Z-Risen (Book 1): Outbreak (4 page)

“Up, we need to go up!” I yelled.

Kelly looked at his friend and then back at the other Marine who had been firing. He couldn't even speak. He just shot while backing up along the passageway.

Kelly pointed his gun at Angel as the unfortunate Marine crawled toward us. Kelly aimed, but he couldn’t do it. I wished I had the guts.

As our window of opportunity to escape narrowed to tens of feet, I decided that I wasn’t going out screaming. I knocked Angel back to the ground and reached for his sidearm, fighting with a damn snap that secured it. Blood and drool bubbled out of Angel’s mouth.
 Every hair on my body came to attention as he let loose with a keening noise that grew into a sound from nightmares.

“GENERAL QUARTERS GENERAL QUARTERS. THIS IS CAPTAIN MCGLASSON AND THIS IS NOT A DRILL. ABANDON SHIP. ABANDON SHIP!”

Someone howled in horror over the PA system. It might have been the captain, or maybe one of the yeomen. Either way, I was done with this shit.

“That’s enough for me,” I said and pointed the gun down the passageway, waving it around like I knew the first thing about weapons.
  Sure, I'd sunk hundreds of hours into Call of Duty but that didn't mean I knew the first damn thing about real guns.

I pulled the trigger and nothing happened.

“Come on, squid!” Kelly said and grabbed my arm. He pulled at the gun but I slapped his hand away. He looked pissed, but he’d have to put that shit on hold or we were going to get into a scuffle just before we were devoured.

“I can’t leave a man behind!”
the other Marine resolutely exclaimed. His name tag was covered in blood.

“Does he look like Angel? Look, man!” Kelly yelled.

Enough of this. I dove for the first ladder leading up and ran right into another mass of crazies. I aimed again, then realized there was something I’d forgotten to do and looked at the side of the gun. Sure enough, there was a safety. I flipped it, aimed again, and fired.

One of the sailors folded over as my bullet punched into him, but he quickly straightened, moving toward me and streaming blood.

Kelly moved up the ladder behind me, his buddy behind him. Great, blocked from all sides. I leapt up and barreled past the freaks, undogging the hatch leading outside. Kelly and his friend were directly on my tail as we were thrust into pre-dawn light.

“Land!” Kelly said.

I looked fore-ward and saw that the city of San Diego was coming up on us fast. What was CHENG doing down there? Had everyone decided to leave their station? Christ, the ship didn’t have a chance of slowing.

“We need to get off this ship now!” I yelled over the noise of the waves.

Kelly nodded. He reached to close the hatch, but a body slipped through. Kelly lashed out and punched the moaning creeper in the face. That didn’t do much more than piss him off. Kelly drew his gun again, pointed it at the man, and then shot him in the head.

“Oh shit oh shit oh shit,” was all I could manage as I monkeyed with a life raft.

We had the newer MK-7s that could seat 25 but right now I couldn’t even get it loose. My head pounded and I had the desire to puke up everything I’d eaten over the last 24 hours. Then I remembered the hydraulic release and hit it. The canister shot over the side but I wasn’t as fast, probably because I was frozen in terror at the idea of following it.

“Are we going over?” Kelly asked.

A pair of former sailors pushed through the hatch, trailing half the crew behind them.

“Fucking zombies!” I yelled out loud, and that seemed to give me power over them. Admitting what my mind had been screaming and denying finally woke me up.

I ran to the next life raft capsule and called to Kelly and his friend.

“When I let this one rip, you guys be ready to follow it. We won’t have a lot of time because that water is gonna suck. Just stick with it and follow me. Got it?” I triggered the release.

The second capsule sailed over the side and I was right behind it. The minute the capsule hit the water it exploded into a bright yellow raft. My stomach leapt into my throat as I fell toward the waves below. I crossed my arms over my chest, pinched my nose with my fingers, and clenched my asshole so I didn’t get a seawater enema.

Hitting the water was like being dropped onto soggy concrete. Even with my body straight, toes pointed, I felt the impact in my chest. Cold water sucked at me. I stayed in the same position and waited to become buoyant. When “up” became apparent I kicked my legs a few times, saw light, and broke the surface with a gasp. I struck toward the raft with long strokes.

Behind me, my two Marine friends were doing their best to not drown. Kelly was the worst in his heavy vest. He tried to keep his weapon out of the water but it was already soaked.

“Come on, you pussy!” I challenged him.

Kelly did his best to give me the finger. His buddy swam up beside him and gave an assist. Together, they made it to the raft, though it was a genuine struggle with Kelly wearing that heavy combat gear. I helped haul them both in but couldn’t take my eyes off of what was happening on the ship. As it sped away, sailors were jumping overboard.

Waves tossed us up and down like a yoyo. My hangover had evaporated during the chaos. I guess having a bunch of friends trying to kill you does something to the body. As we bobbed on the water, the hangover came back with a vengeance.

