Apocalypse Z: The Beginning of the End

by Manel Loureiro

  Outside dozens of undead staggered in the downpour, taking up the entire parking lot, moving slowly toward the hospital. I was stunned by the scene. I hadn’t seen such a concentration of those beasts since the early days of the plague.

  There were men, women, and children of every age and condition. Some looked unscathed; others had terrible wounds that went far beyond what a normal human being could endure. The majority wore the clothes they’d had on when they mutated. Others were stark naked, or their clothes were in shreds due to the weather, accidents, or God knows what, making the sight doubly disturbing. A couple of them were scorched and blackened all over, as if they’d been set ablaze. The fire had disfigured their features to the point I couldn’t identify their sex or age. Others had ghastly amputations, as if those body parts had been blown off by an explosion. The variety of horrors was endless.

  From the huge multitude rose a chorus of creepy groans. The scraping noise made by hundreds of feet, in shoes or barefoot, dragging across the ground, was drowned out by the boom of thunder. Spectral rays of lightning lit up the scene.

  Water dripping off the edge of the tunnel rolled down my neck, but I didn’t feel it. Even hidden in shadows, I turned all my attention to the sea of humanity (not human, I corrected myself bitterly) that slowly encircled an area as far as I could see.

  I racked my brain, trying to understand where such a crowd could have come from. The obvious answer popped into my head. The hospital environment, the scene of extensive carnage, must’ve had dozens, maybe hundreds, of those things. The roar of the engine as we approached had drawn them back here the way a light attracts moths. But instead of continuing our journey, we’d stopped, giving them time to catch up to us. And we were in no shape to get the hell out. Great.

  ENTRY 82

  April 20, 4:21 p.m.

  * * *

  The first monsters had already reached the SUV. I cursed my stupidity. When I got Prit out of the SUV, my arms had been full, and I’d forgotten to close the passenger door. Now, a couple of those things—a tall, thin man with a big gash down his back and a young boy about fifteen who was missing the calf of his right leg—had crawled inside. Maybe they were drawn by our scent.

  It was just a matter of time till that multitude surrounded our SUV, making it completely inaccessible. And it would only take them a little while to figure out what path we’d taken into the hospital. There was no way we could shoot our way to the SUV and make our getaway. That’d be suicide. Even supposing all of our shots hit the target (doubtful in my case), it was too great a distance for Prit and me to cover at once. There were just too many of them.

  I understood the pure terror the defenders of Safe Havens must have felt when they faced a flood of those monsters in even greater numbers. Trying to kill them is like trying to keep ants off your blanket at a picnic. You can step on dozens of them, but more keep coming...and coming. They’re fucking unstoppable.

  Their overwhelming numbers and the fact that they’re dead make them a formidable foe. They don’t hesitate, don’t sleep, don’t rest; they have no fear, and nothing stops them. They have one goal: to capture anyone who isn’t one of them.

  A huge weight lay on my heart. I tried to swallow, but my mouth was as dry as straw. I couldn’t make a sound or breathe or think clearly. I’d never felt so much like prey. And I’d never been so aware of how hopeless our situation was.

  The world is no longer ours. It’s theirs. How long will this situation last?

  A little jingling to my left me brought me out of my trance and back to reality. Pressed against the wall, propped up by one hand, a guy in his early twenties with long hair, wearing loose, baggy pants, inched along. A long silver chain with a bunch of keys hung from where his right pocket should’ve been. His keys dragged along behind him, bumping against his legs, making the jingling sound that had alerted me.

  Like all these monsters, the boy’s skin was waxy and transparent. Myriad small burst veins traced a grotesque map on his skin. His left arm hung limp, and he had an ugly gash on his bicep. He was wearing a dirty, stiff shirt. I could clearly see three or four bullet holes in his chest. One of the bullets had entered his heart, and the other bullets were in his lower abdomen.

  That sight made my head spin. That creature had already faced a survivor, who’d shot him in defense. But the guy was still on his feet, so I didn’t figure the gunman had survived. Now the guy was headed for me.

