ZE Outbreak Novel, Chapter 7

continued from chapter 6

Amber’s Father’s House, Early Evening of Wednesday, May 9, 2012

"Don't come any closer," I said, my words echoing in the kitchen. "Do you understand me? Is there anything left of you in there?"

The creature let out a guttural moan, its head tilting to the side as if thinking about my words. For a moment, I hoped that some piece of humanity remained in the sky and that I could find the way to reach the person trapped inside. Another part of me just wanted to kill him. He was likely the reason Amber’s father was lying upstairs in the pool of blood. The proof was in the blood under his fingernails and the corners of his mouth.

That hope was shattered as the infected man burst into a run, his arms outstretched, reaching for me. Amber screeched, and something clattered behind me. As he ran straight at me, I stumbled backward, colliding with Amber, who shrieked again. My shoulder slammed into her chest, sending her sprawled to the floor.

The guy was fast. This was nightmare fast, or something out of science fiction. What if the virus was making him faster? Was it speeding up some process in the brain that forced motor functions on overdrive? The thought flew through my head in half a second.

Killing someone was no problem for me. I squeezed the trigger, the gunshot ringing in my ears as the bullet tore through the man’s chest. His body jerked sideways, sending him against the kitchen table. Dark blood splattered across the floor tiles, but the guy kept coming, not caring about the hole I put in his lung.

He was close now, and if a bullet didn’t stop, what would?

I sure as hell didn’t know and didn’t waste time aiming. I drove my boot right into his chest, putting everything I had into the kick. He flew back, ribs slamming against the kitchen counter with a sick crack that echoed through the room. The hit sent him sprawling, but the kick threw me off too. I lost my balance and went down hard, landing flat on my back. The wind rushed out of me, kitchen lights spinning overhead as I scrambled to get to my feet.

He pushed off the counter and sprang back at me. His arms were flailing like one of those crazy blowups in the front of car dealerships. But this one was caught in a windstorm. It was all sick, hungry drive with this guy, and every muscle firing at random. I raised my gun, finger tightening on the trigger, but before I could line up a shot, something flew past my ear. My eyes never left the infected, not with those milky eyes fixed on me, red pinhole burning dead center, locked in like I was the only thing left in the room worth chasing.

A potted plant crashed into the creature's skull, sending it staggering sideways. The ceramic shards embedded themselves in its rotting flesh, but the infected man seemed unfazed, still staring at me.

I scrambled upright, boots sliding through a slick of blood that almost sent me down again. The infected crashed into me, hands yanking at my shirt, those jaws snapping so close I could smell what he’d eaten last. Nails raked my arms, tearing at the sleeves, searching for skin. He pressed his face up to mine, the smell curling up my nose and punching the back of my throat like a week-old trash can in August. My stomach lurched.

I shoved both palms against its chest, holding it back with every muscle in my arms burning. The thing pressed closer, teeth clicking, strings of spit stretching from its mouth. Sweat stung my eyes as I fought to keep those teeth away from my skin.

Somehow, I twisted my wrist, bringing the pistol up between us. The barrel found his chest, right against the filthy sweatshirt. I squeezed the trigger. The shop was muffled against him, and his body jerked back. His hands still held me, not letting go, and he lurched forward to snap at my nose. Dark, congealed blood oozed from the open wound, staining his already filthy shirt.

I had to stop calling “it” him. It was no “him” anymore. This thing was no more human than the two bullets he carried in his chest.

I stared in disbelief at this thing in front of me. How could I kill something that’s already dead? It had two bullet shots, both made from close range. One shot went through its center mass, the other through its heart. This was impossible. This wasn’t really happening. If the world was becoming full with things you can’t kill kill, how long before we were all one of them?

Behind the infected, Amber darted to the stove and grabbed the cast-iron pan. She hauled it back and brought it down with everything she had. The metal smashed into his spine with a jarring clang. Nothing. It was like she was brushing a bug off his back. He didn’t even turn and kept drawing me closer to him, snapping his teeth. His breath smelled like sour eggs.

“What do I do?” Amber shouted, voice breaking as she backed away. She looked around the kitchen, hands knocking over plates and dish towels. She ripped open the drawer by the sink, grabbed the biggest knife she could find, and ran straight at him. The blade punched through his back, but it sounded like stabbing a slab of beef. Blood spurted out across her shirt, and she yanked the knife out and drove it in again, screaming, “Die already!” She kept doing it over and over, hacking at this guy with the knife. Blood sprayed across the floor and cabinets, but he kept coming, like he couldn’t even feel it.

