Brutal Planet: A Zombie Novel

by Sean P. Murphy

  People actually took an interest in our geeked-out dialog.

  “So, you guys know about zombies?” It was Tom, the lawyer, who looked eerily like a young Larry Bird.

  I took a couple of seconds and said, “No, you can always put down the book or turn off the DVD. This is real and we are in deep shit.” I paused, “Sorry man, that was rude of me. Like everyone else, I’m fried. I just don't know if we can translate the stuff from books and movies, the stuff of fiction, to the real world and be of any help in our situation. Zack?”

  “So far, things are going the way of a typical fictional zombie apocalypse. Strange virus, check. Reanimation of dead, check. Undead exhibit cannibalistic tendencies, check. Rapid breakdown of civilization, check. Small band of determined survivors, check.

  “Holy crap, Zack, we are a cliché!”

  “Hey, John,” it was Robert, “every little bit helps.”

  “Yeah, if you guys notice anything, and I mean anything, just yell out and we all will listen,” added Roy.

  We all just sat there a bit trying to absorb maybe just a tiny amount of what was going on. Around eight, we heard a loud explosion. The only thing that came to mind was that it had to be at, or very near the airport. Throughout the evening, a few light planes and some helicopters flew over, all heading in different directions. Where were they going? Did they know something we didn’t? Later, we saw a couple of big contrails, very high up, and all heading north.

  “Those are big bastards, maybe B-52s or C-5s!” said Derrick. Derrick was a young guy, maybe mid-twenties, dressed in kakis, with a mustache and a ponytail. He was silent, stayed to himself, and just seemed to take things in. You knew he was hurt, but I sensed Derrick was the kind of guy who stayed focused on the moment, and what was going on outside our little group was a priority for someone else; he had his own shit to take care of. I instantly trusted him.

  “Where are they going?” I asked.

  “North, somewhere safe.” Roy came over and placed his patio chair next to me.

  No shit. Yeah, we are all going someplace, but where is safe?

  “Iceland, Greenland, Canada. You know we got bases up there. The Islands are our only choice, but I do like cold weather and I’ve dreamed of going to the North Pole since I was a kid.”

  “I’ll take any place that’s safe,” I said in a half burp.

  “Cincinnati!” It was Robert.

  Okay, I’ll take the bait. “Why?”

  “I want to be in Cincinnati when the end of the world comes, because it’s always twenty years behind…Mark Twain.” For a second, everyone seemed to kind of pause as if to sense whether it was all right to laugh, but only a second, and then everyone who heard Robert, lost it all at once. I was laughing so hard tears were coming out my eyes and snot from my nose. Oh, man that felt good. As we slowly regained composure, the rest of the group, including Liz, wanted to know what was so funny. It sucked because the moment was gone and I wanted her to laugh like I just did, to have that release.

  The roof was one of those industrial flat tops covered with small stones, with sleeping pads not that uncomfortable. At least I had Liz, except now, I was self-conscious about showing any affection. A couple of bottles were passed around and I was jealous. I couldn’t chemically relax like the rest of them, but alcohol and I have had a parting of ways.

  “John, Liz tells me you know a little something about what’s causing this shit.” The gang was getting a bit greased up with the ethanol and I wanted to keep my distance and see who’s who. This was not what I wanted to hear. Nor was I pleased that everyone seemed to have pressed pause in their various conversations just as he was asking me.

  “Well, I have been looking into things as I am sure all of you have. I’ve talked with friends who are better informed and better educated and it seems we are up against a virus that humans have never seen before, really far out stuff.” I was trying to make it as general as possible and not break into professor mode.

  “Everyone is looking for a way to cure it. I just don’t know.” What could I say? I am not a virologist. I had worked for the government playing with this kind of stuff, but that was decades ago!

  “Can’t we just come up with a vaccine? We have antibiotics, so why not develop antiviral drugs? It can’t be that hard, it just can’t be!” I had forgotten the name of the guy asking the question, I think it was Norm. He was older than I was, maybe in his seventies, but someone who took his gym pass seriously.

  “Yes, you’re right, but viruses are not like bacteria. They are really tough bastards. They don’t have sex, they use other cells to reproduce, and they don’t need oxygen like we do to make energy. Viruses are just a bunch of chemicals, like little machines.” Yeah, right.

  “This particular virus is very complex, and the whole zombie thing is so novel that we are lucky even to know it’s a virus.” There was no way I was going to get into details.

  “You know, the jury is still out on whether these things are actually alive. I mean, bacteria are real cells. They require food, they have a real metabolism, they reproduce, and these guys are alive. I wish we were up against bacteria.” I started to lose them. “We have antiviral drugs, but they are for specific viruses, and because viruses use the host cell to replicate these kinds of drugs, they are very difficult to make. I mean most antivirals don’t kill the virus, they just prevent it from replicating.” I now realized that I was just rambling and nothing I could say would make anything better, or our situation less precarious. By now, nobody was looking at me, so it was a good time to shut up and look at the stars.

