MZS: New York: A Metropolitan Zombie Survivors Novella

by McAdams, K. D.

  The gore arrives so fast. In less time than it takes to blink, the guy goes from standing and screaming to laying flat on his back with one leg torn completely off. The other leg and an arm follow almost immediately and I can see an ocean of blood even from up here on the second floor.

  A few seconds later and there are no more screams, no more body and no sign that there was ever a guy there.

  I barf all over the top of the window. It’s a violent full-body action that ends with bits of pasta clinging to the glass and streams of red sauce dripping down onto the sill. Staring at it reminds me of only one thing: body parts covered in blood.

  Which makes me vomit again.

  Tucker appears beside me with a glass of water and a kitchen towel. I wipe my face with the towel and take a long drink of the water. I can’t move and there is nowhere for me to spit, so I choke it down.

  Patrick puts his arm around my shoulders and pulls me close.

  “Sorry. That was my first…”

  “That was my reaction to the first one, too.” Patrick doesn’t make me finish naming what we just witnessed.

  I wanted to say first time puking; I’ve seen other people die. Correcting Patrick is not critical. It’s more important that I keep him thinking we’re on the same page.

  “Mine too,” Cupcake adds.

  “Same here. We’d be more worried if you didn’t do that,” Tucker says, consoling.

  “Not me. I’m more of an odor kind of guy. Visuals don’t bother me.” Todd, naturally, has to dissent.

  I can’t even imagine the smell, but I know it’s neither the sight nor the smell. It’s the emotion. That was a person. He was terrified for who knows how long. What makes it even worse is that what he was afraid of is exactly what happened.

  “Do you have a telescope? Or binoculars?” Tucker jumps back in from out of left field.

  “What?”

  “Come on, I thought everyone in New York spied on other apartments with binoculars or telescopes?” he says.

  “That’s totally not true. Is that what people do in Boston?” I ask.

  “My place didn’t really have windows. Pat-O, did you do any peeping at your place?”

  “I didn’t have room for a telescope,” Patrick replies. “Tucker, did you see something in one of the other windows?”

  Oh my god. I haven’t been checking the other buildings for survivors. Every time I look out the window, I watch the street. But all the people that are trying to make a break for it have to be coming from somewhere.

  “No, but I thought that if we were going to have to hang around, maybe we could catch a show,” Tucker says, wiggling his eyebrows in a perverted sort of way.

  Leave it to a guy to look for a peep show in the middle of the apocalypse.

  “We’re not going anywhere until that horde dissipates,” Patrick says. “I’m going to clean this up; you should probably go change your shirt.” He’s kind of taking charge.

  Patrick

  Chapter 6

  I was comfortable here until McLean started talking about leaving. Now that we can’t go, I really want to. With the five of us in this small space, the air is getting stuffy and tempers are flaring.

  Turns out that Laney did have a pair of binoculars. She brought them out of her room after she changed. Supposedly they were for bird watching in Telluride, but I don’t buy it. We’re all voyeurs to some extent.

  Watching Todd and Tucker argue and bicker about the binoculars is like trying to play with my five-year-old twin niece and nephew. My turn, no, my turn. You’re hogging them. They must have done this for half an hour before they figured out how to play nice.

  Now they are scanning apartments and deciding who lived in each one. The options are: couple, gays, chicks, and dudes. I would swear that Todd disagrees every now and then just so he can argue.

  It’s a little hard to blame him, though. Tucker keeps making these over-the-top claims. “I see a dildo on the kitchen counter.” And “That guy has a pet alligator.” If there’s an urban legend out there, Tucker is finding “proof” of its truth right now.

  Oddly enough, his phone hasn’t distracted him. No matter where we are or what we’re doing, Tucker always has something more important on his phone; either he needs to reach out to someone or they need him. But not now.

  Cupcake and I both have phones, but that’s how we use them, as phones. We occasionally text, but most of the time I make actual calls with my phone. Neither one of us does social media or web browsing from our phones. Hell, I don’t even have a data plan.