Kelly was still lying on his back taking in deep breaths. The other Marine stared with me toward port.

“What’s your name, man?” I asked him.

“Joey Reynolds.” We did introductions but neither of us looked each other in the eyes; our attention was devoted to watching our base.

“I hate the water!” Kelly sat up and followed our gaze. “Fuck me,” he said.

Out of the pre-dawn chill, a layer of fog rose. After a few seconds, I realized it was smoke; San Diego was in flames. Columns rose into the air as fires grew. We were still a few miles out, but it was apparent that some kind of massive riot or catastrophic event was occurring.

The McClusky continued to steam straight toward a dock. A transport of some kind did its best to move out of the way while other ships sat silent. The white ship, whose name I couldn’t make out for the life of me, must have kicked the engines into high gear. She quickly maneuvered around, front end swinging away from the dock, as the fast frigate I’d just occupied sped home.

At least the white ship managed to make it.

Men poured over the side, some following lifeboats but many with only life jackets. Others came after them: the snarling masses that had chased us right off the ship. Some of the zombies jumped, landing on sailors, while others managed to get hung up in the railing.

"There were life vests?" Kelly muttered.

A smaller ship struggled to get out of the way of the McClusky but ended up getting clipped. The
sound of the two metal beasts screeching against each other was like the world’s longest train wreck. But the McClusky wasn’t done on her journey. She was nudged to the side; her giant propellers carried her straight past the pier to impact with the dock behind it.

“Oh my god
,” Reynolds said.

As if pounded by a behemoth pile-driver, the ship crumpled when her mass abruptly shifted from rear to front. Her ass-end swung around after impact and carried the rest of the ship into the dock. It took two full minutes before the McClusky was lifted into the air by a massive explosion. As the sound reached us, I hunkered down and wrapped my arms around my head, then I risked a glance over the side of the raft. The McClusky
was briefly suspended on a ball of fire that destroyed the ship like it had been a tin can.

“This can’t be happening,” Kelly said. He reached into his pocket to pull out a cell phone, but after studying the display for a few minutes he tossed the dead device into the middle of the raft.

“Shit. I don’t even have my phone,” I said.

“Where is it?” Reynolds asked.

I pointed at the remnants of the ship.

###

That’s enough for today. Next chance I get I’ll write about Reynolds and how we established
Fortress. Now I’m just sick of sitting around. Joel crashed earlier and has been snoring ever since.

I’m going to use a couple of cups of water to take a bath.

Noises outside, but not the typical crawling dead we hear wandering around out there most nights. I’ll guess I'll go downstairs and check it out before I call it a night.

This is Machinist Mate First Class Jackson Creed and I am still alive.

Real Monsters

10:30 hours approximate

Location: Undead Central, San Diego CA –
Fortress

Supplies:

¾ pound of Jasmine rice

¼ pound of dried beans

1
 pound of that tofu-jerky

5 cans of tuna

2 cans of cat food - where the hell is Butch?

5 boxes of pasta

½ beautiful jar of spaghetti sauce

3 cans of various veggies

2 cans of mixed fruit

1 case of canned spinach that neither one of us had touched since we got here.

There wasn’t much to do but sit around and glare at each other. Joel and I exchanged very few words.

No girls to chase. No football games to stare at. No beer to toss back. No smokes to smoke. No Xbox to play and no hot wings. Man I miss hot wings. I saw a whole bunch of seagulls the other day and all I could thing about was shooting them out of the sky so we could cook up some hot wings. I’d eat the shit out of some spicy seagull right about now.

Instead we cleaned weapons with a can of old motor oil. It wasn’t pretty but it got the job done. It made me smell like a mechanic which was just like being back at home on the USS McClusky.

Just a few days ago we’d gone out and tried to raid a few houses but had little to show for it. One place had yielded a few cans of baby formula. Another had provided some aspirin
and a full bottle of Tums, found buried in the back of the upstairs bathroom cabinet. We feasted on a few of those for the calcium. We dared each other to drink the baby formula. I ended up liking it but didn’t tell Joel.

We went out empty
-handed and that was how we came back to Fortress.

We aren’t the only survivors, that
’s for damn sure.

Some of the homes we hit already had doors kicked open and pantries cleared. We found a bunch of empty bags one day that had contained dried beans. Next to th
ose I found a can of condensed soup someone had punctured with a knife and drained. That had to be fun, sucking warm congealed soup without even a straw, but it beat the hell out of going hungry. Probably tasted amazing on seagull.

“Think we can shoot a few birds?”

“Are you crazy? Bring half the damn city to this location just so we can eat one of those scrawny things.”

“I said a few. One scrawny bird for you and one scrawny bird for me. Probably good with the spinach.”

“I’d rather eat dirt.”

