Killer Z (10 page)
“W
ake up, Michael!” Rebecca’s voice drills through
his throbbing head.
Michael is sprawled across the
side wall of the bus. He’s unable to move either legs or arms. Groggily, he
opens his eyes. A shattered side window gives a glimpse of outside. Smoke wraps
around a burning gas station and looters violently chase survivors with tire
rods and wrenches.
“Baby, we have to get out of
here.”
The air is heavy with sooty smoke.
He grasps her clammy hand.
“What a ride, man. I lost my
weed,” Vinnie says.
Michael lifts himself but feels
something warm and squishy.
“Don’t look, honey. Just look at
me,” Rebecca says.
“Why?”
He feels the prickly hairy of a
man’s arm underneath his neck and something heavy and warm across his middle.
He frantically pushes the heavy leg of a dead business woman off his chest and
scrambles to sit up.
“Dude, we need to get out of the
bus. It might blow,” Vinnie says.
“Where’s everybody?” Michael asks.
“All dead or fled bro,” Vinnie
says.
A large gash angles across
Rebecca’s forehead.
“Rebecca, are you ok?”
“I’ve been better.”
“Where’s Susan? Can we use the
door?”
“Michael, do you think they became
zombies?”
“Well dudes, I’m seeing Barry and
the others dead, but no Susan. Maybe she booked thinking we died,” Vinnie says,
motioning to the shattered windshield.
Rebecca screams as Fred
materializes in the spot Vinnie points.
“Zombie!” she shrieks.
“You folks need a hand?” Fred
asks.
Behind Fred a group of teenagers
peer curiously into the bus.
“Dad, stop playing Moses,” Kyle
snaps. “The tsunami threat is real. Why did she think you were a zombie?”
“It must be stress,” Fred replies
and helps Vinnie out of the windshield.
“Fred! You have great timing.
Thank you!” Michael says.
Smoke fills the block with a dark
haze. Multitudes of people stream around the bus.
“Thanks for helping us,” Rebecca
says.
“No problem. We’re heading to the
hospital. Looks like you folks should come along,” Fred says.
“Eureka! I found my weed!” Vinnie
says.
A teen runs, hands waving and
shouting, “The tsunami is a few blocks away!”
“Can everyone run?” Fred asks.
Michael looks at Rebecca. Her eyes
are large and glassy with fear but she nods stoically. His back feels the
strain of the day and she can see the pain on his face.
“For the pain,” Rebecca says,
giving him one of her pills.
Michael dry swallows it.
“Let’s go before we get wet,” Fred
says.
They run to the hospital. With
every step Michael fears the tsunami will overtake them. As they near the
medical facility Colin up a crow bar off the street. He runs to a side entrance
and pries open the emergency door.
Fist sized cracks zigzags up the
stairwell but the stairs are stable as the group runs upwards. Michael stumbles
on the third floor and sags against the wall. Rebecca’s medication hits him
hard. A body buzz puts him into a cocoon.
“Michael?” Rebecca asks.
“We have to reach the roof,” Fred
calls down from the stairs.
“What’sss in the pill you gave
meee, Rebecca?”
“Come on, baby” she says. “We have
to go.”
“It’s like sugarrr in my blood, I
feel sooo good.”
“Michael? Rebecca?” Fred calls,
his voice floats down the stairwell like a disembodied ghost.
“I don’t want to die,” Rebecca
begs.
The force of a wave hitting the
building startles him out of the drug haze. He stands on shaky feet and
continues to the roof.
R
elief pours into Juliet as Larry and Karen rush
ahead. The cop’s belligerent comments and constant cheap come-on lines have
worn her thin. They used Larry’s badge to bypass the tents of injured in the
parking lot and gained entrance to the lobby of the hospital. The noise from
outside grows louder as the natural light grows faint.
“The tsunami’s coming!” someone
shouts.
The crowd rushes to the stairs.
Shrills and screams echo in her ears and elbows smack into her sides.
“Get to the stairs!” Harry shouts.
Juliet barely makes out what he’s
saying. Pixel, preferring their company over Larry’s, furiously barks and parts
the crowd. She follows Pixel’s lead and leaps over the fallen and weak. Soft
bodies become launching pads and she lands on the steps. A solid wall of water
smashes into the lobby’s windows with a boom and floods the first level.
