MZS- North East Read online

  Why don’t I try planning the next hour? Step one, take a seat, planning is best done in comfort. Step two…

  I could use about six more beers and a good night’s sleep. Tomorrow I can start fresh and come up with a real plan.

  McLean

  Chapter 17

  This is what I get for relying on guys.

  These four idiots drove a stolen Humvee into a city they think is about to be hit with a nuclear weapon, but have no plans for getting out. If I wasn’t sure before, the last day and a half have made it crystal clear—guys are morons.

  Maybe I should go lesbian?

  Or become a nun?

  Do people even do that anymore?

  So first I need to come up with a plan to get out of the city and then I need to manipulate these guys into following my plan.

  I’m so good, I can plan planning.

  The manipulation part will be easy, but I should start right away.

  “Why don’t we all have another beer and just relax for a few minutes. I think you’re right that we have to be ready for anything,” I say. They didn’t exactly say that, but now they’ll think they did.

  Cupcake pops up and practically runs to the kitchen. He stole the Humvee and he managed these guys this far, but he does not want to deal.

  Tucker is the lovable loser of the bunch. He’ll go anywhere and do anything, but no one is going to look to him for guidance.

  Todd seems like a wildcard. He’s bold enough to take charge, but is he smart enough to stay there? I definitely get more of an “I told you so” vibe from him than anything that would be long-term productive.

  Patrick has something going on in his brain. He gives the impression of being a lone wolf, but everyone knows he needs the pack. I would guess he wants to tell them what to do but is afraid of alienating any of them.

  If this were the group from work, we would be doomed to argue right through a nuclear blast. These guys are so easy to read.

  “Sorry for being on edge,” Todd says. “It’s just that being in the city has me freaked out. Even if they choose not to drop nukes, there are more zombies per square foot here than almost anywhere else. If we get out into the country, at least there are open spaces and we can see them coming.” He has finished his beer and is struggling to keep his tone even.

  Fucking Jason.

  I can’t read guys. Todd just basically slapped me in the face with that fact. Not only was his tone measured, his points were valid and articulate.

  The other guys know he’s right, but they seem to be waiting for the other shoe to drop. Todd gets out of his seat and goes to the kitchen. We all watch him in silence as he grabs another beer.

  As he opens the can, he adds, “Plus if I’m going out, I want it to be when I’m on top of the Hummer, rippin’ the fifty cal into some zombie brains. Not sittin’ in some fuckin’ artsy fartsy apartment.”

  And we’re back to me being right.

  If the city is bad, then we need to go to the country, but for how long? A year?

  The country will likely have fewer zombies, but it definitely also has fewer resources. There is more canned food and bottled water in New York City than there is spread across the rest of the state combined.

  Plus it’s going to be getting cold soon. If we go to the Adirondacks, we could be dealing with snow in a few weeks. Snow would make it harder to move and travel. I’ve never been a huge fan of snow, which was definitely a factor in my distaste for Telluride. I don’t know why any early settlers would have chosen to live around here.

  So food and weather are issues beyond zombies and nuclear weapons. If this drags on for years, we will run out of canned foods at some point. No canned food would mean we have to grow our own. Growing food requires sun, warmth and water. We should go somewhere that allows us to grow food for at least ten months of the year.

  Mexico?

  Seems like that would be too far. It would definitely be a tough sell on these yahoos.

  The Carolinas would probably be easier to reach and equally suited for our needs. I don’t know too many areas there, but I have to pick one if I’m going to make a plan.

  Anything on the coast could have hurricanes. Inland would definitely be better. The only city I can think of is Charlotte. Obviously we wouldn’t go into the city, but that can be our navigation target. It’ll give the guys something to latch onto.

  There may even be survivors down there.

  I just need to convince these guys to follow my plan. The best way to get what I want it is to offer a concession.

