The Battle for San Francisco

by Dan McMartin

  “The...undead?” he repeated dubiously. Pete had come to the same conclusion, mostly based on the games he played, but hearing it from Mike made it all real.

  “Whatever they are. Zombies, the undead...walkers. Before the TV went black last night, I heard they suspected some people are immune. Quite a few actually. When I didn’t turn last night, I figured I was one of the lucky ones. I guess you are too,” Mike explained. He looked tired and Pete was sure Mike hadn’t slept as he waited to find out if he would become one of...those things.

  “Lucky? You call this lucky? My next door neighbor, Julie, I think, broke through my front window. I saw more...zombies like her eating the dead. I saw bodies everywhere. How do you figure we’re lucky?” Pete demanded, his emotions bubbling to the surface.

  “We’re not one of them,” Mike replied firmly and gestured off to the side. Pete turned and saw one of them pressed against the fence, gnashing its teeth.

  “Jesus!” he exclaimed and then noticed the fence was breached not twenty feet from where that...zombie was. Mike took note of his reaction and answered before Pete could ask.

  “I’ve been running around gathering supplies since early this morning. Those things aren’t too bright. It’ll figure out the fence is down and that it can get at us at some point, but they seem bent on taking the most direct path to their meals. I killed those two,” Mike said gesturing at the two dead bodies on the ground not far off, “waiting for you. They found their way in. I tried to right that section of fence but that just drew them towards it. Looks like those heard you arrive,” Mike said and pointed off in the opposite direction.

  Pete turned and saw three more of the grayish creatures with the cloudy eyes stumbling their way towards the worksite. The fence was still up in that direction and as Mike predicted, they walked into it, clawing at the chain link and snarling, almost in frustration. For some reason, seeing them like that helped Pete gain control of himself. They were loathsome and frightening things to be sure but he saw now that they could be avoided if he remained cautious and alert.

  “What’s the plan?” Pete asked, eager to find out how he and Mike might stay alive and where they might go. Maybe Mike knew of a safe place, a refuge, they could go to. Mike obviously knew more than Pete did.

  “I’ve got a cabin in the mountains over the state line. I’ve got supplies, ammo, food, water and more stored there,” Mike told him.

  “For what? You couldn’t have known this was going to happen,” Pete said. Mike chuckled.

  “I never talked much about it. I’m what you might call a prepper. Most people didn’t get it. They mocked me. Plus, I didn’t want the wrong people knowing about my stuff,” he explained.

  “So, you did expect this?” Pete wondered, confused as to how Mike could see this coming.

  “Not this necessarily. Let’s be honest, people like me always talked about the zombie apocalypse. It was a bit of fun, a mental exercise I guess. Honestly, what I was really preparing for was civil unrest or a natural disaster. Not this. This is a...was a fantasy,” he explained.

  Pete had heard of people like Mike. He’d seen the stickers on trucks, seen the websites and the YouTube Channels. It seemed a bit much considering the stable civilization they lived in. Zombies were made up, or at least they used to be. But people pretended they were real. Even Pete enjoyed playing video games with similar themes. He saw how it might give preppers like Mike an excuse to prepare while keeping it light-hearted.

  “Well, I have a couple of boxes of shotgun ammo, an old sleeping back and a bunch of ramen noodles and Chef Boyardee. I’m lucky I went shopping last weekend or I wouldn’t have that,” Pete said a bit sheepishly.

  “I always figured I wouldn’t be going it alone. I’ve got plenty and...well, my dad wasn’t so lucky,” Mike said. Pete didn’t ask what that meant. He didn’t have to.

  “I’m sorry,” he offered as the thought of Mike’s father being eaten alive popped into his head.

  “Heart attack or a stroke, I think. Must’ve been too much for him. I found him dead in his house. I buried him out in his garden this morning,” Mike explained and Pete breathed a sigh of relief for the man but suddenly, Pete remembered his own mom, the calls and messages he had ignored.

