Apocalypse Z: The Beginning of the End

by Manel Loureiro

  Fortunately, Prit wasn’t one of those cases. His zest for life is too strong for a little thing like a nervous breakdown to get the best of him. I’ve seen his outlook slowly grow more positive. I’m sure the long talks he’s had with Sister Cecilia well into the night have contributed to his recovery. The nun and the Ukrainian have forged a close friendship based on trust.

  Like many Slavs, Prit’s a devout Christian. Although Sister Cecilia’s Catholic and he’s Orthodox, her presence has comforted him deeply. During those long talks, he must have tried to make sense of this hell. Why did he lose his wife and child? Why did God unleash this catastrophe? I don’t know if he found any answers, but his search has been a balm for his wounded soul. Something inside his heart is broken forever, that’s for sure. Now at least he’s learning to live with the pain.

  For my part, I prefer not to ponder it. Every minute of the day, I wonder what happened to my family. Damn, I never thought I could miss anyone in such an intense, hopeless way. It’s highly likely they’re mutants, I know, but I refuse to accept it.

  I’ve had the same nightmare for weeks. I’m walking down a dark corridor. I can hear the sea splashing against one wall, but it doesn’t smell like the sea. It smells like something rotting. The corridor is littered with trash and shell casings. The walls are stained with something that looks like shit, but I know it’s dried blood. Suddenly, my sister and my parents come out of a door. They’ve been turned into those things. They walk toward me with blind eyes, after my blood. I’m armed in my dream, but I can’t raise my gun, and then...then I wake up, deeply upset, with an urge to throw up.

  Undoubtedly, those who have changed into those creatures are in hell, but we survivors are living pretty close to that hell.

  ENTRY 85

  Mid-September, 9:45 a.m.

  * * *

  Yesterday afternoon, Prit and I were standing in the elevator shaft, discussing the fastest way to reach the SUV. We agreed we should drive it around to our exit in case we needed it in an emergency. Moving it from time to time it would also keep it in running condition. Winter was coming, and I was afraid the cold weather would damage the starter.

  In the middle of our conversation, the Ukrainian straightened up suddenly, sniffing the air nervously like a retriever, with an intensely focused look on his face.

  “Smell that?” he asked.

  “Smell what?” I said. After nine months surrounded by trash and slowly rotting corpses, my sense of smell wasn’t as keen as it used to be.

  “Fire,” Prit said as he closed his eyes and sniffed the air eagerly. His eyes flew open, boring into me.

  “Fire? A fire? Here in the hospital?”

  “Not in the hospital. A fire out there! In the forest! I’m sure of this.” Prit’s voice caught in his throat.

  I trusted my pilot friend. After years of fighting wildfires, he could detect the faintest hint of a fire, fires the average person wouldn’t notice. I didn’t smell anything, but if the Ukrainian said he smelled smoke, that was the end of the discussion. The question was how it would affect us.

  “It’s blowing in on the wind. Come here,” the Ukrainian continued.

  “We should go take a look.”

  “Yes.”

  We stared at each other. The Ukrainian shook his head, and I cussed under my breath. We both knew what came next.

  Shit, I thought. We had to get back out there. We had to stick our nose out of our little hole, whether we liked it or not.

  After we’d made that decision, we headed back to Numantia to bring Sister Cecilia and Lucia up to speed. The look of dread on Lucia’s face when she heard what we were planning was almost comical.

  As she helped me get into my patched wetsuit, she nervously chattered away nonstop, reminding me of a thousand things not to do. “Don’t take any chances, don’t go into dark places, don’t go near anything suspicious, don’t wander too far from Prit...”

  I tried to calm her down, for my sake as well as hers. I was getting more nervous by the minute. Lucia isn’t a hysterical person, but the possibility that something would happen to us outside that refuge really got to her.

  Finally, Prit and I were ready. We were armed with assault rifles the army had left behind. I was also carrying the speargun across my back, with a spear loaded and two more strapped to my right calf. The Ukrainian, decked out in an awful fuchsia tracksuit so bright it hurt your eyes, had a huge hunting knife tucked in a holster. He chewed some gum mechanically and was surprisingly calm.

