Age of Z: A Tale of Survival

by T. S. Frost

  He wondered if this was how people, regular people, felt when going up against dangerous opponents. It took all his concentration, but he found that if he focused, he could manage, and be mostly successful.

  Casey zeroed in on a single zom moan, trying to separate it from the others, and figure out how far away it was from him and the ground. Then he'd swing the post, smashing out hard at the source of the vile noise in the distance.

  Sometimes he missed, and the metal swung through empty air, useless, and he had to take a second to recover. But more often than not he felt the barely resisting thud of once-human skull and flesh at the far end of the pole, and heard the wet crunch and the profound silence when the creature suddenly stopped making noise.

  Three times, the zoms resisting and groaning, and then falling silent, well and truly dead. The fourth was faster and inside his guard before he realized it, gripping his arm with unrelenting determination and a strength that would have been dangerously powerful up against anything other than him.

  Casey snarled, wrenched his arm away from the cold, dead fingers, and lifted his leg to kick at the zom before he even realized he was doing it. The moan turned into a gurgle and it fell backwards onto the ground. Casey smashed its face in with the broken end of the pole, and it, too, fell silent and still.

  And suddenly the horde was gone.

  Casey stood, panting hard, as he glared around into the darkness and strained his hearing for any signs of further attackers. He wasn't winded physically–the fight had only been five minutes, ten at most. But mentally and emotionally, it was exhausting to have taken on so many walking corpses while running on pure fury, and–now that he thought about it–more than a little fear too, although for himself or for his friend he couldn't say.

  When the moon slowly peeked out from behind the storm clouds again, shedding a little more dim light on the dark streets than before, Casey added shock to the list as well, when he saw what he'd done.

  There were bodies strewn everywhere, broken and twisted unnaturally, with old congealed blood and brain matter spattered across the pavement and already draining away with the rest of the rainwater down into the old, unused sewers. Some of the bodies crushed by the vehicles were barely identifiable as formerly human, and the ragged moans of the surviving but immobile zoms almost sounded pitiful, even though Casey knew they felt no pain.

  The post still in his hand was coated with gore as well, and he dropped the remains of it in disgust. The entire picture together in the darkness looked wrong. It was like a massacre had happened, and they'd never stood a chance. No wonder Gentech had wanted to make him a weapon. Over thirty zoms, and he'd torn them all apart, and he wasn't even sorry. It would have been so easy to do it to real people, too. It was so wrong.

  Everything about this world was wrong.

  Still grimacing, he turned towards the shop, ignoring the way the wet streets glistened darkly in the moonlight, and cast his attention towards the interior of the building. That was when he realized that Alexa's breathing was growing harsher, more frantic, and that not all the zombie moans he heard belonged to the immobile ones in the streets.

  Eyes widening, he hurled himself across the street and smashed through the remains of the door, what little was left of it. He barely felt the impact as he crashed into the room and heard more than saw the two lumbering, groaning shapes that were shuffling towards the huddled form in the corner, the one that was coughing desperately.

  Casey could have sworn he'd burned himself out with his furious assault outside, but he found he still had it in him to be angry. He was across the room in a heartbeat, and as the two zoms reached out with grasping, dead hands for their helpless prey he snarled and snatched them both by the backs of their necks.

  They weighed nothing as he threw them into the wall. The first stopped moaning abruptly as its head smashed open against the concrete from the force of the throw. Casey heard a sharp snap-crack from the second's neck as it thudded against the wall and fell to the floor, and although the rest of its body stopped moving, its jaw continued to gnash.

  Casey ended its hollow existence under his boot heel. He listened hard, but there were no further monster moans close at hand–the threats were gone.

  For the moment, anyway.

  A harsh coughing from the back of the room drew his attention away from his surveillance, and Casey was across the room in a heartbeat, crouching next to his friend and looking her over frantically. Alexa had collapsed against a locked door at the back of the room, one that Casey realized led up to the second level.

  With a pang of horror the clone realized Alexa had been trying to escape to a safer, higher location, but had been too weak to get the door open before she'd fallen, effectively leaving her at the mercy of the walking dead. If Casey hadn't shown up when he did, she almost certainly would have joined their ranks.

  Alexa was barely aware now–her eyes were half open, they looked hazy and unfocused. Part of her must have known the danger she was in, though, because although she was curled on her side against the door, she clung to her weapon of choice, her crowbar, like it was a lifeline. Casey was surprised at just how much force he need to use to pry the weapon out of Alexa's hands and sling it through his own belt.

  “No,” the teenager gasped, and then began coughing hard as she scrabbled feebly for her weapon. Her expression was one of sheer exhaustion, and it shifted to desperation and fear as she tried to shove her perceived attacker away. “Not gonna... no...can't... no!”

  “Alexa, it's me,” Casey snapped at her. It was harsher than intended, but seeing Alexa so out of it and so scared and sick actually hurt, and at the same time made him furious at his friend for doing this to herself. When Alexa didn't seem to recognize his voice and her eyes flickered, unfocused and unseeing in the dark, Casey added, “It's me. Casey.”

