Killer Z (9 page)
“T
he news bus is over here,” Susan says.
Michael limps, bringing up the
rear of the group. Sewers are overflowing leaving many blocks flooded by fowl
smelling water. Most of the buildings are damaged or destroyed and many streets
appear deserted.
“It’s only been a few hours and this place looks
like a ghost town,” Michael says.
His dress shoes pinch and blister his aching feet.
Sweat soaks the armpits of the work shirt and he shrugs off the suit coat
“Bye-bye,” Michael says and drops the jacket.
In a parking lot is Channel 5’s news bus. Four
office workers rush over as Susan unlocks the door.
“Oh my God, you’re Susan Bishop! I watch you on
TV,” a woman gushes.
“Thanks. Can I help you?” Susan asks.
“Our families are in Bethesda. Are you going
that way?”
“I suppose we can make room, but we’re going to
need to unload some boxes first.”
“Rebecca, I have to take a piss,” Michael says.
Michael walks across the parking lot and pretends
to urinate over a collapsed newsstand to avoid unloading the bus. A noise comes
from within the pile of debris and his pulse quickens.
“I can’t move,” a stifled male voice groans.
“Are you a zombie?” Michael asks.
“No, dude, c’mon and help me get out of here.”
“Are you hurt?”
“Are you stupid? I’m stuck, man!”
“But you’re not a zombie, right?”
“No, man, I’m not a fuckin’ zombie. What kind of
stupid question is that?”
“What’s your name?” Michael asks and nudges the
heavy canvas.
“Vinnie, man. Help me out!”
“Can you move at all?”
“No, there’s a damn crossbeam over my legs.”
“Ok, there’s some sort of zombie thing going down.”
Michael pushes the heavy canvas aside. A pair of
worn out skater sneakers peek out. A wooden beam tangled in the canvas obscures
Vinnie’s upper body. Michael lifts the beam and shoves it aside with a grunt.
Pushing back the rest of canvas reveals a young man with shaggy blonde hair.
“Wow, that sucked,” Vinnie says. “Thanks, man.”
“Glad I could help,” Michael says and offers a
hand.
Vinnie regains his feet and brushes off his baggy
cargo pants.
“Thanks man, really. Why are you talking about
zombies?”
“That’s the rumor on the street.”
“Sorry to disappoint you but I’m alive. You got a
light?” Vinnie asks and pats his pockets and locates a rolled joint and a
lighter. “Oh, I got one. You want to hit some killer bud laced with Z?”
“No thanks. I don’t do drugs.”
Vinnie looks around for cops, lights the joint, and
inhales deeply.
“I told myself if I got out of there the first
thing I was going to do was hit this doobie,” Vinnie says as the stress melts
away. “I was walking to Starbucks and wanted something to read and then boom!
Everything started shaking and the lights went out.”
“I see,” Michael says and steps away from the
smoke.
Vinnie coughs and holds out the joint. Michael
ignores the offered joint as Rebecca walks over. The others board the bus.
“I was expecting the fire department or the police
but not you,” Vinnie says.
“The first responders evacuated the city because of
the zombies. We’re on our own,” Michael says.
Vinnie coughs and offers the joint to Rebecca.
Michael looks disapprovingly as she plucks it from Vinnie’s hand and inhales
deeply.
“Good shit,” she wheezes.
“Got room for one more?” Vinnie asks.
Michael shrugs. “More the merrier I guess.”
Vinnie follows them to the bus. Inside, the isle is
narrow and the seats are small. Michael squeezes in next to Rebecca and closes
his eyes.
“The
book of Revelations said this was going to happen at the end of times,” an
office worker shrills. “We’re all going to be judged!”
“Oh,
shut up, Linda,” a masculine voice answers. “Get a grip.”
Voices erupt over each another, some argue for
Armageddon as others remain rational. Michael tunes them out. The only thing
that matters is to protect Rebecca and get out of the city.
“Look at me, I’m a reporter!” Vinnie says as he
prances in the isle with Susan’s microphone.