  We agreed that the best way out was through the elevator shaft. We wouldn’t have to go back through the dark hospital, plus it was the fastest way out. Once we were in the storeroom on the top floor, all we had to do was open a window to get a view of the entire valley surrounding the hospital.

  We soon discovered that climbing up the elevator cables was harder than it looks in the movies. They were covered in grease, and the noise we made as we climbed should’ve attracted a legion of those monsters. But as far as we could tell, things were going our way. At least for a while.

  After struggling to the top floor, Prit eased the elevator door open, ready to duck back inside at the first sign of danger. I kept the cable as taut as possible. If there was trouble, we could slide back down to the ground floor.

  Prit slithered behind the door like an eel and disappeared out on to the upper floor. For fifteen long seconds, I didn’t hear a sound. Just when I thought my nerves would snap, the Ukrainian slipped back behind the door and signaled that the coast was clear. Strangely clear.

  For the first time in months, I felt sunlight directly on my skin. It felt so good that I stood stock still for a moment, enjoying that wonderful sensation. We were standing in a warehouse on the top floor. From there we’d ventured out into the ambulance garage. Sunlight was streaming in the heavy metal gate trucks used to drive through, which had been left wide open during the evacuation. That discovery made my stomach clench. With that door open, there was nothing to keep the undead from wandering around this huge room. But there wasn’t any sign of them.

  Prit and I peered out. It was a beautiful late summer day. Although the sun was shining brightly in a cloudless sky, the windchill from a strong north wind made it very cold. That wind also carried the strong smell of burning wood. Even I could smell it now.

  My gaze swept nervously from side to side as I tried to detect any suspicious activity, but there wasn’t a soul in sight. Only dozens of birds darting everywhere, completely disoriented. The air was so charged with electricity it almost crackled.

  Suddenly Pritchenko elbowed me in the ribs. I looked in the direction he was pointing. Over the hills at the end of the valley, about a mile away, rose a thick column of smoke. Enormous black spirals twisted and turned with a fury. An evil glow dyed the horizon orange, adding a sinister, surreal touch to the landscape.

  I stood there, horrified at what I saw. A fire. A huge, uncontrollable forest fire. A couple of days before, a strong storm with a lot of thunder and lightning but no rain had hit in the area. Maybe lightning from that storm started that fire. Or a gas cylinder left out in the sun for months. Or a hundred other damn things I could come up with. No way to say for sure.

  All I knew was that with no one to fight that fire it was reaching terrifying proportions, destroying everything in its path. As if someone had read my thoughts, a powerful explosion shook the air. A huge orange fireball rose over the horizon. The fire had just devoured a car, probably more than one, given the size of the explosion. That fire was becoming a monster.

  Then I suddenly remembered the strange lack of undead in the area. I wondered if something had warned them to escape the flames. Wouldn’t surprise me. Those creatures seemed to be driven by the same basic instincts as animals. One of the most basic impulses of nature is self-preservation.

  Somehow the undead had perceived the danger and left for safer areas. Or maybe the flames had trapped hundreds, maybe thousands, of them. Even so, there’d still be millions o
f those lost souls wandering around. No, the fire wasn’t the solution to the problem. It posed an even greater problem. And we survivors certainly didn’t need any more problems. We could hardly keep our heads above water as it was.

  A couple of wild boars ran out of the tangled patch of weeds the front garden had become and raced across the deserted parking lot, fleeing the wall of flame. Prit and I looked at each other. The animals were following their instincts and getting the hell out. We should follow their example. You didn’t need finely honed instincts to figure that out. One look at the edge of the fire and the direction the wind was blowing told us that the hospital would be engulfed in a couple of hours, four at the most. There was no time to lose.

