Blood on the Sand (Z Plan)

by Lerma, Mikhail

  Once at the bottom, he could hear a rustling noise emanating from somewhere above.

  “Shit. I guess I won’t be getting off the hook,” he whispered to himself.

  At the top of the stairs he faced a large window that overlooked the street. He had drawn a crowd and it was filled. No doubt it was his scent that enabled them to track him so well. To his right was a single door. To his left was a walkway with a banister overlooking the stairs. Three doors lined the narrow walkway. Cale first went to the door on the right. The rustling was coming from this room. He slowly opened the door, to be welcomed by the sight of a man eating his dismembered son. The room was littered with the body parts of the victim. Without warning, Cale jumped onto the man, stabbing him numerous times in the side of the head. Quick and efficient is what he was going for. The man became still and lay on the floor next to what was left of his meal. For safety reasons, Cale pierced the man’s prey in the head through the eye socket. The room was covered in blood. From the stained walls to the pool that occupied the floor.

  He by no means wanted to pay this room a visit again. The door across from the first was a bathroom. It was clean, dusty, but clean. No sign of any kind of struggle in there. The green floor rug matched the walls, and there was a long counter with a large mirror over it. Opposite the counter, were the toilet and a bathtub, but no shower.

  Exiting the bathroom, and back into the hallway, Cale tried the next door. It was firmly locked. He rattled the knob, wondering if it could be broken. Thinking about it for a while, he preferred to clear the last room before making too much noise. If there was anyone left he didn’t want to alert them. The next room was a small bedroom. The window was open and the curtains blew in the breeze of the midnight air. A mattress occupied the floor, and a dresser sat along the opposite wall. It was a really small bedroom.

  Cale spent the next few minutes securing and cleaning the home. He poured water onto the puddle of blood in the kitchen, retrieved a towel and mopped it up. He began barricading the doors and windows downstairs, ensuring that he wouldn’t be caught off guard. Exhausted from his frantic night, Cale laid on the old mattress on the floor.

  He still needed to check that last door

  “It’s probably a closet or something,” he convinced himself.

  He placed his personal items on the dresser and took off his boots, putting them next to the mattress. As he lay there trying to fall asleep, he noticed the spot on the ceiling. It was dark brown, dirty water perhaps, or maybe even blood. The curtains danced slightly in the breeze from the open window. The moans of the undead could be easily heard. Slowly, Cale nodded off to sleep.

  Part III

  No Going Back

  "Should the whole frame of nature round him break,

  In ruin and confusion hurled,

  He, unconcerned, would hear the mighty crack,

  And stand secure amidst a falling world."

  - Joseph Addison

  The World Insane

  Cale awoke the next morning to the dark spot on the ceiling, and the disgusting odor blowing through the window. He stood at the dresser reflecting on past events. How he had gotten Travis, Zach, and Cacy killed. How he had underestimated the tracking abilities of the infected. There was no one left to blame now. He picked up the knife. He looked at it for a moment. He remembered how excited Zach was when he first showed him it. Shaking his head, he fastened it to his belt once again. He had enough time to eat. They’d be coming back soon, but because of the heavy doors and high windows, he wasn‘t concerned about infected getting in. One thing was for sure, the undead lacked the intelligence to do numerous tasks, climbing being one of them. Their stench wafted in through the window and before he went barreling out the door, Cale needed to know which way to go. Last night in the dark he’d become disoriented, losing his bearings. He looked out the window for any street signs. The mob had dwindled considerably. He could make out a sign--- ‘Ahad Ha’Am’.

  He searched the map for the street. After ten minutes of looking, he found that he had run south a considerable distance. According to the map, he’d need to pass by numerous hotels, a garden, and a large parking structure. If this weren’t the apocalypse, the walk would probably only take about a half hour. But he estimated with hiding and possibly taking alternate routes, it would take at least an hour.

  “Thankfully, I got some sleep last night.”

  Wanting to deal with his hunger pains first, Cale went back downstairs. His things were packed and ready to go. In the kitchen he began opening cupboards, looking for food. His stomach growled angrily. The kitchen appeared to have already been raided for supplies. All that remained was a homemade loaf of bread wrapped in waxed paper and a brown paper bag. In the refrigerator he found nothing, not that it mattered; the power had shut off in the night and hadn’t come back on. Cale tore into the bread ravenously. It was hard and stale, but beggars couldn’t be choosers, and he forced himself to eat a few more bites. His side ached. When he lifted his shirt to view his wound, it had started bleeding again. There was nothing he could do about it now. He folded his shirt back down.

  Cale washed his hands and returned upstairs. He grabbed his rifle and slung it over his shoulder. He was getting ready to leave the room when he heard a thump overhead. It was followed by the sound of footsteps. A series of creaks and thumping noises moved down the wall. Someone was coming down the stairs. Immediately he thought of the locked door.

  Firearm ready, Cale moved into the hall and watched the door. The knob rattled and turned. Someone or something was trying to get out. The dimly lit hallway seemed to get darker. Outside, clouds had covered the sun.

  “Great, just when I needed light,” Cale thought to himself.