  “I’m just so scared, I can’t even think straight,” I say, trying to sound repentant. “I’m so glad you guys came here to save me.” A tear comes to my eye; this may be overdoing it a bit.

  Their faces go sad. I could probably convince them to go get me a zombie to pet if I wanted to.

  “Of course you’re right. We have to leave the city,” I continue. “I’ve just had some bad experiences in the snow, Patrick knows, and I heard the Adirondacks are getting snow next week!”

  Patrick has no idea what I’m talking about, but he doesn’t object.

  “It doesn’t have to be the Adirondacks, it can be anywhere,” Cupcake says. “You pick, we don’t care.” He is quick to give up control; I think I was right about him.

  “I think…” sniff. “I think we should just head west until like five and then…” sniff. “Then start looking for a safe place to spend the night.”

  A sly smile creeps across Patrick’s face; he knows how thick I’m laying it on. He gets up from his seat and walks over to the window. I’m waiting for him to call me out.

  Pointing out my manipulation would probably feel like the right thing for him to do; Patrick wants to support his boys. In truth, it would only lead to confusion. At this stage of a panic, the only thing that matters is that we all pull in the same direction—it doesn’t matter why we’re pulling.

  “Laney, you ready for another beer?” Patrick asks, looking back from the window.

  If he was ready for a beer, why did he walk to the window and not the kitchen? He must want me to go over there with him. I’m surprised at how subtle he is; this is actually a good sign.

  “Yes, do you need one?” I ask.

  He turns to face the window and his head drops. “Definitely.”

  The little bit of separation between the window and the table does not give us enough privacy to have a secret conversation. I’m not sure why he’s trying to get me alone, but I want to show him I’m picking up his hints.

  When I get to the window, Patrick doesn’t look at me or say anything. He’s staring down at the street.

  I look down at the street and wish I hadn’t. There is a guy standing on the roof of the Humvee. My first thought is worry that he’s going to steal it, even though I know that’s not the case.

  The truck is surrounded by undead. Somehow this guy managed to scramble up onto the roof, but now he’s stuck.

  Through the open window I can hear his screams clearly:

  “NO!”

  “FUCK YOU YOU FUCKING MONSTERS!”

  “I FUCKING HATE YOU!”

  “WHY DON’T YOU FUCKING DIE!”

  At some level beneath his screams is a steady undercurrent of buzzing. It’s eerie and a very deep tone. Somehow you don’t hear the buzz as much as feel it.

  “Zombie horde at the Humvee,” Patrick says nonchalantly back into the apartment.

  “Are you going to save him?” I ask.

  “If he had any hope for escape or rescue it would have required silence,” he says. “Even you know...”

  “They’re attracted to noise,” I finish his sentence and look away from the window.

  Todd slams his fresh empty onto the table and stands. “Should we go get him?”

  Looking back down to the Humvee, I can’t believe that more zombies are still coming. The street is nearly filled to capacity; four guys could not fight through that even if they had guns.

  The gore ar
rives so fast. In less time than it takes to blink, the guy goes from standing and screaming to laying flat on his back with one leg torn completely off. The other leg and an arm follow almost immediately and I can see an ocean of blood even from up here on the second floor.

  A few seconds later and there are no more screams, no more body and no sign that there was ever a guy there.

  I barf all over the top of the window. It’s a violent full-body action that ends with bits of pasta clinging to the glass and streams of red sauce dripping down onto the sill. Staring at it reminds me of only one thing: body parts covered in blood.

  Which makes me vomit again.

  Tucker appears beside me with a glass of water and a kitchen towel. I wipe my face with the towel and take a long drink of the water. I can’t move and there is nowhere for me to spit, so I choke it down.

  Patrick puts his arm around my shoulders and pulls me close.

  “Sorry. That was my first…”

  “That was my reaction to the first one, too.” Patrick doesn’t make me finish naming what we just witnessed.

  I wanted to say first time puking; I’ve seen other people die. Correcting Patrick is not critical. It’s more important that I keep him thinking we’re on the same page.

