Crowded Yet Desolate: A Zombie Novel (2 page)

Chapter 3

The cool of the early morning had already gone, and the humidity immediately weighed down upon him. Ryan realized he had no clue what time it was, and he hoped it was early enough that the doctor was not out to lunch. Loud noises from Peachtree broke his concentration. He looked to his right, past the side streets and buildings, and saw that Peachtree was still crowded, no less than the night before. The mass was moving in every direction, their voices and party cries filling the streets. He was surprised this many people were still at the festival; drunks typically lingered, but the police did a good job of getting the streets cleared by the next day.

As Ryan made his way towards Peachtree, Ryan became anxious and broke into a nervous sweat, for a reason he could not yet pinpoint. But with each step, he became more able to discern the chaotic noises, the cheerful party sounds slowly transforming into panicked screams. His pace slowed, grew cautious. A rotten stench appeared, grew stronger, and Ryan covered his nose with a scowl. The festival was over, that was now clear.

About thirty feet from the street, the mayhem now clear to him, his pace slowed to a crawl, then stopped. He stood there stunned, his mouth agape, his body reflexively tensing into a defensive position. He shook his head, his earlier run-in with the abnormal still not able to chase away his current disbelief. People were running in panic in every direction, pursued by sick-looking people that reminded Ryan of Deborah. The street was crowded, people barely having enough room to maneuver away from those who chased. Ryan watched as some failed to escape and were attacked, thrown to the ground, and beaten with bloodied fists. Then, worst of all, he learned as he watched, these people, the ones who shared this strange sickness with Deborah, they sunk their teeth into the flesh of the others.

Ryan’s attention was suddenly directed to the right. A muscular oriental man with ripped and bloodied clothes was running in Ryan’s direction. His face was desperate, his body moving as if in pain. Following this man was one of the people who looked like Deborah: pale, lifeless face and blood-shot, hungry eyes. And the resemblance did not stop there. He moved liked an animal, fingers extended, sprinting forward with a speed only seen in documentaries of African predators hunting their prey. The Asian man looked relieved as he fully broke away from the crowd, but he didn’t notice that he was being pursued. Before they reached Ryan, the diseased man leapt onto the oriental man’s back and bit the side of his neck, sinking his teeth deeply into the flesh. The monster tossed his head back and forth, ripping and tearing the flesh, blood filling his mouth and dripping to the ground. Both fell. When Ryan thought it couldn’t get any more horrific, the diseased man jerked his head backwards and brought a large chunk of the other’s flesh with him. The oriental man screamed, and the noise reverberated between the brick buildings on either side. He beat his limbs against the ground, and then fell completely still. Whether the man was dead or had simply passed out from the pain, Ryan did not know.

As Ryan’s head swarmed over this image, he couldn’t help replaying the scene in his mind. It made him want to vomit. It made him want to fall to his knees under the weight of this horror, just fall down dead–anything to escape the grip of this horrible nightmare.

Yes! That’s it
, he thought.
This is just a nightmare
. Nothing more, nothing less. He would wake up any minute now with his beautiful wife by his side. She’ll look into his eyes and talk about how much she missed waking up next to him while he was away and how glad she is that he was now back. They would make breakfast, eat, drink coffee, and laze around the house all day.

Ryan snapped back to reality. What had appeared before him was no more a nightmare than this daydream he invented was real. The sickly man looked up at Ryan with a mouth full of blood and flesh, as if to tell Ryan that he was done with his appetizer. Ryan now despised this man.
No, this monster
.

