“I see it. I didn’t know zombies could swim. I should’ve stayed in the clock tower.”
The infected emerge from the sea around the memorial and swarm the remaining soldiers.
“These zombies are like cockroaches,” Mark says. His hands tremble around the binoculars.
“I don’t see them going for brains. Mark, are we going to die and become one of them?”
Mark places the binoculars in the backpack. “Not if we can get out of the city.”
Angela hands him hers and says, “Becket’s men aren’t coming back.”
“Or the marines,” he replies and opens the door to the stairwell. “We’re on our own.”
As they walk down the stairs she asks, “What made you choose the L.O.C.?”
“Have you ever heard of the Library of Alexandria?”
“No.”
“It was the greatest library of the ancient world. Even then they knew that the record of human thought was more valuable then anything else. People’s lives are so short, but their ideas can live forever.
“You’re really books, huh?”
“Yeah,” he says with a light laugh. “C’mon, let’s hurry and get to the lobby. I’m dying for coffee.”
They enter the plaza as Red Cross personnel stumble through the entrance. Becket talks to a beast of a man wearing tattered suit pants and a stained dress shirt.
“Louie, what happened?” Becket asks.
“The injured went crazy. Started eating people like cannibals,” Louie answers, his gnarled face looking exhausted.
“What happened?”
“A ten year old boy went into a coma and woke up a zombie. The kid bit his dad and then his sister. Within minutes it was a bloodbath and we lost the entire facility.”
“How did you escape?”
“Through the tunnel system under the city but the marines cut us down.”
“The soldiers are blocking the evacuation routes,” Mark says grimly.
Red Cross workers bearing national treasures deposit the burdensome objects in a pile near Louie and Becket.
“Is that the Gutenberg Bible and the Declaration of Independence?” Mark asks.
“It is. We also rescued a bunch of paintings from the White House before the tsunami hit.”
“Librarian,” Becket says to Mark. “This is Louie DeWitt, Director of the Red Cross. This is Mark.”
Mark shakes hands with Louie.
“Did you spot anything on the roof?” Becket asks.
“There’s no way anyone is surviving the streets. Anyone out there is being torn to pieces.”
“We should barricade the doors until morning,” Becket says.
“And there’s some gang of thugs taking advantage of the disaster. Very violent,” Louie says.
“Gang? Ha, more like drug induced zombies,” Lin interrupts from a nearby table.
“Do you know anything, sir?” Beckett demands.
“It’s just Lin. And yeah, I could say a thing or two about the zombies. I helped make them after all.”
Lin tosses his CDC badge on the table.
“You’re a scientist with the CDC? Our people are to blame?” Louie asks, stunned.
“Yes and yes. The zombies are coming from a street drug called Killer Z.”
“Why?” Mark blurts angrily.
“Are you guys responsible for the earthquake and tsunami too?” Angela asks.
“The natural disasters are an unfortunate coincidence. A researcher, a man named Seth, altered the drug and sold it on the street. He copied an old formula found in CDC’s archives.”
Lin nods to himself, deep in thought, and continues, “But Seth’s done too many Zs and his cheese slid from the cracker.”
“Does Seth work with Al-Qaida?” Mark asks.
“It wasn’t the CDC but you and Seth?” Louie asks.
“No, no. Not me. Just Seth,” Lin lies. “The drug alters enzymes in the protein sheaths of our cells, thus the zombies are created, similar to Mad Cows Disease.”
“How does it spread?” Mark asks.
“Once you absorb the drug or are bitten, you’re fucked.”
“How many followers does Seth have?” Becket asks.
“Thirty to forty armed men. They’re hiding in the People’s Gallery.”
“Great, forty armed terrorists,” Louie exclaims.
“Don’t worry. Without these Zs they will die. I bailed with the drugs.”
“Let me get this right. Addicts taking Killer Z become zombies?” Becket asks.