  “Mine too,” Cupcake adds.

  “Same here. We’d be more worried if you didn’t do that,” Tucker says, consoling.

  “Not me. I’m more of an odor kind of guy. Visuals don’t bother me.” Todd, naturally, has to dissent.

  I can’t even imagine the smell, but I know it’s neither the sight nor the smell. It’s the emotion. That was a person. He was terrified for who knows how long. What makes it even worse is that what he was afraid of is exactly what happened.

  “Do you have a telescope? Or binoculars?” Tucker jumps back in from out of left field.

  “What?”

  “Come on, I thought everyone in New York spied on other apartments with binoculars or telescopes?” he says.

  “That’s totally not true. Is that what people do in Boston?” I ask.

  “My place didn’t really have windows. Pat-O, did you do any peeping at your place?”

  “I didn’t have room for a telescope,” Patrick replies. “Tucker, did you see something in one of the other windows?”

  Oh my god. I haven’t been checking the other buildings for survivors. Every time I look out the window, I watch the street. But all the people that are trying to make a break for it have to be coming from somewhere.

  “No, but I thought that if we were going to have to hang around, maybe we could catch a show,” Tucker says, wiggling his eyebrows in a perverted sort of way.

  Leave it to a guy to look for a peep show in the middle of the apocalypse.

  “We’re not going anywhere until that horde dissipates,” Patrick says. “I’m going to clean this up; you should probably go change your shirt.” He’s kind of taking charge.

  Patrick

  Chapter 18

  I was comfortable here until McLean started talking about leaving. Now that we can’t go, I really want to. With the five of us in this small space, the air is getting stuffy and tempers are flaring.

  Turns out that Laney did have a pair of binoculars. She brought them out of her room after she changed. Supposedly they were for bird watching in Telluride, but I don’t buy it. We’re all voyeurs to some extent.

  Watching Todd and Tucker argue and bicker about the binoculars is like trying to play with my five-year-old twin niece and nephew. My turn, no, my turn. You’re hogging them. They must have done this for half an hour before they figured out how to play nice.

  Now they are scanning apartments and deciding who lived in each one. The options are: couple, gays, chicks, and dudes. I would swear that Todd disagrees every now and then just so he can argue.

  It’s a little hard to blame him, though. Tucker keeps making these over-the-top claims. “I see a dildo on the kitchen counter.” And “That guy has a pet alligator.” If there’s an urban legend out there, Tucker is finding “proof” of its truth right now.

  Oddly enough, his phone hasn’t distracted him. No matter where we are or what we’re doing, Tucker always has something more important on his phone; either he needs to reach out to someone or they need him. But not now.

  Cupcake and I both have phones, but that’s how we use them, as phones. We occasionally text, but most of the time I make actual calls with my phone. Neither one of us does social media or web browsing from our phones. Hell, I don’t even have a data plan.

  Todd claims to have forgotten his phone back at his apartment. I know there are people who forget their phones, but this seems like a lie. I don’t think he even had a phone, not that it matters now.

  McLean has a phone but she’s already given up on it. Like me, she is voice and text first. She does social media but said it’s too depressing now. Pictures of friends and family from two days ago are constant reminders of all the people that are now dead. It was her idea to change the status on all of her profiles to “Alive. Looking for others. Call me 212-394-0106,” and then be done with the internet.

  The real downside of all of this is that while we can connect to the whole world, we can’t find anyone outside of our circle of survivors. Everyone we know that is alive is here in this apartment.

  We’re missing so many key people. A nerd, a doctor, a grizzled Army vet—you name it and we could use their help.

  “That is not a bazooka!” Todd yells.

  “Yes it is!” Tucker insists. “Look at the flared end. The tube is the right size. I bet you a million dollars that is a bazooka.” He offers the binoculars to Todd so he can look again.

  “Making up stupid ass shit in the apartments is not part of the game,” Todd whines.

