by Ts Alan
***
April 9, 2014 - It is now 0245 hours and this will be my last journal entry. More and more of the undead have gathered outside. It seems like the entire city has succumb to the plague. I have heard unusual noises coming from somewhere inside the building. It sounded like the calls of owls. Shortly ago there had been attempts by my men who are now the undead to break into my office. But for the last fifteen minutes I have heard no one beating on my door.
Staff Sergeant Becker had called earlier for reinforcements but I could not send any. Though I have not heard from him since, or know if he was successful in his mission, I have no choice but to order the last of my non-infected soldiers to the roof for exfil. HQ has informed me that ASOC will send a helicopter to transport them to Stewart ANGB for final withdrawal. I pray that my soldiers make it safely out of the city.
I tried several times throughout the day and evening to get a hold of my wife and children, to hear their voices, to know they are alive, but I know they are dead or worse. All is lost and this virus drains me of my energy and my mind. Before I become too incapacitated I will follow Command’s orders. I will kill myself. It is better I die then to become one of the unholy abominations that now roam this metropolis.
Faugh an Beallach!
J.D. closed the journal and picked up the reports and took everything with me. He now knew the circumstance behind the colonel’s suicide. J.D. would not show his discovery to his friends. They had all endured enough horror and trauma in their fight for survival. J.D. would spare them the disturbing facts of the fall of the 69th Infantry Regiment, for in the end all the soldiers had died as heroes, even the commander.
As he looked down at Max he smiled. It had been a long and arduous four-month journey of survival. From the zombie uprising to finding sanctuary inside the GCC, to having to abandon it and seek shelter above in a post viral world in which the living dead had perished but two mutated human species had risen, and to losing one of their group of eight against the more aggressive species. The ones they call half-mutes. Indeed it had been a difficult path to survival, but along the way his group had bonded and had become as close as family, and his dog Max had made it through with him. He smiled as he saw his furry friend napping and wondered how many other humans and animals may have survived.
2
Ryan’s Hope
April 8, Day 1.
Ryan had left his Bronx apartment early that morning, shortly before 9:00 a.m. He walked six blocks and boarded the Seventh Avenue Express 2 without ever having turned on the news, as he usually did when he awoke. He arrived at his agent’s office around 10:00 a.m., never noticing the commotion in the streets as he walked from the Times Square Subway Station west along 42nd Street, up 8th Avenue to 44th, and then west to his destination between 9th and 10th Avenues.
It was the after excitement of the meeting with his agent and signing the contract for a lead role in a children’s movie, and the fact that he had his iPod ear buds firmly planted in his ear canals, that had made him oblivious to everything around him, which was unusual for him since he was always a consummate and observant New Yorker. The meeting barely took a half hour and when he left the office of Bret Adams Ltd, he headed directly to the Galaxy Diner on the corner of 46th Street and 9th Avenue to meet a few friends he hadn’t seen in a while for a late breakfast.
Ryan and company always liked to sit directly opposite the counter seating, which was three-quarters of the way to the back of the restaurant on the 46th Street side of the building and in between the two sets of folding window doors, and today was no exception.
He passed under the familiar black and white awning that hung below the large black sign emblazoned with white letters spelling out “Galaxy Diner,” and accompanied by artwork of the planet Saturn. Upon entering he was greeted by the hostess, a very petite, early twenties Latina girl with her dark hair pulled back into a ponytail.
She smiled and nodded at him in acknowledgement as he approached her, and then let him pass. She had recognized him from the numerous times he and his friends had patronized the establishment. Ryan had made an impression upon her with his good looks, strong physique, and glinting smile. She had flirted with him from time to time, hoping he would notice she was interested, but he had dismissed it as her just being friendly, even after Jeff had told him that the girl had a thing for him. This was probably the reason he dismissed her intentions. If Jeff said she was interested, then she definitely wasn’t, because Jeff was a known practical joker.
