The Z Strain

by Matthew Isaiah Crawford

“Nothing in the medical journals, no precedence whatsoever of anything with all of these symptoms together. All of them are dehydrated, starving, almost ravenous, but no one wants to eat. Every dinner we put in front of them goes untouched. All we can do is just keep pumping them full of saline, and a broad-spectrum antibiotic, but it just isn’t helping.”

  “SECURITY TO E.R. ONE - WE HAVE AN ASSAULT IN PROGRESS. SECURITY TO E.R. ONE!” A woman’s voice screaming over the intercom echoed down the hallway.

  “Jesus Doc, I’ve never heard Pearl sound like that before, must be something serious.” Dr. Martin was going to tell Cliff to be careful, but he was already running taking long gaping strides down the hallway. Andrea Martin rubs her eyes, pushes the hair out of her face and rises from her desk. She’s startled by a loud bang from a metal door being swung open violently crashing against the cement wall behind it. What followed was a cacophony of screams, a chill of terror runs down her spine. Moments later Cliff hits her office door with tremendous force, blood spewing from his forehead and shoulder. The shoulder and torso of his powder blue scrubs are soaked in blood.

  “Oh my God, what the hell happened?” Dr. Martin grabs a towel and tries to apply pressure to the wound on his neck, they slide to the floor together as Cliff’s legs give out. Cliff looks up at Dr. Martin, his eyes wide with terror.

  “They’ve all gone crazy Doc, they all just got up, ripping their IV’s out of their arms, clawing, scratching, biting, and they’re all trying to kill everyone down there! You gotta get out Doc, you gotta run.”

  “Cliff, I don’t understand.” There was no response. “Cliff?” she presses her fingers against his neck, there’s no pulse. Tears well up in her eyes.

  The intercom rings loudly into the hallway, this time it’s Joe Jackson, the director of security.

  “SECURITY PROTOCOL FIVE ZERO, ALL EXTERIOR DOORS ARE SECURE. E.R. ONE IS SECURE. ALL SECURITY ESCORT STAFF TO THE CAFETERIA, I REPEAT FALL BACK TO. . . OH GOD NO!” A scuffle can be heard over the intercom and the line goes dead. Andrea covers her mouth in horror, she stands, yanks her purse from the second drawer in the desk and turns into the hallway. She heads cautiously across the hallway to the stairwell heading for the third-floor security center. As she pushes the door open, she looks behind her and sees Cliff sitting upright.

  “Oh, thank God Cliff, I thought you were dead.” Cliffs head turns to look at Dr. Martin, his eyes are glossed over and without color. His mouth pulls back into a snarl as he looks at her with a ravenous hunger like she had never seen before. “Cliff?” At the sound her voice Cliff lunges at Dr. Martin. She falls back into the stairwell slamming her head against the wall, a ringing immediately starts in her head and her vision blurs. She sees a blurry figure rising up in front of her, her eyes trying to focus as the figure begins moving towards her, her mind not comprehending what was going on. She watches in horror as Cliff reaches down and grabs her by the collar of her jacket. Her vision cleared enough to see Cliff’s mouth opening wide leaning in towards her. Snapping back to reality she raised her feet and pushed hard against his chest. Cliff stumbles falling backwards, smashing his head against the wall across the hallway. Andrea hears bones cracking on impact. She grunts as she pulls herself up to her feet and begins to head up the stairs. She stops two stairs up when she hears movement behind her. She turns and watches as Cliff lifts himself up off the floor. Her eyes widen as she sees the left side of his skull had caved in, a viscous fluid thicker and darker than blood streams from the wound. She pushes through the door to the stairwell closed behind her, she heads up the stairs taking them two at a time.

