Year of the Dead

by Jack J. Lee

  I parked the truck about fifty to sixty feet from the gate. I couldn’t drive closer because of all the abandoned cars. I flashed my lights. Ten guys ran out toward us and helped grab our bags and the generator and we rushed through the gates. I recognized Hiram and some of the other guys.

  We were brought quickly into the ward building. Four men carried the replacement generator in and took it to the where the old generator was. Frank is an engineer and into that kind of stuff, so he went with them. The rest of us headed to the gymnasium.

  Chapter 23: Mark Jones, October 9th, Year 1

  By drawing out the zombies by myself in the dark, I was taking a calculated risk. I didn’t know if there were any vampires near me. I was hoping that if there were, they would wait until close to midnight to attack. I had a sample size of one. The only other vampire I had come across had tried to take me about 1:30 a.m. I was hoping that if I ran across another, it would wait until later in the night. One of the first things I noticed about zombies is they tended to disappear between 1 and four a.m. I was hoping one of the reasons for this was that they were hiding from vampires.

  It would be great if we only had to worry about vamps during this time period. Over the last month, John, Alan, Todd, and I had been busy making zombie habitrails, the biggest at Westminster College’s Jewett Center for the Performing Arts, on 1840 South and 1300 East. The Jewett Center was slightly less than a mile northeast of the ward. I picked the Jewett Center as a habitrail because it had a huge basement. It could hold thousands of zombies, as long as zombies had a way in and no way out.

  We had already cleaned out the zombies between the ward and the Jewett Center. I hoped no new zombies had moved back into the area. It would ruin my day if I got trapped between two groups of zombies. I had to make sure I was always in sight of the zombies following me, so I was walking most of the time. I only ran when the zombies got too close. I was going around two miles an hour so it took me thirty minutes to get to the Jarrett Performance Center. Once I could see the front door, I took off running as fast as I could. The Performance Center had a lot of glass windows. The zombies would be able to see me inside. I had left the west door entrance unlocked. I opened it and then used the door stop I had left there to keep the door open.

  The Jewett Center has a basement and two upper floors with two sets of elevators and multiple stairs. All the stairs to the basement had metal fire doors. It had been easy to weld or bolt all these doors shut. When we had converted the Jewett Center into a habitrail, we had cut down the stairs between the first and second floors with Sara’s oxy-acetylene torches. We left one set of elevators alone, with all the doors closed. We worked on the other elevator, the one closest to the west side entrance. All the elevator doors on all the levels were pried open and kept open. We cut the cable to the elevator so it fell to the basement and then we cut the top half of the elevator off, cut that into little pieces and dumped the pieces on the floor of the basement.

  As I ran toward the open elevator shaft, I saw three zombies headed toward me. When these zombies had been alive they really must have loved the performing arts. I ran at them full speed. I drew Watanabe’s sword out and struck with the same motion. I struck the first zombie at the junction of its left neck and shoulder, cutting across to its opposite arm pit. I could barely feel the resistance as its body collapsed. I used the same strike from the opposite side on the next zombie, moving the sword in a horizontal figure-eight pattern. The second zombie went down. I continued the figure-eight and struck the third zombie exactly the same way I had hit the first. In less than three seconds, I cut three zombies in half.

  Dave Watanabe: at first I just respected your love, but as I have gotten to know her, I too have fallen for her. I will marry her and she will bear my children. God damn! I love this sword. As I looked down at the tile floor, there were three animated heads attached to one arm trying to crawl toward me. As you can imagine, it was hard for a zombie with just a head and one arm to make much progress. They were all flopping around in circles. The parts of the body that were detached from the head lay unmoving. It was the funniest-looking thing ever. I couldn’t help it; I burst out laughing. I wiped zombie gunk from my sword on one of the unmoving bodies. I slid my sword back in its sheath. ‘Baby, forgive me; I don’t have time to clean you properly now but I will as soon as I can.’ As I ran, I wondered if the animated heads of the zombies I had cut down would eat their own separated bodies. The rest of the zombies following me probably wouldn’t give the heads enough time to do this, but it was an interesting question.

