by A. J. Sikes
“Home is up the street,” Chips said. “About four blocks and then left.”
Jed nodded and grunted to let Chips know he’d heard him. Then they moved out, first at a slow jog and then picking it up to a sprint when they saw the crawling shapes of monsters on the rooftops down the street, back the way they’d come from the corner store.
At least they’re behind us.
A howl went up from the monsters back there, then a shriek followed by what sounded to Jed like a stampede of really big and really angry cats. The clattering of claws and feet on shingles and the tops of cars echoed down the street as Jed and Chips ran like the wind. The things didn’t seem to have a line of sight on them, or maybe they did. Jed threw a glance over his shoulder. The monsters crawled over everything, cars, lawns, rooftops. Even if they hadn’t spotted Jed and Chips yet, they were definitely coming along their path.
Right before the end of the block, Chips tugged on Jed’s shirt and they went into a yard, ducking behind a row of bushes.
“They see us?” Chips asked.
“Fuck, man. I don’t know. Why we stopping? We gotta run.”
“Shortcut, cabrón. This way.”
Chips led them around the back of the house. Two boards in the fence had been pulled out to make a path. They raced through it to the other side of the block, coming out between two little houses that were boarded up just like the safe house. But Jed could tell these weren’t places they could hide. Old mattresses littered the back yard of one of the houses, along with empty syringes and old condoms. Jed couldn’t wait to get away from the place, but Chips put up a hand for him to chill.
“I’ma go check the street. Watch behind us, man.”
Chips went up ahead, looking left and right once he got to the front of the house.
“See anything?” Jed asked.
“Nah, man. Looks good.”
Jed moved up fast and joined Chips. They stepped out from beside the house and moved to the sidewalk. A little farther down the street, every house had broken windows and streaks of blood around the doors.
“Let’s go, man,” Jed said, nudging Chips’ shoulder.
They moved out at a jog again, picking up speed as they went. The noises of the monsters from one block over kept echoing around the neighborhood. Now and then Jed heard a human scream mixed in with the snarling and howling of the monsters. It was all on the next block, but Jed still didn’t dare look behind them. He and Chips just ran full tilt until they got to Chips’ apartment building. They ducked behind a hedge and ran along the wall outside the pool area. Chips pulled up at the end of the hedge and scrambled for the top of the wall. Jed went to stuff the Glock into his pants but was afraid he’d blow his own junk off, so he waited until Chips was up top so he could hand the piece up.
He got up the wall and down the other side where Chips was waiting with the Glock held out.
“Not bad, homie. You run like that when 5-0 after us, you gonna do fine with my crew.”
Jed almost said he was done with the idea of being in Chips’ crew, because he was getting the fuck out of New York now that the zombies were here. But Chips was already walking off around the pool, digging into his pocket for his keys. Jed listened to the neighborhood and scanned the buildings around them. He didn’t see any broken windows or smears of blood.
Things seemed cool. As cool as they could be since Jed didn’t hear any screams nearby, and the howls and shrieks of the monsters all seemed to be going away from them. But he didn’t hear much else either. No cars driving by, no kids yelling in the yards. Then he caught the snaps of small arms fire, and louder explosions like grenades echoing from a few blocks away, maybe farther. Chips had stopped outside the door to his apartment. His eyes locked onto Jed’s, like he’d heard it, too.
“That the army?” Chips asked. “See, they gonna take care of the zombies man. It’s cool.”
“Yeah, maybe so. We should get inside anyway.”
Chips opened the door and went inside. Before Jed could get there, the door closed with a bang. He went up to the door carefully and listened. He could hear a TV or a radio, but then it cut out. Jed had the Glock out. He scanned the pool area and the nearby buildings. He didn’t hear or see anything except the occasional pop pop pop of small arms.
Jed had his back to the door. He lifted a hand to knock over his shoulder when the door opened behind him. Jed went to turn around but felt something sharp and cold stick him in the back.
