Plague Z: Outbreak [A Zombie Apocalypse Novel]

by Max Danzig

  Blood gushed from the open wound as Jason’s hands flew to his ruined face. He slipped in his own blood and fell on his back screaming in agony and trying to hold what was left of his face together.

  The Eddie corpse turned to Mike, who had been holding him on his right side. Eddie fell against Mike and sunk his teeth deep in the man's neck. Mike uttered a gagging scream as his blood geysered against the wood paneled wall and continued to spurt out in thick streams as the man and corpse struggled.

  Jim grabbed the Eddie creature by the collar of his shirt and a shoulder and forcefully pulled him off the wounded man. Eyes wide with shock and mouthing words with no sound, Mike sank to a sitting position on the floor. He clasped his hands over the bloody gaping wound, but it was impossible to stop the crimson blood jetting from his neck. Mike slumped over and died as Jim wrestled with the Eddie corpse. Jim spun the deranged creature away from Mike, tossing him in a heap on the floor in the middle of the room. The paralysis of the other survivors broke as they scattered shouting and screaming in complete mayhem.

  The Eddie corpse stood and staggered over to the young woman Erica Desantis. She was crying and cowering in a corner of the room, frozen with fear and terror, unable to move. All she could do was utter, “No, please don’t. No.”

  Eddie fell on her and tore into her meaty upper arm. She became more animated, filling the room with a piercing scream and beating on the Eddie corpse creature’s head with her other fist. Nobody came to her aid as she screamed and squirmed under the weight of Eddie’s attack as he continued to feed.

  Everybody else in the room rushed for the front and back doors looking to escape. A crowd of survivors flung open the double front doors and were met with a horde of zombies crowding in. More were on the way, attracted by the noise and the coppery smell of blood. People were fighting and pushing, yelling and shouting mixed with a growing wave of nightmarish groans and blood curdling screams.

  Some of the survivors tried to close the front doors, but others stampeding from the main hall didn’t know what was going on. They tried to push their way out, and in confusion the doors fell open, and a growing throng of walking dead rushed in, and hell ensued.

  Chapter 24

  As soon as they entered Interstate 93 north, Steve, Peter and Rachel found themselves wracked with fear and doubt. Leaving the shelter seemed like the only option at the time, but now the uncertainty of what lay ahead took over.

  Doubt bordering on panic ate at Peter as he fought to maintain his focus and keep the SUV moving north. They didn't know where they were going. Finding a safe and secure shelter had seemed easy at first. Now they were outside and could see the devastated landscape for themselves; it seemed like an impossible task.

  The whole world was theirs for the taking but they couldn't find any of it they wanted. Rachel sat bolt upright in the seat next to Peter, staring out of the windows in disbelief. She looked from side to side, unable to sit back and relax. Until she saw it for herself, it seemed only Derry had been affected by the outbreak. It was now evident that the entire landscape had been ravaged by the outbreak. Countless buildings, and sometimes entire blocks, had burned to the ground by unchecked fires which still smoldered.

  Almost every car that was moving when the disaster struck had wrecked. All that remained were clusters of bent, burnt vehicles that had crashed into guardrails, trees, and buildings. Rachel felt lucky she had been indoors and safe when the nightmare begun. She wondered how many people that died in a crash or some other accident, might have survived if fate had not dealt them such a cruel hand. How many people who shared her immunity to this virus or whatever it was, died because of bad timing?

  As they drove, something caught her eye in a field at the side of the road. At the end of a long, deep furrow of freshly turned earth on a hillside was the wreckage of a light aircraft strewn over the uneven ground. All around the wreck lay twisted chunks of metal mixed with the remains of the passengers the plane had carried. She wondered what might have happened to those people if they had survived their flight. It was pointless to think about, but it seemed to help just to keep her mind occupied.

  It was surprising to the three survivors how fast they got used to the death and destruction around them. Even though the sight of thousands of dead bodies and hundreds of accidents were commonplace, they still saw horrific scenes that shook them to their core.

