Zed's World (Book 3): No Way Out

by Rich Baker

  Praise for the Zed’s World Series

  The Gathering Horde

  I don't know how Rich Baker packed so much awesome into 62 pages. – Brian Parker, author of the Washington Undead series

  Rich Baker took me on a maniacal ride through the beginning of the end of the world as we know it. In a world filled with pages of the undead, he has kept his story fresh and exciting. – Greg at 2 Book Lovers Reviews

  Roads Less Traveled

  Wow! Rich Baker is now one of my favorite zombie writers! This story never lags and just keeps you on the edge of your seat. Looking forward to book 3. – Allen Gamboa, author of the Dead Island saga

  Rich Baker

  Zed’s World Book Three

  No Way Out

  Australia United Kingdom United States

  This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination, or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to real events or people, living, dead, or undead, is purely coincidental.

  Copyright © 2017 by Rich Baker

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any manner without written permission from the author or publisher.

  ISBN: 978-0-9988282-0-6

  Edited by Wasteland Book Editing Services

  Cover by Angry Chair Designs

  Formatting by Polgarus Studios

  Table of Contents

  Part One: D-Day

  One

  Two

  Three

  Four

  Five

  Six

  Seven

  Eight

  Nine

  Ten

  Eleven

  Twelve

  Thirteen

  Fourteen

  Fifteen

  Sixteen

  Part Two: The Puckett’s

  One

  Two

  Three

  Four

  Five

  Six

  Seven

  Eight

  Nine

  Ten

  Eleven

  Twelve

  Thirteen

  Part Three: The Others

  One

  Two

  Three

  Four

  Five

  Six

  Seven

  Eight

  Nine

  Ten

  Part Four: Collision Course

  One

  Two

  Three

  Four

  Five

  Six

  Seven

  Eight

  Nine

  Ten

  Eleven

  Twelve

  Thirteen

  Part One: D-Day

  One

  Denver, Colorado Saturday May 18, 2013: Z-Day Plus 1

  President Obama has just finished a speech urging people to stay where they are and shelter in place; the military is working on a plan to retake the country from the dead.

  “I am so glad he’s our president,” a red-haired woman says. “We’re going to be rescued!”

  D-Day looks at her. She’s tired, dirty, and based on the reddish-black stains on her clothes and the smell coming from her, she’s been helping dispose of the bodies of the undead. Still, after a speech promising the government is coming to the rescue, she’s wearing a smile. He doesn’t want to blow out that flicker of hope but feels he needs to set appropriate expectations.

  “I hope so,” he says. “But it’s not going to happen right away. Like he said, we have to work together, and we have to help each other.” He makes eye contact with the blonde man who has been complaining about D-Day’s handling of security and wanting one of D-Day’s weapons. “All of us.”

  “Just tell us what to do, and we’re ready, willing and able. We’re going to survive this thing!” the woman replies. Heads nod around the room, even Blondie’s.

  D-Day looks over the crowd of twenty people. The president’s speech seems to have galvanized them, and at least for the moment, they have forgotten about the murdered woman who lies wrapped in a blanket just outside the common room. As he gets ready to lay out his plan, he doesn’t notice that Melissa, the biggest complainer of the lot, has slipped away from the group and disappeared.

  “All right, folks,” he says. “Here’s the deal. This building has a bank of solar panels on the roof and a UPS setup to run the critical things like the power locks in the event of a power outage.”

  “What is a UPS?” a woman asks with her hand raised.

  “UPS. Uninterruptible Power Supply. It’s a bank of batteries that the solar panels keep charged. But these batteries will not power the whole building once the grid goes down, so we have to conserve energy.”

  Another hand goes up. “Why will the grid go down? Isn’t that stuff all automated?”

  “Not really. Most of our power locally comes from coal-fired plants, which need a lot of human attention, and humans seem to be in short supply now. Even if there are people at the plants, they require fuel, and that means trains are bringing coal and pipelines pushing natural gas. Those supplies will run out pretty quick without people running them. And even then, if we have fuel, the grids are interconnected and when plants in other parts of the country go down, it will put an increasing strain on any that are still operational until eventually, the grid goes down anyway. The big concern here is when the power goes, so does our fresh water supply.”

  “This isn’t sounding good for our long-term survival,” Blondie says.

  “You’re sure about all of this, like, you really know what you’re talking about?” a young man with coke-bottle glasses asks. He reminds D-Day of that episode of The Twilight Zone with Burgess Meredith, where his character loves to read, but after the apocalypse, he breaks his glasses. Poor bastard.

  “Yeah, I’m sure. Look – we can do a few things to buy ourselves some time. Water is the biggest concern, so we need to fill any container we can find with water while we still have pressure in the pipes. That’s our top priority.”

  “I can help with that,” Blondie says.

  “You should fill sinks and bathtubs in each apartment you search,” Carmen says. “I started doing that last night before…all the excitement.”

