Z Day is Here (3 page)

The house is blessedly quiet. I will checkout
the house more tomorrow. As for me, tonight I am going to take a
shower and sleep more.

Good night, Eliza, Mike, Darrell, and Reggie.
May God tuck you away into His loving arms. You will all be
missed.

The swelling in my ankle has gone down quite
a bit since last night. I soaked it in cold water for most of the
night and most of today. There hasn't been any action today, thank
God. I wandered through the house today, looking through drawers
and cabinets. You really learn about a family when you have full
access to their stuff. It appears a Bill and Becky Allen owned this
place. They had two children, both girls, looks like a newborn and
a pre-teen. Judging by the amount of blood I found in the kitchen
area and in the swimming pool, I doubt any of them survived the
first wave of flesh eaters. Bill was a doctor, from what I can
tell, a heart surgeon. Since there was a newborn baby in one of the
photos in the living room, I am guessing Becky was at home with the
kids most of the time. Wild scenarios danced through my head about
how the family must have fought off the killers, desperately
struggling to save their children, each of them happy to take the
place of their girls. Bill would have taken out two of them while
Becky screamed and cried in the corner, sheltering her new baby,
pleading with the monsters as they violently ripped the squalling
child from her arms. What horror it must have been watching their
pre-teen baby girl devoured before their eyes, knowing there was
nothing they could do. Bill and Becky had probably both become
freshly turned zombies, happy to die so they could be a family
again, unable to do so thanks to the fresh virus now turning these
high-class millionaires into brain-eating morons. Life is cruel.
The undead are even crueler.

I swear I will not allow myself to be one of
them. I can't. My God, what if I became a zombie and found my love
Darcy hiding in a corner? Would I eat her? Could I? What if she was
a zombie already? Could I bash her skull in? Should I even attempt
to find her?

I think I am going crazy. Everyone around me
is dead or undead. The living are going insane, like me. Can I
continue to survive like this? Do I want to survive like this? The
doctor has pills. I could take just a handful, and this would be
all over. You are my only friends, and I know none of you. Maybe
this is the end for m

Someone is here!

It's Dr. Allen...

Death is all around me. Two weeks ago, I was
nothing more than a networking engineer. Now, I am a harbinger of
death. I have killed zombies, and now I have killed a living
breathing human—the twisted fuck that he may have been, he was
still alive before he got home.

I heard a loud bang and someone whistling
some old song I could vaguely remember my grandfather whistling
when I was a child. He was walking through the house as if he had
not a care in the world. He walked right into the kitchen, not even
glancing at the blood-splattered floor, walls, and cabinets. He
opened the refrigerator door, got out some items, and sat down to
make himself a sandwich! I sat in the hall closet watching this man
eat a sandwich while being surrounded by the blood of his family. I
watched as he finished his sandwich, walked out the back door, and
made his way to the tool shed in the back yard.

When he reemerged from the shed, I was in
complete disbelief! He walked out with his wife. Only she wasn't
the same as she’d been in the pictures hung so neatly on the wall.
She was now one of the undead! She was missing her arms and most of
her midsection. I couldn't be sure, but I could swear I saw her
spine through what was once her stomach. He had her on a leash with
a ball gag in her mouth.

He brought her inside, chained her to the
refrigerator, and pulled his chair up next to her. I could just
barely make out what he was saying, but from what I could hear, the
conversation (although one sided) went something like,
"Becky?...Becky?" She did not respond, so he punched her directly
in the face. "Now Becky, I told you when I call your name, you
better listen to me! … I hate seeing you suffer. Ha, ha, ha, okay,
actually, I love seeing you suffer, you nasty bitch." He again
punched her in the face. She did not respond. "Well, honey,
unfortunately the children weren't as lucky as you. They were torn
to pieces when I threw them to those beasts. So sadly, it is just
you and me."

When I heard this, I recoiled in horror. How
could he have fed his own children to the zombies? I could not let
him get away with this. I wouldn't be able to live with the
knowledge.

