Killer Z

by Miller, Greg L.

  “Please help my husband!”

  Pixel runs over and sniffs at the prone man as Larry approaches. A large gash runs from the side of the man’s neck. The woman looks at him with deep blue eyes glossy with grief. Larry kneels down to confirm what he already knows. There’s no pulse.

  “I’m sorry, ma’am. He’s dead. Are you alright?”

  “Hey, need any help?” a voice calls out.

  Through the settling dust two figures appear. Pixel gives a happy bark and bounces towards Juliet and Harry.

  “Why aren’t you evacuating?” Larry questions them as the woman sobs.

  “My dad works at the hospital,” Juliet answers. “Harry is helping me find him.”

  Larry grunts as Harry kneels beside the woman. There are glass shards protruding from her upper left arm. Juliet fishes out the med kit from her backpack.

  “Please help my husband first,” the woman sobs.

  “I already told you…” Larry turns away from the group and fumbles for more booze.

  Juliet attempts to remove the glass from the injured woman’s arm. “What’s your name?”

  “Karen.”

  “I’m Juliet. This is Harry and that’s Officer Anderson.”

  “Pixel, here!” Larry commands.

  The canine sits at Juliet’s side, tongue lolling, and ignores him. Larry curses and takes another drink. He’s oblivious to the disgusted glances of the others.

  “We’re on our way to the hospital. I’m sorry about your husband, but he’d want you to come with us,” Juliet says.

  Karen stares at her husband’s body, his loss finally settling in, and then takes his ring and wallet.

  “Larry, why don’t you get your hand looked at the hospital too?” Harry asks.

  “Sure,” Larry slurs.

  Suddenly Pixel barks and runs into a park.

  “Pixel! Come back here you stupid mutt!”

  Larry stumbles after the dog. In the park Pixel is running in between two men trying to catch her. They turn and face Larry. Their white-filmed blank eyes alert him of danger. Fear rips through his body like cold lighting.

  “What the hell…” Harry says behind Larry.

  The two zombies sprint at Larry at a dead run. He pulls out his gun, points, and shoots with a double pop. The closest man twirls and falls to the ground. The second man takes the bullet in the leg. A putrid smell hits Larry as the zombie lets out a deep animalistic groan.

  “ZOMBIE!” Juliet shrieks from across the street.

  Harry catches the zombie under the chin with an open palm strike. The hit would have blocked the airway of a living man, but the zombie clearly isn’t alive. He strikes and breaks the man’s vertebrae in between the shoulders. The first man Larry shot stands back up.

  “Stay back,” Larry screams.

  “Shoot it in the head like in the movies,” Juliet yells.

  Pop pop pop.

  The zombie absorbs the damage. Harry throws the monster to the ground and slams his foot into its face with a squishy ploosh. The steel toed boot obliterates the zombie’s head leaving only bloody gore on the grass.

  “I tried telling everyone but no one listened,” Harry grumbles.

  “Holy shit,” Juliet says and crosses the street with Karen.

  “We need to go,” Larry says, unsure of how to deal with the situation.

  “There’d be helicopters at the hospital,” Harry says.

  “My dad works there. I know for a fact there’s a helipad,” Juliet replies.

  Karen stands staring mutely at the carnage, clearly in shock. Larry back steps and wraps an arm around the unresponsive woman. Pixel trots at his side as Juliet and Harry lead.

  “I’ve seen this before,” Harry tells Juliet. “One time, south of Seoul, we were trapped by three red units. Tommy, our medic, had the brilliant idea of contaminating the enemy’s water hole with this experimental drug they were trying out to combat radiation sickness. In small amounts it made you sicker then a dog. No one knew what would happen in big amounts. I think it was called Compound Z or something.”

  “Did they become zombies? Like what’s happening here?” Juliet asks.

  “The ones that drank the water went nuts. They bit and killed most of the villagers. It spread so fast. MacArthur wanted to use nukes to contain the infection.”

  “I thought he wanted to use nukes against the Communists?” Larry interjects.

  “That was the political spin back in 1954.”

  “So the military did this?” Juliet asks.