  The other zombies were now just fifty feet away from me. As I ran toward the elevator shaft, I flicked on my head lamp. The lower half of the elevator shaft ladder had been cut off, so I had to jump about a foot off the ground and four feet into the shaft to grab the lowest remaining rung. ‘Got it.’

  I pulled up with both my hands on the ladder rung, hands facing away from me until my hands were just below my chin. I kept my left hand on the rung and reached up two more rungs with my right hand. I got my right foot on the lowest rung and then my left foot. I was now in a crouching position, with both my feet on the lowest rung and my two hands on a rung about 18 inches higher than my feet. I had asked Sara previously to cut a five-foot section of ladder off above my hands; she had followed my instructions.

  I didn’t look back. I needed to see what I was doing but I could hear the zombies coming toward me. It sounded like they were less than ten feet away.

  I then did what rock climbers call a dynamic move. I let go with my hands and thrust down with my feet so my knees and hips were now straight, reaching up with my hands at the same time. It was simple, once my legs were straight, to grab the next lowest ladder rung. It’s a little freaky the first time you do a dynamic move, but once you’ve done it a few times, it’s fairly easy. I climbed up to the next floor. The mass of zombies had reached the open elevator shaft below me. There were so many of that the closest ones were being pushed in. I had some time now. There was no way a zombie could climb up the elevator shaft and there wasn’t another way to get up to the second floor.

  I turned my headlight off. I needed to get my eyes acclimated to the dark again. Next to the open elevator shaft was a canvas bag filled with newspapers, and a small wooden box. I took my backpack off and pulled out a lighter and some lighter fluid. I squirted some lighter fluid on the newspapers and the wooden box and then set them on fire. The box was full of bullets. I then threw the whole bag down the elevator shaft to the basement. In about twenty minutes, the fire would burn through the box and the bullets would go off. Every zombie within hearing distance would come.

  Then, I squirted lighter fluid over a pile of garbage bags filled with zombie parts in the center of the hallway, and threw my lighter on the bags. The fire quickly burned through the garbage bags and died out. The smell of singed flesh and burnt plastic filled the air. I pulled an iPod attached to battery-operated speakers from my backpack and turned it on.

  I had turned the Jewett Performance Center into a zombie magnet. With the music and the smell of singed dead zombies, none of the zombies I had drawn to the center from the ward would be leaving soon, and when the bullets in the wooden box started going off, every other zombie within hearing distance would come here, too. If I was lucky, thousands of zombies would be trapped in the basement of this building. All the zombies coming here would force more and more zombies down the elevator shaft and into the basement.

  It was time to scram. I went to the east side of the building. I had left rope there to rappel down. I checked to make sure there were no zombies in sight. It was clear. I got to the ground without any problems, pulled my sword out and cut the rope about nine feet off the ground. No zombie was going to climb it. Forget about white men; zombies can’t jump.

  It took me just under ten minutes to make it back to the ward. When I got within eye sight of the ward I stopped, looked around to make sure there were no zombies anywhere near and took off my headlight
. I took out a clean rag and an oil bottle and took a couple minutes to clean Watanabe’s sword properly. I then took out a packet of Baby Wipes and some waterless hand sanitizer and cleaned off my face and body.

  Salt Lake City has a desert climate. It was a warm October night and it was in the low 50s. Even at this temperature, after all I had done in the last 45 minutes I was soaked with nervous sweat. Try running in the dark with thousands of zombies after you. You’d be covered in sweat, too. I changed clothes. I’d been wearing a dark t-shirt and some jeans. They were disposable; I left them on the ground. I was now dressed in a black wool suit and a white silk button-down shirt. I put on a pair of Rockport dress shoes. These are shoes that look like dress shoes but have the soles and support of athletic shoes. I keep my hair short. I ran some gel through it and combed it down with my fingers.

  Now you ask: Why the hell would I take time to clean up and change clothes? The answer is simple. I wasn’t really the Federal Director of Emergency services in Utah. I had no actual authority. It was my not-so-humble opinion that people needed to listen to me because I was the only one that could make the right decisions. By itself, my opinion didn’t mean much. If I came back to the ward looking like shit after drawing off thousands of zombies, I would be a courageous heroic man but still only a man. If I came back to the ward looking like James Bond, I would be a legend. Legends get more respect than mere mortals.

