by DeLeon, Jon
Joe had always loved South Beach, loved the weather, the ocean and the mix of people. Most days, the beach was full of colorful umbrellas, the sky filled with airplanes trailing banners advertising a new club, and the air rife with music coming from a nearby beachgoer’s boom box. Not today, today was quiet.
It was early on a weekday, and the cruise ships were still pulling in. The beach was a ghost town with only a few people lying on towels. The closest was a younger woman about forty feet to his left. A quick glance at her made Joe smile wryly. Joe had grown up in South Florida. He could recognize a girl living off a sugar daddy. The way she smiled at him when he sat down, too flirty for the ring she wore around her finger. The way she waved with a limp wrist was more than distasteful to Joe. Some people didn’t work a day in their lives.
Joe had grown up in a family where everyone worked. His mother and father to this day strived to improve their own small businesses. Working and self-growth were in his DNA. Anyone who didn’t put forth the effort to become all they could be and help the world with it was a waste of a human. Joe laughed and shook his head as the woman shook her ass teasingly as she turned over.
She was quite a sexy woman, and most days he had spent at the beach, Joe could be found flirting with women of her physical “distinction.” It had been a while since he’d had one of “those” beach days, the days that began with two things, partying and hanging with his brother Kurt. Kurt and Joe would be sharing beers, playing catch with a football and singing along to country. Next thing you know, their two-person jam session would be a crowd of twenty and a raging party. It’s just what happened. Joe had come to love those groups of people, but Kurt wasn’t there today. The party wasn’t as fun without his brother. It felt hollow.
Today Joe was simply happy that the woman was the only person even close to his spot on the beach, except for the occasional couple strolling by, letting the water lap against their toes. This was perfect for Joe. He had just gotten done with a training exercise in the swamps with a group of twenty guys and had not been alone for some time. A calm morning to relax and regain his strength was exactly what he wanted. The only thing that would have made this morning better was if Kurt were there with him. Kurt and Joe hadn’t gotten to spend much time together in some while. A day at the beach, a few beers and some quality time would complete the perfect South Beach day. The thought of hanging with Kurt put a real smile on Joe’s face and allowed him to slip into a peaceful slumber. His only worry was hoping he wouldn’t burn.
“HELP!”
Joe rattled from his sleep by the sharp, piercing scream ringing loudly from the woman lying to his left. Joe sat up and shot a glance in her direction, thinking a seagull had gotten too close or something as stupid as that. He was dead wrong.
A large man was on top of her, pushing her into the sand. Her arms were swinging wildly as she desperately tried to dislodge her attacker. Joe leapt to his feet and took off sprinting in her direction.
Sand flew into the air as Joe pushed his half-asleep legs as hard as he could. Within a few seconds, Joe reached the woman. His heart was pounding and his face hard, filled with anger. Momentum, from the full sprint, caused him to careen out of control into the attacker, sending Joe and the man both a few feet across the sand. In the wild tumble, there was a loud crack. Joe rolled over to face the assailant. Joe was ready to slam his fist into the man’s face, but he only saw empty eyes. During the attack, the man had landed awkwardly and snapped his neck. He now lay dead on the beach.
Filled with adrenaline, Joe looked down at this man. His face was covered in sores, and blood spilled from his mouth. Other than his yellowed teeth and disfigured face, the man was clean-shaven and wearing a tailored suit. The contrast of fashion and disease was somehow a stranger scene than he could recall ever seeing. He sat there staring, trying to understand the image in front of him. He couldn’t. It was then that Joe realized he hadn’t checked on the lady this man had been attacking.
He ran over to her, stopping just a foot away. The scene laid out in front of him was hard to believe. Joe had seen terrible things while serving in the military. On several occasions, his eyes had been scarred with the view of human bodies cut in half or spread across the road from IEDs. This was different. Even Joe wasn’t prepared for the image that now filled his vision.