  We quickly rounded the southern wall of the hospital toward the parking lot, where we’d left the SUV months ago. I remembered I’d left the passenger door wide open, and a couple of those things had gotten inside. We didn’t know what we’d find, but we were pretty sure the SUV’s battery would be completely dead. I wasn’t sure I’d turned off the headlights when I dragged Prit out of the car. Just in case, at the bottom of my backpack was a brand-new battery we’d scavenged from the ambulance repair shop.

  As we rushed around, switching the new battery for the old one, I felt a strong sense of déjà vu. It was the same situation we’d lived through months before, when we landed at the port of Vigo. Only now we weren’t flying blind like before. And we didn’t have a bunch of armed Pakistanis hovering over us. That made a huge difference. I wondered what became of the crew of Zaren Kibish. As far as I was concerned, they could burn in hell.

  The motor coughed a couple of times, hesitated, then started up. Just then, the first flames broke over the hills near the hospital. The sky was bright orange, and the smell of smoke was getting stronger. The wind had picked up, and the temperature had risen a couple of degrees. The situation was getting uglier by the minute.

  We drove around the building without seeing a single one of those monsters. Crunching on the dry gravel, we pulled the SUV up to the tunnel leading to the storeroom. Prit waited in the car with the engine running while I shot down the greased elevator cable to the bottom floor.

  Sister Cecilia and Lucia were waiting near the elevator car, looking really worried. You could smell the smoke in the basement now. Maybe it was my imagination, but I thought I saw wisps of smoke floating in the light of the magnesium lamps.

  I quickly brought them up to speed. A huge fire was approaching the hospital. There was no way to contain it; it would reach us in about an hour and would burn the place to the ground. Even the undead had fled as fast as their battered bodies would take them. We had to get out now, or we’d be burned to a crisp.

  Their reaction was more serene than I’d imagined. I’d had a mental image of a meltdown or even an outright refusal to leave the safety of the basement, but they took the news in stride. Lucia went to retrieve the emergency backpacks we’d packed. The nun asked if there was a way to unlock the elevator and get it back in operation. “There are many things this nun can do,” she said, “but climbing up a cable covered in grease is not one of them. So move your butt, my son, or you’ll have to take me out the long way, and that would take too much time.”

  I smiled, shaking my head, too impressed to speak. Those two were made of strong stuff. They had to be to have survived on their own for so long and endured that hell without getting devoured. Where big, hairy-chested men had collapsed like a broken spring in the face of difficulties, those women just gritted their teeth and kept on going. They were definitely not delicate, prim, and proper ladies. Just the opposite.

  Just then, Lucia came back around the corner, piled high with two huge army backpacks and another one in tow. We’d packed everything we thought we’d need when it came time to leave—dozens of freeze-dried army ration packets, a huge first-aid kit that could treat a regiment, ammunition, flares, my shortwave radio (with no batteries, since a sailor on the Zaren Kibish had decided he needed them), liters of water, and God knows what else.

  I heaved the heaviest backpack on to my back and helped Lucia put hers on. Despite Sister Cecilia’s indignant protests, I didn’t let her carry the third backpack. Lucia and I dragged it and the box with Lucullus in it. Things hadn’t gotten so bad that a woman her age had to carry a backpack that weighed as much as she did.

  Before we got in the elevator, I took one last look around and felt a twinge of nostalgia. I’d lived an almost normal life there for months. It might’ve been the only safe place with electricity, water, food, and comfort for many miles. Not only did we have to leave, but it would be engulfed in flames in minutes, and there was nothing we could do about it. The thought that such a wonderful place was going to vanish made my heart sink. I smiled, bitterly aware of the strange irony underlying that thought. To us a dark, locked basement, full of food smells, the walls covered in damp condensation, seemed wonderful. That was fucked up.

  I stuck the ivory rosary the nun had left on a table into my pocket and walked slowly to the elevator, where the women were waiting for me. I didn’t bother to turn the lights off. What did it matter? The Titanic had gone down with all its lights on too. And the orchestra playing on the deck.

  After a quick inspection, I realized the elevator would be surprisingly easy to unblock. I just had to remove a huge soup ladle someone had wedged into the gap that allowed the door to close. When I pulled it out, the door snapped shut with a deafening metallic screech. Almost immediately, the cabin started to rise slowly, with very unsettling jolts.

