Z 2134

by Platt, Sean

  Z 2134

  by Sean Platt and David Wright

  The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

  Text copyright © 2012 Sean Platt & David Wright

  Originally published as a Kindle Serial, October 2012

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.

  Published by 47North

  P.O. Box 400818

  Las Vegas, NV 89140

  ISBN: 9781611094107

  THANK YOU TO ALL OF OUR GONERS, WHO HAVE BEEN WITH US FOR THE PAST YEAR, AND MADE THIS ALL POSSIBLE.

  Table of Contents

  EPISODE 1

  CHAPTER 1

  CHAPTER 2

  CHAPTER 3

  CHAPTER 4

  CHAPTER 5

  CHAPTER 6

  CHAPTER 7

  CHAPTER 8

  CHAPTER 9

  EPISODE 2

  CHAPTER 10

  CHAPTER 11

  CHAPTER 12

  CHAPTER 13

  CHAPTER 14

  CHAPTER 15

  EPISODE 3

  CHAPTER 16

  CHAPTER 17

  CHAPTER 18

  CHAPTER 19

  CHAPTER 20

  CHAPTER 21

  CHAPTER 22

  EPISODE 4

  CHAPTER 23

  CHAPTER 24

  CHAPTER 25

  CHAPTER 26

  CHAPTER 27

  CHAPTER 28

  CHAPTER 29

  CHAPTER 30

  CHAPTER 31

  CHAPTER 32

  AUTHORS’ NOTE

  ABOUT THE AUTHORS

  EPISODE 1

  CHAPTER 1 — Jonah Lovecraft

  Outside The Walls — The Barrens

  Jonah focused through the rifle scope, staring at the zombies swarming around the tunnel’s exit. He had one bullet, with four undead blocking his only way out.

  “Fuck,” he whispered to himself.

  The Darwin Games announcer, Kirk Kirkman, sounded practically orgasmic from the speakers in the floating orb behind Jonah.

  “Wow, Jonah’s really in a tight spot here. Should he take his chances with just one bullet and a machete, and make the mile-long trek back to the last exit? Tell us what you’re thinking as The Darwin Games continue, with Jonah Lovecraft, our second to last contestant!”

  Jonah turned, glaring into the orb’s main camera, “Keep it down,” he whispered. “Are you trying to get me killed?”

  He was aching, tired, and starving, not in the mood to play dancing monkey for the asshole on the other side of the camera nor the millions watching The Darwin Games from home. Jonah was still a half-day from the Mesa and the Final Battle. Whoever reaches the Mesa first gets dibs on the best equipment from the Bounty to use in the fight to the death. The first player to make it to the Bounty usually wins. Going head-to-head against Bear, assuming Bear was the other Darwin contestant still alive, meant Jonah had to get there first. He would need every ounce of help he could get — Bear was a walking tank of a man.

  Bear was more than four hundred pounds and seven feet; an absolute beast, pouring a countless number of his life’s hours into working the City 6 Quarry for most of his 40 years breathing. He’d been imprisoned for robbery, stealing a loaf of bread no less, to feed his wife and child when their rations ran dry earlier than they’d scheduled. Though Jonah hadn’t been a City Watch officer when Bear was jailed, Bear knew of Jonah’s former occupation. Bear had a score to settle, and even if that score wasn’t with Jonah personally, he’d serve as a fine proxy for the hardline authority that had wrongly punished him.

  When The Games first started, and there were 12 of them — two prisoners from each city — let loose into the wild, Bear made an immediate run for Jonah. Fortunately, Jonah managed to slip away when someone else decided to take a whack at Bear. It would’ve been a decent strategy — hitting the strongest guy, Bear, first — if it had worked. It didn’t, though it did slow Bear down long enough for Jonah to successfully make it into the woods, then over to one of the weapons caches. There, he managed to claim a machete before acquiring the rifle he earned by bringing down a pair of contestants who had wisely teamed together, then foolishly surrendered their guard long enough for Jonah to strike.

  There was one day of The Darwin Games remaining, and Jonah had to reach the far side of the tunnel, then make his way to the spot of the Final Battle before Bear, if he wanted a chance to win and start his life over in City 7.

  There were two boxes waiting at the Mesa. One was called The Bounty, which was a winner’s box, with winner’s weapons inside. The Bounty varied from game to game. Sometimes the TV network would stock it with something useful, like a bat, an axe, or even a pistol with a handful of bullets. The other box, however, was called the Joker’s Box, left for whoever made it to the Mesa last, usually containing something far less effective — a brick, a piece of wood, or on one occasion, a bag of children’s toys. It was the game’s way of adding what Kirkman called “the wow factor” to the show — a moment that would shock viewers and get discussed in City plazas.

  Jonah needed all the help he could get if he was going against Bear. Getting to the Bounty was non-negotiable.

  He stared into the scope again, weighing his options as the orb hummed and hovered behind him, turning simple focus into heavy labor. Though Kirkman had momentarily shut up, or maybe muted himself so his inane chatter was broadcast only to the audience at home, Jonah could still hear the orb buzzing like a swarm of bees behind him, the awareness of it enough to shatter his concentration.

