Z.N.A. - Origin Page 2

  She had numerous obvious injuries besides her head injuries, namely a compound fracture of her humerus, and an apparent femoral fracture of her hip. Her left leg had twisted to face nearly completely backwards. Her hair was matted with fresh blood, and as she opened her mouth to groan, Paul could see she had most of her front teeth broken out. Paul ran to his truck and grabbed his cell phone. A quick dial of 911 and Paul was met by a recorded statement that all circuits were busy.

  “All circuits busy? What the hell!” Paul said, jamming the cell phone in his pocket and heading back to the intersection.

  Several people had gotten out of their cars now, and were attempting to help the old lady or call 911.

  A young woman in a flowery dress had her cell phone up to her ear and asked Paul, “Could you get through? I keep getting this message that the lines are all tied up. I’m going to keep trying.”

  Paul shook his head and noticed that the old lady was trying to move. She groaned out weakly in pain, curling her hands up into fists. Several people had crowded around her and were trying to comfort her, when she suddenly and violently began to vomit dark red blood everywhere.

  There was a sudden loud pop and an anguished, ear-piercing scream erupted from behind Paul. Spinning around, he saw that a couple of bystanders were trying to get close enough to the now fully-involved fire to help out the person in the car that had been hit and was pinned next to the utility pole.

  They could do nothing. People were crying out and one man actually had a fire extinguisher aimed at the burning wreckage when one of the tires on the car exploded. Everyone scattered, running in fear of a possible fuel tank explosion. The rescue effort was ended immediately.

  The anguished screams died out quickly as the fire completely enveloped the vehicles, setting the utility pole ablaze like a giant wooden match.

  Paul turned his attention back to the old lady. She was no longer moving. The dark red vomit covered the front of her sweater and the asphalt beside her. Her eyes were bloodshot and staring straight ahead, unmoving. A man in a shirt and tie was kneeling beside her and taking her pulse. He just looked at Paul and shook his head.

  One of the other bystanders had a coat and laid it across the old woman’s body. Paul started walking back to his truck and tried dialing 911 again but kept getting the same message.

  “What in the hell is going on?” He thought to himself as he watched motorists still milling around in the intersection and around the dead woman’s body. “This has got to be one of the worst accidents this town has ever seen and the cops are nowhere in sight.”

  He sat in the driver’s seat and put his head down on his arms for a moment, completely shocked and distressed. Since there wasn’t much else he could do until help arrived and cleared the accident, Paul quietly sat in the truck cab watching the accident and flicked the radio back on. The announcer spoke in a voice filled with subdued panic.

  “ …accidents and fires all over the city and from AP reports, all over the entire country. The state police urge all residents to remain at home and to lock their doors and windows. The cause of this rioting is unknown at this time. [long segment of beeping and emergency tones] This is an emergency message from WZOM radio. This is not a test. As of 11:00 a.m. today we have begun receiving reports of violence and multiple shootings throughout the city. It appears that gangs of people are causing riots and violence throughout the greater metropolitan area. There have been several accidents and fires all over the city and from AP reports…”

  Paul’s jaw dropped. He was going home. Now.

  Chapter Three: Drive

  With a quick turn of the key, the engine of his delivery truck came to life. The only way out of the congested intersection was a straight drive over some debris and to try and squeeze past a car that had spun out to a stop in the middle of the intersection.

  Several cars were just sitting right in the way, mostly people that had jumped out to help, but some other cars had also been involved in minor fender-benders when everyone had to suddenly hit their brakes.

  Paul reached behind his seat, grabbing his small emergency bag that he always kept with him. Inside was a sturdy folding pocket knife, some 20 feet or so of tough paracord, an extra set of clothes and an extra uniform, a basic first aid kit, a couple of three-year-old Powerbars, and his Glock 17 with two extra full magazines.

  Paul racked the Glock, set it down on the central console, and tossed his emergency bag into the passenger jump seat. He stuck the two spare magazines into his pocket and started to ease the truck through the accident scene. Looking out his window, he noticed several of the bystanders kneeling down and getting very sick. Some of them were vomiting or just sitting on the road.

  A small handful of people stood around still trying to use their cell phones or comfort some of those that had become so suddenly sick. Paul noted that a few people were starting to rush back to their cars once they saw his truck start to move. Horns started blowing like crazy and vehicles bounced and banged into each other.

  “Guess the word is out,” said Paul as he moved closer to the car in the middle of the intersection and realized there was no way he was going to get past it without hitting it.

  Other cars were now trying to maneuver their way out of the mess, only making things worse. Paul floored it and pushed the vehicle aside. He was not about to wait for whoever to move their car. He heard someone start shouting and cursing. Paul looked out his window and saw the guy in the shirt and tie sitting on the ground and raising his fists in the air, shouting and pointing angrily in the direction of his now-fleeing truck.