  “Hold on,” he said as he pulled his phone out of his pocket. Pete dialed his mom’s number and waited as her phone rang. She picked up, or so he thought. Then the phone crashed to the floor, at least that’s what it sounded like. He could hear growling and snarling. Mike could hear it too, shaking his head as Pete pulled the phone away from his ear and stared at it.

  “Sorry,” Mike said. Pete reluctantly hung up, not wanting to believe his mother was one of those things but he knew that she had turned. Mike confirmed it. “Either she turned or one of those things got to her and turned her,” Mike told him solemnly.

  “She lives alone. Always locks her doors,” Pete said, a feeling of numbness overtaking him. Mike shrugged as if to say she probably succumbed to whatever was turning people into these things. Pete let that wash over him but he suddenly had a thought that didn’t sit well with him. “If she turned then...then won’t I?” he wondered aloud.

  “I don’t know, Pete. Maybe it’s hereditary but I doubt it. You’re still here,” Mike assured him. Pete wanted to cry for his mother, to mourn her loss, but he couldn’t. Not then, not there. It would come out at some point, Pete thought, but there were more pressing concerns that held his emotions at bay. Maybe it was acceptance. Not only that his mom was gone but that many people were and many more would die before this was over.

  The world, it seemed, had changed overnight. Pete’s life, such as it was, would never be the same. He didn’t understand it, how this all came to be, what caused it and how he was...fortunate didn’t seem like the right word but fortunate would have to do...enough to have survived. So far anyway.

  “C’mon, I’ll show you what I’ve got and...,” was all Mike said before they heard the chain link rattle behind them. The men turned and saw the creature that had been trapped near the downed section of fence had managed to find its way inside. The zombies shambled about, slow and plodding, but just like the one at Pete’s apartment building, this one had some speed once it had a clear path to its prey. That prey was Pete and his friend.

  “Back off, Pete,” Mike said and pushed him aside. He produced a sawed-off shotgun from his jacket and pointed it at the creature. He fired a shot but most of the pellets missed. The zombie came, undeterred and with no caution. It was on top of Mike before he could get off another round, surprisingly fast and agile.

  Mike and his attacker tumbled to the ground. Only the shotgun that Mike had managed to grasp sideways and wedge between them kept the attacker at bay. Pete stood by, stunned and unsure of what to do. “Shoot it!” Mike shouted. “Shoot it in the head.”

  Pete was stirred from the state of shock he found himself in and ran to his Jeep. He pulled his own shotgun out and ran back towards Mike. The zombie clawed and gnashed its teeth as Mike struggled to keep it at bay. Pete ran up and steadied the barrel towards the menacing creature.

  “Closer!” Mike screamed. Pete saw what he meant. At that range, the blast might kill them both. He moved forward and all but pressed the barrel to the creature’s skull. “Do it!” Mike cried.

  Pete pulled the trigger and the zombie went limp, falling onto Mike. Its blood, bone and flesh painted the hard soil beyond. Mike sighed and began to laugh. Pete smiled down at him for a moment and then looked around. The other zombies still trapped against the fence were more active, excited by the ruckus, but hadn’t yet discovered the downed section of fence. Pete turned back to Mike just as his attacker came back to life.

  It happened so fast that Mike was still laughing about his close call when the thing took a chunk out of his shoulder. He screamed as blood poured from the fresh wound. Pete didn’t hesitate this time. He kicked the zombie off of his friend and sent it tumbling. He stepped over Mike, pumped the shotgun and put another r
ound into the thing’s head. There was no doubt this time as the zombie’s head exploded into pieces covering the ground. Mike groaned and Pete turned to see what he could do, ignoring the thing that had once been a living, breathing human being that he’d just killed.

  “Fuck! It bit me,” Mike said, frantic and panicked.

  “I’ve got a first aid kit. I’ll patch you up,” Pete told him. But Mike grabbed his pants leg as Pete turned to go. Pete looked down at the injured man. “What?” he asked confused.

  “Never let them bite you,” Mike said.

  “What?” Pete asked again.

