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

by Jay Zano

  “This is freaking crazy!”

  CHAPTER 21

  THAT WENT SOUTH FAST

  AS WE WALK in close formation, Fickle remains behind, bringing up the rear.

  “Looks clear around the corner, all the way to the elevator,” he whispers.

  “Okay,” I say, “check the adjacent offices to make sure nothing surprises us.” We turn the corner slowly and what do we see? A dozen zombies staring at us.

  “What do we do?” Fick cries. Just then, the zombies make a run for us. Full speed. We run down the hall in the opposite direction, getting further and further from the elevator.

  “What the hell, Fick? I thought you said it was all clear?”

  “It was, I swear!”

  “Quick, in here!” I say to the crew. We all duck into the fishbowl room. It’s called ‘the fishbowl’ because it’s a room surrounded on all sides by glass. Clearly not my best choice, but I didn’t hear anyone else chime in, so here we are. Matt is the last one to come in, seeming less than thrilled to be running.

  “What the hell, man?” he says, pissed off. “I thought we were here to bust some zombie skulls?”

  “They caught me off guard. Now, quick, everyone down. Maybe they’ll walk by.”

  Vegas crawls next to Fick, grabs the Surface Pro out of his hands and looks down at the screen.

  “You’re looking at the wrong floor, asshole!”

  “What, are you sure?”

  “Says it right there, you dipshit! You’re looking at floor seventy! In case it’s a little too hard for you, we’re on floor fifty!”

  “Damn guys, I’m sorry!”

  “You’re sorry? We’re probably all going to die now, because of your incompetence.”

  “Okay, keep your voices down,” I chime in, as the zombies start to meander past the fishbowl. We sit on our hands and knees, still as statues. I know we won’t be able to hold this for long, and I’m not sure how thick this glass is. If needed, we can probably slip out the other side, but I need to make my way to Fickle to check the video cameras. I certainly can’t trust him to do it, now. I manage to stay calm on the outside, but I’m just as pissed as Vegas. Fickle is quickly becoming a huge liability. I crawl in his direction, moving slowly enough to avoid the attention of the brain-chomping, power-suit-clad zombies outside.

  “Let me see the computer,” I demand. Fickle slides it over, shaking in his boots in the process.

  “Fick,” I say, “I need you to stay calm. This is not a time to panic.”

  “Okay, Tyson. I’m calm,” he says shakily. I flip over the tablet and quickly switch the camera view to all cameras on the fiftieth floor. Before I can get my bearings, a brain-eating zombie bangs his head against the glass, scaring the hell out of everyone except Matt and Sid. Unfortunately, the sound grabs the attention of the zombies on the other side of the fishbowl, who are now really interested.

  “Screw this!” Matt says, raising himself with his brain-splitting ax/hammer. “Time to send these spawn of Satan back to Hell!”

  “Sit down and keep your voice down!” I whisper. I can tell he’s all out of shits to give.

  “Time to pay the piper!” he hollers, swinging the door open and bashing the first zombie so hard that blood splatters all over the hallway wall. He ducks away from an undead, swipes and swings his ax into the face of another attacker.

  “Shit!” I yell, standing up to help. “Come on, guys, we need to help Matt!”