  The others drifted into a half dozen independent conversations. Liz came over with some sleeping pads and a couple of woolen blankets, and we moved to an isolated corner of the roof. We cuddled and talked about nothing for a bit. Actually I did all the talking. After an hour, I shut up and Liz drifted off into sleep. With the odor of oblivion wafting through the air and my mind racing, I couldn’t sleep.

  Chapter 10 ~ Lost Souls

  May 25th

  The last couple, Jim and Lucy, arrived at eight. Roy had hoped for six. They brought ominous, but not unexpected news. A large section of Bangor was indeed burning and the roads were clogged with desperate people, some of them armed. Lucy told us about a young couple they watched forcibly removed from their Jeep Cherokee. When the young guy fought back, he was pushed to his knees and executed, all in broad daylight, in front of hundreds of other people. The guys got in the Cherokee, fired it up, and started talking to the girl who was sitting by the side of the road crying hysterically. After a couple of minutes, she stood up and got in the Jeep.

  “Three heavily armed men who knew what they were doing; we’re talking automatic weapons here. Jesus H Christ! We had a shotgun and two pistols, loaded and ready to rock, and I didn’t do a god-damn thing.” As if to make his point, Jim held up a handgun, some kind of automatic monster, but I got the point. I knew exactly where he was coming from. It turns out that the explosion we heard last night was indeed from the airport; something about a commercial airliner trying to land. I didn’t think at this late date there was any commercial planes flying. Wasn’t SCATANA initiated over a week and a half ago? They had encountered maybe a dozen of the undead; just drove around them or in a couple of cases, over them. There was so much chaos, not necessarily caused by the zombies, but by real people, that you just did whatever you needed to do. They had arrived in a jeep that had been modified for off–roading, but were going to leave it behind. Why? You would think every little bit would help, but it was Roy’s decision.

  “We spent half the time cutting through people’s backyards and across any open area we could find.” This caused me serious concern. How were the Winnebago's going to make it?

  “Some roads are clear and then just abruptly dead end with a wreck or a bunch of dead cars. People are starting to lose their shit big time, and you wonder what all the gunfire is really directed at. We are going to need to stay tight.”

 
; It took another twenty-seven minutes before we were off. Another review of the plans, recheck various lists, and we were on our way, heading for the coast, and the freedom of the seas. Our route involved staying on back roads as much as possible. This made it almost twice as long as it should have been. We were not to stop for anything or anyone. Roy and Hammer had given us a somber pep talk the night before, very heavy on unity, focus, and completing the mission. We could not help those in need, even children, if we hoped to get to the boats. The general gist was that we might see things that are going to tear us up inside, but we are going to complete the mission. People were dying by the tens of thousands in numbers, and ways we could not imagine. We cannot save them. We will be lucky to save ourselves. Just then, Van Halen’s Runnin with the Devil exploded in my mind. Man, I really hope we are badass. We closed the meeting with a group prayer. Curiously enough, Roy chose the Serenity Prayer.

  Getting out of the industrial park was no big deal. The place was empty and we didn’t even close the gates behind us, but it only took five blocks to run into impossible traffic. Everyone was desperately heading out of Bangor. I don't know where they thought they were going. Whole families were stranded in their cars that had been pushed off the road. A lot of them just sat as if they were waiting for AAA. We were the only ones that seemed to have been prepared, by that, I mean heavily armed. We made a show of force and meant it. One of Roy’s first orders was not to let anyone get inside our little convoy.

  “They can tag along behind, but not between us. Use whatever force necessary to prevent this. We are covering our asses only.”

  Roy used the Hummer to force his way into traffic and we followed right behind, practically bumper to bumper. I heard a gunshot now and then, but not from my vehicle, I hoped it was from one of us, flexing our muscles.

  We were taking a series of roads that ran somewhat parallel to the 1A to Ellsworth. At a place called Kidder Hill Road, we stopped. Roy barked over the radio something about state police and making a show of strength. Liz whispered that Roy had no special like or dislike for the police, but would use force in a heartbeat if necessary. After a minute, we started to move. I think the Saw, a SA80 badass looking machine gun in the turret on Winnie one, might have assisted our egress. I waved as we passed. I felt bad for those guys. My Dad was a Massachusetts State Trooper, so I partially understood where they were coming from. They might be a calming presence to a few, but the monsters were real and they were coming.

  This was not chaos. This was anarchy. As we inched along, I saw hundreds, no, thousands of people walking on the side of the road carrying their life’s possessions. A few were injured and everyone was desperate for a ride. As we passed, most of them stopped and stared at us with wide pleading eyes. It looked like one of those newsreels from World War Two showing refugees fleeing from the front. I swear at times, I was actually seeing all this in black and white. I was a bit surprised at the number of people just sitting there, shell-shocked. Every ten yards or so, we passed another vehicle on the side of the road, some abandoned. I saw women holding up infants and babies to us, pleading for the child's life. We never stopped. Part of my humanity died on that road.

  The radio crackled that there was some kind of commotion up ahead. I couldn't see what was going on since Winnie two was last in line and I was dead in the back. All of a sudden, everybody on the road started running. People dropped whatever they were carrying and just took off in various directions. The radio hissed. It was Roy.

