Epidemic of the Undead: A Zombie Novel (2 page)

“Hey guys, are you freakin’ seeing this shit?” Steve glanced over his shoulder, finding both Mark and Chris standing behind him, eyes on the TV.

“Hey, turn it up!” Chris said to the cashier.

“Some crazy shit,” Mark chuckled, eying the attractive blonde behind the counter, as she toyed with the remote.

She nodded, her bright blue eyes not leaving the flat screen. “Yeah, it’s airing the same stuff on all the channels. They’ve been talking about this mess all day long. Where the hell have you guys been, in a hole?”

“Something like that,” Steve said. “We’ve been on the road all day. We just came in from San Antonio.”

“And the roads weren’t congested?” she asked.

“Hell, I don’t know. I was asleep all day.”

“I didn’t notice.” Chris shook his head.

Truth was, he had noticed. The drive had taken two hours longer than it should have. But he thought nothing of it, too focused on finances and if tonight’s show was going to be any good or not.

As shots rang out again, the camera panned past the crowd to three odd looking people leaning over some poor unfortunate on the ground. There was blood everywhere. 

“Dude, that guy got shot!” Steve burst out with a snicker.

“Steve, that’s not cool. That could be somebody’s dad or something,” Chris said.

“
Somebody’s dad or something
…” Steve mimicked with sarcasm. “Dude, sometimes you treat me like you’re my dad.”

“Sometimes, I sure as hell feel like I am,” Chris scoffed. “Occasionally, both of you act is if you are nine frickin’ years old.”

The bartender ran her fingers on the side of her head and moved her platinum blonde hair away from her ear. She grinned at Chris and gave him a casual once over. Her attention returned to the news.

He smiled back feeling a little flustered.

A gun discharging echoed out in the street near the coffee shop.

“Hey, did you guys hear that?” Chris looked over to the front window.

“Hear what, man?” Steve asked.

“It sounded like a gun went off.”

“No, you must be hearing things,” Mark said.

The roaring propeller of a helicopter hummed outside in the parking lot, pulling everyone’s attention from the television. More shots followed.

“I told you I heard something,” Chris said.

Outside, a middle-aged woman bolted across the parking lot, and left their view just as fast as she had appeared. It was the gas station attendant from next door, wearing a once green and white BP vest. Now blood splattered it from top to bottom. Moments later, four others rushed past, heading in the same direction.

Three unseemly characters shuffled into view with arms raised, their clothing covered in grime. They were in determined pursuit.   

“What the hell is going on out there?” Steve hopped off the barstool and made his way to the window.

“Hey lady, how far away is that shit that’s on TV?” Chris asked.

“I don’t know. A couple miles, maybe,” she said. Her long blonde hair shimmered under the overhead florescent lighting. “I’ve been debating closing up all day long. It’s been freaking me out all day.”

“I think it
was
a couple miles away, man!” Mark looked back at Chris from the window. Next to him, Steve stared in disbelief.

“What the hell do you mean,
WAS
?” Chris said, walking over.

Outside, the street began to fill with the same brutal scenes displayed on the news. Overhead, a helicopter drifted out of view, high in the distant night sky. A blue Sedan sped down the street squealing to a halt just past the gas station. The vehicle veered sharply, coming to a full stop at one of the service pumps. Then, an armed male and female couple jumped out with weapons drawn. The man disappeared from view and dashed toward the convenience store, while the woman ran around the car toward the pump.

With the moon still working its way to its peak, the night sky filled with the faint specks of distant glistening stars. Washed out by the looming streetlights on every corner, the night didn’t seem as dark. The coffee shop’s neon beer signs hung in the window, giving the sidewalk and beyond a red and green hue. 

At the venue across the street, the band’s tour van sat untouched. From one corner of the venue building, several unarmed people shuffled into view. In almost a drunken stumble, they staggered out of the shadows. First, it was a few, but then more than a dozen gathered.

It didn’t take long, but Chris and the others watched from the coffee shop as the odd looking group made their way past the venue and out into the street, heading toward the gas station and the blue Sedan.

