Killer Z (11 page)
Muffled voices can faintly be
heard.
They move aside chunks of fallen
concrete and take turns swinging the axe and maul until the door breaks down.
“We’re rescued!” a teenager
squeaks.
“How many are you?” Lucas asks.
“Seven including myself,” the teen
answers. “I told you we would be rescued, Angela.”
An attractive blonde in a navy
skirt suit says, “You were right. Are the trains operating to Silver Springs?”
“The city is covered in ocean,”
Lucas says grimly.
Her
face drops and Mark feels for her.
“Here,
let’s get you downstairs. There’s coffee and sandwiches,” Mark says as he
offers her his hand. “It’ll be alright.”
“Stop
flirting librarian. We need to get back to the others,” Lucas says.
“C
’mon!” Larry slurs and yanks Karen to her feet. “I saw helicopters on
the roof when we were on the street.”
“But I’m tired,” Karen says.
Karen brushes away silky brown hair from around
tired catlike eyes. They finally located a stairwell leading to the roof.
“Karen, we have to stay ahead of the pack or we’ll
drown with the losers.”
“I don’t care without my husband.”
Karen stops on the stairs. Exit signs cast a soft
red glow on her. He fishes out a bottle of booze.
“Damn, you’re
hot,” he whispers not realizing she can hear him.
Karen’s green
eyes narrow and voice drips with venom, “I’m not a piece of ass for you to look
at.”
“With it being
our last day on earth…”
“Fuck you.”
Flinching,
he asks, “You’re not interested?”
“You’re a pig.”
“You don’t
deserve shit, bitch!” he bellows, not just at her but every girl who ever shot
him down.
Karen tries
pushing past him. The alcohol makes him ten feet tall and indestructible. Every
aspect of her petite body turns him on. He grabs for her.
“What makes you
think I’m interested in a forty year old, potbellied, booze drinking cop?” She
yells, shoving him.
Hatred for her
truths opens a black abyss of negative memories and emotions. He roughly pushes
her against the wall.
“Please let me
go,” she sobs. “I don’t want to get raped.”
Her words slam
home and he cringes. Rage becomes embarrassment and shame.
“You think I want
to rape you?”
“Help me!” She
yells to anyone, desperate.
He shoves her,
unable to deal with her view of him. The shove sends her stumbling. She tries
catching her balance but falls. He drunkenly reaches out but it’s too late. Her
shriek fills the stairwell, followed by a sickening crunch.
“Fuck. Karen?”
Massive guilt
floods him as he looks at her crumpled form. Her neck is twisted at an
unnatural angle. He runs to the roof. Armed soldiers with assault rifles eye
him as he bursts through the door. The roof is a sea of survivors, hospital
staff, and soldiers.
“Secure the door
and check him for bites,” a marine orders.
A soldier checks
Larry and wrinkles his nose in disgust.
“Sergeant, we got
a drunk, but no bites.”
The stone faced
sergeant nods and redirects his attention to the helicopters.
“Private Laramie,
I want these choppers in the air, ASAP!”
“Yes, sir,”
another marine answers smartly. “What about the cop, sir? We are a few men
short.”
The sergeant
glances at Larry and says, “Put him in Iron Horse.”
“Do I have a
choice?” Larry asks.
“Nope,” Laramie replies.
Larry is hustled
into a beat-up helicopter.
“Can you guys
drop me off in Maryland?” Larry asks.
“We lost Maryland to the Zs a few hours ago,” Laramie says. “Do you know that Iron Horse is a CH-53E
Marine helicopter? Not many people get to ride in the helicopter that took out
Bin Laden.”
“No shit, never
would have guessed. Why do you guys need me?”
“We’re searching
for survivors.”
Four marines
survey Larry with unimpressed eyes. He focuses on a pinup of a blonde with
large boobs near the cockpit, feeling inferior.
“Man, you reek of
booze,” one of the marines says.
“It was my day
off.”
“Why are you in
uniform?”
Blushing, he
focuses on a decal of an iron fist clutching something in a yellow circle near
the pinup girl.
“I can’t believe
this shit,” the marine grumbles. “Didn’t someone get a memo this is an assault
chopper? We should be fighting the Zs!”
“Give it a break,
Albertson,” Laramie says. “Until a proper chain of command is restored, we’re
fucked.”
“I heard the
entire east coast is lost,” a third marine says.