  “I suppose,” Harry says, considering.

  “Did you take the compound whatever? Is that why you don’t look your age?” Juliet asks.

  “I never really thought about it, but perhaps. You gotta understand that when I lost my arm, the medic had no choice. No morphine available, you know?”

  “That sucks.”

  “Yeah,” Harry says and falls silent as they near the George Washington Hospital. The front of the hospital is chaos. The parking lot is filled with hastily erected emergency tents and hundreds of injured survivors begging for help. Bracing themselves, they push through the crowd.

  18

  “The news bus is over here,” Susan says.

  Michael limps, bringing up the rear of the group. Sewers are overflowing leaving many blocks flooded by fowl smelling water. Most of the buildings are damaged or destroyed and many streets appear deserted.

  “It’s only been a few hours and this place looks like a ghost town,” Michael says.

  His dress shoes pinch and blister his aching feet. Sweat soaks the armpits of the work shirt and he shrugs off the suit coat

  “Bye-bye,” Michael says and drops the jacket.

  In a parking lot is Channel 5’s news bus. Four office workers rush over as Susan unlocks the door.

  “Oh my God, you’re Susan Bishop! I watch you on TV,” a woman gushes.

  “Thanks. Can I help you?” Susan asks.

  “Our families are in Bethesda. Are you going that way?”

  “I suppose we can make room, but we’re going to need to unload some boxes first.”

  “Rebecca, I have to take a piss,” Michael says.

  Michael walks across the parking lot and pretends to urinate over a collapsed newsstand to avoid unloading the bus. A noise comes from within the pile of debris and his pulse quickens.

  “I can’t move,” a stifled male voice groans.

  “Are you a zombie?” Michael asks.

  “No, dude, c’mon and help me get out of here.”

  “Are you hurt?”

  “Are you stupid? I’m stuck, man!”

  “But you’re not a zombie, right?”

  “No, man, I’m not a fuckin’ zombie. What kind of stupid question is that?”

  “What’s your name?” Michael asks and nudges the heavy canvas.

  “Vinnie, man. Help me out!”

  “Can you move at all?”

  “No, there’s a damn crossbeam over my legs.”

  “Ok, there’s some sort of zombie thing going down.”

  Michael pushes the heavy canvas aside. A pair of worn out skater sneakers peek out. A wooden beam tangled in the canvas obscures Vinnie’s upper body. Michael lifts the beam and shoves it aside with a grunt. Pushing back the rest of canvas reveals a young man with shaggy blonde hair.

  “Wow, that sucked,” Vinnie says. “Thanks, man.”

  “Glad I could help,” Michael says and offers a hand.

  Vinnie regains his feet and brushes off his baggy cargo pants.

  “Thanks man, really. Why are you talking about zombies?”

  “That’s the rumor on the street.”

  “Sorry to disappoint you but I’m alive. You got a light?” Vinnie asks and pats his pockets and locates a rolled joint and a lighter. “Oh, I got one. You want to hit some killer bud laced with Z?”

  “No thanks. I don’t do drugs.”

  Vinnie looks around for cops, lights the joint, and inhales deeply.


  “I told myself if I got out of there the first thing I was going to do was hit this doobie,” Vinnie says as the stress melts away. “I was walking to Starbucks and wanted something to read and then boom! Everything started shaking and the lights went out.”

  “I see,” Michael says and steps away from the smoke.

  Vinnie coughs and holds out the joint. Michael ignores the offered joint as Rebecca walks over. The others board the bus.

  “I was expecting the fire department or the police but not you,” Vinnie says.

  “The first responders evacuated the city because of the zombies. We’re on our own,” Michael says.

  Vinnie coughs and offers the joint to Rebecca. Michael looks disapprovingly as she plucks it from Vinnie’s hand and inhales deeply.

  “Good shit,” she wheezes.

  “Got room for one more?” Vinnie asks.

  Michael shrugs. “More the merrier I guess.”

  Vinnie follows them to the bus. Inside, the isle is narrow and the seats are small. Michael squeezes in next to Rebecca and closes his eyes.

