A gray panel van had attempted to go around the cruiser and was wedged on the sidewalk, its front fender crumpled against an oak tree. The van’s engine revved as it attempted to push through. Then, tires squealing, the driver jammed into reverse and darted backward, slamming into a Toyota sedan. The Toyota shot forward to avoid the impact but struck a pick-up truck that sported Confederate flag decals in the rear windshield.
“I guess that’s why they said to stay off the roads,” Jacob said.
“We’ll take the other way out,” Ian said, checking the street behind him.
At the site of the pile-up, a man leaped out of the truck and headed for the van, shouting and waving his arms. The chain-reaction accident had enhanced the cruiser’s task of blocking the street, and other motorists locked down on their horns. As Ian shifted the car into reverse, the driver in front of them attempted a U-turn, clipping the Toyota’s bumper.
“This is getting crazy,” Meg said. “Let’s get out of here.”
Before Ian could navigate a retreat, a plumbing truck pulled up behind them, its big diesel engine rumbling and belching black smoke. The way it angled into the intersection cut off their maneuver. Ian waved at the truck driver to back up, but the driver’s attention was focused on the pile-up ahead.
“Oh, man, they’re fighting,” Jacob said.
The driver of the pick-up truck tilted down the brim of his baseball cap to show he meant business. He yanked open the driver’s-side door of the van and pulled out a chubby, middle-aged man. To Meg’s horror, the man in the ball cap delivered a solid punch to the side of the other man’s head. The victim slammed into the side of the van and slid into a sitting position on the pavement.
As Ball Cap hovered over him and delivered a couple of kicks to the ribs, Meg said, “We’ve got to help him.”
“We can’t go out there,” Ian said, fists gripping the steering wheel in frustration. The driver of the plumbing truck blasted his air horn, rattling the cargo of cast-iron pipes.
The Toyota’s driver, a young woman in a pink sweater and blue skirt, sprinted over to interrupt the assault. Ball Cap shoved her aside and delivered another kick to the fallen man, ranting and cursing with spittle flying from his lips. He’d cracked under the strain of the unknown.
Meg shook her head at Ian and opened her door. “Watch the kids.”
She had no idea how she could help, being five-two and a hundred and twenty pounds and without a weapon, but she couldn’t sit back and watch this maniac go postal. If only the officer was still around—but she was growing used to the idea that they’d now have to take the law into their own hands. She yelled at the brawling man to get his attention, and he turned to her with a red-faced snarl. She saw immediately that he was sick.
“Leave him alone!” Meg shouted.
He muttered and lurched toward her. He was close enough that she could see the sallow skin and inflamed eyes. She’d seen that complexion in the mirror the day before. But something burned beneath his fever like cold fire.
The beaten man on the ground crawled away, blood leaking from his nose. Ball Cap stepped over him, dragging a boot across his ribs for good measure. Ian shouted at Meg from behind, but all her attention was focused on the diseased man.
The diseased thing.
It was turning before her eyes. Her scientific mind marveled at the transformation but she dared only a split-second to diagnose the symptoms. It was as if the bacteriophage mutated in the time it took him to leave his truck and commit assault. And whereas her own fever had left her weak, this victim seemed to grow in vigor and strength even as the light shifted in his eyes and his veins bulged with corruption.
He was dying and being reborn before her eyes, and all she could do was stand there like a dime-store mannequin.
Jacob’s shout broke her from her reverie. “It’s a zombie, Mom!”
The thing swiped at her with a clawing hand, the skin on the knuckles split and oozing purplish fluid from the fighting. She dodged to her right and the zombie cut off her escape back to their car. The thing moved fast despite the sudden mutation occurring inside its cells.
She fled toward Ball Cap’s pick-up, leveraging one foot off the rear bumper as she catapulted into the truck bed. She sprawled among an assortment of tools, tie-down straps, fishing gear, and trash. As she scrambled for footing, her wrist banged against hard metal. She shoved a pile of beer cans aside to reveal a rusty lug wrench. She picked it up and rolled onto her butt just as the zombie reached over the tailgate for her.