“Don’t be so fucking morbid,” I said.

Joel didn’t smile.

Joel was being a jerk. He kept yelling at me about what a pain in the ass it was to watch after me when we went out. Like I knew the first goddamn thing about surviving the first goddamn zombie apocalypse.

“Fuck you, Joel Kelly. I’m good out there and you know it. Just because I don’t know all the Marine hand signals like when to jerk one off doesn’t mean I don’t pay attention.”

“Just stay low. You’re big and you stick out like a sore thumb,” he lectured me. “We always go in the back and we always keep an eye out for each other.”

“I’m pretty sure that’s what I did yesterday when I saved your ass
at Ty’s place.” I shot back.

Joel relented with a shake of his head and went back to dour Marine looks.

I left and went upstairs to dig around in a closet again. The kid’s room was filled with toys and small clothes but I figured that if I looked around long enough I’d find his stash of candy bars or Twinkies. So far I’d had no luck. He did have a toolbox filled with action figures from some super hero movie I hadn’t even seen - and never would see.

Fortress was a fucking pit. An hour later
, I opened the windows on the top floor but the air didn’t even stir. I sat by the open portal and sucked a light breeze but then it was gone and I was miserable again.

You’d think the silence would be comforting
, but it’s not. All those sounds you get used to like a television or radio. Heat or running air conditioning. We had none of that. The only sound was an occasional moan, scream, or gunshot in the distance.

We’d been here for a couple of days but it felt weird living in someone else’s home. I had to be careful when opening any cabinets or doors. No telling what in the hell would happen. One wrong move and a bunch of crap would be falling on the floor and all that noise would bring
them
.

Later
, Joel apologized for being a dick. I nodded but didn’t give in so easily.

“All you do is preach about caution but you’re the first one to raise your voice out there, or worse,
blow a door off its hinges. No one likes a fucking hypocrite, Joel.”

“Just blowing off steam. Nothing to shoot at today so I guess words are my ammo.”

“Oh that’s real deep, Joel. Words as ammo. You should write a rap album.”

“Are you going to go racist on me?”

“Yeah. Cause I want the only guy with a clue to think I’m a racist. Brilliant. Just shoot me in the head now.”

“Like I haven’t thought about it. Damn engineer. Bullets probably bounce off that thick skull.”

Later, Joel attempted to be patient while teaching me survival skills. I was too pissed off to pay attention. Firing mechanism this and charging lever that. Blah
blah blah.

Butch kept circling us. He whined his skinny cat ass off while we bickered. Every time I tried to reach down and scratch his scruffy head
, he moved toward Joel.

Cat only had one eye and it was the evil kind and that was all he offered me.

Joel and I were both hungry and that meant one thing.

“You’re the sailor. Don’t you eat that shit up like Popeye?”

“You and spinach—the fuck is wrong with you? Popeye’s a cartoon. What you’re doing is called stereotyping.”

“My black ass knows all about stereotyping.” Joel shot back.

Shit. He had me there.

“I don’t eat spinach. Period.”

“A few days without food and I think you’ll change your mind.”

“Won’t you?” I asked Joel.

“Nah. I’d rather starve. That shit is nasty.”

We both laughed at that and the tension left the room. Funny how that happens from time to time. Other times we strut around and act like we want to kill each other.

We both knew the truth. We were rationing our supplies. If we ate our fill we’d be out of food in two days.

Butch meowed that long and forlorn
mewl of his—I guess he’s a he. I didn’t really stop to think about checking to see if he had balls. I shushed him, so he did it again.

“If that cat brings a horde of zombies our way I’m feeding his furry butt to the first shuffler I see.”

“Fucking shufflers. What are those things?”

“Dude. Do not get me started.” I said.

“So many of the slow ones. Bunch of drunk bastards that can’t chase worth a shit.”

“Yeah but get enough of them together…I remember the base,” I said and thought
, with sadness, of Reynolds.

“Anyway. The shufflers.”

“They don’t move like people and they don’t move like your garden variety Z. They got that weird step and how the hell do they creep along on their hands and feet?”

Joel got on all fours and tried to duplicate the move. It was hilarious. He tried to stay on his hands and feet and move but he kept straining to stay low to the ground. After ten or fifteen seconds he gave up and rolled over on his back.

“That shit is insane,” he said, panting.

“Thanks for making my day.” I laughed and clapped him on the shoulder.

“Five minutes. Let’s get in the war.”

“A war indicates there’s an enemy out there that is shooting back. So far it’s been pretty one
-sided, Joel.”

“Should be an easy one to win,” Joel said and got up to strap on his tactical gear.

I nodded and went to gather up my stuff. I couldn’t help but wonder what we’d do if we won.