The infected man pushed his head forward, teeth no more than a few inches from my face. He was going to kill me. I could feel my arms shaking. Nothing was stopping him, and I felt my grip slipping. It was only a matter of seconds until—

The brain.

"Amber, stab his head!" I shouted, my voice strained with the effort of holding the infected away.

She paused for half a second, then flipped the knife in her grip and let out a scream straight from a slasher movie. The blade punched into the back of its skull, just above the neck. Instantly, the thing stopped grunting in my face. Its strength drained away, and its body went slack, dropping onto me like a sack of wet laundry. I slid down the wall, chest heaving, pinned under dead weight. The kitchen filled with the sound of my breathing and the slow drip of blood hitting the tile.

Amber rushed to my side and helped me push the corpse off. She tried to help me up, but I couldn’t move yet. My clothes were drenched in sweat and infected blood.

“Sam, you’re in shock,” Amber said, her hands shaking as she placed them against my cheeks. “It’s okay. We’re okay. Seeing him die like that…I know.”

She thought I cared about seeing something guy? That’s right, Amber didn’t know what was going on in my brain. How could she know that she was dating a psychopath? Maybe I wasn’t a psychopath in the clinical sense, but it’s not like I was ever tested. Would insurance even cover that?

“Stay with me, baby,” Amber said.

She can tell I was zoning out, thinking about the implications of the healthcare system and—

Did she call me baby?

That thought snapped me out of my zone. "We need to get out of here, now. There could be more of them out there."

She nodded, her eyes still. She guided me to my feet, and I picked up my gun from the floor. It was coded in blood, so I wiped it on some paper towels. We stepped over the corpse and made way out of the kitchen. It was a short home with barely any living room, and as we neared the door, Amber stopped.

"Wait, what about my father?"

Her father? Did she already forget he was dead?

I faced her, taking her arms in my hand. "There's nothing we can do for him now."

She shook in my arms. "We can't just leave him like that! We need to call the police, get someone to take his body, or at least bury him ourselves. That’s my father in there, and he doesn’t deserve to—"

Her voice broke.

Jesus, I wish I felt things. I could see the grief and confusion on her face. The events of the past few minutes had shattered her world. I pulled her close, wrapping my arms around her, hoping to offer what little comfort I could. This is what people did. They hugged when someone was grieving.

"Amber, listen to me," I said softly. "It's too dangerous to stay here. We don't know how many more of those things are out there, and we can't risk getting trapped or overrun."

Amber clung to me, crying against my chest. My shirt was getting damp with tears. I kept a hand on her shoulder, gently running my fingers through her hair. My eyes felt gritty, but I forced myself to focus on her, not on what I was feeling. I’d never handled grief like this. When my father died, I was too young to understand. When my mother passed, I let a stranger at the funeral home take care of the details. Now I was standing here, telling Amber she had to leave her father behind, with no time to say goodbye and no time to mourn. It wasn’t fair, and I didn’t have any right answers.

"I know it's hard, and I'm so sorry you have to go through this, but we need to focus on staying alive. We have to find somewhere safe and figure out our next move."

Amber pulled back, her face streaked with tears. She met my eyes, staring deep into them. I had no choice but to see how broken she was. Maybe this is what empathy felt like, if I felt anything.

“I can’t leave him like this, Sam,” she whispered.

I held her face gently, my thumbs brushing away the tears. “I know you can’t. Nobody should have to. But we have to go. If we stay, we won’t make it out. We’ll figure out a way to do right by your dad later, I promise.”

She closed her eyes for a second, breathing hard through her nose, then nodded. There was something fierce under all the pain now. I had no idea what that emotion might be, but I saw the change.

“Okay.” She reached for my hand. “Let’s go.”

I took Amber’s hand and led her down the steps, boots hitting the sidewalk hard. We kept our heads on a swivel, eyes darting to every shadow and doorway. Not as many people were outside as I expected. At one point, a man ran past the corner of our street, chased by someone who was dragging his own leg. A few gunshots ripped out from far away. A jet plane streaked across the sky. Things were happening all around us, but we moved like ghosts out of phase with the rest of the planet.