  Crunching and scraping metal noises filled Paul’s ears and he accelerated past the cars and through the intersection. The old delivery truck didn’t like being treated like a tank and Paul doubted it could handle much abuse. At last he was out though, and jumped a curb onto a side street. The truck rocked back and forth and he could hear stuff falling off the shelves in the back.

  There was very little road traffic to be seen for several miles, but there were quite a few cars pulled off to the side of the road. Some of the drivers were outside and sitting on the curb or inside their cars. All of them looked sick. Some of them had obviously thrown up on themselves. Paul just kept going, hoping he wouldn’t start getting sick too. He was only halfway through his route for the day and home was only about 10 more miles away. He decided he would just park the delivery truck right in his driveway once he got home. He could always go back after all this mess and get his pickup truck from work later. Or at least, that’s what he thought.

  The miles flew past, and the sights remained the same. Paul knew he was probably driving too fast but he didn’t care. He had made it to the outskirts of the city and wasn’t far from home now, and the sooner he got there the sooner he would be safe and he could find out what was going on.

  Paul was coming around a curve and greatly exceeding the speed limit when a young man splattered with blood and wearing nothing but a pair of boxer shorts ran right out in front the delivery truck.

  Paul shouted out and slammed on the brakes, hearing and feeling the tires bouncing over the man. The truck lost the road and as the back tires spun around in the grass, the top-heavy delivery truck flipped over onto its side and scraped a few hundred feet down the road. He felt his head smash into the side window, cracking the glass and sending his hat flying off. The entire world seemed to shimmer for a moment, and then everything went fuzzy.

  February 16th, 7:13 pm

  Everything started to spin back into focus. Cracked windows surrounded him and packages littered the dashboard of the truck. Paul knew he must have been out cold for at least a few minutes, but a quick look at his watch confirmed he had been out for hours. His head was pounding and his shoulder was killing him. He was still groggy but the pain brought him out of it.

  The seat belt was still securely around him and he was half hanging towards the passenger side of the truck, which was now against the ground, and half still in the driver
’s seat with the belt wrapped uncomfortably around his neck and under his arm.

  He touched his head and felt clumps of dried blood in his hair. Looking down, he could see his dangling feet and against the passenger side door he saw the Glock and his go-bag. Paul braced a leg against the center console and unsnapped his seat belt. He was trying to carefully move down to retrieve his stuff but instead unceremoniously crashed down butt-first on top of it all.

  “Oof! Fucking seatbelt!” Paul said loudly, rubbing his painful tailbone while slowly standing up inside the cab of the truck. The entire vehicle was a disaster zone. Stuff was everywhere.

  Paul collected himself, thought for a moment, and then remembered what was going on. He grabbed his gun and his gear and climbed up through the sliding driver’s door and out of the truck. Standing on top of the truck, Paul could see that during at least part of his slide the rear doors had opened and boxes had spilled out and all over the roadway. No one had stopped to help him. In fact, it looked like several boxes had been run over by drivers going around or past his accident.

  The unfortunate man he had run over was nowhere to be seen. Paul climbed down off the truck and slung his bag over his uninjured shoulder. He stuffed the Glock into his pants and started walking in the direction of his house. He estimated that the trip home would be 4 or 5 miles.

  Paul walked quickly down the road on high alert. A few cars occasionally blazed past him, also greatly exceeding the speed limit. Waving his hands at passing drivers accomplished nothing. Everyone seemed to be in a desperate hurry to get somewhere and they were not interested in stopping for him.

  Everything seemed peaceful until the tree line opened up on the other side of the road. From this hilly vantage point, he could see most of the town of Winchester below him. Huge plumes of smoke could be seen coming up in various places around the city. Faint sirens could be heard in the distance and the trace smell of something burning filled his nostrils.

  The sun would be going down in another hour. Paul decided to pick up the pace as much as he could. Passing around a curve another mile up the road, Paul noticed another car pulled off the side of the road. He increased his jog, thinking help was near. As he drew closer, he saw what he recognized as a blue, newer-model VW Beetle.

  The flashers were on and the door was slightly open. Paul slowed down and carefully approached the car, putting his hand on the Glock. He could just make out the shirt sleeve and hand of someone that seemed to be leaning up against the front of the car and sitting on the grass.

  “Hello!? Hello!? Anyone in the VW?” Paul shouted out, nearly dropping the Glock as the blood-smeared face of a young blond-haired girl no older than 17 snapped towards him.

  The girl’s eyes were completely black, and her face and open mouth showed a sort of brainless emotion. The front of her shirt was covered in what appeared to be a disgusting mixture of vomit and drying blood. She let out a disturbing, wheezing growl and rushed towards him.