The first time we went out was at night. It didn’t matter that we snuck around like a couple of special-needs ninjas. The thing about the Z’s was that it was easier to see them than worry about them seeing us. Besides, we only had the one NVG and Joel wore that because he was the goddamn action hero, leaving me stumbling into stuff.

The next time we went out it was early morning. We left just as dawn was burning away and there was that low mist that hung around. It was creepy under normal circumstances but add in a bunch of Z’s and it’s like some nightmare movie. You just don’t walk around in that soup, see a dude missing half his fucking face, and act like it’s a normal day.

I’d already shrugged into my BDU’s, wearing them over a thick flannel shirt left by the owners of the house. The material was hot but I felt a little bit safer having it cover my arms. One bite was all it took, and if this kept me from losing some skin, I could put up with it. I’d feel even better if I had duct tape wrapped around each sleeve but then I’d have to cut my way out. Besides, I’d worked in an engine room for years and the thick layer was just shy of uncomfortable. See that, grunge rockers? This shit is functional.

We went over the side and then stashed the ladder. The front was locked up and hammered shut. I straightened our “looters will be shot dead” sign, and then we moved out.

We crept around a few houses we’d already searched.  Others had boarded up windows and barred doors so we didn’t bother. As much as I’d like to say we talked with other survivors that just wasn’t the case.

In the movies everyone goes into hyper survival mode and sh
oots, rapes, or pillages with glee. In reality, we’d found that most survivors just wanted to be left alone. Everyone was distrustful and that was fine with me. I didn’t want to worry about feeding any more mouths.

We moved onto a new section of town about half a mile from our current location. Joel wore his combat gear and had the NYFD ball cap on backwards. His AR-15 swept
in every direction. We had a map back at Fortress and Joel kept marking off sections we’d explored. This wasn’t one of them. Virgin territory to us. Probably Z-infested and picked over but we had to get lucky eventually.

There were older homes here and
we were far enough from the Naval base that I hoped we weren’t busting into other sailor’s houses and stealing their shit. Yeah, I realize that most of them were probably dead but it still felt like the wrong thing to do.

We came across the home at the end of a cul-de-sac. The place was newer or remodeled and really out of place in the ghetto that made up
most of this neighborhood. That’s what Joel called it, but it was a lot nicer than where I grew up in Detroit. My school was so rough, the only things that kept me from getting my ass kicked, consistently, were my fists and my size. I’d been a bully then, because it was expected, but I never liked it. Much.

“How about this place?” I whispered near Joel’s ear.

He was crouched behind a beat up sedan and going over his rifle. When he wasn’t shooting at Z’s, Joel was inspecting his weapon. I had my .45 M45A1 holstered but my pipe wrench was at hand. Bring on the Z’s. I was ready to bash some heads. I was the silent partner, as Joel liked to put it. Point me in the direction of a few of the dead and I’d take them down with a swing or two.

A group of Z’s moved one block west of our location. They were a nasty bunch that probably turned during the first few days of the outbreak.
Dressed in rags, they had that starved look with sunken cheeks and hollow eye sockets. The leader had a steady but slow gait, thanks to a broken foot. His face was caved in and one eye socket was covered in dried blood and a fuck load of maggots.

“I’m gonna puke
,” Joel whispered.

“Don’t start cause I’ll be right behind you. Hard to shoot Z’s when you’re tossing your lunch.”

“Good Christ in heaven. How is something like that even on its feet?

Every time
he staggered forward, a couple of bugs fell off his face and he nearly lost his footing. Then this decayed dude would right himself, swing his good leg again and stumble forward. The four behind him weren’t in much better shape. A woman in a jogging suit was missing most of her face but at least it wasn’t filled with maggots. Just gore and stuff that might have been bone.

Another group followed and this bunch was much fresher. When I write about fresh Z’s you have to understand that there’s a whole host of the dead out there. Sure
, the first bunch were old and rotted. We saw a lot of those. When the body dies, or comes down with whatever shit virus had killed the world, the body rots. Then stuff starts to fall off. The parts that are left reek like the worst rancid meat you ever smelled. Man, I just can’t describe it. Go to a dump in the summer and walk right to the center. I guarantee it won’t be as bad as these things.

So the second batch were a lot fresher. The rot was setting in but they were walking and jawing. That is, their mouths kind of unhinged and their tongues stuck out. If one of the
se Z’s fell, odds were good that a hunk of meat was hitting the ground, maybe a piece of a kneecap or an elbow. The biggest problem was how fast they were. Take a week-old rotted Z. They can’t chase worth a shit. A day-old slugger? They’re almost as fast as a live person. Get ten of those together and it’s a hell of a bad day.

They moved around the first group
, seemingly oblivious to the rotters. Then they pressed on toward the end of the block, but not before one whipped its head around and stared right at our hiding spot. It shuffled around in a circle then looked toward the sky and let out a moan. Milky white eyes settled on us again, but they weren’t aware we were in the bushes.