  If I was a normal guy, the stress of trying to be a legend would probably wear me out. The people of Salt Lake City were lucky I’m a narcissist—being worshipped is how I roll. I left the backpack behind. Black suits and white silk shirts don’t go with backpacks.

  Chapter 24: Mike Smith, September 11th to October 9th, Year 1

  Oh my God, it hurts! I reached from my bed and turned on the light. So bright, so bright. Damn it! I swung my arm, hit the lamp, and it fell. It was dark again. Better, but why do I hurt so much? My skin is crawling. My teeth chatter. I’m so cold. My t-shirt and jockey shorts are wet and damp with sweat.

  What time is it? The red LED-lights of my alarm clock read 5:48 a.m. Uuuhh, I’m going to hurl. I got up from bed and stumbled to the bathroom. I heard my wife wake.

  “Honey, what’s wrong?”

  “I don’t know, Beth; I just feel like shit.” I vomited. I heard her get out of bed. I could hear her body moving across the sheets and the impact of her bare feet on our carpeted floor. It’s so loud! Shit, she turned on the light. “God damn it! For the love of God, please turn off the light!”

  “I’m sorry, honey. What’s wrong?”

  I felt her hand on my shoulder as I leaned over the toilet. I heaved. I had nothing left in my stomach. It felt like my guts were coming out of my mouth. Beth rubbed my back. I knew she was trying to help, but her hand felt like sandpaper. “I don’t know Beth. I must have food poisoning.”

  “Honey, you’re so hot, you’re burning up. We need to get you to the hospital. Do you think you can get to the car or should I call an ambulance?”

  “I don’t know. Oh shit!” I heaved again. I was so cold I was shaking. My teeth were chattering as loud as jack hammers. I felt dizzy and I felt myself slump forward. I couldn’t move.

  “Oh, honey.” I felt my wife drag me across the bathroom floor into my bedroom. She somehow got me on to my bed. I still couldn’t move. It went dark.

  Ah, it burned! It was morning. The light from the window felt like fire across my face. I jumped into the bathroom and closed the door. It was dark again. I went back to sleep.

  Eyes open, stretch, hungry. Walk out of room. Smell dead prey. Adult female, throat torn out, sniff, lick the wound. Lick it again. No more blood left; all drained. Need to hunt.

  Balcony sliding glass door, smash through it, third floor, jump to street. Jump another thirty feet and then another. Smell prey. There in house on right. Jump on roof. Listen; only one prey. Reach up; straighten whole body fully in air. Slam hands down, claws out. Claws and fingers penetrate roof. Curl fingers, pull roof out. Splinters fly and roof is open. Rip out insulation. Pull out wooden wall-studs. Break through drywall.

  “What the hell? Who’s there?” Loud sharp noise, again noise, tug on my left shoulder, small hole. I see hole close, no pain. Male prey, holding rifle, grab rifle, twist, throw it. Claws stab into meat of prey’s shoulder. Prey screams. Amusing, let prey go. It tries to run. Reach down with index claw and cut heel tendon. Prey falls to ground, turns on its back, faces me. Tears run down its face.

  “Fuck you, fuck you.”

  Play some more? No hungry. Prey tries to punch. Grab its forearm near hand, bite down and take out chunk of flesh and bone from wrist just below thumb. Spit chunk out. Food spurts out, shooting in time with the beat of prey’s heart. Place mouth over wound and drink. Hold prey close. It struggles, legs kick against me, other hand tries to push me away, heart beating quickly. Soon, too soon, prey’s struggles get weak and the pressure of food in mouth weakens. Heart beat stops.

  Pick up dead prey, place mouth to throat and bite, tearing into neck soft tissues until only spinal bone is holding head on to neck. Pick up prey by chest upside down over my head, letting gravity pull last of food out of prey’s body into my mouth.

  Full, sleepy now, need place to sleep. Compulsion. No resist! Compulsion, must go. Can’t resist. Must follow compulsion.