“It’s just a
matter of time before we quarantine,” Laramie says.
“You really think
we’ll nuke our own cities?” another asks.
Larry looks up
alarmed.
“Yes, I do.”
Silence fills the
chopper. A haze of dust and smoke hangs over the city. The helicopter dips low
and zips over partially submerged buildings.
“Hey,” one of the
marines in the cockpit says to Larry. “Push that yellow button.”
Albertson takes
point and slides open the helicopter’s door. The marine takes position on a
rope ladder. Larry lowers the safety cable.
“Okay, bring them
up,” Laramie says after five minutes.
Larry presses the
green button and up comes two disheveled and terrified obese woman and the
marine.
“Murderer!” the
younger woman shouts as she crawls into the helicopter. The older woman follows
her in shocked silence.
Laramie
looks at the
other marine and gets a sharp nod in return. Laramie nods back in understanding
and tries putting a comforting hand on the younger woman’s shoulder.
“You need to
understand, he was infected.”
“You’re all
murderous bastards,” she snarls.
“We’re doing our
job,” Laramie replies.
“But you shot
him!” the younger girl shrills.
“Infected with
what?” Larry asks as the woman sobs hysterically.
“With zombie
juice man,” Albertson answers with a brittle laugh.
The pilot calls
out, “The big wave is one minute away. Hold on.”
The soldiers
bristle as the helicopter flies upwards. Washington D.C. is lost within a smoky
haze. The helicopter loses visual of the tsunami and stays in the clouds. After
twenty minutes they return to the hospital. Hundreds of people rush to the
helicopter but marines on the roof hold them back.
“Lose the cargo,
we’re heading out again,” the pilot barks.
The two women are
directed to the roof and Larry squeaks, “I don’t want to leave.”
“You? “You’re a
disgrace to all police officers.” Laramie says in disgust. “Sober up.”
Larry is
speechless and exits the helicopter. Iron Bird lifts and zips off into the
smog. Shamed, he flees into the hospital.
B
lack and white stripes splash boldly across the
canvas. Seth looks at the painting in awe as if it has a secret knowledge while
Andrew yawns. He’s sick of the National Art Gallery. The others are sleeping
off the Zs throughout the building having already raided the small gallery café
and gift shop for whatever they could scrounge.
“Have the peons returned?” Seth
asks.
“Only some,” Andrew says. “I don’t
get you, man.”
“No, you wouldn’t understand art.”
“Seth, how are we supposed to take
the city when we’re stuck here?”
“Patience,” Seth murmurs and
strokes his stubbly chin. “I love how the black and white stripes amplify the
orange in the middle.”
“This sucks. I’m bored.”
“Try painting.”
“The Zs are making me stir crazy.
How many paintings have you drawn on, hundreds?”
Seth turns and picks up his paint
brush again. He strokes a black line onto George Washington’s portrait and
says, “I’m creating a message that will be remembered. You can see a little of
everyone from George Washington to Marylyn Monroe in these paintings.”
“Whatever. Ol’ Georgie-porgie’s
portrait will be doing the backstroke soon enough.”
“Screw you.”
“I’m taking a leak,” Andrew says
and wanders out of the gallery.
Groaning fills the restroom. He
expects a homeless man jerking it and kicks open a stall door. Andrew gasps as
a zombie looks at him. He runs into the next stall and slams the door shut.
Heart racing, he wonders if what he saw was real.
“Am I hallucinating? Fuck Killer Z.”
Fists slam into the door of his
stall. With a trembling hand he reaches for his gun. The zombie moans and
Andrew points his gun at the door. A gore covered face appears below the door.
Andrew stomps on its head and throws open the door.
Backing away, he fires twice into
the zombie’s chest with a
pop pop,
but the monster sits up with a
groan.
“What kind of fucking
hallucination is this?”
Backing into the sink, he shoots
at the creature again. The corpse sits up and Andrew runs out of the bathroom
and down the hallway.
“Something’s wrong,” Andrew says
to Seth, panting. “I was attacked by a zombie!”
“Oh, you mean a Z?”
“A Z? Shit man, we gotta get out
of here.”
“We will in time.
”
“A
zombie tried killing me in the bathroom and you want to paint?”
“You’re
high.” Seth holds out a handful Zs. “Take these and forget about it.”
Shaking, Andrew takes the pills.
In minutes relaxation starts to take over him. His innate sense of fight and
flight is shattered. He sits on a stool and watches Seth paint.