  Vegas and Sid stand up and bum-rush the door to help. I look back to see Fickle frozen in the fetal position. Just as well; if he tried to help, he’d end up being zombie food in no time. As I charge them, I see that these zombies are different. They’re less human; perhaps they’re devolving into full-fledged brain suckers, or maybe it’s my empathy that’s devolving. Either way, I can still see my coworkers in them. That’s Dave, right there. He always insisted on talking to me through the stalls while I was taking a dump. He used to call me his ‘pooping partner’. I make my way to him and bludgeon his head, which cracks and then explodes like a watermelon. There’s Madison. She had like a hundred cats and always made fur-covered brownies that she’d insist we ate. I take a full swing at her head. The sound of her skull cracking into oblivion is enough to make me sick, even without the visual of her right eye oozing out of her socket. As she crumbles in front of me, I’m overwhelmed by the nauseating smell seeping from her head. It’s like someone opened a can of haggis that’s been marinating in dog vomit. As I compose myself, I take a look at Matt doing his usual cowboy bullshit. It’s like he was put on this earth precisely for this. He found his calling. I watch him swing his hammer so hard that it rips the top off two zombies standing next to each other. I glance at Vegas and Sid, who are tag-teaming Randy. They haven’t quite got the hang of head shots, but they’re beating that poor zombie to death nonetheless. I bet it feels good; Randy always mocked Sid and was a kiss-ass to Mr. Grand. I swear I can see Sid smiling as he beats the shit out of him. I glance back at Fickle, who’s watching us from inside the fishbowl. He has a look of horror on his face; I’m not sure if it’s because it’s a gruesome scene, or if it’s because we’re tearing these zombies to pieces without hesitation. Whatever the case, I turn back to the issue at hand. There’s only one left, and then we’ll actually have wiped these zombies out! I raise my badass bat, identifying the last attacker as Sylvia, the free-spirited girl who always smelled like flowers and talked about ‘walking the earth’, like in Kung Fu. That beautiful woman is now a zombie.

  A bit of humanity slips back in for a second, and I get lost in thought about our last conversation. She and her boyfriend were planning to take this spring off, quit their jobs and walk the Appalachian Trail. She was such a sweet girl who loved everyone and everything; I often asked her about the trip, and she was so excited to share every planning detail, from the gear to the hostels they planned to stay in. I drift off in my memory of her for a moment, and I’m suddenly brought back to reality as she lunges at me. I find myself thinking that this must be how Fickle felt when he had to kill Betty; the last thing I want to do is hurt Sylvia.

  I swing haphazardly, but my heart isn’t in it, and I miss, burying my weapon in the wall. Sylvia isn’t joking around as she continues to ravenously swipe at me, and I have to abandon my weapon to escape her grip. I reach back to find my paper cutter handle; the first weapon I used suddenly feels just right for the job. It’s light and easy to maneuver, but when I look back into her eyes, I still see Sylvia and hesitate. Looking further, though, I see the gray hunger for my flesh in her eyes, the sunken sockets and rough skin, which makes me feel a little less like a monster as I sink my cutter into her skull. Now safe, we walk back into the fishbowl and are greeted by Fickle.

  “G-good job, guys. You saved my ass.”

  He stares at our blood-soaked faces for a good minute before vomiting all over the floor. It’s then I realize that we’re still broadcasting for the whole world to see. Turning my attention to the zombie at the fishbowl’s other exit, I pull Vegas over and position him right in front of it, encouraging it to keep smashing its face against the window. Looking closer, I see it’s Jim. He was an accountant, or something like that. He looked like a zombie even before the outbreak, so he’s the perfect person to put on camera.

  “What are you doing, Tyson?” Vegas asks. I wipe the blood off the front of his camera to make sure the view isn’t obstructed and step in front of the viewfinder.

  “Welcome to Z Towers,” I announce, “where Zook has unleashed holy hell on this building and on America.” I point to Jim. “This is Jim. Earlier today, Jim was drinking bad coffee and telling stupid accounting jokes. Now, he’s a mindless zombie that wants to kill us. Zook is the terrorist responsible for making Jim and the countless others in this building this way, and we plan to get out of here to hold him personally accountable.”

  Matt perks up and walks over, saying, “Shit, I forgot we were broadcasting! Who wants to watch me bust dear old Jim’s brain
s out the back of his head?” He gives his weapon a quick swing over his head and throws the door open. As Matt exits the fishbowl, Jim comes lunging over. Matt hits him square between the eyes with the ax side of his weapon, then spins Jim over against the fishbowl so he’s clear in the view of Vegas’ camera. He gives a thumbs up, Ted Nugent style, and rips out the blade, which causes Jim to wilt to the ground. Matt looks down, shoots a snot rocket and smirks. Just then, two zombies jump on his back. He screams in horror and pain, a fountain of blood spraying from his neck as one bites down.

  “Holy shit!” I scream. I go to run out there and help, only to see twenty more zombies scrambling down the hallway. I quickly retreat and shut the door. Matt is already dead; there’s nothing I can do to help. Vegas stands and watches in agony as Matt’s face is devoured by the onslaught of zombies.

