Day of the Zombie

by Richard Lee

  Day of the Zombie

  Richard Lee

  Published by Triskaideka Books NZ, 2017.

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Dedication

  The day of the Zombie

  Sign up for Richard Lee's Mailing List

  Also By Richard Lee

  To all the lovers of horror and all things zombie.

  Enjoy.

  The day of the Zombie

  (Originally published by LLD press as He Iwi Tahi Tatou)

  http://richardleewrites.com

  Published by Triskaideka Books

  Copyright ©2017 Richard Lee

  Cover text/design copyright © 2017 Lee Pletzers

  Cover art ©2017 Richard Lee

  All rights reserved. No copying or reselling please.

  This Book (print, audio, video and eBook versions) is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This product may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient.

  If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  This is a work of fiction. The events and characters described here are imaginary and are not intended to refer to specific places or living persons. This book may not be reproduced, transmitted, or stored in whole or in part by any means, including graphic, electronic, or mechanical without the express written consent of the publisher.

  WE HEARD IT ON THE news. America as we knew it was gone. Next was Mexico. Then London and Europe. Accusations flew, theories ran rife but no one really new. Scientists captured zombies, tested them—but that's all we heard. Whether it was true or not, no one found out.

  But we were safe. New Zealand and Australia, Samoa and Fiji and a scattering of other islands.

  Safe. A precarious word.

  Then Australia fell. How? We don't know. All contact was lost. Samoan and Fijian communications also died. We were alone. The authorities had no idea what to do. In a burst of fear and energy, we as a nation rioted. And why not? We believed we were next. And like all bursts of energy, it was short lived; but the destruction was massive. Plumes of smoke darkened the sky for days, people bled to death on the streets, bodies pillaged and beaten, children tossed against brick walls; anarchy in full swing.

  Being the last 'safe' place was the worst. Every day we waited for the inevitable zombie attack or news of their arrival. That's how we lived. Day to day. Money meant nothing, skills were valued, communities grew stronger, and security groups were formed to keep our little slice of paradise in order and kept an eye on visitors; insuring they had skills to share.

  Everything was kept in order.

  Peace reigned.

  He iwi tahi tatou. We are now one people.

  THE FUCKERS HAD TO arrive sooner or later. They arrived in Aotearoa on a day of celebrations: Waitangi Day.

  A long time had passed since we lost contact with the rest of the world. An exact time was unknown but the silence was believed to have started between five and seven years ago.

  Waitangi day was a rude awakening. We had grown soft and complacent. We had hoped it was all over. Whatever started the zombie breakout had faded or died. New Zealand was safe. We were thankful of that.

  When word arrived that Waitangi Day talks were to be restarted there was a change in the community. A good change. The hope of some normality was its way into power. We were happy and anxious at the same time. There was a strong desire that government would not return; at least not the government we remembered. Government was powerless against a real threat and lost all power when the silence started.

  We had made do. All communities had their own set of rules and guidelines that benefited the region and the people, the last thing we all wanted was the return of old school policies. On our own we learnt how to restore electricity and build and install wind and sun generators. We had communication with other communities through analogue telephone lines.

  There was a feeling within most communities that a return to old world comforts wasn't needed or wanted. People were closer, neighbour knew neighbour. Six degrees of separation had become one.

  THE DOOR OPENED, A wave of light rushed into the room. Gary covered his eyes from the stinging brightness.

  "Oh my God, Gary. I'm sorry. I forgot."

  Rubbing the pain away, he gingerly took his hands away. The room was once again filled with a soft dull light. Thick, heavy curtains covered the windows. "It's okay, Susan."

  "Are you angry?"

  Gary turned to her slender form. "No," he said, and she stepped forward. His hand reached out and stroked her hair. The rattling chains annoyed him. His hand cupped her neck and he pulled her close. Their lips brushed and Susan pulled away from him.

  He saw the tears in her eyes and knew he would soon have to break his contact with her. Susan had to live her own life free of the burden he had become. After twenty years of marriage, he did not doubt the love was still there and still strong but she needed something he could no longer give her—companionship.

  They would come for him sooner or later, he was sure of it. Fear was a powerful emotion and hard to contain.

  "How is the documenting going?"

  "Slower than I thought." Gary looked at the screen. "My memory is not as good as it once was. Everything is still locked in here," he tapped his head, "the problem is getting it in order."

  "I have every confidence in you. The council choose the right man to document the events."

  Gary smiled. "I doubt that."

  "Are you hungry?"

  "Yes."

  "I'll bring you in something." She exited from the door, not fully closing it.

  Outside he can hear children yell out. They are practicing, he realises and finds it sad that children don't 'play' as they once had, when he was a child.

  Struggling with the chains, he made his way to the window. Keeping the curtains shut, he peered through a crack. The light is blinding, but he can manage the pain for a few moments—like looking directly at the sun.