  On the next floor she peers out the door from the stairwell cautiously, the only sound was the pounding of her own heart and breath, which seem incredibly loud. She makes her way down the wide hallway to the security room. With a swipe of her key card the red light next to the door turns green and she pushes the door open. She locks the deadbolt and turns around looking at the room trying to decide what to do next. She was startled when there was a loud clanking sound as the electric door locked back into position behind her. She walks across the room in a daze, her eyes locked on the security monitors. She slowly and mindlessly pulls out the chair of the security desk, and slowly lowers herself into the chair. Her eyes wide as she takes in the different views. Camera two, the main lobby of E.R. one, main level, the previously white floor now almost entirely red. There are bodies strewn everywhere, commotion can be seen at the far end of the room, hard to tell exactly what was going on other than that people were dying. Andrea’s hand comes up and covers her mouth as if to stifle a scream. Her eyes move from one camera to the next, each one painting a different horrific story. On camera seven she sees a young nurse lying on the ground, her throat ripped out, and blood flows from a gaping wound on her chest. Andrea watches in fascination and horror as the young woman gets to her feet and darts for the commotion at the end of the room. Her brain not believing what she is watching, this is something you only see in bad zombie movies. This couldn’t possibly be real. She picks up the phone and dials 911. It rings, four, five, six times now. After ring number eleven she sets the phone back into the receiver in a daze. She picks it up again and dials her sister’s cell phone. She is greeted by an automated message telling her that the wireless customer she is trying to reach is currently unavailable. Tears are streaming down her face as she slams the phone back into the receiver.

  Dr. Martin jumps and almost falls out of her chair as a loud bang resounds behind her. She spins around in the chair clutching her chest. At the door is a hospital worker. She didn’t know him personally, but she thought he worked in the laundry.

  “Please, please, they’re coming, open the door!” Dr. Martin gets up and walks towards the door. Her hand raises toward the handle and stops. She can see blood trickling down the man’s arm. She knows, against everything she thought she knew about the world, that this is happening, and this young man is now infected. She turns away and looks at monitor fourteen, she sees the young man standing at her door on the near right hand side of the screen. Down the hallway a dozen or more people can be seen sprinting down the hallway towards him.

  “Pleeeeeease!!!” The man pleads, his head darting to the right to see the crowd rushing down the hallway towards him. The others arrive and surround him, but to his surprise they do not attack him. They stand at the door with him and began pounding on the glass to the security office trying to get inside. She backs up against the wall watching as the same realization crosses the young man’s mind that he is infected and that is why they are no longer attacking him.

  “They know.” she says, putting her hand to her mouth. “They know you’re already infected. They know you’re going to be like them soon.”

  “Please, help me.”

  “I. I can’t. You’re already dead. I’m sorry.” Dr. Martin turns away and begins going through the drawers, she pulls out a ring of keys and moves towards a large metal cabinet. After attempting several different keys, the cabinet opens. Inside there are several handguns, she pulls one out and inserts the clip. She puts that gun in her purse along with four more clips. She then repeats the process with a second gun, as the clip locks into the position the glass of the security office door shatters. From down the hallway, gunshots can be heard.

  Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania, the Westin Hotel and Convention Center

  Friday, August 16th, 4:16 AM

  Mark Ryan worked the graveyard shift as a security guard at the downtown Pittsburgh Westin for the last four years. Typically, there wasn’t a lot of action other than the occasional drunk or noise complaint, so his nights were usually quiet and monotonous. Most hours were spent watching security cameras, patrolling common areas and guest floors, and making sure all the meeting rooms and sensitive areas are secure. Overall it was break from his chaotic life as a father of two young children. Overall it was a nice relaxing job with few incidents. And when those incidents arose it made the job that much more interesting.

&nbs
p; Just over halfway through his shift, Mark was sitting in his small security office watching the cameras. In his early thirties, Mark is a little on the heavy side weighing in at about two hundred and twenty pounds. He sits back in his office chair wearing a company issue black suit and tie with his feet up on the desk. A simple gold nametag with Mark, and Westin underneath was the only adornment. Mark was fixated on the singular action currently playing on any of the screens. It was a guest checking out at the front desk. Average looking white male, mid-forties with thinning hair and a brown jacket, presumably at the desk this early because he’s departing to catch an early flight. Mark let his feet fall from the corner of the desk and pushed himself up out of his chair. He paused for a moment stretching his back and rubbing his eyes, he had racked up a grand total of four hours of sleep between work and kids. Mark picked his radio up from the charger and departed the closet they liked to call the security office, it sat just off the front lobby across from the gift shop. In the year prior, they had been on the second floor next to the cafeteria, but the higher ups decided that they needed more visibility. Though he didn’t know how showing the guests that the security team was housed in a closed was slightly detrimental. He glanced around the corner at the front desk seeing the guest he had just been watching on the cameras striding through the lobby. He had apparently completed checking out and was gathering his belongings on the way to the front door.

