by Jay Zano
“Sir, we’ve been unable to ascertain how many, so far. The towers are completely sealed from the inside, and no groups have attempted to make contact or claim responsibility, at this time.”
“Okay, but there are windows! Can we see what the hell’s going on inside, Captain? We need to know exactly what we’re dealing with and how much firepower these guys have!”
“Yes, sir!” says the captain. “We were able to obtain some video footage of the attacks from the floors above. The problem is, sir, the weapons they appear to be using.”
“Come on, Captain, don’t pussyfoot. What do they have?”
“It’s their mouths, sir! They’re attacking people with their mouths.”
“What the hell do you mean, ‘their mouths’?”
“Johnson,” the captain cries, summoning over a SWAT officer, “show the chief the footage.”
The chief leans in intently as the black screen of the officer’s tablet fades away and the video starts to play. It’s been taken from the perspective of the police helicopter, about sixty-five stories up. The chief’s eyes widen as people frantically scramble for their lives, pursued by ravenous terrorists. A woman runs towards the window, throwing herself against it, trying to jump to her death to escape. As she meets the resistance of the fortified high-rise window, she makes eye contact with the helicopter hovering directly across from her. He sees the woman mouth ‘Help me!’ before a young man in a business suit slams into her from behind. After only a second or two of resistance, she submits to her captor and slowly slides down the window, leaving only a trail of blood.
The chief turns his back to the video and his officers, struggling to comprehend what he has just witnessed. With over thirty-five years of police experience in one of the most violent cities in America, he thought he’d seen it all. But this? This is too much to digest.
“Chief?” says Captain Jeffords. “We’ve fortified the perimeter and the building has pretty much locked itself down. We’re trying to get those news helicopters out of here, but we’re pretty sure they’ve already got the same kind of footage. Uh, Chief?”
“Okay,” the chief replies tersely, turning back to his men. “It’s only a matter of time before this becomes a full-on media nightmare. Let’s get those helicopters grounded and everyone on-board searched and detained. One leak of flesh-eating terrorists will unleash hysterical panic of apocalyptic proportions, and we can’t deal with that right now. Jesus, face-eating zombies in New York. I expect this shit in Florida, but New York?”
“You heard the chief,” screams Captain Jeffords, “let’s get those news choppers grounded, now!”
“Get a hold of Homeland Security, the National Guard and the FBI. Don’t undersell it. We need the cavalry on this one.”
“You got it, Chief!”
“You think the doors will hold?” Fickle asks.
“Be prepared for anything!” I yell, as the banging grows louder. We’ve equipped ourselves with makeshift weapons. Mine is, by far, the best; an old-school, industrial-strength paper cutter. The lever makes a perfect, albeit crude, machete. Vegas has taken the leg off a desk, but he’s left one of the screws hanging out, which should do quite nicely for piercing skulls. Fick, on the other hand, has chosen a short-nosed number two screwdriver. We pleaded with him to get something more substantial, but he won’t hear it. To be honest, I’m not sure me and the guys are capable of killing anyone. We’re computer analysts, for heaven’s sake. Our zombie expertise consist of Call of Duty in the evenings and Monday morning debriefings on the latest The Walking Dead episode. I don’t think any of us are actually capable of ‘nutting up’, as Tallahassee from Zombieland suggests. I guess we’re about to find out, because it’s only a matter of time until the doors give way, then we’ll see what we’re capable of. As we anxiously wait for Betty and Justin to break down the doors, the lights come back on.
“The power’s back,” Vegas whispers. “What do you think that means?”
“Well, it means we can get out of the server room now,” I laugh, and as if on cue, the banging stops. “After you, Vegas.”
“Are… are they gone?” Fickle whimpers.
“I don’t know,” I say, my heart pounding a thousand beats a second. “Let me check the peephole.”
I fix my eyes on the peephole. I see Betty and Justin, but they’re facing away from us, over at a figure on the other side of the suite.
“It’s Sid,” I whisper. “Sid’s alive!”
