Blood on the Sand (Z Plan)

by Lerma, Mikhail

  Looking at his watch, he said, “2214. We should probably get some sleep.” “How is your arm looking?”

  “Like shit. And it doesn’t feel any better either.”

  “Let me see.” Cale stood and approached.

  He carefully removed the bandage from his wound. The veins surrounding the bite were black and pus was being secreted in large gobs. Cale returned to his seat with a sigh.

  “We should get some rest. You want to stay there or do you want me to help you move into the other room?” he asked.

  “Where do you feel the safest?” questioned Zach. “Are you confident that I’ll make it through the night without changing? Or should I lock myself in here just in case?”

  Zach searched Cale’s face for any doubt. It made sense. If he turned during the night, he’d attack Cale. Then they’d both be fucked.

  Looking self-assured Cale smiled, “Yeah, we’ll be alright in the same room.”

  That night Zach was scared to fall asleep. He wondered if it would make him more vulnerable to the disease that had attacked his body. He glanced over expecting to see Cale awake and staring at the ceiling. Zach smirked at the sight he saw. Cale was sound asleep, curled up in the blanket, with the buds from his iPod in his ears. What is he always listening to? Zach wondered. Even now, how can he possibly be so sound asleep with an infected right next to him?

  “Crazy,” Zach whispered.

  He shook his head and closed his eyes.

  Nothing but Emptiness

  The next morning Cale woke to the sound of pounding on the boarded-up front door, and the moans and shrieking of a group of undead. He quickly reached for his fire arm and went out of the bedroom. As he descended the stairs he charged the weapon, readying to defend himself. He wondered where Zach had run off to. He could hear the clawing and shouting of the group outside. They must have heard the gunfire yesterday. That or they could smell warm flesh inside. If they stayed there long enough they’d draw others, making it difficult to leave safely.

  The group was small enough to dispatch with ease, but he didn’t want the crowd to get too big. Given the group’s current size, they couldn’t possibly break into the boarded up home.

  Cale could hear metal pots banging together. Zach must have started to make breakfast. As he walked by the boarded windows he could hear the growls and moans of the mob outside. Entering the kitchen, a decent sized room with an oak table in the middle, he saw Zach standing at the stove, cooking some eggs from the tan colored fridge next to the entry way. Zach looked up and gave a faint smile.

  “How’s your arm this morning?” Cale asked.

  “Hurts. Other than that---I don’t know,” Zach replied.

  “Has the swelling gone down?”

  “Na. I took a shower this morning and I think that made it worse.”

  “How long you been up?”

  Zach stood awhile, “I didn’t really sleep.”

  There was a short silence. Cale knew that Zach would have to die; he just wasn’t sure how to deal with it. Zach, his good friend, obviously did not want to be a walking corpse. But he couldn’t kill Zach himself. What he didn’t know was that Zach was thinking about the same thing. Zach looked at Cale. He appeared to be lost in thought. He decided to break the silence.

  “So, I made scrambled eggs and what looks like hash browns,” Zach laughed, “Well, they smell like hash browns anyway.”

  Cale gave a smirk.

  “I have to take care of my buddy,” Zach stated.

  He scraped eggs from the pan on to the plate, then grabbed the pan still on the stove and scooped the hash browns next to them.

  “Are you going to eat anything?” Cale asked.

  “I already ate,” Zach lied.

  The idea of eating made him sick at the moment. His arm was throbbing with pain. He sat the plate down for Cale and went in to the bathroom. He shut the door behind him and locked it. Zach lifted up his sleeve and observed his injury. The infection was spreading. The dark veins now ran onto his chest and covered his entire hand. He looked at himself in the mirror. His once green eyes were now dark, and blood shot. They looked sunken and sickly, and his skin was cold and pale. Zach remembered what he had looked like before. The man his wife fell in love with in Spanish class was tan, and healthy. He wondered if he saw her today if she would even recognize him, or if she would mistake him for one of the undead. Looking at his own reflection, he couldn’t help but think he already looked like one of them.