“Yes, that’s what I’m saying.”
“And why did you leave your people?”
“I told you, they were turning,” Lin says as he throws a duffle bag to the guard standing near Becket.
“What’s in that?” Becket asks.
The security guard opens the bag and reveals thousands of pills and cash.
“I’ve heard enough. Please escort this man to a secure room,” Becket says.
“What the hell? You can’t do this!” Lin bellows.
“Lin is it? You’re responsible for the zombies and I’m placing you under citizen’s arrest,” Becket says.
“I told you the truth! You can’t do this.”
A guard handcuffs Lin and drags him away kicking and screaming.
“He isn’t any better than a terrorist,” Louie spits.
“We need to destroy the pills,” Beckett says and turns to a police officer. “I need you to find anyone in the building who has been taking these.”
“Maybe we can use the pills as leverage against Seth?” Mark asks.
“What do you want us to do with the people we find?” a guard asks.
“Shoot anyone who gets violent and quarantine the rest in one of the conference rooms with Lin.”
Stunned by the news, Mark follows Angela into a conference room. In the room are many beds assembled from exercise mats and things scavenged from the courtyard stores. Out of the corner of his eye Mark recognizes a familiar couple.
“Michael? Rebecca?”
“Mark!” Michael exclaims and sits up from a mat.
Mark takes in the filthy and bruised couple and asks, “What happened to you? When did you get here?”
“About five minutes ago. The hospital was a nightmare. Did you go home?”
“Yeah, my parents died with the tsunami.”
“I’m sorry to hear that,” Michael says as he stands.
“This is Angela. Angela, this is Michael and Rebecca.”
“Nice to meet you,” Angela says.
Rebecca doesn’t acknowledge Mark but sits with a glazed expression and a white pill in her palm.
“What’s that Rebecca?” Mark asks.
“It’s my medication.”
“What is it called?”
“Z something.”
“Killer Z?” Angela blurts.
“Yes,” Rebecca’s voice trembles. Her gaze turns guiltily towards Michael whose face goes red.
Angela looks at Mark, worry knitting her brow.
“Michael, did you take any of those?” Mark asks.
Michael doesn’t answer but stares venomously at his wife.
“Those pills turn people into zombies,” Mark says.
“We need to tell Becket,” Angela interrupts.
Rebecca stumbles to her feet and yells, “I’m not a zombie!”
“How long have you been on them?” Michael asks. He takes her by the shoulders and shouts, “What did you do to us?”
“Let me go, Michael! You’re hurting me.”
“Did you suck some guys cock for them?”
Rebecca pushes him away and storms across the room. Survivors watch warily. A few slip out of the room.
“Rebecca, those pills are making people go crazy,” Mark says.
“I don’t care,” Rebecca says numbly.
“Security is coming,” Angela says.
“You need to leave. The guards are locking people up for taking those,” Mark says.
&nbs
p; “Shit,” Michael says and grabs Rebecca’s hand.
“Michael, I’ll distract the guards in the lobby and you two sneak out.”
33
“They’re zombies. Don’t you watch TV?” Larry asks as they make their way through the dark, filthy streets.
“Television is evil,” Natalie bristles.
“How’s television evil?”
“It takes you away from doing God’s will.”
“I don’t believe in God, only in myself.”
Natalie makes an indignant noise.
“Shut up Natalie, I hear a zombie.”
He yanks her down behind a pile of rubble. A band of zombies shamble past them. Fires dimly illuminate the creatures. Some move fast while the damaged ones drag themselves slowly by. He aims his gun.
“Save your bullets,” Natalie whispers.
“Why?”
Larry lowers the gun hesitantly as she says, “The CDC thought they could usurp the Lord with their drugs. The disease is in the binding of the pill.
“What are you talking about,” he hisses, nervous they’ll be heard.
“A week ago I informed the feds the doctors were playing God.”
“How were they playing God?”
