Apocalypse Z: The Beginning of the End (11 page)

I climbed back up the rope and went home. I’m sober now, lying on the sofa in the dark, listening to the steady blows against my gate. I feel a dull, pulsating hangover coming on. I’ll try to get some sleep. Tomorrow I’ll go in that house and come up with some kind of a plan. I’ve got to get out of here.

I’m sitting in the hammock in my backyard. The last rays of the cold winter sun are falling on this small rectangle of grass,
warming my bones a little. Lucullus is napping contentedly in my lap, dreaming whatever cats dream about. It’s the most peaceful time I’ve spent in weeks. That’s the truth. If it weren’t for those things howling and pounding on the gate, I’d think it was a quiet Sunday afternoon. I almost feel like fixing hot chocolate and watching a movie. Unfortunately, it isn’t Sunday afternoon, and my neighbors are among the undead out there, eager to kill me. Plus I’ve been out of milk for two weeks. Life sucks.

I slept until almost noon, recovering from my hangover. When I got up, I fixed myself a regal breakfast of a couple of cups of strong coffee and a bowl of beans out of a can and mayonnaise. My diet has become so monotonous over the last few days.

Today I have to face several problems. First, the soldier’s body lying in front of the door. He’s been decomposing all week, and he’s starting to smell really bad. If I don’t do something, it could make me sick.

I locked Lucullus up in my bedroom. All I needed was for him to jump on the body and then lick himself. After I wrapped the body in plastic, I dragged it out to the backyard, trying to keep from retching. The smell it left in the foyer, hallway, and living room was indescribable. I considered dousing the body with gas out of the lawn mower and setting it on fire, but that grisly idea made me stop and think. I don’t know whether those things can smell or how well they can see. If they can see, then a column of smoke rising in a clear blue sky would draw them in droves. My only choice was to bury him in the backyard.

Resigning myself, I set to work digging a shallow grave in the corner of the yard, next to the barbecue pit. The ground was soft and muddy, so it was easy. I used a small spade, the only garden tool I could find. I slid the body into the hole and covered it. Then, dirty and sweaty, I sat down next to the mound. I lit a cigarette and considered the irony of the situation. This humble grave digging
in my backyard was probably the most luxurious funeral held for weeks. Maybe the only one.

I threw the butt on the ground and went back inside. I washed up a little, wincing at the freezing cold water, then fixed some food for Lucullus and me. Today, more canned food. I’m down to canned sardines. That goofy cat is thrilled with this diet.

I got everything ready for the toughest task of the day. I pulled on my wetsuit and checked my speargun. I only had the three spears left. The fourth one was in my hapless neighbor’s head. I didn’t even have the umbrella handle; I’d left it lying on the street when I killed one of those monsters. The soldier’s gun was my last line of defense.

The Glock felt huge and dangerous in my hand. I still wasn’t sure how to use it, but at least I’d identified its parts: trigger, safety, magazine release, etc. It was loaded, but I’d try not to use it. I knew what those things did when they heard a noise. If I shot the gun, I might take out a few, but the noise would draw dozens more in minutes. I’d save it for another time.

After saying every prayer I knew, I climbed the ladder back over the wall and eased down into Miguel’s backyard. Everything was the way I’d left it. His body was still in the corner, in a gray heap, wrapped in plastic. Warily, I went over to him, gave a couple of tugs, and pulled the spear out of his head. I must be getting desensitized because this time I didn’t throw up. Interesting. If I survive long enough, I could become a textbook psychopath.

I left the spear on the grass and carefully walked toward the house. It was still dark and silent. I grabbed the doorknob and tried to turn it. Locked. I should have known. I’d have to go in the way Miguel came out yesterday—through the window. I slipped inside, careful not to cut myself on the blood-soaked glass. It was a disgusting scene. The damn dog, or what was left of him, was lying in a corner, ripped to shreds. He looked like he’d been
attacked by wolves. The dog must’ve been concerned and gone over to his dying master, only to find he’d turned into a ruthless predator that tore him to pieces in seconds. Life’s a bitch.

