The Z Strain

by Matthew Isaiah Crawford

  As he passed into the next intersection, he stopped in the middle of the road. Horn could see a mass of people about a hundred yards down. A group people, maybe fifteen. He watched the crowd for a moment before realizing that they were all dead, just like Private Marsden, they were zombies.

  Three blocks of tree lined residential streets passed before his inability to stay awake prompted his decision to get into a house and rest. Captain Horn chose a little blue house sitting on the right-hand side of the road. He picked this house for two reasons, there were no windows low enough for one of them to just climb through, and there was an iron gate surrounding the front of the house, and he figured that may deter them from getting to close to the house to begin with. Exiting the vehicle, he scanned is surroundings. His eyes remaining on the street as his hands were grabbing his pack and the medical kit. Slinging them over his shoulder gracefully with trained muscle memory. As soon as the packs were secure, he pulled his sidearm and began to move around the side of the house. Inching across the front of the house he had to get up on his toes to be able to look into the front window, everything looked dark and quiet inside. He went to the back door, looked through the sliding glass doors. Through a set of sheer white curtains, he could see the dining room and kitchen area. He holstered his sidearm and took a large hunting knife from a sheath on his left hip. Pushing the blade into the crack of the door it takes little more than a twist to pop the door open. He exchanged the knife for the sidearm again and moved silently into the room closing the sliding glass door behind him. He moves through the dining room where an expensive looking oval dinner table was set for a service of four.

  Westin Hotel, 6th floor, Pittsburgh Pennsylvania

  Friday, August 16th 2:45 PM

  Herb led the group down the east stairwell onto the third floor. He pushed through the door to the service stairwell with his shoulder so not to hit the axe against the metal. His bald head is covered in a sheen of sweat. As he steps out onto the floor his eyes are darting left and right searching for any signs of movement. Mark, and John exit behind him Mark had a large silver revolver in his hand, John was holding a length of steel pipe with a red stain on the end.

  The third-floor service area was the one and only area inside the hotel that the group had to recapture, as almost all of the food and supplies were stored there. They had worked all morning to clear all the guest room floors above, only stopping for a lunch break after every room had been cleared. Though they had gotten a good amount of supplies of the floor, more than anyone could have expected. Several floors that were packed with a group in town for a dance competition. On the 6th and 7th floor, room after room of fully loaded coolers yielded the majority. They figured with that along with the mini bar snacks they had maybe a month’s supply of food for the five of them. Though they all agreed that any perishables should be used first as Mark had stated that he didn’t expect the power to be on for long. But the biggest bonus was taken from room 2531, a silver Smith and Wesson .45 caliber revolver with two boxes of shells. Mark and Herb were apparently the only ones of the group that had ever handled a gun. And it was decided that it should be given to Mark, for no better reason that the group construed Herb as being little unbalanced. Herb didn’t offer much in the way of an argument.

  They moved from room to room and office to office finding no one on the 3rd floor. They made it all the way to the north end of the building and to double doors that lead out to the 3rd floor meeting rooms. Mark peered through the small square glass windows in the center of the door. All appeared quiet out near the meeting rooms for now. They spent a few minutes blockading the double door with carts loaded with tables, and stacks of chairs. The final piece s being two sets of lockers that Herb unbolted from the wall. After that task was completed the group moved into the first common area, the employee cafeteria. They froze in the middle of the hallway when they first heard the moans emanating from the room. They were able to tell that there were dead inside before they came around the corner and could see three of their coworkers standing idly in the middle of the room. All were showing what appeared to be defensive injuries, bite marks on their hands and forearms. Herb and John move to opposite sides of the room quietly, Mark stopped back by the door keeping an eye down the hallway for any movement.

