MZS: New York: A Metropolitan Zombie Survivors Novella

by McAdams, K. D.

  I nod. “So someone must have studied this or at least observed it closely.”

  “I guess it would be good to know, but what are we supposed to do, infect someone on purpose?”

  Cupcake is definitely not a leader. He’s not thinking about problems and solutions; he’s thinking about actions. Action is the smallest element of any plan. A leader needs to think about cause and effect, understand the “why” of a situation and the ramifications of changing the variables.

  “You’re sort of leading this crew; were you in the military?” I ask.

  “Hah! I’m kind of anti-authority,” Cupcake says casually.

  He’s not. He probably thinks he is or wants to be, but he most definitely is not against authority. I bet he secretly loves authority. Having someone tell you what to do can be comforting, like a warm blanket.

  Cupcake gets up out of his chair and walks over to the window. He picks up the binoculars and starts scanning the buildings across the street.

  “Your rig, your rules. Seems like these guys consider you the authority,” I say.

  “I like my friends and I wanted to help them,” Cupcake replies. He brings the binoculars down from his eyes but doesn’t turn away from the window. “A few weeks ago, we were out boozing and the topic of hotwiring a car came up. I was hammered and just finished a marathon viewing of some reality series about preppers. I told Tucker that if the shit hit the fan, I would steal a Humvee, drive way out to the woods, and live off the land ‘til it was all over.”

  “So when the zombies came, he called you,” I say, understanding finally. “You could have told him it was all a lie.”

  “I tried. But I do know how to hotwire a car, thanks to my dad’s midlife crisis, and I have hunted and fished and camped. Once the news made things clear, I was like, fuck it, might be worth a shot,” he says.

  Cupcake stops scanning the buildings and focuses his stare. I kind of want to hear about his dad’s midlife crisis now.

  “Crap,” he says. He lifts the binoculars to his eyes again and studies a single spot.

  “Cupcake?”

  “I see another survivor, across the street and down the block. It’s a kid.”

  I jump to my feet and rush to the window. Another survivor is a good thing. Having a kid tag along while we slay the undead and run for our lives could be tricky, but we can’t leave them behind, can we?

  At the window, I quickly pick up where Cupcake is pointing. He gives me the binoculars while he pulls out his phone. I get a better look and see that there are three kids, looks like a young teenager and a couple of seven- or eight-year-olds.

  “Todd wants us to bring the weapons down to Terri’s place,” Cupcake says, interrupting my distant thoughts.

  “What about the kids?”

  He looks at me intently. I can see the scales balancing out in his head.

  “We get those guys their weapons, and then I go and get the kids,” he says.

  I nod. “I’m coming with you.”

  Their point about having trouble planning is becoming clearer. The distractions we face are not your typical choices. Nearly every action has a life-or-death consequence.

  “Do you have a broom or a mop or anything?” Cupcake asks.

  “Seriously, you want to clean something now?”

  “We need the handle,” he explains. “Sharpen one end and you have a spear. If you have to deal with a zombie, go for the eyes or the mouth; they’re the best access to the brain cavity.”

  While I get my mop from the small linen closet, Cupcake texts on his phone. The mop has an aluminum handle; I’m not sure how we could fashion that into a point. My broom is beside the fridge, but honestly I can’t remember if the handle is wooden or aluminum. I have to go over to check and I’m glad to find out that the broom has a wooden handle. I unscrew the head and stare blankly at the shaft. How am I supposed to sharpen this?

  Cupcake walks into the kitchen and pulls my large chef’s knife from the butcher block. With quick powerful strokes, he hacks at the end of the stick. A sloppy rough point slowly forms and I can see sweat beading on his forehead.

  He may be tactical, but he is practical, too.

  Once he’s satisfied with the point, he hands me the spear and heads to the door. He pauses with a loose grip on the knob and turns to face me.

  “Quick and quiet,” he mouths to me.

  As soon as the door is open I realize that I don’t know what to expect from the hallway. Is Patrick out here? Or Tucker? Todd texted requesting the weapons so it’s not him. Are there a bunch of zombie corpses?

  We move quickly enough that I can ignore most of the details. There is one body on the floor and not really any blood. It seems an odd circumstance for a zombie encounter. Fortunately, I don’t recognize the body.

  Tucker must have been watching through the peephole. The door to Terri’s apartment is open before we even get there. We race through the opening and it closes silently behind us. Tucker flips the locks and a collective sigh is released into the small space.

  This apartment is awesome. I think it’s the same size as mine but is perfectly decorated. The computer screens and food wrappers I expect to find are not here. In fact, I’m not sure there’s even a TV in here.

  “Sanctuary” is the best way to describe it. You could come home from an awful day at work and just melt into relaxation when you walk through the door. There are two big couches with tons of pillows. One corner is covered with bookshelves neatly ordered and clean. A comfy-looking tub chair and a small lamp complete the reading area.

  “There.” Cupcake’s voice startles me out of my jealousy.

  At the window he and Patrick look toward the kids.

  Patrick doesn’t look for long. He hands the binoculars to Todd, who takes a while observing. Patrick and Cupcake silently study the street below.

