The Z Strain

by Matthew Isaiah Crawford

  “Two hours break, aint this some horse shit.” Terry said pouring a cup of coffee.

  “You heard what David said. We aint safe till it’s all done.” Jeff said taking a seat at the table.

  “I know. I know. I’m just so fucking tired.” Terry crossed his arms at the table and rested his head on them.

  “Me too brother. All the barricades are done. We just have to finish digging the trenches. Can’t do that until there’s some daylight.” Jeff tried to make it sound like they were on the downhill slope, but there was still a full day’s work ahead of them. The ground surrounding the compound is filled with rocks and roots, progress had been slow.

  Ninety minutes later they found themselves bac outside where a combination of back hoes and digging machines, people with shovels and metal poles, and people with weapons. There were also men posted up in the trees to scout for any incoming trouble.

  The men worked creating a circular trench a quarter mile from the compound. A trench was dug, about ten feet deep, as soon as the hole was complete men came up from behind and anchored a barricade on the near side of the trench. There were three rows of spikes coming out in different angles, hopefully preventing anything from climbing up. Several other men were working on the road constructing a drawbridge. The entire day was spent laboring through rocks and root. More than two dozen men worked through the heat into the early afternoon before they consider the place to be “zombie proofed”. There were barricades, razor wire, and metal spokes through all the roadways and walkways. Four men stand at the edge of the driveway, one of them is Jeff Covemaker. He stands with a shovel in hand staring at the results of their hard work. A heavyset man by the name of Bill Callahan walks up and stands behind him.

  “Think that’ll keep em out?” Bill asks.

  “I think so. I don’t know anymore.” Jeff reasoned.

  “Let’s hope we don’t have to find out.”

  “In a perfect world.” Jeff said turning around. “What’s up?”

  “Dave wants to see you inside.”

  “Okay, what’s going on?”

  “I don’t know. Go find out, he’s in his office.” Jeff turned and handed off his shovel to Bill Callahan as he walked towards the house. He sat down alone in Dave’s office. It didn’t seem like he had to wait long, though he may have dozed off. Dave strode into the office and plopped down into a red leather chair sitting behind a large oak desk Jeff woke instantly.

  “Your name came up most often when we were asking who to put on sniper detail the first night, that’s how you got the assignment, did you know that?”

  “No sir.” Jeff said.

  “Must’ve had a half dozen people tell me you could hit a quarter at three hundred yards.” Dave remarked. He wasn’t making eye contact with Jeff. He was looking at something on his desk.

  “It’s true, I was a sniper in Afghanistan back in thirteen” Jeff said. He didn’t like to brag. He didn’t like talking about his time in the Army at all.

  “A friend from northern California just sent us this.” Dave looked up from his desk and slid a picture across the table. Jeff picked it up and looked at it. It was an aerial photograph, but Jeff didn’t know what it was.

  “I don’t understand.”

  “It’s a thermal imaging picture from a weather satellite.” Dave explained.

  “Oh. Oh shit.” Jeff said.

  “Yea, oh shit. This things have almost a hive mentality. Some reports we received described a group moving through an area would pick up stragglers like a herd of cattle. They all start moving, flowing together.” Dave sighed and got up from his desk. He began walking slowly around the room.

  “And?” Jeff asked.

  “And? Jeff, I’m asking you. How do we stop thousands, or tens of thousands?”

  “What does our high ex look like?”

  “Not much, small box of dynamite.”

  “Shit. Well.” Jeff sighed. “What about the base.”

  “Off for now.” Dave said staring at the wall. He already knew the answers to these questions having already asked them of himself.

  “That’s our only hope.” Jeff said slowly. “It won’t hold. Not with that many.”

  “That’s what I was afraid of.” Dave said. He walked back over and picked up the picture from the desk. There was a black blotch that spread larger than the city of Missoula, and he had been informed that it was moving this direction.

  9:40 AM, Sunday August 18th

  Pittsburgh Pennsylvania

  “Well Shit!” Herb yelled plopping down onto the rooftop exhausted, gravel springs from under his boots and bounces across the roof.

