Killer Z

by Miller, Greg L.

  “You’ll need stitches,” a disembodied voice says.

  Larry struggles into a sitting position, favoring his injured hand. His senses start to clear. There’s a heavy smell of alcohol. All around him are tilted and fallen liquor shelves.

  “How did I hurt my hand?”

  An older gentleman wearing a polished grey suit sits on the floor next to a clerk in a worn out band t-shirt. A body guard kneels next to the older man and uses medical tape to bind an injured leg.

  “I was twenty-one when I met my wife,” the older man says, his attention on the boy. “We met at a wedding in July…”

  “I met my girlfriend at night school while getting my G.E.D.”

  “What’s her name?” the older man asks.

  Larry stares at the man. The face looks familiar. Finally it hits him. His name is O’Neil, some big-wig senator from Texas. O’Neil is always on the news with one controversial opinion or another. The clerk pulls out a wallet on a chain and flips it open.

  “Her name is Emily,” the young man says with a smile and flashes a photo of a pretty Goth girl.

  Senator O’Neil gives a warm laugh. “She looks like a firecracker!”

  “What happened to me?” Larry interrupts.

  “We’re in what’s left of the best liquor store in D.C.,” the senator answers and takes a drink from a high end bottle of scotch. “As for what happened, you passed out after an aftershock shook the store.”

  “What happened to my hand?”

  “You went straight for the Chateau Lafite wine case,” the younger man volunteers. “The case broke with your hand in it.”

  Larry glances at the wine case. The bodyguard is making the senator a splint.

  “You dropped the wine. Take this as a conciliation prize,” the clerk says.

  Larry accepts a bottle of whiskey and braces it between his thighs.

  “Those bastards wanted to do their drug trials in Dallas, but I said no,” the senator says while tipping his bottle. “Boys, I’m higher than a Georgia pine.”

  “Um, who sir?” the clerk asks.

  “What are you talking about?” Larry interrupts.

  “Zurvan said they were curing diseases of the brain like Alzheimer’s and Parkinson’s but they lied. Have you ever heard of a drug called Killer Z?” the senator asks.

  The clerk says, “Yeah, but I’m not into synthetic shit.”

  “Good for you,” the senator’s voice is laced with bitter humor. “We’re all screwed, even those who never touched that synthetic shit. No way to contain the spread, not with hundreds of drug fiends infected.”

  “What do you mean, sir?” the clerk asks.

  The senator’s tone makes Larry nervous, more nervous than the earthquake and possible tsunami.

  “Your leg is ready, sir. We need to go before the Zs find us,” the bodyguard says.

  “Better get on the stick,” the senator drawls.

  “I’m a cop, what do you mean by fiends and Zs, sir?”

  “I mean the CDC and executive branch messed up big time son. Get out of the city while you still can.”

  Two bodyguards in dark suits materialize from the shadows and flank the senator. The politician wobbles out of the liquor store between them.

  “What do you think he meant?” the clerk asks.

  “I don’t know, kid. Politicians are full of shit.”

  Larry shuffles to the counter and starts stuffing his pockets with small liquor bottles.

  “Is this really the end of the world, man?”

  “You should clear out and find your girlfriend.”

  Larry heads for the door with Pixel.

  “Hey, wait! Where do I go?”

  “You heard the senator. Get out of the city.”

  On the side walk two scruffy dressed men rush by carrying a 42 inch flat screen TV. To his left a restaurant owner brandishes a shotgun and warily watches the thieves. Larry turns a corner and finds an overturned ambulance. Its red lights flash across flattened buildings. The back doors hang half open. He pauses to search for painkillers and antibiotics.

  Peeking inside he sees a bloody mess. Two emergency workers have been mauled to death. His stomach heaves and booze and bile cover his shoes as he vomits. Pixel whines and tugs his pant leg with her teeth. Half delirious, he stumbles back towards Burger Baron.

  15

  Outside Burger Baron those rescued disperse in shock as the National Guard withdraws. The injured that can walk are directed to the Red Cross emergency facility next to the White House.

