Infamy: A Zombie Novel

by Detrick, Bobby

  I’m nauseated. Hits my stomach like a sucker punch from Rob. I want to go puke in the restroom, but that’s a fail because a fight has broken out. Two of the biggest, well-dressed guys from the wedding party begin to scrap. Fists fly. The backs of spectators slam into me, keeping me from puking in the toilet.

  “Move. I think I’m going to be sick,” I say to some dude.

  He replies by punching me in the face.

  The room goes black.

  Chapter 2

  Outbreak

  I’m aware of the ache in my head as soon as my eyes open. Has my skull been pounding for long? I’ll never know though I assume my brain has been rattling around all night from the Infamy and alcohol. I’m on a carpet. The volume to the stereo in another room is still at max. My fingertips run across a slimy, gel-like substance surrounding the half of my face against the floor. I’ve been sleeping in puke, haven’t I? What’s worse is the burning smell of stomach acid and alcohol. That hits me hard, making me puke again. Great, now my stomach has become a vindictive bitch and is throwing all my shit out on the lawn. I mean, it’s really waging war on me. Before I can get to my feet I start heaving again. There’s nothing left in me but bitterness. Feels like my body is trying to puke up my nuts. Forget it. I lay down and start humming the theme music to Zombageddon.

  I fall back to sleep for a while then wake and repeat the entire puking and humming scene. When I wake for the third time my stomach finally stops having its temper tantrum. I pull myself off the sticky carpet.

  Stumbling to the restroom my foot catches an empty keg, sending me to the floor right in front of the toilet. I get to my knees and hover over the bowl. Instinctively, my stomach seems to find more shit to discard. While I’m shooting shit out my nose my cell phone begins to vibrate.

  Pulling the phone from my pocket isn’t an easy task at the moment, but somehow I manage without dropping it into the puke stew I’ve created. The number isn’t one saved in my phone so I debate answering. What if it’s Kathy? I don’t want to talk to her any more than I want to talk to my creditors. She probably wants my TV or something. Maybe the Asian chick from earlier has forgiven herself for hating on me the way girls know how to do so well after a good face sucking.

  My hand wipes vomit-filled snot from under my nose. I really am considering answering the phone when a crash echoes in the restroom and in my head simultaneously. Something slammed against the other side of the hallway behind me. The sound jolts me to the point of shaking. Hey, at least I have some adrenalin left. The sad part is I shake so bad my smartphone ker-plops into the puke-shit.

  Did the Asian chick just say, “Hello?”

  It was her.

  Goddam it.

  I try to think fast without my aching head exploding (the insane logic comes to mind that if I flush the puke-shit, my cell will stay in one place). I nod to myself and grab the handle. The toilet flushes but my phone is gone—stuck in some foul pipe. Fuck.

  Time to wash my face. Warm water seems to help clear my mind and ease the pounding. Lucky for me I find a clean towel.

  When I walk into the main party room I notice everyone is gone though it’s still dark outside. Not only that, the place is torn apart from floor to ceiling. Everything is upended: couch, chairs, tables. The TV screen hangs upside-down by its cord. The stereo has been kicked over. It’s still loud as fuck playing some shitty rave music from a dying iPod. Instead of turning off the music I just leave the room.

  The hallway is vacant of light and people. Red light flickers in rhythm with the buzzing of the hotel fire alarm. Oh, that’s what that screeching is over the music. Thought it was in my head. The idea of a fire might scare me if not for the idea that someone from the party probably pulled the alarm as a prank.

  Near the elevators is a partly closed door. Music inside is just as bad as the other room. Rob’s legs and khaki shorts come into view. He’s being straddled by that nasty old blondie who has changed into a skimpy purple dress. She has it partly lifted, exposing her black silk thong. Her blonde wig (I just keep assuming her hair isn’t real) has come untangled and covers both her face and Rob’s as she rides him.

  “Yo, Rob,” I say. “We should probably get out of here. Everyone’s gone and the fire alarm is going off. Cops will be here soon.”

  Rob doesn’t answer.