South Jamaica, Queens
Blood leaked from Tim’s sickly yellow eyes, and his mouth had formed into a sucker, just like the man in their house. As he moved, Meg heard the joints in his arms and legs crackling like embers popping from a fire. A scream started in Meg’s throat, but came out as a choked gasp when one of their neighbors came around the corner of the house. It was the husband. He had blood all over him, but he walked like a normal human.
Tim flinched and spun around, facing the man.
“She was my wife, you fucking animal!” the man roared at Tim.
“Don’t—” Meg shouted, but the man had already moved. He jumped at Tim with his face twisted up in a snarl of fury. The man screamed and grabbed at Tim’s face with both hands as the two fell together and rolled in a tangle up against the wall. Meg staggered back with one hand wrapped around her middle and the other hand up in front of her mouth. She knew she should help, but couldn’t bring herself to move an inch closer.
The neighbor and Tim grappled and it looked like the man might have the upper hand. His fingers dug into Tim’s cheeks, holding the monstrous mouth away from the man’s flesh. Then Tim sliced a clawed hand across the man’s ribs and Meg gave a startled cry as blood sprayed out and spattered the wall of their house.
It was over a few seconds later. The man lost his grip on Tim’s face, and Meg stared in horror as the thing that was her husband latched his sucker mouth onto their neighbor’s throat.
Moments later, Tim stopped and flicked his tongue out from between puffy, blood stained lips. Rows of sharp teeth seemed to click together in his mouth, like needles.
He shrieked at her. Then Tim lifted his arm to his mouth and bit down hard, his mouth collapsing around his flesh and sucking. Blood welled and ran down his flesh in dark rivulets.
Meg screamed and ran from the house, falling over her feet and tumbling toward the sidewalk. She heard gunfire again, and what sounded like another small explosion from nearby. Meg caught herself against the curb and rolled onto her side so she could jump up and run. Behind her she heard Tim howling and shrieking, and the gunfire continued. Meg turned around in time to see a police officer in SWAT gear holding an assault rifle. The officer fired and a string of bullet holes appeared across Tim’s chest; blood sprouted like blossoms and sprayed out his back to stain the wall of their house even more.
Her will and strength and everything she’d ever believed in fell away in that moment. Watching Tim be taken from her had been horrifying. Seeing what he had become, and watching him die a second time . . . Meg fell on her side, dropped flat to the ground, and huddled against the curb whimpering and wailing her pain onto the concrete and pavement.
“Ma’am!” a man’s voice shouted at her from the street.
Meg cried and screamed as her chest shook under her sobs. She beat a fist against the street and shouted Tim’s name.
“Ma’am! Are you okay? Are you infected? Ma’am!”
“No I’m not fucking okay! My husband is dead!” Meg shouted back at whoever was yelling at her. The man was nearby. She could hear his footsteps get closer, but she didn’t care what he wanted or who he was. Meg moaned and cried and slapped her hand on the street now, feeling the rough stone surface cut against her palm.
“Ma’am? Are you bitten? Have you come into contact with infected blood?”
Meg opened her eyes and saw a pair of boots through her tears. She lifted her hand slowly and wiped at her eyes. The person in front of her was a soldier, and he had his gun aimed right at her
face.
“What the fuck?” Meg screamed, flipping onto her back and putting her hands out in front of her.
“Ma’am, calm down. Are you bitten? Have you been in contact with any of the infected?” He was a dark-skinned young man, with warm brown eyes. Even with the look of fear on his face, Meg felt safe near him.
The tears came back and Meg blubbered through her sobs. “No, I’m not bit— bitten. My husband—”
Meg closed her eyes and cried, letting her hands fall to her sides as she sat against the curb. She felt a hand on her shoulder, then another on her ankles. Something went around her feet and pulled tight. She panicked when she realized she couldn’t move her legs, but they had her hands.
She twisted in their grip, but they pulled her up and onto a stretcher. Meg gave up. What use was there in fighting. Tim had become a monster and was killed. The neighbors were dead. Everyone was dead, and the world was ending. She let the soldiers wrap restraining straps around her so she couldn’t move from the stretcher.
Two people picked up the stretcher and Meg felt herself being carried away from the house. Away from Tim’s mutilated body.
