Michael Ford - Z

Josh looked down into the hole. A foul smell wafted up through it. “I’m not going down there,” he told Scrawl. Scrawl was kneeling in the street, holding the manhole cover he’d removed a moment ago. “Just do it,” he ordered Josh. He looked over his shoulder. “That light is going to change in about fifteen seconds, and I don’t really feel like getting flattened. Now go!”

Josh hesitated just a moment longer, then stepped onto the first rung of the ladder. When he was halfway down, Scrawl followed him, pulling the manhole cover back over the opening. Seconds later Josh heard the sound of wheels over their heads. He reached the bottom of the ladder and stepped into a puddle of water that covered his shoes and the bottoms of his jeans.

“Nice place for a front door,” he remarked as Scrawl joined him.

“That’s the point,” Scrawl said. “It’s the back door. And where better to put it than in the middle of one of the busiest streets in the city?”

Josh had to admit it was a clever idea. When Scrawl had told him they were going to go into the sewers through a hole in Broad Avenue, he was sure he’d heard wrong. But as soon as the light turned red to allow the cross traffic from Seventh Street to go, Scrawl had run out, heaved the manhole cover up, and told Josh to get in.

Josh still wasn’t sure he should trust Scrawl. But following him seemed to be his only option.

“Did it have to be a sewer?” Josh asked.

“Actually, it’s a storm drain,” Scrawl corrected him.

Scrawl had brought two flashlights along. They each had one, and Josh used his to scan the tunnel ahead of them for anything he didn’t want to step in. Several times the beam of light shone on rats, which looked at Josh and Scrawl with wary eyes and scurried out of sight beneath the piles of trash that littered the floor.

“Where are we going?” Josh asked Scrawl for the tenth time since leaving the apartment.

“I told you, you don’t want to know,” said Scrawl.

“I have to find out sometime,” Josh objected.

Scrawl stopped. He turned and looked at Josh, his flashlight casting a ghostly shadow on his face. “Okay,” he said. “You’re right. I’m taking you to Clatter’s factory.”

“His factory?”

“Where he makes Z,” said Scrawl.

“That’s insane,” Josh said. “We should be getting help.”

Scrawl hesitated. “I think Firecracker is there,” he said. “Maybe Charlie too.”

Josh felt his heart skip a beat. “Why would he have them there?”

“That’s the part you don’t want to know about,” said Scrawl. “You’ll just have to see for yourself.”

He resumed the trek through the sewer. Soon the floor began to slope down, and Josh had to work hard to keep his balance. They descended at a steep angle before the tunnel leveled out again and continued on. Then they walked for another fifteen minutes, making several turns, until they came to a steel door marked with a sign that read CES CREWS ONLY.

“City Electrical System?” Josh said. “What is this, a power hub or something?”

“Or something,” said Scrawl. He was typing something into a keypad to the side of the door. A moment later it opened with a hiss. Scrawl stepped inside and motioned for Josh to follow.

They were in a small room. On the side opposite the first door was another door, exactly the same. The first door shut behind Josh as Scrawl went to the second. “This is an airlock,” Scrawl explained. The two doors can’t be open at the same time, and each one has a different code.” He looked up at the ceiling, where a several small nozzles protruded from the smooth metal surface. “If you enter the wrong code, those emit gas,” he said. “It will knock you out cold in under ten seconds.”

“That would certainly keep people out,” Josh said. “So why do you know the codes?”

Scrawl finished typing. “Let’s just say Clatter trusts me,” he said. “Well, as much as he trusts anyone.”

The room Josh entered next was huge. It was also as modern looking as the sewer entrance was dilapidated. The walls were covered in polished metal, and the lighting was low and soothing. Several fans were running, and the air smelled clean and fresh.

“It’s like a hospital,” Josh said.

Scrawl snorted. “You’re not far off,” he said.

Josh could see a row of five metal operating tables on the far side of the room. As they drew closer, he saw that a body lay on one of the tables. It was a zombie. Its wrists and ankles were constrained by metal cuffs attached to the table, and another metal cuff was around its neck, holding it down.

The zombie was a teenage girl. Her long blond hair was matted, some of it clotted with dried blood from a wound on her scalp. Her skinny body was dressed in dirty jeans and a pink Hello Kitty T-shirt. Her skin was mottled with ugly bruises, and one eye was sewn shut with thick black thread. The other eye looked up at the ceiling, unmoving.

On each cuff was a small circular opening, and into each opening was inserted a long, thin needle attached to a length of clear tubing. Yellowish fluid filled the tubes, which ran beneath the table and disappeared into the floor.

“He makes the zombies here too?” Josh asked.

Scrawl nodded.

Josh reached out to touch the zombie’s skin, but Scrawl grabbed his wrist. “Don’t,” he said.

“Relax,” Josh said, irritated. “I just wanted to feel her skin. It’s amazing how he makes them look so real.” He pointed to the tubes. “What’s that stuff, hydraulic fluid for the robotics?”

“It’s blood,” said Scrawl.

“Blood?” Josh repeated. “What are you talking about?”

“These are bleeding tables,” Scrawl told him. “He’s not pumping anything in, he’s draining it out.”

Josh recoiled, staring at the girl. “I don’t get it,” he said. “I thought you said that this is where he makes Z.”

“It is,” said Scrawl. “But to make Z he needs blood. Zombie blood. And this is how he gets it.”

Josh waited for Scrawl to say he was joking. When he didn’t, Josh pointed to the girl and said, “You’re telling me that’s a real zombie?”

“She’s real, all right,” Scrawl answered.

Josh stared at him. Scrawl had to be kidding. But the look on his face was deadly serious. Could he be telling the truth?

Josh laughed nervously. “You’re messing with me,” he said. “Right?”

Scrawl shook his head.

“There haven’t been any in years,” Josh said.

“There are now.” Said Scrawl.

Josh looked at the zombie on the table. He couldn’t believe he had almost touched it. “Where do they come from?”

Scrawl looked at him. “This is the part you really don’t want to see,” he said. “Don’t freak out on me, okay?”

“I’m already beyond freaked out,” Josh told him. “It can’t get any worse.”

“Yeah, it can,” Scrawl replied. He walked toward a door to the right of the tables. When he reached it, he paused, took a deep breath, and pushed it open.

The stench was enough to make Josh gag. At first he was so busy coughing that he didn’t have time to look for the source of the smell. When he could more or less breathe again, he looked up. They were in a room lined with cells, about twenty on each side. And inside each one was a zombie.

Josh felt like he’d been punched in the stomach. “They’re real?” he said. “All of them? But that’s impossible. All the z’s were wiped out. The virus was wiped out.”

Scrawl shook his head. “That’s just what the government wants people to think,” he said. “They never wiped out the virus, just the people who had it. Clatter’s father worked on the project. He found a way to infect people and make them zombies.”