The Demented Z (Book 3): Contagion

by Derek J. Thomas

  Abby looked over the map. “Yeah, go left, we can circle around.”

  “Hang on back there.” Tom shouted through the narrow opening that lead to the covered rear bed.

  Eli and Hank had agreed to ride in the back, both to allow more room for Abby to track with the map and they could spend time gearing up. The back was loaded with supplies, allowing them to prepare backpacks and restock magazines. Eli banged twice on the shared wall, signaling they had heard and were good.

  Tom swung wide, taking the corner at a fairly good clip, not wanting to slow down too much. The engine grumbled as he kept on the accelerator throughout the turn. Directly in front of them towered a pile of wrecked cars.

  “Hang on!” Tom shouted.

  There wasn’t time to hit the brakes, so instead he stomped on the pedal, hoping to bust through. The large engine roared. There was a thunderous boom as the massive metal bumper slammed into a small pickup truck that lay on its side. The sharp screech of metal on metal filled the cab. The impact sent the small truck sliding hard to the left. The deuce and half jolted to the right, hitting the curb hard with the front tire. The entire truck rocked wildly.

  “I got it, I got it.” Tom said while pulling hard on the wheel, working to get the truck back on the road. The tire dropped off the curb, sending the truck swinging back to the left.

  Directly in front of them lay a mangled motorcycle flopped on its side. The cab swayed from the drop. Their front left tire hit the motorcycle. The momentum tipped the truck hard. It felt like slow motion. The entire truck hung at an awkward angle. Tom tried to feather it back with the steering wheel, but it was too late. With an angry boom and vicious screech the deuce and half slammed onto its side and skidded across the asphalt. The side window next to Abby exploded inward, sending shards of glass clattering inside the cab. Hot sparks shot off the pavement. After what seemed like minutes the truck rammed into a wrecked car. Eerie silence filled the cab.

  Tom grumbled as he tried to climb off of Abby. “You okay?” He grunted between breaths.

  Abby stirred beneath him, grabbing her forehead. “Yeah…I think so.”

  The pop of gunfire erupted from behind them. There were voices, but Tom couldn’t make out what they were saying. He looked out the front window, but his view was blocked by the car.

  There was a loud bang on the back of the cab. “You guys okay in there?” Hank asked. “We’ve got infected coming. There are—“ The rest of his sentence was drowned out by gunfire.

  Tom knew they needed to get out before they were surrounded. The crash would be heard for blocks. Using the steering wheel to help balance himself, he moved into a half standing position. He pulled his sidearm and pointed it at the front window. “Cover your ears.” He said. The shots were deafening in the enclosed space. Several holes punched through the glass with a spider web of cracks extending in all directions.

  Abby still lay in a heap at the bottom of the cab. “Hold up a sec.” She said while trying to get to a standing position.

  Tom reached down and helped her gain her footing. With several quick boot kicks the front window broke out in large pieces.

  The sound of gunfire and shouting continued from the rear of the truck. Both the voices and rate of fire were controlled and steady; good signs given the circumstances. Hank’s voice echoed forward, “We gotta move!”

  “Covering.” Eli shouted. Three rapid shots sounded and then he yelled, “Out…loading.”

  “I’m jammed.” Hank shouted back.

  Tom rushed out through the window and got his first peek at what they had gotten themselves into. Beyond the car that had stopped their slide were several demented rushing their way. All of them wore torn and soiled clothes that barely clung to their emaciated bodies. Despite the apparent lack of nutrition they sprinted with all the speed of trained athletes. It would only be a matter of thirty seconds before they were here. Tom raised his pistol and fired several rapid shots at the closest infected.

  Without turning to check on Abby, he raced around the truck. Hank was kneeling on the ground just in front of him. Less than a half block away, a massive horde of infected sprinting their way. They were the group that had been stirred from boredom as the deuce and a half blew past. A half-naked man leading the pack fell to the pavement as a shot from Eli ripped through one of his legs. The kid was back in action and firing rapidly at the group.

