Authors: Brad Knight
Nano Z
Nano Z
by Brad Knight
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2014.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in book reviews.
Table of Contents
: Outbreak
Twenty two years. Twenty two goddamn years in that place. Doesn’t that mean anything?
Mack Ericsson stared at the generic patterns on the Homestead Diner counter. It was a sickly yellow color, completely unappetizing. Not that he was particularly hungry an hour after losing his job.
The other diners at the Homestead put a stool between them and Mack, on both sides. He didn’t smell or anything. At least not like bad body odor. In that part of Dallas, a surprising number of people reek of liquor.
All the other diners were scared of Mack because of his appearance. The man was large. Perhaps it was his Scandinavian heritage. But he was of unusual size. And very little of his substantial mass was fat.
I can’t be mad at Mr. Thompson. Isn’t his fault. He had to let me go. I suppose there isn’t much use for a prepress technician at an online magazine.
“Can I get you anything darling?” Mack heard a young woman’s voice. He looked up and saw its source. There was a petite teen on the other side of the counter, couldn’t have been any older than eighteen. She was chewing gum and staring at him.
“What?”
“To eat? Or maybe just some coffee? It’s just… you’ve been here a while sir and haven’t ordered anything.”
How long have I been sitting here?
“You guys got burgers right?”
The young waitress smiled. Her perfectly white teeth stood out against her rich crimson lipstick. Mack found his eyes transfixed on them.
“How would you like it cooked?” asked the waitress. She turned her head away slightly. Mack was making her uncomfortable.
“Well done I guess.”
“Fries?”
“Sure. Why not?”
After taking Mack’s order, the waitress walked away. Suddenly a cloud of weed smoke plopped down in the stool next to him. When he glanced over he saw an unshaven young man with a Rasta lion printed on his t-shirt and a green bead bracelet. He had his smartphone in his hands.
“Shit’s crazy huh?” commented the stoner next to Mack.
Mack looked over at the clearly high young man next to him. He didn’t say anything. Instead he stared at him for a few seconds then back at the counter.
“Names Derrick,” said the young man. There was no accent to his voice. Like many of the kids in Dallas, he must’ve been a transplant. One of his hands was extended for Mack to shake.
Can’t leave him hanging.
“Mack,” answered Mack as he shook Derrick’s hand. It was clammy and unpleasant.
“So Mack, have you seen the news?” asked Derrick.
“No,” Mack turned his attention back to the counter.
“Check this out,” Derrick slid his phone across the counter. It stopped in front of Mack.
There was a paused video on Derrick’s smart phone. Judging from all the grass and the view of downtown, it looked like Trinity River Greenbelt Park. There was a bunch of people there. They had signs. Must’ve been protesters of some sort.
“What’s this?”
“Press play,” urged Derrick. The young waitress came over to him to take his order. He wanted a roast beef sandwich. Once she got the order she walked away again.
“What is it?”
“Play it Mack. It’s some crazy shit. Took the video myself.” Derrick started gulping down the glass of ice water in front of him.
Mack press the triangular play icon on the middle of the smartphone’s screen. Like most videos captured by phone camera, it was shaky. To make it worse, it was captured in portrait mode. The sound was all blown out. He could barely see what was happening.
“I took it at the weed legalization rally down at the Greenbelt. There was almost four hundred people there. It was nuts.”
“Why am I watching this?”
“Just keep watching man. Things get… interesting.”
Mack could make out somebody talking on a megaphone. They were talking nonsense about marijuana legalization. Then there was screaming. At first it sounded like just a couple of women. That quickly snowballed into about four hundred people.
Following the screaming, the video got shakier. But Mack caught glimpses. People at the rally were attacking each other. And they were making an ungodly noise. It didn’t sound human.
Mack heard Derrick’s voice in the video. He was clearly scared. The camera turned its view from the crowd of panicking people to the Trinity River in the distance. Bubbles were forming on the surface, like it was boiling.
“When was this?” asked Mack. When the video ended he slid the phone back to Derrick, who just received his sandwich.
“About an hour ago.” Derrick took a big bite.
“And I’m just supposed to believe this is real? I don’t even know you. Why should I believe you?”
“First of all, you do know me,” answered Derrick with a mouth full of roast beef and rye bread. “I’m Derrick, you are Mack. Secondly, it’s been all over the news. Hell, look around. Nobody can take their eyes off of the TV.”
Mack turned around in his stool. Derrick was right. Everyone in the Homestead Diner was intently watching the three televisions on the walls. They were all tuned to the news.
There were reporters at the park. Behind them were battalions of police officers dressed for war. Underneath the babbling newspeople were scrolling orders for Dallas residents to stay out of the downtown area.
You’ve got to be kidding me. My life goes to shit and now the world follows?
“I’m at the rally, right. It was great. That band “Roach” was there. Everything was awesome. Then there was this screaming. Sounded like something out of a damn horror movie. The whole park turned into a stampede.”
Derrick finished his sandwich.
“That it?” asked Mack.
Derrick wiped his mouth with his napkin. He swallowed that last bit of his meal then continued. “I saw one of them. They looked like people, but not really.”
“Look, Derrick. Maybe I’m not in the right state of mind to follow. But what the hell are you talking about, ‘they look like people but not really’.” Even a patient man like Mack had his limits.
“I dunno man, they just looked different. They started attacking people left and right. It was some brutal stuff man. And the more people they attacked, more started acting like them. Before I knew it the whole damn park was filled with the savages. So I ran.”
Where’s my burger?
“What about the river?”
“Oh, yeah, that. I almost forgot. The whole thing was boiling. Don’t ask me how or why. As you might imagine, the river was the least of my concerns. I needed to get the hell out of there.”
