Timothy Long - Z-Risen - Outbreak

The fuckening has become more bearable even though we almost joined the crawlers today.

Supplies:

A pound and a half of Jasmine rice

A half pound of dried beans

Two pounds of that tofu-jerky shit that gives me gas

Seven cans of tuna

Two cans of cat food that I’m saving for Butch in case he returns

A case of canned spinach that I eat even though every bite makes me want to puke my guts up

I want to go on record as saying that this whole stupid day was Joel’s fault.

18:25 hours approximate.

Location: Undead Central, San Diego, CA

“Look at all of those crawlers. Everyone wants a piece of us,” Joel whispered. “Must be my good looks.”

I snorted.

Joel was dressed in tactical gear with a New York Fire Department ball cap pulled down low to keep the sun off his face. Beneath the hat, he wore a pair of Tom Cruise-style Ray-Bans we’d found in an overturned car.

Joel was prone and staring down the barrel of his Rock River Arms AR-15. He switched on the EOTech holographic sight and shifted his aim left and right.

We’d found the assault rifle the day after we founded Fortress, not far from our area of operations. Some civilian had purchased the piece and stored it for a rainy day, or the end of the world. Yeah, I see the irony. It was so new that it still had the manual and price tag. Even the magazines hadn’t been unpacked. The second bonus had been a green canister filled with 400 rounds of 5.56.

Joel was probably sweating his ass off in all that gear. The one thing he managed to escape the ship with was most of an IMTV — Improved Modular Tactical Vest.

“Let’s make sure they don’t get a piece. I like all my limbs,” I whispered. “How many are there?”

“Six, and there’s one of those weird shufflers.”

I popped up and did a quick scan. Five of them were moving around the freaky creeper. The shuffler was down on all fours like a retarded crab missing a few legs. The other Z’s were your garden-variety dead. They moaned and cast milky white gazes on nothing in particular while they shambled.

We were perched behind an abandoned house about a mile from the naval base. Our area of operations had spread out over the last weeks as we ranged farther and farther away from the fortress. It had to be done; our search for food and supplies was getting harder every day.

This had been a residential neighborhood with an elementary school and apartments along a large main road that led to Interstate 5. There were a number of houses, but most had already been ransacked. Some sported graffiti and broken windows. Most had furniture and belongings dragged out onto front yards and dumped next to corpses that, thank God, did not move.

We’d learned the hard way not to bother with the houses. Walk in an open door and it could become a deathtrap. Open a bedroom and it could be filled with the fucking Z’s. When panic hits and you’re in an unfamiliar location, suddenly you don’t know which way to exit.

“Your call. I’m good and didn’t need a beer run in the first place,” I lied.

I needed a beer run bad. I’d kill for a cold one but would settle for a six-pack of warm. But this mission was more than about getting a few brews. If his friend was still alive we might find food and a more secure location to call home.

My gut rumbled, thanks to our light breakfast of dried tofu and some leftover beans and rice. God, what if he had potato chips and Little Debbie Cakes? What if Kelly’s friend had boxes of crackers and Cheez Whiz? My mouth flooded with saliva and I feared the creepers would hear my stomach rumble. This wasn’t just about beer. We needed anything we could scavenge.

It was getting close to dusk. A bead of sweat formed on my shaved head and ran down my forehead. I wiped it with the ridiculous orange sweatband around my wrist. Joel had been sick of me bitching and dug it out of an overturned bin in a Walmart we’d raided a few days ago. The rest of the store had been a bust. By the time we arrived, it’d been picked over ten times. We also found out the hard way that it was filled with about a hundred snarling Z’s. When we got out, I wore the sweatband to remind myself to never enter a big department store again.

“Go distract them. See that dumpster at three o’clock? Just poke your head around it and say hi. I’ll pop a couple in the head. When they come toward the sound of my shots, you finish off the rest with your club.” He nodded toward my wrench.

I shaded my eyes and studied the battlefield. A green dumpster sat next to a low wall. There was a break right next to it that would provide me with an easy way to get on the party’s “six.” I bet Joel thought it was funny as hell, sending me out with my ass exposed while he shot from a distance.

“I don’t like it.”

“Roger that. Let’s pack up and go home.”

“Well, hold up there a second, Professor,” I said. We might not have a chance to explore this area again. “If we leave now, your friend’s place will be picked over. Might already be empty.”

“I told you. He’s a security nut. His front door is solid metal, plus he’d have left it bolted.”

“I still don’t know how we’re going to get in.”

“If he’s not there, I have a plan.” Joel didn’t turn but he had that cocksure sound in his voice that I no longer questioned.

“What if he is there and tells us to fuck off?”

“He won’t. He owes me.” I didn’t ask about Joel’s time in Iraq because it pissed him off.

After a few seconds of cursing, I hefted my wrench. At twenty-four inches and eight pounds, this was a devastating weapon when applied to Z’s heads. Joel chambered a round but didn’t look back to make sure I’d left. After a week of this shit, we were like goddamn mind readers.

“Stupid fucking idea,” I said under my breath, and moved around a dying hedge.

I dropped low and hoped there weren’t another dozen hiding behind us. You could lose them if you moved fast or stuck to shoot-and-scoot tactics, but try to make a stand and it was a quick trip to Undeadville.

I rounded the block and cut back toward Joel’s position, sticking to a sidewalk that was already overgrown with grass. I constantly scanned my surroundings, looking for the slightest hint of additional Z’s.

The red wrench wasn’t my only weapon. I also wore one of the newer Colt M45A1 pistols on my hip that I’d taken from a corpse back on the base. I had one extra mag and a pocketful of rounds in case things got real hairy. What concerned me was the noise a booming gun could draw. I might as well attract a horde with all six-feet, three-inches of me bouncing up and down while singing the national anthem.

The thirty or so rounds did make me feel better. As long as I kept an extra one in the little coin pocket at my right hip, I felt like I was safe. I’d take as many of them as I could, but that last bullet had my name on it.

Literally.

Sun glistened on my arm to reveal that I was still losing muscle mass. I needed protein, not beer, but I’d settle for a buzz after the last shitty weeks I thought back to the day when our ship, filled with undead sailors, plowed into the pier. Joel and I had been tearing through the passageways, firing into the mass that had previously lived on the USS McClusky.