  “Half dozen in front.” Tom shouted as he raced in behind Eli.

  Hank yelled back, “Covering front.”

  Tom was relieved to hear Hank’s gun back in the fight. Reaching the rear of the truck, he was glad that the bulk of the items stored in the back were either strapped in or kept in storage containers. He only needed two things and they were easy to find. Holstering his pistol, he reached down and scooped up both his and Abby’s rifles. He desperately wanted to grab one or two backpacks, but knew it would be a mistake.

  “I’ll cover…get the others and go.” Eli shouted.

  Tom raced behind Eli and made for the front of the truck. “Move kid.”

  Abby was running his way. They nearly slammed into each other at the corner of the truck. Tom quickly handed her a rifle and continued on. At the front of the truck Hank was down on one knee firing at the oncoming infected. His shots were slow and measured, each round finding its target. Tom ran up beside him and began firing as well. His first shots were erratic; panic and adrenaline taking over.

  “I got this.” Hank said between shots.

  Eli came running up behind them. “Go!” He shouted.

  Tom glanced back to see demented just steps from the rear of the truck. He slapped Hank on the shoulder. “Go…Now!”

  Eli raced past and Tom followed directly behind him. Abby and Hank were just steps back. Eli had his rifle raised to his shoulder and began firing shots. Hot fire spit from the muzzle brake with each round. His shots were amazingly true even with the bounce of movement. One after another the demented fell to his withering fire.

  Hank was falling behind. Whether it was the sickness or age he was having a difficult time keeping pace. Tom slowed a bit, allowing him to catch up.

  “I’m okay.” Hank wheezed between labored breaths.

  “Are not.” Tom said while glancing back. He was terrified to see how close several demented were. “Covering.” He shouted to Abby and Eli just ahead. Skidding to a stop, he turned and pulled his rifle up. With rapid trigger pulls he dropped several of the nearest demented. They were so close he couldn’t miss; the bodies toppling to the pavement at his feet. As fast as he shot them, two more took their place. Deciding he had bought Hank enough time, he fired off a couple last shots, stood, and raced after the others.

  A half block ahead, Hank trailed Abby and Eli by a dozen paces. Beyond them were countless infected rushing from between buildings. Both Eli and Abby slowed to a stop and began firing into the swarming bodies, but there were far too many.

  “This way.” Hank shouted while pointing and turning toward a narrow side street.

  Abby and Eli lowered their rifles and raced back toward Hank. Eli looked toward Tom just before entering the alley. Tom gave a quick “keep going” motion with his hand. They disappeared from view as he neared the entrance. Before following them, he fired off several rapid shots, hoping to at least slow the closest of them. Without looking to see if any rounds made contact, he sprinted after the others.

  The alley was surprisingly narrow, barely wide enough to fit a single car. Garbage littered the ground. Tom saw the others just ahead and he raced after them with everything he had, the angry slap of feet spurring him on. It felt like the entire city was coming down on them.

  If any of them had a view from above the surrounding buildings they would have been terrified. Side streets all around had movement, demented sprinting erratically dotted with slow moving undead. Buildings and narrow streets kept them hidden from view as they had drove in, but now they were drawn to the chaos, eager to feast on flesh. From high in the sky it
looked like a stirred up ant hill, the chaos trickling outward from a central point. The noise of one spread to others and continued to jump from street to street.

  “Left, go left.” Abby shouted.

  Tom was just catching up to Hank as they all made a sharp left, cutting hard down a path sandwiched between a pair of three story brick buildings. The width between buildings was barely wider than a person, forcing them into single file.

  A sense of claustrophobia nearly overwhelmed Tom. He was not one to normally be bothered by tight spaces, but being confined and unable to escape weighed heavily on his chest. He could picture demented ripping at each other to get into the passageway behind them. Eli added to the panic by slowing ahead of them, causing everyone to group tightly together.

  His rifle thundered. Tom was unable to see what he was firing at. He didn’t have to see them to know that infected were pouring in from both in front and behind them. They kept moving forward even as Eli continued to fire. It was driving Tom crazy that he couldn’t see what was going on and even worse, he couldn’t lend any kind of assistance.