Our apartment building sat at the end of the block, looking smaller than I remembered. I kept telling myself it was safe, or at least safer than most places in this mess. I didn’t care about myself but had to keep her alive. My brother and Amber were all that mattered.

A scream cut through the street, sharp enough to freeze us mid-step. We turned and spotted the chaos across the way. A man slammed hard into the front window of a corner deli, the glass rattling but holding. An infected woman had latched onto his throat, her jaw working in quick, savage jerks. Blood streaked the window, the red smearing with every convulsion. The man’s mouth opened in a silent scream, his fists pounding weakly against the glass before he slid down out of sight.

Amber gasped, her hand flying to her mouth in horror. I grabbed her around the waist, pulling her attention back to me. "Don't look, Amber. Just keep your eyes straight ahead and run."

We ran, ducking under a torn street banner flapping in the wind, something about a summer festival. Glass shattered behind us, and I heard someone yelling for help, the kind of shout you know nobody’s coming for. I kept my head down and drove us forward, not giving Amber or myself a chance to look back. There was nothing back there worth seeing.

It was all happening now, right out in the open. Not just news stories or Dr. Cohen’s grim little charts. This was real blood, real teeth, and real panic. I was worried for days and doubted myself at times. Now the worst was here, clawing at the city’s front door, and I wasn’t even sure I wanted to be right. All that mattered was getting Amber inside and hoping the locks still meant something.

We made it across the street, and I hooked a left, tugging Amber with me into a narrow side alley. Above us, the chop of a helicopter thundered low, echoing between brick walls. Somewhere nearby, gunshots popped in quick bursts, distant but getting closer. Amber’s breath came fast beside me. She squeezed my free hand tight, her grip almost bone-crushing. Somehow, she was staying strong even though someone who lacked empathy like me could tell she was scared out of her mind. Maybe she was holding it all together for me, or maybe this was really Amber.

"It's happening," she said, her voice barely audible above the noise. "Just like you said it would."

I didn't respond, my jaw clenching. There was no satisfaction in being right. Who wants to be right about predicting the apocalypse? What did that award look like? Here’s your ribbon, put it on your chest, and don’t get eaten by a zombie. All I could think about was getting back to our apartment, grabbing my gear, and making my way across town to Gabriel.

I still had to worry about Connor. He wasn’t going to let me take my brother, and he’d already threatened. I didn’t want to hurt the guy, but he wasn’t going to keep me from taking Gabriel with me and Amber.

We rounded the last corner, and the building finally came into view. I picked up the pace, half-dragging Amber behind me. A few more steps and we’d be through the door, away from the mess outside.

A man sat slumped against the wall by the entrance, clutching his forearm. Blood dripped down onto the sidewalk, pooling near his shoes. I saw the wound as we passed him. A chunk of flesh had been torn away from the muscle, skin ragged and already starting to swell around the edges. My gut twisted. I knew exactly what that bite meant, even if he didn’t. Part of me wanted to ask questions. How long ago were you bitten? How do you feel? Are you experiencing any side effects? I wasn’t going to do that though.

We slipped inside the lobby, and the too-bright overhead lights blinded me for a second. The security guards were finishing up, keys and radios clattering on the desk as they hurried to lock up. The older woman looked up at us, eyes wide. .

The older woman at the desk looked up. Her voice came out rushing like she’d just sprinted up three flights. “You two made it just in time. We’re locking up in a minute. After that, you’re on your own with the key fobs.”

Her long nails tapped an impatient rhythm against the desk as she checked her watch. She kept glancing at the front door, like the city might break through at any moment. For a second, I almost offered to walk her out, but I reminded myself I could barely keep Amber and myself together.

All I could do was offer what I thought looked like a reassuring smile. “You got someone waiting on you

“My son,” she said, barely looking up as she shoved papers into a faded purse. “He hates when I’m late. With all this going on? I told him to keep the doors locked and stay away from the windows.”

I nodded. “That’s good advice. If I were you, I’d make a run for it and don’t stop. Tonight’s not the night to trust anybody in this city, especially if they look friendly. And aim for the head. You probably don’t know what I mean, but you will.”

She barked a quick laugh that came out more like a cough. “Okay, whatever that means. You two stay safe up there.”

I watched her hustle out from behind the desk, her keys rattling, shoes squeaking on the tile. The doors rattled as she pulled them shut. The other guard, a middle-aged man whom I had barely noticed, was already lowering the security gate over the front entrance. The metal groaned as it slid into place.

