Z Towers: An Apocalyptic Plague (Made in the U.S.A.)

by Jay Zano

  “Don’t worry about those guys,” he says. “They’ll lose interest once your scent dissipates from the hallway.”

  “How do you know?”

  “Man, I know a lot! Especially about zombies.”

  I’m strangely intrigued by this guy. He comes off as being full of shit, but he has a confidence about him that makes me want to ask him more.

  “Hey, I’m Tyson,” I say, reaching out my hand. He stares at it, then pulls a rag out of his back pocket and proceeds to wipe his hands with no intention of extending the same courtesy. He’s strong, about 6’2” and looks like he can take care of himself. The last thing I want to do is start shit, so I pull my hand back, wiping it on my pant leg.

  “Anyway, thanks for saving my ass out there. I’ve killed a couple of them so far, but five would have been a bit much.”

  I’m hoping that will give me enough street cred to garner a bit of respect and keep me safe.

  “I bet you think you’re a badass, now?” he says smugly, making his way to one of the workbenches.

  “Well, I’m not a pussy, I can tell you that!”

  “We’ll see,” he says, reaching under the workbench to a mini-fridge. He pulls out a twelve-ounce Budweiser and tosses it to me. Not wanting to disappoint, I snap it open, suck the foam off the top and take three giant swigs. To be honest, I could have downed the whole thing. The sweet nectar is just what I need to calm the hell down. I’m trying to keep cool, but I’m still pretty ramped up.

  “Name’s Matt, but you can call me ‘Jesus’, because I’m here to save your ass.”

  “Hey, Matt. So, tell me—”

  “I said you call me ‘Jesus’!”

  “You’re serious about that?”

  “Dead serious,” he barks, his eyes piercing right through my soul.

  “Uh, okay, Jesus… How long have—”

  “Dude, I’m just messing with you! Don’t call me Jesus. Hahaha! I mean, do I look like some sort of Jesus freak?”

  “No, you don’t look like a Jesus freak,” I laugh, internally debating whether I should have just taken my chances with the zombies.

  “Well, I very much believe in our lord and savior, Jesus Christ, so in your eyes, I guess I am a Jesus freak! The thing about Jesus is you can’t believe in God without believing the other side exists as well.”

  “You mean…” I ask, swigging my beer and pointing my finger down.

  “That’s right, good ol’ Lucifer himself. Except he doesn’t live down there. He resides on the hundredth floor of this building.”

  “Zook?” I ask cautiously.

  “Yes, Zook!” he says, matter-of-fact. “What do you think’s happening here? Do you think that Jesus started this bullshit? Think, Tyson! Where do you think this started?”

  “The seventy-fifth floor?” I guess.

  “There you go!” he says, walking over and poking my head. “That’s using your lumpy noggin!”

  I’m trying not to get too frazzled, but Matt’s starting to come off as a complete lunatic. I refocus; he seems crazy, but he also seems like he knows a hell of a lot more than I do. I mean, we all know there’s some shady shit that happens on the seventy-fifth floor, and we all know Zook earned his billions by selling out humankind. I decide to press on.

  “You telling me Zook had something to do with the outbreak?”

  “Look who’s catching up! Try to keep up with this next part,” he quips, pulling out another frosty beer. “Zook’s been developing a biological weapon that can turn entire civilizations into braindead zombies.”

  “That doesn’t make any sense, not even for Zook! He’s driven by greed and, with everything he owns, he’d be the last one to benefit from worldwide annihilation.”

  “Ah, my little shit-stain, so true! But what his minions up there developed is a godforsaken mutant zombie. See, they don’t just want to eat your brains, like you see in the movies. They’re driven to rapidly spread their virus; if they devour you, you’re lucky. The unlucky ones turn and become one of the zombie army, but here’s the real beauty: the virus ends up killing its host after a day or two. So, as long as Zook can contain the spread, he can wipe out an entire country. You know, the type of country that has lots of crude oil but is surrounded by thousands of miles of desert? Actually, it’s pretty genius, if you think about it.”