  His vision began to narrow. Could this be it? Was this the moment he’d change and join the legion of the undead? His head began to ache, and he shuddered. The feeling in his arm began to fade. The room faded into grey, then black and then white. He felt his concentration slipping, nothing but emptiness now. It was cold in here. He could hear yelling. Someone was shouting his name. Who was it? He lost consciousness before he could tell.

  Breakfast Interrupted

  Cale watched as Zach’s demeanor changed. He began to look sickly. As Zach walked to the bathroom, Cale stood and proceeded after him. Zach locked the bathroom door. Cale waited outside, listening, and wondering if Zach would be alright. They definitely wouldn’t be leaving today. Would he even make it another day? Was it too late? He heard a dull thud, and then moaning came from inside the room. Cale tried to open the door, briefly forgetting it was locked. He threw himself into it, breaking it off its hinges. Zach lay sprawled on the floor, and with eyes rolled back, he began convulsing.

  “ZACH! ZACH! WAKE UP!” Cale yelled, as he ran to his friend’s aid.

  Zach passed out. With some difficulty Cale managed to carry him through the kitchen, up the stairs, and onto the couch. He felt cold to the touch. Cale ran into the bedroom and grabbed the blankets and sheets off the beds. He bolted back into the living room and quickly covered Zach with them. He took a moment to look at him. He looked like he was asleep. Cale used his index and middle fingers to check the pulse on his wrist. It was faint, but it was there.

  Cale went downstairs and looked for a towel. Where had Zach gotten his? He checked the bathroom, but his search turned up nothing, so he walked into the downstairs den, where they’d retrieved the most uncomfortable chair. Zach’s used towel sat on the coffee table. Cale stumbled over the rug as he reached for it. He carried it into the kitchen, where he ran hot water into the sink. He was thankful for the indoor plumbing, and working hot water.

  Burning his hands while wringing the excess water out of the rag, Cale headed back for the stairs. He heard a crash; something big had been knocked over. He immediately looked up, but soon realized that the sound had come from below. How was this possible? There was no other door. He’d even checked for cellar doors, and Zach didn’t mention seeing anything. Deciding that it might have been his mind playing tricks on him, he walked up the stairs. Maybe the sound had come from outside. He could still hear the frantic efforts of the group outside, straining for their next meal. Yes, he decided. It came from outside, he was positive.

  Fumbling in the Dark

  The original owner of the home was a holocaust survivor. He made sure his home was equipped with a cellar in case his family ever needed it. The most recent residents used this space as a food pantry. Currently it served as the tomb for one lost soul. It was dark. It had been a few days since the man forced him down here, shoving him down the stairs. He’d fumbled in the dark for so long. The smell of warm flesh was gone, so he curled up onto the floor. But now the scent was back. Oh, how it smelled, so sweet. His glazed eyes panned the room, looking for a light source.

  He’d heard footfalls overhead, then the sound of someone staggering. There it was, a small crack of light. His decayed body moved toward it sluggishly. One of his legs was stiff from rigor mortis, his stench was foul, and his teeth were falling out. His skin had turned a nasty yellow. What hair he had left was greyand thin. Most of his fingernails were gone, and the ends of his fingers were bloody nubs. As he approached the cellar door, hidden beneath the handcrafted rug, h
is step faltered. The corpse toppled to the side, knocking over a rack of jarred food. The steps he’d heard upstairs paused for a moment. They started again but grew faint. His meal was walking away. His bony hand reached for the source of light. He had to eat, and dinner was waiting right upstairs.

  Sleep Well My Friend

  Cale placed the hot rag on Zach’s forehead. He wasn’t looking so good. He probably didn’t have too much longer. Cale clasped his hands together, over Zach chest. He closed his eyes and bowed his head.

  “God, if you’re there, please don’t let this happen. I shouldn’t have suggested a split. I was careless and he paid for it. Please work a divine miracle. Heal him. I can’t do this alone.” Cale paused and looked at Zach. He closed his eyes again and returned to prayer, “PLEASE! I beg of you. Spare him. Please.” Cale sat silently, eyes clenched, hands shaking in frustration.

