Manel Loureiro - Apocalypse Z - The Beginning of the End

I pulled on the wetsuit and checked the three guns. I walked through the house one last time, my eyes gliding over everything that was so familiar. I might not ever see it again. My whole life was here. I was setting off for an unknown destination with no assurance I’d be alive in half an hour. It was crazy. My living room, my kitchen, my study (I never painted it a color I really liked), the couch my little roommate scratched up. I went up to the attic in tears and looked around. I grabbed one of my wife’s old sweaters. When she died, I’d packed away all her things. Now I was abandoning them forever.

I wiped my tears and headed to the backyard to set my plan in motion. The next time I write in this journal I’ll describe what I did. If I don’t write any more…well, obviously, something went wrong and there’s a new undead walking around town in a wetsuit. But I won’t go down without a fight. I’m terrified—but I’m determined.

February 7, 9:01 p.m.

I’m alive. Exhausted, horrified, and in shock—but alive. Lucullus is fine too, even better than I am. We’ve taken refuge in a fairly safe place. I lost some supplies along the way, but I’m still battle-ready. My God, there are thousands of those things! I should write all about it right now, but I’m exhausted. I’ll write some more tomorrow, after I’ve gotten some rest.

Today, I shot a gun for the first time in my life. I’m sure it won’t be the last.

February 8, 12:39 p.m.

The winter sun in Galicia is really tepid. Some people would say it’s weak. Its caressing rays aren’t very strong on icy mornings like today, but at least it warms your bones a little. Better than nothing. Lucullus and I are lying on the roof of our little makeshift shelter, hoping to get on with our journey. As we ate a breakfast of beans from self-heating cans, images of the terrible day we had yesterday replayed over and over in my mind.

It was unbelievably terrifying. Yet I feel more alive now than I have for three weeks. When I went over the wall into my neighbor’s yard, I wasn’t sure my plan would work. The further I got into it, the more doubts I had. But I couldn’t turn back. I raced across Miguel’s yard into his pitch-black house. Those things were all riled up. Somehow, they knew I was on the other side. A couple of them had even made it through the front gate and were pounding on the boarded-up windows downstairs. The noise was deafening. I carefully climbed the stairs and opened the bedroom window; I was sure they couldn’t see me up there. Down below was Miguel’s delivery van, parked right out in front. He had complained several times that junkies tried to break into it, looking for amphetamines or Rohypnol, the so-called date rape drug, even though he didn’t distribute those drugs. So he installed a powerful alarm in the van. It woke me up many nights when he accidentally tripped it. I wanted to see how those things reacted to all that honking.

I gripped the Zavala rifle, loaded two cartridges, then calmly aimed at the van. The mob under the window kept on banging on the door, unaware I was right above them. I fired. The blast from the rifle sounded like a cannon in the morning silence, amplified by the sound of the van’s windshield bursting into a million pieces.

The alarm went off immediately with honking, flashing lights, and a loud, steady siren. The effect on the crowd below was electric. Most of them surrounded the van and started rocking and shaking it. A few spotted me in the window. They crowded around below, stretching their arms toward me, looks of hatred in their glazed eyes.

So far, so good. I rushed back down into the yard. I didn’t have much time. Between the gunshot and the alarm, all the monsters in a one-mile radius would be drawn to this area in minutes. It would become a hot spot. I scrambled down the ladder like a monkey back into my yard. When I put weight on my poor ankle, a stabbing pain shot up my leg all the way to my eyes. For a moment everything went white and I almost passed out. No time to stop. I went in my house and upstairs to my bedroom to take a quick look.

I sighed with relief—my plan was working. Three of the mutants on my street were shambling toward the van. That blaring noise drew them like moths to a flame. For some reason, the last creature left on my street decided to cross the embankment at the end of the street. He’d probably fall, but that didn’t matter. He wasn’t close enough to stop me from getting to my car.

Breathing hard, I ran to the foyer, slung the backpack on my back, and crossed the speargun and the small bag over my chest. Then I knocked down the wooden posts that braced the gate and poked my head out. The coast was clear. For the second time in a month, I ventured outside. Only this time, I was setting off on a journey, and I didn’t know if I’d survive.

Clutching Lucullus’s carrier and the Glock, I crossed the road slowly, heading for my car, keys dangling from my wrist. I grabbed the keys and pressed the release button. My first mistake. With a double beep and a flashing light, my car opened, but that got the attention of the creatures on all sides. They turned and headed right for me. Shit. I had to move fast. I opened the driver’s door and threw the backpack in the backseat with so much force that the bag flew open and some of my gear fell out. Out of habit, I went around the car to the passenger side to settle Lucullus in his seat.

My second mistake. As I came around the car, I saw a man in his twenties with long hair and goatee. He had on a filthy, torn black shirt and was missing both legs below the knees. I wondered how he’d lost them. He was lying on the ground, right behind the car. I don’t know when he crawled there or how long he’d been waiting, but he startled me. I took a step back, but he still managed to grab my ankle (my good one, thank God) and sink his teeth in.

It all happened so fast. I stepped back so fast he couldn’t get a good grip on my ankle. Plus my wetsuit was too thick and pliable for his bite to pierce it. He did leave visible tooth marks in the fabric. With disgust mixed with pure terror, I dropped Lucullus’ carrier and grabbed the gun with both hands. I aimed right at his head, less than three feet away, and fired.

I’m no expert marksman, but I couldn’t miss at that distance. I was really nervous, so I shot him in the head several times. It was a gruesome sight! I still shudder at the memory. It’s not like in the movies. A bullet doesn’t make a small hole; it opens a gaping hole. Blood clots, bits of brain, and bone fragments flew everywhere.

Trembling, I leaned on the car, trying to catch my breath, but time was running out. The rest of the creatures were less than thirty yards away, approaching very, very fast. I grabbed Lucullus’s carrier off the ground and tossed it in the car. The poor guy meowed uncontrollably, scared to death. Before I got into the driver’s seat, I aimed at the things coming from the main street and fired. My third mistake. I didn’t have a clue how to shoot a gun, even at just thirty yards. All I did was empty the clip and make even more noise. Well, that was the least of my concerns. Every monster in the town must’ve heard the racket I was making.

I tossed the empty gun to the floor of the car and jumped behind the wheel. When I turned the key, the Astra coughed a couple of times, then started up. My blood ran cold. It hadn’t been started up in several days. For a moment I thought it was going to stall—then I’d be screwed for sure. It’s a good thing Opels are tough. Nothing fancy, but tough. I put it in first and drove toward the end of the street. I swerved to keep from hitting three of those things (I’ve prosecuted drunk drivers, so I know what a human body can do to a windshield and chassis upon impact) and turned on to the main street. The sight blew me away: a tide of nonhumans, hundreds of them, coming from downtown.