  I sit back on the bench, completely blown away. After all, it certainly sounds plausible. Zook is a xenophobic asshole, so I can totally see him not giving a damn about humanity. As long as the good ol’ USA is fine, he wouldn’t give a shit! Still, I’m skeptical. Matt seems like a complete lunatic.

  “How do you know all this?” I ask.

  “Are you serious, man? I’m maintenance in this building! You’re all so quick to overlook the maintenance guys, but there isn’t anything I don’t know about what happens here.” He reaches into a drawer and pulls out a building schematic. “I know the layout, where they keep shit, and I have access to everything. Hell, man, who do you think they call when they want to dispose of the test subjects?”

  “They tested this shit?”

  “Well, on poor-ass chimps, but yeah, man. Burned the hell out of them, too! I’ve probably disposed of over a thousand chimpanzees over the past three months. That’s how I knew this was coming to a head, and that’s why I prepared myself.”

  Feeling completely sick to my stomach, I ask, “How do you prepare yourself for something like this?”

  Matt smiles and motions for me to come closer, as he walks over to a full-sized cabinet. He opens it slowly, and I stretch my head around the corner, not sure if I actually want to see what this guy has stored in there. As I look inside, I see tons of makeshift weapons that look straight out of a zombie movie. Blunt weapons, medieval-looking axes, swords and even a mace!

  “Holy shit, man, where did you get all this?”

  “I made them for a day like today. We’ll all end up dead in the end, but at least I can have fun killing some zombies in the process.”

  “Wait, what makes you think we’re all going to die?”

  “Dude, containment is the only medicine to stop this virus. They’re not going to let us out of here alive. No one is going to take that chance. The military have probably already surrounded this building. They’ll sit outside for forty-eight hours and then come in here with flamethrowers to burn everyone, and I mean everyone. I figure, while I’m still here, I may as well kill some of these zombies! You know, strike some of God’s will into them, show Him I’m no pussy.”

  “Hell no, screw that!” I shout. “No, I’m not going to sit here and just wait to die!”

  “Boy, I don’t think you heard me. You don’t have a choice, here.”

  “Bullshit! I make my own choices and I choose to live, and so will my friends! I have a plan, and you’re going to help me.”

  “Listen here—”

  “No, you listen to me!” I retort. Knowing you no longer have control of your destiny apparently grows you balls, because suddenly I have zero fear about Matt. “I have a plan to get out of here, and you’re going to help me.”

  “I am?”

  “That’s right; God’s will, right? Well, you’ll have plenty of opportunity to kill zombies and help me and my friends turn this upside down and expose Zook for what he is!”

  “Alright, friend, what you got?”

  “First thing, let’s collect as many of those weapons as possible. I have a badass crew in the server room that can use them. Also, grab your schematics and all the access keys you have for this building.”

  “It’s all on swipe, buddy!” Matt says as he holds up the ID card clamped to the front pocket of his shirt. Apparently energized, he reaches below the workbench and pulls out a couple of duffel bags full of tools. He empties them onto the workbench and proceeds to fill them with the mass amount of weapons he’s built over time. I snatch up the building schematics and shove them in the back of my pants, and he slides over a bag full of weapons. I search through the bag an
d find a baseball bat with nails hammered in. After a few swings, I’m happy with my choice, and I throw the rest of the bag over my shoulder. Meanwhile, Matt fills the second duffel bag with a couple more weapons, all equally crude. He stops for a moment, stares into the cabinet and grins, then reaches in reverentially. The weapon he pulls out is clearly his best; it’s an ax on one end and a sledgehammer on the other. It looks like I could barely lift it, but Matt swings it around with relative ease. I can tell by the way he’s swinging it that he put considerable time into its construction. Satisfied, he stops swinging and places it on the bench. Finally, he reaches into the mini-fridge, grabs a twelve-pack of Bud and tosses it into the duffel bag.

  “In case we get thirsty,” he explains.

  “Right on! Let’s go.”

  Duffel bags strapped over our shoulders, badass weapons in our hands, we make our way to the maintenance door, where we can still hear the scratching and moaning of zombies on the other side.

  “You ready?” I ask. He pushes me out of the way.

  “I was born ready!”