  “If you don’t turn right away, you can still turn if they bite you...if they infect you. I saw it happen last night and again this morning. At the grocery store, a woman was lying in the snack isle. She told me she was bitten but managed to escape. She sought refuge in the store. She lost a lot of blood and died right there,” Mike told me.

  “And she turned?” Pete asked.

  “There was nothing I could do. She was dead. I grabbed what I came to get but when I went to leave, she was there...she was one of them,” Mike said and then looked away. “I...I killed her. She was talking to me ten minutes before and then she was a fucking zombie,” he finished.

  “Jesus, Mike. So...you’re going to turn?” Pete exclaimed.

  “No! You’re going to take my stuff and go. I’ll draw a map to my cabin. It’s yours along with all the stuff inside,” he said.

  “What about you?” Pete wondered not fully understanding yet.

  “You’re leaving and I’m staying here. I won’t become one of them. I won’t turn into a mindless cannibal. I sure as hell don’t want to hurt you, Pete. I’ll make sure I don’t,” Mike told Pete and glanced at his sawed-off shotgun. Mike’s solemn intention becoming clear.

  “No, Mike. I...,” was all Pete could think to say. He wanted to save his friend but couldn’t. Not if what Mike told him was true and he had no reason to doubt it based on what he had already witnessed that morning. “Let me patch you up. Maybe you won’t...,” Pete said frantically but Mike stopped him.

  “It’s okay, Pete. I love you, man. We’ve been building shit together for years. I don’t have a lot of friends but I always considered you one. I just wish I could have survived. I spent years getting ready for this and now look at me,” Mike said, the irony not lost on him. He even smiled wistfully.

  “Mike...no,” Pete muttered but then gathered himself...for his friend’s sake. “You’re my friend, Mike. I love you too,” he told his dying friend. Pete never really considered how he felt about Mike. They worked together. They went for beers sometimes and played softball on Friday nights. Now, at the end, Pete realized Mike was like a brother to him. They spent many long days together on the job. Hell, Pete spent more time with Mike than he had with his wife when they were married.

  “Take my truck if you want but get out of here before I...you know. I don’t want you to see me like that. I wouldn’t want to...hurt you,” Mike told him. Pete nodded solemnly.

  “I’m not leaving my beloved Jeep. I’ll grab some stuff and I’ll go,” Pete replied though he didn’t want to leave. Mike nodded and laid down. He already looked gaunt and sickly. Pete began transferring stuff from Mike’s truck to the back of his Jeep, keeping a wary eye on his friend and feeling guilty for doing so. The Jeep was a four door that he bought after his wife left him. Any extra money he had went into that Jeep, his pride and joy. While he was married, Gloria thought it was too impractical and wouldn’t agree to let him buy one. As soon as the divorce was final, however, Pete bought one all on his own.

  Mike told him what to take as Pete went through his friend’s gear. At Mike’s request, Pete brought him the map from the glove box along with the flask he had on the passenger seat of his truck. Mike imparted what wisdom he could as Pete worked. He told him the power, the internet, all of it would fail sooner or later. He urged him to stock up on gas, water and use the internet to learn what he could before it was gone. Pete showed him his granddad’s gun and Mike told him there was ammo in one of the boxes Pete had moved to the Jeep.

  “It’s a 1911. Takes .45 caliber. Nice gun. Looks like it’s an older one,” Mike explained.

  “Vietnam, I think,” Pete told him. Mike nodded and then took a swig of whatever was in the flask.

  “Pete, you need to go. I’m running on fumes here,” Mike said breathlessly. Pete nodded but wasn’t ready just yet. He knelt next to Mike and offered his hand. Mike reached out and shook it. It felt cold to Pete.

  “I’d hug you but...it’s kind of gay,” Pete said. Mike laughed but that started him coughing. He smiled anyway.

  “Good luck, Pete. I wish I was going with you. Stay alive. Don’t let them bite you. Always shoot them in the head...square in the head. Not like that one,” Mike said and then waved his hand. “It wasn’t your fault, man. I didn’t mean it that way,” he added.