  Cale knew it wouldn’t be an instant miracle. After sitting in silence for a few more minutes he returned to his feet. All he could do was wait. Only time would tell if God heard his plea. There had to be a cure.

  Cale crossed the room and thrust himself into the chair. He watched as Zach suffered on the sofa, and he reached for his fire arm, checking to see how many rounds were left in the magazine. The screams and pounding of their guests at the windows and door downstairs grew louder. There were twelve, maybe fourteen of them. He looked at his watch; it was only eleven thirty. He had to get out by tomorrow night, otherwise there would be too many of them to escape.

  Zach’s eyes began to open. He looked around the room, confused. Cale returned to his feet and stood at Zach’s side.

  “Gave me a scare for a second. Thought you were gonna join the other team,” Cale smiled.

  “Na, just thought I’d take a nap on the bathroom floor,” Zach said weakly.

  “You think it’s time?”

  “Almost.”

  “You want to do it? Or--- should I?” Cale asked reluctantly.

  “I may be a bad Catholic, but some things I still believe---“

  Cale knew what this meant. Zach would die by his hands. He’d gone to war and the only person he would kill would be his friend. This would weigh heavily on his conscience. After this he’d be alone, crossing the globe as a one man team. The story wasn’t supposed to go like this.

  “Is there anyone you want me to find for you?” Cale asked.

  “I don’t know who’s alive and who’s dead.”

  “Well, I can still try to find them.”

  “If you can find my wife or my mother, tell them---“

  He didn’t know what to say. Was this really it? Was his own friend about to end his life? After thinking about it he finally came to a conclusion. It wasn’t too sappy, it wasn’t super dramatic.

  “Tell them, I tried,” Zach said firmly.

  “You tried? Tried what?” Cale asked.

  “Come on man, you’re killing the moment,” Zach laughed feebly. His eyes began to water up a bit.

  “I’m sure when I find them I’ll think of something better,” Cale smirked. His eyes too, were beginning to tear up.

  “Tell them I tried to get home. I wanted nothing but to be with them, and in my last moments, I’d have loved to see their smiling faces. That good enough?”

  “Perfect,” Cale said as he wiped his eyes.

  They sat there for what seemed like ages, postponing the inevitable. Cale embraced Zach. He was more than a brother to Cale. Zach returned the hug. Both of them knew that this was going to be their last interaction.

  “I’m so sorry,” Cale sobbed.

  “It’s not your fault,” Zach whispered.

  “I---I---don’t know if I can do this.”

  “You have to. I can’t do it myself,” Zach said, as tears began rolling down his face.

  “I just don’t know,” Cale went on.

  “I don’t want to be one of those damn things, walking around rotting from the inside out. A shell of who I use to be.” Zach was getting angry. “I don’t want anyone to see me like that. I don’t want to be remembered as one of them,” Zach said, his voice cracking from intense emotion.

  Cale only nodded. Zach closed his eyes. He could feel it running through his body. An infectious virus bent on mutating his being, on corrupting his final moment, and it was closing fast. The darkness was moving in, consuming him. Zach felt like he was sleeping now. It all seemed like a dream. His body felt far away, and he could hear indistinct voices. Lots of them. Yelling, screaming out for help. It no longer felt like a dream, it was a nightmare. A loud crack was the sound of his release.

  Ears ringing, the smell of gunpowder was all that was left for Cale now.

  A King’s Burial

  Cale waited for Zach to slip into unconsciousness before placing the pistol’s muzzle to his forehead. Tears rolling down his face, Cale discharged the firearm into his friend’s head. Zach’s head kicked back from the impact, and the 9mm slug lodged itself inside his brain. Cale retreated to his chair and collapsed, letting the pistol fall to the floor. He leaned forward onto the edge of his seat, cradling his head in his hands. Despite feeling he’d cried all he could, Cale sobbed uncontrollably. Warm tears ran from his eyes, and into the hands that covered his face. He was trembling. He edged off of the chair and fell to his knees on the floor. The loud moans of the undead outside brought Cale back to the present. They knew he was inside now. There was no denying it. Their next meal was held up in this tiny fortress. For hours Cale sat and stared at Zach’s remains. Even in death the virus spread. The black veins crawled up onto his face and around his neck. The blood oozing from the open wound in his head looked black and thick.

