Decay: A Zombie Story (3 page)

MIKE

R
ush hour traffic had decided to stick around for a couple more hours as I sat and stared into space on the Mass Pike. I was returning from the ‘Annual Bike-A-thon’ in New Jersey, where I placed 3rd for the second year in a row. I’ve just hit the thirty year milestone in life and am beginning to realize that I can’t go like I used to. It’s getting hard to keep up with the up-and-coming new kids.

I was stuck in bumper-to-bumper traffic in the most inconvenient spot possible, as I was transitioning from one radio station feed to the next. Zeppelin was cutting in and out on one and
Bye Bye Miss American Pie
had begun to chime in on the other.

Soon, I gave up and made the switch from FM to AM; if only I’d listened to my ex and invested in one of the satellite radios—or even a damn CD player. My car was crap. Nevertheless, I began flipping through the unfamiliarity of AM radio. I had gotten some Beethoven, maybe Mozart or Bach; couldn’t really tell. Next up was what sounded like a Red Sox broadcast from the early ‘90s being rebroadcast. I soon settled on a local news station, being hosted by what sounded to be your stereotypical conspiracy theorist broadcasting out of an illegally parked RV somewhere in a dirt lot.

“The government wants you to believe a sickness is running rampant. They want you to believe the end has come. They want you to run and spend money on those necessities; the ones at CVS funded by government officials and sponsoring our own Senator!”

“Is this guy okay?” I pondered aloud.

“Furthermore, I wouldn’t be the least bit surprised to learn that the government themselves has been releasing some kind of toxin into the air, just to wipe some of us out, control the population a little. I mean, do they really expect us to believe they can’t cure cancer or AIDS! Cow poop, my friends, if they can put a man on the moon, they can cure these illnesses. Speaking of that, we all know the moon landing was Hollywood’s biggest project and never really…”

I decided to exercise one of my freedoms by shutting off the radio. I never thought a traffic jam would seem so peaceful and quiet regardless of the beeping and shouting. Suddenly, the car behind me jerked forward and slammed into my bumper. Furious, I unbuckled my seatbelt to go get this person’s information. As I was about to open my door, the driver in the car behind me got out and ran past me frantically.

I sat back in my seat and looked into my rearview mirror. Some people—two men and a woman—began to pull an older gentleman out of his car and began ruthlessly attacking him. I then looked at the cars next to me and noticed they were empty. As I continued observing my surroundings, I noticed this was the case in many cars.

Next, I saw a couple of bloody people stumbling between cars behind me. Not knowing exactly what to do, I made an executive decision and grabbed the photo of my daughter, Ellie, off the dash. Then, I quickly got out of my car and removed my bike from the roof rack.

I hopped on and began cruising through the stalled traffic, past people screaming, crying, and I think some were even biting each other.

I passed several abandoned cars; some had crashed and had caught fire. I did my best to maintain a steady and safe speed throughout whatever I was seeing. However, as I continued my path through the wreckage, I soon was forced to swerve out of the way of a door flying open and someone calling out for help.

I looked back for a moment, unsure of what to do, and drove my bicycle off the road and into the woods. I began riding uncontrollably through a downhill slope of trees, logs, and weeds. Soon enough, my front tire stopped dead when it smashed into a large, fallen tree. I was sent flying through the air with nothing to stop my fall.

PETER

S
amantha had gone into the bathroom with Jen to try and get a hold of herself. Soon, Jen returned and we scoped out the front yard together; several of these evidently sick people still stumbled around the front steps. However, there was no sign of Robbie anywhere.

As I began trying to gather my thoughts and figure out exactly what the hell was happening, Fido scurried into the room. At first, I didn’t think anything of it, but I soon realized I had let Fido into the backyard. No one let him back in. So, that means I left the door open or one of those things opened it. Either way, I didn’t feel too safe knowing the house wasn’t secure.

As I turned to check the back door, I noticed that I’d likely left it wide open during all the commotion. That being said, two sickly strangers were stumbling up the steps. I dashed to the door and literally slammed it in their faces. Relieved that the house might in fact be secure, I began trying once again to gather my thoughts and form a plan. Not that I thought it would help, I told Jen to call 9-1-1. She dialed and got a busy signal. So it looked like this wasn’t an isolated incident; as if the news broadcasts weren’t enough evidence of that.

Next, our problems continued to build when a loud crash came from the laundry room. Jen grabbed Fido and brought him to the bathroom to stay with Sam. I went to my room and grabbed a Louisville Slugger, and then continued to the laundry room, hoping and praying that my mom had gotten a cat while I was away at school and it just knocked something over.

I slowly opened the door. Ambient light shone into the room, revealing the trash bag that once covered the broken window, lying on the floor—not good. I began to accept the fact that this wasn’t the work of an unknown house cat, especially when I saw Robbie coming around a dark corner. His face looked very sickly and pale, his eyes dark and dead. His body was beaten and bloody; it looked like something straight out of a zombie movie.

“Robbie,” I said to him.

He grunted something, semi-acknowledging my voice. He began to come towards me in a very threatening fashion. I gripped the bat and almost swung at him. However, at the last minute, I decided to run. I couldn’t take a baseball bat to my best friend, regardless of his current state-of-mind.

I shut the door and slid my mom’s ironing board in front of it to barricade him in. I then ran to the bathroom and opened the door. Sam, Jen and Fido were sitting on the edge of the tub, scared and unsure of what to do.

“We’re leaving,” I insisted.

With no other ideas, they stood up and followed me to the front door. Before we headed to the car, I took a peek outside; the yard seemed to have cleared up. Without any more hesitation, I opened the door and told everyone to run to my car.