In the stairwell Juliet can’t see
Harry but hears Pixel bark. The sea pounds into the building with relentless
booms
.
People lose their footing and tumble down the stairs. She
clutches the banister and struggles with each step.
“Are you alright?” Harry asks on
the second floor landing.
“I’m ok.”
On the third floor she peeks out a
window. A fire engulfs the Veteran’s building and the parking lot is under
water. The tents have been swept away. On the roof soldiers direct the masses
as medical personnel try enforcing the triage system. To her right are two
marine helicopters. The soldiers keep the panicked crowd away from the
helicopters with menacing assault rifles. The periodic rattle of their guns
overrides the ocean’s barrage. To her left is a frazzled looking nurse shouts
orders.
“Where’s my dad? He works here,”
Juliet demands.
The nurse asks, “Who’s your
father?”
“Riley Johnson.”
She whispers to another nurse and
shakes her head no.
“Does Riley play chess at DuPont Circle?” Harry interrupts.
Juliet pierces Harry with a sharp
look and says, “Yeah, why?”
“I play chess with him and can’t
believe you’re that Juliet.”
“Juliet!” Matt’s screams and grabs
her attention.
The obese young man emerges from
the crowd cradling an injured left arm.
“Matt!”
“I trieddd goin’ ta church, to the
ssshelter there, yaaa know, but da church collapsed and damnnn, my left arm
really hurts. Someone bit meee. Ain’t that crazyyy?”
“You’re infected!” the head nurse
yells. “Get a soldier over here ASAP!”
“Whaddya mean? I ain’t infected.”
A burly soldier with an assault
weapon seizes Matt by the hair. A second soldier shoots his gun into the air
making Juliet jump.
“Stand back, he’s infected,” the
soldier says and drags Matt to the edge of the roof.
“You’re hurting me!”
“What are you doing?” Juliet
shouts.
“I’m sorry but he’s infected,”
Harry says and holds her back.
Without pause the soldier shoots
Matt in the back of the head with a
bang
and then kicks the body
off the roof. Juliet sinks to her knees, stunned.
“Harry, why did they do that? Matt
wasn’t a zombie.”
“Sorry, Juliet, but he was
infected.”
Juliet cries, “No, no, no. This
isn’t seriously happening.”
T
he raft bounces on the choppy waves. Only a few
buildings remain above the raging sea in the National Mall. In the distance,
the Willard Hotel crumbles into the murky water.
“I hate these waves,” Mark
mutters.
The raft pitches to the left. Mist
lifts from the water and casts everything in a ghostly white hue. The raft
lurches to the right and bumps into the collapsing wall of the Madison building. Nearby a whirlpool sucks everything into its swirling depths. He picks up
the oar and tries pushing away from the wall and whirlpool. There’s a motor but
he’s clueless on how to start it. A man clinging to a door tries reaching for
the raft but he’s sucked away.
Waves collide and crisscross. The
undercurrent propels the raft to the Jefferson building’s main reading hall.
Only inches of the dome protrude from the sea. A security guard struggles in
the broken glass dome. The man’s hands are bloodied and face bloated from being
underwater. He reaches through the metal frame and grabs for the raft. Milky
white eyes glare at Mark as he misses.
Another wave pushes the raft past
the dome. Mark’s knuckles turn white from holding the safety lines. A thirty
foot mud barrier runs along Constitution Ave marking where the city has sunk.
Mist reduces visibility to almost nothing. He thinks he feels the waters
getting lower as he moves through the city, but it’s impossible to know for
sure.
“God, I need your help,” he prays,
not wanting to die.
The mist parts revealing a granite
cathedral like building with a clock tower. The Old Post Office was the first
building in Washington D.C. to be constructed with a steel frame. With its
clock tower, it’s one of the five tallest in the city. The waves push the raft
up the granite steps, leaving it to rest against the top step where the water
has become shallow. Nearby security guards stand underneath a stone arch
watching.