They lifted her into the back of a truck and Meg smelled the thick scent of diesel exhaust mixed with oiled canvas. A soldier sat down on a bench beside her head and leaned close to her.
“Can you speak, ma’am? Can you tell us your name?”
“Meg,” she said through her sobs. “Meg Pratt.”
“Meg Pratt,” the soldier said to someone else. Meg heard a woman speaking and caught the telltale static click of a two-way radio.
“We’re going to get you to safety, ma’am. We’re taking you where there’s help. Just hold on.”
Something inside of Meg switched on. She felt it like a memory crawling up from a long time ago.
“Help,” she said.
“What’s that, ma’am?” the young soldier asked. Meg felt his hand on her shoulder tense up, and she rolled her head to the side and opened her eyes so she could look at him.
“I’m fine. I’m not infected. It was just my husband. I’m a firefighter; I can help.”
The soldier released his grip on her shoulder and looked her in the eye. Meg felt her tears stop.
“Can you take me into Manhattan? I need to get to my engine’s house.”
“We’ll get you there, ma’am,” the soldier said. “Manhattan is the safe zone, at least right now.”
The truck gave a jerk and moved down the street, rolling at a good pace. The sounds of other engines told Meg they were probably in a convoy. She heard more gunshots and shouting nearby, and still some of the horrifying shrieks of the monsters. The soldier by her head said something to the other person in the truck and Meg heard the two-way radio again.
“Where’s your house?” the soldier asked.
Meg gave her engine number and closed her eyes, trying to relax her breathing and focus on the work ahead. She listened while the soldier told her about the outbreak. It had started in Chicago with an infected person on an airplane. The virus spread to JFK overnight. Queens was being overrun. The Army and Coast Guard were working together to keep the bridges to Manhattan secure.
So far the infection still hadn’t spread there, but they expected it would eventually.
Whatever it was, this disease moved faster than anything Meg had ever heard of. With thoughts about Tim trying to force their way into her mind, Meg did her best to keep cool and remember who she was and why she did this job that she loved.
“Because nothing’s going to slow me down,” she muttered under her breath. One of the soldiers in the truck said something to her, but she didn’t reply.
Help was coming to the people of New York City. Help named Meg Pratt.
Elmhurst, Queens
Jed let his arms relax, but he kept the Glock in front of him, hoping whoever was behind him didn’t know he was armed. But what the fuck happened to Chips? Did he go into the wrong apartment? This was his place; Jed knew the door from all the times he’d gone through it when they were in school.
“Easy, cabrón,” a voice said. Jed didn’t recognize it, so he stayed cool. But he wasn’t going to go down like a bitch either.
“Yo, I’m a friend of Chips. Amigo, you in there? Tell this moth—”
The gun went away from Jed’s back and hands grabbed him by the shoulders and yanked him inside. The door slammed shut in front of him and he was spun around by whoever had pulled him in. Jed tried to bring the Glock up, but another hand was on his wrist holding his arm down at his side. He went to look at whoever held his hand, but the man in front of him slapped him once and demanded his attention.
“Look at me, cabrón. Just me.”
Jed looked into the angry face of a man he’d never seen before. The guy’s skin was wrinkled like he was a three-pack addict. His narrow brown eyes looked familiar. Like Chips’s eyes. Maybe this dude was Chips’s uncle or something. He was a lot older than anyone Jed had ever seen around the place. He even had gray hairs mixed in with the jet black stubble on top of his head.
“You a friend of Miguel? The fuck you coming around with a gun in you hand if you his friend?” the old man demanded, holding a little snub nose in Jed’s face.
“I’m— I’m Jed. Me and Chip—Miguel, we know each other from back in the day. I was— He gave me the gun.”
Jed didn’t know how much to let on about why Chips gave him the gun. If this guy was Chips’s dad or uncle, he probably knew what Chips was into. Hell, the guy probably got Chips started in the game. But still . . .
“Okay, pendejo. Okay. Tito,” the man said now, looking over Jed’s shoulder.
