by Stephens, L.
“Daryl, it’s me,” Jake whispered. “Just call me, bro. Wherever you are. I’m not leaving downtown until you’re safe. Whatever you need, man, I got you, I promise.”
Jake typed out a similar sentiment and messaged him. He hoped beyond hope his best friend was okay. Jake knew Daryl thought he didn’t care about anyone, especially him, but just because he didn’t keep track of birthdays or significant moments in anyone’s lives, it didn’t mean he didn’t care. There was no denying, from the outside, it looked like Jake was purely focused on himself, not giving two fucks about anything or anyone, but the truth was, his seemingly perfect world was a sham. He was just trying to keep it all together and enjoy the ride, because he knew it was all going to come to an end, sooner rather than later. Seeing Sarah again confirmed what he already knew; he had just been wasting his life and everyone’s who he had come in contact with. Going through the motions like he was fucking some grenade as a favor for a friend, who was currently fucking the hot one.
Jake shook his head, trying to shake away the dread, with negativity slowly closing in on him. Him being an emotional wreck right now wasn’t going to help anyone, least of all himself. He pulled up his trusty friend, Twitter. It was his go to place, other than Instagram, to escape his life and see that there was a whole host of people who had it much worse than he did, thus making him feel better about his crummy life. He didn’t have to scroll far to find articles and photos of what was really going on in the city he called home. He felt like he was a tourist because he was so out of place, and everywhere he had been since waking up in the zombie apocalypse had been so unrecognizable.
The Dead Zone was the cute name news organizations had given the three square miles of death and destruction that was centered right in the heart of downtown Los Angeles. By mid-morning, there had been reports of zombie attacks as far west as Culver City and as far east as San Bernardino, but nothing came close to rivaling the mayhem of what was taking place in downtown. What was at first perceived to be a small outbreak of a rabies-like virus had quickly turned into a citywide zombie epidemic. The result was a mass evacuation that hadn’t been seen on U.S. soil since the American Civil War and the biggest gridlock in the city’s history. Jake took in the overhead destruction being brought live to his phone from the KTLA news chopper. He couldn’t believe the fires, the destruction and the intense military presence. He would definitely have been one of the conspiracy theorists saying it was all a hoax or an alien invasion cover up, if he wasn’t right in the center of it all.
Jake hit the #DeadZone trending topic and began reading the tweets that used the hashtag. If he was going to find out what was really going on, Twitter was going to be the best source of live and direct tweets.
@DodgersAllDazedAndConfused too fucking high for this shit. Just spotted one of those zombie dudes on Sunset and Western and 5 guys jumped out of a hummer and beat it to death. #DeadZone
@KoreatownKutie this sucks. Thoughts and prayers for everyone. #DeadZone
@ShiningJulieree stay out of downtown. I was just there last week and it was crazy then. Can’t imagine what people are going through now. #DeadZone
@POTUS this is why we don’t let immigrants in to the country. They bring disease and terrorism. This is a time we have to stay strong! #Sad #DeadZone
@LadyDeannaCares spare a moment for those infected. This is not their fault they are people too! We are better than this! The army and police need to be held accountable for what they are doing to the sick and helpless! #DeadZone
@RapCityAllStar check out my dope new song on Soundcloud y’all Zombies Rising gonna make you hit the floor harder than those pussy walking dead! #DeadZone
@BayouBodyBag been saying it for years! Just drop a nuke on L.A. get rid of all those faggots, queers and sinners. This is just God clearing out the muck #DeadZone
@RefrainPlainJane I got bit this morning jogging past Staple Center now they won’t let me leave the hospital. I thought this was America, I was wrong! #DeadZone
From the tweets it was clear to him there was no help coming. Everyone was just doing their normal thing of making it all about them and their needs. He needed to do something different for a change and put other people first. Most importantly, the two people he got into this mess.
@KillingJake joke is over. Seems like all my bad deeds have finally come back to bite me on the ass. #DeadZone #TearsOfAClown
CHAPTER 70: GOLDEN DECEIVER
“God-fucking-damnit!” Jennings said, punching the dash of the armored Humvee. “I told you this whole world was going to shit!”
“Just keep your mind on the job,” Brand said with no emotion. “Right now, you got a gun, you got it good.”
The Humvee blasted through intersection after intersection, slamming abandoned cars out of the way to make a clear path. Lieutenant Brand drove with Jennings riding shotgun. Literally, he was holding a shotgun and sitting in the front passenger seat. Diaz sat in the back with an assault rifle on his lap.
“The way these things are spreading we might be better off just dropping a GBU-43 on this shit hole. Then coming back to clean up what’s left,” Jennings said, looking out his window.
“That’s enough, Jennings,” Brand said, keeping an even tone.
“He’s right, Lieutenant,” Diaz said, leaning forward. “We couldn’t even hold a perimeter against those things, and they weren’t even armed.”
“Cut the shit, both of you. This is not the time or place. All we got to do is deal with what’s in front of us,” Brand said in his continuingly disturbingly even tone. “I need you both to stay on point. As I said, you got a gun, you got it good.”