  “I’m going,” Cupcake finally announces.

  “Of course we’re going, but we need a plan,” Patrick says, making me proud.

  “Where does the back entrance let out?” Cupcake asks the apartment at large.

  “Bust and run?” Todd summarizes the plan before Terri or I can answer.

  “Yeah. Find the path with the fewest zombies and fight our way over to their building. Grab a drink and head back here,” Cupcake says, roughing out his strategy.

  “Love it man,” Todd whoops. “Kill bad guys, save good guys, that’s what we do!” I notice he is enthusiastic about the killing first and the saving second.

  “Hold on. I know there aren’t a ton of choices, but let’s think about this for a second. Is there something we can do to even slightly improve our chances? Dying while trying to save those kids doesn’t get them saved. If we’re not going to come out of a rescue net positive head count, maybe we shouldn’t do it,” Patrick says, erasing some of the good feeling I had a second ago.

  I stare at him. “Are you saying we don’t even try to rescue those kids?” The shock comes through my voice.

  “Of course not. I’m saying, let’s come up with a plan so we can expect success, instead of just winging it and hoping for success,” Patrick says.

  “All right Pat-O, let’s hear it then,” Todd says, a challenge to Patrick’s authority.

  The standoff is surprisingly tense. This is where leadership is determined. If Patrick has a half-decent plan, he will become the one in charge. Cupcake could step in to diffuse the situation and maintain control, but it doesn’t seem likely.

  Patrick looks around. “I didn’t say I had one, I said we need one,” he says.

  The arguing starts softly but builds fast. Terri shushes the guys, but it only lowers the volume.

  While they fight, I make my way to the window. Crossing the street should be easy, even in New York. The problem is that there is a group of former people in the middle of the street that don’t want us to cross.

  How do we get them to let us cross? Better still, how do we get them out of the street?

  It would be great if
someone tried to escape and lure them away. Unfortunately, that’s a suicide mission, and I don’t want to suggest it for fear that someone would actually volunteer. I’m starting to see why Cupcake isn’t so interested in being the leader.

  The kids are in a corner building and their cross street looks relatively clear. We don’t need to get the zombies to go far, just in the opposite direction. It could be a distraction or misdirection, not a consistent lure.

  Todd full-out yells at Patrick. “Well all I’m saying is don’t fucking shit on his idea when don’t have one of your fucking own!”

  “So help me, I will kick you all out of my apartment. They’re attracted to sound!” Terri snaps.

  They’re attracted to sound.

  “I have a plan,” I announce.

  Patrick

  Chapter 8

  I can’t believe that McLean is coming with us. It was her plan though, and she insisted. Todd tried to be dismissive—I think he’s a little sexist—but even he admitted it was better than anything we were coming up with.

  Terri does not have any magazines in her apartment: the digital age has robbed us of armor for use in the zombie wars. Fortunately, she did have a stack of cardboard banker’s boxes and a few rolls of duct tape.

  Unlike my silver duct tape though, hers has designs all over it. Flowers, cats and umbrellas cover the cardboard that wraps around forearms and shins. In contrast, my armor looks cool. I also have a little pride that mine is from wine boxes, but I’m not going to brag.

  Step one of the plan was to get the kids’ attention. We used a mirror and the flashlight app on one of our phones to shine a light into their window. It wasn’t easy and almost caused the whole plan to unravel.

  Todd got pretty pissed off at McLean while people were trying to aim the light signal. She held onto her turn a little too long, and he was convinced she was wasting valuable time. When she finally gave up, he was crazy-determined to succeed, which may have been part of her plan. Eventually Todd got the light focused and was able to stick with it long enough to flash it in the teen’s eye.

  Phone numbers were painstakingly exchanged and we were able to do some coordination and simple introductions via text message. The teen was too afraid to talk out loud.

  We’re basically at step two of the plan now. It all hinges on Tucker, which scares me a little. Fortunately Terri is with him to maintain his focus and drive him through the task.

  Before Terri knocked on McLean’s door, she had checked most of the other apartments on the floor. Some of the people who had fled the building listened to the emergency broadcast message and left their doors unlocked. This was before she knew there were zombies in at least one of them. But now we know the building is mostly safe and secure.

  Todd, Cupcake, McLean and I are at the side door, waiting. Tucker and Terri are in the apartment furthest away from this door. They have the zombie corpse from the hallway with them and are going to throw it out the window.

  Hopefully Tucker can get enough distance on it to reach the cars parked on the side of the road. When we hear the car alarms go off, we are going to count to ten, head out and battle our way across the street.

  I was a little skeptical about the plan. From what I know of sixteen-year-olds, you don’t want them to be the linchpin on something that affects your survival. We are relying on the one out there to buzz open the door when we reach it. There could be zombies hot on our heels at the time, so a mistake could end it all.

  McLean has a determined set to her jaw and I am impressed. Cupcake has fear written all over his face—I probably do as well. Todd’s crazy eyes are still frightening, but in this case I’m glad to have him with us.

  The familiar and annoying blare of a car alarm yanks me out of my head.

  “Let’s go,” McLean says as she pushes the door open, even though my count was only at four.