The guards point and jump
excitedly and he turns around. A red double-decker tourist bus approaches the
raft. He could reach out and touch the vehicle’s peeling red paint if he
wanted. The driver’s window is caked with blood and a body slumps over the
steering wheel. Corpses sit fastened in their seats. The bus crashes into the
building’s flag balcony, its nose buried into the left supporting arch. One of
the guards rushes to the bus as a second guard helps Mark out of the raft.
“Steve, don’t touch the bus,” the
security guard helping Mark says. His nametag says Oretha.
“I’m not! But we should report
this to Becket,” Steve replies.
“Well help me get this raft
secured first,” Oretha says.
They secure the raft under the
right arch and then Mark follows the pair inside. His water soaked shoes slap
loudly on the marble. The building is ten stories of commercial space with
floors open in the center to a large central courtyard. People wander around
the food court.
“We were lucky the roof didn’t
go,” Oretha says. “And the generator is holding so far.”
Mark looks up and cringes. The
glass ceiling looks intimidating but is intact.
“I’m Mark and work at the Library
of Congress, or at least I used to.”
“I’m Oretha and the grumpy man is
Steve.”
“I’m not grumpy,” Steve mutters.
Around the courtyard are piles of
resources gathered from various scavenged stores. A woman in a dusty business
suit leads an informal prayer group in a corner.
“Damn it, Steve! Did you at least
check him for infection?” a short, bulldog of a man with rolled up shirt
sleeves bellows. “And what the hell was the boom?”
“Sorry Becket. This guy is with
the Library of Congress. A bus took out the flag balcony,” Steve says.
“Lift your shirt so we can see if
your infected,” Becket orders.
A police officer draws a gun on
Mark. His knees weaken with exhaustion and fear but he lifts his shirt.
“Lose the pants. Earlier, a guy
hiding a bite on the thigh took down three of our finest.”
Shivering, Mark peels off the wet
pants.
Steve looks him over and says,
“He’s clean.”
The officer puts away the gun and
the crowd loses interest as Mark gets dressed again.
“We have two situations,” Oretha
tells Becket. “People are stuck in the clock tower and the backup fuses for the
generator are missing.”
“What happened to the fuses?”
“The guy who got the generator
working was bit and dropped them in the Old Franklin School.”
“This guy came on a raft,” Oretha
volunteers and pats Mark on the shoulder.
“You can have my raft to retrieve
the fuses.”
“Good, take Steve to the Old Franklin School.”
“I don’t think you really need
me…”Mark says.
Becket barks, “It’s your civic
duty. Do it.”
Mark reluctantly follows Steve and
Oretha to the raft and climbs aboard. Steve boards and turns on the motor.
Oretha pushes the small vessel into the water.
“Good luck Steve. Don’t forget a
harbor wave is coming,” Oretha says.
“What’s a harbor wave?” Mark asks
as they motor out.
“This is a wave train that comes
before the big one.”
“This isn’t the big one?”
“It’s supposed to look like a huge
tidal wave. It’s all part of the tsunami but the harbor wave is the climax.”
They navigate around trees and
electrical poles poking out of the water. An older man shouts for help from the
limbs of a tree.
“Jump and swim to the raft!” Steve
yells.
The man leaps out of the tree and
doggie paddles to the raft. They haul him onboard.
“You ok?” Steve asks.
“Yeah, thanks. I’m William,” the wet man says while brushing water out of short cropped dark hair.
“I’m Mark, this is Steve.”
“We’re going to the Old Franklin School to pick up fuses for the Old Post Office.”
“Oh, the Old Post Office
survived?”
“Yeah,” Mark replies.
“The zombies didn’t get them yet?”
“You mean the infected,” Steve
says.
“Infected? Sure, if you want to
call being an addict a disease,” William says.
On the corner of 13
th
and K Street the ominous Franklin School looms over the raft. Steve maneuvers
to the side of the brown brick building.
“I need you to watch the raft,”
Steve tells William.
“You can count on me,” William says with a salute.
“Maybe William should go with you
instead,” Mark suggests.
“You afraid?” Steve asks.
“All this talk about zombies and
the infected is getting to me. Wasn’t this a homeless shelter?”
“Back in 2008,” William says.
“It looks empty enough, librarian.
You’ll be fine with me,” Steve says and directs Mark out of the raft.