Ryan returned the smile and gave her a “Good morning” as he walked toward the back of the restaurant to his way to his awaiting friends.
The diner was the choice for struggling actors with limited financial means, or for anyone, for that matter, on a budget. Although the food never lit the culinary world on fire with its carte du jour menu, it was gastronomically exemplary when it came to diner food, especially for Ryan, with its vegetarian omelets.
It wasn’t until he sat down with his friends that he heard the news; it seemed it was the talk of the establishment.
“Terrorists my ass,” he heard someone exclaim from the booth behind him as he attempted to order a “Farmer’s Omelet,” a multitudinous concoction of three eggs with fresh spinach, tomato, onion, mushrooms and cheese and served with potatoes and toast, whole wheat for him.
“It’s that Goddamn avian flu I tell you.”
“Avian flu,” someone countered. “What do you know about avian flu? Does avian flu make you go crazy and attack someone, or the dead come back to life?”
“Bullshit!” the unseen man in the booth behind Ryan countered. “The dead coming back to life. That’s just not possible. Its mass hysteria, I tell ya, that’s all.”
Finally, after the group had ordered he asked his friends what all the talk was about.
“Wow!” Ryan commented, keeping his voice low so the patrons in the talkative booth behind him wouldn’t hear. “Rather the animated conversation behind us. Terrorists and avian flu?”
Tracie asked him, “Haven’t you heard the news? Grand Central was shutdown a few hours ago because of a possible terrorist threat, and there’s a pronounced outbreak of influenza that is apparently affecting a large portion of the city.”
“More like infecting the public,” Jeff said, attempting a pun.
“That was bad,” Ryan replied to Jeff’s attempt at humor. “But what’s all this about people attacking one another?”
“Oh, that. The news reported a few incidents of assault early this morning by people who were acting irrational, that’s all. It happened on the east side,” Tracie assured him.
“I guess I should have watched the news this morning,” Ryan remarked.
“I heard,” Don spoke up, “that the dead were coming back to life and eating people.”
“That’s just stupid,” Jeff said, shaking his head.
“No, I swear. That’s what I heard.”
Jeff asked, “Oh yeah? And where did you hear that?”
“1010 WINS.”
“You’re making that up. 1010 WINS would never report such trash,” Jeff adamantly rebuked.
“No,” Don refuted. “I swear! I heard it this morning, right before I walked out the door.”
Jeff commented, “That’s about as real as that UFO video the Syfy Channel broadcast back in 2000. Turned out to be an actress who was hired to do this promo.”
“I don’t see how that applies here,” Don told Jeff.
Jeff contested any possibility of the unexplained being possible. “UFOs, zombies, vampires, Frankenstein. That’s all Hollywood. If the news reports something outrageous then it’s gotta be some kind of hoax.”
“You mean like War of the Worlds on Halloween night,” Ryan added.
“What about the Devil… or God?” Tracie asked him.
Jeff responded, “What about them?”
Tracie clarified. “Are you putting them into that category, too?”
“Of course not,” he replied, with a slight tone of offense to Tracie’s question.
Don responded, “So what you’re saying is that God and the Devil are real but vampires and UFOs don’t exist?”
“Absolutely!” Jeff declared.
Tracie interjected. “Well that’s a bit narrow-minded don’t you think?”
“How’s that?” Jeff asked her.
“Well. You presume by your belief that God and the Devil exist, but you’ve never seen either of them, have you?”
“No, but—”
Traci didn’t allow his counterpoint; she wasn’t done with hers. She shook her finger at him, letting him know there was more to come. “Well, since you cannot prove that God or the Devil exists, then how can you dismiss the existence of UFOs or vampires? There are more reports of UFO sightings every year than divine manifestations.”
“Yeah, but—” He stopped, trying to think of a comeback; a valid point Tracie would buy.