  “The book of Revelations said this was going to happen at the end of times,” an office worker shrills. “We’re all going to be judged!”

  “Oh, shut up, Linda,” a masculine voice answers. “Get a grip.”

  Voices erupt over each another, some argue for Armageddon as others remain rational. Michael tunes them out. The only thing that matters is to protect Rebecca and get out of the city.

  “Look at me, I’m a reporter!” Vinnie says as he prances in the isle with Susan’s microphone.

  Vinnie thrusts the microphone at one of the businessmen and asks, “Sir, its Armageddon. What are you planning to do on your last day on Earth?”

  The man bats away the microphone with a begrudging smile and everyone laughs. The bus lurches forward as Susan drives out of the parking lot.

  Susan asks Barry. “Should take 20th north?”

  “Take 29th.”

  “Shit, 29th has a road block,” Susan says.

  “Fuck it,” Vinnie jokes. “Just drive until we’re out of gas.”

  The bus maneuvers down one street and then another as Susan navigates around blockages. They are slowed at an intersection bogged down by evacuees trying to drive out of the city. As the bus reaches the stop sign, a blue sedan soars past and plows into an island of gas pumps across the street. A brilliant burst of yellow-white light erupts followed by an echoing boom that rocks the bus and sends its occupants flying.

  19

  “In the best of circumstances I don’t like cities, but now…” Fred says.

  Fred surveys the quake destroyed block and continues, “My best fishing pole was behind the front seat of the truck.”

  “Dad, stop crying. Your truck is gone.”

  “This is the worse day of my life. Lord, please guide me out of this mess and get me home. Jehovah, please help me find my grandson.”

  Fred gives everything up to God and calms as a new inner resilience takes hold.

  “Jesus, please guide and protect us.”

  “Geez dad, why is everything always a damn religious moment for you?”

  “We all need added support.”

  “Why not pray without smoking a cigarette, Dad?”

  “Son, you really like raining on my parade, don’t you.”

  They turn the corner of Bryant Street and come to a pile of crumpled cars. A group of teenagers stand in a loose circle near an overturned minivan. Focused on their own need to escape, people stream by the group. One of the teens settles his worried brown eyes on Fred.

  “Hey mister, we need some help,” the teen pleads.

  A priest lies on the ground encircled by the teens.

  “What happened?” Fred asks.

  “We don’t have time for this,” Kyle hisses.

  Fred ignores Kyle. The teens part as they approach.

  “Father, are you alright?” Fred asks as he kneels down.

  The priest’s eyes are closed. There isn’t much of a pulse in the fragile wrist.

  “The earthquake destroyed the church and we barely got out. We were heading to another parish when the cars in front of us got in a wreck,” a boy rambles.

  “What’s your name, son?” Fred asks.

  “Colin.”

  “Colin,” the priest rasps. “Where are Sister Margaret and Brother Schaefer?”

  “Father, they didn’t make it.”

  “We’re wasting our time,” Kyle says over Fred’s shoulder.

  “Just give me a minute,” Fred says.

  “I had a dream,” the priest rasps, “the Holy Spirit told me the end was coming…”

  Colin and the others huddle around the dying man. The priest’s voice becomes soft and eyes grow distant.

  “You must be strong children, judgment is upon us…”

  “What do you mean?” Colin asks.

  “The dead will rise. Fire and destruction will cover the land from coast to coast. Be strong, my children, and be true to the Lord. Have faith. There will be a new Eden.”

  The priest stops breathing and stares blankly into the sky. Fred reaches over and closes the dead man’s eyes.

  “Let’s bow our heads in prayer,” Fred says as he rises to his feet.

  The teens and Fred grasp hands and form a complete circle.

  “Oh Lord, please accept this soul into your keeping, amen.”

  The children echo Fred’s amen. Colin gives Fred the priest’s bible. He accepts the book without comment and puts it into his flannel.

  “Dad, can we go?”

  The popping of gunfire fills the street. Military personnel run by them with guns drawn. The teens look at Kyle and Fred with uncertainty.

  “Let’s not wait to see what they want,” Fred says.

