Apocalypse Z: The Beginning of the End

by Manel Loureiro

  My sanity is the main reason I need to escape. Man’s a social animal. He needs to interact with other people. I haven’t spoken to another human, besides my neighbor, in weeks. I need to talk to someone. Pouring my heart out in this journal is therapeutic, it helps me let off steam—but it’s not enough. I talk to Lucullus as if he were human. Lately our “conversations” have been too frequent. That’s one more sign I need to leave.

  I’m not using the solar panels and storage batteries in the basement correctly. They were designed to provide electricity in case of a power outage or if the voltage drops for a few hours, not to keep the electricity flowing all day. So it was probably inevitable that I would overload the system. At noon on Saturday, I turned on the microwave at the same time I was heating something up on the stove. The kitchen light was on, too. It was unforgivable; I wasn’t paying attention.

  We take electricity for granted. I simply forgot I was using up the dwindling reserves in the basement. The batteries were very low, since I’d run the electricity all night to boil tap water. When I turned on the microwave, the voltage dipped and burned out the fucking microwave...and the motors of the freezers in the basement. All my frozen food thawed in a heartbeat. I buried the food next to my neighbor’s body, but not before stuffing myself with everything I could save.

  My situation’s even graver now. I didn’t find anything special in my neighbor’s pantry—some canned food, pasta, a couple pounds of moldy potatoes, and dozens and dozens of packets of powdered soup, freeze-dried coffee creamer, and minute rice. The only good thing about powdered food is that it’s lightweight, so I can carry it in my backpack. But its nutritional value is questionable, and I need to build my strength up. Not to mention its “delicious” flavor...

  I didn’t find much else in the house. There were no weapons except a double-barreled Zavala shotgun. The only ammunition I found for it was lead pellets. They wouldn’t penetrate a human skull, not even at close range. You have to get very close to the target, and that’s too close when it comes to those things. Miguel could’ve attested to that, if he weren’t buried in the backyard. And it’s terribly loud. Still, I took it and the ammunition, fifteen pellets in all. You never know.

  I tore the place apart looking for the keys to his boat. I don’t have a clear idea what I’ll do when I leave here. For now my plan is just to get out in one piece. I have no idea what to do after that. I can’t rule out the boat, no matter how dangerous and far-fetched that idea is. Then it dawned on me where the keys were: in the most logical place. With a sigh, I went back out in the yard and started digging up Miguel’s body. I’d just buried him four hours before. If this keeps up, I’ll become an expert gravedigger.

  Burying a person is hard, but digging him up is harder. He appears little by little—first his hands, then his body...and that awful smell. And it hits you he’s really dead. Fighting the nausea, I checked the pockets of his overalls. There were his keys, along with his wallet and a bag of some white powder. Poor guy. He was a dick, but he didn’t deserve to end up like this. No one does.

  I covered him up again and went back into his house. The best discovery I made was that the house used bottled gas to heat water. One of bottles was still full. After twenty days with no hot water, a bath sounded like a dream. I filled the tub to the brim, grabbed a good bottle of wine from my house, and soaked all Sunday afternoon in a huge cloud of steam. I’d earned it. I got the feeling it’d be a long time before I did that again. The next few weeks will be intense...if I live that long.

  I’ve halfway figured out how to get out of here and not get eaten alive before I get past the front door. My plan still has a lot of loose ends, but I think they can be solved. I’ve had almost three days to relax, eat well, and build up my strength. Now it’s time to act.

  ENTRY 45

  February 7, 1:12 p.m.