  Todd claims to have forgotten his phone back at his apartment. I know there are people who forget their phones, but this seems like a lie. I don’t think he even had a phone, not that it matters now.

  McLean has a phone but she’s already given up on it. Like me, she is voice and text first. She does social media but said it’s too depressing now. Pictures of friends and family from two days ago are constant reminders of all the people that are now dead. It was her idea to change the status on all of her profiles to “Alive. Looking for others. Call me 212-394-0106,” and then be done with the internet.

  The real downside of all of this is that while we can connect to the whole world, we can’t find anyone outside of our circle of survivors. Everyone we know that is alive is here in this apartment.

  We’re missing so many key people. A nerd, a doctor, a grizzled Army vet—you name it and we could use their help.

  “That is not a bazooka!” Todd yells.

  “Yes it is!” Tucker insists. “Look at the flared end. The tube is the right size. I bet you a million dollars that is a bazooka.” He offers the binoculars to Todd so he can look again.

  “Making up stupid ass shit in the apartments is not part of the game,” Todd whines.

  “Fine. That was a dude’s apartment. Not only that, the dude was a fucking Middle Eastern fucking terrorist and he was going to blow something up. With a FUCKING BAZOOKA!” Tucker yells.

  “You wanna make shit up?” Todd looks furious. “Fine. Its some guy’s gay hideout and that’s the tube he uses to shove a gerbil up his ass. In fact, I am willing to go over there and get it just so I can bring it back here and show you EXACTLY HOW IT FUCKING WORKS!”

  “Guys, stop screaming…” I start.

  “They’re attracted to noise.” Laney and Cupcake finish the sentence with me.

  For a little while there, I was able to forget that they were real. The zombies were down on the street and we are up here playing games. It’s all nice and cozy.

  Bang-bang-bang.

  The pounding on the door startles us all.

  Oh shit the zombies found us. How are we going to get through them all in that tight hallway?

  “Are you alive in there?” a voice from the other side asks.

  We all look to McLean. This is her place; she gets to decide if we’re going to welcome visitors.

  “It’s a little scary out here so if you don’t open the door soon, I’m going to assume you’re dead.” It’s definitely a woman in the hall.

  McLean shakes the cobwebs out of her head and hurries to the door. She looks out the peephole and then quickly undoes the locks. The door flies open and the woman from the hallway steps in quickly.

  On its way to closing, the door bangs loudly and McLean squeezes her shoulders up, recognizing her mistake.

  “You know…” the new entrant starts.

  “They’re attracted to noise.” We all finish with her.

  “I’m Terri,” the new woman says. She flashes a quick smile and bounces up on her toes, like this is the best day of her life.

  Terri is fat. Not pudgy and overweight like me, I mean really fat. Now that I look at her, I’m surprised that she fit through the door. If the zombies hadn’t attacked, her future probably involved being bedridden and a daytime TV talk show.

  “Holy shit. You could feed an army of those things.” Tucker is the first of us to speak and of course he is a total asshole.

/>   “What? Wait, are you saying I’m fat?” Terri looks nervously up and down her body. “Oh my god, I didn’t know! When did this happen to me?!” she exclaims in mock-horror.

  “I’m sorry. It’s just… I don’t know, I’m just sorry.” Tucker has repentant written all over his face.

  “I shouldn’t have to say this to an adult, but maybe you should try thinking before you speak. Asshole,” Terri says.

  Our introductions start with McLean and go around the room. Each of us apologizes for Tucker and assures Terri that we’re not like him. Tucker apologizes profusely and offers to do anything she wants to make it up to her.

  “Just stop being an ass, if you can,” is all she says when he’s done groveling.

  “Terri, is there anyone else with you?” Cupcake asks, hope in his voice.

  “Not here.”

  “What the fuck does that mean?” Todd snaps.

  “What the fuck do you think it means? If I talk slow, will it help you understand?” Terri says.