Natalie talks about the patients waking from comas as crazed monsters.
At the end of the narration he asks, “Why is it spreading?”
“This is the final judgment. Man has gone too far and Jesus is returning.”
“Can you please stop with the Jesus bullshit? Is there a cure?”
“There’s no cure for God’s judgment.”
A female zombie with a hollowed out face turns towards Natalie’s voice. They freeze, remaining still and silent until the creature passes. Gun shots echo in the distance. Once the street is clear, they move on cautiously.
He motions for Natalie to be silent. Voices ring out in argument a block away. They crouch behind another car and he peers around the bumper. Down the street, a group of armed men menacingly point guns at Saint Mary's Episcopal Church. An overturned compact car lies across the sanctuary’s steps. One of men leaps on top of the vehicle.
“Knock, knock!” M2 shouts.
“Seth said he wants art supplies. He didn’t say nothin’ bout attacking churches,” a thug says.
“Don’t get your panties in a bunch,” another says.
A deacon with rolled up sleeves and a balding head emerges from the church.
“We don’t want any trouble,” the deacon says.
“Too bad,” M2 says.
“We offer shelter but you have to leave your weapons outside.”
M2 shoots the deacon in the gut with a bang.
“We need to do something,” Natalie gasps.
“We’re out numbered.”
The men rain bullets upon the heavy ornate doors of the church.
“C’mon M2, this is boring, let’s go hit a pharmacy,” someone whines. “I feel like shit.”
“Ugh, fine,” M2 says and yells. ““We’ll be back in the morning.”
M2 punctuates his threat with another spray of gun fire. Laughing, Seth’s thugs wander away. Larry watches the church and debates if it’s an ambush.
“That’s a house of God,” Natalie says and stands up.
“There’s a police station two blocks away with guns.”
“We don’t need guns when we have Jesus.”
“Tell Jesus to get us out of here then.”
Larry knows from endless hours of watching zombie movies that guns are vital for survival. Against his better judgment he follows her.
“Maybe the church has holy water and a priest. He can bless your gun.”
“No thanks.”
Larry stops half way up the steps and says, “I’ll come back for you then, okay?”
“At least wait for someone to open the door.”
Natalie raps her knuckles on the door. No answer. Larry walks up the steps and bangs on the door.
With his best authoritative voice he bellows, “I’m an officer with the MPDC!”
Shadowy faces appear in the side windows. The door cracks open and an older man peers out. The cop taps a finger on his badge to draw the man’s attention.
“Let them in, Bob,” a voice calls out.
Looking skeptical the man opens the door a little wider.
“We don’t allow guns in Gods house,” Bob says.
A middle aged priest with a spectacles brushes past Bob.
“But they shot Jim. Are you two with the others?” Bob demands.
“No we’re not,” Larry says and holsters his gun. “My lady friend, Natalie, is seeking sanctuary for a few hours.”
Natalie’s prim hair-do is frazzled and pink scrubs are messy but she still looks charming to Larry as she offers a weak smile to the priest.
“You’re both welcome to come in,” the priest says.
“Natalie, wait here. Do you guys want guns to protect the church?”
“We don’t believe in guns,” the priest says.
“I mean no disrespect Father, but I think God doesn’t give a shit.”
“Larry, they don’t need guns, this is a house of the Lord,” Natalie says. “Please forgive his disrespect Father.”
“Whatever,” Larry says and exits the church. He’s on high alert as clip-clops echo sharply a block from the station. A zombie police officer on an undead horse groans as the horse enters the intersection. Larry aims at the horse’s eye with his gun but pauses. The zombie catches scent of him and reaches out blindly but tumbles to the street. At the loss of its rider the infected beast gallops away.
“See where duty leads you?” Larry snickers.
The zombie cop, weight down by body armor, struggles to its feet and groans.
“You’re a slow ass motherfucker aren’t you? Not worth the bullet.”