She swung the wrench, coming up six inches short. The weapon was awkward and had little weight, but she had no time to look for something better. She scooted backward as the zombie pulled himself after her. Saliva drooled from his lower lip, the dead eyes seeming to look past her even as they sized her up like a filet mignon. She considered jumping onto the top of the cab, but Jacob was running toward them. Down the street, Ian yelled at him, standing halfway out of the car, afraid to leave Ramona.
Worried that Jacob would reach the thing before she did, she launched herself toward the zombie, driving the lug wrench before her like a four-pointed sword. One end of the wrench bludgeoned the zombie in the forehead, driving it back so that it slipped, banging its chin against the edge of the tailgate. Its teeth clacked together as the tip of its severed tongue bounced into the truck bed.
Meg climbed out of the truck, clinging to her awkward makeshift weapon. Ball Cap lay on his back but gave a heaving roll toward her. She moved out of reach just as Jacob reached her and flung his arms around her.
“You should’ve stayed with Dad,” she said, standing protectively between her son and the zombie.
“You have to kill the brain,” Jacob said. “Like, crush it or stab it.”
“His skull’s too thick.”
“You need a hammer or something cool like a machete.”
“This isn’t a game, honey.” She backed him away from the zombie, whose irises were now shiny green with fever while the sclera was streaked with red lightning. The blow to the head had stunned it, and it tottered onto hands and knees. It crawled toward her like an overgrown toddler, ignoring the rough pavement that scraped layers of skin from its palms.
“Back to the car,” she ordered Jacob. “Hurry.”
“I’m not leaving without you.”
“I’ll be right behind you. Promise.”
The van driver had recovered enough to return to his vehicle and close the door, and the Toyota driver attempted to drive around the police car. It squeezed against a fire hydrant and utility pole, metal shrieking from the contact. The Toyota, dented on both flanks, squirted free and merged into the chaotic traffic on Wade Avenue.
Meg and Jacob were the only people on the street. Ian yelled at them again, and Meg debated delivering another blow to the zombie’s head. She drew back the lug wrench but now that she was out of immediate danger, she couldn’t bring herself to strike.
It was a living creature, after all.
Or was it?
This was all too sudden. She flung the wrench to the street and it wheeled away with a clang, her stomach lurching as she fought down the urge to vomit.
By the time Meg joined her family back at their Subaru, the plumbing truck had backed up enough to allow them an escape.
“That was foolish,” Ian said, shifting the car into gear.
“Those people needed help.” She glanced at Ramona, who appeared to be drowsing.
“We have to help ourselves first.”
Meg put her hand over his and pointed to the street in front of them. “We can’t leave…it…out here where it might hurt somebody else.”
Ball Cap staggered toward them, blood dribbling down his chin. His face twisted with an obscene hunger. The sickness had spread through him like a biological wildfire.
“You sure?” Ian asked.
“He’s dead,” Meg added. “It won’t hurt him.”
“Cover your eyes,” Ian said to the kids in the backseat, but as he gunned the
engine and accelerated forward, Jacob leaned eagerly over the seat. Meg tried to shield his eyes but the boy was rapt.
The Subaru plowed into the zombie with soggy crunch, the body slamming into the hood before flopping backward onto the pavement. Jacob pumped his fist and let out a whoop. Ian rolled over the corpse, scraping the undercarriage against meat and bone. The car dragged the zombie twenty feet before the carrion broke free of the rear axle. Ian cut a donut in the street and wheeled past the quivering mass of red ruin.
“That’ll teach you to mess with us!” Jacob shouted in triumph.
As they pulled onto a side street looking for another route out of the neighborhood, Meg wondered how many other dead things they’d have to roll through before this was over.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
“There goes a plane,” Arjun said from his post by the window. “At least air traffic’s not shut down.”