  He moved toward the door, ready for it to fly open at any moment. The loud rattling of the handle muted Cale’s footsteps. Abruptly, it ceased. He could hear someone ascend the stairs back to the third floor.

  It was time to see what was up there.

  Forgotten

  In the darkness of the loft, sat two figures huddled in a corner. The windows had been sloppily boarded up, and let slivers of light through. The loft was more like an attic, and held a full-length mirror, a chair, and a number of boxes lying about. Everything was covered in dust. It had been a long while since the two had been shoved onto the narrow steps, the door closed, and then locked. Their grim faces were bony and pale.

  Last night they’d heard movement below, someone was here. This morning they heard the footsteps move downstairs. Maybe whoever it was had left.

  These rigid figures had one thing and one thing only on their minds…food. They hadn’t eaten in two days. They were in constant agony, hoping for a meal. The largest moved across the room and down the stairs. Vigorously, he shook the handle, hoping to fling the door open. After a while, he became frustrated, and clumsily returned up the stairs to the dark loft. Back in his corner, he sat with his companion, and they huddled together in the failing light. Suddenly the sound of splintering wood filled the room. The door at the bottom of the steps had been kicked in. They waited in their hiding place, and a wave of excitement rushed over the two odd characters. Someone was coming up the stairs.

  Don’t Shoot

  After waiting for the assailant to move away from the door, Cale kicked the door in. Cautiously, he moved up the flight of stairs and into the darkness.

  “Steady, stay focused. Why can’t these fuckers ever be in a well-lit room?” Cale asked himself aloud.

  He was almost at the top of the stairs now. Cale could see the dust particles cross the beams of light. The thick dust forced him to remember what he’d learned about the dust in Iraq. Ten percent fecal matter; dried up feces floating in the air.

  “Yuck,” he thought to himself.

  With his weapon ready, he placed his foot on the final step. The room’s poor illumination had him on edge. The loft was home to a few boxes, a chair, and a mirror.

  Cale had seen this in many scary movies before.r />
  An expendable character to the plot enters a dark room. Sees the monster in the mirror and shoots the mirror. Only to get killed looking the wrong way.

  “Not falling for that shit,” he thought to himself.

  He shot at the mirror and glass crashed to the floor. Out of the corner of his eye he saw something shift. The shot had startled someone. Cale reeled around, weapon ready. In the dark of the loft, he could see two figures limply stand up. Their arms held out, they moved towards Cale. His finger tightened around the trigger. Outside, as if by some miracle, the sun pierced through the clouds, filling the dusty space with light, and through the dust, Cale could see his attackers’ faces. Both of their eyes were a deep brown, skin slightly pale, but still pink. Their dark oily hair shined in the scarce light. They didn’t look infected.

  “STOP! PLEASE DON’T SHOOT US!” the taller one said.

  The smaller one cowered behind him.

  Brothers

  “Stop,” he said once more.

  The shorter one also raised his hands over his head, tears in his eyes. Cale, stunned at what he’d found, lowered his weapon and fell to his knees. He’d almost executed two living, breathing boys. The oldest had to have been fourteen years old. The youngest was maybe eight.

  “I’m sorry,” Cale said, placing his rifle on the floor. “I didn’t mean to scare you. I won’t hurt you.”

  The pair slowly lowered their hands, evaluating the American. The flag on his uniform was a dead giveaway to his nationality.

  “Are you here to rescue us?” asked the eight year old.

  “No,” Cale started, “I mean, not originally.”

  “Then why are you here?” inquired the older one.

  “I was lost last night. I needed to hide.”

  Cale couldn’t even fathom the chances of him finding the only home in the city with survivors in it. This was either a hallucination or a miracle.

  “Our father, he was bitten by one of those things. Our brother told us to hide upstairs.”

  Cale looked down at the stairs leading to the second floor.

  “Yeah. They’re both--- They’re both--- “

  “Dead?” the older one asked.

  “Yeah---Um, yes.”

  He wasn’t sure how to explain this. How do you tell children that their parent is dead, and that he got back up and tore your brother to shreds? The younger boy had tears in his eyes, and Cale immediately felt guilty for waving a loaded weapon at them, and startling them. He still couldn’t believe it. How had these two survived?

  “My name is Cale,” he pointed at himself, “it’s okay.”

  “I’m hungry,” said the little one, as he tugged on his brother’s arm.

  “I have food downstairs.” Cale said.

  Once on the ground floor the boys ran for the kitchen. The empty cabinets were a surprise to them.

  “Did you take all our food?” asked the little one.

  “ADAM!” the older one exclaimed, “I’m sorry. We’re just really hungry.”

  “Not a problem,” Cale said as he opened his bag. “No, the cabinets were empty when I got here.”

  Cale emptied the contents of the bag onto the table. The boys eyed the pile, but looked to Cale for approval. He gave a nod and a smile. The youngest was the first to attack. Quickly opening anything he could, Adam stuffed his mouth full of food. Their lips were chapped, and they both appeared very dehydrated. Cale sat the gallon of water in front of them. The two took turns gulping it down. The older one followed his brother’s lead but kept a watchful eye on Cale.

  “How long have you been up there?” Cale asked.