  The woman doesn’t even look at me.

  I ignore her grunting and instead focus on the wide-open balcony door. “Shit, man. Fine. Keep on with your party mojo. I’m closing the door. It’s fucking freezing in here.”

  Cold ocean air seems to be forming ice crystals in the room. I growl and stomp toward the balcony. This sure is fucked up. I’ve been puking all morning. Have I somehow scared away the party? Rob continues to make monkey sounds as some granny humps him. I don’t know who’s luckier.

  I start to pull the sliding door closed when I stop to look out at the city. Every light seems lit and sparkly. A glass tower reflects a full moon. A sort of peace and relaxation comes over my neck and shoulders as I take a deep breath.

  God this city is beautiful.

  I’m actually pretty happy at the moment. Kathy can go fuck herself. An Asian chick digs me. Rob is a great friend even if he is getting rocked by the man-thing.

  Everything just seems alright.

  Until some chick falls screaming past the balcony.

  Her shriek causes me to almost knock my hand through the sliding glass door. I pull it open, rush out, hang my head over the balcony to where she slams headfirst into concrete.

  “Oh shit, Rob,” I say looking into the room. “Some chick just jumped. My phone’s dead and gone. We have to call the cops.”

  Rob ain’t moving. He just takes it from The Thing.

  “Dude. Rob. Someone just died, man.”

  He’s got to be higher than a kite.

  And that’s when I hear it—all the chaos in the city. I’m coming to my senses fast.

  I clutch the railing and duck as a clap of gunfire rattles red through the black sky. Somewhere I hear skidding, crunching noises. Cars smash into each other. I step back, glance at Rob. He doesn’t care. He’s loaded as hell.

  So this is Infamy? The memory loss. The pounding head. Was I a nutcase the night before, ripping at walls? I squeeze my fists, feel my sore fingers. Even my fingernails hurt. Was I punching people all night? Tearing down every last picture frame? Smashing tables? I didn’t kill anyone, did I?

  All these city lights are a blur of me waking from this nightmare drug. My head is spinning and I want to dry heave. Forget that shit. I force myself to look over the railing again. This time I really see it. Fires burn across downtown, from hotel windows, street corner trashcans, cars, businesses. Screams come from everywhere. Cop cars. Fire trucks. It’s all a shit-storm. Now my sense of smell is coming back. Smoke. Dirt. Fire. Hell. Shit. It’s awful. And here I am, trapped in the middle of this city set in full-motion, self-destruction.

  People shoot and tackle each other in the street. A cop shoots a cop. A firefighter slams an ax into the back of some dude. This mob is more than rioting. They’re destroying each other in the worst way. Looters run into stores and come outside just as some cop accelerates his patrol vehicle into them in an explosion of guts and misery. A far-off building turns into a pillar of fire.

  It takes everything in me to rip away from the horror and go back in the room.

  “Rob. Something is wrong. Are you hearing me? Something is really wrong!”

  My yelling only grabs the attention of the old chick, who slowly slides off him.

  Rob is motionless, too drunk and high to move.

  She staggers toward me with her dress up past her hips.

  “Pull that shit down,” I say. “Get ahold of yourself.” Even in my freaked-out condition I can see how completely messed up she looks. The noise her feet make dragging against the carpet is almost as annoying as finding an old booger under a chair with my finger (not that I’m always looking).

  Her
greasy wig covers her face. She walks weird, scooting along as if holding her head up is too much work.

  She grabs my shirt, pulls herself close to my chest.

  “Aaahhh,” she moans then jerks her head away and pukes all over the floor. Speckles of vomit hit my shoes and pants as her grip tightens on my shirt.

  She stinks worse than anything.

  “I hope I didn't get any on you,” she says.

  “Get off me,” I say. “You smell like fucking hell.”

  She gives me a pat on the chest and grabs my junk as if to say, You’re next, before stumbling out to the balcony to puke some more.

  Suddenly Rob rises out of the bed, giving off a good stretch and popping his neck.

  “What the hell?” I say. “I thought you were dead for a minute there. We got some shit to take care of.”