  Abandoned by Larry, Chuang is grateful to find a Chinese speaking college student and leaves. The bodies of Dawn, Rodger, Sara, and Jack are zipped into black body bags and loaded into a separate truck.

  “You need to follow the train tracks out of the city,” Marks says to Michael.

  “What are we waiting for?” Michael asks.

  “The infected? Infected with what?” Susan tries to drill a soldier. “Can someone please comment?”

  Barry stands nearby with his camera held low as she’s brushed aside.

  “But you don’t understand. The dead are supposed to stay dead,” Harry says to a stone faced soldier.

  The soldier points to the evacuation route sign and says, “Yeah, we know. Try to spend less time talking and more time running.”

  A gruff commander barks out orders to move on and the block empties quickly. The group is terrified as the soldiers abandon them. Mark is drawn to Susan’s conservation with Barry.

  Susan grabs Barry by the arm and asks, “Did he really say a plague is spreading?”

  “A plague?” Barry stammers.

  “What’s happening?” Mark interrupts as a group of survivor’s stream by in a blur.

  Susan’s blue eyes gloss in fear as her voice trembles, “The commander said something about an infectious disease running rampant.”

  “What do you mean? Where are the cops and military going?” Mark asks.

  “They said we lost the east coast,” Susan says.

  “I told you. The dead are coming back,” Harry says.

  “I seriously doubt you heard him right,” Mark replies and gives Harry a disgusted look. “Sir, I understand today’s been a traumatic day, but please don’t dramatize.”

  Juliet stomps and yells, “The creep in the restaurant called them zombies. Oh shit turds. I need to find my dad.”

  Mark anxiously says, “I need to go home.”

  “You’re not coming with us?” Michael asks.

  “I need to make sure my parents are safe. I have to go home.”

  “I understand. We’re going to try to get out of the city. Sam is all alone in Michigan, we need to let him know we’re alright,” Michael says.

  Mark offers his right hand.

  “Say hello to your dad for me,” Michael says accepting the handshake.

  “Take care, Mark,” Rebecca says.

  “Goodbye Michael and Rebecca.”

  Mark turns to the Navy Yard and worries about his parents with each step. Thoughts center on his father. His mother is the strong one. An easy going, hands on kind of guy, Mark’s dad had been a firefighter. During 9-11 he helped clean up the World Trade Center and got a lung infection. The damage to the lungs was severe and created internal scar tissue making even the simplest task a challenge.

  Mark heads south and then east through torn up blocks. He remembers telling his father how Irina made him feel complete last week while showing him the engagement ring. His mind goes cold remembering how she died. Guilt weighs down each step. He can’t stand the feeling of defeat and picks up his pace. The walk becomes a jog, the jog a run. He sidesteps fallen chunks of concrete and leaps over broken asphalt.

  Ahead, Michael Jackson directs foot traffic. An impersonator stands in the middle of the intersection dressed in the classic red Thriller jacket, sequined white glove, sun glasses, white socks and black shoes. In the man’s ungloved hand is a bottle of rum. He flashes Mark a yellowed, gap-toothed smile.


  “Hold on, bro. Traffic you know?” the impersonator says.

  “Sure, whatever you want.”

  The drunk does the moon walk and flashes a bow.

  “The light is now green, man.”

  “Uh, thanks.”

  Marks lips twitch with a smile. Irina would have thought the man was a street performer instead of the average American nutcase. Down the block a group of grubby men watch him with predatory eyes. A man standing in front of the broken window of a grocery store holds a bat and points at him. Mark bolts like a rabbit and dashes down a few blocks before coming to a skidding halt.

  Asphalt falls away into a gaping hole as wide as the street. The fissure sucks in the sidewalk and buildings alike. It’s too wide to leap across. A utility van hangs at an angle into the hole, its driver long gone. Without thinking he jumps on the vehicle and crawls onto the hood and over the windshield. As he clears the van’s roof the vehicle shifts. He tries leaping across the gaping hole and misses the broken asphalt. Screaming like a frightened girl, he tumbles into the abyss. With oomph he lands on solid earth only a few feet down.

