Z-Risen (Book 1): Outbreak

by Long, Timothy W.

  In the center of the room sat four figures. They were dressed in rags and slicked with something wet; even with the NVG’s, I knew it was blood. One gazed up at the wall from its meal. I stifled a gasp when I realized the Z had been chewing on his own fingers. One of the four was an overweight woman missing most of her clothes. She sat and gibbered to herself while also chewing on the ends of her fingers. I don’t mean nibbled, either. She had literally devoured them. A couple of teens rounded out the family from hell.

  It was so absurd that all I wanted to do was go in and shoot each one in the damn head.

  I ducked back around the corner and shrugged my shoulders at Joel. He leaned in close.

  “That shit is fucked up,” he whispered.

  I dragged my finger across my neck and shrugged again. Joel shook his head.

  He motioned toward my head so I took the NVG’s off and handed them over. As Joel grasped them, I heard someone approach from the other side of the house. I dropped to a crouch while Joel fumbled with the glasses.

  A figure entered the yard from the west side and was doing nothing to mask his sounds. With the glasses off it took a few seconds to adjust to the natural light of the moon. I drew the Colt M45A1 as quietly as possible, lifted it with two hands, and aimed.

  The person went to the corpse in the middle of the yard and picked up the rifle. They looked it over then felt around in the corpse’s pockets and came up with shells. The sound of them being loaded into the shotgun was like firecrackers popping in the still of night.

  Joel crouched next to the side of the house and aimed the assault rifle. Shit! Shit! Shit! If we got into a firefight with someone, the Z’s would be here in a heartbeat.

  I moved to his side and looked around the corner. The person lifted the gun and came toward us. Before we could react, the person walked into the garage and the shotgun sounded like a cannon blast. The gun was pumped and boomed again. Feet scrambled on concrete and the form backed out in a hurry. There were three of them on the person, who got off one more shot.

  “Fuckers! You killed my family!” she screamed. Yeah – she.

  She backed up a few more steps and racked another shell into the gun. She fired but ended up clipping one of the Z’s arms. Part of the arm disappeared, leaving shreds of clothing and flesh.

  They advanced on her.

  She backed up, pumping the shot gun over and over again, but she must have been empty. When she cleared the garage with the three Z’s nearly on her, I broke from cover. I slid my handgun back into its holster and hefted my wrench. The last Z stumbled out of the garage and I was horrified to see it was one of the kids. She staggered and moaned but didn't have a lot of momentum. Then I saw why. She was dragging one of her feet at an angle that was impossible for a normal person. It was definitely broken, a gruesome fracture with the bone sticking out, but little Miss Sunshine didn't care.

  I moved behind her in a couple of steps and brought the wrench around in an arc that ended with her head. She dropped like a rock and I was rewarded with a pile of brain matter on the end of wrench head.

  Then I hit something on the ground, a rock or broken piece of crap from the house, and stumbled. My ankle twisted under me and I almost went down.

  One of the Z’s turned on me and it was all I could do to fend him off. The guy was almost as big as me and dressed in khaki shorts with the remains of a black t-shirt clinging to his body. I took his attack and tried to turn him away by using his own momentum to toss him aside, but my foot screamed in agony and I ended up in a heap.

  Fucker was fresh dead. He wasn't like the slower corpses that had been hanging out for a few days. This guy was quick and his teeth gnashed in toward my shoulder like a viper. I got the wrench in the way and smacked him aside. I managed to get an elbow in and hit him hard enough to roll the fucker off me. Jesus Christ! He smelled horrible – and I've worked around sailors for most of my life, so that should tell you something.

  I swung the wrench again, but I panicked and it crashed into his chest. Any normal man would have been crushed. It barely fazed this dead fuck.

  The girl must have figured out how to get her shot gun functioning because it boomed again. I swore, hoping she didn't mistake me for one of the dead. I rolled to my side and almost got my hands on the ground to pick myself up. Then I felt a claw on my shirt as the guy pulled me back down. I rolled and got a boot up. I lifted it high in the air and hit the Z again, but just in the chest, and all that did was knock him flat.