I quickly checked the house. I wasn’t going to make that mistake again. It was empty and safe. None of those monsters had gotten in. The front door was armor-plated. They could beat on it for centuries, and it wouldn’t budge. I went upstairs and glanced out the window. I could see the entire street and two cars parked out front. One was a delivery van with the logo of Miguel’s company on the side. The other was a Mercedes, also Miguel’s; the door on the driver’s side was hanging open. There was blood on the upholstery and a corpse lying next to the car. Another one was not far away, lying halfway between the front door and the car. Miguel must have brushed against them. That’s what cost him his life.

After I’d checked out the entire house, I breathed a sigh of relief. The size of my territory had doubled. What’s more, that street offered some interesting possibilities. I might be able to get out that way.

I grabbed a box of powerful painkillers off a table and went home. It’d be dark soon, and I hadn’t brought a flashlight. I didn’t want to wander around a strange house in the dark. I’ll come back tomorrow, when I can scavenge to my heart’s content. That’ll also give me time to come up with a plan.

It’s been days since I sat down to write in this journal. I’m really drained emotionally. Those monsters keep up their slow, steady pounding. They can’t knock the door down like that, but they’re
shattering my nerves. If I stay here much longer, I’ll be safe, but I’ll run out of food. And I’ll go insane. I need to come up with a plan—fast.

My sanity is the main reason I need to escape. Man’s a social animal. He needs to interact with other people. I haven’t spoken to another human, besides my neighbor, in weeks. I need to talk to someone. Pouring my heart out in this journal is therapeutic, it helps me let off steam—but it’s not enough. I talk to Lucullus as if he were human. Lately our “conversations” have been too frequent. That’s one more sign I need to leave.

I’m not using the solar panels and storage batteries in the basement correctly. They were designed to provide electricity in case of a power outage or if the voltage drops for a few hours, not to keep the electricity flowing all day. So it was probably inevitable that I would overload the system. At noon on Saturday, I turned on the microwave at the same time I was heating something up on the stove. The kitchen light was on, too. It was unforgivable; I wasn’t paying attention.

We take electricity for granted. I simply forgot I was using up the dwindling reserves in the basement. The batteries were very low, since I’d run the electricity all night to boil tap water. When I turned on the microwave, the voltage dipped and burned out the fucking microwave...and the motors of the freezers in the basement. All my frozen food thawed in a heartbeat. I buried the food next to my neighbor’s body, but not before stuffing myself with everything I could save.

My situation’s even graver now. I didn’t find anything special in my neighbor’s pantry—some canned food, pasta, a couple pounds of moldy potatoes, and dozens and dozens of packets of powdered soup, freeze-dried coffee creamer, and minute rice. The only good thing about powdered food is that it’s lightweight, so I can carry it in my backpack. But its nutritional value is
questionable, and I need to build my strength up. Not to mention its “delicious” flavor...

I didn’t find much else in the house. There were no weapons except a double-barreled Zavala shotgun. The only ammunition I found for it was lead pellets. They wouldn’t penetrate a human skull, not even at close range. You have to get very close to the target, and that’s too close when it comes to those things. Miguel could’ve attested to that, if he weren’t buried in the backyard. And it’s terribly loud. Still, I took it and the ammunition, fifteen pellets in all. You never know.

I tore the place apart looking for the keys to his boat. I don’t have a clear idea what I’ll do when I leave here. For now my plan is just to get out in one piece. I have no idea what to do after that. I can’t rule out the boat, no matter how dangerous and far-fetched that idea is. Then it dawned on me where the keys were: in the most logical place. With a sigh, I went back out in the yard and started digging up Miguel’s body. I’d just buried him four hours before. If this keeps up, I’ll become an expert gravedigger.

Burying a person is hard, but digging him up is harder. He appears little by little—first his hands, then his body...and that awful smell. And it hits you he’s really dead. Fighting the nausea, I checked the pockets of his overalls. There were his keys, along with his wallet and a bag of some white powder. Poor guy. He was a dick, but he didn’t deserve to end up like this. No one does.

I covered him up again and went back into his house. The best discovery I made was that the house used bottled gas to heat water. One of bottles was still full. After twenty days with no hot water, a bath sounded like a dream. I filled the tub to the brim, grabbed a good bottle of wine from my house, and soaked all Sunday afternoon in a huge cloud of steam. I’d earned it. I got the feeling it’d be a long time before I did that again. The next few weeks will be intense...if I live that long.