I crept out of the closet and made my way to
the "good" doctor’s office. Looking around, I found a baseball bat
signed by Chipper Jones hanging in a nice glass case on the wall. I
grabbed the bat and headed to the kitchen.

He was gone!

"Who the hell are you?" I heard this as he
came up behind me. I spun around and smacked him in the head with
the bat, as hard as I could. I didn't ask questions; I didn't allow
him to explain. I just simply hit him. He fell to the ground the
ground, dropping a plastic bag full of something that appeared to
be chunks of flesh—no doubt one of his children.

He was not moving and just barely breathing.
When I’d struck him, I’d removed a good portion of his scalp. I
struck him again, and this time, he stopped breathing altogether. I
searched his body and found car keys.

I then walked into the kitchen and allowed
Becky to follow her husband.

I glanced outside to see a brand new, shiny
SUV sitting in the driveway. I will leave this cursed house
tonight! Darcy, if you are still alive, I am coming for you.

Fate or luck? After a week of pure hell, it
looks like things are looking a little better…for now.

Yesterday, I got in the SUV, my first time in
a vehicle since the attack. God, it was great to be driving again.
The roads were in bad shape. Cars were parked in the middle of the
road or in someone’s house. There were cars with busted-out
windows; no doubt the owners had been dragged out and eaten alive.
I also passed by hordes of zombies. The numbers have gotten much
larger since the first wave of them. They are all ages and all
sizes. They are indiscriminate on who they choose to devour. There
were toddlers walking or limping down the road. Instead of a teddy
bear hanging from their tiny hands, they were carrying a severed
hand or foot. There were elderly men and women; there were
supermodels and bums. I saw a man in a business suit fighting with
a woman in a KFC uniform over the body of what appeared to be a
middle-aged man.

I was getting closer to my house. I’m still
quite a few miles away, but I’m closer than I was this time the day
before. The interstates were completely shut down, so I was forced
to take back roads.

I passed neighborhoods that were barricaded,
armed gunmen keeping a close watch. I am living in a war zone. How
has this happened? How long can we keep this up? The power has to
go off at some point. The phones are all down, and cell phones are
useless. We will soon be forced back to the Middle Ages. This much
destruction after only a week! What will it look like after a month
or a year?

While driving, my mind wandered to far-off
places. I never noticed the gas light flashing red, warning me that
I would soon be walking. I noticed it about two seconds before the
car stalled. It would not crank back up. Well, it was good while it
lasted. I grabbed my bat and the few supplies I had packed before I
left the house and hit the ground running. After less than a mile,
my ankle had swollen back to the size of a grapefruit. To my left
was a group of the undead. They had not spotted me yet. It was only
a matter of time until they smelled my living organs.

I felt the cold hands brush against my neck
and the hands cover my mouth. As I turned, I saw a kid that
couldn’t have been a day over fifteen. He was motioning me to
follow but be quiet. I followed, not knowing what I was getting
into but knowing I had no choice. The boy led me back to a large
house that was more like an encampment or a fortress. There was a
large brick wall surrounding the house, with barbed wire around the
top. We came to a large metal door. Metal spikes stuck out of the
door, waiting to impale anyone stupid enough to come close. I was
reminded of the last Mad Max movie. The boy whistled, and the metal
door creaked open very slightly, just enough for us to get inside,
then instantly closed behind us. Once inside, we were surrounded by
a group of teenagers and a woman who appeared to be mid- to
late-thirties. Her name was Deanna. The boy who saved me was named
Cole. He was her son. The others were friends of his who had been
spending the night when the shit hit the fan. They found this old
house with the large wall around it and made it their own.

Not much has happened since I got here. I did
sleep pretty well last night, and Deanna made some good soup, so I
have a full stomach again. I am not sure how long I will stay here,
but here is safer than out there. They do patrols every hour and
monitor the parameter constantly. I feel safe here. They are all
very optimistic of the future, which is exactly what I need right
now.