There was no malice or anger in his tone, just rhetoric they had both heard a hundred times before in situations nowhere even near as hectic as this. Brand’s even temperament was great in combat situations, but right now Jennings needed some reassurance that all was not lost.
The situation at the roadblock had shocked him to his core, mowing down unarmed assailants like lambs to the slaughter only to watch them get back up and continue forward was like a nightmare come to life. Assailants was the official term for them. Everyone was too scared to actually call them what they really were. It was either too surreal or just plain frightening. By the time they had realized to only take headshots, it was too late. With ammunition low they’d had to abandon the roadblock and fall back to their vehicles, leaving civilians and law enforcement to fend for themselves. They wanted to continue fighting, but orders were to return to base to regroup and reequip. Along the way they had received additional orders to engage individual assailants and eliminate them. This was a common maneuver: increase time before they were due back and also decrease enemy numbers while they were at it. The farther they got from the failed roadblock the sparser it had become between assailants. Everyone knew the best plan of attack would have been to double back and to hit them from behind, but orders were orders. The streets seemed to go from blood stained to clean and empty in a matter of blocks then back again. You could never really feel at ease. Dread seemed to wash over the inside of the car before the CB radio mounted to the dash crackled to life with a hiss and raw static to remind them they were not alone.
“This is Bravo 9 Delta! They have killed everyone!” said the panicked female voice through the speaker. “We are trapped in the basement of The Standard Hotel. Send evac!”
Jennings reached for the receiver on instinct, but Brand waved him away with a flick of his wrist.
“That's not our sector,” Brand said, returning both hands to the wheel. “We’re going to keep to our mission.”
“Bravo 9 Delta, we are sending reinforcements,” said the army operator. “How many survivors in your group?”
There was no response, just static hiss, and everyone bowed their heads at the darkness that surrounded them. Diaz leaned forward from the back seat, tapping Jennings on the shoulder and pointing in front of him.
“I see it,” Jennings said, pumping his shotgun. �
��Sir, two o'clock. We got another one.”
Brand slowed the hummer to a crawl as Jennings eased the window down. The assailant was staggering down the sidewalk away from them, and Jennings positioned himself to lean out the window to get a clean shot.
“Wait!” Diaz whispered sharply as he touched Jennings on the shoulder again.
Jennings lowered the shotgun and pulled himself back into the vehicle.
“Pull over, sir, this isn’t right,” Jennings said. “We should investigate.”
Brand brought the Humvee to a smooth halt twenty yards behind the assailant, and without hesitation the three men rushed from the vehicle with their guns raised to form a three-point pattern. Jennings had left the shotgun in the Humvee, trading it for the more versatile handgun he had gotten from the holster on his belt. He took the lead in the formation with Diaz and Brand behind him on the flanks. They each had opted for assault rifles.
“Halt!” Jennings yelled.
The assailant didn’t stop. It just kept staggering down the street like it hadn’t heard a thing, Diaz hugged the store-lined sidewalk while Brand circled around so he was in the middle of the road.
“At your command, Lieutenant,” Jennings said as he stepped closer with his finger on the trigger.
The assailant turned to look over her shoulder. Her eyes lit up when she saw the three men in uniform who were aiming their guns at her.
“Hi, guys!” the girl said in a sweet voice. “Feel like giving a girl a ride?”
A small dog popped his adorable little head up over her shoulder and barked to let them know he needed a ride too.
“Have you been bit?” Diaz asked aggressively.
“No, do you want to bite me?” she said cheekily, smiling a big smile with a little giggle.
All three men dropped their guns to their waist and looked at each other perplexed.
“Ma'am you cannot be out here right now,” Brand said in his even tone. “There is a situation.”
“I’ll check her out, sir., Jennings said as he walked slowly towards her.
“Jennings,” Brand said, lifting his gun to eye level. “Stay where you are.”
Jennings looked to Brand but raised his hands, showing he was moving slowly.
“I got this, chief,” Jennings said, inspecting the girl as he circled around her. “She looks fine to me.”
“There is nothing wrong with me, or my little dog!” she said with a wink. “I’m Jill, by the way.”
“Okay,” Brand said, still with his gun raised and pointed at Jill. “Let’s go!”
Jennings approached Jill and put his arm around her waist and began guiding her towards the Humvee. Jill snuggled into him, and Jennings forgot himself and his duty, gliding his hand down her back to the top of her ass. Diaz looked on, his eyes scanning Jill up and down. He licked his lips in approval.
There was a loud smash, and, before he could react, three zombies burst through the window of the storefront Diaz had been standing in front of.
“Diaz!” yelled Brand as he began firing his assault rifle at the three attackers.
Brand took down two of them, but the lead zombie had already sunk his teeth into Diaz’s neck, and it was now too difficult to get a clear headshot without putting Diaz in danger. Jennings was in a better tactical position, so he pushed Jill back behind him and began stepping forward with his handgun at the ready. He took four quick steps before unloading three bullets directly into the zombie’s head, making him fall backwards, taking Diaz down with him.
“Oh my God!” Jill screamed.
“Jennings! Shut her the fuck—” Brand yelled before he was interrupted.