  Alexa still seemed uncertain, and her brows knit together in confusion. She seemed to be struggling to put Casey's words together, but the clone could tell when Alexa finally recognized him, because he heard Alexa's heart jump, and the sickly teenager coughed, “LS?”

  “Yeah. I'm here.” Relieved that Alexa was at least responding properly now, Casey set to work. Alexa's pack was a few paces away; he leaned over and snatched it up, slinging it over one shoulder before crouching to scoop up Alexa in his arms.

  His friend looked and sounded terrible, but Casey wanted to get to someplace at least a little safer and with more light before giving her a more thorough look over. It would just be too easy for zoms to stagger in after them here.

  He kicked through the locked door to the second floor easily, shattering it to splinters, and hurried upstairs into what looked like some kind of storage room or attic. It was mostly empty, other than a few broken crates and a lot of dust. But the moonlight shown through the far window well enough, and zoms wouldn't be getting up here without making a racket and being slowed down. It would do.

  He set Alexa down again on the dusty floor near the window so he could see as well as possible, just in time for Alexa to cough and gasp, “Why're you here?”

  “Are you stupid? You almost got eaten. Why do you think I'm here?” Casey snapped. A quick glance at his friend's body told him she'd gained a few minor cuts from some shattered glass, probably from when he'd thrown that motorcycle at the building–Casey winced slightly in guilt. But there were no major injuries or broken bones, and–most importantly–no bite marks.

  He put a hand to her forehead, trying to determine if she felt any hotter than before. He'd felt that his friend's clothes were soaked through when he'd picked her up, and her cough sounded worse than before, that wet crackling noise in her chest more obvious. She was doing bad. Really bad. Any hopes Casey had of his friend making it a full week were dashed.

  “Shouldn't have...” Alexa muttered under her breath. The words were barely audible and slurred, but Casey at least could make them out. “Not s'posed to...”

  “I'm not supposed to what? Save your life? Ca
re when you run off without a word when you're sick? Get worried?” Casey grit his teeth in frustration. “Too bad. Did anyway.”

  “No.” Alexa seemed to be struggling very hard to form her thoughts into coherent sentences, and lifted her head just enough to look Casey in the eye. Even in the limited lighting the moon offered, Casey could see they were glassy and unfocused. But there was still a little life burning in them, and he knew whatever he wasn't supposed to do, Alexa felt very strongly about it–enough to crawl off to her own death.

  “Not that... not s'posed to... owe me... ruin your life... goals... 'caus've me...” she coughed, hard, hacking violent coughs that caused her to wince in pain and curl over on her side, pressing her head back to the ground.

  Casey put a hand on her back and rubbed it as gently as he could, mindful of how many vertebrae he could feel right now, and grimaced both in sympathy and frustration. When the coughing fit subsided, Alexa finished tiredly, “You gotta... live, LS...”

  Casey's eyes widened at the revelation, and suddenly he understood why Alexa had been willing to pull this ridiculous stunt. Crazy as it seemed, Alexa thought she'd been helping, looking out for her friend with the twisted, bitter sort of logic that blossomed in this new age. She'd been certain she was holding Casey back, and when she became too much of a perceived burden, she'd removed herself from the equation.

  It was also the stupidest thing he'd ever heard in his life, all three years and four months of it.

  “You're an idiot, Alexa,” he growled. “You think I'm just putting up with you 'cause I owe you? 'Cause of some promise I made to Blake? You're wrong. I'm doing this because I want to, and because you're my friend. It's not a pointless risk. Your goal is finding your family. My goal is making sure you do find them, got it? And if you think I'm going to let you choose to just roll over and die before you see them again, you'd better think again!”

  Even through her sickly haze, Alexa looked stunned at the declaration. For a moment her eyes were so wide and lifeless that Casey found himself irrationally afraid that Alexa had died and turned on him in the span of a single heartbeat. Then her exhausted, pain-filled expression shifted to a weak, watery smile, and she rasped low under her breath, “I... sorry, LS... I didn't...”

  “I know you didn't,” Casey said, a little less harshly this time. “I know you didn't think it through, and I know you didn't mean it. Don't try this crap again, got it? Makes it a lot harder for me to reach my goal, and we both know you hate screwing that up.”

  There was nothing more he could do here–he had to get Alexa back to their camp and the fire, try to warm her up in a safer place, get her ready for travel. He crouched to scoop Alexa up again, cradling her protectively close as he made for the window. Alexa's head flopped limply against his chest, and the teen let out a ragged breath before saying softly, “I'm already dead, LS.”

  Casey froze.

  “Glad you helped me,” Alexa added, in between painful sounding breaths. Her eyes were closed, like she was too tired to keep them open anymore, and her entire body was limp and unresponsive as Connor carried her. It seemed a chore for her even to speak, but she put all her efforts into it anyway.