  “Thanks a lot, bro,” he says, watching the woman on the balcony as she leans over the railing and heaves. “That whore would have blown chunks on my junk had you not got her off me. What did I miss?”

  “Some woman just jumped off the building and I think we’re being invaded by Mexico.”

  Rob is out of bed now heading to the sliding glass door. “I gotta see this shit,” he says.

  He jumps back before he’s on the balcony when the body of a man crashes onto old blondie’s head. The force of the collision sends her tumbling over the side.

  “Holy fuck!” Rob blurts.

  The man and old blondie fall several stories into a pool of blood and puke.

  “Now the body count is three,” I say. “This is insane.”

  Rob looks over the side, not even caring if any more bodies are going to come flying past. “Why are they jumping?”

  I look up but can’t see anything in the dark above us. “Dude, somebody’s gonna smash into us.”

  “What are the chances?” Rob says. “Just look at this shit. Are those really Mexicans attacking?”

  As we gaze at the shock and awe of everything, something happens I never thought I’d see outside of videogames and movies.

  At first it starts with the twitching right arm from the first lady to fall.

  “Dude, she’s alive,” I say. “I can see her moving.”

  “What?” Rob says. “No she ain’t.”

  The woman places her palm on the ground and tries to push her body up, putting weight on an already broken arm. There’s a snap. Pushing up has caused bone to tear though the flesh of her elbow. She falls again.

  “Okay, yeah. That’s jacked up,” Rob says.

  “Lady, try not to move we’re going to call for help,” I yell.

  “Who you going to call? There’s about fifty dead cops on the street. She can’t hear you.”

  “I’m just trying to help.”

  “She’s still moving towards that guy who fell. Maybe he’s her husband and jumped after her.”

  “Now you’re making shit up,” I say.

  “Wait, what she doing? Is she biting his neck?”

  “What the hell? Stop biting that dude!”

  Other people begin gorging on each other. It’s like we showed up to the cannibal feast. Main course: arms and legs; intestines and brains are some kind of sick dessert.

  “Zomba-fucking-geddon,” Rob says.

  What could be causing all of this? I don’t say anything. Too many lumps in my throat all of a sudden.

  “Let’s get the fuck out of here,” Rob says.

  We run into the hall. Rob slaps his hand against the elevator button. Nothing. He slaps the button until his palm turns red.

  “Dumbass,” I say. “Quit hurting yourself. We have to find the staircase.”

  “It’s down the other side of the hall.”

  “Okay. Let’s go.”

  “I admit I’m a little scared,” he says. “That chick was pulling some undead shit out there. She was dead, right? Tell me that’s what I saw—the dead were eating people.”

  “Let’s not get bit, just to be safe,” I say.

  I’m surprised we’re not having seizures and foaming at the mouth from all the flashing lights and constant buzzing just outside the stairwell. Fucking fire alarm. Who pulled it anyway? I glance at the comical sign on the door: a stick man being chased by a campfire. Stupid.

  We step inside and instantly feel claustrophobic from the lights and noise.

  “Did you hear that?” Rob says.

  “I hear sirens and see flashy lights.”

  “No. It’s footsteps.”

  I put my hand up to stop Rob so we both can listen. “So you get me to talk to attract attention?”

  “No.”

  “Just be quiet.”

  We step up to the railing and lean over the center of the staircase. People on the ground level are swaying back and forth like some kind of mass Kumbaya.

  “What the hell?” Rob whispers.

  “I don’t know. Maybe they’re from the party last night.”

  As we watch, something cold and slimy splats against my shoulder.

  “Oh that’s gross dude,” Rob says. “Where did it come from?”

  We both look up.

  Straight above us on the stairwell a guy stares. His eyes have a yellowish glaze like they’re soapy and bubbly, like they’re about to fall out of his head. He looks a little punk rock too. Great haircut. A bit of a faux hawk.

  “That dude isn’t blinking,” Rob says.

  “I know.”

  Punk-rock dude’s teeth are bloodstained and he’s dribbling green goo out his mouth. His right ear has nearly been bitten off.