  Great, she has a chip on her shoulder. I think I get what she’s saying, but it was not clear. “So you know of other survivors but they aren’t in this building,” I say. “Where are they?” I want to get on her good side and I don’t want her to think we’re all idiots.

  “All over the place. Mostly farms and small towns. I’m sure there are some yahoos like you hiding out in the cities but they haven’t posted on any of my forums.”

  “Do you have anything to eat?” Tucker asks.

  “Just can’t stop being an ass, can you? Yeah, I have food. More importantly, I have wi-fi. Do you guys even know how to use those phones you’re all clinging to?” Terri says.

  “I don’t want to think about all of my friends that died recently,” McLean offers humbly.

  Terri rolls her eyes. “Can you use Google? Or type?”

  Our humiliation is complete.

  I never stopped to search the internet for an article or video or anything. I trusted the gruesome scene on TV and out my window. Along with a few text messages and a brief phone conversation,I spent all of fifteen minutes gathering facts about the biggest disaster to ever hit the planet. Not résumé-quality work.

  The issue is not so much that I was wrong—there is definitely a zombie apocalypse. The issue is that I could have done better. Again the thought that sitting tight and riding this thing out may have been the best move enters my mind. What if there was a shelter or a refugee camp out by where we spent last night? Maybe we passed people that really needed our help.

  “Do you know if that chopper was inbound or outbound?” Todd doesn’t care what Terri thinks of him, he just asks whatever he’s thinking.

  “We’re all pretty sure it was inbound. When people realized the shit was hitting the fan, tons of them went to the ports. A whole flotilla left yesterday around noon. I heard they were meeting up with an aircraft carrier that was coming up from the DC area.”

  “And why do you think the chopper was coming in from the carrier?” Todd has followed her leap of logic, but wants supporting information.

  “The vice president was in the city for a fundraising dinner. No one had heard from him for the first twenty-four hours. About thirty minutes before I heard the chopper, there were reports that he was safe and looking for extraction.”

  “Any word on the president?” I ask.

  “El pres? He’s probably on Nantucket, selling t-shirts!” Tucker says. He’s the only one who laughs at his joke. El Pres is the screenname of the guy who runs Barstool Sports.

  “Most reports have the president safe. Somewhere in the south or at least heading south,” Terri explains.

  “Do the reports have suggestions on what we’re supposed to do?” Cupcake asks. He really doesn’t want to have to make a decision.

  “Sit tight.”

  “So the thing about nuking the metropolitan areas was urban legend,” I state flatly.

  “Nuking the metropolitan areas? Like New York? Are you fucking serious?” Terri is more angry than scared.

  The large woman looks at the tablet in her hand and flicks and taps wildly. Part of me thinks she could launch a nuclear missile if she’s not careful with those buttons.

  “Can’t reach my wi-fi. I only came down here to see if you knew anything helpful. You don’t so I’m going back to my place.” She looks around the room “You can come if you want.”

  Terri doesn’t wait for us to say anything. She storms to the door and rips it open. Before we can even recommend caution, she is through and heading down the hall. For a big girl, she’s awfully quick; if anyone wants to go with her, they better hustle.

  Tucker is the first to leave. He may be in love. Todd is not far behind, but McLean sits down on the couch.

  “I’ll stay with her,” Cupcake says. He may be planning to push McLean to lead the group.

  “Back in a bit. Don’t go anywhere,” I say as I leave; they seem more nervous than those of us blindly following the girl we just met.

  In the hallway, I look up at the high ceilings. The space is narrow but the vertical openness makes if feel large. One of the doors on the left side has an old transom window. I wonder if this was once an office building that was converted to apartments?

  Mid-afternoon light dances through the window, giving the hallway a very artistic feel. The light illuminates the dirt on the window. Red clay-colored smudges are on the bottom of the pane. They must be from where someone pushes to open it. But something about the smudges feels weird, like they aren’t at the right angles to be from hands pushing.

  “Hey Terri, you got any beers at your place?” Todd yells up to her.