Tracie prodded, “Yeah, but.” She paused ever so briefly before going in for the kill. “See, that’s so typical of you, Jeff. If you can’t explain it or it doesn’t fit neatly into your world, you dismiss it. You suffer from the clash between faith and reason. The inability to believe the unbelievable.”
“That’s not all he suffers from,” Don taunted, as he tossed a French fry at him.
Abruptly the volume of the 42” High-Definition television in the back dining area rose—the young Latina hostess having turned it up—the voice belonged to Pat Kiernan of NY1.
“Due to a bioterrorism threat at Grand Central Terminal, the New York City Office of Emergency Management in conjunction with the United States Army Medical Research Institute of Infectious Diseases has issued a statement declaring that as of 2:00 pm Marshall Law will go into effect for all five boroughs. In accordance with this enactment, all train and subway service in and out of the City of New York will be suspended. All bridges and tunnels along with the FDR Drive and the Westside Highway will be closed with exception to authorized personnel. In addition, if you live or work within a five-block radius of Grand Central Terminal, you are required to remain where you are until further notice and instructed to turn off any air intake systems, to close all windows and doors, and to seal them if possible.
All personnel from the Office of Emergency Management, Department of Environmental Protection, Department of Health and Mental Hygiene, law enforcement, fire department, emergency medicine physicians, and technicians should report to their place of employment immediately, Furthermore, all conEdison power station and Verizon telecommunications engineers and technicians are urged to report to work immediately. Anyone not requested to report to work should stay at home. If you are at your place of employment, stay there until further instructed. Stay inside. Do not attempt to go out. If you are caught out after 2:00 pm today, and are not authorized, you will be arrested.
Once again, due to a bioterrorism threat against Grand Central Terminal, the New York City Office of Emergency Management in conjunction with the United States Army Medical Research Institute of Infectious Diseases has issued a statement declaring…”
“Marshall Law just for a threat? Seriously?” Ryan commented.
“Told you,” Don said to Jeff.
“Well, I didn’t hear anything about the dead coming back to life,” Jeff told him.
“Well,” Tracie announced. “Something is going on. I think it’s time for us to leave. That’s only a few hours before they suspend the subway. I don’t want to get stuck here.”
Tracie motioned for the waitress to bring her the check. When the checks had been delivered and distributed, Don and Jeff went to the cashier booth at the front entrance to pay their tab. Tracie waited for Ryan to finish the last bites of his omelet. Ryan hated eating in a hurry. He loved to savor his meal and socialize with friends while eating. Gulping food down was never a pleasant experience for him.
Tracie knew his habits, likes and dislikes. They had been friends for a long time, and for a time roommates, until Tracie moved to Hollywood when she was cast in a crime drama. She was staying with Ryan, in the same apartment she once had shared with him, while she visited. They were very close and enjoyed spending as much time together as possible. They were nearly as close as brother and sister. Though neither was currently involved, there was never a thought of being anything more than friends.
As she sat with him watching him fork the last bite of his omelet, a mushroom falling out of the folded layer and down onto his plate, they couldn’t see or hear the commotion on 9th Avenue.
***
It was a mild, sunny day with wisps of thin clouds streaked across a bright blue sky and a barely perceptible cool breeze. The past few days had been warmer than usual for this time of the season, and the Galaxy Diner had decided to take advantage of the sun’s glorious early warmth by opening its small sidewalk patio for those patrons who were eager to sit outdoors and enjoy the beauty of the day.
There had been only three patrons seated at front in the enclosed sidewalk dining area. There was a couple, in their early twenties, holding hands across the table as they ate pancakes and waffles, each sharing with the other their syrup-soaked breakfast. There was also a single patron, a gentleman in suit and tie, reading the New York Times, and sipping on his third cup of black coffee. Suddenly the couple stood and began to point across to the other side of the street. They stared for a moment, turned to look at one another as they briefly exchanged a few words, and then turned their attentions back to whatever had caught their interest across the avenue.