  “Dad, what are we going to do with a bunch of damn kids? You’re not a priest! You’re a dumb hick from Minnesota who sleeps in on Sundays!”

  The teens shift uneasily at Kyle’s outburst.

  “Kyle, that doesn’t matter now. Okay kids, who knows the fastest way to George Washington Hospital?”

  Kyle’s mouth drops in outrage as he yells, “I know where I’m going!”

  “We can cut over there and be at the hospital in five minutes,” Colin says.

  “Let’s get going then,” Fred says as he leads the group away from the soldiers.

  20

  The smell of burned bacon fills his nose as he enters the apartment. Mark’s flashlight’s beam bounces to the kitchen. Two frying pans lay face down on the floor surrounded by bacon and half cooked eggs. The kitchen table is on its side. Mom’s china lies in pieces across the floor.

  “Dad, Mom? Is anyone home?”

  Mark enters the living room and turns off the flashlight. His feet crunch over glass as he enters the living room. The broad window overlooking the Navy Yard is broken. A pigeon struts around the room and takes flight out of the window. The flat screen television peeks from under a pile of detective novels from a fallen bookcase.

  The hallway leading to the bedrooms is covered with broken framed family photos. He grimaces at a picture of his ten year old self fishing. Heart pounding, he enters his parent’s room and sees a lump under the blankets. Steeling himself, he yanks back the sheets.

  “Mom, Dad!”

  It’s only a pillow under the blanket. He chokingly laughs and is suddenly struck with a desperate desire to wash the horrible day away. Grime and sweat clings to every inch of his skin. He stumbles into the kitchen and turns on the faucet.

  “Of course there’s no water. Fuck me.”

  It’s too much. Tears flood his eyes but turn to laughter as the absurdity of the situation hits home. Hours ago his life made perfect sense, but now? He sags back against the refrigerator, sending a piece of paper falling to the floor.

  If anyone comes home meet me at Joe’s - Dad

  Mark gapes at the paper and runs out of the apartment. Joe’s apartment is a floor above. Hope fills his heart as he
bursts into the apartment without knocking.

  “Dad?”

  “See, Joe, I told you he’d find my note,” Ben says.

  “Hi Dad, I’m glad you’re not hurt.”

  Ben asks. “Is your mom with you?”

  “She isn’t here?”

  Ben and Joe sit in the living room surrounded by fishing and camping gear. Like his father, Joe is retired firefighter. The two had been close friends forever.

  “You look like your planning a weekend trip,” Mark says.

  “This fishin’ wire will come in handy,” Joe says and continues whatever conversation the two wizened old men were having.

  “Yes, yes, old man,” Ben tells Joe. “Better put it in the backpack before giving yourself a coronary. You’d pack the whole apartment if I let you.”

  Joe stuffs the small fishing kit into a canvas bag and says, “In this bag we have a Swiss army knife, water proof paper and pens, chord for building, a whistle in case you get stuck, a flashlight with extra batteries, a lighter, fishing hooks, safety pens, tuna, crackers, a compass, water purification pills…”

  “I know. I know! I helped pack the bag, didn’t I?” Ben says.

  "What are you doing?" Mark asks.

  “We’re preparing for the tsunami. This pile is things we take and that pile is garbage. When your mom gets back we will leave,” Ben says.

  “It’s not garbage. It’s just things we can’t carry,” Joe adds.

  “I saw terrible things coming home,” Mark says.

  “I’m going to go down stairs and look for Marian,” Joe says while getting to his feet.

  “I imagine son,” Ben fixes Mark with an understanding but firm gaze after Joe leaves. “I need you to keep cool and have your wits sharp.”

  “Irina is dead,” Mark says flatly.

  “I’m sorry to hear that, son,” Ben says and reaches for Mark’s hand, gripping it tightly. “You need to look out the window.”

  Mark goes to the window and looks outside.

  “We have a raft set up on the roof. Do you see the river?”

  Mark looks across the sea of parking lots and gray buildings. He sees the Washington National’s baseball stadium and beyond the stadium, the drained Anacostia river.