  As much as he wanted to look away, Steve found himself transfixed with a morbid and sickening curiosity as they passed a school bus. The big vehicle had crashed into the side of a cement block commercial building. Steve stared in disbelief at the bodies of two dozen elementary school children moving around inside the yellow vehicle. Many of them were still sitting while several others moved around in the aisle. Their withered arms flailed around, their faces empty and pallid. The sight of the children made him remember his sisters.

  The realization he would never see them again was so painful. It was hard enough coming to terms with his loss while in the community center, but the further away they drove, the deeper his sadness grew. His sister and mother had been dead for almost a week but he still felt responsible for them. He remembered how he left them lying in the bathroom together. He felt like he somehow failed them.

  They made it past the Manchester city area and got through the Hooksett tolls without a problem. They slowed, but didn't stop as they passed an Interstate truck stop and visitor’s center with a dozen gas pumps, several stores, eateries and a liquor store. Two miles further up the highway was the squat brick building of a State Trooper’s barracks.

  “Hey, that Trooper’s barracks is a good place to take shelter.” Steve said as they passed it.

  “How so?” Peter asked.

  “Think about it. It’s made of brick and it’s solid. The windows are higher off the ground and not too big. I’m sure there are security doors, not to mention there’d be plenty of guns and ammunition….”

  “So?” Peter said, cutting Steve off. “Guns and ammunition aren’t enough.”

  “Besides guns, as I was about to say before you interrupted, not only is the building easily defensible, there’s a fenced in area with several cars in it. Best of all it’s only a couple of miles from the truck stop and stores. We can get all the gas we’ll ever need and there’d be plenty of food and other supplies we can use.” Steve said.

  “That’s a good idea.” Rachel began.

  “No. It’s not a good idea.” Peter said. “Think about it. It’s too close to major populated areas and it could be overrun by thousands of those walking corpses. And what would happen if they started acting like the one that attacked Eddie? It’s just not safe enough. We’ll keep going and find someplace safer.”

  That conversation was at an end and it remained sparse and forced for a long while afterward. They changed over to Interstate 89 and got off the highway around Grantham and were now on rural country back roads. The silence was getting to Rachel. She looked at Peter who was trying to concentrate on his driving. He weaved along roads sometimes littered with bodies and crashed vehicles. The quiet in the truck gave her way too much time to think. Steve seemed preoccupied, but she needed to talk someone.

  “Do either of you have any idea where we're going?” she asked.

  Neither of the men replied at first. All three of them had been thinking about that question but there were too many distracting thoughts making it impossible for anyone to decide anything.

  “Other than the State Trooper barracks, I haven't come up with anything else,” Steve admitted, “I'll keep trying but...” His words trailed away into silence.

  Peter glanced into the rear view mirror and watched the other man's tired eyes as they darted anxiously around. He looked like a frightened boy.

  “Well we've got to decide something soon,” Rachel said. “We need some kind of plan, don't we?”

  “We have one,” Peter replied shrugging his shoulders. “Keep driving until we find somewhere safe and then stop.”


  “But what does safe mean?” she asked. “Is anywhere safe?”

  “I don't know,” he sighed. “You could argue we'd be safe anywhere. It’s only the moving bodies we have to watch out for, and they pay no attention to us.”

  “But what about diseases?” she continued. “They’re starting to decay.”

  “I know they are.”

  “So what are we going to do?”

  He shrugged his shoulders again. “There's not a lot we can do. We can't see the germs so we'll just have to take our chances.”

  “So what you're saying is we could stop anywhere?”

  He thought for a second. “Yes.”

  “So why haven't we? Why do we just keep driving and...”

  “Because...” he snapped.

  “Because we're scared,” she interrupted. “Because nowhere is safe. We can go anywhere, pick and choose what we want, but that doesn't matter. The truth is I'm too fucking scared to get out of this fucking truck and so are the both of you.”

