Infamy: A Zombie Novel (4 page)

The stroller hits his shin.

He
falls, smashing his teeth against the ground. Other zombie douchbags trip over him from paying too much attention to the baby and I.

After running
(speed-walking pathetically would better describe what I’m doing), we come across a small alley connected to a line of Italian and Albanian restaurants. We duck into the alley where we come to a small dumpster that we hide behind.

The undead
run past. I feel safe until . . .

“
Whaa, Whaa!”

Only takes me
a second to grab the binky strapped to the kid and shove it in her mouth.

“Now shut up,” I say. “Please?”

The baby stops crying but not before catching the attention of a lone lumberjack zombie (the dude is super skinny, tall and wears too much plaid). He stops in his tracks and stares down the alley towards us. Others just pass by.

What the fuck? Can this asshole
see us through the dumpster?

He lets out a gurgling scream, letting
the others know lunch is this way.

Great
. Me and this baby have come across the only zombie who doesn’t like to dine alone. I pull the baby close to my chest and run toward the end of the alley.

We come up to a
door being held open by a milk crate. Since this alley is a dead end, the opening appears to be the only option. Once we go through, I kick the crate to let the door shut. The fucking door won’t shut. I grab the handle with my spare hand and have to drag it closed because the hydraulic arm on top is rusted.

Meanwhile, several zombies
are coming at us fast. They’re so stupid they crash against the door, slam it shut and knock me to the ground. My back slaps against the tile of a kitchen floor.

I hold the baby up making sure
she doesn’t get hurt.

The sounds of beating and scratching echo
through out the room as zombies try to get through.

The baby’s
legs dangle in my face as we lay there watching the door.

The pounding continues on, but to my relief
the door never waivers. Seems we’re safe for the moment.

Wait what’s that smell?

Chapter 4

Zombies ate my neighbors

This is a message from the Emergency Broadcast S
ystem.

The CDC has issued
a message in conjunction with the United States Army. This alert is for any and all persons within the Greater San Diego area.

A
citywide evacuation is now in effect.

For your safety, you are requested to head north t
owards Camp Pendleton or to any Forward Operating Base. These highly mobile bases currently occupy regions in the areas of University City, Tierrasanta, Santee, El Cajon, La Mesa, Spring Valley and Poway. Upon reaching one of these bases you will find protection, medical aid and provisions.

All persons entering Camp Pendleton or a
Forward Operating Base will be examined upon arrival for bites, cuts and or lacerations you may have received within the last twenty-four hours. If you are not able to evacuate the Greater San Diego area, you are advised to barricade yourself within your home or place of business.

Military personnel are being dispatched and should be within your area shortly. Please stay tuned for
more locations of Forward Operating Bases…

We live in an age of high definition and yet these Emergency Broadcasts always sound like shit. Are they transmitting from a 1960s-era bunker located fifty feet underground?

I turn off the
radio in the kitchen (yes, I found a café and a radio. Where else was I going to go? I have a baby now. And I hungry).

I walk over to check on the
little shit. She naps in a sink.

A few hours have
passed since we entered Marty’s Bistro. I can still hear gunfire and explosions. It’s gone further away in the last fifteen minutes. Glad I’m not in the middle of it. The horror I’ve seen is already bad enough without exploding body parts and giant hordes attacking soldiers like army ants gone wild.

Seems like the same thing is happening in
this baby’s diaper every half hour. Shit explosions. Piss bombs. She’s gone through half the diapers in her diaper bag. Which raises the question: how can someone so small crap so much?

Oh whatever, I’m making a
nother sandwich (this will make five. I don’t know how long I’ve been here).

I find
more fixings in the fridge. Lots of good deli meat—still cold. And delicious focaccia bread. I grab some turkey and pile that shit into a mountain. Then I take a bite and watch this baby smiling at me like it’s okay that the world is ending.

“You know what
, kid?” I say. “You and my ex have a lot in common. She also cried to get whatever she wanted. Never contributed a thing in return. You’re both co-dependent. You would die if I ever left you alone. Hell, maybe she’s dead. What does it matter? All I know is she had to line up some guy to be with before breaking up with me. How fair is that? Just don’t get me started about having to clean up her shit too, okay? I stood in line enough times for her tampons. You think she ever went on beer runs for me? I doubt if you would either. You women never change.