A
new wave, a bigger wave, smacks into the hospital.
The ocean is washing away the city. Juliet’s survival sense screams to stay on
the roof but her heart wants to find her father. A wave punches into an
overpass, which bends like plastic and scatters cars like pebbles into the sea.
Numbly, she backs away from the edge of the roof. Pixel obediently follows.
“Harry, I can’t take it anymore.”
“Things will be alright,” Harry
replies.
“Either my dad is alright or he’s
dead, but I need to know.”
“I’ll go with you.”
Deep down she’s comforted Harry is
around. She glances over her shoulder and sees Larry get booted from a marine
helicopter.
“You know it doesn’t look like the
cop’s luck is any better. Pixel, go to Larry.”
Pixel whines.
“Whatever stupid dog, then stay
with us.”
Pixel wags her tail and softly
barks. They cut through the crowd to the stairwell door.
“When did you play chess with my
dad?”
Every day in DuPont Circle, but he
stopped showing a week ago.”
“What do you mean he stopped
showing?” she asks.
They walk down the steps.
“Riley said something bad was
happening here and went missing. Where in the hospital does he work?”
“I don’t know.”
“We’ll figure it out.”
“I can’t imagine being torn apart
limb by limb. When I was a kid I used to dream about being covered with mud and
being eaten by zombies …”
Karen’s corpse halts her rant. Her
face holds a frozen expression of fear and anger. Pixel whines and runs into
the ward.
“Wasn’t Karen with Larry?”
“Yeah, she was. Let’s check the
nurse’s station for a work schedule.”
“Do you think he pushed her?”
“Why would he do that?”
“Anything is possible with a
drunken ass.”
Juliet studies a floor map near
the elevator as Harry searches the nurses’ station. She can’t make out anything
on the map. Pixel barks at something or someone in the pediatric unit.
Juliet walks after the dog. Beyond
the nursery windows are children sleeping peacefully. Every room shows children
sleeping. She follows the dogs’ barking and is perplexed as to why the children
weren’t evacuated. Pixel barks at a nurse holding an injured wrist.
“Pixel, come here!”
The nurse holds a syringe over a
crib. Two little fists wave in the air.
“Get this filthy beast away from
me,” Nurse Natalie howls.
“What are you doing?” Juliet asks.
“I’m finishing my job.”
Juliet snatches the back of Pixels
collar and orders, “Pixel, down!”
The dog rears against her grip.
“Pixel, stop it.”
The canine settles on all fours.
Natalie warily eyes the dog.
“Natalie, calm down,” Juliet says
after reading the nurses nametag.
“Jesus wants me to do this.”
Juliet blinks in confusion.
Natalie bends over the squalling baby with the syringe. Pixel bristles and
barks.
“What does Jesus have to do with
the babies?”
“I need to do the will of Jesus,”
Natalie replies in madness.
A sickening feeling fills Juliet’s
gut. The babies are too peaceful.
“Are they dead?”
“I did what had to be done.”
Juliet releases Pixel’s collar.
The police canine launches at Natalie and sinks her razor sharp teeth into the
mad nurse’s wrist a second time. The syringe clatters to the floor.
“Monster!” Juliet yells and picks
up the baby from the crib.
“You don’t know what you’re
doing!” Natalie shrieks.
“You’re sick!”
Harry is still in the nurse’s
station as she rushes around the corner with Pixel on her heels. She tells him
about the crazy nurse.
Harry reads the baby’s
identification bracelet out loud, “Anthony John Smith: D.O.B 08/05/16. Honey, I
have something bad to tell you.”
“What is it?”
“You have to be strong, ok?”
Harry holds out a medical chart
and says, “Your dad was infected.”
Juliet’s lower lip trembles.
“I found a bucket filled with
hospital ids of the deceased. I saw the same in war but our bucket was filled
with dog tags. Then I found his medical chart. I’m sorry.”
“No,” she cries pitifully. “No,
no, no, no…”
Harry leads her back to the roof.
Another helicopter arrives and blasts wind in their faces. The soldiers round
up the next group of woman and children to evaluate.
“We need to get baby Smith on the
chopper,” Harry says.
Juliet numbly hands the baby to a
waiting soldier but refuses to board the helicopter herself. The commotion
spreads on the roof grows louder. Harry turns to see the harbor swell into one
gigantic wave, much larger than the others.