“What the hell is wrong with them?” the cashier asked, leaning over Chris’ shoulder by the front window.

Just as she said that, two motorcycles thundered by, passing right through the staggering crowd in the street. Several of the shambling people fell off balance. One of the riders fell victim to the mob, torn from his bike by outstretched hands. The motorcycle rolled unmanned out of view. The crashing screech of the Harley scraping across the pavement rattled the coffee shop windows. Following the crash a woman screamed. More attackers ambled in with the mob, following the bikers.      

The fallen biker lay on his back, his tattooed arms flaying in every direction, as the crowd covered him. The mass wasn’t thick enough to drown his screams as his obese body was torn apart. They were eating him alive!

“I don’t know, but I’m not about to go out there and find out!”

A loud high-pitched squeal shrieked from the flat screen TV. The cashier jumped, startling Chris and his two band mates.

“Oh shit, that scared the crap out of me.” Steve held his hand over his heart.

Outside, several of the lingering attackers turned toward the storefront and started walking over. The high-pitched squeal from the television was drawing their attention.   

On the television, an emergency broadcast signal replaced the news, displaying text warnings, and giving shelter locations. Just as quick, the high-pitched signal disappeared. The picture changed back to live footage at the news station. The live broadcast was shaky and kept blurring in and out of focus. Two men sat behind a desk arguing back and forth. The audio was spotty, peaking occasionally.

“The dead have risen! That is a fact. You’re over thinking this situation,” the reporter on the left said.

“I refuse to hear this nonsense,” the other man argued. “It can’t be anything more than a terrorist attack. Hell, I would even go so far as to believe an underground faction of gangs is behind this. Zombies? You have got to be kidding me!”

“So you presume to tell me that I should believe that an underground gang of vandals has concocted this elaborate nationwide catastrophe! Don’t be obtuse," the anchor said. He lifted a few papers from the desk and tossed them into the air. “They are dead,
and that is
a fact!”

“Fact? Ha! Don’t make me laugh. What facts do you have to support that idiocy?”

“Why not step out in the street for a change and find out in person! The truth is that the recently departed are rising up and are in a murderous rage. Those people who are killed in the attack, rise up and become killers too! It’s out in our cities and will soon be in our homes.”

“Nonsense!” The other reporter yelled.

“Do you guys believe this horse piss?” Mark asked, as he ran his fingers through his hair.

Steve glared at him.

Chris reached into his pocket and pulled out his cell. “I wonder if all that’s going on has any connection to our phones not working?” He looked down. Sure enough, his cell still had full bars. Calling up the home phone number to his parent’s place, he pressed send. The noise that Mark had described hearing repeated in his ear. The signal was being jammed or interfered with. He put his phone away, defeated. He hoped like hell that his parents were alright. The man on TV had said something about it being Nationwide. He swallowed hard hoping things were too bad in Tennessee. If not, his dad was smart. He could handle things.     

A brash, booming sound erupted at the door as a skinny fist pounded on the windowpane. The hand smeared red fluid on the glass. Several other attackers quickly followed suit. Two turned into six, which quickly turned into fifteen. In a simultaneous fit and concerted effort, the unimaginable creatures fought to break in.  

Again the report of gunfire picked up outside, sounding further away.

As the storefront became even more crowded with bodies, Chris wondered where they had all come from. It had only been an hour, maybe two at the most, since they first arrived, and at that time, the area was nearly deserted.
Maybe the looters and rioters have been hitting street after street and are finally reaching us
, he thought.
Or what if the TV is right and those people really are dead?

“Please tell me you have a key to lock this place up?” Just as those words came out of Chris Commons’ mouth, the glass that separated them from the dead broke through.

Shattering glass fell to the wood floor, followed by the thud of falling bodies. Staggering to its feet, the first of several ghouls stood and began its lurch forward. More followed, climbing through the opening. Not at all concerned with the splintering glass, they dragged themselves through the window, cutting up their faces and arms. It was a horridly morbid sight.

The cashier screamed.

“Oh shit! Oh shit!” Mark said, not knowing which way to run, and then he made his way toward the back of the building. “They are dead! Just like that TV guy said. Those people are fucking dead!”