For a moment, the lobby felt empty and too bright, like we were already the last two people in the world. I glanced at Amber, whose knuckles were white around the straps of her bag.

We headed for the elevator, and I tried not to think about how flimsy the building suddenly seemed against everything outside.

Amber and I waited for the elevator, my finger hammering the button. My neck muscles felt like stretched cables. Suddenly, hands rattled the gate over the front door. I spun around. There was a woman outside, palms spread flat, her face twisted with panic.

Her skin looked pale yellow under the lobby lights, with blotchy green stains crawling up her neck. She tried mouthing something, but I couldn’t hear anything through the glass. I knew the signs. One look and I felt my stomach sink. Infected. A live one, right on our doorstep.

Amber looked back and shrieked. She put her hand to her mouth like she could suddenly force back any more screams. The elevator dinged, the doors sliding open. We stepped inside, my heart pounding as I watched the woman chewing on one of the bars of the gate. The elevator doors closed, but not before one last look at her pair of dead eyes.

The elevator hummed as it hauled us up. The cramped box rattled a little, and the fluorescent light overhead buzzed, making my nerves itch. It almost felt safe in here, but I knew it was just a trick of closed doors and bad lighting.

Amber pressed herself against the wall, arms wrapped around her stomach. Her hands shook, and she stared at the floor like she was trying to keep her feet from floating away. There were no tears. She looked emptied out, like all the grief in her had burned off and left nothing but smoke.

I pulled her against me. She didn’t resist and sagged into my chest, breathing shallow and fast. I stroked her back, the way you calm down a dog that’s heard too much thunder.

“We’re getting through this,” I said. “Whatever comes next, I’ve got you.”

She nodded against my chest, breathing in a small, broken sound. I held her tighter. There wasn’t a damn thing I could do to erase what she’d just seen. I wished I could pull that memory right out of her head, but all I had was an awkward hug and a couple of useless words.

For me, losing my father was different. I never saw his body, never stood in a room still heavy with the smell of blood and cologne. Amber just got the worst version of goodbye. I couldn’t imagine it. And, knowing myself, I probably wouldn’t handle it half as well as she was right now.

It was the longest elevator ride in the history of man. I was never good with feelings, especially someone else’s. I wanted to help Amber, but the only thing my brain coughed up was the one truth rattling around in my head.

“You know, Amber, I’ve been in love with you for a while now.”

She made a choking sound against my chest, then shoved herself away from me. “Are you fucking serious?”

I blinked. “What?”

She jammed both hands into my chest, shoving me back into the elevator wall so hard my shoulder bounced off the handrail. “My father just died, the city’s turning into a horror movie, and that’s what you want to say?”

I held up my hands. Yeah, not the best timing. But it’s all I could think of. Sometimes I’m a real idiot when it comes to comfort.

“Sorry, I…”

She just stared at me. I stared back. My tongue felt like sandpaper. The elevator doors finally opened with a ding that sounded like a mercy killing.

We stepped out, and Amber jaunted ahead of me as we hurried towards my apartment. She likely wasn’t thinking about her predicament anymore, so maybe that was a win for me.

I unlocked the door with shaking hands, ushering her inside before locking it behind us.

Inside the apartment, I went straight to the closet and grabbed my backpack. I started shoving in everything that made sense. My knife went in first, then the first aid kit, a box of protein bars, water bottles, and a flashlight. I checked my Glock and dropped in two extra magazines, then stuffed every bill of cash I had left into a side pocket. Money probably wasn’t going to matter for long, but it would motivate people long enough for me to run out.

I glanced at Amber. She still hadn’t moved, just standing there with her arms hugging her chest, eyes lost somewhere on the wall. Or she could have been staring at a bug for all I know.

“We need to move,” I said, keeping my voice as calm as I could. “After I’m done, we can go to your apartment. Pack light: clothes, meds, and anything you can’t live without. We’re grabbing Gabriel and getting out before dark.”

She wiped her face, nodded. “For what it’s worth, I love you too.”

I paused in my packing, crossing the room to take her hands in mine. "I know this is hard," I said, looking into her eyes. "But we're going to make it through this. I promise."

She looked up at me. “I just told you I love you.”

“I heard you. Thank you.”

She tilted her head to the side like she was trying to figure me out. Good luck with that, baby. Then she squeezed my hands.  “I’m going across the hall. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

As she started to pull away, I pulled her back into my arms. “Do you need me to go with you?”