A parking meter lies nearby, bent and broken at its base. Picking up the heavy meter, he swings, and catches the zombie on the arm, causing both it and Larry stumble. He drops the cumbersome meter and backs into a SWAT van.
The zombie lunges at him. He catches hold of its jacket and slams the creature’s head repeatedly into the side of the van. Head smashed like an overripe melon, the zombie crumples to the pavement.
“You have the right to be dead, fucker,” Larry says, chest heaving.
After catching his breath, he jogs to the two story red brick police station. The security grate is locked down but the garage bay is partly open. None of the lights work. In Central Dispatch the contents of the desks are scattered across the floor. Bodies of officers lay over desks and across the floor. In the locker room he finds a Kevlar vest hanging out of a bent locker. He picks it up and puts it on. Next he snags an empty black duffle bag from the floor. Faint sounds come from the prisoner’s holding area.
“Shut up fucker,” a baritone voice hisses. “You’re a whiny piece of shit that deserves to die.”
“You’re a dead man,” another male says.
Larry enters the room and shines his flashlight into the eyes of two men in separate cells. A burly guy with full tattoo sleeves clings to the bars. In the opposite cell is a skinny man with a beak like nose.
“What happened to the station?” Larry demands.
“Everyone got killed. Eaten, zombie style,” the tattooed man says with a laugh.
The bird man pleads, “C’mon let me out. I’m innocent, seriously.”
“Why, so you can go cause more trouble in the streets? You’re safer in here.”
“No way man!” the tattoo prisoner shouts and rattles the bars. “Let us out you fucking pig!”
“Go to hell.”
The smaller man curses, “What kind of sick dumb fuck are you?”
“I’m here for the guns, not punks.”
“C’mon, man,” the big man calls out as Larry walks away. “I was just sleeping off a bender.”
In the next room are lockers full of riot gear and weapons. He doesn’t bother with the riot gear and goes
straight for the gun cage and takes many guns and grenades.
A noise causes him to spin around. An officer with a contorted, pale face stands at the door leading to the kennel area. Behind the zombie are several other undead officers. He kicks the first zombie in the chest and bolts back into the prisoner holding area.
“Found your buddies, eh piggy wiggly?” the biker taunts.
Larry drops the duffle bag and points the assault rifle at the door. The zombies rush in and he shoots a single round with a bang.
The rifle has mild recoil. The zombie’s head explodes in a shower of gore. He shifts the green laser to another head and it too explodes. Within seconds the zombies fall into headless heaps.
“Where do you think you’re going pig?” the bigger prisoner says as his tattooed arm snakes between the bars.
A meaty hand takes hold of Larry’s neck. He drops the rifle and claws at the arm.
“Grab his gun!” the big man snarls.
“It’s too far away. I can’t reach it.”
The iron bars dig into Larry’s back as his face goes beet-red from a lack of oxygen. His vision becomes fuzzy. Struggling to break free, he locates his knife and slams it into the prisoner’s arm. The big man howls in pain and releases him. Larry sucks in deep gulps of air and reaches for the rifle. He stands there with the rifle pointed at them and his chest heaving.
The prisoners back up in their cages.
“You’re not worth the bullets, assholes,” Larry snarls. “I sentence you to death by starvation.”
Their screams echo behind him as he grabs the duffle bag and leaves the station.
34
“It’s not my fault,” Kyle shouts and grabs a nearby chair.
“I didn’t say it was, Kyle. Maybe if we pray….” Fred pleads.
Kyle slams the chair against the wall. Michael and Rebecca pause at the doorway as guards rush in.
“I never wanted the brat. Stupid bitch wouldn’t get a damn abortion. Fuck her, fuck that brat, and fuck your stupid God!”
“Calm down, son!”
“What’s God ever done for me?”
Kyle flings the broken chair across the room.
“Michael, we need to go,” Rebecca whispers as Michael watches the argument.
Killer Z Page 12