  Mark strolled through the revolving door at the front of the lobby and stepped out onto the front driveway of the hotel. There was one taxi already pulled up to the front door waiting for the departing guest. There is another taxi sitting “on deck” in cab stand to the left side of the driveway.

  All the bars had closed for the night, all the drunks had staggered home with little interference tonight. Now the usually bustling city had become as still and quiet as a large city ever becomes. An eerie quiet always takes over around this time of night between the hours of three and four thirty. Late enough so all the drunks have stumbled home and gone to sleep, but not nearly early enough for the early risers. There were several types of these around any major city Mark had imagined. You had your bums, the early trash pickers out for cans, bottles, or the occasional dropped treasure from the night before. You’ve got the early morning joggers, dog walkers, and strollers. And then you’re early morning executives, which you could see as early as four-thirty, but usually not until five or five-thirty. Other than that, you’re only options are your all-night people. Taxi drivers, drug dealers, prostitutes. Mark had a general rule to be slightly more distrusting to anyone who approached him between two thirty and four thirty.

  Mark walked back into the lobby, his eyes moving from the seating area on the right, which is currently empty. To the counter, where Margaret is standing behind the front desk working quietly on her paperwork. Margaret was in her mid-twenties, she had an olive complexion that a lot of people mistook for Spanish, or Italian. Her dark curly hair was up in a messy bun tonight, and her glasses resting down at the end of her nose. Mark strolls slowly through the quiet lobby. Margaret looks up from her books and gives Mark a smile. Mark returns with a nod as he turns towards the elevator bank on the left-hand side of the lobby.

  A clicking of heels echoes through the lobby, Mark turns towards the sound to see Steve, the manager walked briskly and intently through the lobby coming back from the other side of the building. Steve was a little over six foot, he had a chiseled face like a superhero, but he has a very uptight way about him. His suits look expensive and they’re always well pressed. Steve doesn’t mix well with his coworkers, and generally isn’t in a good mood.

  The downtown Pittsburgh Westin shares the ground floor with an adjacent office building, and the front desk management have to go over there for something in the night audit, Mark never knew what or where that was, but knew that they had to go over to the other side during the night audit. Steve was returning from that journey and seemed annoyed. They passed without acknowledging each other and Steve disappeared into the back hallway as Mark pressed the Elevator call button.

  Mark’s eyes were beginning to feel heavy. Two years in and he still hadn’t gotten used to working the graveyard shift. He didn’t know if he ever would at this point. He also firmly believed that it was the constant drone of easy listening, adult contemporary music that was piped into the lobby just loud enough to be annoying that made him really sleepy. Though he didn’t feel you could really call it music, it was usually just instrumental versions of easy listening songs.

  He steps Inside the elevator and leans against a wall made of gold. The entire elevator, other than the floor is covered in gold paneling, it even had gold light fixtures. The dulled red carpet seems to stand out in contrast.

  Mark watches patently as the numbers on the elevator slowly light up one by one up to the twenty sixth floor, the top floor of the hotel. He did note that the light for the nineteenth floor was out. He pulled a small notepad from his back pocket, scribbling a quick note so that he could pass it on to Engineering for repair. Exiting the elevator Mark stretches out his arms and lets out a wide yawn. Once he recovered, he scans the hallway both directions finding the hall empty. He debates quickly in his head which way he walked last time before turning left. He looks out the window out on the street below. There is little traffic moving, only a couple vehicles can be seen down near the point.

