The Z Strain

by Matthew Isaiah Crawford

  The one thing that Carla Henderson didn’t imagine was possible was happening. Light glared into the din of the basement causing Carla to shield her eyes. Her husband’s green Nissan screeched to a halt in the driveway outside the basement window. Steam was hissing from the engine compartment, and the front grill was missing. The driver’s side headlight shining with a pink hue under a coat of fresh blood.

  Carla had given up on him for dead hours ago. She had seen live video of the shipyards where he worked being overrun by the creatures. There was no way he could have survived. But then there he was. Her husband Nick is jumping from the driver’s side door. The left-hand side of his face covered in blood. He holds a shotgun at his side and pans it left and right checking the yard as he makes his way towards the front door.

  Carla looked over to the three white mounds over in the corner of the basement. She stared at her daughters under those sheets and imagined her husband’s face when he reached the bottom of the basement steps. She knew that Nicholas loved those girls more than life itself. If she hadn’t truly believed him dead, she would have never. She began playing all of the different scenarios with her husband through her head. There was no rational way to explain the murder of their three children. All of her explanations, any words she thought may comfort him all lead to him looking at her with an accusing, astonished, horrified look on his face.

  Carla made two decisions.

  First, she decided that her husband would never, ever forgive her. Nor did she feel she deserved to be forgiven. Quite the contrary she assumed she would burn for her cowardice even though she had believed it to have been an act of mercy. They died without pain, and without fear. They died peacefully in their sleep, holding each other in their arms.

  Second, she decided that she could not face the horrified accusing look her husband was about to have on his face. She knew that that look on his face on top of the pain that she already felt for the murder of their beloved children would be just too much for her heart to handle. She flinched when she heard the front door close. That spurred her to reach down and snatch the small handgun from the basement floor. She placed the barrel securely between her teeth and squeezed the trigger.

  Nick paused at the entryway of his living room, having heard pop of a gunshot come from inside his house. In his mind he was racing fearful that there were others in the house, he could almost feel the adrenaline coursing through his veins. He became cautious scanning each and every corner passing slowly throughout the house. He pulled the front door closed quietly and locked the door. He walked into his bedroom and opened the closet to retrieve his gun. He found the shelf empty. Nick pushed the door closed and walked back out to the living room and turned to the kitchen pulling a kitchen knife out a kitchen drawer. There was a picture of his family at the beach under a magnet on the freezer door. He felt a shockwave of terror rush through his body as he considered the idea that it was one of them who was shot.

  Moving as quickly and quietly as possible he moved up the stairs checking each bedroom and the bathroom. He found nothing, every room was empty and unkempt. Carla always made sure the beds every day, so this was all very unusual. He returned to the main floor and headed straight for the basement as that was the last remaining option.

  He turns the knob and takes the first step into the stairwell. He pulls the string attached to the lightbulb hanging above the stairs. It illuminates the three steps down to a landing that turns to the right. He walks slowly down the three steps and stops seeing the body of his wife lying still at the bottom of the steps. The Glock 9mm he bought at the gun show last year sitting on the floor next to her. A pool of blood is expanding around her head.

  “No.” he whispers to himself racing down the final few stairs. He wails as he pulls his wife’s body to his. As he cradles her head against his chest, blood begins streaming down his arm. He cries out in agony. As he lowers his gaze from the ceiling, his eyes widen. He sees three mounds covered by white sheets at the far corner of the basement. He reaches for his children letting go of his wife’s body letting it slump to the floor.

  His legs are shaky underneath him as he tries to get his feet. He takes an uneasy step into the center of the basement. The shortest mound is only about two feet long. Nick falls to his knees and grabs hold of the smallest one’s foot. Tears are already falling steadily from his cheeks. He knows what is under these sheets, but he has to look, he doesn’t want to. His heart feels as though it’s going to burst out from inside of his chest. He clutches the sheet in his hand, unable to move either direction.

  He finally wills himself to pull the sheet to see his two-year-old daughter Brittany. Small, sweet, innocent Brittany. Her purple overalls cover a pink striped shirt. Her hair in ponytails. Nick looks up towards the heavens and lets a long-pained moan escape his throat. His breathing becomes shallow and labored. He pulls the next sheet down to see poor sweet Sarah. So helpful and kind, she was so excited about being a big sister. Then finally the sheet over his firstborn daughter Molly. Only eight short years, and she was gone, they were all gone. Nick’s mind spins and flutters, he begins to lose consciousness.

  Flashes of his wife, his children, his life. The births, the birthdays, the bike rides, and the camping trips. From this day forth all of those memories that were once filled with so much joy and hope will now be replaced only with loss and sadness. His eyes close, and as he lays down, he pulls the bodies his daughters close to him. He can feel the coldness of their bodies against his.