  After moving forward another fifteen yards, Eli came to a sudden stop. His rifle continued to fire. “Too many.” Tom could hear him shout.

  “Get down.” Abby shouted. After a brief hesitation her rifle joined the fray.

  Tom spun around with his rifle out and ready. His worst fears were realized when he saw the massive line of demented that followed them into the passageway. The nearest one was a giant man. His massive chest and biceps stretched his black t-shirt to the point that speckles of flesh were visible through the thin threads. His face was splattered with dark blood, the final remnants of long gone victims.

  “Fall back.” Eli shouted.

  It took several shots for Tom to drop Black T-shirt and no sooner than he hit the ground he was replaced by a teenage boy in long boarder shorts. “Pinned in…dozens.” Tom shouted between shots.

  Abby kicked at a wooden door that sat back inside one of the brick walls. After a couple kicks she yelled, “This way…get in.”

  Nobody argued, all of them rushing through the dark opening, throwing caution to the wind. The current passageway was surely a death trap…anything had to be better.

  Flashlights clicked on simultaneously, illuminating a small room in flickering swathes of light. A table sat in the center of a room lined with counter tops and cupboards. A white microwave and small refrigerator marked it as a break room. They were in an older, industrial part of the city and many of the buildings were likely factories and warehouses.

  Tom slammed the door closed behind them, but the entire locking mechanism was destroyed by Abby’s dramatic entrance. He ripped the small fridge off the counter, letting it topple to the floor at the base of the door. That’ll have to do.

  Eli headed for a closed door near the corner of the room. The white paint was peeled and cracked from age. He gave a hard tug on the door handle, working to break the friction caused by a crooked door that rubbed in the jam. It finally popped open with a screech. Before the door was all the way open an infected spilled out reaching for Eli. Caught off guard, Eli’s reaction was too slow; unable to bring his rifle to bear the woman grabbed his shoulders and lunged at his neck. Eli had a forearm between himself and the woman. He pushed forward, desperately trying to hold her off. The kid’s small frame was unable to hold her back.

  Behind Tom the door banged as demented pounded into it. The refrigerator rapidly began to slide across the ragged linoleum floor. He blindly began firing into the center of the door. The rifle punched vicious holes through the door.

  Abby jammed the end of her rifle barrel into the woman’s temple and pulled the trigger. There was a deafening boom as blood and gore exploded from the woman’s head, splattering the cupboards. The woman’s grasp remained on Eli’s clothing, pulling him down as she crashed to the floor.

  Hank shouted, “Go, I’ll cover.”

  Abby pulled Eli back to his feet.

  Tom’s rifle ran dry. “Keep moving.” He yelled while turning for the door that Abby and Eli were just disappearing through. With practiced swiftness, Tom hit his mag release, dropping the empty magazine to the floor. He ran past Hank while slapping a fresh mag into the well and charging the rifle. “Leave the door.”

  Hank didn’t argue, instead rushing through the door behind Tom. It wouldn’t slow the demented much, but he pulled the door closed anyway, giving it a hard tug, hoping that the jam’s tightness would help hold it. The narrow hallway beyond was lined with doors on each side and a grimy window at the far end. Outside, dark figures rushed past the window, creating long shadows that danced across the floor with each passing.

  They flew past all of the closed doors, bunching together at the end of the hall. Now they stood next to the window, looking up at a set of stairs.

  “Not up, we’ll get trapped.” Tom said. As soon as the words were out he turned for the nearest door. There was no way to know what lay on the other side, so he just went for it, giving the handle a turn.

  Angry growls filled the break room behind them. There was a loud thud at the door and then the handle began rattling.

  Tom pulled the door open and found himself staring at row after row of shelving stacked with cleaning equipment. He cursed and turned for the next door. Behind him, Abby and Hank began checking doors. Eli moved between them, rifle raised , pointing it at the break room door.