“You thinking of trying for the airport?” Sydney lay on the couch, propped up on a pillow and glancing through his video game collection.
“No way. That plane’s headed east, away from the major airports. The only thing in that direction is military bases.”
“Maybe we could go to Canada.”
“If this thing started in Alaska like they said, it’s probably already crossed to Nova Scotia.” He sipped at his beer, which had gone lukewarm. He’d only taken it to impress Sydney. He wasn’t much of a drinker under the best of circumstances, and right now he needed to keep a clear head.
Sydney had no such compunction. She was already on her third, and the immediate effect of the alcohol was to make her chatty. She’d taken off her shoes and made herself at home, checking her phone every few minutes. The Internet offered no further insights as traditional news outlets had broken down, the government appeared to have gone dark, and social media networks devolved into a chaotic mix of opinions, trolling, and conspiracy theories.
“Does it happen like this in all the games?” Sydney asked. “You know, turn to shit in a matter of hours?”
“It’s more dramatic to reveal the slow collapse of civilization,” Arjun said. “Building narrative suspense. Because that’s the scary part—watching it slip through your hands little by little, knowing there’s nothing you can do.”
“But if it happens all at once, maybe we have a better chance of dealing with it.”
“Only if you assume ninety percent of everyone dies. Typically you’d think of the loss of electricity and fuel, and then the disruption of the supply chain. Looks like some vehicles are still moving, but I doubt anyone’s worried about shipping food to grocery stores.”
“We still have power,” Sydney said. “And I checked your cabinets. You’ve got enough ramen noodles to keep us from eating each other’s livers for at least a week.”
“Once we figure out the death rate, we can calculate how long we can scavenge from other apartments. There are about a hundred and twenty units in the complex, judging by the size of the parking lot. If half the people turn or die, that extends everyone’s food supply by at least a week.”
“Wow, you’re really good at this.”
“Too many unknowns.” Arjun watched a man in a track suit flee a spasmodic figure that gave unsteady chase. The man dodged between cars and stopped at a building across the street, pushing at the glass door. When it didn’t yield, he gave it a kick and ran to the next. Most businesses had closed because of the executive order, but the man must not have heard the news. Arjun was still wondering about the man when he turned the corner and disappeared from sight.
The zombie seemed confused by the disappearance of its prey. It stood on the sidewalk, jerking from one direction to another. A Jeep roared down the street, not slowing, its transmission grinding as the driver shifted gears. The zombie opened its mouth as if to scream, and then set off into a broken jog after it.
Arjun mimed shooting a pistol at the creature. Bang.
Despite all the animated avatars he’d obliterated on a screen, he wasn’t sure he could kill something in real life. Even if that thing was a true monster. But Sydney thought he offered some sort of protective power, and he wasn’t about to disappoint her. He’d had girlfriends before, but none who ever thought he was an alpha male instead of a nerd.
Sydney tried her cell again and slammed it against the sofa cushion in frustration. “Circuits busy.”
“Try the radio. Maybe there’s some news besides the curfew.”
“Do you even have a radio?”
Arjun shrugged. “There’s one in my car.”
“That’s doing us a fat lot of good.”
“I emailed my parents but haven’t heard back. I have a brother in New Delhi. He’s a doctor.”
“You think it’s hit India yet?”
“Sure. Anywhere with an airport is open season for infections.”
Sydney reached for another beer from the floor beside her. “So it’s probably airborne. Holing up won’t do us any good in that case. Not for long, anyway.”
“Depends on what kind of virus it is. I’d advise against letting any zombies breathe on you.”
Sydney emitted a grim chuckle. “And definitely don’t have sex with one.”
Arjun didn’t know how to respond to that. Sex was not something he talked about with females. Or males, for that matter.
“Something might break off,” she added, “and that would be embarrassing for both parties.”
“Too much information.”