  Every TV in the world is on and tuned into our youbetyoass.th footage. Suburban families, bar patrons, prisons, news agencies and Mr. Zook all watch in pure silence. The website gets updated, Matt’s screen turning black. Odds are shuffled for the remaining survivors.

  “Hey!” I call, and the zombies quickly stop chewing on Matt’s lifeless body and start banging their heads and bodies on the glass to get at us.

  “Let’s get out of here!” Vegas yells.

  “We can’t!” I yell back, as the sound of teeth and skulls slamming against the glass becomes almost unbearable. “Matt has the swipe key for the elevator.”

  “Shit!” Vegas replies.

  “Tyson!” Sid screams. “I can get it!”

  “You’re insane. You won’t last a second out there. There’s too many.”

  “Tyson, look at me for a sec!” I stop and look at him, but the truth is I can barely do it. He looks terrible. His eyes are graying out, and he’s breathing in huge, erratic heaves. I can tell he’s turning into a zombie, even if I won’t admit it.

  “I’m looking at you!” I say, as if it’s the easiest thing in the world.

  “Here’s the plan. I can go out to distract them, and you guys can get the keycard off of Matt.”

  “That’s suicide! You’re way too slow. Let me go. I can run faster; I’ll get them to chase me, you guys grab the key and go.”

  “Tyson, you’re the man with the plan, the ideas. We can’t risk you dying. Besides, look at me. I’m pretty sure I’m dying.”

  I’m about to deny it, but a trickle of blood starts to run down his nose, and his eyes are growing grayer by the second.

  “I don’t want to go out like this,” he says, “being the first person to ever die by catching an STD from a zombie! Let me go out like a man, a hero!”

  I don’t even want to consider this plan, but he doesn’t seem like he’s going to take ‘no’ for an answer.

  “Alright, Sid,” I say begrudgingly. “What’s the plan?”

  “Okay, I’m going to wrap around the other side and get their attention. When you see them moving away from the windows, grab the key.”

  “I think this may work!” Fickle chimes in. “Looking at the Surface, it looks to be clear on that entire side.”

  “Okay, Sid,” I sigh. “Your call.”

  “Okay, guys, I’m going for it!”

  “Be careful, man!”

  Sid walks to the door, pauses and slowly turns back.

  “In the end, there’s only one way out of this godforsaken building; as a mindless zombie or in a body bag. I’m choosing my fate before it chooses me. Do me a favor guys: don’t tell anyone I had sex with a zombie. I don’t want to be known as the guy who got an STD from a zombie.”

  I nod, but then look at Fick’s chest, as I recall the livestream which has been broadcasting this whole time. Unfortunately, Sid notices it too. He deadpans to Fick’s chest, looking right into the still-rolling camera.

  “Screw it! I had sex with a zombie, and it was totally worth it!”

  “Get going, you sick bastard!” I say back. Vegas and Fick walk over somberly. I think we all have the same feeling that this will be the last time we see our friend Sid.

  “You be careful!” Fickle says

  “Yeah man, our odds at survival are much better if you come back to us,” Vegas says with a smile, patting his shoulder. Sid smiles, taking in his heroic moment. The smile slowly fades to a look of determination. He gives us a quick nod and hops over the dead zombies on the other side of the room, disappearing around the corner.

  “I sure hope this works!” Vegas gripes. There are now well over twenty zombies, all trying to get at us through the glass. I can hear it starting to give way.

  “We need to get out of here!” Fickle screams. “It’s not going to hold.”

  “Just wait one sec!” I say, as we all start to back away from the glass. Just as it looks like it’s going to give way, the zombies stop and turn their heads to the hallway. We can’t see what’s distracting them, but it has to be Sid. They all start moving away from the fishbowl.

  “It’s working!” I whisper. As the last one walks away, I creep to the door. Just before I open it, Matt lurches to his feet. Half of his face is gone, and blood is pouring from his neck.

  “Holy shit!” exclaims Vegas. “I wasn’t expecting that!”

  If Matt was scary as a human, he’s twice as daunting as a zombie. I kneel down so he can’t see me, and he turns to follow the other zombies, quickly sprinting away.