The monster clumsily stood, and with its deadly gaze focused on Ryan, it ran towards him. Having been in this situation once before, Ryan instinctively acted. He waited, fidgeting, as the monster plodded towards him, bloody hands outstretched, and when the monster was five feet away, Ryan brought the bat down and struck the monster’s knee, breaking it instantly. But just as Deborah had, it continued to make its way towards him. Ryan expected this. He swung the bat again at a fatal speed towards the monsters chest. The bat struck hard and knocked the monster backwards onto the ground. Something then happened which Ryan did not expect. The monster took no notice of being struck in the chest, standing as if nothing had happened, even though a blow that powerful should have killed a man. Ryan became terrified, and his arm holding the bat began to tremble.
Can these things even die?
he wondered. These things, he thought, they’re people. Sick people. He did not let empathy stop him. He raised the bat and slammed it against the man’s head. He felt the skull crack though the bat, and the monster finally collapsed. Standing as far back as possible, Ryan poked him in the chest with the bat, confirming that the creature would not pop up again the moment he let his guard down. He lost track of time as he poked the creature, but finally, Ryan was confident that the monster had finally been killed and allowed himself a moment of triumph. Not only had he killed the monster, he now knew how to kill another one if he must.

Monster again, he thought. He realized if he were going to find help for Deborah, he would have to protect himself from the sick. If that meant thinking of them as monsters, so be it.

Ryan heard a sound behind him, footsteps striking the pavement. He spun around to find four monsters running towards him. This time, he knew, he was the one being hunted. Ryan decided to risk being lost amongst the crowd than face these four by himself.

He ran towards Peachtree. He was forced to pause at the intersection, for the street was too crowded for him to even slip by. To his comfort, Ryan saw that people were running in groups, just like the night before: families trying to stick together; couples running hand in hand; roommates forming circles back to back, some carrying makeshift weapons to keep the monsters at bay. Ryan hesitated, looking desperately for any opening between the groups, not letting his mind fill with the doubt that would surely cause him to freeze up. He could hear the beasts behind him closing in, and he wondered if this was like when a lame antelope tried to outrun a pride of lions, but no matter what it does, the sharp-clawed cat just comes closer and closer.

A small gap appeared in between a group of what looked like sorority sisters and a surprisingly agile elderly couple. Ryan knew he had no choice. He dashed into the gap, bending over from the waist, leaving the four monsters behind. He sprinted down the street blindly with no final destination in mind. This was not a good place to be. The street was full of bodies, both monsters and people, and the longer Ryan ran the more he realized the people were just as dangerous. They ran quickly, not caring if they knocked anyone down or hurt someone in their own effort to save themselves. He saw women and children trampled under the brute force of men, and smaller men trampled under the force of those larger; it was survival of the fittest. More monsters continued to show up as if from nowhere, like there was a factory close by pumping new ones out.

Ryan was forced to pause when a mass of bodies suddenly stopped in front of him. Looking for a path to cut around them, he glanced right and instead saw three monsters attack a group of people. A monster jumped on a poor girl and bit her directly in the face, causing the skin on her nose to slide off like a glove when it pulled back. She fell to the ground with the monster on top of her, screaming in a raucous frenzy. As much as Ryan wanted to help, he knew there was nothing he could do. He pressed on.

He thanked god for his youth as adrenaline gave him agility and athleticism he had not worked to earn. He dove and dodged, suddenly stopped and changed directions, as the mass of sweating and reeking bodies danced around him like a whirlpool. The smell of sweat and fear and the sound of pain and hysteria filled the street. A path opened, and he took it, only for it to be cut off. He stood motionless with no place to go, feeling himself surrounded by the warm bodies pressing in. Finally, an opening revealed a less crowded street veering off to the right, and he sprinted into it and remained on it for some time, catching his breath as he leaned against the side of a building. He was forced to abandon the haven as the large crowd of monsters and humans spread into his area.