  Mark feels stupid and laughs at himself. The hole isn’t too deep. The van creaks forward, startling him as dirt falls on his shoulders. He scrambles up the opposite side and sprints away from the almost grave.

  Around a corner cars and trucks lay abandoned along the street, their doors hanging open. He slows, thinking things don’t look right for an evacuation. Holes riddle the cars. Blood is spattered across broken windshields. He moves on quickly, nervous once more.

  A block over is a row of brown apartment buildings. On the lawn people are relaxing around a delicious smelling barbeque. The heavenly odor of grilled chicken overcomes the smell of the ruined city. A large black man behind a grill shovels food onto plastic plates.

  An older woman in a fuchsia mumu approaches Mark and says, “You look starved, honey. Have something to eat. We got plenty.”

  Mark dumbly follows her to a table full of food.

  The woman nudges the cook and smiles. “The end of the world is at hand and our food is going bad. The good Lord says feed thy neighbor.”

  “You’re with the church?”

  “We’re Catholics,” the cook replies.

  Mark succumbs to eating a hamburger.

  “Liz, give the man a soda!” the cook says.

  Mark accepts a warm soda and downs it in one gulp.

  “But why aren’t you evacuating?”

  The cook makes eye contact and asks, “You see the cars with the bullet holes?”

  “Yeah, I did.”

  “Those men and woman tried evacuating.”

  “We were a block away when the shooting started. It wasn’t gang bangers, or thugs. It was our own soldiers. They gunned everyone down,” Liz says.

  “Why would our soldiers do that?”

  “Tell him about the people in the cars,” Liz mutters.

  “Everyone started acting crazy. Fathers turned on sons, and daughters on mothers,” the cook says.

  “I didn’t see any corpses. You must be mistaken,” Mark gasps, stunned and skeptical.

  “Everyone became zombies and ran north,” Liz cries.

  “There’s no point in trying to leave. Jesus will protect us,” the cook adds.

  “Thank you for the food,” Mark says.

  The cook nods and says, “God be with you, son.”

  Mark sets off in a jog. His apartment is a block away. He instinctively reaches for his keys but remembers they’re in the office. In utter frustration he reaches the door and knocks.

  “Somebody open the door!” Mark yells.

  “Everyone evacuated half an hour ago,” the door man says opening the door.

  “Is my Dad here?”

  “Huh?” the guard says and taps a hearing aid. “You gotta talk louder, I’m deaf.”

  “Is my Dad here?”

  “Yes, I think so. The power is out, though. No elevator.”

  Mark jams a finger on the up button of the elevator.

  “I said the power doesn’t work.”

  “That sucks.”

  “Here, take my flashlight.”

  Mark accepts the flashlight and says, “Thanks.”

  “No problem,” the guard says.

  Mark sprints up the steps. Red exit signs give a soft, eerie glow. There’s yelling on the third floor but he ignores it. Chest heaving, he makes it to the ninth floor and bursts into the hallway. Pausing, hands on knees, he catches his breath. The hallway is littered with clothing and other personal possessions dropped as people fled. His apartment door hangs wide open.

  “Dad? Mom?”

  16

  Seth laughs as Andrew tears a pair of diamond earrings off of a dead woman. After being rescued from Burger Baron they were taken to the Red Cross emergency station near the White House but didn’t stay. They slipped away preferring to find Seth’s drugs rather than evacuate.

  Seth pops a Killer Z and strides down the middle of the street. Crowds of panicked people stream around them, seeking to escape from the devastated city and the endless tsunami warnings. He doesn’t know much about Andrew but loves the slob’s obedience.

  “There’s the car,” Seth says.

  Seth walks to a sleek black sedan and presses the unlock trunk button on his key chain. He slips a handgun into his jacket and slings a black duffle bag over his shoulder.

  “I want a gun,” Andrew whines.

  “If you want one, take one. This city is our playground. Look around. Do you see any cops? Military?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “School is out. All the police and military are fleeing for their pathetic lives.”

  Seth points to a bank across the street with steel security shutters still open.