  “This way.” Abby shouted.

  The break room door popped open with a groan of wood on wood. Eli’s rifle barked before any demented reared their ugly faces. The shots ripped through the thin wood paneling, sending splinters flying into the air. He continued the relentless barrage.

  “Go, go!” Eli shouted.

  Abby led the way into the darkness beyond the open door. Flashlights knifed through the gloom, hitting on row after row of long tables. Fabric and sewing machines dotted the tables. It looked as if all the employees stood and walked out in the middle of their work day. Probably exactly what happened.

  Shattering glass echoed in from the hallway. Next came a sound they had not heard for quite some time – huffing. Infected frequently used it to communicate that prey was in sight. For reasons none of them knew, most of the infected had quit using it. Whichever ones had broken out the window were now using it and Tom knew this would not be good.

  Eli fired off several shots and then ducked into the sewing room. As soon as he was in, Hank closed the door and clicked the lock into place. All of them turned toward Eli, wondering what he had seen.

  “Keep moving…pouring in the window…break room too.” He said while shining his flashlight all around the room. He dropped the magazine from his rifle and slammed in a fresh one. “I’m running out of ammo.”

  Much of their ammo had been left in the deuce and a half when it crashed. Hank and Eli had prepped backpacks with a bit of food and lots of ammo, but that was all gone now. They only had what they carried in vest pouches and side pockets. Abby pulled a pair of full mags from pockets on her thighs and handed them to Eli.

  “Thanks.”

  Tom was quickly moving between a pair of tables. He scanned the walls for options.

  There was a thunderous boom as demented pounded into the door. They continued to hammer into the door and jiggle the knob. The lock would hold for a bit, but not long.

  Between a pair of orange lockers Tom found a dark hallway that extended to a heavy metal door. Through the tiny window he could see a section of sign from the building across the street. He didn’t know what the red ‘E’ and ‘R’ belonged to, but it was their best shot. “This way.” He shouted to the others.

  Partway down the hall there was loud banging from inside one of the side doors. A brass tag on the center of the door marked it as the supervisor’s office.

  “I don’t need supervision.” Hank said.

  “Yes you do.” Tom said while continuing toward the front door.

  The faint sound of splintering wood alerted
them that the sewing room door was nearing its end.

  Tom peered through the small, square window, like a tourist staring out of the porthole of a submarine at a theme park. One the other side stretched a wide street dotted with undead. Their slow shuffle moved them ever onward in the same direction. They often tried to catch their faster brethren and the huffing from earlier likely marked their destination.

  A loud bang followed by angry growls let them know that demented were in the sewing room and would soon be in the hall with them if they didn’t get out of here. Better than nothing, Tom thought to himself as he turned the knob and pulled the door open.

  Abby feared going back out into the streets. She knew demented and undead would be all around them. Inside the building at least gave a small amount of comfort, knowing attackers could only come from a limited number of directions. With little ammo we would surely be overwhelmed. She and Eli had been through countless encounters since they escaped Portland together, but this was different. It was like Portland all over again…in the wrong direction; rather than escape, they were going in.

  Without hesitation, Tom rushed outside onto the sidewalk. A couple of the nearest undead heard the door and footsteps. A mangled and bloodied woman turned awkwardly toward them. Her neck and shoulders were a shredded mess of blood and bone. One leg was missing large chunks of flesh, revealing the white bone beneath. Favoring her good leg, she began limping toward Tom.

  “Leave them…no shots.” Tom said to the others while beginning to run along the sidewalk in the direction of the supposed Echo One research facility.

  Eli slammed the large metal door closed. He was just beginning to trail the others when demented began pounding into the door. The flat steel reverberated, sending hollow thuds echoing up and down the street. Several huffs from all around answered the noise.

  “Just keep moving.” Tom said.

  Hank felt like he had finished a marathon. Whether it was his age or the sickness, his boots were surely made of lead, dragging him down. His lungs were on fire, barely able to draw enough air; he knew it wouldn’t be long before he collapsed out of exhaustion.