  Mark watches as Herb moves silently behind a pillar in the middle of the room, the light reflecting off of his bald head. John glides in front of the serving line, which is cleaned and empty from the day before. John is able to get behind one of them without being noticed and raises the pipe above his head. Herb waits and watches with his axe at the ready. He moves as soon as he sees John’s arm moving downward. Turning from around the pillar and swings the axe towards the face of Justin Cafferty, one of the overnight stewards. The axe cleaves through his right cheekbone and severs the top of his head. Simultaneously John brings the steel pipe on the back of the head of one of the men from laundry, his nametag said Zach. The back of his skull caved in and he fell to his knees, then the ground. The third, Iris from the front desk, had turned and was howling as she began running towards Herb who was pulling the axe back to a ready position. John pivoted and swung at the zombie as it ran by, but only clipped the back of her head. The impact on the back of her neck did nothing to slow her progress.

  Thankfully Herb was ready swinging the axe and imbedding it across her forehead. Her arms fall lifelessly to her side as she crumbles down to the tile floor.

  Once the body stilled John and Herb could hear only their own heartbeats. Mark was able to hear a sound coming from across the hall. They exited the cafeteria and walked across the hallway checking both directions as they went. Mark looked through the tinted grey window into the Human Resources office. He could see Linda, the overweight receptionist clawing at the inner door. John pushes down the handle and walks quietly into the room. He brings down the pipe on the back of her head with a wet smack. His heart jumped when she didn’t go down right away. John swung again and brought her down with the second strike.

  He took a long deep breath before stepping over the body. He turned the doorknob, but the door didn’t budge. John let go of the handle and knocked lightly on the door.

  “Hello?” a woman’s voice came from inside the office.

  “It’s John from room service, you can come out. It’s safe”

  “Oh, thank god, thank god, thank god.” The knob turned from the inside and Jackie emerged. She was in her mid-40’s and had one adult son who was currently enrolled at Penn State. Her dark curly hair that drapes down to the center of her back. Her grey housekeeper’s uniform has a substantial amount of blood splattered across the front.

  “Are you okay Jackie.” John asked.

  “No! Fucking fat ass Linda almost ripped my head off when I tried to run in here. Everyone’s gone crazy.” She exclaimed flailing her hands above her head for emphasis.

  “Fucking zombies.” Herb says. He’s leaning against the doorframe cradling the axe in his arm.

  “What?” Jackie asks astonished.

  “They’re zombies, like the undead.” Herb explains.

  “You’re shitting me.” She said looking at the men with her best poker face waiting for one of them to crack and say it was a joke.

  “Sorry Jackie, but he’s telling the truth. World’s gone to hell out there. Look” John said bending down. He picked up Linda’s arm and showed her bites and scratches on her right forearm. Every bloody fingertip had been scraped down to the bone.

  “Fuck me.” Jackie said, the color fading from her face. John grabbed hold of arm her and walked her out of the office.

  “This floor isn’t secure yet.” Mark interjected. “Margaret is up in room 628, all the guest floors are clear.” They walked her back down the hall and to the service stairwell.

  “Oh, okay, sounds good. I’ll see you upstairs. Be careful boys.” Jackie said walking through the large blue door into the stairwell.

  “We will.” They all agreed in unison. There was an
exchange of uneasy glances before all turned and continued down the hallway. The next area to clear was the kitchen. They all stopped at the entryway, they could hear moaning coming from inside.

  “Ready?” Mark asked. John and Herb both nodded. They entered the room with the same plan as before. John moving right, Herb moving left, Mark bringing up the rear covering the entrance again. The room service room and main kitchen was clear. Ed, the overnight chef was moaning in the rear prep area. It looked as though he was still lying where he died. He was half buried by one of the shelves as well as numerous pots, pans, and baking treys. He saw John walk from around the corner and began trying to get to John. His moan turned to a growl and he began clawing his way out from under the pile.