  Peter and Steve only nodded in silent agreement, and the conversation ended again.

  Chapter 25

  The long afternoon was drawing to a close. Steve knew it was going to be dark soon. Peter had handed the driving duties over to Steve, and then curled up on the empty seat in the back of the truck, to get a little sleep.

  He told Steve they'd be able to find something in another hour or so. After driving another two hours there was still nothing ahead but endless roads dotted with houses too close to the road, crashed cars, and the occasional walking corpse.

  It was a cool but bright afternoon. The brilliance of the sun belied the low temperature. It shone down from a sinking position in a blue sky dotted with bulbous grey and white clouds. The road glistened from the moisture of a rain shower they had passed through a few minutes earlier.

  Rachel still sat in the front passenger seat, still scanning the world around them, hoping she would find them somewhere safe to stop and shelter.

  “You all right?” Steve asked, making her jump.

  “What?” she said too loud. Lost in thought, she didn’t hear what he had said.

  “I asked if you were all right,” he repeated.

  “Oh,” she mumbled. “I'm fine.”

  “Is he asleep?” he asked, gesturing over his shoulder at Peter. Rachel glanced back and shrugged.

  “I don’t know.”

  Peter stirred. “What's up?” he groaned, his speech slurred with fatigue.

  Neither of them bothered answering him. He closed his eyes again and tried to sleep. There was a weather beaten, hand-painted sign at the side of the road. As they passed the sign Steve managed to make out the words ‘Family Restaurant turn 2 miles'. He didn't have much of an appetite all day, or all week for that matter, but at the thought of food he was suddenly hungry. They had food supplies in the truck, but in their rush to leave Derry they got buried somewhere among the bags and boxes they packed before leaving.

  “Either of you want anything to eat?” he asked.

  Rachel just grunted but Peter sat up like a Jack-in-the-box.

  “I do,” he said, rubbing his eyes.

  “I saw a sign for a restaurant that's up ahead,” he said. “We'll stop there, okay?”

  Empty grassy fields lined the sides of the road. There were fewer cars and buildings here and they didn't see any of the walking dead for a while. Steve thought it was worth taking a chance out in the open. He needed a break. They all needed to stop for a while to get their heads together and decide what they were trying to achieve.

  Suddenly interested in the day again, Peter stretched and looked out the window. He too noticed the lack of any obvious signs of human or inhuman life. He saw a small herd of cows grazing up ahead. Until that moment he hadn't stopped to consider the significance of seeing these animals. In Derry there was the odd dog running around, and the birds flew overhead.

  Now, seeing the cows it dawned on Peter that only humans were affected by the virus. Whatever it was that happened left other species untouched. Their sudden arrival at the restaurant interrupted his train of thought.

  The white building appeared from behind a stand of trees. It was a large house converted to a restaurant. Steve slowed down and turned into a wide gravel parking lot that had several other cars in it. He stopped close to the main door, turned off the engine and closed his tired eyes. After hours of driving, the effect of the sudden silence was stunning. It was like sitting in a vacuum.

  Despite being asleep only a few minutes ago, Peter was now wide awake and alert. Even before Steve took the keys out of the ignition Peter was out of the truck and jogging to the restaurant door.

  “Careful,” warned Rachel.

  Peter looked back over his shoulder and flashed her reassuring grin. The outside air was cold and fresh, and he felt relaxed and surer than he had at any other time since they left the community center.

  He reached out and tried the door. It wasn't locked but he could only move it inward a couple of inches. He pushed against it with his shoulder.

  “What's up?” Steve asked.

  “Something's blocking it,” Peter replied, still pushing and shoving at the door. “There's something in the way.”

  “Be careful,” Rachel said again. It was clear from the trepidation in her voice she was nowhere near as comfortable with the situation as her two companions seemed to be.