  Mark’s fingertips lightly graze the wall as he rounds the corner. He sees a long empty hallway and a string of closed hotel room doors. He pauses for just a moment before pushing through the double doors leading into the employee area. In the same location on every floor there is a small room where there are bins of linens waiting to be taken downstairs, racks full of room service trays waiting to be taken back to the kitchen, and a locked housekeeper’s closet with all the linens and toiletries.

  It occurred to Mark that John, the overnight room service attendant, was running behind schedule. John was a slender six-foot-tall Italian American straight black hair that hung down into his eyes, and the closest thing that Mark had to a friend in this place. He usually has the floors cleared by two in the morning, but it was nearly 4:30 in the morning, and the floors hadn’t been touched. The morning rush would be coming soon, and Mark knew if it didn’t happen now, it wasn’t going to happen. Mark decided to let it go, it wouldn’t be the first time John had a busy night and left the trays for the morning crew.

  Pulling out his ring of keys, Mark opens the red metal door on the right-hand side of the service room and proceeds into a small storage room with a set of stairs leading up to the roof. Exiting out onto the roof, Mark takes in the panoramic view of the city. This was by far his favorite place to take a break. He walks to the side of the building and takes in the view of the Pittsburgh city lights. Below him the front drive was still quiet, there were two taxis waiting at the cab stand for early morning airport runs.

  In the distance, about five blocks up the street Mark noticed what he believed to be an early morning jogger run from around the corner onto Pennsylvania Avenue. Moments later another runner followed, and then two more came around the corner. In just a few seconds the group had grown into the dozens. Several people were tackled coming around the corner, they rolled together into the middle of the street. All the way down at the very end of the street near the point, police lights can be seen turning onto Penn Ave heading in the direction of the disturbance. Mark leans forward against the wall gazing down in disbelief as several officers exit their vehicles and run toward the group fighting in the street. The group immediately turns and attacks the officers. One solitary gunshot can be heard echoing down the street. Mark leans back and begins to back away from the wall. The stream of people that were rounding the corner heading down Penn Ave began heading towards the officers increased as well. They piled on top of the officers. Mark watched horrified when he realized that he could see blood flowing on the pavement from underneath the pile of people in the middle of the road.

 
; Turning away from the grotesque scene, he turned and began making his way back to the elevators. Pushing his way through a heavy red metal door that brought him back into the service area, he could hear a scream coming through the double doors. He quietly pushes his way back out into the 26th floor. He looked to his right and saw nothing but a clear hallway and closed doors. Exiting the service area, he moved to his left and peered around the corner.

  In the hallway all the way down at the other end of the building he could see two men on top of a woman, it took a moment for the image to process in his mind. He could see blood splattered on the walls near the group, he could see blood on the floor. Instinctually he wanted to help he began walking forward.

  “Hey, you, stop!” he yelled down the hallway. They stopped immediately, both of their heads jerking in his direction. They stared at him with hollow eyes which Mark didn’t recognize but feared none the less. They looked crazed. Mark froze in place a lump pushed its way up into his throat. Mark saw they both had blood around their mouths, the one on the left had a piece of flesh hanging from his teeth. They only looked at him for one intense moment before shooting up to their feet sprinting towards him.

  Mark began back peddling towards the service area, almost losing his footing. He pushed his hand against the wall and was able to regain his footing and was just about to turn the corner when he saw one last image. Past the two men that were now halfway to him, the woman at the far end of the hall was getting to her feet. Her stomach was eviscerated, her intestines falling out onto the floor from a gaping hole in her stomach. Her hands on the ground, her back arched, she raises herself to a standing position and joins the pursuit towards Mark. After only a couple steps she falls back on the ground, her feet getting entangled in her own entrails.

  Pushing his way back into the service area he was hoping to see one of the elevators on this floor, but the nearest one was down on four. Moving past the elevators he stepped into the stairwell, waiting for a moment in the grey cement stairwell to see if the two assailants were following him. After a few moments he concluded that they had not followed him into the stairwell, he decided to get onto the radio to call down the front desk.