  Todd takes the lead and walks aggressively out onto the sidewalk. Cupcake is next and I push McLean behind him.

  I am going to stay with the door and hold it to make sure there is no sound when it closes. It will separate me from the group and I may shit myself while I wait, but I couldn’t let Laney take the risk.

  For some reason, I feel like we have the chance to keep her from ever having to kill a zombie. It’s a little unrealistic and I can’t take any crazy risks to make it happen, but it would be nice to at least put it off for as long as possible. They’re dead and ruthless killers themselves, but still it feels like a piece of me gets taken each time I have to kill one.

  The other three are nearly to the kids’ door when I am just halfway across the street. I forget that I’m not seventeen anymore. I’m too fat and out of shape to catch up with my peers.

  It’s also the crazy heel-toe walking that I’m not used to. I’m not convinced that it’s quieter than just trying to run normally, but I can’t stop from doing it.

  To my right, the horde of Zombies is working to triangulate on the car alarm. The way that it echoes off the buildings makes it difficult to pinpoint the source; more so when you don’t have sight or logic.

  McLean is holding the door open for me; I guess the kid got it right. I can’t believe how much I’m sweating from just the short jaunt across the street. Nerves probably have something to do with it, but I may want to think about getting rid of my chest plate.

  “Thanks. That wasn’t so bad,” I say, and smile at her as I take the door and follow her into the building.

  Proudly, I wait while the door closes and eases into the jamb. I’m not used to remembering little details like this.

  “Todd and Cupcake are waiting for us on the first landing,” McLean says. She tiptoes up the first few steps. I turn from the door and start to follow her. My grip loosens on my hockey stick and I let it slide up toward the point. I want to be careful not to bang it into the railing and make a loud noise.

  A few steps up, I look to see where the first landing is. My eyes fall on McLean’s ass—and it takes my breath away. She really is the total package; face, body and personality. I can’t believe I let her slide to the friend zone—what the hell is wrong with me?

  Maybe this is our second chance? When we get through with this zombie nonsense, I should put some effort into a relationship with her. I’m pretty sure she won’t leave New York; would I move here from Boston to be with her?

  Lost in my daydream, I slam my stick down onto a step like I’m using it for leverage to scale Everest. The hollow pong reverberates through the stairwell and everyone stops and looks at me.

  I wait to feel the buzzing in my chest that will signify the start of a race to the seventh floor.

  When no buzzing comes and we are satisfied that there are no zombies after us, we start climbing again. At the fifth landing, we stop to regroup. There are kids in the apartment and we don’t want them to have the door open any longer than necessary. We’re going to stay tight and go through fast.

  Before I can catch my breath, a face appears over the railing. It’s the teenager from the window. He scared the shit out of me but then his big bright smile warms my heart.

  His face has probably looked over this railing for friends a hundred times. I can picture him beaming down on birthdays and holidays while grandparents, aunts and uncles trudge upwards, bringing gifts and joy. With a smile like that, I know this stairway has never brought him anything but happiness.

  The buzzing appears suddenly and I know it’s all about to change. Instinctively I look to my escape route, behind me and down.

  Clear.

  “Aaaahhhh… Get. Off. Me.” The teen growls from above.

  His face disappears from the railing and we can hear a struggle. Todd and I start running upwards first. McLean is frozen and Cupcake is torn between staying with her and joining the fight.

  At the next landing I can hear bodies crashing into the railing. There hasn’t been the telltale scream of someone being bitten, but it’s only a matter of time.

  Another half a flight of stairs a
nd I am in the lead. I have to save this kid.

  A foot glances off the side of my face. The leg it is attached to folds in half over the railing. In the gap between the railing and the floor, I see a chomping zombie mouth biting at the air. Its torso thuds off the railing and the body tumbles down the center of the stairwell.

  The undead body lands with a loud “schpluutt.”

  When I finally make it to the teen, he is visibly shaken. “That was Mr. Williams,” he says, staring out over the railing.

  “I’m sorry you had to do that. It was very brave and you should be proud of yourself.” I don’t know what to say to my friends; how can I figure out what to tell a teenager?

  When McLean makes it to the landing, she physically pushes the kid into his apartment. We all follow them in and Todd turns to secure the door.

  From a small doorway two little faces peek out into the room we’ve entered. This place is a lot bigger than McLean’s or Terri’s apartments. It looks like there are two bedrooms and a separate kitchen, as well as this big entry area and large living room.

  “I’m McLean. That’s Patrick, Cupcake and Todd. You must be Isaiah?”

  He knows our names but couldn’t have known who was who, so McLean’s introduction helps.

  “Let me get Jaden and Maya; they should say hello and thank you,” Isaiah says. He winces a little as he steps toward the door with the kids.

  The little boy steps out of the doorway before Isaiah can open it all the way. “My dad has beer,” he announces proudly.

  “You’re my new favorite kid. Can you show me where he keeps it?” Todd says, his as soft as I have seen it. I still don’t know his story and remind myself that he could be a really good guy dealing with some awful shit.

  Cupcake, McLean, and I stand silently in the strange apartment. McLean’s breasts distract me for a second, but I shift my gaze before I’m caught looking.