  Our ascent was slow and tense. Smoke filtered through the vents, drying our throats. Its acrid smell became more intense. I kept picturing dozens of those things waiting patiently at the top for the special of the day. I pictured dozens of eager mouths, outstretched arms reaching into the elevator to tear us apart and devour us.

  I squeezed my eyes shut; I was breathing really fast. I couldn’t do a thing, not a damn thing...

  A hand rested on my arm. I opened my eyes and saw the calm look on Lucia’s face. She squeezed my arm affectionately and whispered warmly in my ear, “Take it easy. Everything’ll be all right.” Then she gave my earlobe a playful, not-so-innocent nibble that almost sent me through the roof of the elevator. Naughty girl.

  The elevator came to a stop with an even stronger jolt. The door was stuck, after not being used for so long. It wouldn’t open all the way, so we had to push on it. Once outside, we stopped, overwhelmed by what we saw.

  Clouds of smoke enveloped the grounds and the parking lot, reducing visibility to about an eighth of a mile. Everything glowed an unhealthy red, like a scene out of hell. We could clearly see the flames moving over the hills. When the fire breached the hills, it flew downhill, devouring everything in its path. A huge stand of eucalyptus trees was engulfed by the flames. The heat was so intense, they exploded like matches thrown into a fireplace. Thousands of sparks flew everywhere, carried by the wind whipped up by the fire. Some of those sparks fell on highly combustible dry underbrush, starting new fires. The situation was much more chaotic than we’d foreseen. The gusting wind had pushed the fire along even faster than we anticipated. In less than fifteen minutes, it would be licking the hospital’s walls.

  Our eyes tearing from the smoke, we reached the SUV. Even though its lights were on, it was almost invisible in all the ash and fire. A restless Prit was waiting for us next to the SUV, beckoning for us to hurry, all the while monitoring the entire area. I noticed he’d taken the safety off his rifle, something that hadn’t occurred to me. Once a soldier, always a soldier. Those precautions must be etched into his subconscious.

  While everyone stuffed packages into the trunk, I slipped into the driver’s seat. In this situation, I preferred to take the wheel. I’d had enough of the Ukrainian driving experience—the last thing we needed was an accident.

  When everyone was aboard, we sped away in a cloud of dust, sending gravel flying in all directions. The scene was right out of Dante’s Inferno. A huge
red cloud enveloped everything as far as the eye could see, which wasn’t very far, just forty or fifty yards ahead of the headlights. The roar of the flames was punctuated by explosions and the crackle of burning dry wood. I crossed the parking lot in the dark. At the last second, I dodged the abandoned wreck of a bloodstained Peugeot.

  I finally found the exit, framed by two monstrous pieces of concrete, and then crossed through fifty yards of barbed wire fence. With a jolt that drew shouts of protest from all my passengers, we ran over a rotting corpse crawling with maggots that lay in the middle of the road.

  We’d only been on the road for a mile or so when a huge explosion reverberated in the air, shaking our vehicle. The flames must’ve reached the oxygen tanks stored on the hospital grounds. The explosion was so violent I was sure it brought down half of the front wall. For the next fifteen minutes, we heard a series of explosions, one right after another, as flames devoured abandoned vehicles in the parking lot.

  Finally, a massive explosion, considerably more powerful than the rest, made us jump out of our skin. It was either the fuel for the generators or the furnace. The flames had made it into the building.

  Blessed Christ. We were on the road again, with no shelter, but with two more people. What next?

  We drove the rest of the way in silence. Lucia and Sister Cecilia must’ve wondered where the hell we were going, but they refrained from asking. Maybe they were thinking that the first order of business was outrunning the fire. We’d decide our fate once we reached safety.

  Nothing was further from reality.

  Prit and I hadn’t forgotten the little metal part in the Cyrillic-covered package, stashed in the pocket of the Ukrainian’s backpack. That part was all that ensured that the helicopter would still be there, waiting for us.