  “What if, maybe we can build out from the roof a bit, like a scaffold or something?” John suggested. They had been trying for nearly an hour get a makeshift grappling hook to catch onto the sill of a broken window in the adjacent office building. But none of them could quite make the throw. At best they were still falling several feet short.

  “Maybe. Going to take some time.” Herb said rubbing his bald head.

  “Time, we’ve got.” Replied Mark.

  “Well, let’s get to it.” Herb turned and walked inside to gather supplies.

  Herb tied a rope around his waist while Mark and John played anchor. He drilled into the side of the building and placed two large carriage bolts into the side of the building to use as a support, then then did the same on the rooftop. They used some steel frame from the Christmas decorations along with several planks of wood.

  When they were finished, they had a scaffold built that let them walk out about five feet. They then constructed a safety line for whomever choses to stand out on the makeshift balcony. John volunteered to make the first attempt. He stood out on the planks, inching himself out to the edge. The rope and hook dangling from his shaky right hand. Herb and Mark stood next to a large air conditioner, holding onto the rope affixed there in case of failure.

  The next few moments happened so quickly that there was some debate as to its exact order. Mark turned and sneezed, lifting his hand momentarily from the rope. There was an explosion up river near Heinz field. John jumped at the sound and fell from the scaffold. The sudden jolt causing the rope to slide off the air conditioner. Herb, the only one with his hand still on the rope was pulled violently towards the wall. He was drug thirteen feet until he hit the edge. The rope that had been wrapped around the air conditioner became wrapped around Herb’s leg. When John’s full weight pulled on the end of the rope it spun him around and started pulling him over the edge. Mark by this time was diving toward Herb trying to grab him. By the time he got there, Herb was nearly midway over the edge. Mark came down hard on his chest sliding across the gravel roof. Mark’s hand came down on Herb’s forearm, and they both grabbed hold of the scaffolding. Mark heard Herb’s back cracking against the corner of the building. Mark spun quickly around and braced his feet against the edge of the roof.

  “John! John are you okay?” Mark yelled.

  “Aw fuck, yea, I’m alright.” John replied, Herb yelled out in pain.

  “Can we hurry this up? This really fucking hurts!” Herb hollered.

  “Can you climb back up? Can you grab hold of the scaffold?”

  “If you can lift me six inches I can.” Mark pushed his feet against the wall and pulled Herb’s arm with all his might. Herb’s butt sliding back onto the roof, they both heard a pop. Seconds later the tension from the rope relaxed.

  “I got it!” John yelled.

  “Hold on there John, let me help Herb.” Mark assisted Herb in getting untangled and he rolled away groaning. A minute later Mark was helping John back on to the roof. They both fell to the ground exhausted. After taking a few long deep breaths, Mark got up and went over to Herb.

  “Herb, are you okay?”

  “No.”

  “What’s wrong?”

  “It’s my hip, I think it’s dislocated.”

  “Jesus, can we fix that?” John asked.

  “I sure hope so.�
� Mark responded. John got back to his feet and walked to the edge at the far corner.

  “Mark, you’re going to want to come look at this.”

  “Hang on a sec Herb, then I’ll get help.” Herb nodded, Mark made his way to the edge near John. He stopped two feet short.

  “What the fuck?”

  “My thoughts exactly.” A distant scream can be heard echoing through the air. A large industrial barge sits beneath the Fort Duquesne Bridge, large doors open to a hold beneath deck. A woman dangles from a pole at the top of the ship, she’s screaming at the top of her lungs. The bridge has been destroyed. The undead are streaming towards woman like live bait and falling into the hold like lemmings. Then Mark could see that there were several other barges lined up behind that one for when it fills.

  “Look Mark, the streets, they’re emptying. They’re emptying!” John pointed.

  Mark could see the streets were emptying, But something about those barges, and that explosion wasn’t sitting right.

  “We need to gather everyone. Decide what we’re going to do next.”

  Saturday, 10:59 AM

  East of Tipton Idaho

  The miles back to the farmhouse were the longest Gary could remember. He just kept seeing Andrew hanging on that pole. He kept asking himself the usual cop questions, who, and why? He figured the why was Andrew got too close to that barricade and whomever is behind it made an example out of him.