  “Really. Never woulda got this far 'thout you. We tried. Just... not gonna reach th'base in time. Not fast enough.” To Casey's horror, a weak smile slid into place on his friend's face for a moment, as if she found the whole thing morbidly funny.

  Casey grit his teeth. His every instinct told him to move, but he had to pause for just a bit longer, sort this out. “I'm fast.”

  “Yer... not fast enough... LS.”

  They hurt, inexplicably, like a knife to the heart, but Casey ignored it. Alexa didn't mean anything by it, after all. “No. You don't know that.” He denied.

  “Only s'much we can do, LS,” Alexa breathed tiredly. Her voice was getting fainter, and the way her heart was slowing, Casey suspected she was passing out.

  Casey had had enough. He grimaced, then snarled, “It's enough. Listen to me, Alexa–listen!”

  “Mmmph?”

  “You aren't dead. You didn't get bit, which means you're still alive. And I don't care how impossible you think it sounds, I am getting you to that base, and you are going to survive, got it? You're not allowed to give up and die on me!”

  Alexa's brow drew together in another frown, and for a bare fraction of a second, she looked angry. Her head twitched against Casey's chest for a moment, and finally she rasped with the rest of her strength, “I'll... try.”

  Then she was gone, sinking into herself completely as exhaustion finally forced her under. If Casey hadn't been able to hear her heartbeat, or listen to her harsh breathing, he would have sworn he was holding just another dead body.

  But he'd gotten it. He'd gotten Alexa to commit herself to the fight, one last time. And now he had a promise of his own to keep.

  Casey barely remembered the trip back to their shelter; he'd been on auto-pilot, instinctively keeping an eye and an ear out for zoms while the rest of him retreated into his own head to plan. When he finally got back up to the second floor of the factory half an hour later, he barely had to think at all as he leaped into action, moving as quickly as he could to prepare everything for the journey.

  The first step was Alexa, who was shivering badly in her soaked clothing. Casey built up the fire again for her sake, shook her awake just long enough to help her change into drier things from their supplies, and wrapped her up in every single jacket and blanket they owned. When she was taken care of and resting as well as she could by the fire, out cold once more, Casey shifted to their supplies.

  He could carry all of it, if he had to, but it would lower the speed he could reach. At this point speed was far more important than supplies, so he dumped almost everything they owned, keeping only the most vital items: food, water, first aid kit, map, and the crowbar, which had proved to be a serviceable weapon and might still come in handy.

  After a moment's hesitation he decided to keep a few of the lighter–but potentially valuable–supplies as trade goods as well. He wasn't sure if he'd have to barter for Alexa's care once they got to the base, but he'd rather have something of value on hand to guarantee his friend's safety.

  He'd also found a tarp in the factory earlier, dirty and a bit tattered but serviceable, which he set aside as well in case it rained again–then he'd be able to wrap Alexa in it and keep the rain off while still running. At this point they couldn't afford to try and wait out the storms, not when every second counted for keeping her alive.

  Everything else, he set aside in a neat pile in one corner. It was a veritable fortune of survival and trade goods, and if another traveler ever came past here hunting for shelter or scavenging they were going to be filthy rich. Casey hardly cared. As long as Alexa pulled through this, Casey would be willing to start over with absolutely nothing.

  Soon everything was ready to go. Casey gave himself a single hour to rest; he could feel the first edges of fatigue creeping up on him, just barely, and did his best to ignore it. He wasn't going to be resting for a long time now, so he'd just have to get used to the feeling, and take the opportunity to rest while he could.

  The hour was good for Alexa too, who desperately needed the chance to try and claw back even a few bare scraps of her rapidly dwindling strength. And she needed every scrap she could get, because if this next part of the trip was going to be difficult for Casey, it was going to be close to murder on Alexa.

  Casey just hoped that didn't turn out to be literal.

  The single hour passed with both obnoxious quickness and painful slowless. It was quick because he knew he needed the rest, and there just wasn't enough time for it: it was slow because he couldn't stop his mind from insisting that they had to move, now! But finally time was up, and gritting his teeth with grim determination, Casey stomped out the fire, shouldered his pack, and gathered an unconscious Alexa up in his arms.

  And he ran.

  It was the middle of the night, and even
with the storm clouds finally past and the moon shedding a little light on the dead world beneath it, it was hard to see. Under normal circumstances Casey never would have even attempted to try traveling at night, not when he was at such a disadvantage compared to the zoms, and not with that death run he and Alexa had endured just a few weeks ago still fresh in his memories.

  But Alexa didn't really have the luxury of wasting ten hours at a time waiting for the sun to come out again, not anymore. The rest barely did her any good, and all it did was cut a vast hunk of time out of their traveling. Night travel would be dangerous, but playing it safe would be fatal, and that wasn't a risk Casey was willing to take.

  Besides, after that massive battle he'd had with the zoms in the dark, he was feeling a little more confident about his chances to keep them safe. This time at least he'd have the option of running away instead of standing and fighting, because the person he was shielding didn't need additional saving.