Fickle, Vegas and I share a quick moment of glee, before realizing that Sid is out there with two people who want to rip his face off. Worse, he may not even know it. There’s a roar, and suddenly Betty and Justin are heading for Sid.
“No!” I scream, throwing the door open and sprinting towards Sid. Halfway there, I realize Vegas and Fickle have followed on instinct.
“Sid, run!” I yell as the infected close in on him. Sid doesn’t hesitate, immediately turning and running down the hall. Not the most athletically gifted, I know he doesn’t have a chance of outrunning anyone.
“Hey, Justin, come get some of this fresh blood!” I scream, as I pick up the closest thing I can find. I throw it, hitting Justin in the back of the head with a swingline stapler. Both Betty and Justin stop dead in their tracks and swing to face me.
“Oh, shit! Run!” I scream, forgetting that I’m a badass. Justin starts after me and I start to zigzag between desks, rolling chairs and whipping pens at him. I glance over to see Betty leaning over Vegas, trying to take a bite out of his throat, with Fickle trying to pull her away. After a few speedy evading maneuvers, I remember I have a badass machete in my hand. Why am I throwing pens at this thing? I do a quick circle around a desk, and as Justin comes around the other side, I take a full swing at the side of his head with my glorified cleaver. The machete sinks into the side of his skull, and it explodes, blood gushing from the open wound. Soaked in viscera, I pull back for another shot, and Justin tumbles backwards. I slash down once, and then again, but he remains prone on the floor. I know I’m panicking, but I’m also instinctual enough to make sure whatever Justin has turned into is no longer a threat. I try to absorb the horror of what I’ve just done, but as soon as I calm down a little, I realize Vegas and Fickle need my help. Betty seems to be an inch away from digging into Vegas’ neck; I can hear her teeth chattering in anticipation. Fickle is on top of her, doing his best to get her off, but it’s not working. She’s voracious, focused on the pulsating heartbeat pounding through Johnny’s neck. As I make my way over, Fickle reluctantly reaches into his pocket and pulls out his screwdriver, then jams it into the back of Betty’s skull. He screams as he thrusts it in, and it makes it all the way through, exiting out of Betty’s left eye socket and summoning a geyser of blood as she falls motionless on top of Vegas.
“Get her off of me!” Vegas screams, pushing and kicking her away. Fickle is staring at his hands, caught up in utter remorseful disgust. I reach them as Vegas manages to stand, hopping away from his attacker.
“Are you guys okay?”
“Yeah, I’m cool,” Vegas replies, catching his breath. “Dude, you’re covered in blood! You look ridiculous.”
“Me? Look at you, man!” I laugh, hysterical. “You have blood and… and eye goo all over your face.”
Really, I’m barely keeping it together. Of course this isn’t funny, it’s tragic; Betty was the nicest lady, and we’re standing over her bloody body. Part of me wants to mourn her, and Justin too, but another part knows that there’ll be a lot more of this before we get out of the building. I push my emotions down; they won’t help me now, and I need to keep everyone else stable, even aggressive. It might be callous, but humor is our best way of coping with what’s ahead.
“Man,” says Vegas, awed, “Justin’s head popped like a watermelon that was being smashed by Gallagher! It was freaking intense. Oh, and I hit him with a stapler! I always wanted to whip a stapler at someone. That felt great!”
I’m glad to see he’s thin
king along the same lines.
“What’s wrong with you two?” Fickle screams through tears. “We just killed two people; our coworkers, our friends, and you guys are making jokes?”
“Screw you, Fick!” I scream. I hear my voice break, I know I’m unstable, but with everything else I’m repressing, I just have to go with it. “I killed Justin. Justin wasn’t my friend; he was an fake asshole. He said stupid bullshit like, ‘Looks like someone has a case of the Mondays’ and ‘Hump day, whoop, whoop!’ I did the world a favor killing his stupid ass! You, however, you killed Betty! Betty was a sweetheart. She made us coffee and always told us how wonderful we were! She was a saint, and you stabbed her in the back of the neck with a screwdriver like an assassin! Screw you for trying to make me feel bad!”
