Infamy: A Zombie Novel

by Detrick, Bobby

  As I step back, my foot kicks a chair, causing a slight noise that a normal person may not take notice to. Not the undead—I might as well have rung a dinner bell. My mind races, repeating over and over again: Please don’t see me, please don’t see me. Then, as if I have special powers, the zombie turns back to the old woman and starts feeding again.

  The front door is no longer an option. Time to think of another way out. Busting through the wall worked last time. But where would I kick my way to? Thin air? I head to the balcony and shut the door from the outside.

  Leaping from our balcony to another is going to be a challenge. The gap is about five feet. I toss the diaper bag. It lands perfectly. Too bad I can’t just throw Ella over. Would make this easier.

  I step onto the low wall lining the balcony. I’m ready to jump when zombies start beating their way through the glass, throwing me off balance. I leap even though I’m unprepared.

  It’s apparent we’re not going to make it all the way across. Luckily, I’m able to grab hold of the half wall on the other side. Ella laughs. I try to hang on. She thinks this is some kind of silly carnival ride? Stupid kid. Behind us, glass shatters. Zombies screech. I kick and pull as we dangle over foggy San Diego. Undead begin to climb over the balcony, raining undead idiots on the street below.

  The thought of one of these ugly asshole zombies grabbing Ella fuels my adrenaline. I scramble over the ledge with her giggling and we get inside.

  “Okay,” I say to her. “No more laughing. This is life or death time. So shut it.”

  I open the front door slowly and peek down the hall. The direction to the elevators is clear. Not the other way. Zombies linger around the entrance to the other condo. I wonder if we’re the only two left.

  Off we go.

  Only takes the infected a second to take notice and give chase. I run down the hall and keep punching the elevator button until the doors open to a disgusting scene. Inside are body parts and two infected women (who look vaguely familiar from our group) eating Gonzo.

  “Move your ass over here!” yells Caesar from down the hall.

  He holds the door open to Housekeeping. A maintenance elevator is held open with a mop. Caesar kicks the handle out of the way and holds the door open so I can squeeze in with Ella before it closes. He hits the button for the second floor.

  I take a moment to catch my breath.

  Ella burps and cheers.

  Standing in elevators always feels awkward. The lame music. The enclosed space. The strangers you’re stuck with as you wait for your destination trying to make conversation that’s about as unpleasant as a fart. And now this baby who thinks she’s at some stupid amusement park.

  “Thought you were leaving the baby,” Caesar says. “What happened?”

  “Sandy dying is what happened. No one woke her in time.”

  “Is this going to be a problem for us?”

  “I’ll take care of the kid. You won’t have to change any filthy diapers. Once we find someone else to dump her on then she’s gone.”

  Caesar growls at the baby. “I don’t want some kid slowing me down.”

  When elevator doors open, he steps out with his shotgun. We both look down a staircase into the lobby. The area is filled with zombies so we search for an alternative exit.

  “We’re only roughly ten feet from the ground here,” I say. “How about we find somewhere we can jump down?”

  We kick open the door to a middle condo to distance ourselves from the undead. Inside, a family is scared shitless. A young father, his wife and their kid.

  “Take anything you want,” the dad says.

  “The buildings are on fire and the infected are collecting in the lobby,” I say. “Stay here if you want but I just busted the lock on your door.”

  “Oh god,” his wife says. “What are we going to do?”

  We leave them and step outside. Just to the right of the balcony is a large drainage pipe that extends to the ground.

  “You first,” Caesar says.

  “I have a baby. And you have a bigger gun.”

  “I’ll shoot you with it if you don’t go first.”

  “Fine,” I say. “You better cover me. And don’t shoot the kid. I’m not in the mood to wear baby guts.”

  I drop the diaper bag followed by Caesar’s black bag into some bushes. We wait a few seconds to see if the noise goes unnoticed. It’s foggy. We can’t see very far but all seems fine out here. Things aren’t fine in the condo. Zombies are prowling around the living room. The family that was there hightailed it. I wonder if that’s their far-off screams I can hear?