  “We got zombies up ahead, could be a dozen or so. If they delay traffic, we will take them down,” yelled Mary from the passenger seat.

  From our already snail-like pace, we slowed considerably. I could sense they were close. The people outside were becoming more and more hyperactive. Terrance was driving and looked back at me, fear in his eyes. Something slammed into the side of our Winnie and Norm started blasting away. We didn't need orders. Here we go.

  “Paul, do it!” someone yelled, and from our turret, he opened fire with his AK47. I heard the sound of other automatic fire and assumed this was Tim lighting up the SAW. Everything was noise, but I faintly heard a gut-moving crunching sound, metal on metal, an accident in slow motion. I guessed Roy was making his way through.

  It was odd, but right then, I thought I was hearing bagpipes. Who would be playing bagpipes? It took me a couple of seconds before I realized it was not some crazed Scotsman, but car alarms and horns, hundreds of them.

  We slowly passed one of those bloated SUV's like a Yukon or Escalade that had pulled off the road at an odd angle. The passenger's door was open and a female zombie was half in, attacking the driver. He was trying to fight back and I could clearly see blood and crescent shaped bite marks on both his arms. Another zombie lay dead next to the driver’s door. There were two shrieking children, maybe six or seven, buckled up in the back seat. We didn't stop. About twenty yards down the road, I spotted this huge man in a U Maine lacrosse jersey running back to the SUV, shotgun at the ready. Just as he went out of view, I saw him tackled from behind by two zombies.

  We eventually made a right turn and started making better time. I hoped this would mean less horror and chaos, but whom was I kidding? There were still lots of people running, walking, crawling. Individually or in small groups, the zombies would take down one person, start feeding even as the person struggled, look up, and go after another. It was like a pride of lions amidst a pack of newborn gazelles. I knew we were going to see some bad shit. I just didn’t think it would happen so quickly. I could have sworn I saw one of them look at us and make a conscious decision to go for something else. Nobody talked. We were like spectators in the Coliseum watching the Christians get thrown to wild beasts. Safe in our little metal cocoon, it was all so fucking surreal.

  Since I was the caboose, I had one of the best seats in the house. At first, the zombies didn’t make any sense. I saw one run right past an unprotected screaming mother and child to attack a moving van. The occupants gunned him down in seconds, but this type of chaotic attack actually worked in the undead’s favor, because you never knew when or where. The zombie ‘front’ quickly swarmed by us, but that is not to say they didn’t leave plenty of representatives behind. As long as they don’t mess with us, we won’t mess with them. Where were they going? Maybe they have the same plan we do, grab a boat and head to the islands.

  There were ten utterly terrified people inside Winnie Two. The AC was off to conserve fuel, most of the windows were covered, and it took only a couple of hours for the place to go rank. Leslie, a college student with long black hair, sat on the floor with a video camera filming. She was starting to piss me off since she didn’t actually do anything but think and film shit. In theory, her job was to keep the interior clear and give us ammo. A quick glance from Liz was all I needed to know that the subject of the Camera Girl was taboo. M&M stayed to themselves and watched out the window. Norm and Jane were on opposite sides of the Winnie and totally gung ho. They had two large cross-shaped firing slots and could see quite a bit of what was going on, but only from their side, so they also kept this bizarre and increasing hilarious banter about what they saw.

  Jane: ‘Oh my God! You are joining the Army of the Undead dressed in that?’

  Norm: ‘In what?’

  Jane: ‘Like that pretty in pink girl, gross.’

  Norm: ‘You mean ‘Legally Blonde’?’

  Jane: ‘What?’

  Norm: ‘You know… the movie, the musical?’

  Jane: ‘Musical? What the fuck are you talking about, Norm?’

  Norm: ‘Oh, come on. You know the blonde, Harvard… Holy Shit! That is one fat dude!’

  Jane: ‘How fat?’

  This was about as deep as it got, and it would go on and on and on. And after an hour, it was like you are actually living in a sitcom, but with zombies.

  I was back next to Liz and Derrick. Matt covered Terrence, who didn’t say much, just listened to Mary in the passenger seat and drove.

&nbs
p; After a couple of miles and a few direction changes, things seemed to become less chaotic, or maybe I was getting used to the view. We slowed down again. Slow is a relative term since I doubt we ever broke ten MPH. The crackle of the radio broke the silence.

  “Let's pull over; I want to check this out.”

  Oh crap, it was Roy breaking his own rules, and we were going sightseeing. On both sides of the road were flat plowed farmland, and the guys in the turrets would have a clear view. I handed Paul up some binoculars.

  “What’s going on?”

  “Have no clue. How are we looking?”

  “Ah…lots of people by the side of the road. Some crap up ahead. Clear of zombies, for now.”

  Without thinking the situation through, I un-holstered the Ruger, made sure the safety was off, and went outside. I had reloaded it three times this morning just to be sure. I wasn’t surprised to be the only one to leave the safety of the Winnie, or that they slammed the door shut the second I was clear. What the hell was I doing? No one asked me to go check things out and if they did, I would just get pissed at them. Yet, here I was in the middle of a zombie infested nowhere, taking a little walk.