  The orbs, which served as floating cameramen beyond The Wall, usually kept a decent distance behind or above their targeted players. But if the game was on the line, the orbs always hovered closer. The game was definitely on the line now. If Jonah died, then Bear, who he now figured had to be the last person left, would automatically win. Of course, most of the people at home were rooting for Jonah to make it to the Final Battle. If he died now, it would be anticlimactic and deny the audience the spectacle of a bloody duel.

  The networks were no doubt pitching this duel as Bear against the very law that had imprisoned him and destroyed his family, despite the network being run by The City, which was the law of the land. Of course, such subtleties were lost on the common viewer, who only sought relief from the long days, not critical analysis.

  Jonah tried to focus again as the orb hovered closer, its static purr lifting his hair in the breeze. He turned back, still glaring. The orb zipped several feet back, giving him additional space. It wasn’t enough. Jonah wanted to bash the fucking thing to pieces but knew better.

  Sam Wallings had almost won The Darwin Games two years before, but had smashed an orb a half-hour from reaching the Mesa. He was a half-day from reaching The Bounty before his opponent and was stronger in every way. No one doubted he would win. But after smashing the Orb, Wallings was found by a hunter orb four minutes later and violently exterminated, to many cheers and even more lost bets.

  Jonah would have to tolerate the goddamn orb.

  He inched closer, deciding to take his chances by eliminating the closest of the zombies.

  Erupting through the relative silence, Jonah heard an explosion of noise from behind — something galloping toward him, fast.

  Before he could register what it might be, the sudden assault slammed him sideways, sending him hard to the ground. Jonah’s rifle flew from his hand and skidded across the ground.

  Unf
ortunately, the orb had swung from danger just in time, clearing the area unscathed.

  Jonah, on his hands and knees, looked up, hoping like hell the zombies hadn’t noticed him when they heard the charging deer. If they had, they no longer cared, every one of them too distracted by the deer barreling toward them.

  Jonah grabbed his rifle and aimed, then waited.

  The deer stopped short when it spotted the zombies. Jonah stared through the scope as one of the zombies leaped at the deer, savagely grabbing it around the neck, then sinking its teeth past the deer’s fur and into its flesh and dragging it to the ground.

  A second zombie joined the feast, and hungry growls drowned the deer’s dying cries. Grunts from the zombies echoed off the tunnel walls; a backbeat to the melody of ripping flesh below.

  The zombies were fast and vicious, and they worked together — something Jonah had not yet seen in his thirteen days outside The Wall.

  Jonah started moving as fast as he could toward them — toward the exit — without surrendering stealth, wearing the wall’s shadows for cover, and hoping to pass the zombies while they were distracted with their kill. Zombies, in Jonah’s limited experience, rarely left one meal in pursuit of another.

  They were preoccupied, but not for long. If one of the zombies finished, or was pushed from the pack for being too greedy and infringing on the feast of another, it might very well turn its hungry eyes to Jonah.

  He was 20 yards away from them when he finally got a better look at the small pack of walking corpses.

  Careful, careful. Keep your eyes on them. Be ready to fire and then grab the machete. Whatever you do, don’t trip, stumble on a rock, or make a decibel of noise.

  Jonah’s heart pounded so loudly he was certain the zombies would hear him. The thumping in his chest felt as loud to him as the zombies’ fevered grunts and the sound of ripping flesh, which grew louder as he drew closer.

  He was five yards away from the zombies and another 10 yards from the tunnel’s exit when the sounds, wet like soaking gravel, slapped him hard and turned his stomach.

  Do NOT puke here. They will hear and kill you.

  Jonah tried to concentrate on the sound of the orb, still humming relatively quietly behind him, allowing the purring drone to squelch the horrible sounds of tearing, pulling, and crunching. For once Jonah was thankful to have the orb so close, though he hoped the humming wasn’t loud enough to invite the eyes of the zombies. He saw their fists filled with guts and meat, and mouths painted with the sauce of their kill, and figured it wasn’t.

  The zombies had devoured about 60 percent of the deer so far as Jonah could see, and were now starting to push at one another. Fighting over food wasn’t unusual. Soon, things would get ugly, with one of the zombies pulling at a leg or perhaps the head, trying to either drag the whole corpse away or tear off a piece for itself, plunging the rest of them into a battle. At least that’s what happened the many times Jonah had seen the zombies fighting over humans, both on the show and, more horrifyingly, in person.

  He carefully stepped past the zombies. He had just 10 yards to go until he finally reached daylight, where he could start running, laying space between himself and the undead.

  Jonah inched forward, not daring to turn back, using his ears as his only warning, accepting on faith they couldn’t see him at all.

  Just keep walking.

  Jonah was just 10 yards from the exit. Ten yards from safety. Just 10 yards.

  “Looks like he made it, folks,” Kirkman’s voice suddenly crackled behind him.