  “Good idea,” D-Day says.

  “Can we shower?” the red-haired woman asks.

  “Yes, you should do that before the power goes out. It could be the last one for a while.”

  Coke-bottles speaks up. “What else should we do?”

  “After water, food is the next important thing. We need to collect the perishable food from all the apartments. Where’s Aggie?” D-Day looks around until he spots the Rhea Perlman doppelganger raising her hand. “Aggie can tell you which apartments people have been to already, and you can work your way out from there. Is everyone on board with this?”

  Heads nod around the room and people start talking amongst themselves. D-Day interrupts them.

  “A couple more things, folks. Please.” They stop talking and turn their attention back to him. “When the power does go out, everyone needs to open refrigerators as seldom as possible. Every time you open one, the food is going spoil that much faster. Also, weapons,” he looks at Blondie, “will be on the finders-keepers policy. I just ask that you talk to me so I can ensure you know how to use them. Ok?”

  Again, they all nod.

  “Last thing,” he continues, and points toward the doorway, toward the dead body that lies just out of sight in the hallway. “We still have a murderer in the building. I don’t think anyone’s in grave danger, but if you’re going anywhere in the building, you need to pair up. Don’t go anywhere alone.
Everyone on board with that?”

  They all nod their assent, and then Blondie speaks up again. “Are you still going to investigate the murder?”

  “Yes, I am. I need to examine the body and see if there are any clues that can help identify the killer, or what made her turn into a zombie like she did, and I’ll go on from there. I’ll keep you all informed if I find anything. I’m no policeman, so that’s the best I can give you right now. Fair enough?”

  “Yeah,” Blondie says. “And I’m sorry about before. I was just..”

  D-Day cuts him off.

  “Save it. I appreciate the apology, but I recognize that we’re all in uncharted territory here. No one could be prepared for this. Everyone just keep a level head and focus on the task at hand, and we’ll be fine. Anything else?”

  Everyone looks around the room at the others present but say nothing.

  “Good,” D-Day concludes. “Let’s get to it!”

  That is good enough for the group, and people begin to pair off and set out to gather supplies. D-Day turns to Carmen.

  “You’re sure you want to go after a murderer with me? It could be dangerous,” he says, walking toward the doorway to the common room.

  She points at the dead body as they round the corner. “So is collecting food. That’s all she was doing, and look at what happened to her.”

  “Good point. Do you know if your mom is done updating the building roster, and mapping where everyone has moved?” he asks. After they stopped the initial wave of the undead and secured the building, people have, for the most part, moved to the empty apartments on the higher floors, rendering the existing building map from the main office useless.

  “Not done, but I think she’s gotten through the 10th floor,” she replies.

  “Okay. Will you go get it and meet me at my apartment when you’re ready to go?”

  “You bet,” she says. “Where are you going?”

  “I’m going to get rid of her,” he nods at the body, “but first I need to look her over and see what we’re missing. She wasn’t bitten, at least not that we know of, so we need to know how she turned gray. Here, take this,” he says, and hands her the electronic key to his door. “In case you get there before me.”

  “That’s trusting,” she says through a smile.

  “Right now, you’re the only one I do trust.”

  “I’ll tell my parents you said that,” she says with a sarcastic lilt to her voice, “They’ll be bursting with pride that you trust me and hurt that they didn’t make the shortlist. Way to win them over.” Before he can respond, she walks away, flashing a grin to let him know she’s kidding. He realizes that he’s smiling back. He likes this woman; even in the middle of the zombie apocalypse, she’s flirty and has him grinning like an idiot.

  Carmen disappears behind the stairwell door, leaving D-Day alone with his thoughts and a dead body.

  Two

  D-Day turns his attention back to the dead woman on the floor. Ruddy, brownish-black stains have soaked the blanket in stark contrast to the bright red blood that had seeped from the original neck wounds. The victim’s name was Cheryl, he reminds himself. She was a real person, and until a few minutes ago, human. Now she’s changed into something else, her body still human, but whatever animated her body was not humanity, and what flowed through her veins was not blood, not entirely. He grabs the blanket wrapped around her feet and uses it to drag her around the corner from the game room, so he has a modicum of privacy for what he’s going to do next. He folds back the blanket, rolling the body as he does so, unspooling her from the confining fabric. He needs to examine the body for any signs of foul play, aside from the obvious stab wounds. He’s most interested in any bites or scratches that could be the source of the infection that turned her into a zombie.

  The first thing he notices are the black spider webs that mark where her veins are, the telltale signs of the undead. Signs which were not there when they first examined the body just a few minutes ago. He sighs, pulls a knife from his belt and cuts her blouse away, revealing a gray torso, also spider webbed, and a light blue bra which stands out against the pallor of her skin. He rolls the body and examines the back. Nowhere is there evidence of a bite. He unfastens the bra, looking under the straps on her back and at the small breasts in front. No scratches, no bites. He cuts away her jeans and all he finds are more gray flesh and panties that match the bra.