  Instead of coming to the hospital by the access road, like most of those walking corpses, he’d entered through a side entrance. While the crowd was swarming over the sandbags, he was already inside the perimeter, and he’d found me.

  A moan escaped his throat. He picked up his pace and rushed toward me. That time, I took things more calmly. When he was fifteen yards from me, I took the speargun off my shoulder and checked the bolt and the rubber band. I also checked the gun in case something went wrong. Then I leaned against an overflowing, smelly trash can to steady my aim. When he was just three yards from me, I pulled the trigger.

  The spear entered above his upper lip, near his cheekbone. The tip went through his occipital bone, making a crunch like a dry branch breaking. The monster stopped suddenly. Putrid blood gushed from the wound as the guy wavered. The shaft of the spear was in his line of vision, and he tried to grab it. However, as with all the undead, his coordination left a lot to be desired. He swatted the air in front of the spear as black, smelly blood streamed down his face and chest, staining them a dark purple. His movements became slower and more erratic.

  With a strange gurgle, he extended his good arm and fell forward. If it weren’t such a lurid scene, I would’ve laughed at the way he fell. But this wasn’t the time for joking around. I lunged toward the body to retrieve the bloody spear. Just as I was about to grab it, I froze. I remembered I had a cut on my finger, and I wasn’t wearing gloves. I looked helplessly at the spear that stuck out like a flagpole from the back of the guy’s head. So close, yet so far.

  I vacillated. I only had three spears left in the quiver strapped to my leg. Leaving the spear behind was a huge loss.

  I weighed the possibility of finding some latex gloves somewhere and coming back for the spear, but one glance at the crowd convinced me there was no time. Thirty or forty undead had broken through the defensive line and were headed in my direction. I stood out clearly against the white wall of the hospital. I had to get out of there.

  After one last look outside, I ran full speed back down the dark corridor, my footsteps echoing in that cavernous tunnel.

  A leak in the roof had formed a puddle in the middle of the hall. I’d seen the puddle before, but I was so crazed when I came back through, I forgot about it. I slipped and took one hell of a fall. I lay there for several seconds, the wind knocked out of me, trying to catch my breath. When I tried to get up, a sharp jab in my side made me scream in pain. I slumped back down, cursing a blue streak. Just what I needed—a broken rib. For sure I had a big, fat bruise. Fucking puddle! I was going to sue that fucking hospital.

  Just the thought of a lawsuit, in this dire situation, made me double up with laughter, and that set off new spasms of pain. A lawsuit. What a joke! I struggled to my feet, whimpering in the pain, laughing hysterically, and kept going.

  No doubt about it—my nerves were shot.

  I pushed open the swinging doors with my good side and reloaded the speargun, still hiccuping with laughter. I took a quick look around me. Double doors opened in both directions. On one side of the doors were some steel hooks attached to two brackets on the walls. The hospital staff had used those hooks to prop open the doors to keep from having to constantly push them open.

  I had a different use in mind for those hooks. Next to the door, on the floor, under a pile of discarded medical supplies, lay an IV pole with two empty IV bags hanging from it. I had to kick aside a mountain of gauze, boxes of tranquilizers, and used bandages to get to it. I slid that pole through the hooks to bar the door closed. I frowned,
my heart heavy. It always worked so well in the movies. That pole wouldn’t withstand the pounding for long. That crowd would be through the door in two minutes.

  I was breathing hard when I reached Prit. He studied me with a worried face as I leaned on his chair and caught my breath. I brought him up to speed with the huge problem we were facing. It was impossible to leave through that door. Besides, I was pretty sure the undead would make it into the lobby very soon. We had to find another way out. A big complex like the Meixoeiro Hospital must have dozens of entrances and exits. That hospital was a maze of rooms and corridors that confused even the personnel who worked there every day. We had to find one on a different side of the building. To get on the other side, we’d have to go down into the bowels of the building.

  We had no choice. I asked Prit if he could walk. The Ukrainian struggled to get up. Very brave, but futile. His legs failed him in a few seconds, and he collapsed back in the chair. The morphine still in his system and his blood loss, coupled with fatigue and not enough food for weeks, held him back. I’d have to push him.