  Friday August 16th, 11:24 PM

  Bitterroot Valley Montana

  Jeff Covemaker sits leaning against an open window staring out into the night. Though the heat had climbed into the 90s today, after the sun had gone down it turned into a very pleasant evening. Jeff adjusts the old blue trucker cap with plastic mesh on the back on his head. He reaches into his jacket pulls a cigarette from the inside pocket of his forest green windbreaker. Then he slides a silver zippo lighter from the front pocket of his favorite pair of faded blue jeans. A Kevlar vest can be seen peeking out of the top of his blue and white plaid shirt. Flicks the lighter open igniting his cigarette. He blows smoke out the window as he listens to the small red emergency radio with yellow knobs play an emergency news broadcast.

  “The undead plague appears to be manifesting spontaneously in every major city. Reports coming in from Miami, to New York, and all across the country to San Diego, and up to Portland. Casualties are already expected to be in the millions. There has been no contact from the president since early this morning. The joint chiefs were all reportedly killed in a plane crash in southern Illinois.”

  Without removing his eyes from the window Jeff reaches behind and grabs a cup of steaming hot coffee. He puts the cup to his lips and takes a long draw. He knows this is going to be a long night.

  Jeff turns the volume down on the radio when he sees Terry Whitaker striding into the room carrying two large black cases. He sets them onto the bed with a grunt and pops the latches to open them. His long ponytail hangs down to the middle of his chest, and he wears large glasses that look like they were made in the 80’s. His outfit is similar to Jeff’s, the only difference is that he is wearing an old army jacket that hangs down to his thighs.

  “It’s all over now brother. Got reports coming in from all over the country.” Jeff sighed looking at the containers.

  “Anything local yet?”

  “Naw, nothing yet, but it’s spreading like wildfire. Wouldn’t expect it’d be long”

  “Seen the lights come on out back, was that Pete coming in with the families?” Terry asked

  “Yea, pulled in about ten minutes ago, they’re downstairs getting settled.” Jeff explained.

  “Good.”

  “Lock and load.” Terry is holding out two weapons, one a high-powered sniper rifle. The other a hand-held rocket launcher.

  “Merry fucking Christmas to me.”

  “Hell yeah brother.” Terry hands over the weapons, Jeff places them carefu
lly against the windowsill. Sitting down onto the bed, Terry pulls out his own sidearm, a large silver .45 with a scope attached. He pops the cylinder and spins the wheel.

  “Can’t believe this shit is really going down.” Jeff sighs refocusing his attention on the window.

  “I know, and fucking zombies, right?”

  “Seriously, we had plans for so many scenarios, but shit, never even thought about talking about fucking zombies.”

  “That’s because they WERE fucking fictional. I’m still not convinced this isn’t some kind of War of the Worlds type fucking deal. You know, like one big hoax just trying to freak us out.” Terry pops the cylinder closed and holsters his weapon.

  “If I hadn’t seen people lying dead on the streets on the news this morning, I might buy into that. Fuck Jerry had a video of a news woman getting ripped to pieces. Right on live TV man.” Jeff leans his head out the window and looks out at the dark forest around him.

  “I know, I know. It’s just really hard to believe.” Terry sighed.

  “So, did David say what the plan was? I know he was tossing around a couple of different ideas.” Jeff asked.

  “I think we’re just going to hold up here for the time being. Someone said something about making it to the coast and getting a boat. I think that’s just bonkers. There are too many what if’s in that scenario.”

  “Well I hope they bring in some more supplies before the shit hits the fan around here. We only had a six-month supply on site, and that was before bringing all the families in.”

  “They already sent a group out to loot the base. Hopefully there isn’t anyone still there.” Terry explained.

  “Who are they sending out to the base?” Jeff asked turning back from the window.

  “Chris is going, taking about four others with him”

  “Why so many?” Jeff asked, taking another pull of his coffee.”

  “In case they have to move in a hurry I guess, just to get to the essentials.” Terry said. But he was just guessing. He didn’t know why David sent that many people.

  “I get it.” Jeff snubbed out his cigarette and pulled the sniper rifle from against the wall and admired the piece.

  “What about you, what time does your relief come?” Terry asked.

  “0400.”

  “Jesus, long night, I don’t envy you.” Terry stand up and cracks his back.

  “No worries spent longer sitting in deer hides. Hell, here I got hot coffee, snacks, and my emergency radio if I want to continue listening to all the nut bags on the air.”

  “Yea?”

  “Oh yea, you should hear some of them, talking about the rapture, Jesus has risen, all that bullshit.” Jeff motions over towards the radio.

  “Well, I’m going to turn in, it’s been a hell of a long day.”

  “Get some rest, see you at morning meeting.”

  “Holler if you need anything, I’m right down the hall.”

  “Thanks.”

  Terry exits into the hallway, at the corner of the hallway as he turns into his room he listens to the hustle and bustle taking place downstairs. Usually there’s only about a dozen people up here at a time. But with the whole group here, along with their families there’s probably more than two hundred people in their little commune. Terry enters his room, the walls are cluttered with American flags, Rebel flags, knives, swords, and guns. Next to the bed is a workstation that has the set up for making ammunition. There are buckets filled with casings lining the wall, next to them a stack of crates containing finished ammunition. Thousands and thousands of rounds of ammunition had been prepared over the past years spent here, but the manufacture had ramped up into high gear about mid-morning when reports started coming in about the impending apocalypse. Terry’s right hand was blistered from the amount of times he had pulled down the lever on the press.