I unlocked the car and we were off. Jen asked me what the plan was, and during the chaotic exit, I remembered Robbie’s phone conversation with his dad, and how he had the keys to the hardware store in his car. Immediately, I told Jen to take a look around. She found the key ring in the messy glove compartment and we continued on our now apparent path to the hardware store.

KELLY

I
couldn’t believe the things that were happening. It was about two hours ago at my apartment, the Super came to collect rent—I was running a little late, but he’s an asshole anyways—or should I say he
was
an asshole. When he came into my place, his arm was all bandaged up. He told me he had been mugged earlier that day.

I didn’t know what to think, nor did I really care until he collapsed in the middle of my kitchen. I wasn’t about to give him CPR, but I didn’t wish death upon him either—regardless of him being a prick. So, I did what anyone would’ve done, I called 9-1-1. There was a busy tone, a busy tone! So, I proceeded downstairs to the Mikesons, where I found an open door and a seemingly empty apartment. I didn’t know what was going on, so I went back to check on the Super—he was… gone?

Part of me was glad he was okay, but part of me was wondering what the hell was going on in my building. I sat down at the table, trying to piece everything together when I heard a noise from the other room, someone walking around. It must have been the Super.

I went to check it out, and I saw him stumbling slowly around my living room.

“Are you okay?” I asked. “You were out for a minute there.”

He turned around with a blank look on his face and began coming towards me, stumbling around and into the coffee table and tripping over himself.

At this point, I ran through the kitchen and made it to the pantry, where I reached for my hidden weapon, a solid shotgun and a small box of shells. As I reached for the box, I knocked it off the shelf, spilling them all over the kitchen. I grabbed a couple quickly, well aware there was one ready to go in the chamber—what’s the point in having a shotgun if it isn’t ready to go?

I cocked the shotgun, pointed it at the Super and shouted, “Stay back or I’ll shoot!” He continued to lurch towards me and suddenly slipped on one of the scattered shotgun shells, falling face first towards me. Before I could react, he’d fallen into me and we landed with me on the bottom! I slid out from underneath his large beer belly and rolled over the shell and tile kitchen floor; all the while he’s trying to bite me, the sick fuck.

As I made it to my feet, he reached for me, grunted loudly—almost yelling. I reached down and grabbed another handful of shells and shoved them in my pocket. At this point, I turned around, leaving my apartment and my Super. I closed the door, hoping he wouldn’t follow me.

When I was outside, I looked for anyone that could help me. Eventually, I came across a police car, parked behind a sign for burgers on the road; probably trying to catch speeders. I ran to the car, putting my shotgun down along the way—knowing the cop would probably blow my brains out all over the road if I approached him with it.

“Officer, please!” I shouted as I ran around to the driver’s side, only to find the door ajar and an empty vehicle. I saw the walkie-talkie sitting in the center console and immediately grabbed it and held down the long button on the side, hoping it was the right one.

“Hello? Is anyone there? Hello?”

I released the button and listened for a moment—static, nothing more. At this point, I realized that something had to have happened; maybe the Super wasn’t just mugged. I looked up to a dragging sound only to find the cop that likely belonged to the car. He was covered in blood and dragged his right foot as he came my way, grunting in a similar way the Super did.

I’m not a second chance type of girl; so needless to say, I didn’t stick around to see if the cop was friendly. I took off running, picked up my shotgun, and headed to the woods.

Wearing mostly black, now that night had fallen, I’m pretty sure nothing could see me out here. I sat down on a little rock somewhere near the highway and spotted headlights up the hill, though I’m willing to bet the cars will be in similar shape to the squad car—abandoned, maybe wrecked.

For some reason, I kept thinking back to a religious protester from the Westboro Baptist Church group years ago. He said that the world was ending soon and that God would leave me behind because I’ve apparently made all of the wrong choices in life. I don’t know why this popped into my head.

I never took those people seriously, nor did I care what they think. I guess this whole situation seemed a little surreal and I was just picking it out of my subconscious as some kind of coincidence. Still, I couldn’t help but think that I was left behind, and the thought scared me. Not enough to change who I am though.

Suddenly, I heard the rustling and crunching of dead leaves not far behind me in the distance.

I looked up and saw someone silhouetted against the lights from the highway, barreling down the hill. Shortly after, the chaotic rustling stopped and I heard a loud thud, followed by what seemed to be complete silence.

After a moment, I approached where the sound came from. I held my shotgun up, ready to fire. Suddenly, I came across a man, probably around my age, maybe a little older, laying on the ground. He seemed to be knocked out cold.

Laying a mere few feet away was a bicycle with a heavily-warped front tire. I deduced he was probably thrown from the bike and knocked out when his head hit a rock. I don’t know why, but part of me wanted to just walk away after everything I’d seen so far, but I decided to stay. I took a seat on a moss-covered lawn and waited for the man to wake up.

TARA

I
went out to the restaurant floor; people at two tables were getting up and leaving somewhat frantically while three other tables were already empty. After avoiding the hungry and angry runaways, I went to Table 28 and greeted a sweaty, portly, middle-aged man.

“Welcome to Georgio’s, sir, I’m Tara. I’ll be your host this evening.”

Instead of responding, the man looked down at the table. He began swaying slowly and randomly in his seat. Unsure if something was wrong or if he was just annoyed and trying to decide what to eat; I tried to gain his attention.

“Do you need another moment to decide, sir?” I asked while subtly waving at him.

He started coughing and spat up blood all over his menu and the table. I stared at him for a moment, confused. Then I looked around at the other tables still occupied with customers. They were all staring at the sickly man and whispering at one another.