  The kids think they are playing a game with the kicks, punches and the pointed stick, but they were, in reality, in training. They laughed and teased one another, but it is all in good fun. In a few more years, these kids will be carrying side-arms and will be experienced in handling and using these weapons. Society has changed. The kids’ laughter brings him out of his thoughts. Society had changed. Yes, he liked that sentence and will find a way to weave it into his documenting of the Waitangi Day attack.

  Susan nudged the door open with her foot. Gary turned from the window; the smell of the raw meat overpowering. The tangy aroma wafted to his nostrils and he inhaled deeply. He felt the change break through his humanity.

  Still blinded with the white light he couldn't see the food, nor could he see his wife, but he could smell her. Everything was heightened when food came. He could barely control himself; even the weight of the chains seemed less.

  "Get out," he hissed, his voice a rough memory of itself.

  He picked up the slab of meat with both hands and bit into the warm flesh. His teeth tore chunks free and he chewed with frenzy, sucking the blood and swallowing the rest.

  Within minutes he finished and tossed the bone on the tray. He stumbled away, ashamed of how he had just acted, he had given up trying to control the hunger. Tears filled his eyes and streaked down his cheeks. Every day it was like this and Gary hated it. After every feeding he wished his life had ended. Then he caught hold of himself. If he had died, those children outside would not be here enjoying the sun and their training.

  He bro
ught his hands to his face and stared at his palms. He saw the dark blood run through the veins, jettisoning under the grey and green smudged skin, repairing damaged cells. His blood mixed with it and he felt a surge of energy.

  Is that what the zombies felt, he wondered. Did they feel the energy rush after eating?

  That would explain their frenzied attack. The rush was fantastic, like Meth to an addict. And was one hit enough? Gary wanted more. He always wanted more. He rubbed his swelling stomach. The laughter of the children outside sounded far away. The practice must have ended or they are on a break. Did they know whose window they played under? If he could bare the sun...that was not a thought he wanted to pursue.

  Gary got to his feet. It was a struggle. His muscles felt fine but his head throbbed and he rubbed his temples, trying to massage the pain away.

  The computer beeped.

  Lunch was over. The timer was set months ago, but the self-imposed time wasn't long enough anymore. Gary worked best when forced with a schedule and set time frames. He had always been like that; it was efficient.

  Like an old man, he took his seat in front of the computer slow and easy, and wriggled into a comfortable position. He tapped the spacebar and the screen came alive. Behind him he heard the door swing open. Susan hadn't knocked this time. He almost turned around. Almost. He hadn't thought of washing up after feeding and the blood was still drying on his chin.

  "Back at work?"

  "Yes, getting set. Putting my thoughts in order." A floorboard creaked as she stepped forward. "Stop," he ordered. "I'm still hungry." The door shut. He sniffed the air. Susan was gone but her aroma always lingered.

  Gary focussed on the screen. He re-read what he had written. It had taken all morning to type that. His thoughts were a mess. And that was the easy part to write, like a recap of events that was common knowledge.

  It was time to write the hard part. His part. It took a few minutes for him to realise why it had taken all morning to write the opening...He didn't want to get to this part. Gary felt a knot in his chest, the memories were vivid. The events real. The fear was unimaginable and the pain was agonising. He had been amongst it all, experiencing the madness first hand.

  He took a deep breath, laid his wrists on the end of the keyboard and began to type.

  THE EXCITEMENT OF WAITANGI Day overtook everyone. The council heads journeyed to other regions and talks were underway. Security was counterpoint to all other agendas. There were talks of getting old walkie-talkie radios working, but that idea was killed quickly. But other ideas were laid bare, and decisions made. For once, all councils were in agreement.

  Two members from each council were appointed to attend the Wellington based ceremony with a security detail that would merge with the Waitangi security and keep everyone safe. Everything was well thought out and planned in the finest detail.

  Several security personnel were on duty—armed. M16s slung over shoulders and Glocks on waists. All security parties were similarly armed. We knew what was at stake. I packed a hunting knife strapped to my ankle. It was back up in case my bullets ran out. It may not be very handy but if I were going down—I was going down swinging like a motherfucker.

  We were clustered in four groups, one group on each side. The roads were well travelled and our guard wasn't as focussed as it should have been. We held no fear of attack.

  The city was another matter. No one we knew, knew of anyone living in the city. There were many living there of course, but for us it was new territory. Most had fled the city. There was a common belief that the fuckers had come from the ocean when they took down Australia and Samoa and Fiji. There was no other means of travel, unless the virus went airborne and no one wanted to even think of that. It was easier to believe they just walked out.

  Every port and local swimming / fishing hole was covered with armed guards for months afterwards. Nothing happened. As I said earlier, we got soft. Nothing was patrolled these days. We thought of only our loved ones and our community. It was nice to see the regions coming together, finally.

  The ceremony was being held at Oriental Bay, down the bottom of the city. We walked off the once busy motorway and everyone tensed. The streets were silent. The last time I'd been here was ten years past. It was different then: people everywhere, trucks, buses, cars, motorbikes. Everyone with somewhere to go and something to do. Now the silence echoed.