“Hey, guys, let’s keep it together,” Vegas says calmly, slipping between me and Fickle. “We can’t turn on each other. We need to keep our wits about us and work together.”
“You’re right,” I say. My emotions needed to come out, but now that they have, I feel purged of anger. “I’m sorry, Fick. I don’t want to kill anyone, either. This is some bullshit we have to deal with, though, so I’m dealing with it my own way. I’m sorry you had to kill Betty, but you did have to.”
Fick doesn’t say anything, but he does nod in a way that tells me he’s sorry, too.
“Hey, guys?”
“Sid!” we cry, turning our attention to the voice on the other side of the room.
“Can someone tell me what the hell is going on here?” Sid replies, trying to make sense of the scene before him: three blood-soaked friends arguing around the corpses of his coworkers.
“It’s a long story, buddy.” I reply. “Let’s talk about it back in the safety of the server room!”
CHAPTER 7
BEST-LAID PLANS
ZOOK’S PRIVATE HELICOPTER has landed, still against the backdrop of a beautiful, upstate, New York estate. Inside the study of the sprawling home, Jacobs works efficiently, setting up LCD screens, laptops, modems and telecommunications equipment. Working methodically, he powers up each piece of equipment in its proper boot sequence to assure communications will be fully functional. As systems spring into life, Jacobs makes his way to his laptop. With a couple of keystrokes, all systems are online and ready to go. He heads out of the study and down the hall to the great room. There, he approaches the back of a leather chair that sits before the fireplace. Zook sits with a glass of cognac in one hand and a smoldering cigar in the other.
“Communications are online, Mr. Zook,” Jacobs reports, “and the buyers have been put on notice.”
“Very good, Jacobs! You’re a good soldier. When this is all done with, I’m going to have you run all operations. You’re a loyal servant.”
“Thank you, sir! We’ll be establishing connection with the buyers at thirteen-hundred hours.”
“Well done.”
Zook’s cell phone rings and he starts, looking down at the caller ID.
“Well, here’s the call we were waiting for,” Zook says, smiling. “Hello, this is Zook… Oh my God, that’s terrible! Does anyone know how it happened?” He pauses as the caller briefs him on the situation. “People attacking people? That sounds terrible! Well, thank goodness we have lockdown measures in place. I hope everyone was able to get out of the building unharmed.” Zook lapses into a faux-thoughtful pause, but it’s overtaken by genuine shock. “What do you mean, ‘the whole building’? I thought we were talking about the laboratory! I see… Well, keep me informed. I’ll be there as soon as I can.” Zook hangs up the phone and, with a piercing stare, engages Jacobs.
“I thought the plan was to contain the outbreak to the seventy-fifth? I was just told that the whole damn building is on lockdown. What happened, Jacobs?”
“I can only imagine that security staff didn’t follow protocol and the perimeter was compromised.”
“Well, that’s just great! You know what happens now? It’s only a matter of time until the whole world knows about this. Zombies running wild at Zook Towers! Hell, they might as well just call it ‘Zombie Towers’, now!”
“My apologies, sir. Had Zoe and her staff done their job, this wouldn’t have happened.”
“Zoe and her staff are either dead or mindless zombies, so yeah, you’ve made a great choice there, in your search for a scapegoat. Damn it, Jacobs, I can see the headline now! ‘Z Towers terrorizes Manhattan with the walking dead’!”
“Yes, sir. Again, my apologies. What further course of action would you like to take?”
“Same plan as before, but now we’ll need to bring in some reinforcements to control this situation of yours. The NYPD will spend too much time meddling; we need the military to take over. Call our friends at the Pentagon and bring them up to speed.”
“Yes, sir!” Jacobs responds as he turns and leaves the room.
Standing on the inside of the police tape, Captain Jeffords hangs up the phone and pauses for a second, deep in thought. Staring at his phone, he makes his way to the chief, who’s just finishing up a press conference.