  As they came around a slight bend, they saw the line of smoke in the distance before they could see the fire.

  “God no.” Gary said. Again, everyone perked up and looked out the window. No one spoke, but they all knew from the drive up that it was the only building that they had passed. Everyone’s’ eyes were pasted on the sight of the residence they had recently departed from. Where they had left their friends Walter and Sarah. The nice elderly couple that took them in, their home, now fully engulfed in flames.

  “Should we stop?” Asked Nancy.

  “No. Keep going. There’s nothing we can do here. If they’re inside, they’re dead.” Robert said. No one argued. No one spoke for some time. Up the road they made the next right, it was about a mile and a half past the farmhouse.

  “Do you think they’re still alive?” Asked Joel to the group soon after making the turn. At first no one answered. Joel was starting to think if he was rude for asking. He just wondered if they were jumping to conclusions.

  “No, I don’t” Said Gary finally, breaking the silence.

  “They could be.” Joel argued. “They could have gotten out of the house. We should have stopped.”

  “That fire was no accident. Whoever did this to the farmhouse, was probably the same person or persons that killed Andrew. My impression from that barricade is that this is a very dangerous, and violent people. The kind of people who are probably enjoying the fact that there isn’t anyone to stop them from hurting others.”

  “Oh yea, I had forgotten that you were a cop.” Said Nancy leaning into the front seat.

  “I was.” Gary said glancing back at her. She had showered and didn’t smell like Burger King anymore. Gary was thankful, the smell kept making him hungry.

  “You think these people are dangerous?” She asked.

  “Definitely.” Gary responded quickly.

  “You think we should be trying to skirt around their property instead of heading the other direction.”

  “Possibly.” Gary turned around seeing motion behind them. “But I think it’s too late to worry about that.” Gary pushed down on the gas pedal.

  “Why is that?” Nancy asked nervously.

  “Because they’re following us.” Gary said looking into the rear-view mirror.

  “Oh shit! Are you kidding me? Where?” Came responses from all three of them as they turned around to look behind them. A black truck with large chrome pipes sticking out of the back along with multiple rows of lights sped up behind them.

  “Get your guns ready!” Gary yelled. They all shuffled around in their seats, pulling out their guns, and making sure the safeties were off. They all thought they were prepared and ready for what was coming next.

  He saw a thin line in the middle of the road. The SUV had accelerated up to 85, there was no way to avoid it. They hit what Gary could only assume was some sort of spike strip. The SUV slid to the side and lurched back to the middle of the road as Gary tried to get control of the speeding vehicle. He slowed to a crawl and watched in the rear-view mirror as the black truck sped up behind them.

  “Brace yourselves!” He yelled as he watched the truck rapidly approaching. In a haze of smoke and the smell of burnt rubber, the truck came to a halt mere inches from colliding with the Tahoe. They were all bringing their weapons to level when Gary said.

  “Stop. Put your guns down.” They obeyed, though they were very confused. When the smoke cleared a bit, they saw what Gary saw. Along the rows of corn stood children, dozens and dozens of children, all armed, all with guns pointed at their vehicle. A blonde girl who appeared to be about eleven walked out into the middle of the road and stood in front of the Tahoe.

  “Step out with your hands up, or you all die.” She said calmly. They obeyed. Once out of the vehicle they were immediately surrounded and stripped of their weapons. A boy who appeared to be about eight jumped into the vehicle and pulled away on flattened tires. The large black truck followed behind it. “Walk, that way.” A little girl in a red dress said and pointed towards the rows of corn.

  I-40, North of Knoxville Tennessee

  3:12 PM, Saturday

  Nick’s garbage truck had held up like an iron tank. Now the hulking vehicle was shuddering, and smoke was drifting out of the engine compartment. I-26 had been mostly clear up to the Columbia interchange. And what blockage there had been was easily moved by the large truck. He re-joined I-26 at Newberry, and then turned onto the 40 before Asheville around midnight. From there he hit some smaller highways and was able to make it all the way to Knoxville. He was riding the 40, some blockage, but a wide shoulder made most areas passable.