  I set Lucullus in Prit’s lap. I held a flashlight in one hand and gripped the back of the wheelchair with the other, and off we went, just as we heard the first blows against the ER doors.

  We set off down a corridor at the back of the room. I pushed open the door and paused. That hallway was dark as a well at midnight. Fluorescent tubes hung from the ceiling, covered in a thick coat of dust, useless junk without electricity. So little outside light filtered in, I could only guess where obstacles lay across the corridor.

  I assumed that things would get worse, since we were headed deep into the bowels of the hospital. At least we were still fairly close to the outside. Some faint light from the lightning came in, and we could hear the rain. As soon as we stepped through the next door, we’d be in another world.

  The smell, not the lack of light, stopped me in my tracks. The minute I opened that door, a pungent rotting odor smacked us in the face. Nowadays that putrid stench was everywhere, but I’d never smelled it that concentrated before.

  That odor was heavy, like the smell that hung over the ruins of the Safe Haven, but ten times as strong, probably from being in a hot place with no ventilation. My eyes teared up, so I tied a handkerchief around my face. I coughed and tried to breathe through my mouth. I had a knot in my stomach and was getting more and more nauseated. Prit had screwed up his face, trying to keep from gagging. The hospital was full of dozens of bodies in an advanced state of decomposition. We were about to enter a mass grave.

  We ventured into the hallway. Prit shone the flashlight into every corner while I pushed the wheelchair, veering around bodies. Our plan was simple. We’d cross the first floor, make a beeline for the front, and leave from there.

  Before the pandemic, a nurse who knew the hospital could’ve made it down that long hallway in ten minutes, tops. In the dark, with no knowledge of that labyrinth, it would take us a lot longer.

  For four or five minutes things went pretty well. As fast as we could, we got through several rooms and corridors, dodging tons of equipment and medical supplies. The hospital seemed to have been evacuated in a hurry, but the number of half-rotten bodies suggested the opposite. After evacuating the building, maybe the fugitives had retreated back into the building for some reason, and the undead had trapped them there.

  Most of the bodies had bullet holes in their heads. Some of the remains were horribly disfigured and partially eaten beyond any possibility of resuscitation. Almost all of those bodies had on army boots: the defense forces making a last stand after everyone else had run off. Run where?

  The jabbing pain in my side had gotten worse. White spots danced before my eyes, and my legs trembled. My breathing must’ve been labored, because Prit turned in his chair and looked at me with concern. “You’re in bad shape. We can’t go on like this. We’d better rest,” he said. I agreed. I needed to catch my breath; I was hyperventilating.

  A plywood door to our right opened into a dressing room; lockers lined the walls, with rows of benches in the middle. In the back of the room were a couple of couches. A bulletin board covered with notes and posters took up the entire wall. A huge plastic rubber plant stood guard in the corner. A woman’s purse lay on the floor, its contents spilled out. In the light of the flashlight, I saw a lipstick, a wallet, and the handle of a hairbrush. A nurse’s dressing room. Not a bad place to take a rest.

  I closed the door and collapsed on a bench. Prit stroked Lucullus’s head with his good hand, stoically enduring his pain. He’s one tough guy.

  I took off the top of the wetsuit. I was so thin I could count my ribs. I hadn’t had a really nutritious meal for months in these subhuman conditions. My body was starting to pay the price. Vitamin C deficiency from a lack of fresh vegetables was the most dangerous. A huge bruise on my right side was slowly turning a dark purple. I touched it and choked back a howl of pain. I must have broken some ribs. That’s a bitch!

  I forced down some metamizole sodium, a powerful analgesic I’d found earlier, and picked up the purse. I rummaged around inside. A mobile phone with no battery in a cloth case, a crumpled pack of Lucky Strikes, a lighter, and a bent-up driver’s license with a picture of a very pretty blonde with green eyes. She was smiling at me. Laura Viz. There was no hospital ID or document in her wallet. Thanks for the smokes, Laura. I wonder who the hell you were and what the hell you were doing here.

