Apocalypse Z: The Beginning of the End (12 page)

Today, I shot a gun for the first time in my life. I’m sure it won’t be the last.

The winter sun in Galicia is really tepid. Some people would say it’s weak. Its caressing rays aren’t very strong on icy mornings like today, but at least it warms your bones a little. Better than nothing.
Lucullus and I are lying on the roof of our little makeshift shelter, hoping to get on with our journey. As we ate a breakfast of beans from self-heating cans, images of the terrible day we had yesterday replayed over and over in my mind.

It was unbelievably terrifying. Yet I feel more alive now than I have for three weeks. When I went over the wall into my neighbor’s yard, I wasn’t sure my plan would work. The further I got into it, the more doubts I had. But I couldn’t turn back. I raced across Miguel’s yard into his pitch-black house. Those things were all riled up. Somehow, they knew I was on the other side. A couple of them had even made it through the front gate and were pounding on the boarded-up windows downstairs. The noise was deafening. I carefully climbed the stairs and opened the bedroom window; I was sure they couldn’t see me up there. Down below was Miguel’s delivery van, parked right out in front. He had complained several times that junkies tried to break into it, looking for amphetamines or Rohypnol, the so-called date rape drug, even though he didn’t distribute those drugs. So he installed a powerful alarm in the van. It woke me up many nights when he accidentally tripped it. I wanted to see how those things reacted to all that honking.

I gripped the Zavala rifle, loaded two cartridges, then calmly aimed at the van. The mob under the window kept on banging on the door, unaware I was right above them. I fired. The blast from the rifle sounded like a cannon in the morning silence, amplified by the sound of the van’s windshield bursting into a million pieces.

The alarm went off immediately with honking, flashing lights, and a loud, steady siren. The effect on the crowd below was electric. Most of them surrounded the van and started rocking and shaking it. A few spotted me in the window. They crowded around below, stretching their arms toward me, looks of hatred in their glazed eyes.

So far, so good. I rushed back down into the yard. I didn’t have much time. Between the gunshot and the alarm, all the monsters in a one-mile radius would be drawn to this area in minutes. It would become a hot spot. I scrambled down the ladder like a monkey back into my yard. When I put weight on my poor ankle, a stabbing pain shot up my leg all the way to my eyes. For a moment everything went white and I almost passed out. No time to stop. I went in my house and upstairs to my bedroom to take a quick look.

I sighed with relief—my plan was working. Three of the mutants on my street were shambling toward the van. That blaring noise drew them like moths to a flame. For some reason, the last creature left on my street decided to cross the embankment at the end of the street. He’d probably fall, but that didn’t matter. He wasn’t close enough to stop me from getting to my car.

Breathing hard, I ran to the foyer, slung the backpack on my back, and crossed the speargun and the small bag over my chest. Then I knocked down the wooden posts that braced the gate and poked my head out. The coast was clear. For the second time in a month, I ventured outside. Only this time, I was setting off on a journey, and I didn’t know if I’d survive.

Clutching Lucullus’s carrier and the Glock, I crossed the road slowly, heading for my car, keys dangling from my wrist. I grabbed the keys and pressed the release button. My first mistake. With a double beep and a flashing light, my car opened, but that got the attention of the creatures on all sides. They turned and headed right for me. Shit. I had to move fast. I opened the driver’s door and threw the backpack in the backseat with so much force that the bag flew open and some of my gear fell out. Out of habit, I went around the car to the passenger side to settle Lucullus in his seat.

My second mistake. As I came around the car, I saw a man in his twenties with long hair and goatee. He had on a filthy, torn
black shirt and was missing both legs below the knees. I wondered how he’d lost them. He was lying on the ground, right behind the car. I don’t know when he crawled there or how long he’d been waiting, but he startled me. I took a step back, but he still managed to grab my ankle (my good one, thank God) and sink his teeth in.

It all happened so fast. I stepped back so fast he couldn’t get a good grip on my ankle. Plus my wetsuit was too thick and pliable for his bite to pierce it. He did leave visible tooth marks in the fabric. With disgust mixed with pure terror, I dropped Lucullus’ carrier and grabbed the gun with both hands. I aimed right at his head, less than three feet away, and fired.