On the ground in front of him was a person who used to be a beautiful woman. She was lying there now, toned body clad tightly in a one-piece swimsuit with a pink-and-black zebra pattern. The suit was covered all over with bloody teeth marks. Her right hand was gone, only a stump at the wrist, creating a pool of blood slowly filling depressions in the sand. Her face was almost unrecognizable, skin hanging loosely and no nose to be found. Teeth marks and fingernail scratches covered her throat. The center of her throat was now only a gaping hole.
After all he had seen in his life, the death and the gore, cannibalism was something completely new. How could someone do something like this? A feeling of anger and satisfaction for having killed the man now filled his body. He deserved his death.
Joe walked over to his towel with his head hanging, wondering what was going on and hoping this was all a bad dream. What could possess a man to do something like that? Joe reached into his backpack and pulled out his cell phone. Dialing 9-1-1, he began to wonder how the hell he would even explain this.
Beep, beep, beep, beep, beep, beep . . .
The emergency number simply rang and rang.
What the hell? I need someone to answer the phone. What could be so damn important that they can’t answer a 9-1-1 call?
Joe got his answer in the form of an ATV racing past him on the beach at thirty miles per hour. It roared by and threw sand in a high stream into the air behind it. Joe caught a glimpse of the driver. It was a young man, maybe twenty-six, wearing black pants and a blue shirt with the word “Lifeguard” printed on the back.
“Hey! Hey! I have two wounded people here!”
Joe’s cries fell on deaf ears, as the ATV continued its race down the beach without even slowing or veering slightly off course. As Joe watched the ATV, he noticed other people on the beach running with the same determination and intensity as the four-wheeler. Everyone was running; not only that, some were being chased. The scene he had just seen of a man attacking and biting a woman was playing out on a grand stage across the entire beach.
What the fu—
His thought was abruptly cut off as Joe sensed something. He sensed danger. It was a unique talent that Joe had, one that had saved his life many times in Afghanistan. His squad would always jokingly call it his “Spidey sense” and jest about it tingling. Or at least they did until one day when it saved them all from an IED placed in the building where they were heading to meet a village elder. After that day, Joe had learned to always trust his gut and take action when he sensed danger approaching.
Feeling imminent danger, Joe turned his head to where the woman lay dead. She was not there anymore. The woman, with blood still pouring from her throat, was no longer on the ground.
She was now only feet away, arms extended, mouth open, showing her well-manicured teeth. At a full sprint, she barreled into Joe with enough force to throw him to the ground. Joe only had enough reaction time to grab the woman by both shoulders, keeping her at arm’s length as they both fell to the sand. Joe fell, overwhelmed, under this machine of rage spewing blood and chomping at the air.
Landing flat on his back, Joe let his training take over. He pushed hard with his right hand against her shoulder while pulling the woman’s left arm across his body with his left. He rolled her over, turning the tables on body position. Grabbing her wrists, Joe pulled the girl’s arms across her body. She was now powerless; however, she was still chomping at the air. Gurgles of blood and small screams emanated from her mouth as she attempted to eat Joe.
Snap, gurgle, snap.
Luckily for Joe, they had fallen right next his bag. Joe adjusted his grip on the girl. Grabbing both her small
wrists with one powerful grasp, he reached into the bag. He pulled out a small flip-blade knife. With a swift motion, he extended the four-inch blade and slammed it into the woman’s skull. In an instant, the bubbling choking sound stopped and her body lay limply on the ground.
Joe stood up, still looking at her face. Even ignoring the knife sticking from her forehead, it looked wrong. She had become a monster. Her skin was already showing signs of boils and spider veins. Where before were bright-blue, sparkling eyes were now white, milky marbles with cracks and fissures. Whatever had happened to her had happened fast. Joe had seen someone look like this before, but it didn’t make sense.
“Zombies? Real zombies?” Joe voiced his confusion.
She was a zombie. Never had Joe thought that a zombie apocalypse would ever happen. Even if it had, it should be a slow escalation. Another scream brought his attention back to the larger picture around him. It was happening, fast.