  Leap out of roof. Jump, jump, follow compulsion. Try resisting again, again fail, enter large white granite building. See others. Not my territory. Others must die. Protect territory. Try to attack. Compulsion will not let me attack. Angry, now getting angrier, see multiple prey. Food in lit rooms. Light burns. Loud sharp noises again. Don’t want to go in. Compulsion forces me. Angry; hate compulsion. One of the others destroys light. Better.

  Attack prey, prey so slow, kill and kill and kill. Compulsion will not let me feed. Anger, anger, I hate compulsion.

  All prey dead, only others alive. I try to attack others; compulsion will not let me. It is my territory; others must die. I scream. Others scream. The light burned me before it was destroyed. I need to feed. Compulsion allows me to feed. I bite through necks and lift dead food into air to drain their juices into my mouth. Angry, living food tastes better. Next time will wound and disable prey first so they taste better. After I drain three of the dead prey, my burns are healed.

  I try to attack others. All food is mine; compulsion comes back it, will not let me. I jump back to where I killed first prey. House dark, windows all covered with wood. Good place to sleep.

  I wake at night. Feed every night. Many not-prey on streets. Not-prey annoying, always try to attack. No reason to kill not-prey. Cannot feed on not-prey, tried playing with not-prey, no amusement, not-prey never tries to run, always tries to attack. There are hours every night where there are few not-prey. I sleep during the day. Nights go by; I roam my territory when number of not-prey is lower. I have territory. Mine. Content.

  Many nights pass, I am hunting, compulsion back, forces me to go south out of my territory. I resist; I fail; anger. I see others. Again I cannot attack. Building surrounded by fence. I jump over it easily. Jump on to roof. Others land beside me.

  Chapter 25: Hiram Rockwell, October 9th, Year 1

  Before September 11th, I had faith in God and I had faith that he had a plan. On the 11th when I killed my mother, God’s plan was revealed to me. I no longer needed faith; I am now certain that he had a plan that would save the righteous.

  Last year, when the world was still normal, I was a Sergeant in the First Ranger Battalion in the 75th Ranger Regiment in Fort Stewart, Georgia. I had enlisted eight years previously when I was 19, and served multiple combat tours in both Iraq and Afghanistan. I had just gotten an invitation to try out for Delta Force. You don’t apply for Delta Force; you get invited. Only seven percent of those invited pass the selection courses. For a few hours I was the happiest man in the world. I am a warrior and the best warriors in the world had just challenged me to step up and try to join them. That same day I got a cal
l from my mom. My dad was sick. There was no one my parents could trust that could run his drywall business. They needed me home.

  My parents have eight children, but I’m the only boy, and the youngest child. None of my sisters or their husbands was up to running Dad’s business. Dad owns one of the largest drywall installation businesses in Utah, but with the economy, the business was down and finances were tight. With the costs of raising eight kids and paying for seven weddings, my folks didn’t have much in the way of retirement savings. They needed someone they could trust to run things until Dad got better. I was raised LDS and I was taught to respect God, family, and nation, in that order. It was hard, but my family was more important than my career.

  My father died right after Christmas. I was at his bedside in the hospital when he passed, and I knew I had done the right thing. If I had still been in the army, I probably would have been deployed overseas and wouldn’t have been able to be there. Shortly after Dad died, my Mom started getting sick. I don’t think she wanted to live without my father.

  My sisters are all married and have small children. All of them live at least an hour drive from my parents. They tried to help as best they could but it was mostly up to me to take care of my mother and the business. It was tough. I worked all day running crews and trying to drum up new work. Nights I spent with my mom. I had no time to socialize or unwind. It may sound funny, but life is simpler in combat. It’s you and your guys against the enemy. Sure, you have to worry about IEDs and terrorists hiding among civilians. You may not know who the bad guys are but you always know who the good guys are and the good guys always wear the same uniform. You always have buddies who’ve got your back. In civilian life, I was dealing with general contractors who wouldn’t pay their bills, asshole brothers-in-law asking for loans, and employees who wouldn’t show up for work. I never had much milk of human kindness. Now I had even less. I was always pissed off.