Timothy Long - Z-Risen - Outbreak

In the movies everyone goes into hyper survival mode and shoots, rapes, or pillages with glee. In reality, we’d found that most survivors just wanted to be left alone. Everyone was distrustful and that was fine with me. I didn’t want to worry about feeding any more mouths.

We moved onto a new section of town about half a mile from our current location. Joel wore his combat gear and had the NYFD ball cap on backwards. His AR-15 swept in every direction. We had a map back at Fortress and Joel kept marking off sections we’d explored. This wasn’t one of them. Virgin territory to us. Probably Z-infested and picked over but we had to get lucky eventually.

There were older homes here and we were far enough from the Naval base that I hoped we weren’t busting into other sailor’s houses and stealing their shit. Yeah, I realize that most of them were probably dead but it still felt like the wrong thing to do.

We came across the home at the end of a cul-de-sac. The place was newer or remodeled and really out of place in the ghetto that made up most of this neighborhood. That’s what Joel called it, but it was a lot nicer than where I grew up in Detroit. My school was so rough, the only things that kept me from getting my ass kicked, consistently, were my fists and my size. I’d been a bully then, because it was expected, but I never liked it. Much.

“How about this place?” I whispered near Joel’s ear.

He was crouched behind a beat up sedan and going over his rifle. When he wasn’t shooting at Z’s, Joel was inspecting his weapon. I had my .45 M45A1 holstered but my pipe wrench was at hand. Bring on the Z’s. I was ready to bash some heads. I was the silent partner, as Joel liked to put it. Point me in the direction of a few of the dead and I’d take them down with a swing or two.

A group of Z’s moved one block west of our location. They were a nasty bunch that probably turned during the first few days of the outbreak. Dressed in rags, they had that starved look with sunken cheeks and hollow eye sockets. The leader had a steady but slow gait, thanks to a broken foot. His face was caved in and one eye socket was covered in dried blood and a fuck load of maggots.

“I’m gonna puke,” Joel whispered.

“Don’t start cause I’ll be right behind you. Hard to shoot Z’s when you’re tossing your lunch.”

“Good Christ in heaven. How is something like that even on its feet?

Every time he staggered forward, a couple of bugs fell off his face and he nearly lost his footing. Then this decayed dude would right himself, swing his good leg again and stumble forward. The four behind him weren’t in much better shape. A woman in a jogging suit was missing most of her face but at least it wasn’t filled with maggots. Just gore and stuff that might have been bone.

Another group followed and this bunch was much fresher. When I write about fresh Z’s you have to understand that there’s a whole host of the dead out there. Sure, the first bunch were old and rotted. We saw a lot of those. When the body dies, or comes down with whatever shit virus had killed the world, the body rots. Then stuff starts to fall off. The parts that are left reek like the worst rancid meat you ever smelled. Man, I just can’t describe it. Go to a dump in the summer and walk right to the center. I guarantee it won’t be as bad as these things.

So the second batch were a lot fresher. The rot was setting in but they were walking and jawing. That is, their mouths kind of unhinged and their tongues stuck out. If one of these Z’s fell, odds were good that a hunk of meat was hitting the ground, maybe a piece of a kneecap or an elbow. The biggest problem was how fast they were. Take a week-old rotted Z. They can’t chase worth a shit. A day-old slugger? They’re almost as fast as a live person. Get ten of those together and it’s a hell of a bad day.

They moved around the first group, seemingly oblivious to the rotters. Then they pressed on toward the end of the block, but not before one whipped its head around and stared right at our hiding spot. It shuffled around in a circle then looked toward the sky and let out a moan. Milky white eyes settled on us again, but they weren’t aware we were in the bushes.

It was a long five minutes while we waited for the second batch to round the corner and move out of eyesight. One of the rotters, however, picked a spot on the ground and stared at it. That’s when I saw the figure dart around a house next to the one we were trying to raid. They were dressed in black and wore a ski mask. They had a bunch of knives strapped to their chest and a handgun of some sort. They took up a position in the shadow of the green rambler and froze in place.

Joel didn’t move, either, and that meant I was a statue. After a few minutes the figure moved off. He or she did not even look in our direction. Joel and I sighed at about the same time and then shot each other disapproving looks.

We moved around the house and checked the windows. Locked.

The house’s front door was closed and that was a good sign. Too often we came across front doors and windows smashed in, and that meant someone had already picked the place clean.

“This place looks deserted but it might be like fortress. Guy in there with a shotgun would take us down pretty easily,” Joel whispered.

“Should we knock?” I asked.

“Yeah. You go knock and if you get shot I’ll know to go back to Fortress.”

“Let’s scout the back.”

Joel clapped my back. “See, I’ll make a warrior out of you yet.”

“Be better if you could make some damn hot wings,” I said.

The house had an older pine fence with most of a finish. Looks like the apocalypse put a stop to that. A can of wood stain lay off to one side. It was kicked over and empty. I moved to peek over the top and didn’t see a dog waiting to chase us toward our recently departed zombie horde.

Joel pushed at the gate but it didn’t budge. I slipped my hand over the top and felt around until I found a release, then slid the gate open. We crept into the back yard with Joel Kelly in the lead. He dashed to the edge of the home and then crouched with his AR covering the backyard. He didn’t move for a full fifteen seconds and then slipped around the back.

I had to wonder what I’d do if I was, say, lounging around in my back yard in a pair of boxers and someone crept along the side of my house dressed in tactical gear and carrying an assault rifle. I’d probably shit myself and then offer them everything in my wallet.

Joel moved into the yard and I followed. Then he stopped, dropped to a crouch, and gestured for me to get down. I complied with his instructions and faded toward a small maple. It was one of the healthiest trees I’d seen and that worried me. Did someone live here? Someone with the means to take care of their shrubs? I shook my head. It was probably just the unseasonably warm autumn we were experiencing. It really looked healthy. It was garnet and willowy but didn’t provide a lot of cover, especially for my BDU’s

Joel motioned and I followed his hands. There was a pile of something near the sliding glass door. I shook my head because I couldn’t believe it.

There had to be fifteen or twenty bodies in various states of decay. Flies buzzed around in a swarm of black. The sound was enough to drive me nuts.

The smell was horrendous.

All of the bodies were female and all were nude. Clothing was lain on top of them but arranged in a garish way, like they were some kind of clowns. The woman on top was probably in her fifties when she died and not exactly the spitting image of a super model. She was a mom, or had been, but now she was dead and her face was covered in someone’s crude attempt at makeup. Bright red hooker lipstick rode her dry lips. Her mouth was open and she didn’t have any teeth, just a bunch of bloody holes.