Across the beach, he could see some people fighting; others were running full sprint, attempting to escape. Mothers were carrying their children, trying to save them from their fathers as they came at them with a bloodlust in their eyes. The entire beach looked like a game of tag on a children’s playground. The only difference? If you lose here, you die.
It wasn’t just those on the beach running away. Others were running onto the beach, from the city, followed by hungry assailants. Chased into the water, several attempted to swim away, battling the surf and crashing waves. The world around Joe was turning to hell fast; he had to make a move. He watched an older man run into the waves, trying to escape from this terror. When he got deep enough that it wasn’t possible to stand, the attacker stopped and turned back to the beach in search of another meal.
So they can’t swim, huh? Okay, Joe thought to himself. He knew exactly what he needed to do.
On the south edge of Miami Beach was a marina used mainly to keep boats that were for sale. The sales office was close by, meaning the keys were there too. Joe didn’t like stealing, but in this mayhem when it meant life or death, an exception had to be made. He needed to get off the island, and seeing as these zombies couldn’t swim, a boat seemed like a wise choice. The nicer yachts also had desalinating pumps, which would provide a source of fresh water. Couple that with the fact that there was a fuel pump at the marina, and everything seemed to line up perfectly. Now the only question was how to get there.
Joe was about a mile away. Under normal circumstances, he could run that distance in about six minutes. He often ran the sandy beach around to South Pointe Park. From there it was only a short run on a sidewalk to the marina. On a normal day, this was a fun, peaceful run, but today was not normal. The beach was a minefield of zombies and was becoming more and more crowded by the second. Frightened survivors were pouring out of the city through the public access sidewalks, bringing with them a horde of undead freaks.
Earlier today Joe had walked a few extra minutes to lie in a less crowded area. He had set up his towel near two under-construction hotels and nowhere near a public sidewalk. He now realized how wise that decision had been. Scanning, Joe found what he was looking for.
Just off the beach, near the boardwalk, was a row of bright-colored bicycles. On a normal day, these bikes could be seen all around the beach and the city. They would be carrying tourists, smiling and laughing, ringing bells, enjoying the simple joy of a sun-soaked bike ride. Today these rental bikes sat quietly. Even if their bells were ringing, they wouldn’t be heard over the alarms, the sirens and the screams.
Joe grabbed his bag and ran at a dead sprint to the rental bikes. The rental station box was solar powered and independent, so it would be working even if the home office was currently a zombie zoo. He swiped his card and entered the number of the closest bike:
Wait 15 sec . . . Wait 14 sec . . .
Never in his life had fifteen seconds felt so long. Joe was in a combat alert mode, jerking his head around in a full circle, tracking the nearest zombie and any noise close by.
Approved.
“Finally,” Joe let out with a slight grunt and grabbed the bike from the rack.
Joe climbed onto the bike and began pedaling down the beach walk as fast as the beach cruiser would carry him. All around him, the world was turning to hell. He was running out of time.
Joe came to a screeching halt when the beach walk reached Lummus Park. Lummus Park was one of the most well-known tourist locations in South Beach. Its beautiful palm trees and open spaces separated the club scene from the beach. Most days, you would find a volleyball tournament, muscle men and family picnics. Today the idyllic scene had been substituted with one of pure terror. Bodies littered the ground, and cries of agony and anger echoed through the trees. Joe stared for half a second, debating in his mind whether it was safe or if he needed to risk hopping over to the road. He would eventually need to traverse the width of the island. Perhaps now was the time.
Someone else made the choice for him. On the beach walk came what had to be the scariest image Joe had ever seen. What had been a bodybuilder in life was now a twisted existence of undead. Nostrils flared, veins popped all over his body, his eyes were bloodshot and every muscle flexed. This hulking man was running at a full sprint. The definition of pure terror came racing at Joe.
Joe turned the bike inland and began pedaling hard, leaving the racing Mr. Universe fast in his rear view. Joe weaved in and out of back alleys and major streets, focused on attempting to avoid any of the growing number of zombies. He was now only two blocks away from the marina and the yacht dealerships. Joe turned the corner to find the street empty save for two things: a minivan and a zombie banging at its driver’s door with all its fury.