Vinnie thrusts the microphone at one of the
businessmen and asks, “Sir, its Armageddon. What are you planning to do on your
last day on Earth?”
The man bats away the microphone with a begrudging
smile and everyone laughs. The bus lurches forward as Susan drives out of
the parking lot.
Susan asks Barry. “Should take 20
th
north?”
“Take 29
th
.”
“Shit, 29
th
has a road block,” Susan
says.
“Fuck it,” Vinnie jokes. “Just drive until we’re
out of gas.”
The bus maneuvers down one street
and then another as Susan navigates around blockages. They are slowed at an
intersection bogged down by evacuees trying to drive out of the city. As the
bus reaches the stop sign, a blue sedan soars past and plows into an island of
gas pumps across the street. A brilliant burst of yellow-white light erupts
followed by an echoing boom that rocks the bus and sends its occupants flying.
“I
n the best of
circumstances I don’t like cities, but now…” Fred says.
Fred surveys the
quake destroyed block and continues, “My best fishing pole was behind the front
seat of the truck.”
“Dad, stop
crying. Your truck is gone.”
“This is the
worse day of my life. Lord, please guide me out of this mess and get me home.
Jehovah, please help me find my grandson.”
Fred gives
everything up to God and calms as a new inner resilience takes hold.
“Jesus, please guide and protect us.”
“Geez dad, why is everything always a damn
religious moment for you?”
“We all need added support.”
“Why not pray without smoking a cigarette, Dad?”
“Son, you really like raining on my parade, don’t
you.”
They turn the corner of Bryant Street and come to a
pile of crumpled cars. A group of teenagers stand in a loose circle near an
overturned minivan. Focused on their own need to escape, people stream by the
group. One of the teens settles his worried brown eyes on Fred.
“Hey mister, we need some help,” the teen pleads.
A priest lies on the ground encircled by the teens.
“What happened?” Fred asks.
“We don’t have time for this,” Kyle hisses.
Fred ignores Kyle. The teens part as they approach.
“Father, are you alright?” Fred asks as he kneels
down.
The priest’s eyes are closed. There isn’t much of a
pulse in the fragile wrist.
“The earthquake destroyed the church and we barely
got out. We were heading to another parish when the cars in front of us got in
a wreck,” a boy rambles.
“What’s your name, son?” Fred asks.
“Colin.”
“Colin,” the priest rasps. “Where are Sister
Margaret and Brother Schaefer?”
“Father, they didn’t make it.”
“We’re wasting our time,” Kyle says over Fred’s
shoulder.
“Just give me a minute,” Fred says.
“I had a dream,” the priest rasps, “the Holy Spirit
told me the end was coming…”
Colin and the others huddle around the dying man.
The priest’s voice becomes soft and eyes grow distant.
“You must be strong children, judgment is upon us…”
“What do you mean?” Colin asks.
“The dead will rise. Fire and
destruction will cover the land from coast to coast. Be strong, my children,
and be true to the Lord. Have faith. There will be a new Eden.”
The priest stops breathing and stares blankly into
the sky. Fred reaches over and closes the dead man’s eyes.
“Let’s bow our heads in prayer,” Fred says as he
rises to his feet.
The teens and Fred grasp hands and form a complete
circle.
“Oh Lord, please accept this soul into your
keeping, amen.”
The children echo Fred’s amen. Colin gives Fred the
priest’s bible. He accepts the book without comment and puts it into his
flannel.
“Dad, can we go?”
The
popping of gunfire fills the street. Military personnel run by them with guns
drawn. The teens look at Kyle and Fred with uncertainty.
“Let’s
not wait to see what they want,” Fred says.
“Dad,
what are we going to do with a bunch of damn kids? You’re not a priest! You’re
a dumb hick from Minnesota who sleeps in on Sundays!”
The
teens shift uneasily at Kyle’s outburst.
“Kyle,
that doesn’t matter now. Okay kids, who knows the fastest way to George Washington Hospital?”