“
At least this sandwich is good. I won’t be fooled by your smile. You’re far too demanding for me to give in. Oh shit, now here it comes. Self pity. Are you listening? Sure you are. There’s a reason for my mental self-immolation. Kathy and I were inseparable a year ago (She was also a lot hotter back then. Can I admit that? Too late. I know I can be shallow).

“
We didn’t get together until after her mother died. Then we got real serious. Far more serious than I was in college where we met. I stayed in for two semesters, which is a lot more time than most of my friends put into their education. Rob couldn’t even make it through a week of trucker school. Either way, Kathy and I skipped the whole dating part and moved in after just a few weeks. I even thought we might get married. Someday, anyway.”

The baby continues to l
ie there peacefully. I take another bite of my sandwich, feeling even more energy return to my body than with the last batch of sandwiches. Did I lock the front door? Yes, I know I did. I hate second-guessing.

“No matter how much her family hated me, she would try so
hard to convince them I was the right guy for her. I don’t get why she changed? How does she go from telling everyone how much she loves me, to crushing my heart? Was there really nothing ever between us?”

The baby starts crying.

She quickly calms after I pick her up.

“I don’t even know your damn name,” I s
ay. “Not going to give you one, either. Would just make you more real. More human. I don’t want to get attached, okay? None of this ‘I like you,’ and ‘You like me’ bullshit, alright? That crap only leads to heartbreak, and to be honest, I’m not in a good mood right now. That’s right. I’m number one in my life.

“That’s good
. Quiet is good. Don’t attract unnecessary attention.”

I carry her
to the front of the café and look out the window. The view isn’t very impressive unless you’re the ultimate manic-depressive asshole on Earth. Overcast sky. Smoke. Fire. A sense hopelessness in the air. Dead bodies everywhere. Doesn’t quite smell like roasted peanuts either.

“This is some fucked-up shit,” I say, thinking, if Rob
were here he’d have a laugh attack. Me, a baby and an apocalypse.

At least I made it to level two in this real-life video game.
Maybe I’m just fooling myself.

I start giggling as I spot a
zombie shuffling down the street with his pants around his ankles. A line of toilet paper is stuck to his left ass cheek.

“
That’s some messed-up luck,” I laugh. “Homeboy must’ve been in an epic battle on the shitter. We really gotta get out of this place.”

The baby lets out a tiny laugh.

After watching those Hummers leave my ass with this baby, hanging out in one place waiting for some jerks to save us doesn’t appeal to me. Besides we still have some daylight left and the streets don’t look so bad right now.

In her diaper
bag is one of those baby carriers that straps to your body. Getting her in the damn thing is difficult, because along with having the ability to crap like a two-hundred-pound man, she seems to have the strength of one as well. She’s a real fighter. I get her in, carrying her in the front.

S
he kind of likes it and coos.

I throw t
he diaper bag over my shoulder and we head out through the front to search for one of the Forward Operating Bases.

I want to get something straight about some things, because I’m suddenly aware of costs. The
cost of wearing a baby carrier is your manhood. The cost of having a baby is your sanity. The cost of taunting a naked zombie with a baby (just to watch the zombie trip over the pants around its ankles) is priceless.

The weenie-waver zombie’s head smacks so hard against a curb I think he kills himself. Put that one down as a record
-setting kill. Either way, the streets now look clear enough for us to travel.

We’ve only gone a few blocks when a woman yells from a nearby group of condominiums.

“Hey you with the baby. Hurry, come here.”

A knot in my gut tells me this is a bad idea, especially since we have to walk past a corpse doing the worm down the street (its right arm and left leg are missing).

We
walk up to the front door. Some windows are blocked with furniture. Boards are nailed up in others. The inside is black marble. This is some expensive shit.

“
My name is Jane,” the woman says, letting us into a lobby. She has short blonde hair, green eyes and wears a black skirt, white blouse and high heels. “It’s so terrifying out there,” she adds.

Jane has an aged voice. Probably from all the screaming since the apocalypse began
. Can I blame her? What the hell do I know? Maybe she’s just a smoker.