Jed felt the Glock being slipped from his grasp and then his hand was let go. Tito, one of Chips’ brothers, stepped around from behind Jed and looked him in the eye.
“He’s okay, Tío. Just some dude Miguel knows from school. I think he’s cool.”
Tito and the older man traded a few lines in Spanish that Jed couldn’t follow. He wanted to interrupt and ask about the zombies and where Chips was at, but they spoke so fast he couldn’t figure out where to put his question. Then they stopped and both stared at him.
“Okay,” the man said, tucking in his snub nose at the small of his back. “You can stay with us. For now. Miguel y Memo coming back soon. They out getting supplies.”
“Supplies?” Jed asked, even as he figured the man meant gear they would need for survival. “Because of the zombies. Yeah. Cool.”
Tito shared a look with the guy, and Jed wondered if he’d stuck his foot in his own mouth. Then the older man said, “Sí, because of the zombies.” He smiled when he said the word and that made Jed’s skin crawl like it wanted to run out the door and leave him standing there looking like a zombie freak himself.
The three men stood there for a solid minute of awkward damn silence. Jed wanted to take a seat, but the only place to sit was a funky ass sofa up against the wall opposite the door. Tito was standing near it, with Jed’s Glock in his hand still. Jed looked at the gun and then at Tito, who just shook his head, like he was saying Uh-uh, no can do, homie.
Jed stuck his hands in his pockets and stared around the place, at the shitty carpet and the stained walls, the light fixtures on the ceiling, all full of dead bugs. That’s when Jed realized none of the lights were on. He was going to ask about the power being out, but gunfire sounded from the apartment above. Tito and the old man stared at the ceiling with worry or fear dragging their mouths into frowns. The old man put his hand on his snub nose.
Racing footsteps stomped against the floor above. A door slammed open. The footsteps clattered down the concrete balcony and out of earshot.
“The fuck was that?” Jed asked. “Is that—”
The door flew open and someone piled into Jed, knocking him down on his face. Jed tried to get to his feet, but whoever had knocked him down had fallen with him. They were tangled up with a knee in Jed’s back and what felt like two sets of arms wrapped around his head. A backpa
ck or some other bag was on Jed’s legs, and he had to struggle just to get to his knees under him.
The door slammed shut.
A pair of hands grabbed Jed under the arms and lifted him up. He tried to shrug out of the grip, but whoever it was had him tight. Then he was being spun around, and ended up looking at Chips.
“Amigo, you all right, yeah?” Chips asked, pulling Jed in for a quick hug. “Sorry I had to cut out like that. Tio Rafi needed some things from his place.”
Jed shook it off and gave Chips a nod. His little brother, Memo, was standing next to him. His thick black hair hung down on one side of his face, covering half his eye and cheek. The kid was just a runt when Jed left for the Marines, but he was coming up now, looking more like a man. Jed gave the kid a nod, then asked Chips, “How’d you get out? I was by the door right after you . . .”
“Back door, homie. Tio Rafi lives upstairs. We went up the balcony,” Chips said. Then he turned to the older man. “Some of them zombies up in your place, Tio. But me and Memo got ‘em.”
Jed noticed Memo wasn’t looking too happy. His upper lip kept curling up, like he wanted to snarl or spit, but was afraid to make any sound at all. The kid was scared, that much was easy to see. But something else was going on with him.
“Yo, everything cool, Memo?” Jed asked.
“Course everything’s cool,” Chips said before Memo could answer. The kid reached down and grabbed up the backpack that had fallen on Jed’s legs. It was heavy, Jed could tell, and the kid had to use both hands to get it up onto his shoulder. Then Memo shook and coughed, nearly dropping the pack. He put a hand up to cover his mouth.
Chips backed up a step and looked at him. Jed did the same and so did Tito and the old man. Then Memo’s body bucked, like he’d been kicked in the back. His head whipped back. Jed stepped back another pace right as Memo doubled over. A spray of blood shot out of his mouth, covering Tito’s face and the old man’s, too. Chips had an arm up and backpedaled into the kitchen.
“Fuck!” Jed screamed.