  I wonder if we’re all going to be all cute again when we remind him that they’re attracted to noise.

  The buzzing fills my chest. They’re coming.

  There’s no time to callout and warn them. The transom window smashes to the ground. Falling right after it is a skinny old zombie. It crashes into the floor and the snap of his neck fills the narrow space.

  “Holy shit!” Terri screams.

  Tucker runs the last few yards between them and tackles her into her partially open apartment door. We didn’t bring our weapons, stupid. No sane person would open their door to let us in when this monster is in the hallway with us.

  Defying its broken vertebrae, the undead old man staggers to his feet. The buzzing coming from somewhere inside of it does not stop. When its nose catches our scent, moaning joins the buzz in a creepy symphony.

  The creature is locked on to me and progressing forward. I can run to the stairs, but then where? What if there are a bunch more of them in the stairwell? Stand and fight is my best option.

  Will Todd wait until there’s a winner before he does anything? The strategy would be to let me wrangle the zombie while he runs to Terri’s door and have her let him in. They’ll have to deal eventually, but they can calm down and arm themselves.

  “Pat-O,” Todd says, surprising me.

  The zombie makes a slow shambling turn to find the sound. It doesn’t take long to lock onto Todd’s scent. Damn, these things are efficient.

  “Think my fingers are long enough to scratch his brain?” Todd yells from his side of the undead.

  This kill happens in slow-motion. Maybe because I can see Todd’s face almost the whole time. He takes two authoritative steps forward and pulls his right hand back. I want to remind him that a haymaker won’t hurt the zombie; its spine is already broken.

  Todd doesn’t throw a haymaker. When his hand comes forward, I can see his first and second fingers are extended. He looks like a little boy making a pretend gun with his hand.

  A zombie hand flails on his rib cage and the other one is grabs at his left arm. With perfect control over his hand, Todd plunges his fingers directly in the eye socket.

  The slurping sound and spray of milky gray fluid add a new level of grossness to a world that I thought couldn’t get any more disgusting. The zombie’s body goes limp, but Todd doesn’t stop. He
continues pushing on the skull as it falls to the ground.

  With the undead body flat on its back, Todd starts to rotate around it, fingers still in the eye socket, digging for gold. I’m not sure I could have done what he just did.

  I’m grateful and frightened at the same time. Killing shouldn’t be easy and it shouldn’t be fun. Using your bare hands to kill should give any man pause to think on what’s right and wrong. Todd never hesitated, and I could swear he was smiling for at least part of the time.

  McLean

  Chapter 7

  Whatever happened in the hall was not good. I shouldn’t act like I don’t know what it was. There was a zombie out there. Sooner or later I’m going to have to experience zombies, and the death and gore they bring with them, up close. I would just prefer to wait and make it later.

  Cupcake is just sitting, staring off into space. There’s no way he didn’t hear what was going on out there. This must be his approach to coping.

  There were no knocks on my door and now there is silence. Either Patrick made it to Terri’s or he’s dead. If he’s dead, does that mean he’ll turn?

  “Cupcake, have you seen it happen?” I ask.

  He looks at me with blank eyes.

  “Have you seen anyone… turn?”

  Slowly his eyes come back to life. He’s thinking. I hope I don’t make him replay any particularly horrible memories.

  “No. Actually, now that you mention it, we haven’t experienced a living person becoming a zombie,” he says. “Thanks for giving me a fresh hell to look forward to.”

  “It’s just… The guys in the hall… If Patrick is lying in the hallway, bitten, when will we know that he’s turned?”

  Patrick is my concrete example and my concern right now. Big-picture, though, this might be important. Like if we’re on a bridge in the car and someone gets bitten through a window, do we have a few minutes to get all the way across or will there be a new zombie in seconds?

  “Well, we heard a report that the disease or whatever is spread through bodily fluids. If you get their blood or spit in your mouth, you’re done for. Certainly if they bite you and pass saliva directly into your bloodstream, it’s the end,” Cupcake says, exhausted.