  * * *

  It’s hard to decide what to take when you know you won’t be back for a long time. It’s even more complicated when your life depends on what you take. Any extras were out. I piled my survival kit, everything I considered essential, on the living room floor. I have a sixty-liter water-resistant backpack I used to take scuba diving. It still smells like the ocean and reminds me of all the good times I had with my wife. I also have a sleeping bag and the heavy coat I got off the dead soldier. I took my laptop, the shortwave radio, some clothes, an extra pair of shoes, and the freeze-dried food from Miguel’s house. I also threw in the army first-aid kit with the morphine, antibiotics, and analgesics; a five-liter jug of fresh water; a small toiletry bag; some photographs I couldn’t leave behind; a notebook and some pens; my camera; and all the batteries in the house. The backpack was filled to the top. In a smaller bag that clipped on to the backpack, I packed all the Glock and Zavala ammunition and a couple of flashlights. One of the flashlights was filled with xenon. I used to use it on night dives. It devours batteries, but it’s bright as a lighthouse. All that weighed a ton.

  With all that weight, I moved at a snail’s pace. I had to carry all this to my escape vehicle. I knew that the key to my survival would be agility, but I couldn’t do without any of these things. On top of that, I had to carry the rifle, the pistol, and the speargun slung across my chest, as well as a carrier with a frightened Persian cat inside. I’d only have one hand free to fight off those monsters. It was going to be awkward. I sure as shit couldn’t fight off a bunch of them.

  Miguel’s street was full of those things. Two or three dozen of them wandered up and down, attracted by the shots from the other day. The scene from my window was disgusting. About thirty bodies with ghastly wounds, their clothes stiff with dry blood, swayed aimlessly in the road. A handful of them banged on my door. I saw no way to clear the street of those monsters so I could reach Miguel’s vehicles parked out front. There were too many of them, and they were too scattered for the clanging-bear strategy to work this time.

  The scene on my street was slightly different. Out of the big group that had been milling around, I could only see four from my window. Most of them had gone to Miguel’s street the other day when they heard him shooting. That’s so ironic. I was getting a shot at survival, thanks to his pointless death. The four on my street were clustered around my front gate. I had to figure how to move them away from there. I thought I knew how to do it, but I’d only get one shot. If I failed, I was screwed.

  Once everything was packed, I set the bags in the entranceway, next to the front gate. Lucullus was very nervous. It took a lot of scratching behind his ears and whispers to persuade him to get into his carrier. He’s never liked it. He always sits in the passenger seat. But I couldn’t risk carrying the cat in one arm with those things after us. Sorry, Lucullus. If those creatures caught me, it’d mean certain death for you, my little friend. You’d have no way to escape.

  I pulled on the wetsuit and checked the three guns. I walked through the house one last time, my eyes gliding over everything that was so familiar. I might not ever see it again. My whole life was here. I was setting off for an unknown destination with no assurance I’d be alive in half an hour. It was crazy. My living room, my kitchen, my study (I never painted it a color I really liked), the couch my little roommate scratched up. I went up to the attic in tears and looked around. I grabbed one of my wife’s old sweaters. When she died, I’d packed away all her things. Now I was abandoning them forever.

  I wiped my tears and headed to the backyard to set my plan in motion. The next time I write in this journal I’ll describe what I did. If I don’t write any more...well, obviously, something went wrong and there’s a new undead walking around town in a wetsuit. But I won’t go down without a fight. I’m terrified—but I’m determined.

  ENTRY 46

  February 7, 9:01 p.m.

  * * *

  I’m alive. Exhausted, horrified, and in shock—but alive. Lucullus is fine too, even better than I am. We’ve taken refuge in a fairly safe place. I lost some supplies along the way, but I’m still battle-rea
dy. My God, there are thousands of those things! I should write all about it right now, but I’m exhausted. I’ll write some more tomorrow, after I’ve gotten some rest.

  Today, I shot a gun for the first time in my life. I’m sure it won’t be the last.

  ENTRY 47

  February 8, 12:39 p.m.

  * * *

  The winter sun in Galicia is really tepid. Some people would say it’s weak. Its caressing rays aren’t very strong on icy mornings like today, but at least it warms your bones a little. Better than nothing. Lucullus and I are lying on the roof of our little makeshift shelter, hoping to get on with our journey. As we ate a breakfast of beans from self-heating cans, images of the terrible day we had yesterday replayed over and over in my mind.