  “Andrew, isn’t the American dream to be rich?”

  “Yes,” Andrew greedily replies.

  “Let’s take what we want.”

  Andrew grabs a metal pipe and bounces over to the bank. He hits the window repeatedly until the glass breaks. They stagger through the broken window and an authoritative voice rings out.

  “Freeze and put your hands up!”

  A security guard and a banker stand in the middle of the bank lobby. The guard points a gun at them as the banker indignantly holds several bulging deposit bags.

  “What? Not leaving me any?” Seth rasps.

  They flank the two men as Andrew says, “There’s enough money to share.”

  “Mack, do your job and shoot them,” the banker says.

  Seth moves to the left and watches the guard’s gun follow his movement.

  “Your boss is rather rude,” Andrew says.

  “Is he giving you a cut?” Seth asks.

  Mack flicks a look at the banker and says, “Not much of one.”

  “Shoot them,” the banker screams.

  “Is a small cut really worth murder?” Seth asks.

  The gun trembles in Mack’s hands.

  “Do you have family, Mack?” Andrew asks and moves behind the banker.

  “I have an ol’ lady,” Mack grumbles.

  “Do you and your old lady like to party?” Seth asks.

  Seth’s fingers brush across the handgun in his pocket but he withdraws with two Zs. Mack’s eyes narrow.

  “You hear of Killer Z?”

  Mack lowers the gun.

  “See, we can be friends,” Seth says.

  The banker croaks, “What the…”

  Andrew swings the metal pipe at the banker’s skull. The suit goes down in a crumpled heap.

  “Want to join us for a little end of the world fun?” Seth asks.

  “Sure,” Mack says and accepts the drugs.

  The trio grabs as many bags of cash as they can and leave the bank.

  Seth’s heads spins as the Zs flow through his blood stream. He’s strong, more aggressive, and ready for anything.

  “I need more pain killers. Let’s hit a pharmacy,” Andrew says.

&n
bsp; They stumble on the street laughing like madmen. A stray dog barks. Mack takes out his handgun, aims, and shoots with a single pop. The bullet ricochets off of the sidewalk.

  “Always hated damn mutts,” Mack says and there’s a second pop. The dog yips in pain. “There’s a pharmacy this way.”

  They walk a few blocks and encounter the Michael Jackson impersonator directing foot traffic. Empty rum bottles roll around the drunk’s feet.

  “Holy shit, it’s Michael Jackson,” Andrew exclaims and dashes over. “He’s back! It’s Michael 2.0!”

  “I never left, ei-hee!” the impersonator laughs and spins with a bow. Pedestrians steel nervous glances at each other and hurry away.

  “Why don’t you join us?” Seth says, amused by the drunk’s antics. He offers a handful of Zs. “These will make you a rock star.”

  The man flourishes into a moonwalk and says, “Groovy, man. Let’s be startin’ somethin’.”

  Ten minutes later they loot and set fire to a pharmacy. Outside a gun shop they run into Lin who quickly falls in step with the rowdy group. The group skirts a block with first responders and enters an intersection with many rough looking characters. Seth jumps on a car. Hostile looking men stare at him. Several men pull out firearms, ready to gun him down.

  “Friends, gather around,” Seth shouts.

  “Why?” a thug wearing a Metallica shirt and tattered blue jeans asks.

  “Why settle for scraps? I give you money and drugs!”

  Andrew whips out hundred-dollar bills and tosses them into the air. Looters and addicts reach for the crisp Franklins.

  “Government has fallen and the president is dead! Join me and become fat cats!”

  Seth is charismatic and successfully ignites the mob.

  17

  Drunkenly, Larry looks to his left expecting to see Mary, but she isn’t there. Pixel trots obediently at his side, her ears perked and alert. Ahead the upper story windows of an old brownstone explode outwards and he drops behind a parked car. Smoke fills the street, forcing him to cough and squint. His eyes water as he sees a young couple run from the burning building and stumble in the middle of the street. The man falls to the ground and a brunette wearing a snug purple sweater and blue jeans screams.