The lobby is filled with people
—a group of blank faces. Mostly are young. Early twenty-somethings.

I have an idea as I look around the room. Maybe someone here
will take this baby off my hands? Then again, that might be a horrible idea. What if one of these assholes wants to steal her to make some kind of cannibal soup? Either way, my guard goes up when I notice a few of them are bleeding. One guy is sprawled out on the floor. He’s in bad shape.

“That’s a nice baby you have,” Jane says.
“She has your smile.”

“
That’s bullshit. She’s not even mine. I found her out on the street a little bit ago. You haven’t seen anyone missing a baby have you?”

Oh god, why did I just say that? Now one of these bleeders is going to volunteer to eat her.

Jane is shocked at my reply. Was she expecting me to be nice? Has she not seen the splatter parade out on the street?

“
I don’t think anyone here is missing a baby,” she says. “I need your help.”

“There’s a bunch of people in here you could have asked.”

Jane looks around the room. She’s up to something.

“Let me guess,
” I say. “That guy lying on the ground is your boyfriend and needs help but no one in here is stupid enough to touch him because he’s been bit and hasn’t turned into one of those fucking monsters yet.”

“He’s my fiancé
. Yes, one of those crazy people may have bit him outside. But I think he might be immune or not even have gotten bit at all. The others say he's too injured to be moved. If you help me I think we can make it to one of those Army camps where the hospital tents are set up.”

Shit
. This room is full of ZIDs (Zombies In Denial). Once they turn there’s going to be a bloodbath in here. Why do I have to be the one to school these noobs on the undead facts of life?

             
“Your fiancé is a dead man. So is everyone else in here trying to seek refuge after a bite. Maybe some bites take longer to turn a victim. Once they do, you’re fucked. I don’t even see any weapons in here.”

Jane’s face is desperate.
“We just need to get him to a doctor. Please. You have to help.”

“
I hate to say it this way. But you need to listen.” Now I’m really getting on my soapbox. Me and the baby: harbingers of doom. I’m talking to Jane and the whole room.

“It
would’ve been better if your fiancé had been completely ripped apart,” I say. “You would’ve had more of a chance to escape. People who get bit and run away before the job’s done makes things worse on the rest of us.

“
You all want to believe your loved ones can be rescued, that maybe there’s a cure. I’m telling you now there is no cure. Your fiancé is going to be a walking corpse just like those outside who attacked you. He, and the rest of your loved ones who might be bit, can turn any second. Don’t you see? Loved ones are turning loved ones into zombies because people just want to boohoo instead of fighting back. That’s why so many of them are outside. Save yourselves.”

Jane is pouring tears but I’m not quite done with my speech.

“Everyone has the responsibility of offing themselves as soon as they’re infected,” I say. “Sure would save the rest of us the trouble of doing it for you.”

BANG! BANG!

Just then two shots echo through the room. Everyone ducks.

I cover
the baby’s head with my arms. She starts crying.

“Oh my god
!” Jane runs over to the body, crying and screaming.

I start rocking
the baby back and forth. I must have a gift or something because she dries up right away and smiles.

A
Latino man stands over Jane’s fiancé. He slides the handgun into the waist of his pants. He’s wearing a tan suit, is a little taller than me, and middle aged. His hair is combed back and his beard is salt and pepper. I’ve seen him somewhere before. Don’t know where.

“The
man with the baby is right,” he says. “After seeing what those things are capable of, we just can’t wait for this girl’s fiancé to become one of them and attack us. I put him out of his misery for the sake of us all. If anyone else in here has been bitten or think you might be infected, then you should leave us now. If you turn, not only do I promise to put a bullet in your head, but I will also put one in the head of whoever you’re here with.”

The man
walks over to a large black bag. He pulls the gun from his pants before taking a seat on the floor and plopping a cigarette in his mouth.

Other people
start whispering and weeping. People begin to leave. Some aren’t even injured.

A
man, who I heard someone call Robert, has a bleeding wound on his arm. Two young girls try to hug him. He pushes both away. Sweat and tears glide down his face.

“It’s for the best
, girls,” Robert says. “I’m sorry. Daddy has to go now.”

“No, Daddy, don’t leave us,” the
shorter girl says. “I’ll be better, I promise.”