She shook her head. “No, do what you have to do. I’ll be fine. I have no choice right now. We have to go.”

I kissed her hard on the lips. Our teeth clicked, and she pulled back with a laugh and rubbed her mouth. “A little aggressive there.”

“Sorry,” is all I could say.

Amber kissed my cheek and left my apartment. Once the door shut behind Amber, I just stood there. An image flashed in my mind of that infected man’s face, or what was left of it, after Amber stabbed him with a knife. His body hit the floor in a heap, twitching once before going still. Before that, he had survived two bullet shots and multiple hits to the body. He felt no pain and just kept coming. That’s what we were up against.

I turned back to my bag, grabbing at whatever survival gear was left. Into my bag I showed socks, matches, paracord, a water filter, and batteries. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I heard my drill sergeant’s voice telling me to keep it tight, check every pocket, think ahead. I should have done more thinking ahead. Maybe if I’d finished Special Forces, I’d have more answers right now. Or maybe I’d just have a better way to die.

How was I going to keep it all together? I barely killed that man in the house, and I had Amber’s help. In all fairness, she killed him (and we still hadn’t talked about it). What if he bit me? It would have all been over, and Amber and Gabriel would be on their own. I had to be smarter, faster, and more decisive. I had already allowed myself to wait too long to get Gabriel and get out of the city, and now I had to rush. Dr. Cohen had given me the benefit of days ahead of this mess, and I squandered it. If I had followed my gut, Gabriel and Amber would be with me outside the city. We’d all be safe, away from the the infected. While I was trying to figure out if this virus was the real thing, I let myself waste time. Now, here we are, facing a city filled with people rising from the dead.

My phone buzzed, yanking me out of my head. Jack O’Connor’s name flashed across the screen. I answered and didn’t have a chance to say hello.

“I can’t believe what’s happening,” Jack shouted. “Some lunatic smashed our window and started attacking people.”

“Are you and Emily okay?”

The wait felt like sitting in a foxhole, counting seconds. Finally, another buzz.

“We’re fine. Rahim shot the guy. We closed up the store. I’m heading to my cabin in the Poconos. You should make your way there if things get worse.”

I stared at the screen, running through my mental map of Pennsylvania. Jack’s cabin was remote, probably stocked with everything in a prepper's wet dream. If Jack was thinking bug-out, it meant he knew just how deep in the shit we already were.

"Thanks, Jack. I'll definitely keep that in mind. Stay safe out there."

I put the phone down, and my thoughts spun. Jack’s cabin sounded like a real option. It was the kind of place where you could hear someone coming before they got within a hundred yards. The city, for all its noise and bodies, was starting to feel like a steel trap.

But I shoved the idea to the back for now.

When it came to the firepower, I slowed down, double-checking every weapon and every round. The Remington 870 shotgun, flashlight attached to the fore-end, fit snug in the big duffel, barrel wrapped in a towel. The Ruger AR-556 got broken down and slid in next to it, with two mags taped together for quick swaps. The Smith & Wesson .357 Magnum rode in a heavy holster at my belt, its grip worn smooth. My Glock 17 fit perfectly under my left arm. The Sig P226, another insurance policy, rode in a boot holster, hidden beneath the cuff of my jeans.

I looked around the apartment one last time, counting what I’d miss. Nothing made the cut. Home wasn’t a place anymore.

I did one last sweep of the apartment and stopped in front of my Gibson J-45, propped up next to the bookshelf. That guitar had seen more of my life than most people ever would. I’d played it during sleepless nights, crappy birthdays, breakups, and every time I thought I was losing my mind. It never let me down. I wasn’t about to leave it for some looter with sticky fingers and bad taste in music.

I lifted the guitar, feeling the familiar curve of the wood. The surface was worn smooth from years of playing, but the body was still solid. I slung the strap over my shoulder and across my back, fitting the neck just so, making sure it wouldn’t bang into the Remington or get tangled with the bag straps. The weight was comforting, almost like having an old friend at my back.

I stepped into the hallway and locked the door, the keys cold in my hand, then shoved them deep in my pocket. The pack was heavy, my gear digging into both shoulders, and the guitar rode a little awkwardly on top. I muttered under my breath, “If I get jumped by a zombie carrying all this crap, I deserve to be lunch.”

continue to chapter 8