Ryan ran until he could not run any longer. He allowed himself to rest against a tree, trying to hide himself as best as he could. It was less crowded here, but nowhere near empty; the scenery was just as gruesome here as any other place. Ryan didn’t want to look, didn’t want to watch, but keeping his eyes closed was dangerous, and with his eyes open it was impossible not to look. A young girl who stood at the nearest corner pulled Ryan’s attention away from the chaos. She was fairly close to Ryan, and he could just make out above the noise that she was calling for her daddy. Ryan knew the chances were slim that her father was alive in this frenzy, and he began to make his way towards her when a man emerged from the crowd and approached her. He was a black man wearing a torn business suit, and looked as if he had barely struggled from the crowd with his life. He bent down on one knee in front of his daughter, hugged her, then pulled away, keeping his hands on her shoulders. He spoke as calmly as he could: “Oh sweet, I’m so glad you’re safe. I’m sorry I had to leave you, but your mom . . . oh that doesn’t matter right now. We’re safe. I know a safe place we can go.”

Ryan couldn’t help but feel that this man was the savior of the world, that somehow he actually knew where such a place safe might exist. He then shortly realized that just like the little girl, he had been put under this father’s spell: there was nowhere safe in this hell. As the father finished speaking, he forced a smile. When it seemed as if everything was going to get better, the father’s face went alarmingly pale. He continued to stare into his daughters face and began twitching, as if a loud noise were booming in his ear. Then he became very still and fell over to the ground.

Did he just die?
Ryan thought. He could barely make out terror on the daughters face, but he began to fear the worst.

The father shot up from the ground and, without hesitation, sunk his teeth into his daughters shoulder, biting and tearing. The little girls face went pale. “DADDY!” she screamed. “Why? Stop it! It hurts so bad, daddy. Please stop!” The father ripped off flesh and muscle, causing the girl to fall to the ground. He plunged his face into the girl’s stomach, tearing with both his teeth and nails, trying as hard as he could to get inside, as if some treasure waited there.

Was all of this really happening? Ryan’s vision blurred; the scene–the girl being ripped open–became a hazy dream. He fell from his crouching position to a seated one. All of this was beginning to challenge Ryan’s sanity. It was too much. The entire world had shifted, and he wanted to pass out and let one of the monsters kill him too.

A crowbar came crashing down against the father’s head, knocking him off his daughter and onto the ground. The man who wielded the crowbar again approached the father to deal a second deadly blow. After killing the father, the man spoke to someone not in Ryan’s blurred vision: “Hey, wake that boy over there up, would ya?” His southern drawl was strong. “He ain’t gonna be in too good a condition if he passes out now.” Ryan watched as two men appeared and felt a sting as one slapped him hard across the face. Meanwhile, the third man–the one with the crowbar–was smacking the little girl in the head with his weapon. Ryan tried to mutter a protest, raising his finger to point at the butchery, but someone stepped in front of him and pushed his head down.

“There, now. Take it easy. Don’t go passing out on us now. We won’t drag you around if you do.”

Ryan looked up at the speaker’s face. It was the man who had slapped him. He too had a southern accent, though not quite as strong as the other’s.

Ryan’s face still stung. He shook his head violently, bringing his vision back, and rubbed his swollen cheek. “Ya, ya I’m fine,” Ryan muttered. He pondered this and realized it was a lie. “Actually, I’ve never felt shittier in my life. What in the world is going on here?”

Ryan looked up at the two strangers and thought he was seeing double. The man who had not slapped him noticed Ryan’s confusion and decided to address it: “We’re identical twins. You’re not going crazy.”

This twin had a slight northeastern accent. For the first time since he had woken up, Ryan was no longer thinking about monsters. The fact that these twins had such different accents intrigued Ryan. It was very strange, even amongst the other events of Ryan’s day. Deciding not to ask another question, Ryan stood and waited.

“I’m Joe,” said the twin with the accent. “He’s Roe. That’s Jeff.” He pointed to the man who had killed the father.

“Ryan.” Ryan tried to find a distinguishing feature between the twins, but could find none. They looked the exact same.
Joe–southern accent, Roe–none
, he memorized.

Jeff approached. “All right, that’s taken care of now. Time to get back in there and make a name for ourselves.” His stubbled face began to beam, and his large chest swelled as he took a breath. “This is the moment we’ve been waiting for a long time, and I’ll be damned if I’m just gonna here sit on the sideline and let everyone else take away our glory and fame!”