  It was unbelievably terrifying. Yet I feel more alive now than I have for three weeks. When I went over the wall into my neighbor’s yard, I wasn’t sure my plan would work. The further I got into it, the more doubts I had. But I couldn’t turn back. I raced across Miguel’s yard into his pitch-black house. Those things were all riled up. Somehow, they knew I was on the other side. A couple of them had even made it through the front gate and were pounding on the boarded-up windows downstairs. The noise was deafening. I carefully climbed the stairs and opened the bedroom window; I was sure they couldn’t see me up there. Down below was Miguel’s delivery van, parked right out in front. He had complained several times that junkies tried to break into it, looking for amphetamines or Rohypnol, the so-called date rape drug, even though he didn’t distribute those drugs. So he installed a powerful alarm in the van. It woke me up many nights when he accidentally tripped it. I wanted to see how those things reacted to all that honking.

  I gripped the Zavala rifle, loaded two cartridges, then calmly aimed at the van. The mob under the window kept on banging on the door, unaware I was right above them. I fired. The blast from the rifle sounded like a cannon in the morning silence, amplified by the sound of the van’s windshield bursting into a million pieces.

  The alarm went off immediately with honking, flashing lights, and a loud, steady siren. The effect on the crowd below was electric. Most of them surrounded the van and started rocking and shaking it. A few spotted me in the window. They crowded around below, stretching their arms toward me, looks of hatred in their glazed eyes.

  So far, so good. I rushed back down into the yard. I didn’t have much time. Between the gunshot and the alarm, all the monsters in a one-mile radius would be drawn to this area in minutes. It would become a hot spot. I scrambled down the ladder like a monkey back into my yard. When I put weight on my poor ankle, a stabbing pain shot up my leg all the way to my eyes. For a moment everything went white and I almost passed out. No time to stop. I went in my house and upstairs to my bedroom to take a quick look.

  I sighed with relief—my plan was working. Three of the mutants on my street were shambling toward the van. That blaring noise drew them like moths to a flame. For some reason, the last creature left on my street decided to cross the embankment at the end of the street. He’d probably fall, but that didn’t matter. He wasn’t close enough to stop me from getting to my car.

  Breathing hard, I ran to the foyer, slung the backpack on my back, and crossed the speargun and the small bag over my chest. Then I knocked down the wooden posts that braced the gate and poked my head out. The coast was clear. For the second time in a month, I ventured outside. Only this time, I was setting off on a journey, and I didn’t know if I’d survive.

  Clutching Lucullus’s carrier and the Glock, I crossed the road slowly, heading for my car, keys dangling from my wrist. I grabbed the keys and pressed the release button. My first mistake. With a double beep and a flashing light, my car opened, but that got the attention of the creatures on all sides. They turned and headed right for me. Shit. I had to move fast. I opened the driver’s door and threw the backpack in the backseat with so much force that the bag flew open and some of my gear fell out. Out of habit, I went around the car to the passenger side to settle Lucullus in his seat.

  My second mistake. As I came around the car, I saw a man in his twenties with long hair and goatee. He had on a filthy, torn black shirt and was missing both legs below the knees. I wondered how he’d lost them. He was lying on the ground, right behind the car. I don’t know when he crawled there or how long he’d been waiting, but he startled me. I took a step back, but he still managed to grab my ankle (my good one, thank God) and sink his teeth in.

  It all happened so fast. I stepped back so fast he couldn’t get a good grip on my ankle. Plus my wetsuit was too thick and pliable for his bite to pierce it. He did leave visible tooth marks in the fabric. With disgust mixed with pure terror, I dropped Lucullus’ carrier and grabbed the gun with both hands. I aimed right at his head, less than three feet away, and fired.

  I’m no expert marksman, but I couldn’t miss at that distance. I was really nervous, so I shot him in the head several times. It was a gruesome sight! I still shudder at the memory. It’s not like in the movies. A bullet doesn’t make a small hole; it opens a gaping hole. Blood clots, bits of brain, and bone fragments flew everywhere.