  “Two, maybe three days. We don’t exactly know,” he replied.

  “What is your name?” Cale asked him.

  “Mattityahu. But my cousins from America call me Matthew.”

  “Oh okay.”

  Matthew went back to eating, occasionally looking back at Cale. He didn’t want to bother them any further, but he had a few more questions

  “How old are you guys?”

  “I’m seven and a half,” Adam quickly answered.

  “ADAM!” Matthew nudged him.

  “WHAT?”

  Matthew only gave him a look. Adam didn’t seem to care; he just kept right on eating.

  “I’m fourteen.”

  “Practically grown up,” Cale said.

  Matthew only rolled his eyes. Cale was doing his best at being friendly. He didn’t want Matthew to think he didn’t take him seriously. Maybe he just needed to try another approach.

  “So you guys have family in the U.S.?”

  “Our uncle lives there. He lives in Kansas,” Adam answered.

  “We’ve visited a few times during the summer,” Matthew added.

  “Ah,” Cale said with a nod. “Where is the rest of your family?”

  “Just the one uncle. Mommy died when I was a baby.”

  Matthew nudged his brother and gave him another look.

  “It was our dad and brother living here with us. Our uncle moved to the U.S. before I was even born.”

  “You ask a lot of questions,” stated Adam.

  Cale laughed. “Yeah. I do that sometimes.”

  He watched as the brothers finished eating. Adam let out a loud burp, signaling that he was full. Cale was still amazed at the luck of finding survivors, let alone children. The two looked dirty and smelled bad. Not as bad as the undead, but they were definitely ripe. He was horrified at the thought of them being locked in that room to starve to death. It didn’t matter now. He’d found them. And he couldn’t just leave them here now.

  “So this uncle, where in Kansas does he live?”

  “Oberlin,” Matthew said in between bites.

  Cale was familiar with this town. Not first hand, but by name. He lived just north of it, across the Nebraska border.

  “When did you speak with him last?”

  “Our father called a few weeks ago,” Matthew explained.

  Cale assumed that it was probably around the time the news reported the new epidemic in Africa. He was trying to cut to the real question, but understood from their stand point, being asked to go to the other side of the world by a complete stranger was questionable.

  “I don’t know how else to say this, but with none of your relatives to care for you, you’ll have to come with me,” Cale finally said bluntly.

  Matthew and Adam gave him a blank stare.

  “I’m already headed in that direction, and Oberlin isn’t that far from where I’m going. Maybe we could find your uncle?”

  “Why don’t you just stay here with us?” Adam asked, not knowing what was outside the door.

  Cale sat for a moment. He was frustrated but didn’t want to take it out on them. They were, after all, just kids, kids who had been locked in a room for the past couple of days.

  “Um--- well, I have family I’m trying to get back to. And this city, it belongs to the dead now.”

  “What does that mean?” Matthew exclaimed.

  They probably weren’t fully aware that these people were dead already, and coming back to eat the living. How was he going to explain it? Who was he to tell them they had to leave their home?

  “I mean that the infection is here. The thing that started in Africa. It’s here.”

  “Papa talked about that!” Adam said excitedly. “He talked about it before he got sick.”

  “Our father was attacked by someone last week,” Matthew explained. “He was sick for a few days.”

  “Is that who locked you upstairs?”

  “No. Our brother did, after father attacked him. There was something wrong with him.”

  Matthew’s eyes began to tear up. He relived the moment his older brother, Gidon, pushed them onto the stairs. Dad was in his bedroom screaming. It was like he was a wild animal.

  “GO! STAY UP THERE AND DON’T COME DOWN FOR ANYTHING! NO MATTER WHAT YOU HEAR! DO YOU UNDERSTAND?” his brother had said before using the key to lock them in.


  Matthew cradled Adam and covered his ears as they both cried. He could hear their father snarling and howling. In between his throaty calls their brother still shouted to them,

  “MATTHEW! DON’T COME DOWN. DON’T LEAVE THAT ROOM!”

  The shouts continued for a few minutes, and then there was a loud bang. The bedroom door had been slammed open, hitting the wall behind it. That was followed by soft grunts and wet smacking. Occasionally the door at the bottom of the steps would rattle, but then stop suddenly. Only once did Matthew try to make contact, but it was greeted by his father’s angry growls.

  “I don’t want to talk about that anymore,” Matthew said, wiping his eyes.

  Cale understood and didn’t press any further. “I can’t leave you here. I have a boat; it’s out on the water now. I’m going to the United States.”

  The brothers shared looks. They were still reluctant. Cale was after all, still a stranger. The oldest understood that there weren’t many options. They couldn’t take care of themselves. Not with the rolling blackouts causing the power to shut down. The two of them were completely oblivious to the events taking place outside their door.

  “Look, the infection is here. None of us are sick, but everyone outside is though,” Cale said, as he moved to a window.

  He slightly opened the curtain so Matthew could see outside. Matthew looked out onto the afternoon street. There were people going about their days, walking back and forth. Upon closer observation he realized there was something terribly wrong. These people didn’t look just sick, they looked dead. Like walking corpses. Adam moved up to see too, but Matthew put his hand up and moved him back.