Kyle’s
mouth drops in outrage as he yells, “I know where I’m going!”
“We
can cut over there and be at the hospital in five minutes,” Colin says.
“Let’s
get going then,” Fred says as he leads the group away from the soldiers.
T
he smell of burned bacon fills his nose as he enters the apartment.
Mark’s flashlight’s beam bounces to the kitchen. Two frying pans lay face down
on the floor surrounded by bacon and half cooked eggs. The kitchen table is on
its side. Mom’s china lies in pieces across the floor.
“Dad, Mom? Is anyone home?”
Mark enters the living room and turns off the
flashlight. His feet crunch over glass as he enters the living room. The broad
window overlooking the Navy Yard is broken. A pigeon struts around the room and
takes flight out of the window. The flat screen television peeks from under a
pile of detective novels from a fallen bookcase.
The hallway leading to the bedrooms is covered with
broken framed family photos. He grimaces at a picture of his ten year old self
fishing. Heart pounding, he enters his parent’s room and sees a lump under the
blankets. Steeling himself, he yanks back the sheets.
“Mom, Dad!”
It’s only a pillow under the blanket. He
chokingly laughs and is suddenly struck with a desperate desire to wash the
horrible day away. Grime and sweat clings to every inch of his skin. He
stumbles into the kitchen and turns on the faucet.
“Of course there’s no water. Fuck me.”
It’s too much. Tears flood his eyes but turn to
laughter as the absurdity of the situation hits home. Hours ago his life made
perfect sense, but now? He sags back against the refrigerator, sending a piece
of paper falling to the floor.
If anyone comes home meet
me at Joe’s -
Dad
Mark gapes at the paper and runs out of the
apartment. Joe’s apartment is a floor above. Hope fills his heart as he bursts
into the apartment without knocking.
“Dad?”
“See, Joe, I told you he’d find my note,” Ben says.
“Hi Dad, I’m glad you’re not hurt.”
Ben asks. “Is your mom with you?”
“She isn’t here?”
Ben and Joe sit in the living room surrounded by
fishing and camping gear. Like his father, Joe is retired firefighter. The
two had been close friends forever.
“You look like your planning a weekend trip,” Mark
says.
“This fishin’ wire will come in handy,” Joe says
and continues whatever conversation the two wizened old men were having.
“Yes, yes, old man,” Ben tells Joe. “Better put it
in the backpack before giving yourself a coronary. You’d pack the whole apartment
if I let you.”
Joe stuffs the small fishing kit into a canvas bag
and says, “In this bag we have a Swiss army knife, water proof paper and pens,
chord for building, a whistle in case you get stuck, a flashlight with extra
batteries, a lighter, fishing hooks, safety pens, tuna, crackers, a compass,
water purification pills…”
“I know. I know! I helped pack the bag, didn’t
I?” Ben says.
"What are you doing?" Mark asks.
“We’re preparing for the tsunami. This pile is
things we take and that pile is garbage. When your mom gets back we will
leave,” Ben says.
“It’s not garbage. It’s just things we can’t
carry,” Joe adds.
“I saw terrible things coming home,” Mark says.
“I’m
going to go down stairs and look for Marian,” Joe says while getting to his
feet.
“I
imagine son,” Ben fixes Mark with an understanding but firm gaze after Joe
leaves. “I need you to keep cool and have your wits sharp.”
“Irina
is dead,” Mark says flatly.
“I’m sorry to hear that, son,” Ben says and reaches
for Mark’s hand, gripping it tightly. “You need to look out the window.”
Mark goes to the window and looks outside.
“We have a raft set up on the roof. Do you see the
river?”
Mark looks across the sea of parking lots and gray
buildings. He sees the Washington National’s baseball stadium and beyond the
stadium, the drained Anacostia river.
“Dad, where’s the river?”
“It vanished, son. When rivers recede after an
earthquake it means a tsunami is coming. Look towards the ocean.”
“Its receding, oh shit.”