  Now just North of Knoxville, the front-end damage on the large truck has finally taken its toll. The lumbering truck died with a shudder, and a hiss of steam. The engine knocked loudly several times before stopping.

  “Fuck” Nick said, letting his hands fall from the wheel. He pops his head out the window looking around at the area, to his south there was what appeared to be a residential neighborhood. The rest appeared to be heavily wooded. Hopping down from the truck Nick began creeping his way south. The thickness of the wooded area surrounding him gave Nick some mixed emotions. He was well hidden and was able to move about without drawing attention. But in his mind, anyone, or anything else in here may also be well hidden.

  He watched as a group of undead emerged from the woods and investigated the truck. They must have heard the noise. The air filled with their constant moan, it seemed to come from every direction in the woods.

  Nick moved very cautiously through the trees, stepping cautiously, and trying not to make any sound. Emerging between several very nice-looking homes. In the driveway on the left there is parked a white pickup truck. Nick decided that it would do very well and breaks the passenger side window with his hatchet. As he reaches in to unlock the door, he spots movement from his left. From around the corner of the house behind him three of the dead came charging. One middle aged man in business attire, one who looks to be a gardener, and a man in jeans and a white t-shirt. His chest had been ripped open exposing his ribs and chest plate.

  Nick drops his large black duffle bag onto the floor and pulls a shotgun from a shoulder sling, he levels it at the businessman, and fires. His head pops and splatters against the house. He aims and fires again striking the man in the t-shirt in the neck. Nick adjusts his aim quickly and fires again. The top half of his head disappears, the rest slumps to the ground. He pulls a small hatchet from his side and imbeds it into the side of the side of the gardener’s head. The man falls to one side but
keeps moving. Nick steps on his back, pulls the hatchet from his skull and smashes it into his skull one more time causing the gardener to lie still.

  Nick looks up and sees four more emerging in the street. A young man in his twenties, also dressed like the gardener comes from around the back corner. Nick grabs the duffle bag, fires and turns to run. Several more have spotted him and are now sprinting across the yard towards him. On the run, Nick keeps turning to fire, reloading as his moves. He sees several more coming out of the tree line. He turns and fires again, but it goes wide. He makes his first left and continues down the road, a quick glance behind him he counts at least nine now. He makes a sharp right up a driveway and makes for the front door.

  He has about twenty-five yards of separation when he puts his foot into the front door. The door swings open with a resounding crack. Nick jumps inside, and pushes the door closed quickly. He grabs a nearby couch from the living room and pushes it against the door. He turns and moves up the stairs quickly. He hears the dead making impact with the front door before he makes the top. Out of the corner of his eye he sees the couch being pushed aside from the front door.

  Nick makes a quick left into a bedroom that appears to belong to a young girl. He opens the window and pushes out the screen. He’s able to step out onto the roof. He sits at the edge letting his feet hang over and jumps down onto the grass. Behind the house he runs to the tree line. Once there he spins and squats down behind a tree. Nick waits for a few scanning the house and surrounding areas, particularly the upstairs bedroom window. When he finally decided that he was alone he began moving along the tree line. Nick was continually glancing behind him looking for movement, but thankfully saw none. The woods were not as thick here, so it seemed a little easier to scan for movement.

  Nick emerged onto a connecting road. The green street sign at the corner read Bona Rd, another set of nice-looking houses with large manicured front yards. He was thinking to himself that it has a lot of exposed area between houses. He moved quietly to the back of a white house with two large columns in front of the doors, at the rear of the three-car garage he tries the door knob. It doesn’t budge. Stepping up onto the dark wood porch he walks to the sliding glass door. He pushes on the door, it gives resistance for a moment before giving way. Sliding the door open, he pushes through a large burgundy window shade and enters into to a large dining room with a beautifully polished mahogany table. A fancy looking centerpiece with fresh cut flowers adorns the middle of the table. To the left the kitchen is all stainless steel and appears to be immaculate. Not one dirty dish in the sink. Nick thought to himself that that almost never happened in his house. A surge of pain, thoughts of his daughters fill his mind again. And it changes from their bright and smiling faces to the three mounds of dirt in the back yard, and the bloody sign hanging next to his wife on the fence.