Arjun went to his desk, which was actually his kitchen table, and booted up his laptop again. He still had a connection but no new emails had appeared since this morning. He hoped his parents were all right. His father was the kind who would closely follow government restrictions, fearful of having his citizenship revoked. His mother was more rebellious but in the end would go along with her husband’s decisions. That gave him some comfort—he imagined they, too, were barricaded inside their house waiting for clarity.
He conducted a quick skim of CNN, Fox News, and BBC. The headlines depicted a world in chaos, with governments in disarray and a comprehensive disaster response lacking. Arjun surfed to CBS and encountered Cameron Ingram again.
“Hey, Sydney,” he said. “Your friend’s back.”
He boosted the audio and turned the screen so she could see it from the couch. CBS played a clip of the televangelist’s close encounter with the munching kind.
“That hair, man. Does he think he’s a Fifties rockabilly star or something?” Sydney said with a squeal of delight.
“He’s definitely a star now. He’s been on every news show in the last three hours.”
“He’s not a rock ‘n’ roller, he’s a holy roller.” Sydney broke into an impromptu hymn, stringing together random syllables with the phrase “zombie faith healer” eventually rhyming with “pig squealer.” She was pretty drunk.
The news clip, which edited out the gunshot, featured Ingram offering the deader salvation. Despite its surreal quality, Arjun had to admit the guy projected a weird kind of charisma. He doubted he could’ve maintained his cool with a zombie slobbering down his neck.
The split screen featured the news anchor and the footage, but then the footage cut away to what looked like a remote live feed. Ingram, in a fresh suit and tie, wore an earpiece and a lapel microphone. The preacher was a big deal around Raleigh, but Arjun was still surprised he’d managed to steal the spotlight from a zombie apocalypse.
“Hush,” Arjun said to Sydney. “I want to hear this.”
Her sacrilegious hymn trailed away and she fell into a sullen silence. Ingram’s voice came through loud and clear, full of confidence and a carefully controlled fervor.
“I’ve spoken with the president, and he’s assured me that all available resources will be utilized,” Ingram said. “Under the Emergency Powers Act, he’s directed the National Guard to defend all churches from the demons. Parishioners should be protected from—”
“Excuse me, Reverend Ingram,” the newscaster interrupted.
“Why should churches get special protection? Doesn’t that violate the First Amendment clause mandating the separation of church and state?”
“Man-made laws must now yield to a higher law,” Ingram said. “God has spoken.”
“So does this mandate apply to all churches? Including Jewish synagogues, Buddhist temples, Muslim mosques, and Unitarian Universalist fellowships?”
“The elected will be separated,” Ingram says. “The bible clearly says the true believers, both the living and the dead, will rise into the sky and join Christ. Those without faith will be left to wander the Earth under Satan’s reign.”
“So these living dead—the zombies or deaders, as they’re being called—are non-Christians?”
“‘Demons’ would be a more accurate word. Fallen angels, Lucifer’s hordes, Satan’s army. Why deny the evidence of your own eyes?”
“The Centers for Disease Control is investigating the possibility of a rapidly mutating virus or a bacterial contagion. We’ve even heard speculation that Russia released a biological agent since the epidemic has been traced to a source in Alaska.”
“The White House is addressing those rumors and we’ve been assured by the Russian president that they’re suffering devastation as well. So are North Korea and China and the rest of the heathen nations.”
“Why is this guy getting to speak for the president all of a sudden?” Sydney asked.
“Apparently the president experienced a spiritual awakening,” Arjun said.
Sydney rolled off the couch with a groan and joined him at the laptop as the host grilled Ingram: “Is the president ordering troops to protect your own megachurch in Raleigh, as well as the four other churches you operate around the country?”
“First of all, they’re not my churches, they are the Lord’s,” Ingram replied, which Arjun thought was a smooth comeback. “I’m merely keeping the doors open until His imminent return. Additionally, these churches will serve as shelters in keeping with the president’s agreement.”
“Shelters open to the public?”
“Well, only for the elected, of course.”
Arize (Book 1): Resurrection Page 9