  I stuck a cigarette in Prit’s mouth, and he took a deep drag. Then I unwrapped the bandage so he could get a look at his wounds. The little finger was completely gone, and the middle finger was missing down to the second knuckle. There was a lengthwise gash in the ring finger that needed stitches. His palm had a deep cut, but fortunately it wasn’t bleeding very much.

  Prit looked up and calmly said it wasn’t so bad, but he needed medical attention right away. He hadn’t lost too much blood yet, but there was the risk of blood poisoning. But I was the only person around to tend to his wounds. With a first-aid kit.

  Suddenly, something punched the plywood door hard, making a huge hole at the top. Sticking through the hole was a cadaverous hand, covered in splinters.

  The hand pulled back out and hit the door again, nearly ripping it off the frame. Damn, that bastard was strong! I took a few steps back, holding the flashlight tight, while Prit cocked the AK-47 and aimed at the door. I could see the undead guy through the hole. He was young, burly, with a beard and curly hair. All he was wearing was a funny cartoon T-shirt that was way too big for him. A thick bandage covered his right calf. I bet a million euros I knew how he got that wound.

  With one last blow, the flimsy door split in two, and the creature lunged forward just as Prit pulled the trigger. Blood and bones gushed out the gaping red hole where his left eye had been.

  The guy collapsed like a sack in front of me. I kicked him to make sure he wasn’t moving. There was something odd about the corpse. It took me a while to realize what it was. He was drenched. That thing had come in from outside not five minutes before. They’d found a way in. The front door had fallen, and they were on our trail.

  April 21, 4:19 p.m.

  * * *

  I turned to Prit. Sweat ran down my back. The Ukrainian and I exchanged a look that said it all. Our situation had taken a turn for the worse. We were on the run—again.

  After I’d wrapped his hand in a bandage I’d found in the first-aid kit, we crept out of the nurses’ quarters. The hallway was empty, but the shot Prit fired had unleashed a furious assault on the hospital. We heard more groans and blows, only much closer. Dull thuds were coming from the locked room across the hall. I placed my hand on the wall and felt the vibration of enraged fists beating against it. I stepped back, terrified. I prayed that thing didn’t find a way out of there.

  Suddenly we heard the sound of breaking glass coming from a room we’d passed ten minutes before. Someone had tripped over a monitor, and it had shattered on the floor. The roaring was getting closer.<
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  Prit placed Lucullus on his lap, clutched the cocked AK in his good hand, and motioned to me to head out with the other. I pushed his wheelchair faster. I had a huge knot in my stomach and cold sweat running down my back. I was scared, really scared, and I didn’t mind admitting it. Anybody in that situation would’ve been scared to death. And anyone who says different is either a liar or brain dead.

  The hallway went through a broken door and into a slightly wider room. A large white sign overhead read PEDIATRICS in big blue letters. Children’s drawings of cows in meadows, clowns, and daisies hung on the walls, making the room look like a nursery school. I guess they’d made the young patients more comfortable. However, clumps of dried blood dotting the drawings ruined the decor. It looked like someone had turned on a giant meat grinder in the middle of the room. Prit gasped in anguish. I wiped the sweat off my forehead. It was oppressively hot in there.

  Right in front of us was a drawing of huge clown with a big smile. He watched us from the wall, not realizing that a huge clot of dried blood streaked his face. He held a giant bouquet of balloons in a gloved hand. Blood had dripped down his yellow overalls, and dried brain matter was embedded in his teeth. He looked really evil. I shuddered. That sweet clown seemed poised to jump off the wall. With the bits of his victims in his mouth, he looked like a demented predator. That room was a nightmare.

  We backed away from that scene and moved on, trying not to stare. You didn’t have to be a genius to realize that someone had barricaded himself in that room to fight. Not hard to guess how that ended. Bullet casings carpeted the floor. Piles of stinking bodies were silent witnesses to the desperately fought battle. The dreadful scene we saw next stopped us in our tracks: the body of a little boy, no more than a year or two, lying crosswise in the hallway, facedown, with a gaping hole in the back of his skull.