  “Well, there goes the key,” I say. “Can you see Sid?”

  “No, he’s in a blind spot, but I can see all the zombies! Wait… he’s coming back on this side, where they just were. He’s fighting them off!”

  We make our way back to the window and see Sid running towards the fishbowl with Matt’s swipe badge in his hand and a dozen zombies on his ass.

  “Come on, Sid!” I cry. “You can make it!”

  Just then, he trips, and a zombie jumps on his back. He crawls under its weight, trying to reach us even as the zombie bites into his neck. He gets within ten feet of the door before he’s completely swarmed by zombies and we all look away.

  “No, Sid!” Vegas curses. “You almost made it, you bastard!”

  We sit in silence while the zombies make their way back to the fishbowl and crowd on top of Sid. To his credit, he doesn’t make a noise. This hurts. We’ve already lost some friends because of this bullshit, but not someone this close. Sid was our friend, and as screwed up as he was, we loved him. He risked his life to save us, and now he’s gone. As we sit there feeling sorry for ourselves, not sure what fate has in store for us, I see something slip through the legs of the nearest zombie, slide under the door and come to a rest between my feet.

  “It’s the swipe card!” I say, and Vegas and Fickle look over at me in pure amazement. Sid did it! He saved us! He sacrificed himself so we could live. There aren’t many people like that, these days. He was a true hero and a loyal friend.

  “Let’s take a moment to pay our respects to Sid, a true friend to the end,” I say to Vegas and Fickle.

  “I can’t believe he did that for us,” Fickle responds.

  “I can’t believe he had sex with a zombie!” says Vegas. Both Fickle and I turn to Vegas with shocked looks on our faces.

  “What? He did!” Vegas says defensively. We can’t disagree or argue the point.

  We sit there for only a few seconds longer mourning our friend, Sid. He was a loyal friend until the end. You can feel the sadness overwhelming us as we take in losing him and Matt in such a short time. We can’t sit here forever though. I look to my friends with a heavy heart and say, “Come on, guys! Let’s get to the elevator.”

  CHAPTER 22

  STOCKADE

  THE PERIMETER AROUND the building is a complete madhouse. Thousands of people have piled against the barricades.

  “Well, looks like all the freaks are out now!” Says Chief Franklin as he observes the crowd. There are people with end of the world signs, a girl in a bikini holding up an ‘Eat ME!’ sign and tons of others getting rowdy.

  “Well, Chief,”
Jeffords replies, “you told him to get the media’s attention.”

  “Yes, I did. I had no idea just how capable this guy was. Too capable.”

  “It looks like they’re making their way to the roof.”

  “Good. Now, do me a favor and get the hell out of here!”

  “Excuse me, Chief?”

  “It’s not going to take long for Sergeant Bitch-face to figure out we were the leak. When they come for us, you don’t need to be here. You need to get to a spot where you can call in the helicopter. Now, get outta here!”

  “Roger that, Chief. Good luck.”

  “Yeah, good luck to me,” the chief whispers to himself as Jeffords disappears into the crowd. “Face-eating zombies in my city and some jag-off taking control of my crime scene… I don’t feel lucky.” The chief looks over to one of the beat cops standing on the edge of the crowd and yells, “Hey, Officer!”

  “Yes, Chief?”

  “Come here for a sec.” The officer jogs over to Chief Franklin, who glances at his badge.

  “O’Malley?”

  “Yes, sir!”

  “You don’t happen to have a smoke on you, do you?”

  “Is this a trick question, sir? You know the NYPD has a strict ‘no smoking on duty’ policy.”

  “Yeah, yeah… I’m just thinking how nice it would be to have a smoke right now.”

  O’Malley reaches into his pocket and pulls out a box of 305s, handing a cigarette to his chief. Franklin smiles, takes it and puts it between his lips. O’Malley reaches back into his pocket and pulls out a zippo, flips it open and fires it up. The chief leans in for the light, which throws a glow on his face. As he takes a puff, he suddenly hears the sound of several automatic weapons locking on him. He lifts his head slowly and turns around to see he’s surrounded by military personnel, all armed with M16s. O’Malley drops his lighter, places his hand on his side arm and steps in front of his chief.