  He throws the door open and slams his ax into the head of a zombie. I slide out, heading in the opposite direction, and land a perfect shot right between the eyes of the nearest zombie. As it tumbles back, I get a quick look of approval from Matt.

  “Psalm two, seven to twelve,” he intones, sizing up the remaining zombies. “ I will declare the decree: the Lord hath said unto me, ‘Thou art my son; this day have I begotten thee. Ask of me, and I shall give thee the heathen for thine inheritance, and the uttermost parts of the earth for thy possession. Thou shalt break them with a rod of iron; thou shalt dash them in pieces like a potter’s vessel.”

  I rip the spiked end of my bat free and focus on the zombie making his way towards me. Suddenly, I feel invigorated. Not sure if it’s Matt’s gospel or my new purpose to take Zook down, but I’m suddenly pumped with adrenaline. As Matt continues to bellow scripture, I slowly start to smile.

  “A-fucking-men!”

  CHAPTER 16

  TIME TO MAKE A PLAN

  FICKLE OPENS THE door for Vegas and Sid. Sid’s arms are overflowing with various snacks from the break room, while Vegas has a small bag of zip ties, duct tape and lots of pencils.

  “Is Tyson back yet?” Vegas asks.

  “No, not yet,” Fickle says in a voice that indicates something else is on his mind, closing the door behind a concerned Vegas and a smirking Sid.

  “Sid!” Fickle exclaims, once the door is closed. Sid turns around, arms still holding tons of junk food.

  “What?” he asks, adopting the same tone of voice.

  “You want to explain to me what you did in the break room?”

  “Oh, you saw that?” Sid says, a smile spreading across his face.

  “I saw it alright! What the hell were you thinking?”

  “I was thinking, ‘finally, I get a piece of ass from Susie’. Did you see me slip on the plates? Hahaha! I was a little excited in the beginning. Got my groove, though.”

  “Groove? You strapped her to the shredding machine and raped her! You’re sick!”

  “The hell I did! She… it… No, come on! Vegas, you saw her. Did she look like someone that didn’t enjoy herself?”

  Looking confused and a little nauseas, Vegas replies, “Sid, I saw a zombie that used to be Susie half-sucked into the shredder. Don’t tell me you had sex with her?”

  “That’s bullshit! Look, I’m having trouble remembering but… Fick, pull the break room up on the monitor.”

  Fick gladly goes to the console to bring it up, finds the channel and sends the feed to the main monitor. Sid walks up to the monitor that shows Susie in the corner of the room, still in the same place he left her. He hadn’t realized until now, but his vision had narrowed considerably, darkness creeping in from the edges. With a little time to recover, and the persuasion of his friends, the veil begins to lift.

  “Wait…” Sid says, looking at Vegas and Fick. “Why would I leave her in there? Should we go back and save her?”

  “Sid, you on drugs or something?” Vegas says.

  “What are you talking about?” he asks, looking back at the screen. His vision is clearer now, and his thoughts move quicker. Still, he can’t quite process what’s in front of him.

  “What do you see?” he asks, worry creeping into his voice.

  “I see a zombie! Dude, Susie is a zombie.”

  Sid looks at the monitor again, but things still don’t make sense. He steps closer, rubs his eyes and looks again. Something clicks. As she comes back into focus, it’s clear that Susie is a zombie!

  “What? That’s not right! But, but—”

  “Dude, you had sex with a zombie! That’s messed up on so many levels.”

  “This can’t be right!” Sid protests. “Oh my god, oh my god! What does this mean?”

  “I don’t know,” Vegas says. “Susie was dripping with STDs before she turned into a zombie; who knows what they mutated into after she turned? Damn, man, you could be famous. The first STD contracted from a zombie.”

  “I don’t want to be known as a zombie-fucker!” Sid cries. “Come on, guys, you can’t tell anyone!”

  Just then, there’s a knock at the door. Vegas runs over, looks through the peephole and sees me in the company of a strange guy who’s completely drenched in blood.

  “It’s Tyson, and he has someone with him!”

  He throws the door open and the two of us strut in like a couple of badass bikers.

  “Well, boys,” I say. “I got some supplies and a kickass, zombie-killing reinforcement.” We drop our duffel bags, letting the weapons spill out.