  Saturday

  New York City, Columbia University

  Saturday August 17th 12:13 AM

  Erik Watanabe had been part of a larger group of students this afternoon when the chaos began. There were thirteen of them who had originally been able to barricade themselves into the computer science lab when people in the building started attacking each other. They had weathered the storm, and in the late afternoon, a decision had been made that they had to move. There was no food or supplies available in the lab.

  The plan was to move to a kid named Bradley’s apartment on riverside drive, it was only a few short blocks from campus. The group huddled together as they moved through the hallway. There were papers, backpacks, and other personal items left behind in the hallway. There were also numerous areas of blood

  As they moved through the building, they were able gather a couple of weapons along the way. They found a few lengths of wood, a metal pipe, a few others just had medium sized rocks in hand.

  They reached the parking lot and quickly piled into two cars, most went into a red Ford Ranger pickup that led the way, the others piled into a small Honda. They were both cars belonging to other people in the group. Eric didn’t own a car himself.

  A block away they ran into a roadblock of vehicles trying to cross Broadway there was no way through. The undead were converging on their position in a hurry having heard the sounds of the vehicles. In a panic they turned back and went up to 122nd, this time they were able to weave their way, just barely across Broadway. They ran into a blockade of humanity on Riverside, weighing what few options that remained, the driver of the pickup truck decided to hit the gas trying to plow through.

  The little truck made it a little over halfway before bogging down. The five remaining passengers in the Honda watched in horror as their friends in the lead vehicle were overrun. At first the top of the car was visible. Soon none of the car was visible. Moments later came the breaking of windows and screaming. The driver of the little Honda swerved to avoid the throng and hit the throttle. The little tan Honda did pretty well plow through a sea of undead until the car hit something that sent it airborne towards Grant’s Tomb. The car rolled in the air coming down on the passenger door and rolling completely over back on to the wheels.

  When Erik came to, he looked around the car. The two people in the back seat to his right were scrambling out the door. He felt inclined to follow. He looked into the front seat, Lisa, the girl in the passenger seat, her neck was broken. Her head sat at an extreme angle and a piece of bone could be seen protruding from the side. Coulter was driving, he looked to be okay and was struggling to get his seatbelt off. As Erik exited the vehicle he looked around and saw the undead coming for them quickly and in large numbers. He turned and ran behind the two people that had made it out before him.

  The three of them began running up the street on foot, only one of them, a girl by the name of Kendra made it out with a weapon. Unfortunately, it didn’t do her much good, a block and a half later, they turned into an alley after seeing the streets ahead flooded with people. As they made the turn, she was overtaken by a man running behind them. Erik turned just long enough to see her attacker bite her on the neck and rip her throat out.

  Erik found back door to what appeared to be an apartment building unlocked. His only companion, boy named Justin, who he didn’t know prior to today, was right behind him. They moved quickly and quietly up the stairs, when they got to the second floor, they began trying doors. Every turn of a handle was a prayer to find somewhere safe to hold up. They didn’t find any doors on the second floor open, so they moved up to the third floor. On the second door they tried Justin pushed the door open and was bit by a young child on the hand. He kicked the child back into the room and closed the door. He looked at Erik with a terrified look on his face.

  Erik was not a fan of horror movies, he had never watched a single zombie movie in his life, so he just looked back at Justin and shrugged. Five doors later they opened the door into an empty apartment. There were items strewn out all over the place, it looked as though the occupant had hurriedly packed and fled.

  Within twenty min
utes they had locked the door and blockaded the entryway with furniture. They sat down together to take a break at the small dining room table.

  “So, what now?” Erik asked, out of breath. Justin was sitting with his head leaning back against the wall, his eyes closed.

  “I don’t know dude.” His eyes come open, and he looks down at his hand. “I’ve been thinking about what I can do to help you out before I go.” Justin said.

  “Go, where are you going?” Erik asked confused.

  “I’m already dead. It’s just a matter of time.” He sighed.

  “What are you talking about?” Erik didn’t understand what any of this meant.

  “Jesus, do you not understand how zombies work?” Justin asked loudly.

  “No.” Erik replied. Justin looked at him blankly thinking that he was joking. After what felt like a full minute passing of them staring at each other with confused looks on their faces, Justin finally decided to explain the situation.

  “Well, in every zombie movie ever made, the infection is spread through the bites. When that little fucker bit me, it was a death sentence.”

  “Seriously?” Now Erik was scared.

  “Yea, seriously.”

  “So, shit, what do we do?”

  “Nothing to do. What I’ve been trying to figure out what I could do to help you survive. I thought maybe I could go clear as many apartments as I could to help you find supplies or weapons.”

  “You want to do that?”

  “No, not particularly. I think it’s going to hurt. But If I’m going to die, I may as well be of some use first.”