  “Move,” Caesar says, climbing onto the pipe.

  “Oh, now you want to go first?”

  “Shut up. You don’t want them to know where we are.”

  Lucky for us both, Ella fell asleep.

  Caesar slides to the ground. Right away he blasts the right arm, shoulder and part of the neck from what looks like a zombie insurance salesman. Guess he won’t be getting our business.

  Ella is still asleep? What’s up with this kid?

  The infected in the condo hear the noise (along with most of San Diego. That gun is loud) and start heading towards us. I waste no time and slide down to Caesar and pull out my handgun.

  Caesar motions with his shotgun. “After you,” he says.

  Our pace is slow as we walk down the road through foggy streets. I’m paranoid about this soupy air. An infected might snatch sleepy Ella from behind.

  I rotate her carrier so she’s on my chest.

  She wakes up, stares into the air like it’s a grey blanket and starts nodding off.

  I’m awaiting the undead. Can feel them on the streets. Am I developing a sixth sense for corpses?

  Moans and footsteps scratch the air around us. A shriek comes from our left; a cry from our right. Are the infected eating each other? Are other people out here in the fog trying to escape? Gurgling sounds echo through the grey. Caesar and I both aim, ready to pull triggers. My hands are shaky. Can’t see a thing. Everything in me says this is a bad idea. We should get off the streets.

  Dark silhouettes appear as the sun begins to rise. Are the infected walking in the same direction? They have no idea we’re here. I sure feel them. My heart pounds.

  Caesar rests his shotgun on a shoulder strap as he pulls out a machete from his bag. He raises a finger to his lips, pointing at the baby so I will keep her quiet.

  A shadow nearby seems to sniff at the air.

  Caesar grips the handle of the knife and is ready to attack.

  The corpse draws closer.

  Caesar sinks the blade into the top of its skull.

  The zombie’s eyes cross. Its lip twitches.

  None of the other shadows seem to take notice.

  Caesar kicks the corpse’s head off the blade then pulls out another handgun and gives it to me.

  A gun in each hand makes me feel a little more prepared, though I’m still scared shitless. Especially since Ella starts crying. God this girl is moody.

  “Ella, no,” I whisper.

  The shadows around us halt in the fog.

  “Stupid kid,” Caesar says, unloading shells in every direction.

  The infected appear and disappear as they’re blown away by the power of Caesar’s boomstick.

  I dispense round after round, clearing a path.

  Ella screams from the noise. She’s nearly louder than some of the infected. I’d give my current celibacy for the goddam binky I lost.

  A gnarly-haired glam-rock wannabe zombie gets close after I miss a few shots. The bastard is even wearing a cheesy bandana. Where the fuck is EdgeCrusher when I need him? I put the left hand gun in its snarling mouth and pull the trigger.

  Ella laughs.

  “Oh you like that?” I say.

  She continues to crack up as I do the same thing to some chuko undead in a bloody wifebeater.

  This fog is full of gore.

  We run between cars on a street littered with w
reckage, putting some distance between us and the horde. Soon we slow to a walk.

  “We need to get off the streets,” I say.

  “Lead the way, cabron.”

  As he motions with his gun, a car door flies open. A corpse about the size of a middle linebacker leaps onto Caesar.

  Caesar drops his gun as they tumble to the ground. He pushes at the biting zombie’s face. “You motherfucker,” he says, kicking and kneeing at its huge frame, trying to grab at his gun.

  This is where the moral debate begins in my head. Should I save him? Sure has threatened me enough times. Saved my ass too. But do I owe the pecker this courtesy?

  “Help me,” he says.

  Ella is laughing her ass off.

  “Goddam it, help me,” Caesar says.

  The zombie really is about to chew his way through Caesar’s face.

  I kick the slimy fucker in the eye socket as hard as I can.

  It loses grip on Caesar.

  Caesar scrambles to his feet and grabs his boomstick. The long barrel of his gun slams down on the head of the corpse, pinning it to the ground.