  “What the fuck? Look at his ear,” Rob says. “It’s dangling.”

  “That shit’s defying gravity. Should we run?”

  “I don’t know.”

  The punk rocker disappears but we know he’s coming our way. He flails his arms in a failed attempt to rush down the stairs grab us.

  “Now we run. Move your fucking feet,” Rob says.

  We both throw ourselves against the wall as the man falls down the stairs and hits his head against the railing right in front of us. He’s so awkward he’s half hanging over the rail.

  “Fuck this,” Rob says, rushing over and shoving the punker off the stairs.

  The dude flips through the air, colliding with other sections of the staircase. He smashes into people below like a failed stage diver at a rock concert.

  Death fluid sprays in every direction and no one seems to notice that a man just splattered against the floor next to them.

  “Direct hit,” Rob says a little too loudly.

  One of the people is bald and fat and gazes up at the two of us. His shriek alerts the others as he bumbles his way to the stairs.

  “Shit! Shit! Shit! Come on Rob we need to go!” I start to take off down the stairs.

  Rob grabs my arm. “Why are we going down?”

  “We’ll be stuck in here if we go up. Let’s go down a few floors. In case we need to jump to something.”

  “God I hope you’re right.”

  We crash onto the fourth floor, slamming the door hard against the wall. By the time we hit the middle of the hall where the elevator is located, the door to the staircase slams open once more, releasing a Zombageddon flood of bloodthirsty undead, knocking against walls and pushing each other to the ground.

  Rob starts running like crazy but doesn’t really know where to go. “What are we going to do, man?”

  “There’s got to be a utility closet,” I say, running down a hallway.

  Rob follows me as I pull on doors.

  I find one with the words, JANITORIAL SERVICES, yank it open and we pop inside.

  I grab a push broom and break the head off.

  Rob grabs a dirty bucket of mop water, opens the door and wheels the water into the hall.

  “What are you doing? Close it,” I say.

  After pulling out the mop, he kicks the bucket over, spilling soapy water onto the carpet between us and the undead.

  “The zombies will slip and fall when t
hey come after us,” he says, still holding the mop.

  “On carpet?” I say. “Never mind. Let’s try to find an open room.”

  No good.

  Finding an open door in a hotel with automatic locks is an epic fail. We reach the end of the hall where a window overlooks the highway. Nothing but asphalt to jump down to.

  The hall fills fast with undead creepers. Some of them, freshly turned, start chewing on each other as they make they’re way toward us. Slower ones scream as they get trampled. Others trip and fall.

  “We’re fucked,” Rob says.

  Every part of my body fills with goosebumps. Then I remember the crash I heard that scared the shit out of me in the bathroom upstairs and realize the walls are paper thin.

  “Rob, try and hold them back.”

  “Hold them back? With a mop?”

  “Yeah. I’m going to kick through one of these walls.”

  “I don’t know if I can. There’s about a million of those creepy shitfucks and I just pissed myself.”

  “Think back to your high school football days. Don’t let anything through the line. I’ll get us a way out.”

  “Okay, okay,” Rob says, puffing himself up, readying himself to body slam cannibals. “I can do this. You guys better really be dead because I’m bringing the pain! Aaahhh! Aaahhh!”

  Rob pounds his chest like some kind of scraggly white gorilla and mashes his feet on the carpet for traction, then takes off running toward the horde.

  I start kicking the wall.

  “This is Sparta, motherfuckers!” Rob smashes the mop head into the face of the first zombie he reaches, knocking it into some of the others.

  I drive my leg through a portion of drywall. Using the broomstick as a crowbar, I pry a huge chunk out of the way.

  Rob smashes zombies in the head. As each tries to grab him, he pokes, stabs and smashes.

  Zombies fall on top of each other.

  “I’m almost done,” I say. “Get over here.”

  Rob snaps his mop over his knee to create a jagged edge. He drives it into the eye of a dark-haired, creeper-woman wearing a WELCOME TO SAN DIEGO t-shirt.