  Peter shoved at the door again, and this time it opened another couple of inches. He took a step back then shouldered his weight against the door. This time the door opened wide enough for him to squeeze his body through the gap. He looked back at the others momentarily before disappearing inside the shadowy building.

  “I really don't like this,” Rachel uttered, looking around anxiously. The cold wind blew her hair across her face and made her eyes water. She held her hand to her eyes to shield them from the sun and stared intently at the restaurant door, waiting for Peter to reappear.

  Inside the building, Peter found the blockage preventing him from opening the door. It was the stiff, lifeless body of a teenage girl. She had fallen on her back when she'd died. His shoving to get inside had forced her up and over onto her side, giving him those extra few inches of space to squeeze through the doorway.

  He gingerly took hold of her cold, stiff left arm and pulled her out of the way. As he dragged the body clear, he peered through a small square window and could see Steve and Rachel standing in the parking lot waiting for him.

  He set the girl out of the way and headed back out to get the others.

  “It's okay,” he shouted as he reappeared in the doorway. He had to shout to make his voice heard over the wind. “It was just a body. I just...”

  Suddenly, he stopped speaking. He could hear sounds of movement behind him; coming from inside the building.

  “What's the matter?” Rachel asked as Peter half-ran and half-tripped back towards her.

  “In there,” he gasped. “There's something in there...” he said breathless.

  The three survivors stood in silence as a lone figure appeared in the dark shadows of the doorway. Its progress blocked by the lifeless body on the ground that Peter had moved, it turned awkwardly and stumbled out into the parking lot.

  “Do you think it's...” Steve began.

  “Dead?” Peter interrupted, finishing his sentence for him.

  “It could be a survivor,” Rachel mumbled but held out little hope it would be the case.

  From the stilted, uncoordinated movements of it, Peter knew the emerging figure was another victim of the outbreak. As it lurched closer, Peter saw a woman; perhaps in her late fifties or early sixties, dressed in a loose-fitting light blue waitress uniform. The remains of Tuesday morning's make-up was smudged across her wrinkled face.

  “Can you hear me?” Rachel asked. She knew in her heart it was pointless, but she had to try to get a response from the pathetic figure. “Is there anything we can do to...”

  She let her words trail away int
o silence as the body approached. It was quiet except for the crunch, crunch of the corpse’s feet on the gravel as she took step after teetering step towards the three survivors. The corpse tripped on the uneven ground and fell towards Steve who instinctively jumped out of the way. The dead woman landed flat on her face and immediately tried to stand up again.

  Rachel stooped and helped the dead woman back onto her unsteady feet. The corpse tottered, oblivious to their presence and continued towards the road. The road curved to the right but the woman's course remained straight. She crossed the road and became entangled in bushes and tall weeds on the other side.

  Peter and Rachel watched the pathetic creature for a little longer. Peter couldn't help but wonder what might happen to her. In his mind he pictured her staggering through the dark night, through wind and rain. He felt a sudden and surprising sadness for this poor defenseless old woman; a mother and grandmother perhaps, who had left for work last Tuesday just as she had done on any other day. Now she'd spend eternity wandering the countryside without direction or shelter. He built up a resistance to such thoughts and feelings when he was in Derry. Now that they were out in the boondocks, he found himself deeply affected by the plight of the innocent victims of the disaster.

  Steve had disappeared inside the diner and Rachel watched him moving by the windows. She gestured to Peter to follow her into the building.

  A short passageway led them to a large, dark, musty room. They entered with caution. There were several bodies scattered in different places in the dining area. Peter grimaced as he walked past the corpses of an elderly couple. They had been sitting opposite each other when they died. Valerie Howard, read the name on the credit card still on the table, sat in her seat with her head lolled back on her shoulders. Her dry, unblinking eyes stared up at the ceiling. Gravity treated her husband differently. He had slumped forward with his face buried in the remains of a dry, moldy serving of week-old pancakes and syrup.