MZS: New York: A Metropolitan Zombie Survivors Novella

by McAdams, K. D.

  But really, Cupcake cooked and McLean spent the dinner grilling us on our plans. I don’t think she has any attraction to Tucker, and even if she did, I’m sure she knows that now is not a good time. I’ll let Tucker do the dishes in fantasyland though; no one needs to burst his bubble.

  The public service announcement looping here is actually different than the one that was looping in Boston. This gives a little credence to the idea of an active government, but I’m not convinced. It’s more likely that the person who activated the message was in a rush and picked the wrong one.

  “We weren’t told to shelter in place,” I tell Laney. “They just said that if you were inside, keep your door closed, but unlocked. If you were outside, avoid the diseased.”

  “Well, you’ve heard our message now,” she says. “Stay inside. When the situation is under control, they’ll let us know.”

  “And you think people were listening to them?” Cupcake asks, confused.

  “It seemed like it. I only woke up a little after four, so I’m not sure what the rest of the day was like. But from four until just before I called you, everything was quiet. People seemed to actually be staying inside.”

  “If I were shooting fish, I would want them in a barrel, too,” Todd says, grinning wickedly.

  He makes good points, keeping the infected and potentially infected contained would be wise, but it’s the way he does it that bugs me. He always talks with an attitude that no one is as smart as he is or that he’s tougher than the rest of us. That, and his eyes and smiles; those are creepy.

  “But after the bridge blew up, people started to go outside?” I ask. I don’t know why the timeline is important to me, but I want to understand it.

  “Yeah. First it was a family of four…” McLean’s eyes begin to fill with tears.

  I’ve seen more carnage than I ever wanted to but so far there have been no children and no families. The little old lady in the convenience store was hard; she’s the one I see when I close my eyes, but nothing like a kid. I can convince myself that she had a good long life. Reaching the end, for her, wasn’t a bad thing; it was just the next step. Kids are different though. They haven’t even learned about fair and unfair. How can anything hunt down a child and slay them mercilessly?

  I put my hand on her back and rub gently. There are no words of comfort to share. This one would stump even the greeting card companies.

  Surprisingly, she doesn’t get to a full cry. She wipes her eyes and then continues. “Every time the street would clear, someone else would try and make a run for it. And every time someone tried to make a run for it, the zombie horde would be back to cut them down.”

  The view out my window was at a different time. People weren’t leaving home in panic, they were leaving in relief. In Boston, people were getting their jog in or going for a bike ride when the streets cleared.

  “Where do you think they were trying to get to?” I can’t imagine trying to escape New York on foot.

  “I have no idea. Maybe they heard about the nukes too, and were just trying to get away,” McLean asks. “What’s your source on that, by the way?” She clearly isn’t sure she believes it.

  I’m a closet stoolie. I check out Barstool Sports a few times a week, but almost never click on their NSFW links. Okay, I don’t always click on the NSFW links. But it’s not something I talk about to anyone but the guys.

  “Stoolie grapevine,” Tucker says. He walks over from the kitchen, grinning wide.

  “I’m sorry, what?” McLean does not follow.

  “I heard about the nukes through the Stoolie grapevine,” he repeats, like she’s being slow.

  “I gathered that. What is the ‘Stoolie grapevine’?”

  “Oh. It’s a bunch of bros who kind of know each other from the comments section of Barstool Sports and from some of their live events,” Tucker says. He thinks he’s clarifying.

  “What is Barstool Sports?” McLean asks.

  “It’s a blog, but that’s not the point,” I interject. “Tucker knows a guy in the Army who sent him a text that told him about the plans for the nukes. I’ve met the guy, and he seems solid. I don’t think he was trying to scare anyone; I think this was genuinely the plan.”

  “Was he a general or other high-ranking officer?” McLean is still skeptical.

  “Umm.” Tucker isn’t sure what to say.