  Where the hell was Joel?

  “Get out of the fucking way!” Joel kept his voice low.

  “About time!” I tried to echo his tone but panic rode my voice and I may have sounded like a scared six-year-old girl.

  The Z grabbed my leg but I kicked free and rolled again. Joel’s boots came into view and then the AR-15 fired. The Z was blown onto his back. One more shot to the head and the guy didn't move again.

  I got to my feet and limped after Joel, ankle aching with every step.

  “Are they dead?” The girl with the shotgun approached. She didn't even look us in the face; she just studied the corpses on the ground.

  “Yeah, all dead - need to clear this area before more arrive.” Joel said.

  “I’ll stay here and hold them back. Thanks for the assist.” She said. Her voice had a slight Latino accent.

  “Come with us,” I said impulsively. Or was it impulsive? Were we just supposed to leave another survivor behind while we made an escape?

  Joel grabbed my shirt sleeve and tugged.

  “We can’t leave her.”

  “If she wants to stay, let her,” he said near my ear, but she was probably able to hear him.

  “We can’t leave someone behind like that.”

  “Since when did you grow a fucking sense of morality? We ain't got the supplies for another survivor.”

  “Just go,” the girl said. “That’s my dad on the lawn. The eaters in the garage killed everyone. There’s nothing left.”

  “Oh, for fucks sake.” Joel said and stared at both of us.

  The sound of something shuffling down the street sent a chill down my neck. I looked for shapes.

  I grabbed the girl’s hand and tugged her close. “Just until we get free; then you can do whatever you want.”

  “I don’t care. I just don’t care anymore. I got nothing,” she repeated.

  “I need help, okay? I can’t run because I sprained my ankle.”

  “Fine. Fuck! You helped me, so I’ll help you.” She lifted my arm and put it around her shoulders.

  Joel swore a few more times and then took point. I gimped along behind him, holding the girl close.

  “I’m Jackson,” I told her as I trained the gun all over the place.

  “I’m Roz. Jackson your first or last name?”

  “First. Jackson Creed.”

  “Okay, man. Now that we got introductions out of the way, why don’t you shut the fuck up so we don’t get swarmed?”

  “Me? You’re the one that came in with guns blazing. If it weren't for my wrench you’d be one of them by now.”

  “Keep your wrench in your pants and keep that gun aimed. Where we going anyway?”

  “Fortress, I guess.”

  “Fortress?”

  “It’s just what we call home. Do you have any food?”

  “Lots in my house. Before we were overrun we had a big stash.”

  “How’d you get overrun?”

  “They were making a lot of noise. Dad snuck out to see what it was. One of them saw him and that was all it took. They killed my sister and a kid we’d taken in. Dad made me go. He made me leave them, but I couldn't just go without knowing, so I came back a few hours later. Eyes front so we don’t get killed out here.”

  “Eyes front? Play a lot of video games?”

  “I’m in the Army, dumbass. I was home on leave when this shit went down.”

  “Would you two kindly shut the fuck up?” Joel whispered.

  We’d cove
red a few blocks when Joel stuck his hand up, fist closed. I stopped and fought my twisted foot. We were in the backyard of a house with a dead lawn and a small fence. I staggered to the fence and lowered myself to my knees, then covered Joel as he advanced on the house. He paused in the middle of the yard and didn't move for a few seconds, then ran toward the side of the house and planted himself in a deep shadow.

  The back of the home had a shattered sliding glass door; the accompanying screen door was in shreds on the ground. There was a body sticking its legs out of the doorway. They didn't move.

  Noises near the street in front of the home.

  Roz turned her gun to the side and examined it, then slid a few shells into the breech. Then there was movement out front; Joel faded from sight, but he wasn't gone long. Like someone had set his ass on fire, he came running back.

  “Thirty or forty of them on my three o'clock.”

  "We're cut off?"

  "Worse, there's lights in Fortress. We're blown."

  I swore like the sailor I am for a few seconds.

  “Back to my house. We have supplies and it used to be boarded up before Dad got himself killed,” Roz said.