  Trembling, I leaned on the car, trying to catch my breath, but time was running out. The rest of the creatures were less than thirty yards away, approaching very, very fast. I grabbed Lucullus’s carrier off the ground and tossed it in the car. The poor guy meowed uncontrollably, scared to death. Before I got into the driver’s seat, I aimed at the things coming from the main street and fired. My third mistake. I didn’t have a clue how to shoot a gun, even at just thirty yards. All I did was empty the clip and make even more noise. Well, that was the least of my concerns. Every monster in the town must’ve heard the racket I was making.

  I tossed the empty gun to the floor of the car and jumped behind the wheel. When I turned the key, the Astra coughed a couple of times, then started up. My blood ran cold. It hadn’t been started up in several days. For a moment I thought it was going to stall—then I’d be screwed for sure. It’s a good thing Opels are tough. Nothing fancy, but tough. I put it in first and drove toward the end of the street. I swerved to keep from hitting three of those things (I’ve prosecuted drunk drivers, so I know what a human body can do to a windshield and chassis upon impact) and turned on to the main street. The sight blew me away: a tide of nonhumans, hundreds of them, coming from downtown.

  From the other side, there came several dozens more, eager for prey. I only had one way out—a country road at an intersection about twenty yards away. I floored it, made the turn, and—

  ENTRY 48

  February 9, 3:09 p.m.

  * * *

  As I was writing yesterday, with Lucullus in my lap, I heard a noise on the ground floor of our strange shelter. I climbed down the stairs with my stomach in knots, gun in hand. I looked all around but didn’t find anything. False alarm. Maybe stress and exhaustion are starting to play tricks on me. Or maybe I’m hallucinating. Or worse—battle fatigue.

  Back to my story. When I was in the car at the intersection of my street, the situation was not encouraging. Hundreds of those things were coming from downtown with that strange gait, deceptively slow looking but really fast, taking up the entire street. It was the grisliest sight you can imagine.

  For the love of God! All those bodies—with wounds and amputations, covered in blood, pale, that awful look in their eyes—headed for my car, with a bloodlust, a longing to catch me. Damn it! You have to see a walking corpse in person to understand how terrifying it is. The sight of hundreds of them trying to catch you would make even the most laid-back person’s hair stand on end.

  The situation was no better at the other end of the street. There were fewer, but too many for me to drive through them without hitting one. If the crash didn’t kill me, those things would. I only had one way out: the country road.

  I live in an area that’s been developed relatively recently. There are still some narrow country roads that wind through old farms, though they were being tr
ansformed into streets with buildings or town houses like mine. I knew there was one of those roads straight ahead. I didn’t see any of those things on it, so it was my only choice.

  I floored it and turned on to the smaller road, bouncing over a huge pothole. In the rearview mirror, I could see that a mob had gathered and was following me. To my horror, I realized that the engine noise would attract dozens of these creatures anywhere I went. All I could do was drive so fast they couldn’t catch me, and they’d lose my trail. Sounds easy in theory. Fucking hard in practice.

  That road was not exactly a highway. It was wide enough for one car. In places, its surface was just a bed of rocks and huge potholes. On top of that, I didn’t know where it led. If it was a dead end, I was in serious trouble. I drove slowly, about fifteen miles an hour. I had to stop often and maneuver around a pothole, so those things never lost sight of me. Lucullus meowed plaintively in his carrier with each jarring bounce the Astra made. I was terrified and knew just how he felt.

  I gripped the wheel really tight. The car lurched along. Once I heard a terrible creaking sound coming from the motor. That didn’t bode well. I drove too fast through an especially narrow point and left both mirrors and the rear bumper lodged between two stone walls. I didn’t give a shit. I had to get out of there no matter the cost.

  A moment later, I ended up on a wider country road and had no idea how. I braked hard, throwing up a cloud of dust. There was nothing in sight. Not a soul, living or dead. I could see Pontevedra off in the distance, sitting on the banks of the Lérez River, silent, unchanging...dead. Here and there, columns of smoke rose from burning embers. I stared at long black scars where entire streets had burned to the ground.