  “I know. I’m sorry. I would have liked to play zombie apocalypse with you,” Pete replied with more than a pang of regret he’d probably have to deal with at some point.

  “Go. Please,” Mike said and took another drink from the flask. Pete stood up, gave him one last look and turned away for good. Pete climbed in his Jeep after he stopped to open the gate, not wanting to hurt his precious Jeep, and only form of transportation, driving through or over the gate. He didn’t close it behind him when he left. There was no reason. The faint report of a shotgun could be heard as he drove away but Pete refused to look back. He knew Mike was gone.

  Mike had saved his life and imparted what knowledge he could. Pete wouldn’t forget him and he resolved to never let that happen to anyone else if he could help it. Pete knew he couldn’t save the world but he could take care of himself and anyone else that...Anna. Suddenly, he remembered Anna, the girl from the bagel shop he probably wasn’t going to ask out if the world hadn’t gone to hell. Was she alive? Was she at the bagel shop? Even if she wasn’t, Pete was willing to bet they had records with her address.

  It was risky but Pete had to try. He had to admit she was smoking hot. He was attracted to her Asian features, her dusky skin and those bright almond eyes. But it was more. He saw her every day but he was too scared...or maybe it was just that he lacked the confidence to ask her out. She liked him too. Pete saw it in her eyes and her smile. If Anna was alive, he had to find her. He had to save her. Pete had lost Mike and he wasn’t going to lose Anna too.

  Chapter 3

  Pete pulled into the parking lot at the mini mall where the bagel shop was located. He had little faith that he’d find Anna alive after the horrors he’d seen along the way. More zombies moving about, more dead, ravaged bodies but no living people. In fact, he worried he might find Anna but already infected and turned into a zombie.

  Zombie! That term sounded strange but it was part of the vernacular. There were zombie movies, zombie television shows and even zombie video games. He should know, he had played some of them but it was all in fun. The undead were just a plot element. They could have been aliens, rovers or Nazis for all Pete cared.

  But suddenly, overnight, they were real. He wondered if these things roaming the streets were really zombies but then figured it didn’t really matter. If it shambled like a zombie and ate human flesh like a zombie, it was a zombie. It didn’t matter what they really were, or if there was even a name for them. He had to call them something and even though it sounded ridiculous, Pete was beginning to take the name and the creatures it was applied to much more seriously.

  It didn’t matter anymore so he parked in the handicapped spot right in front of the bagel shop so he could be close to his Jeep just in case. The shop was locked and everything inside looked to be in order. Pete’s heart sank. He hoped Anna was safe at home but knew that was wishful thinking at best. But he had to see for himself and considered shooting out the lock with his shotgun. That would make too much noise, however, and the zombies seemed to be attracted to noise.

  Instead, he used the but
t of his shotgun to break the lock. That made noise too but not as much as shattered glass or a blast from the shotgun would have. The lock gave way after a few blows allowing Pete to yank the door open. It appeared the locks on these stores were more of a deterrent than anything. Inside, he could smell bagels...or rather, burned, over cooked bagels. He continued behind the counter through the hinged countertop and found the oven leaking smoke from the burning bagels, more boiling in the large vat and more still waiting nearby, uncooked.

  Someone had been there. In fact, someone was still there. Suddenly, a muffled scream came from the back of the shop. Someone, a woman was shouting. Pete made his way from behind the counter to the back of the shop. The shouting became louder, more distinct. Then he saw it. One of those things was clawing mindlessly at the cooler door. It ignored Pete until he found the light switch and flipped it on. The back room was filled with light as the fluorescent lights flickered to life.

  The zombie turned. Pete recognized the thing. It was the owner of the bagel shop, his skin gray and his eyes cloudy. The zombie gnashed his teeth before charging Pete like a bull. He turned and ran, not yet able to act as quickly as he should. Pete returned to the front of the shop, opened the hinged counter and slammed it shut. A moment later, the former owner rammed his midsection into the counter. There it remained, biting the air and grasping desperately for Pete.