  “The house we just left? Could have told us that before we walked half the fucking city,” Joel said we moved around a fence keeping low.

  “You asked for my help, man. You didn't ask me for a place to stay, so secure that fucking attitude.”

  “Well, yes ma'am,” Joel said. I could almost hear his eye-roll.

  “It’s safe for the night, then we can try your place again.”

  "No reason to go back there. It'll be picked clean." Joel said.

  I wanted to punch someone.

  “I don’t think we have a choice,” I said between clenched teeth.

  Something shambled near us in the dark. I glanced up, almost too late.

  A figure stumbled upon us, moaning, white eyes searching. Its mouth was stretched into a jagged grin of glee. Joel didn't hesitate. He shot the fucker, but missed a head-shot in his haste. The shot nicked its throat, though, and spun it to the side. I hopped up on my bad foot and almost screamed in pain. I covered by swinging the wrench into the Z’s jaw. The blow arced upward as I stood, so it had the force of a fucking car wreck and lifted the Z off the ground. It flopped backward and didn't move.

  Joel shot another shape and then Roz fired her shotgun, blowing a hole in the middle of a Z.

  “Shit! Zulu’s everywhere! Go go go!” Joel said, and we did just that.

  We hauled ass, Joel weaving between fences and houses as we tried to keep up. My twisted foot was a constant shriek of pain, but it was better than the alternative.

  We broke through a bunch of dried up shrubs and were on the other side of the house we’d just left. Roz tapped Joel and pointed at a single story home right next to it. The place was darker than fortress and as we drew closer I realized why. Boards had been nailed to the inside of the windows. The door was shut but writing was spray-painted onto it.

  “Looters will be shot by well-armed occupants.”

  Well, hell. That had been our trick at Fortress. I guess advertising wasn't such a good idea. Someone must have waited for us to leave and then moved in on our territory. Voices. Now I knew I'd heard them. Now they were in our home. I had a brief fantasy of Joel using his assault rifle with some kind of scope that can see through walls to take out the sons of bitches.

  We moved into the open, but a shaped drifted near the front of the house and then stopped to stare at the moon. The figure swayed back and forth. Joel lifted his AR but I waved him off.

  Another shape came into view and stood next to the first. The man wore a ripped t-shirt and nothing else. His legs hung with grey slack skin. The girl wore what was once a white dress. She was tiny and one arm flopped against her side when she lurched.

  I lifted my wrench and pointed. Roz got the idea and produced a huge knife with a serrated edge.

  I leaned over and whispered to Joel, "Cover us."

  Joel nodded, pointed, and drew his finger across his neck. He then put his finger to his lip and blew gently.

  Roz headed straight toward the man, leaving me the girl. I would have cut Roz off but I couldn't walk fast enough. I ‘hmphed’ and advanced with her.

  We were a few feet away when the guy turned. Roz had the knife raised and was about to drive it into his skull. The girl didn't see me, so when the man surprised us I changed tactics and hit him across the head. Roz turned on me and I thought she was going to drive the knife into me.

  The guy fell to the side but his foot spasmodically kicked out and tangled with Roz's legs. They both went down, and the girl in the white dress, seeing her opportunity, leaped on top of Roz. Roz pushed her up by the neck, but when I swung, the girl rolled to the side and my blow sailed over both of them. The girl snarled as she tried to get back on top of Roz, but Roz was having none of that. She came up in a crouch and drove the blade into the girl’s chest.

  Blood gushed from the Z’s mouth. The knife got stuck, so I leaned over, aiming carefully this time, and crushed the girl’s head with the wrench.

  Together we staggered into the house and Roz quietly closed the door behind us. There was a thick metal bar in the hallway. She and Joel picked it up and dropped it into slots on either side of the entry way. Then she showed us a huge dresser that she and Joel pushed against the door.

  Roz held up a hand, so we waited. She marched down the hallway and looked into rooms. She came back and moved into the kitchen and then the living room, training the shotgun on every corner. She finally came back and ushered us in.

  We staggered into what had been the living room and Roz collapsed on a couch.