  Great, with a handful of questions she’s blown a hole in our entire theory about the zombie apocalypse. Maybe there are no nukes coming. Maybe “sit tight and wait it out” was the best strategy. If it turns out that I could have crashed in my apartment for two days and avoided this whole mess, I am going to be so pissed at Tucker.

  “So no,” McLean says. She has a look of disgust plastered on her face.

  “You know what? I don’t care what his rank is,” Todd says. “A stand-up guy in the military gave us a heads-up that we were in danger. It’s plausible, hell I would call it probable. The only way to stop the surge is to kill them, and if you have to kill them, why not take out as many as you can with one shot?” He tries to defend our side of the story.

  “Look, I’m not saying he’s lying. I’m just saying that maybe we don’t need to rush out of here. It’s almost one. We have enough daylight to get somewhere, but then we would have to find safety in a strange place in the dark,” McLean explains.

  “We can be in the Adirondacks in two hours,” Todd asserts. “That gives us three hours of daylight to find a safe place for the night and gets us far enough away from the city to be clear of the nuclear blast.” Todd’s edge is getting harder, and it feels like he’s going to fight for this one.

  “Try five hours to upstate,” McLean shoots back. “If that’s where we’re going, fine, but we leave in the morning, not…”

  The heavy thump of rotor blades fills the air. By the depth of the sound, it’s not a news chopper reporting on traffic; it’s military.

  We all rush to the window. McLean is statuesque but still a little shorter than the rest of us, so she makes her way to the front and we all look out around her.

  I thought my apartment was a coffin. Her place is nice on the inside but the outside is claustrophobic. Her one window looks out over the street, but the building across is so tall that there is no way to even see the sun. All of the light she gets in here is ambient.

  “Roof deck?” Cupcake asks hopefully.

  McLean shakes her head no.

  “Street?” Tucker wonders aloud.

  If the military is active and sending rescue missions, I want to be found. They can’t fly low enough to see us through our window; we need to be outside. Our only outdoor option is the street, so Tucker is right.

  The four of us scramble for our weapons. Cupcake is first to the door and is fumbling with the locks. Adrenaline is surging through my veins and I’m ready to jump, scream and wave my arms. I’m also ready to fight, if needed.

  “Wait!” McLean yells.

  We all stop in our tracks. The silence is deafening. Gone are the sounds of rotors. How did they disappear so fast?

  BOOOM rumbles through the tiny space.

  I regret my question, as if asking it had something to do with the outcome. There was one helicopter, alone, and now it’s crashed.

  Maybe it was a foreign government rescuing a dignitary who had been at the UN. Maybe it was the air National Guard dropping supplies for survivors. Maybe… there are a million maybes.

  ‘They wouldn’t send a chopper in if they had bombs on the way,” Cupcake says, trying to reassure us.

  “Oh yeah? They wouldn’t let Manhattan get overrun with zombies,” Todd says. He does not want to stay here.

  “We have not idea what they would do or even who they are at this point,” I remind everyone.

  Tucker quietly slips out his phone and starts reading and typing. He doesn’t say anything but keeps glancing up nervously.

  “Now seems like a good time to talk about your plan,” McLean says, putting an end to the ar
gument.

  None of us jump in.

  “You don’t have plan, do you?”

  Cupcake tries to answer her. “Yesterday, our plan was to get out of Boston. Today, our plan was to come get you.” Cupcake doesn’t want to lead, but he doesn’t like being criticized for not doing it.

  “Well if that’s the extent of it, then you might as well have stayed in Boston,” she says. McLean doesn’t “go with the flow.”

  “You’re welcome, by the way,” Cupcake says. He is getting defensive, and telegraphing with his arms folded tightly across his chest.

  “Thank you,” McLean says tartly. “But seriously, if we don’t come up with a plan for what we’re going to do tomorrow, next week and even next month, we aren’t going to live long.”