  Jonah’s heart fell to his feet and he froze in his tracks, forcing himself to look behind him. Several of the zombies looked up from their waning feast, then started screaming in unison, leaping from the deer’s torn carcass and charging toward him.

  “Fuck!” Jonah screamed, raising his rifle and firing, hitting one of the four zombies in the chest and sending it to the ground. The zombie cried out, writhing and slapping his arms against the ground, but even a bullet in the heart was only temporary. Anything less than a head shot only slowed the fuckers down.

  Jonah was down to just his machete.

  A machete against three zombies racing toward him — one a female, and one male looking like a small version of Bear. Fortunately, the largest of the zombies was moving slower than the others.

  Jonah turned and ran to the exit, reaching daylight, then scanning for anything he could use to set distance between himself and the pack — a waterfall he could leap from, a tree he could get to and climb, a hole where he could bury himself and hide. Anything.

  But he saw nothing but snowy flatlands all around him, and the monsters were far too fast to elude in the snow.

  Fuck!

  Jonah spun around, grabbing his machete from the scabbard on his back. He gripped it tightly, dug his heels in the ground, and positioned himself to take on the first zombie, which was now just inches away.

  If Jonah had pulled that same machete on a gang of living people, they would slow down, assess the situation, then determine the best means of attack. But the zombies were corpses, with minimal brain function, and knew no fear. Two of the running dead ran straight for him, ignorant of the danger of his blade.

  Jonah yelled, as if his sudden scream might scare them, then swung at the closest, sending a fat chunk from his rotting face sailing from his head with a wide arc of thick blackish blood in the wake of the machete’s swing.

  The zombie staggered back, howling as it stumbled. Jonah wanted to finish it off while it was still swaying and unsteady, but the female was still racing toward him, hands outstretched.

  Jonah leaped out of the way just in time as the zombie ran by and then fell to the ground. He spun around, raised the machete high, and swung down just as the creature was about to stand, bashing in the back of its skull with a sickening crunch.

  As the zombie fell forward, Jonah’s machete went with it, lodging inside its skull. The handle of the machete slipped from Jonah’s grip just as a fat fuck of walking death came running at him faster than he thought possible. Jonah looked up just in time to see the ruined man racing toward him like a train off its track.

  Jonah ditched the machete to dodge the attack, but…

  didn’t quite make it.

  The fat zombie’s fist caught Jonah on the side of the head, sending him to the ground in an explosion of pain.

  Shit!

  So far he had managed to wound two and kill just one of the four zombies. As the largest of them was attacking, Jonah’s machete was still jutting from the collapsed body of the only zombie he’d managed to kill.

  “Uh-oh, looks like Jonah might be making his last stand,” Kirkman’s voice said through the orb, sprinkling salt into the survivor’s festering wound.

  Fucking fucker!

  Jonah stood, his head pounding where the fat bastard zombie had hit him, and looked around. He failed to see the zombie coming at him until it was too late.

  The zombie grabbed him from behind. If the fat fuck pulled him into a hug, Jonah knew it would be seconds before its teeth were in his neck.

  Jonah kicked his foot back hard into the fat fuck’s left knee, hard enough to make the zombie scream as it fell to the ground. Pain wouldn’t keep a zombie down, but they sure as hell couldn’t walk without working knees.

  However, zombies’ tissue could not only self-repair, but even strengthen the muscles, despite their atrophied appearance. So Jonah wouldn’t have long to finish the zombie off before its knee healed.

  “Whoa! I did not see that coming!” Kirkman shouted in his most enthusiastic voice.

  Jonah ran back toward the fallen female zombie to retrieve his machete. The other zombie, the one with the freshly sliced face, stood between Jonah and the female, while the fat one groaned from behind, struggling to crawl forward.

  The orb floated overhead, “What’s he gonna go? Can he get to the machete in time?”

  There was 30 feet between him and the standing zombie. Jonah and the zom
bie then ran straight at each other. The zombie’s mouth opened with a scream, and Jonah wondered if it was feeling something like the rage he was feeling. Perhaps the creature’s brain had somehow healed as well, he wondered.

  Seconds from impact, Jonah pivoted left, causing the zombie to dive forward at him and miss. As it fell to the ground, Jonah went right, then slid and rolled to a stop beside the female zombie. He grabbed the handle of his machete and yanked, but it refused to budge.

  The fallen zombie shot up from the ground so fast it was like he had never fallen, then started racing toward Jonah again.

  Jonah stood, put his boot on the female zombie’s head, pressed down, and began working the blade back and forth as if pulling a sword from stone. He looked up, terrified, knowing he had mere seconds before the zombie would be on top of him.

  With one final yank, the blade slipped free from the monster’s skull, but the momentum from Jonah’s tugging sent him flying back. He fell to the ground, hard, while somehow managing to keep hold of the blade as the zombie lunged on top of him.

  Jonah jammed the blade through the zombie’s chest, then rolled over on top of it, straddling the zombie as it screamed like a banshee, wide white eyes frantically spinning around in their charred, hollow sockets, and rotting teeth chattering as putrid breath assaulted Jonah’s senses.