A zombie had heard the sound of gunfire and had rushed from around the corner, pouncing on the distracted Brand, biting him on the shoulder. He managed to shrug off the zombie but not before it had taken a large chunk out of him. Brand grimaced for a split second then took a step back and shot the zombie in the head. Jennings rushed over to Diaz and pulled him away from the pile of glass and zombies he was lying on.
“Paolo! Paolo!” Jennings said, cradling him on the ground. “You okay, brother?”
“I’m fucked, man, I’m fucked!” Diaz screamed, coughing blood onto the sidewalk. “Jesus Christo! Puta madre!”
“God-fucking-damnit!” Brand said, surveying the blood pouring from the wound on his shoulder.
“Sir, what are we going to do?” Jennings asked, looking between the two mortally wounded men.
“We aren't going to do anything,” Brand said as he slowly walked towards Jennings and Diaz.
Brand pulled out his handgun from the holster on his belt and pointed it at Diaz who was on all fours in front of him. Diaz saw the combat boots of Brand and looked up slowly. He knew what was coming.
“Lieutenant. Please,” Diaz pleaded as blood poured from his mouth. “I have a family!”
“I'm sorry, son,” Brand said as he pulled the trigger, releasing a bullet into Diaz’s forehead.
Diaz fell in a heap in the pool of blood on the ground in front of Brand.
“Lieutenant!” Jennings yelled looking at the murderous scene in front of him. “What the fuck have you done?”
“Jennings, get the civilian to safety and report back to base. Don't make me haunt you, soldier,” Brand said before raising the handgun to his temple and pulling the trigger.
He fell sideways onto the ground, dead, and Jennings closed his eyes and took three deep breaths before he pressed the radio button on the lapel of his fatigues.
“Command, this is Sergeant Jennings in Sector four,” Jennings said, tilting his head toward the small microphone.
Jennings paused and looked around the area to get his bearings.
“Repeat, this is Sergeant Jennings in Sector four. I’m at 6th and Nelson. I have two soldiers deceased, including my C.O., and four hostiles disabled,” Jennings said calmly despite the fact that tears were streaming from his eyes. “I have one civilian who appears unharmed. How do you want me to proceed? Over.”
“Acknowledged Sergeant, return to base. Avoid Sector Two and Three. Over,” came the cold voice from the tiny speaker.
“Understood. Over,” Jennings said, letting the button on his lapel go.
In the back of his mind he knew he had let his guard down, and this situation was all his fault.
“Okay, lady, let’s get out of this mess,” Jennings said, turning to Jill.
Jill was gone. Jennings stood on the street alone as he gathered himself before he bowed his head and began the slow march back to the Humvee.
“You got a ride for me, bro?” said a voice from behind him.
Jennings spun around, bringing his handgun up and aiming it inches from the man’s face.
“Whoa!” the man said, raising his hands in surrender.
“Who the fuck are you?” Jennings demanded.
“My name is Jake,” Jake said with a grin. “You need a date for the apocalypse?”
Jennings’ eyes went big, and Jake knew that look, but he still turned around to see a large group of zombies lumbering towards them.
“Get in the truck!” Jennings yelled as he ran past Jake, opening fire on the group.
CHAPTER 71: EASY CUM, EASY GO
As glass smashed, men screamed and bullets fired, Benjamin squirmed and struggled to get free, and even though Jill was doing an awkward “I need to do a shit” run in her heels, she held him tight to her. The bowlegged stagger, come stumble was all she could do to get away from the mayhem that had just unfolded in front of her. With her toes almost bursting through the front of her heels and her heart almost joining her tits in spilling out the side of her dress, Jill slid to a halt around the nearest corner. She caught her breath while she leaned against the wall. Her years of forcing her emotions down into the deep dark dungeon of her heart were serving her well right now, but it wasn’t time to check out just yet. Her cat-like sense for danger had just been turned on and was running on high alert. Jill kicked off her heels and reached
into her handbag. Every good little party girl knows not to step out of the house without her ballet flats, especially when she rocks sky-high pumps on the reg. With her more suitable footwear in place, Jill juggled her heels, Benjamin and her handbag before she set off into this new world full of death and wondered what the fucking fuck was going on.
Her first step was exactly like the rest of her morning: terrible. She stepped straight into a drying pool of blood that was baking in the morning sun.
“Gross!” Jill said under her breath. “Glad I was not wearing my fucking Manolos!”
Jill heard a groan and followed the trail of blood down the sidewalk. A shattered pair of men’s eyeglasses sat on the bank of the claret colored river that eventually led to a pair of blood-stained sneakers. Instinctively she stepped back against the wall as she trained her head up the legs where the streams of blood flowed from. Intestines and other internal gunk spilled out from his distended stomach and hung out over some nineteen eighties style running shorts. His tank top had been ripped so badly the fabric hung off one shoulder, waiting for the next gust of wind to set it free. His grey-flecked hair showed he was an older man, probably someone’s father, out for an early morning jog, not expecting to stumble upon the zombie apocalypse. A perfect bloody handprint covered his face. He was the living, well, dead embodiment of Wilson from Castaway.