  “Tomorrow there could be no Manhattan. Next week there could be no zombies, and next month things could be back to normal. How are we supposed to plan when there’s no way to tell what’s going to happen?” Cupcake says. He has just laid out the mindset for my entire group of friends. We don’t make plans; we wing it, everyday. Using the excuse of not knowing what’s going to happen has been my crutch for years.

  We’re all so much smarter and cooler than those idiots working for “the man” and trying to get ahead. I don’t want to rot in a cube farm mindlessly pushing some stupid software program. I’d much rather rot on my couch, wondering what I should be doing.

  If I’m brutally honest—which I wouldn’t be without the zombie apocalypse providing some motivation—it’s a lame excuse. Sitting around to see what the day is going to do to you is a victim’s mentality. Mindlessly rotting on my couch isn’t significantly different from mindlessly rotting in a cube.

  It would just be nice if my first efforts at planning were a little easier. Something like planning meals for three days or planning when I would do my laundry and get a haircut. Coming up with a plan to save myself and four others from the zombie horde that has taken over New York is a complicated place to start.

  Why don’t I try planning the next hour? Step one, take a seat, planning is best done in comfort. Step two…

  I could use about six more beers and a good night’s sleep. Tomorrow I can start fresh and come up with a real plan.

  McLean

  Chapter 5

  This is what I get for relying on guys.

  These four idiots drove a stolen Humvee into a city they think is about to be hit with a nuclear weapon, but have no plans for getting out. If I wasn’t sure before, the last day and a half have made it crystal clear—guys are morons.

  Maybe I should go lesbian?

  Or become a nun?

  Do people even do that anymore?

  So first I need to come up with a plan to get out of the city and then I need to manipulate these guys into following my plan.

  I’m so good, I can plan planning.

  The manipulation part will be easy, but I should start right away.

  “Why don’t we all have another beer and just relax for a few minutes. I think you’re right that we have to be ready for anything,” I say. They didn’t exactly say that, but now they’ll think they did.

  Cupcake pops up and practically runs to the kitchen. He stole the Humvee and he managed these guys this far, but he does not want to deal.

  Tucker is the lovable loser of the bunch. He’ll go anywhere and do anything, but no one is going to look to him for guidance.

  Todd seems like a wildcard. He’s bold enough to take charge, but is he smart enough to stay there? I definitely get more of an “I told you so” vibe from him than anything that would be long-term productive.

  Patrick has something going on in his brain. He gives the impression of being a lone wolf, but everyone knows he needs the pack. I would guess he wants to tell them what to do but is afraid of alienating any of them.

  If this were the group from work, we would be doomed to argue right through a nuclear blast. These guys are so easy to read.

  “Sorry for being on edge,” Todd says. “It’s just that being in the city has me freaked out. Even if they choose not to drop nukes, there are more zombies per square foot here than almost anywhere else. If we get out into the country, at least there are open spaces and we can see them coming.” He has finished his beer and is struggling to keep his tone even.

  Fucking Jason.

  I can’t read guys. Todd just basically slapped me in the face with that fact. Not only was his tone measured, his points were valid and articulate.

  The other guys know he’s right, but they seem to be waiting for the other shoe to drop. Todd gets out of his seat and goes to the kitchen. We all watch him in silence as he grabs another beer.

  As he opens the can, he adds, “Plus if I’m going out, I want it to be when I’m on top of the Hummer, rippin’ the fifty cal into some zombie brains. Not sittin’ in some fuckin’ artsy fartsy apartment.”

  And we’re back to me being right.

  If the city is bad, then we need to go to the country, but for how long? A year?

  The country will likely have fewer zombies, but it definitely also has fewer resources. There is more canned food and bottled water in New York City than there is spread across the rest of the state combined.

  Plus it’s going to be getting cold soon. If we go to the Adirondacks, we could be dealing with snow in a few weeks. Snow would make it harder to move and travel. I’ve never been a huge fan of snow, which was definitely a factor in my distaste for Telluride. I don’t know why any early settlers would have chosen to live around here.