  John walked up and performed a golf swing with the pipe. It hit the bridge of his nose caving in his face with a thud. He continued to reach and strain towards John’s legs. Bringing the pipe over his head, he brought it down on the back of Chef Ed’s skull with all of his might ending his miserable existence. The rest of the kitchen was clear, and no one else was left on what remained of the third floor. They spent several minutes blockading the stairwell and bracing the doors leading down to the lobby before returning to the kitchen. They loaded up three laundry bags with as much food and supplies as they could carry before making the climb back up to the 6th floor.

  The three men collapsed onto the chairs and beds inside the room. Herb plopping down next to Margaret nearly bouncing her off the bed.

  “Jesus!” she exclaimed.

  “Sorry, sorry.” Herb said grabbing her upper thigh as if to prevent her from flying off the mattress.

  “Easy killer.” Margaret replied, pulling his hand gingerly away from her leg. Jackie was standing in the corner putting her hair up into a ponytail. She had removed her grey uniform blouse and was now wearing a plain blue t-shirt.

  “Hey, can we get outside? I was locked in that office for hours.” Jackie asked

  “We can go out on the roof if you don’t mind the climb.” Mark suggested.

  “I’ll go too, I’d love some fresh air.” John said stretching his back. Herb got to his feet.

  “Anybody else?” Herb said as he began heading for the door.

  “Pass.” Said Steve.

  “Well, let’s go.” Mark said standing up and rolling his eyes at Steve simultaneously.

  “I’m good.” Margaret said laying back on the bed. The rest of the group made the long climb up to the twenty sixth floor. They were all out of breath by the time they got to the roof access. Herb pulled a ring of keys from a leather pouch on his belt and unlocked the door. Through the thick red metal door, they entered a dark storage area. There they climbed a steep set of stairs, nearly a ladder really, to a larger storage area that spreads out in either direction. They stored everything up here from appliance parts to Christmas decorations.

  Herb opened another set of doors that led out to the roof flooding the dark storage room with bright morning sunlight. They all squinted as their eyes adjusted to the brightness.

  One by one they exited onto the roof stepping out onto concrete slaps that led a pathway across a roof littered with a billion tiny pebbles. Across the way at the federal building, every floor was apparently overrun. The scene on top of the roof quickly became a macabre scene. The office windows filled with zombies trying to get across the fifty-foot gap between the two towers. Trying to get to the group on the roof of the Westin. One by one the windows began to give way to the pressure building up with the undead trying to get through. Every time a window would pop it would send a half dozen or so plummeting down twenty plus floors to the 4th floor roof below. On impact it sounded like a wet towel being slammed down on the floor. They just kept coming falling out over and over like lemmings cascading out the windows. In the pile accumulating below some were surviving the impact. Some were only breaking bones and then continuing to move themselves from the pile with little success. Around to the other side of the building the streets were filled. Thousands of undead were wandering the streets. Jackie had already turned to go back inside when she ran into Margaret who had decided to make the climb after all, but she was stopped on the steep stairs leading to the roof, Jackie began to plead with her.

  “Don’t go out there. Please, for your sake, please don’t go out there.”

  “Why, what is it? Couldn’t be that bad. Come on, I climbed all this way. I need some fresh air.” Margaret asked.

  “Don’t go. You’ll regret stepping out there, I promise you. I do.”

  “I don’t even have to go outside, I’ll just go by the door to get some fresh air, okay?”

  Outside the door Mark was squatting next to Herb rubbing his back. Herb was significantly paler than he normally looked. He was shaking his head and rocking back and forth at the same time rambling on and on about what they’d just witnessed.

  “Dear God, dear God, that’s not right, oh fuck, dear God, what the hell, my god, they just kept falling, and falling, oh Jesus.” Herb said, covering his eyes as if to shield him from the view. Mark was rubbing his back trying to offer words of encouragement. He paused when he saw Margaret in the doorway.

  “Look Margaret, they broke Herb.” Mark said with a half-smile as he points at the bald tattooed engineer rocking back and forth on the floor. John made an audible laugh despite his uneasy feelings for the endless sounds of bodies tumbling and an almost ongoing guttural moan that seemed to be emanating from every direction.