  “Fine. That was a dude’s apartment. Not only that, the dude was a fucking Middle Eastern fucking terrorist and he was going to blow something up. With a FUCKING BAZOOKA!” Tucker yells.

  “You wanna make shit up?” Todd looks furious. “Fine. Its some guy’s gay hideout and that’s the tube he uses to shove a gerbil up his ass. In fact, I am willing to go over there and get it just so I can bring it back here and show you EXACTLY HOW IT FUCKING WORKS!”

  “Guys, stop screaming…” I start.

  “They’re attracted to noise.” Laney and Cupcake finish the sentence with me.

  For a little while there, I was able to forget that they were real. The zombies were down on the street and we are up here playing games. It’s all nice and cozy.

  Bang-bang-bang.

  The pounding on the door startles us all.

  Oh shit the zombies found us. How are we going to get through them all in that tight hallway?

  “Are you alive in there?” a voice from the other side asks.

  We all look to McLean. This is her place; she gets to decide if we’re going to welcome visitors.

  “It’s a little scary out here so if you don’t open the door soon, I’m going to assume you’re dead.” It’s definitely a woman in the hall.

  McLean shakes the cobwebs out of her head and hurries to the door. She looks out the peephole and then quickly undoes the locks. The door flies open and the woman from the hallway steps in quickly.

  On its way to closing, the door bangs loudly and McLean squeezes her shoulders up, recognizing her mistake.

  “You know…” the new entrant starts.

  “They’re attracted to noise.” We all finish with her.

  “I’m Terri,” the new woman says. She flashes a quick smile and bounces up on her toes, like this is the best day of her life.

  Terri is fat. Not pudgy and overweight like me, I mean really fat. Now that I look at her, I’m surprised that she fit through the door. If the zombies hadn’t attacked, her future probably involved being bedridden and a daytime TV talk show.

  “Holy shit. You could feed an army of those things.” Tucker is the first of us to speak and of course he is a total asshole.

  “What? Wait, are y
ou saying I’m fat?” Terri looks nervously up and down her body. “Oh my god, I didn’t know! When did this happen to me?!” she exclaims in mock-horror.

  “I’m sorry. It’s just… I don’t know, I’m just sorry.” Tucker has repentant written all over his face.

  “I shouldn’t have to say this to an adult, but maybe you should try thinking before you speak. Asshole,” Terri says.

  Our introductions start with McLean and go around the room. Each of us apologizes for Tucker and assures Terri that we’re not like him. Tucker apologizes profusely and offers to do anything she wants to make it up to her.

  “Just stop being an ass, if you can,” is all she says when he’s done groveling.

  “Terri, is there anyone else with you?” Cupcake asks, hope in his voice.

  “Not here.”

  “What the fuck does that mean?” Todd snaps.

  “What the fuck do you think it means? If I talk slow, will it help you understand?” Terri says.

  Great, she has a chip on her shoulder. I think I get what she’s saying, but it was not clear. “So you know of other survivors but they aren’t in this building,” I say. “Where are they?” I want to get on her good side and I don’t want her to think we’re all idiots.

  “All over the place. Mostly farms and small towns. I’m sure there are some yahoos like you hiding out in the cities but they haven’t posted on any of my forums.”

  “Do you have anything to eat?” Tucker asks.

  “Just can’t stop being an ass, can you? Yeah, I have food. More importantly, I have wi-fi. Do you guys even know how to use those phones you’re all clinging to?” Terri says.

  “I don’t want to think about all of my friends that died recently,” McLean offers humbly.

  Terri rolls her eyes. “Can you use Google? Or type?”

  Our humiliation is complete.

  I never stopped to search the internet for an article or video or anything. I trusted the gruesome scene on TV and out my window. Along with a few text messages and a brief phone conversation, I spent all of fifteen minutes gathering facts about the biggest disaster to ever hit the planet. Not résumé-quality work.