  So food and weather are issues beyond zombies and nuclear weapons. If this drags on for years, we will run out of canned foods at some point. No canned food would mean we have to grow our own. Growing food requires sun, warmth and water. We should go somewhere that allows us to grow food for at least ten months of the year.

  Mexico?

  Seems like that would be too far. It would definitely be a tough sell on these yahoos.

  The Carolinas would probably be easier to reach and equally suited for our needs. I don’t know too many areas there, but I have to pick one if I’m going to make a plan.

  Anything on the coast could have hurricanes. Inland would definitely be better. The only city I can think of is Charlotte. Obviously we wouldn’t go into the city, but that can be our navigation target. It’ll give the guys something to latch onto.

  There may even be survivors down there.

  I just need to convince these guys to follow my plan. The best way to get what I want it is to offer a concession.

  “I’m just so scared, I can’t even think straight,” I say, trying to sound repentant. “I’m so glad you guys came here to save me.” A tear comes to my eye; this may be overdoing it a bit.

  Their faces go sad. I could probably convince them to go get me a zombie to pet if I wanted to.

  “Of course you’re right. We have to leave the city,” I continue. “I’ve just had some bad experiences in the snow, Patrick knows, and I heard the Adirondacks are getting snow next week!”

  Patrick has no idea what I’m talking about, but he doesn’t object.

  “It doesn’t have to be the Adirondacks, it can be anywhere,” Cupcake says. “You pick, we don’t care.” He is quick to give up control; I think I was right about him.

  “I think…” sniff. “I think we should just head west until like five and then…” sniff. “Then start looking for a safe place to spend the night.”

  A sly smile creeps across Patrick’s face; he knows how thick I’m laying it on. He gets up from his seat and walks over to the window. I’m waiting for him to call me out.

  Pointing out my manipulation would probably feel like the right thing for him to do; Patrick wants to support his boys. In truth, it would only lead to confusion. At this stage of a panic, the only thing that matters is that we all pull in the same direction—it doesn’t matter why we’re pulling.

  “Laney, you ready for another beer?” Patrick asks, looking back from the window.


  If he was ready for a beer, why did he walk to the window and not the kitchen? He must want me to go over there with him. I’m surprised at how subtle he is; this is actually a good sign.

  “Yes, do you need one?” I ask.

  He turns to face the window and his head drops. “Definitely.”

  The little bit of separation between the window and the table does not give us enough privacy to have a secret conversation. I’m not sure why he’s trying to get me alone, but I want to show him I’m picking up his hints.

  When I get to the window, Patrick doesn’t look at me or say anything. He’s staring down at the street.

  I look down at the street and wish I hadn’t. There is a guy standing on the roof of the Humvee. My first thought is worry that he’s going to steal it, even though I know that’s not the case.

  The truck is surrounded by undead. Somehow this guy managed to scramble up onto the roof, but now he’s stuck.

  Through the open window I can hear his screams clearly:

  “NO!”

  “FUCK YOU YOU FUCKING MONSTERS!”

  “I FUCKING HATE YOU!”

  “WHY DON’T YOU FUCKING DIE!”

  At some level beneath his screams is a steady undercurrent of buzzing. It’s eerie and a very deep tone. Somehow you don’t hear the buzz as much as feel it.

  “Zombie horde at the Humvee,” Patrick says nonchalantly back into the apartment.

  “Are you going to save him?” I ask.

  “If he had any hope for escape or rescue it would have required silence,” he says. “Even you know...”

  “They’re attracted to noise,” I finish his sentence and look away from the window.

  Todd slams his fresh empty onto the table and stands. “Should we go get him?”

  Looking back down to the Humvee, I can’t believe that more zombies are still coming. The street is nearly filled to capacity; four guys could not fight through that even if they had guns.