  Margaret craned her neck to see around the corner of the building. She got view of the adjacent tower just long enough to see a young woman step right out of the window. Her arms outstretched towards her.

  Margaret turned back into the doorway, her brown hair almost hitting Mark in the face.

  “Enough fresh air for me.” She said disappearing back into the dark storage area.

  Friday August 16th, 4:47 PM

  East Moline Indiana

  Officer Gary Ford sits at the edge of a Burger King dining room table, facing the main doors. He has a slender face, and a dimpled chin, and today he wears a mask of extreme focus and concern. His blue police uniform is pristine and pressed, his motorcycle boots had a good polish. A Glock 9mm dangles from his left hand as his eyes remain fixed on the front door, unflinching. Children can be heard yelling from the other room.

  Just after eleven this morning, Gary dismounted his police issue Harley Davidson cruiser and strolled into the local burger king. Other than a couple speeders it had been a slow morning, and Gary was thankful. Walking up to the counter a young woman who appeared to be barely in her twenties had waited on her. She apologized ahead of time stating that half the staff was out sick, and they were very short handed. After waiting patiently for over ten minutes Officer Ford was finally rewarded with his whopper and onion rings.

  Gary took his trey of food over to a booth and sat down. He unwrapped his burger and took a bite, mayonnaise squirting out of the side onto the trey below. As he took his second bite the radio began squawking. There was some sort of disturbance out at the high school. He grabbed a to-go bag, packed up what was left of his lunch and was about to walk out the door when he saw a group of people attacking drivers sitting at a red light. He grabbed his radio and called out for dispatch. He was halfway out the front door with his hand pressing against the glass door with a Burger King logo on it when screams came through over the radio.

  “Officer down! Officer Down!”

  “Jesus Christ what the hell!”

  “They’ve all gone mad! They’re all killing each other!” Voices came streaming in clogging up the airwaves. Just then a blonde woman with a pink top covered in blood smashed into the door face first, knocking Gary back into the restaurant. Momentarily dazed, he looked up to see the woman smashing her face into the window over and over. Blood smearing on the window, dripping down the front of the door. Her arms dangling lifelessly to her side as if they were both broken. The pounding resounded through the restaurant drawing everyone’s
attention to the front door. Soon there was a crowd gathered to watch as the woman smash her face into the window over and over again. Each resounding crack echoing through the building causing some to flinch with each impact. She continued relentlessly smashing her face into the window until her skull broke open after an impact and she fell lifelessly to the ground.

  Gary took his handcuffs out of his back pouch and walked towards the front door still staring at the woman’s corpse laying on the ground outside. He latched the handcuffs to the door handles securing the front doors. Gary turned to see a dining room full of people all standing staring at him with shocked expressions on their faces. All looking for answers.

  “I... I locked the front doors. There are.” Gary stopped, the words he was looking for were not coming to mind.

  “What is going on out there officer? What was wrong with that woman?” a blonde woman with two small children cowering against her asked.

  “Sounds like the whole worlds’ gone crazy if you were to ask me.” Gary said not knowing how to respond.

  “What do you mean?” She asked.

  “I mean people are killing each other out there!” He yelled a little louder than he had intended.

  “What are you going to do? What about the rest of the police? What do we do now?” A stream of questions comes in from ten different people that have gathered around the commotion.

  “People calm down!” Gary yelled at the top of his voice. “We don’t know much of anything yet, except that it aint safe outside right now.”

  “What was wrong with that lady?”

  “I don’t know.” Gary said sitting back down. “All I know is that she smashed her face against the door hard enough to kill herself.”

  “What? You’re joking.” A boy manager came from behind the counter in a blue dress shirt and a tie with burgers on it. He looked to be about sixteen, though Gary figured he was probably in his mid-twenties.