“All we can tell you at this moment is that we have a developing situation inside Zook Towers. The interior of the building is completely locked down, and we have been unable to gain entry at this time.”
“Have you made contact with anyone inside?” asks a reporter.
“Other than some nine-one-one calls, no.”
“Have any terrorist organizations claimed responsibility?”
“Who said anything about terrorists?” the chief replies.
“Jim Fotz from Channel Four News; what can you tell us about zombies?”
“Are you trying to promote panic, Jimmy?”
“No, Chief! We’ve received reports of seemingly cannibalistic attacks on people in this building, and we just learned that the NYPD is currently detaining our helicopter pilot and cameraman. We’re just looking for the truth.”
“What, the truth about ‘zombies’? Your question is too absurd to answer, and your pilot is being questioned for flying over restricted airspace during an active investigation. Now, listen carefully! I am asking all of you to be responsible with your reporting. The last thing New York needs is people panicking over absurd reports about zombies! There will be no more questions at this time.”
As the chief walks away from the reporters, Captain Jeffords appears at his elbow.
“Well, now everyone in New York thinks there are zombies in the city,” he says.
“I just got off the phone with Zook.”
“Oh, really? What does he make of all this?”
“He reacted like anyone who was just told his building is under attack.”
“Then why do I feel like you don’t believe him? Speak up, Captain.”
“His initial reaction was as expected, but he seemed to grow more anxious when I told him the whole building was under lockdown. Until then, he believed I was only talking about the laboratory.”
“And?”
“I never mentioned the lab, sir. It seemed like a strange assumption.”
The chief ponders for a moment and then replies, “Get me everything you have on Zook Labs! I want to know exactly what they do there and exactly who they do it for.”
“On it, Chief.”
“And find me someone inside that building I can talk to! There must be someone holed up somewhere that can give us an inside view of what’s going on. We need eyes on the inside!”
“Yes, sir.”
CHAPTER 8
WHAT’S HAPPENING?
“SID, DID YOU get the PBX system up, yet?”
“Working on it now, Tyson.”
Power was restored to the building some time ago, but with all the turmoil over saving Sid, it took a while for us to think about bringing the systems back online. Our first objective is to restore the phone system, and then we intend to work on hacking back into the security cameras, since they rebooted and kicked us out. I know security cameras should be our first logical choice,
since it will give us a good idea of just how screwed we are, but after what we went through with Justin and Betty, no one is eager to see the massacre that awaits us. We know we have to look at some point, but wallowing in denial for a little while won’t kill us. At least, I hope it won’t. To be honest, it’s the waiting, the not knowing, that’s killing us. We’ve been locked in this room for hours with no contact, not a single person reaching out to us. Getting the systems back online will at least give us a glimpse of life outside these walls. If it doesn’t, it’ll at least reveal what our options are. Then, the waiting will be over, and we can work on a game plan.
“Yes!” Sid exclaims. “The phones are back online! Who do you want to call first?”
Tyson responds, “I don’t know, how about we order a pizza? Wait, before we do that, maybe we should call nine-one-one to see what the hell is going on here!”
“Right! Nine-one-one makes sense. Calling now on speaker phone…”
An older woman with a Brooklyn accent answers the phone.
“Nine-one-one, what’s your emergency?”
“Hello, my name is Sid, I work at Zook Towers. Me and my friends are locked in the server room on the fiftieth floor.”
“What’s your emergency?”
“Well, thought you may have heard by now, but the building is overrun with zombies. You know, the kind that eat your fucking brains! It would be great to get some help in here!”
“Sir, please calm down. I’m going to place you on hold.”
The operator’s voice is suddenly replaced with Kenny G music.
“They put me on hold… with Kenny G!”
“Gloria!” The nine-one-one operator hollers. “I have some guy on the phone who says Zook Towers has been overrun by zombies!”
Gloria scrambles by with a sergeant close in tow.
“Patch the call through to my office!” she exclaims, signaling to her supervisory office down the darkly lit call center, “and keep your voice down. We don’t want to start a panic!”