  “Wow,” Vegas says in excitement. “This is so much better than the packs of number two pencils I collected.”

  Fickle and Sid make their way over, and Fickle extends his hand.

  “Hi, I’m Fickle.”

  “This is Matt,” I say, “and he doesn’t shake hands.”

  Fickle recoils and moves over to Sid, peeking into the duffel bags.

  “So, what’s going on here?” I ask, hoping they’ve had some easy victories.

  Vegas blurts out, “Sid had sex with a zombie!”

  “Really?” I ask. “Well, I wasn’t expecting that.”

  “Goddammit, Vegas!” yells Sid. “I didn’t want anyone else to know.”

  “Hey!” Matt pipes up. “God knows! Seeing that you had intercourse with a zombie, my guess is you’re already on his bad side. No sense in making things worse by using his name in vain.”

  “Well, I’m sure there’s a lot more to this interesting story,” I interject, “but we have bigger things to talk about than Sid’s suddenly prosperous, albeit deranged, love life. Zook is behind this outbreak, and thanks to intel from my good buddy here, we know we have less than forty-eight hours to formulate a plan, blow the lid off this thing and get the hell out of here.”

  The group falls silent, digesting my words. I can see hesitation in Fickle’s face, but the others already seem to be considering our next steps.

  While I’ve been fighting for my life, the outside of Zook Towers has turned into a three-ring circus. Hundreds of curious onlookers have started to gather at the NYPD barricades. There are two control center stations on the inside of the perimeter. One belongs to Sergeant Major Braxton and the army, and the other Chief Franklin and his team.

  “Chief, can I talk to you over here?” Braxton yells from his location. The chief leans in to confer with Jeffords, nods and makes his way to Braxton’s location.

  “What can I help you with, Sergeant Major?” he responds with a smile.

  “Have you or anyone on your team made contact with anyone on the inside?”

  “Not yet. Our orders have been made clear: hold the line and make sure the perimeter isn’t compromised.”

  “Then why have I just received intel informing me that you talked directly with someone on the inside?” The chief doesn’t respond, just shrugging his shoulders in defiance. “
Listen, Chief. No disrespect; I know you guys are doing your job, but we have a job to do too, and it requires the cooperation of the local authorities. You understand protocol, don’t you?”

  “Oh, yes. My team and I are in full compliance with your protocol, Sergeant Major.”

  “Then tell me about the conversation you had with ‘Tyson’.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about, I’m afraid.”

  “Don’t play with me, Chief! I have the nine-one-one transcript up to the point he was transferred to your Captain Jeffords, and I know you know about it. I also know you and he had a discussion about zombies.”

  “Well, if you know everything, I guess you don’t need me.”

  “You’re very close to not being needed. Do yourself a favor and get on my team. It’s a matter of national security, and right now you and your team are close to being thrown in the stockade!”

  “Anything else you need, Sergeant Major?”

  “Stay close, Chief!” barks the soldier, and the chief smiles and stares straight ahead. “For now, you’re dismissed.”

  “Sure thing,” the chief responds, and he spins away from the sergeant major and starts to walk away. “Funny thing,” he adds, stopping for a moment.

  “What’s that, Chief?”

  “Intel is supposed to be bi-directional, and so far we haven’t been briefed by your side of the house. When that changes, maybe we’ll have a different conversation.”

  “Like I said, Chief,” Braxton replies rigidly, “you’re very close to being an expendable part of this mission. Stay close.”

  The chief smiles and proceeds to walk back to his group, calling to Jeffords.

  “Let’s take a walk.”

  Both men walk slowly away from the NYPD comm center.

  “What’s up, Chief?”

  “Listen to me carefully. We’re pretty close to being removed from the scene. I have a plan, but it needs to move fast, while we still have position.”

  “You got it. What’s the plan?”

  “Get Tyson on the phone!”

  The small excursions have done their job, and I know I now have Matt and Sid onboard for some zombie bashing. Matt and I have a taste for it now, and Sid apparently has sex with zombies, so that dirty bastard should be up for anything. I need to say something to get Fick and Vegas on board with my plan, but the problem is that I don’t have one. Maybe I need to switch tactics.