  “Suck on this, zombie-cabra,” he says, shooting a giant hole in the zombie. Blood and brain matter cover Caesar’s tan suit pants.

  “That son of a bitch,” he says.

  I’m at the glass door of a minimart. “Caesar over here,” I yell.

  Of course the door is locked even though it says ‘Open 24 Hours’ (You get the irony). Fucking apocalypse.

  Caesar pushes me out of the way, lifts his shotgun and shatters the door with a single blast.

  Soon as I’m inside I shove a soda machine in front of the entry. When I’m done I see the shotgun is pointed at my chest. I don’t have time to level a gun at him.

  “You pointing that at Ella or me?”

  “Maybe the both of you.”

  “You were a kid once. Quit being a hater.”

  “I am sick of that kid crying one minute and laughing the next.”

  “Something wrong with a sense of humor?”

  “She nearly got us killed.”

  “So now you’re a baby killer? Real smart. Just obliterate our future why don’t you?”

  “Why do you care so much for this child? She’s not even yours.”

  “I have my reasons. You have no say over her life. She’s coming with us, or you’re on your own.”

  Is this guy a heartless asshole or what? And I thought I was bitter after losing Kathy.

  Caesar takes a breath before pointing the gun at the ceiling. “I’ve wasted enough ammo out on the street. You’re not worth another shell.”

  He walks over to the counter and places his shotgun and bag on top of it. “I need a drink,” he says.

  I take a seat on the floor with Ella. She’s quiet again. I know she’ll be hungry soon.

  Where we go from here is anyone’s guess.

  Chapter 7

  Undead Nightmare

  As Caesar munches on tasty a microwave burrito, I wrap a diaper into an inedible stuffed dish from a pile of shit that squirted out Ella’s ass. Nom nom.

  I’m a terrible father figure. I know this.

  The soda machine, shelving combo has worked out remarkably well as a barrier, holding out a herd of undead, who smash their decomposing faces against the glass and our makeshift wall as if even poopy-ass Ella is a rock star.

  “You’re the next Lady Gaga,” I say.

  Caesar walks up as I toss the diaper and grab a day-old donut from one of the food boxes. I can’t tell if he wants to kill us or is jealous I’ve just taught Ella how to do a high five.

  “About how far do you think we are from El Cortez?” he asks.

  “Not too sure. It’s pretty foggy out there still. If we’re lucky then we might get close enough to reach it today.”

  “We’ll depart as soon as the fog lifts. Make sure that baby is no longer a nuisance.”

  Like I can control her laughing or shitting. “You just keep your pistol in your pants.”

  Caesar’s eyes narrow.

  Oh fuck.

  A huge smile stretches across his face.

  This is fucking it.

  He laughs and slaps me on the shoulder. “This is what I like about you, cabron. Nothing holds you back. Just get us the fuck out of here soon.”

  Caesar walks over to the restroom as I bring another stale donut to the register counter. I put Ella in an empty box by a display of Monster energy drinks. Somehow the word MONSTER seems fitting. This kid would be nuts with a gun.

  While scanning the room I notice a laptop on one of the shelves. It comes to mind that the Internet could still be working. What would the web have to say about sunny San Diego? Could there even be WiFi in this shithole of a store?

  The computer boots and doesn’t ask for a password (thank God) and instantly goes to the desktop. Amazingly I’m able to access the Internet and get everything from YouTube to Yahoo!.

  On every news site is some expert talking head, a zombie analyst who has watched a movie, been an undead extra or wrote a graphic novel about a zombie apocalypse. None of them have any concrete answers, just conflicting theories. Zombies can think. Zombies can’t think. Zombies can be cured. Zombies can’t be cured. Zombies can be turned into slaves. Zombies will decay in the rain. They will run out of food. They will turn vegetarian and live forever. They can love. They can hate. San Diego will be rescued. It won’t be rescued. It will be Escape From San Diego, a take-off from the old cheesy movie franchise. We need to be nuked. We need to be cleansed. An antidote can be made from frog cells, from chicken cells, from dog cells, from survivor cells, from orchids, cheeseburgers, clouds, from zombie cells . . . It’s all bullshit because none of these jackasses have even been around the real thing like I have. Where are the survivors? Where are the military experts? The scientists? Don’t tell me that America is making money off this suck-ass infestation of undead? This is really pissing me off.