I’m no expert marksman, but I couldn’t miss at that distance. I was really nervous, so I shot him in the head several times. It was a gruesome sight! I still shudder at the memory. It’s not like in the movies. A bullet doesn’t make a small hole; it opens a gaping hole. Blood clots, bits of brain, and bone fragments flew everywhere.

Trembling, I leaned on the car, trying to catch my breath, but time was running out. The rest of the creatures were less than thirty yards away, approaching very, very fast. I grabbed Lucullus’s carrier off the ground and tossed it in the car. The poor guy meowed uncontrollably, scared to death. Before I got into the driver’s seat, I aimed at the things coming from the main street and fired. My third mistake. I didn’t have a clue how to shoot a gun, even at just thirty yards. All I did was empty the clip and make even more noise. Well, that was the least of my concerns. Every monster in the town must’ve heard the racket I was making.

I tossed the empty gun to the floor of the car and jumped behind the wheel. When I turned the key, the Astra coughed a couple of times, then started up. My blood ran cold. It hadn’t been started up in several days. For a moment I thought it was going to stall—then I’d be screwed for sure. It’s a good thing Opels are
tough. Nothing fancy, but tough. I put it in first and drove toward the end of the street. I swerved to keep from hitting three of those things (I’ve prosecuted drunk drivers, so I know what a human body can do to a windshield and chassis upon impact) and turned on to the main street. The sight blew me away: a tide of nonhumans, hundreds of them, coming from downtown.

From the other side, there came several dozens more, eager for prey. I only had one way out—a country road at an intersection about twenty yards away. I floored it, made the turn, and—

As I was writing yesterday, with Lucullus in my lap, I heard a noise on the ground floor of our strange shelter. I climbed down the stairs with my stomach in knots, gun in hand. I looked all around but didn’t find anything. False alarm. Maybe stress and exhaustion are starting to play tricks on me. Or maybe I’m hallucinating. Or worse—battle fatigue.

Back to my story. When I was in the car at the intersection of my street, the situation was not encouraging. Hundreds of those things were coming from downtown with that strange gait, deceptively slow looking but really fast, taking up the entire street. It was the grisliest sight you can imagine.

For the love of God! All those bodies—with wounds and amputations, covered in blood, pale, that awful look in their eyes—headed for my car, with a bloodlust, a longing to catch me. Damn it! You have to see a walking corpse in person to understand how terrifying it is. The sight of hundreds of them trying to catch you would make even the most laid-back person’s hair stand on end.

The situation was no better at the other end of the street. There were fewer, but too many for me to drive through them without hitting one. If the crash didn’t kill me, those things would. I only had one way out: the country road.

I live in an area that’s been developed relatively recently. There are still some narrow country roads that wind through old farms, though they were being transformed into streets with buildings or town houses like mine. I knew there was one of those roads straight ahead. I didn’t see any of those things on it, so it was my only choice.

I floored it and turned on to the smaller road, bouncing over a huge pothole. In the rearview mirror, I could see that a mob had gathered and was following me. To my horror, I realized that the engine noise would attract dozens of these creatures anywhere I went. All I could do was drive so fast they couldn’t catch me, and they’d lose my trail. Sounds easy in theory. Fucking hard in practice.

That road was not exactly a highway. It was wide enough for one car. In places, its surface was just a bed of rocks and huge potholes. On top of that, I didn’t know where it led. If it was a dead end, I was in serious trouble. I drove slowly, about fifteen miles an hour. I had to stop often and maneuver around a pothole, so those things never lost sight of me. Lucullus meowed plaintively in his carrier with each jarring bounce the Astra made. I was terrified and knew just how he felt.

I gripped the wheel really tight. The car lurched along. Once I heard a terrible creaking sound coming from the motor. That didn’t bode well. I drove too fast through an especially narrow point and left both mirrors and the rear bumper lodged between two stone walls. I didn’t give a shit. I had to get out of there no matter the cost.