The closest one shuffled forward with its arms raised and it moaned a guttural unnatural sound. Blood covered its hands and feet and its sneering mouth exposed crimson stained teeth. The zombie’s torn shirt revealed splintered ribs. A white bone protruded from its midsection like a toothpick tearing through paper. Blood poured from the open wounds soaking into the creature’s jeans. The slap of its bare feet rang hollow in the air between hissing moans. Reddish brown footprints stained the wood floor in its wake. Behind, three other creatures struggled to stand. The arms that reached in from outside were still growing in number. They wanted in.

“You got a back door to this place?” Chris frantically asked, shoving the blonde toward the back of the coffee shop. The crash of falling chairs and tables echoed, as the growing mob of undead closed in on the living.

“Yeah. I’m parked around back,” the cashier said.

He shoved her forward, meeting up with Mark and Steve by the back door. “Well, what the hell’s the hold up?”

Mark stood at the door with it cracked just enough to peek out, a bat tightly gripped in one hand at his side. “I can’t see anything.”

“What the fuck, dude? What the hell is going on?” Steve cried, starting to panic. He looked back, seeing the intruders slowly closing in. “What the hell is their problem?”

“You heard the TV, man. They're dead!” Something behind them collided with the floor. The loud clang reverberated off the wood floor and brick walls making Chris turn around. The things were getting closer. “I don’t think there’s much time for debate, Mark. Just move!”

The door swung open to an empty back lot. A light pink Hyundai Accent sat parked at one side. On the opposite side, a large dumpster, wafting odors of spoiled milk, had one door flap kicked open. The coast was clear. Mark and Steve darted out first, followed by Chris and the cashier. Exiting last, Chris kicked the door closed with one foot. It didn’t shut, but bounced back swinging outward.

As Chris crossed the lot, two ghouls rounded the corner near the gas station’s rear, heading toward them. Grunts preceded the stiff pursuit and outstretched arms clutched the air in eager anticipation. Chris instantly recognized one as the lady that had fled the blue Sedan earlier. Her left arm was severed and dripping blood, leaving a trail of inconsistent splatter. The young boy next to her was even worse for wear with his stomach torn open and the contents on display. Nothing but a pair of boxers and one shoe remained on his otherwise naked body. Blood soaked his midsection down to the knees.

A large chunk of the boy’s intestine spewed out from the open wound. It slapped wet in the dirt and cement, right in front of his path. As it squashed under the zombie’s foot, the sloshing viscera splashed in a heap of mashed chunks. Just as fast, the boy tripped over his spilled entrails, falling forward, and slipping on the abdominal muck. His head collided with the ground with a solid crack. There was no attempt to catch its fall, as the creature’s only concern was its chase of prey.

“Fucking hell,” Steve said, with one hand gripping at the pink car door and eyeing the two creatures.

“My purse! I forgot my purse!”

“No offense, but forget the damn purse,” Mark said, just as the first of a dozen ghouls reached the back door to the coffee shop from inside.

“My car keys are in my bag!” She frantically patted down the front pockets of her skintight jeans.

With its ribs protruding out, the first of several zombies slopped into the lot from the coffee shop’s rear door.

“Fuck the car!” Mark yelled. He ran toward the dead female with the missing arm, bat at the ready. With one wide forceful swing, the bat collided with the dead woman. As the metal bat met her face, an echoing ping signaled the crack of bone and cartilage, sending her nose inward. A violent spray of black and red blood squirted out upon impact. The woman collapsed to the ground, violently kicking and convulsing.

Mark, Steve, Chris and their new female friend darted past the writhing creature and the boy struggled to get to his feet, the intestinal muck working against him. With Mark in the lead, the four rounded the big metal dumpster, out into the open street behind the gas station.

“Where are we going?” the cashier cried.

“We need to get to the van!” Mark yelled, briskly jogging past the backside of the convenience store toward the next side street.         

As they arrived at the street junction, Steve was already heaving to catch his breath. “Man, I don’t know how much longer I can do this, guys. What the hell is going on?” He leaned over a few seconds later, vomiting on his shoes.