  Then I turn to social media.

  Tweets are blowing up with people begging for help, whether they’re in the thick of it all or not. Others beg for donations. It’s a wasteland of virtual cardboard signs on every corner. I decide to tweet too. I have a baby now. Found her outside Starbucks. #FTW.

  Then videos start popping up, but due to their graphic content (this is what YouTube says) they’re taken down. Is the apocalypse being suppressed? What are viewers missing? Videos of people dying in a million different ways is all: infection, guns, knives, bombs . . .

  After getting my digital fill of monkey piss I google El Cortez. Old hotel turned into condos. Great, more condos. Turns out to be some relic of ancient San Diego (1950s). Why does Caesar want to get there so bad? All I can think is this is a horror film, and the El Cortez is a perfect backdrop.

  “We need supplies,” I tell Caesar. “Got anything cool in your bag?”

  “Guns and ammo, cabron.”

  “We need first-aid kits, food, water and flashlights. Light won’t last around here much longer. I predict the grid will die today.”

  I grab diapers and pre-made formula refills. Caesar grabs the rest.

  We load the bags and guns.

  “It’s go time,” Caesar says.

  “El Cortez or bust.”

  I strap Ella to my chest and we’re ready.

  We’re at the back door of the convenience store. Can’t see any fog. Caesar has a cigarette in his mouth. His shotgun is in one hand and machete in the other.

  I’m chomping on minty gum. Though my manhood feels a little limp, I like to think I look like Brad Pitt in a tabloid image, lugging one of his kids around.

  Then again, never mind.

  Caesar kicks open the door and jams his machete through the neck of the nearest infected loser. He severs the spinal cord and the once-walking corpse folds to the ground. What’s sick is it still tries to bite us.

  Where’s a baseball bat when you need one?

  Even while wearing his gun bag over his shoulders, Caesar must be
in great shape, because his ass can move. I can barely keep up.

  Only two other zombies are in our path: a couple of teenage boys who look like they hadn’t gotten laid before their time was up. Caesar easily chops his way through them.

  Sorry dudes. Maybe next life.

  Now Caesar takes up the rear as the baby and I take the lead. She’s asleep, which is fine with me since her oh-my-god-that-was-a-cool-zombie-kill laugh creeps me the fuck out.

  It’s eerie walking down a street where there are no living souls. Downtown San Diego on a day like this is usually flooded with cars and pedestrians. All I see is burned-out cars and body parts. Smells like the fucking end of the world, that’s for sure. Did I mention I have a bandana around my face and it doesn’t kill this smell? I feel fucking sick.

  As we continue I can see two Hummers in the shadows of two large office buildings. Must be the two assholes I spotted the other day. When we get to them we find bodies and bullet casings. Why the hell didn’t these dudes seek cover in one of the buildings?

  Their remains are smeared in the street.

  “Look around for anything useful,” Caesar says. “I’ll check the Hummers. You inspect the bodies.”

  I quickly realize this job sucks. Who the fuck cleans battlefields? I don’t want that shit job. In fact, I’m going on the record right now to say everything about death sucks. I want to die in my sleep, or while having a massive orgasm. Can’t say I’m going to get so lucky. Who does? I’m more likely to piss and shit myself in the process, especially if it’s out here with the fucking teethers of the apocalypse.

  The air is so thick with rank death, I swear I can bite chunks from it. I can’t find anything anyway. No usable weapons. Everything has been picked over.

  Just my luck, I spot the butt end of an assault rifle under the body of a soldier stuck beneath the remains of a poor bastard whose head is half gone. I drag him by the shoe off the soldier.

  When I reach for the rifle I nearly shit myself as the soldier grabs me with three fingers (two are missing).