  With the clinical precision and detachment of a medical examiner, he cuts her underwear on each hip and removes them. She has closely trimmed pubic hair and a tattoo of a butterfly at the crest of her pubic mound. Again, no signs of scratches or bites. He doesn’t understand how she got infected. He rolls her body over and finally sees something unusual. On her left butt cheek, there’s a circular area the size of a dime where the flesh is black, and the skin is swollen, like a blister. He pushes on the swollen area, and a small bead of black fluid oozes from the center of the circle. It looks to D-Day like an injection site. The smell, even from this tiny amount of fluid, is unmistakably that of the dead.

  He checks the pockets of the jeans for anything they might have missed. He finds nothing, but takes the key card for her apartment and stashes it in his pocket. He lays her clothing on her, covering her naked gray body, and rolls her back into the blanket. He retrieves a cart from the nearby maintenance room and loads her body onto it. As he wheels the cart to the elevator, the hairs on his neck start twitching. He turns, hand on his rifle, but sees nothing amiss. He strains to hear anything unusual but doesn’t find a source for his unease. After a moment the elevator chimes, and the doors open. With a final glance around, he heads through the door and up to the roof to dispose of the body.

  A few seconds after the doors shut, a figure steps out of the shadows of the 12th floor supply closet, walks to the east stairwell and heads down.

  On the roof, D-Day disposes of Cheryl’s body over the edge of the building, the same as all the other bodies. The smell that wafts up from the pile of dead – truly dead – flesh is nasty. He hopes that doesn’t find its way inside the building. Probably another good reason for everyone to leave the lower floors, he thinks, and heads to the rooftop building that houses the elevator and the UPS array. He reaches for the elevator button, then decides to check the battery room.

  He takes out the master key card that Cortez gave him and runs it through the lock on the door marked “Electrical” and pushes the door open. His hand finds the light switch and flicks it on. Inside the crowded room is a series of racks with enormous batteries lined up in a precise formation. Cables wind through the racks, going from what he assumes are the inputs from the solar panels, to the batteries, and then leading to a big box that must connect to the building’s main power supply. He finds a control panel with a series of gauges and lights that make no sense to him. Three gauges, labeled “One, “Two,” and “Three” have needles that are centered in the middle of a green zone.

  “Green is good,” D-Day says out loud.

  A round light the size of a nickel is labeled “Overload,” and the light is green. Next to it is a light labeled “Connected” which is also green. A digital screen over another series of lights reads “Alarm Stack,” and underneath that, it says “Zero Alarms.”

  “Ok, I think this is all good,” he says out loud again. He takes out his camera and snaps a picture of the control panel. If the internet stays up, he’ll research this panel, so he’s not completely ignorant of how it works when the power goes out.

  He leaves the room, pulling the door shut behind him. There’s another door on the opposite side of the elevator marked ‘Maintenance.’ He goes to it, slides the key card through the lock, and pushes the door open. Inside he finds piles of rope and a silver platform with rails on four sides. It’s the window washer’s equipment. Two larger doors on the side of the room open to the rooftop, through which the crews load and unload their supplies and gear. He makes a mental note about the rope. It may come in handy, and it’s not like t
he windows are going to get washed anytime soon.

  He goes back out to the elevator. After a glance at the stairwell door, he opts for the easy way and presses the button for the lift. The doors open immediately and he steps in and presses “10” for his floor, silently hoping the power doesn’t go out while he’s on the way down. After a few moments, he feels the brakes kick in, the elevator doors open, and he breathes a sigh of relief that the power held out for one more trip up to the roof and back. He hustles down the hall to his apartment, where he hopes Carmen is already waiting. He wants to get this over with, so he can finally get some real rest.

  When he gets to his door, he slides the master key through the lock, and he hears the click of his door unlocking. He wonders how long the UPS will power the locks before they have to revert to using regular keys, and then he wonders how many of the people have lost theirs – or more likely, never had them for the apartments they’ve taken over. That’s going to be a potential pain in the ass. We’ll cross that bridge when we get there, he thinks and pushes that line of thought from his mind, puts his left hand on the grip of his pistol and pushes the door open.

  He looks around for Carmen, but there’s no one in the entryway, the kitchen or the living room. He walks in and shuts the door, and after hearing the lock set when the latch clicks into place, he breathes out, relaxing, feeling his shoulders drop a couple of inches. You never know how tense you are until you get to relax, he thinks.

  Noise from his bedroom immediately returns the tension to his body. He draws his pistol and proceeds down the hallway with a practiced precision that is second nature to him. He clears the door jamb of his bedroom and sees a bag on his bed. A bag that is not his. He also hears water running in the bathroom. He edges closer and finds the door ajar. He uses the muzzle of the gun to push it open a couple of inches and realizes the shower is running. A shadow passes by, causing him to pull back.