A moment later, I ended up on a wider country road and had no idea how. I braked hard, throwing up a cloud of dust. There was
nothing in sight. Not a soul, living or dead. I could see Pontevedra off in the distance, sitting on the banks of the Lérez River, silent, unchanging...dead. Here and there, columns of smoke rose from burning embers. I stared at long black scars where entire streets had burned to the ground.

I guess when the electricity failed, transformers and substations broke down and started the fires. There was no one to put them out.

I shook my head in disbelief. The only sound was the hum of the motor. As the dust cloud settled, I righted Lucullus’ carrier in the passenger seat and whispered a few words of reassurance. No time for petting; he was going to have to tough it out for a while. I had to decide which way to go now.

Suddenly I knew where I was—the damn secondary highway I’d tried to use to get out of town almost a month ago. The one where I was stopped at the checkpoint. Well, I wasn’t likely to run into a checkpoint now. If by some chance I did, I’d cover them with kisses as long as they took Lucullus and me into their custody. I’d played the Lone Ranger too long.

I rolled along the deserted road for a couple of miles. Not a soul was in sight, aside from two bloody figures staggering around in the distance on the edge of a cornfield. A small river between them and the road would stop them from following me, but it was only a matter of time before more of those things showed up. I finally came to the checkpoint. Cement blocks were the only memorial to the troops stationed there. They’d been put there to cut off the road, but someone cleared them away later. You could see the scrape marks they left on the cement as they dragged the blocks across the road. I don’t know who moved them, what they did with the cement blocks, or where they went.

I continued for a mile or so, getting more and more worried. It wouldn’t be long till I came to the main intersection. That would
mean more homes and more cars blocking the road. And more of those things—a lot more. The county road ran through an undeveloped part of the belt around the city, but it was the exception. The rest was densely populated, so there were probably thousands of bodies wandering around. I couldn’t forget the huge crowd following me. Many would get lost down other roads, or they’d stop. However, I felt sure a few would reach that spot.

Plus, the sun was setting. Nighttime is as dark as a well in an urban area with no electric lights. It would be suicide to continue. I had to find a place to hide. Fast.

Just when I thought I’d never find shelter, I came upon the perfect refuge on a small hill in the middle of a field thick with prickly broom plant. I spotted its little orange roof and sighed with relief. I know that kind of building well: substations along the pipeline that pumped oil across Galicia from north to south, to major cities. It would do nicely.

I eased on to the road leading up the hill. It grew narrower and narrower, overrun by vegetation. I almost ran into the high mesh fence. I could only see the gate. The rest of the perimeter fencing was completely covered by a thick layer of vegetation at least 150 feet high. You couldn’t reach the fence without hacking through that jungle with a machete, and I seriously doubted those monsters could do that. The only access to the substation was down this road. It was a great place to spend the night.

Fortunately, the fence had a simple bolt, not a padlock. Wire was twisted around the bolt to hold the gate closed. It was pretty sloppy, but complicated enough to stop anything that wasn’t human.

I drove through the gate and closed it behind me, then stopped in front of a hut. It was very small, roughly the size of a bedroom, but solid, with no windows. Its metal door locked with a key. After a few minutes, I finally forced it open with a crowbar I had in my trunk.

It was dark and dusty inside, lit only by a skylight and light from the door. In the middle of the room were some pipes, gauges, and valves used to purge air from the lines. I don’t know if there’s still gas in them, and I don’t plan to find out. I’m not going to touch that stuff for anything in the world. The last thing I need is to gas myself or blow myself up.

I settled in and slept for almost twelve hours, then slept all day today, too. This is the first time in weeks I’ve been able to rest, without that constant pounding and moaning. It’s great. I could stay here forever. But it’s not especially comfortable. Plus, I’m down to about half a liter of water, and I’m getting thirsty.

Before all this started, I didn’t believe in fate. I thought signs and omens were just old wives’ tales. This morning, as I study the keys to Miguel’s boat, I’m not so sure. Maybe his plan to head to his boat was a sign. Signs from the gods may not be irrational when the whole world has gone to hell in this merciless apocalypse.