“We have a raft on the roof,” his father repeats.
Mark looks for a monster wave but only sees a
dwindling thin blue line. The ocean is further out then it should be. He
closes his eyes in fear. Deep down he knows the big one is coming.
“We have food for a week, pills to purify water,
and I put my gun in the back pack.”
“Why do we need a gun?” Mark asks.
“We need to be protected.”
“You can’t expect me to shoot someone. Civilization
falls when people grab guns.”
“The end is coming,” Ben says with patience.
“No, it’s not.”
“I’m not a religious man, but I think this might be
the end everyone has been talking about.”
“You’re being over dramatic, Dad. We aren’t going
to need your gun! We have the best military in the world.”
“Son, a lot of bad stuff is going to happen in the
next few months.”
“You’re being paranoid.”
Ben holds out a large canvas backpack and says,
“Here, put this on. I put two clips in the bag.”
Mark meets his father’s eye and gives a resigned
sigh and accepts the backpack. Ben grabs his hand firmly.
“Mark, I had a dream. You got your hands dirty. Let
me clarify when I say dirty. You’re going to need to help America rebuild. I have taught you a lot in the last thirty years. Do you remember when we
went camping in Wisconsin at your grandpa’s cabin? Life is going to be
like that.”
“Please stop. You’re scaring me.”
“Son, I love you a lot. I’ve always been proud of
you. I know you don’t want to carry a gun, but remember what Martin Luther King
said ‘The arc of the moral universe is long but it bends towards justice.’
Justice doesn’t always come in the form of courts and laws; sometimes it’s
measured in us and our actions.”
Ben lets go of Mark’s hand and continues, “Go look
out the window again. I don’t want that ocean sneaking up on us.”
Mark swallows, his mouth gone dry. The distant line
of the Atlantic curves and thickens. The thin blue line turns to a bulge and
then a wave.
“Oh God,” Mark blurts, “it’s coming, Dad. It’s
big.”
A large air craft carrier rides the wave. Within
seconds the tsunami slams into the city, pushing the vessel through buildings
like a knife going through butter. Flocks of birds fly westward as perches
disappear under the raging ocean.
“Always fight for what’s right and you’ll always
make your mom and I proud.”
“Dad, the tsunami’s coming! We have to go to the roof!”
“I’ll meet you up there when your mom comes home.”
Mark feels like a terrified child. The chance of
his mom returning home before the tsunami strikes is slim. Ben lays a hand on
his son’s shoulder.
“Son, I love you, but I can’t leave without your mother.
Do you understand?”
Mark thinks of his parents. Images of them
throughout his life flash through his mind. He thinks of Irina and how it feels
to be without her. His gaze drops to the floor.
“Dad, I understand.”
“Go to the roof, son” Ben says softly.
Blindly, Mark walks out of the apartment on
autopilot. He jolts back to reality when the roof’s door locks in place behind
him.
“Shit, I don’t have my keys.”
The sea pours onto the highway near the Anacostia River. The dark, blue-gray wave moves slowly in the distance, a formless
monster devouring the landscape. Buildings lift up and crumble as they’re swept
into each other like dominos. Waves carry boats like battering rams into the
heart of the city. The remaining buildings are pummeled by sea vessels.
The air turns fresh and salty. The ocean is only a
few blocks away. The sea floods nearby streets with a terrifying velocity.
Screams echo from below as foamy water splits around the apartment building.
The building pitches forward and he stumbles.
Mark rushes to the river raft and jumps in, closing
his eyes. After five minutes of the shocks to the building he opens his
eyes and gets out of the raft. He peers over the rail. Every few seconds a new
wave rolls into the city. The first three stories of the building is fully
submerged but still standing. Across the street a big brown apartment building
tilts and dissolves into the ocean.
A large freight carrier from the navy ship yard
barrels towards his building. He runs back to the raft and braces for impact.
The freighter hits the building with a deafening crunch. Everything tilts as
his face is drenched in icy salt water.