The young waitress served Mack his burger. He thanked her then kept interacting with his new friend.
“Why’d you come here? If I were you I would’ve left the city or locked myself in my apartment.”
“I just wanted my favorite food from my favorite joint before leaving. Besides, have you seen it out there? It’s gridlocked on all the roads. Buses ain’t moving man. I walked here. There’s no way I’m walking out the city.”
You may be the weirdest man I’ve ever met.
“Why tell me?”
“You sure do ask a lot of questions Mack.”
Mack stared at Derrick waiting for an answer.
“You looked lonely and kind of bummed out. Anyway, you’re alone, I’m alone. I figured we’d stand a better chance together you know?”
“Sorry Derrick but I’m not going anywhere. With you or otherwise.”
What was that?
From outside the glass windows of the diner, Mack could hear the faint sound of screaming. He wasn’t the only one. The patrons of the Homestead heard it too. Some of them got up and looked out to see where it was coming from.
“Ah, shit. They’re here. Time to go Mack. You with me or not?”
Mack didn’t answer. He got up and followed Derrick to the front doors. Without looking he took a twenty out of his wallet and threw it on the counter as he walked away.
The scene outside the Homestead Diner was almost as chaotic as Derrick’s cellphone video. Just past the parking lot was the interstate that was packed with cars. None of them were moving. There was a lot of honking and frustration but the traffic jam was beyond fixing. Some drivers were outside their vehicles trying to see what was causing the hold up.
Looks like I’m walking too. First I have to cross that. Any other day that would be suicide.
Mack walked down the handful of stairs that led up to the Homestead’s front doors and continued into the parking lot.
I-23 was the long six lane road that bisected a stretch of restaurants, gas stations, hotels and stores near the Dallas city limits. The two sides of the interstate were divided by cement with a dark green chain link fence. Mack needed to get to the other side. His apartment building was about a mile away in that direction. There, in a shelf in his nightstand was a .45 and a box of bullets. On top of it was his much needed heart medicine.
Suddenly there was a loud explosion. Mack and Derrick could both see an orange reflection on the windshields of the cars in the Homestead parking lot. Seconds later they could feel a wave of heat as it rolled down I-23.
Along with everyone stuck on the interstate and those inside the numerous establishments along it, Mack and Derrick stared at the fireball rising into the Dallas night sky. It was from what was once a gas station. Then there was a loud screeching noise. That was followed by another and another until the sounds of people were drowned out.
“I know that noise Mack. We need to leave, now!” Derrick’s eyes were huge. As he talked he slowly started backing away in the opposite direction of the explosion.
All the excitement made Mack a little lightheaded. His beleaguered heart was pumping hard. He needed his meds. And judging by how quickly the city seemed to be going to hell, a gun would also be nice.
“I need to go back to my place,” said Mack after his body gave him a reminder of his priorities.
Derrick cocked his head to the side and raised one eyebrow. “What? Whatever man, I’m out of here. You either come with me and maybe we live, or you can go home and probably die. Or maybe you’ll turn into one of those things.”
“Bye Derrick,” replied Mack. His new friend sighed, shrugged then ran the other way.
So much for our budding friendship. Time to go home.
Mack hopped over the concrete barrier that bordered I-23.
Mack had trouble making progress across the interstate. It was clogged with people heading the same direction as Derrick. Families got out of their cars. Assholes pushed their way past the old and slow. All this while he was trying to go sideways against the tide of fleeing humanity.
Don’t look. Don’t do it. You want to, but you shouldn’t.
Mack couldn’t help himself. He stopped and looked back towards the explosion. Against the still raging fire he couldn’t make out many details. But it was clear that something wasn’t right.
Dozens of twisted silhouettes quickly approached Mack as he stood staring and stunned. They had two arms, two legs and a head upon their necks. But their movements weren’t right. It was if they weren’t in control of their bodies. From car to car they grabbed anyone too scared or stupid to run away.
They’re like meat puppets.
Mack was mesmerized by their flailing arms and jerky random steps. He was snapped out of it when he saw one of the puppets grab an innocent woman and bite into her neck like it was Derrick’s roast beef sandwich.
“Jesus Christ!” Mack’s felt his feet move backwards on their own. A lack of coordination and lack of attention as to what he doing made him trip over them.
One of the meat puppets noticed Mack’s fall. It was a woman, or at least it was once a woman. Her head violently jerked from one side to the other. A bone chilling screech came out of her distended mouth. Then she stumbled towards him with surprising speed.
Mack scrambled backwards while still on his rear end. His eyes never left the advancing meat puppet. He came to a stop as he ran into what felt like someone’s shins. Two loud bangs from above were accompanied by the puppet’s head practically exploding. Tar like black blood and brains cascaded across the interstate. Hot shell casings fell onto his uncovered forearms. That pain was enough for him to regain his senses and look up.
Above Mack was a rotund middle aged woman holding a large caliber pistol. She looked down at him, and they locked eyes.
“Thank you.”
“Stop lookin like a possum in headlights and get up!” yelled the woman as she began to run the other way.
Mack took his mystery hero’s advice and got up. More of the meat puppets were coming. Every foot closer they got, their numbers swelled. He had to move.
The divider was still a lane away. Mack hurried towards it. There would be no hopping it. He’d have to climb.
The last time Mack scaled a chain link fence was in 1978. The public pool used to close at sundown. His brother convinced him to break in so they could go swimming at night. It was a bad idea. Within minutes of climbing over the fence, they saw flashlights and bolted.
Mack could remember that fear of being caught back in the summer of '78. And it was similar, but much tamer, than the extreme fear he felt now as one of the meat puppets grabbed the leg of his jeans. He was on top of the fence, straddling it. The puppet had a firm grip just above his ankle.