Has fate finally come to my rescue, or is it
just luck? Either way, I will enjoy it as long as I can.

The moaning! The undead constantly bang on
the outside walls. And then there’s the constant moaning! All night
and all day today, all I’ve heard is the low, painful moaning. They
never shut up. I hate them. I hate them all. Okay, I've got to get
a grip, have to calm down. I couldn't sleep because of the noise,
between the moaning of those bastards and the constant whining of
the teenagers. I can't help but laugh. It kind of feels like I'm at
a My Chemical Romance concert. Oh, the horrors they have seen,
waaaa, blah, blah, blah. They know nothing of pain. They have never
had to deal with the IRS!

When the outbreak started, they were spending
the night with that Cole kid, having a birthday party. Then they
found this place. They haven't had to kill their supervisor and
watch people get mauled right before their eyes. They haven't been
pulled out of a window, nor have they had to beat a man to death.
How can I live with myself? He was a living, breathing human. He
was one of us. Who made me judge, jury, and executioner? They know
nothing about pain and heartbreak and guilt.

I woke up to moaning and crying this morning
after about an hour of sleep. When I walked out of the room I’d
been “issued,” it was bright outside. Most of the kids were huddled
up, discussing the plan for the day with Deanna. Off to the side,
there were two kids, twins, holding each other and crying. That’s
when I noticed something that will forever haunt me for the rest of
my life.

Propped up against a wall, blood-smeared and
sweaty, was a little girl, holding a newborn. It was Dr. Allen's
children! He had not killed his children to feed them to his wife.
He had found this place, a safe place for his children, and went
back to be with his wife. He loved his wife so much he could not
stand losing her. What have I done? I have now taken these girls’
mother and father. I am evil. But I didn't know. How could I?

I have to leave this place. I don't deserve
to live. I am sorry, Darcy. If you’re still alive, I love you.

I am going out the gates.

Rain.

Rain has a way of washing away the old and
dirty and making it look nice and clean. Special people also have
that ability.

Yesterday, I was all set to walk out the
front gates and end my miserable life. I would let the undead do
their worst to me, because I felt I deserved it. I was set and
ready. I had made peace with God. I’d reached the front gate and
had my hand on the latch that would deliver me to certain death
when it started raining. Not just a slight rain. A monsoon came
from the sky. I paused just long enough for Deanna to see me. She
came running out into the rain, grabbing me by the arm, and began
pulling me back to the house. I stopped her just short of the front
porch. Right there, standing in the pouring rain, I broke down. I
was sobbing and confessing my sins to a complete stranger. She
never tried to stop me, not that she could. I had things I had to
say to someone. I told her of all I had done and what I was
planning. She just looked at me, frowned, and hugged me. There in
the pouring rain, we cried together.

We walked back to the house hand in hand.

As we reached the front porch, someone
screamed right outside the outer wall. We all ran to the front
gate, weapons in hand and ready to strike. As we pulled open the
gate, one of the kids came running in, covered in blood and very
pale. We slammed the gate shut as five zombies descended on us. One
of the ghouls got his arm through just as we were slamming it shut.
The arm was severed just below the elbow. No one stopped to look at
the arm. No one even watched it as it crawled across the ground,
aimlessly wandering around looking for its owner or its next
victim. Instead, we all stared in disbelief as one of our own stood
before us in the rain with a fresh chunk of flesh taken out of his
arm. He was infected. He was fourteen years old. He was Cole's best
friend.

How long now? How long before we must kill
this young boy?

This time, I curse the rain.

Stupid kids. A rumor went around about how we
were going to kill the kid that got bitten. Cole decided he
couldn't let his friend die, so they both ran off. I am gathering
some supplies to go out looking for them. Stupid kids. I'm only
doing this because Deanna has threatened to go out herself. She
saved my life, and now I have to save hers. I have to get to them
before the zombies do or before Cole's little friend turns into
one. Either way, I am sure I will have good stories when I get
back—if I get back. Wish me luck.