  “Don’t you ever fucking do that to me again, asshole,” she said.

  I looked around in confusion. Me?

  “What?”

  “I had that shit, man. You didn't have to get in my way.”

  “Yeah, Creed. Fucking jerk,” Joel added from a dark corner.

  “I’m going to bed. You fuckers try anything and I got a shotgun shell with your name on it.”

  The room was too dark to show Roz clearly, but I couldn't help noticing that she had a knockout figure.

  “We aren't animals,” Joel said.

  “Whatever, man. Just keep your dicks out here and no one gets killed.”

  A door closed down the hallway.

  We were left in a strange place and it was pitch black. Joel slipped on his NVG's and moved around the house.

  I laid back on a lazy-boy, propped my feet up, and tried not to think of how miserable I felt. Damn leg hurt. I was thirsty, fucking exhausted, and so hungry I could eat about six meals.

  After some rustling around, Joel came back and put something in my lap. I almost broke into tears when I realized it was bottled water and a pair of food bars in plastic wrappers.

  It's late and I can't write any more. It was hard enough getting used to sleeping in Fortress; now we have this temporary home around us and a new friend.

  This is Machinist Mate First Class Jackson Creed and I am still alive.

  The Base

  9:15 hours approximate

  Location: Undead Central, San Diego CA – Roz’s Place

  After losing Fortress last night, we crashed with our new friend Roz. She’s about five-foot-five and Latino. She’s got dark brown hair and she’d probably clean up pretty nice. Roz is cute, I won’t lie, and she’s got some killer bod, at least the little I noticed while I had my arm draped over her shoulder last night. She also looks like she will kill me if I look at her that way again.

  My leg is a mess. I hurt my ankle last night and now it’s swollen, but I don't think it's a full sprain. I can walk on it, even though it's more of a hobble than an actual steady stride. Joel Kelly just looked at me like I was a puss. Fuck you, Marine-boy. I did it protecting you and Roz.

  Roz tossed me an ace bandage so I could wrap it tight. I wish I had ice. I also wish a Burger King drive-through worked by hot s
trippers would suddenly appear where the front window is boarded up. I wish I had a way to go back in time a few years and tell Jenny Collins that I liked her. Not love, just liked. We did some shit over her clothes, but I know I could have gotten her with a little more skill. Might as well wish for a tropical get-away while I'm at it.

  Joel was nothing but unhappy smiles and pissy Marine attitude. He stormed around all morning. Stripped his gun, put it back together, counted rounds, swore a lot, and snapped at either one of us if we asked him what the plan was.

  I asked about eight times.

  We had water and food, but mostly some kind of emergency rations Roz's father had collected over the last couple of years. They’d started the end of the world out with a three-month supply of food and clean drinking water for four, but after inviting in a few family members and a kid from the neighborhood, they’d used up a decent chunk. We drank sparingly, but it was hard not to guzzle. The last time I had clean water was about a week ago.

  Joel finally got cabin fever and said he was going to check on Fortress.

  "I'll go with you."

  "Rest your foot. We may need to get mobile soon. I'll be right back."

  "Dude. I'll go. You can't make it without me."

  "Believe it or not, I'm a Marine and I don't need a gimp squid tagging along, asking me to wipe his nose."

  "Whatever. If you run into trouble what are you going to do?"

  "At the first sign of a real threat I'll come back. Get some sleep and don't give Roz any shit."

  Like I wanted a knife in my chest.

  "Your idea of trouble and my idea are different. You think a pack of Z's is a challenge. I think they're a death squad."

  "Whatever. Just chill. I'll be back. Here – write about Reynolds, because he deserves it." Joel dropped the log book in my lap.

  He'd already strapped on his combat gear and filled his pouches with magazines and a couple of energy bars from Roz's stash. He downed a bottle of water in three gulps and slid the blinds aside to take a look.

  Shit. That was one day I wanted to erase from my memory. But he had a point. If we were to honor Reynolds’ sacrifice, it needed to start with his story. I can’t say that his story will ever be more important than those of the millions that have already died, but to us, he was a hero. The kind you hear about on the nightly news.