The curious act caught Jeff’s eye as he was about to exit, causing him to stop, and then make his way over to the open, large folding window doors that separated him from the outdoor dining area to view the couple’s animated exchange.
“Hey, Don,” he called to his friend, who was paying his bill. “There’s something going on across the street.”
Don turned to him after handing the cashier the check and money, and, in a creepy voice, he tried to imitate the zombies from the video game Resident Evil 4 that he and Jeff often played together. “Matano!”
“Oh, fuck off. I’m serious.”
“C’mon let’s go,” Don told him, as he collected his change from the cashier, and then made his way out the exit. But Jeff wasn’t listening. He remained engrossed in the commotion across 9th Avenue, trying to determine what the young couple had been pointing to. Don walked out and stood in front of the barrier of the sidewalk café and motioned to Jeff to join him. Jeff’s face filled with a look of fright. He frantically motioned to his friend, and yelled to him to turn around. As Don did he was struck.
Hit full-force like a quarterback blindsided by a linebacker in a blitz play, Don crashed over the thigh-high metal barrier. Thrown face forward onto the young couple’s table, the force of the impact sent him crashing to the ground. His head struck the concrete step-up to the folding doors. Don was dead before the creature began to rip away at the soft flesh of his throat.
Jeff let out a loud and panicked, “Holy shit!”
Startled and afraid he turned to run, but found himself blocked by patrons who had come to the folding windows when Jeff had begun to yell his warning to his now dead buddy.
A face of sickened flesh, drenched in the blood of his mutilated friend, looked up at him, and then instantly bounded through the opening. Stumbling, unable to make a rapid retreat, and blocked by the gawking patrons, Jeff crashed backward with the ravenous creature upon him. Another wild-eyed, sickly drawn face of a man abruptly breached the archway and savagely snatched a retreating, panic-stricken patron.
***
Ryan and Tracie could hear Jeff’s shouting, as he called out to Don to turn around. It was not unusual for Jeff to be noisy and boisterous, but it was highly unusual, although not tota
lly out of place, for him to be making a spectacle of himself in public. Jeff, after all, was loud and raucous by nature, loved to irritate his friends whenever possible, and had a need to be the center of attention. Except his call to Don seemed to have had an urgency and intent of warning, not one of irreverence.
When the crash came, followed by the terrified, panicked cries of patrons in the front part of the restaurant, Tracie and Ryan had just stood up from their table and were about to head to the cashier. The commotion and fleeing guests quickly brought their attention to an event that was not Jeff’s doing.
At first they thought a deranged homeless man had thrown something through the open partition and had now entered the restaurant to menace its patrons. That was what the scenario seemed to indicate by the presence of the man coming toward them clad in a filthy trench coat, dirtied and torn jeans, and sneakers with the toe of the shoe missing on the left foot. Within seconds they both realized the seriousness of the situation. The man grabbed the Latina hostess and tossed her to the ground and began to gnaw at the girl’s face. Ryan stepped forward to help, but as he did he saw another charge. This time it was a wild-eyed, sick-faced girl, who definitely did not have the appearance of a homeless person.
Ryan quickly turned to Tracie and grabbed her hand. There was only one escape, and that was to the back of the restaurant. But as he turned to pull her, she was suddenly yanked from his grip. Tracie stood in the grasp of the attacker, her arms flailing, her body shaking, and the thing’s face buried in her neck.
Ryan didn’t panic, but froze momentarily while he watched his best friend being eaten alive. All he could think of doing was to tackle the both of them, hopefully hard enough that Tracie would land solidly enough atop of her assailant for it to let go so he could pull her free.
His tackle worked, but Tracie’s body had gone limp. As he desperately pulled her away, spurts of blood pumped from Tracie’s torn and chewed neck. The tumbled female rose. However, she wasn’t interested in Tracie’s lifeless body. The bloodthirsty female now had her angry sights set on eatus interruptus—Ryan Duncan.