I’ve halfway figured out how to get out of here and not get eaten alive before I get past the front door. My plan still has a lot of loose ends, but I think they can be solved. I’ve had almost three days to relax, eat well, and build up my strength. Now it’s time to act.

It’s hard to decide what to take when you know you won’t be back for a long time. It’s even more complicated when your life depends on what you take. Any extras were out. I piled my survival kit, everything I considered essential, on the living room floor. I have a sixty-liter water-resistant backpack I used to take scuba diving. It still smells like the ocean and reminds me of all the good times I had with my wife. I also have a sleeping bag and the heavy coat I got off the dead soldier. I took my laptop, the shortwave radio, some clothes, an extra pair of shoes, and the freeze-dried food from Miguel’s house. I also threw in the army first-aid kit with the morphine, antibiotics, and analgesics; a five-liter jug of fresh water; a small toiletry bag; some photographs I couldn’t leave behind; a notebook and some pens; my camera; and all the batteries in the house. The backpack was filled to the top. In a smaller bag that clipped on to the backpack, I packed all the Glock and Zavala ammunition and a couple of flashlights. One of the flashlights was filled with xenon. I used to use it on night dives. It devours batteries, but it’s bright as a lighthouse. All that weighed a ton.

With all that weight, I moved at a snail’s pace. I had to carry all this to my escape vehicle. I knew that the key to my survival would be agility, but I couldn’t do without any of these things. On top of that, I had to carry the rifle, the pistol, and the speargun
slung across my chest, as well as a carrier with a frightened Persian cat inside. I’d only have one hand free to fight off those monsters. It was going to be awkward. I sure as shit couldn’t fight off a bunch of them.

Miguel’s street was full of those things. Two or three dozen of them wandered up and down, attracted by the shots from the other day. The scene from my window was disgusting. About thirty bodies with ghastly wounds, their clothes stiff with dry blood, swayed aimlessly in the road. A handful of them banged on my door. I saw no way to clear the street of those monsters so I could reach Miguel’s vehicles parked out front. There were too many of them, and they were too scattered for the clanging-bear strategy to work this time.

The scene on my street was slightly different. Out of the big group that had been milling around, I could only see four from my window. Most of them had gone to Miguel’s street the other day when they heard him shooting. That’s so ironic. I was getting a shot at survival, thanks to his pointless death. The four on my street were clustered around my front gate. I had to figure how to move them away from there. I thought I knew how to do it, but I’d only get one shot. If I failed, I was screwed.

Once everything was packed, I set the bags in the entranceway, next to the front gate. Lucullus was very nervous. It took a lot of scratching behind his ears and whispers to persuade him to get into his carrier. He’s never liked it. He always sits in the passenger seat. But I couldn’t risk carrying the cat in one arm with those things after us. Sorry, Lucullus. If those creatures caught me, it’d mean certain death for you, my little friend. You’d have no way to escape.

I pulled on the wetsuit and checked the three guns. I walked through the house one last time, my eyes gliding over everything that was so familiar. I might not ever see it again. My whole life was here. I was setting off for an unknown destination with no assurance I’d be alive in half an hour. It was crazy. My living room,
my kitchen, my study (I never painted it a color I really liked), the couch my little roommate scratched up. I went up to the attic in tears and looked around. I grabbed one of my wife’s old sweaters. When she died, I’d packed away all her things. Now I was abandoning them forever.

I wiped my tears and headed to the backyard to set my plan in motion. The next time I write in this journal I’ll describe what I did. If I don’t write any more...well, obviously, something went wrong and there’s a new undead walking around town in a wetsuit. But I won’t go down without a fight. I’m terrified—but I’m determined.

I’m alive. Exhausted, horrified, and in shock—but alive. Lucullus is fine too, even better than I am. We’ve taken refuge in a fairly safe place. I lost some supplies along the way, but I’m still battle-ready. My God, there are thousands of those things! I should write all about it right now, but I’m exhausted. I’ll write some more tomorrow, after I’ve gotten some rest.