  Our boots pounded the pavement. The large group walked as one down the centre strip of the road. All security members looked around, eyes never lingering in one place too long. Sweat beaded my forehead. Thick dust covered the windows of shops.

  Tory Street. This would take us to Courtney Place and then it was only a couple of blocks to Oriental Bay. It had once been beautiful and well-tended. I was curious to see what nature had reclaimed in the years since the silence. The roads we walked were cracked and uneven, patches of grass grew freely, and in one spot a small tree was battling through the asphalt. Vines crawled up buildings, mould covered concrete slabs and windows cracked from windblown debris or vandals.

  Memories of this city were still fresh, my house was miles away but still, I would like to find some time to visit, perhaps relive the past for a few moments.

  From behind—a deep guttural growl.

  Spinning on my heel, my M16 lined up with a lioness. She growled, exposing flat teeth. An ex-zoo animal. Next to her, four cubs growled. They were tiny and cute, but their teeth were razor sharp.

  I lowered my weapon, she wasn't attacking. She was protecting. We had stumbled close to her grounds. "We need to walk back slowly. Lower your weapons." Briefly I wondered where the lion was hiding. For there to be cubs, there had to be a male somewhere.

  We backed onto the footpath and the lioness stopped growling, but she watched us until we were out of her territory. She walked along the edge, always staying back a few paces. Her head low to the ground. Her eyes bored into me. My heart thumped hard. I was the only one to speak and everyone followed my instructions. In the animal world, that made me a leader. The one to be weary of.

  Close to Courtney place, the lioness vanished. I wasn't aware she had gone, until I turned around. The male was nowhere to be seen. The king of the jungle was now the king of the city. He could be anywhere. Wellington wasn't a large city, but it was large enough. In the back of my mind, I hoped the lions didn't venture out of the city and wander into our community.

  The moment we stepped onto Courtney Place, someone shouted. A young voice, full of excitement.

  From the old Reading Cinema building, a man stepped out. He was armed. The council members stepped through the guards and holding their hands up, they approached the man. After a few moments of talk, they ushered into the grand building. The man stood at the entrance and watched us.

  The famous Wellington wind was at work, but it was blowing a Northerly, sending warm wind messing my hair and rustling my loose fitting clothes. Looking around I saw people watching us. A ball bounced across the road, an impossible achievement before the silence. A mother grabbed a boy's arm before he made it to the road and dragged him back. He was crying he wanted his ball.

  "I don't like this," Jon said. He was the point man but now faced us. "It feels wrong."

  "Relax," I said and walked slowly to the ball, which was now on our side of the road. "Our council is talking with their council." I bent down and picked up the ball. The man on guard at the cinema turned his full attention on me. "Want your ball?" I called, holding it up in the direction of where the kids were. I couldn't see him, the building’s entrance was pitch black, but I sensed him watching me as I had sensed the lioness.

  The boy stepped out of the darkness. His mother had hold of his shirt.

  I tossed the ball to him and caught it deftly tethered to his mother's arm. He smiled at me, and I returned it. Looking above him, I said, "We came for the Waitangi Day celebration."

  No one said anything.

  I looked up at the faces pressed against windows, mostly kids.
Curious kids. No older than ten or eleven.

  The silence sent a shot of worry through my veins. Our council members had entered the building quite a while ago and we had not heard a thing since then.

  Time ticked on.

  All of us now sat on the curb. The faces soon disappeared from the windows. We heard sounds of life, kids playing, but couldn't see them. Occasionally people would step out of entranceways and glance in our direction.

  Our weapons were lying on the road next to us, within easy reach. As the seconds ticked by, we were all starting to worry. Jon grabbed his M16 and laid it across his lap. The guard at the cinema was also sitting on the curb, leaning against the glass wall of a Telstra showroom. When Jon moved, he did too.

  Jon stepped to the centre of the road. "Where's our council Leaders?"

  The guard did not respond.

  "I asked you a fucking question."

  "You know where they are."

  "It's taking too much time." He stepped over the centre line. Stopped. The guard's gun levelled at his head. "I want to see them, make sure they are okay."

  "Step back."

  Jon didn't move. He lined his M16 sight on the guard. "This could get very messy," he said.

  "The lions will eat your rotting carcass if you do not step back."

  We all stood. We all drew a line of sight on the guard.

  The doors to the cinema swung open. Standing in a small group were our council members. My council members were standing in the front. Warwick and James. Both had grey hair and trimmed beards. Both were well respected within the community. Warwick and I spoke often, but James always remained aloof, more interested in the politics and running of the community than the public face aspect. In an older government, he would have been a back bencher or lower cabinet member. In our community, he and seven others ran the day to day business.

  Warwick spoke up. "Stand down, men. The celebration starts at dawn tomorrow." He stepped forward and gently laid his hand on the guard's gun and pressed down. The guard allowed it.