Lifting his body through the
broken second story window is hard. Mark almost slips but Steve catches him by
the arm. The floor of the Grand Hall sags under an inch of water. Wood paneling
and paint peals from shabby old walls. He jumps seeing his refection in a mirror
at the base of the steps.
“Steve, this place looks like a
dump.”
Muffled voices drift from the
upper floors.
“Probably just some survivors,”
Steve says.
Mark follows Steve up a flight of
decaying steps. The voices are more audible on the third floor.
“There’s nothing here, bro,” a
gruff male says.
Another male voice adds, “My Zs
are wearing off, let’s go.”
Steve stumbles over a filthy
blanket and falls to his knees. Mark ducks into the stairwell as four men with
guns whip around. M2 fixes Steve with a crazed and deadly look.
“Where did he come from?” M2 asks.
Multiple gun
pops
echo down the hall. Steve howls in pain. Mark freezes, uncertain if he should
reach for the gun in the backpack. Loud thudding comes from the hallway.
“Run,” Steve gargles.
Mark runs down the stairs. The
thugs riddle Steve’s body with bullets and follow down the steps, hooting and
hollering like teenagers. Mark trips over a tool box stenciled with the city
are engineering logo and a dead engineer. He’s uncertain how they missed the
fuses and grabs a couple. Next, he fishes out a flashlight. Thinking fast, he
balances the flashlight on the tool box and shines the light at the mirror. The
armed men stop on the steps and shoot the mirror.
Mark launches himself through the
broken window and falls into the raft.
Will
iam blinks in confusion, “What…?”
“They shot Steve,” Mark yells all
wild eyed.
“Who shot Steve?”
Mark explains what happened as William steers the raft to the Old Post Office. Oretha waits under one of the two remaining
arches and pulls them in.
“Where’s Steve?” Oretha asks.
“Sorry, he got gunned down at the Franklin School.”
“No! Who gunned him down?”
Mark hands over the fuses and
says, “We were walking up the stairs and theses guys just shot him.”
“Everyone is dying today,” Oretha
murmurs, shaking his head.
They enter the lobby and are
checked once more for bites. The woman leading the prayer group earlier hands
him a cup of coffee and a sandwich. Mark sits at a table and eats slowly, his
stomach churning. The coffee settles his nerves. His mind replays last moments
with his dad and Irina.
“Hey,” Mark says to an officer.
“You guys need any more help? I can’t stand sitting here.”
A passing maintenance worker
carrying a firemen’s axe and maul says, “I can use your help, chief.”
“Mark, my name’s Mark.”
“Lucas,” the burly man answers
with a curt nod. “You got a flashlight?”
“No.”
“It’s your lucky day. What do you
do Mark?” Lucas says and gives him a flashlight and the burdensome maul.
Mark says, “I work at the Library
of Congress.”
A tall, thin man joins them.
“Nice to meet you librarian, this
here is Manny. Manny is a shift manager at one of the pavilion restaurants.
Manny, this is the Librarian.”
“It’s Mark.”
“Sure,” Manny replies.
“We’re on search and rescue,”
Lucas says.
“Sounds fun,” Mark answers.
They climb many stairs and pass
through several hallways.
“So you help people check out
books?” Lucas asks, making small talk as they walk.
“No, I work with the scholars
within the Library of Congress, in the Kluge Center.”
“Sorry, never heard of it. You
know, this building is pretty sound but who knows anymore with all the water
and shaking, so be careful.”
Lucas directs them to a manmade
hole in the wall leading to the clock tower. The main tower entrance is blocked
by a pile of collapsed beams and bricks. They duck into the hole and enter a
conference room.
“This used to be the conference
room for General Motors. My dad was a big shot for them. He used to screw
secretaries in that office over there,” Lucas says.
They exit into a side hallway.
Historical still shots are scattered on the floor. At the end of the hall they
come to a stairwell littered with the bodies of men and woman who died trying
to flee.
“This maintenance hall leads to
the clock tower. When the fire alarms sounded everyone panicked and many were
trampled,” Lucas says.
Mark steps over the stomped and
broken bodies. At the top of the stairs they reach a wooden door blocked by
debris.
“Is anyone in here?” Lucas shouts
and taps the axe to the wall.