On this otherwise-abandoned street, Joe saw one zombie, one minivan and a group of small faces crying in the rear window. Joe made eye contact with three small children, one boy and two girls, trapped inside. Outside on the pavement right at the undead assailant’s feet were the keys to the van. Stuck was an understatement. Joe’s every survival instinct was screaming at him to keep riding, that he was running out of time, but in his heart, the small boy reminded him of his brother Kurt at that age. Joe had always watched out for Kurt and protected him. He would not leave this little boy to a terrible fate.
Aided by a rush of adrenaline and a need to protect, Joe sped headlong on the bike toward the zombie scratching wildly at the glass of the driver-side door of the minivan. Joe’s momentum carried him forward as he slammed into the attacker with immense force, sending them both sprawling forward.
Joe jumped to his feet and ran back to the car door. In one motion, he picked the keys off the ground and opened the driver-side door. Sitting in the seat was a large man in his forties wearing a Hawaiian shirt. Obviously on vacation, this dad was in shock and frozen from the fear of what was going on. Heart still pumping with emotion and energy, Joe forcefully pushed the man into the passenger seat. The engine of the van whined as Joe floored the gas pedal. “I guess you’re coming with me,” Joe said out of the side of his mouth.
“Okay,” the man answered. It was all he could force out, still in shock over what had just happened.
The remaining two blocks went by in a matter of seconds, a blur of buildings. Looking over at the passenger seat, Joe could see the man coming back to his senses, the shock wearing off.
“Thank you, I’m Aaron.”
“Get ready. We are going to have to run for it. As soon as I jump the curb, we’ll have to ditch the van and get to one of the yachts. It’s our only chance.” The van lurched slightly as the tires impacted the curb at nearly thirty miles per hour.
A loud pop rang out as the van’s front two tires blew. Skidding to a stop, Joe grabbed the young boy while Aaron took his two daughters in his arms. The noise of the exploding tires brought the attention of every undead creature around. They still needed to get keys and get onto a boat. The race was on.
Russia: Outbreak Day
Wednesday morning, Kurt woke and opened his com
puter, ready to read about some amazing beach and the nightlife of a major city. He would pine and dream, trapped in this icy Russian town. Not today. Today the front page was an image of New York City, burning, and people running with tears in their eyes and blood on their shirts.
The headline read, “Zombies!”
CHAPTER TWO
Russia: Outbreak Day
“Zombies?” Kurt questioned his own laptop.
Is this for real?
Kurt was staring at the computer screen with a wrinkled brow. It seemed like he was part of a bad B-roll movie or reading some elaborate science fiction. There was no way that these news sites could be actually reporting a zombie outbreak. Where were the Punk’d cameras? It seemed like there was a huge practical joke running across the world and Kurt wasn’t in on it. CNN, MSNBC and Reuters were all reporting the same thing. Zombies were running wild, eating people. It appeared the outbreak had spread across every major city on the planet. No government was having success maintaining control of their countries. Kurt looked out the window at a picturesque, quiet scene. Nothing was happening here, yet.
Kurt dove fast into the deep threads of the internet message boards. If anyone knew whether this was real or not, some troll would have posted to Reddit or Imgur. There was nothing, well nothing to discredit the reputable journals. Kurt’s mind raced as he read story after story. It seemed the entire world was going to hell in a handbasket faster than anyone could have guessed. Then, just as Kurt was watching a perfectly looped GIF of a zombie getting hit by a train for the fifth time, his heart stopped as his mind raced. What about Miami? Kurt pounded the keyboard, typing the search into Google. In a matter of seconds, images of burning corpses and zombie hordes covered the top of his screen. The majority of Kurt’s blood left his face in less than a moment. His mind honed in on one word, one name: Joe. His brother was back in Miami, and from the pictures he was seeing, it didn’t look good.
