still alive, that is. He stashed Zach’s notebook and the box of ammo he’d found into his tan mission bag. He went back into the room where his attacker lay motionless. The smell of rotting flesh now hovered in the room. Cale reached down and yanked the knife out of its latest victim. Using the man’s own clothing, Cale found a clean spot, and wiped the weapon free of the black ooze. His dark blood had flooded the room. Cale avoided the putrid puddles. He returned to the bedroom and finished arranging everything. He knew his clothes still weren’t dry, so he went back to sleep. After all, he needed all the rest he could get, if he was going to continue his trek.