  Where was he going to bury the body of his dearest friend? He couldn’t just leave Zach here. That wasn’t the honorable burial he deserved. He sat and thought for a while longer. At last, he jumped up and approached the broken window. They had broken out the remainder of the glass when they boarded up the house. From the window he could see the undead pounding and clawing at the front door. He looked straight down and observed the two trying to get in through a downstairs window; it too had been blocked off.

  Cale retrieved his weapon and carefully aimed, firing only after he’d slowed his breathing. He hit one of them right in the back of the head. He took another deep breath and squeezed the trigger. He hit another at the door, this time square in the back. The others turned slowly at the sound. They noticed him at the window, and each rotated, and walked toward the window that was far out of their reach. One by one, Cale terminated each one of them, only missing three times, and reloading once. The smell was unbearable. There beneath the window, were their corpses, permanently put to rest. He could still hear the moans of the other undead on the other side of the house. All he had to do was put them down, and he could bury Zach.

  Cale walked toward the doorway, down the hall, and down the stairs with new purpose. There was no actual back door, so he’d have to go outside. He reloaded his firearm and drew another. It was time to clear around the exterior. He removed the three 2x4s they’d used to block the door. He slowly opened the door, to see his first mark lying like a rag doll right in front of it. He was a teenage boy, half his jaw ripped off, and various bite marks along his short sleeve shirt. His jeans had been ripped near the bottom. Blood stained his clothes.

  He cautiously crept around the side of the house. He reached the back of the house and quickly shifted around the corner, prepared for anything. A mob of them, like an undead block party, stood huddled together, pounding at the barricaded window. Cale didn’t even give them time to react to his presence, but began discharging his pistols into the party at head level until the entire group lay at his feet. It was a good thing he’d known the rule to dispatching these creatures. Shoot them in the head and they’d stay down.

  After donning gloves he moved the bodies of all the infected into the street, cautiously scanning it every ten seconds. Cale entered the home and looked for some matches. Burning the bodies would pre
vent animals from scavenging and infecting themselves. Under the sink he found some house hold cleaning agents; one of the bottles had the universal symbol for flammable on the label. In one kitchen drawer he found eating utensils, in the next, he found what looked like useless junk. He smirked, thinking that back home, his drawer of useless junk contained matches. Cale sifted through the contents, and found what he was looking for. He walked back out to the pile of festering corpses and emptied some of the flammable liquid on them, saving the last bit. He struck a match and tossed it on the mess. Cale stood and stared into the flames a moment. He looked back at the house after surveying the street one more time. It was brick, with sturdy walls and even sturdier doors. As he looked up at a second story window he thought about Zach. Tears welled up in his eyes again, blurring his vision momentarily.

  Cale walked back into the house and up the stairs. He took a right at the top, and stopped at the room that served as Zach’s temporary resting place. Cale approached him, and took one last look. He then began removing Zach’s personal effects, including his wallet, which contained his military I.D. and a picture of his wife. From Zach’s dog chain he took one dog tag, leaving the other to stay with his remains, just in case the world recovered, he could be identified and sent home for a proper burial. Lastly, Cale collected Zach’s prized World War II replica British combat knife. Wearily, he reached across Zach’s body and wrapped him in the sheets and blanket, making sure they were nice and tight. He lifted Zach with a degree of difficulty, cradling him like a child. Mustering up his strength, he walked into the hall and down the stairs. He was vulnerable holding him. If an undead approached he would be unable to reach his gun quickly, he’d have to drop Zach, and that wasn’t about to happen. He owed Zach too much to drop his body. He walked out the front door and proceeded toward the back of the house. Cale neatly laid Zach down, then paused to look at the bundle of sheets. It looked like a mummy from some cheap horror movie, only this mummy was blue. He lit a match and tossed it onto Zach. Cale stood for a long time, watching Zach’s body burn. Zach once told Cale he’d rather be burned than buried. This is how he would have wanted his remains dealt with.