  “I have a gun! Stay back! I’ll shoot!” Paul shouted as he began to backpedal, fumbling for his Glock and ultimately tripping and dropping it on the ground.

  She was on him in seconds, thrashing and tearing at him with a kind of violent rage Paul could never begin to imagine a small teenage girl capable. She gnashed her teeth wildly at him all the while making that same terrible noise.

  He had easily 100 pounds on her but she was like fighting against a rabid animal. He held her off as best he could and luckily managed to kick her off. Gravity took her rolling down the ditch and about 10 yards away. Paul didn’t hesitate and picked the Glock up off the ground, forgetting his training and wildly firing at the girl, who was already back up and running towards him again.

  Bullets sang past her into the dirt on the other side of the ditch, but some flew true. She took several rounds to the chest but kept coming up the embankment.

  “Ahhhh! Die! Go Down!” Paul screamed as he continued blasting the pistol, emptying the magazine. She was knocked back a bit by each impact, but didn’t go down.

  Giving up, Paul turned towards the VW and ran as fast as he could. The girl was coming up over the ditch and was right behind him. The VW was idling, and the door was still cracked open. Paul reached the VW and leapt inside, slamming the door on the girl’s arm.

  She was now making a high-pitched scream, and slamming her face repeatedly against the window. Her hand scratched at him, but with all his might, he kept the door closed on her arm with one hand and threw the VW in drive with the other. Paul stomped the gas and took off, opening the door just enough to let his new friend go spilling out onto the road.

  Still shaking with fear, Paul finally released the gas pedal from its position lodged against the floorboard when he was within his neighborhood. Observing the damage, Paul saw several cars overturned and off the road. He wheeled the VW slowly onto his street and stared in awe at the first house at the entrance. It was consumed in flames. Two mangled bodies were sprawled out face down on the grass in the front of the inferno.

  Paul decided against stopping to investigate. He saw a young couple throwing suitcases hurriedly into their small hatchback, probably planning to make an escape, but to where? Some houses looked totally normal, but some had windows smashed out.

  One word continued to run through his mind, “Zombies.” He shook it off and refused to believe it.

  “Gotta be some logical explanation. Zombies aren’t real, they’re some made-up junk from Hollywood designed to scare people,” Paul rationalized.

  Within a minute he was finally home. He pulled the VW into the driveway and prepared to exit the vehicle, looking around carefully before he made his move. The used magazine was ejected from the Glock and the full one was added. Releasing the slide, the Glock was ready for action again.

  Just as he was about to get out of the car Paul watched as his neighbor, Joe, swung the front door open and ran full blast across the yard. He looked terrified and had a .357 revolver in his hand. The front of his shirt was stained with the same vile emesis as all the others. Right behind him was his wife, but she now looked much like the blonde-haired girl.

  Her eyes had turned black and she sounded like some kind of animal. Joe screamed, his face filled with terror, as she caught up with him and tackled him to the ground. She began to bite him right through his shirt, staining the back of it red. Joe kicked his legs out, throwing his body around wildly, and rolled over to his back with his wife still over him. She continued her onslaught, snapping her teeth and tearing chunks of flesh out of his stomach and chest. With a weak shout, he managed to bring his gun up and discharged the .357 into his wife’s face. She toppled over, right on top of him.

  Paul watched his neighbor struggle to crawl out from under what used to be his wife. Finally he escaped out from under her and was covered in blood. Where his wife had bitten him, his skin hung like shredded cloth. Joe seemed to have lost all of his strength and remained sitting and rocking himself in the front yard. Paul decided to get out of the car and see what he could discover, or see if he could help Joe at all.

  As he drew nearer to his neighbor, Paul could hear him crying, “Sorry, so sorry…forgive me Lord...forgive me.”

  Joe was cradling the gun in his hands like a baby. Before Paul could speak, Joe raised the .357 to his mouth, and pulled the trigger. The bullet exploded out of his skull, spraying blood and gray matter across the grass. He wavered for a moment before flopping backwards onto the ground, dead. Paul had seen enough and quickly unlocked his door and dashed inside the house.

  Once inside, the front door was re-locked and Paul closed all the blinds. He didn’t want anyone or anything seeing inside his house and knowing he was in there. He flipped on the TV to see what he could find out. Most of the channels were static or some sort of technical difficulty message, but one station was still on. It was the local news channel, and the reporter sitting at the desk looked like he was having one hell of a bad day.

  “… the city and most likely the entire co
untry is under siege. Riots and violence have broken out in many locations. There have been several reports of individuals losing their minds and attacking others. Fire departments and Rescue are doing all they can to help those in need, but are currently overloaded. Please be patient, they will get to you as soon as humanly possible. Police have exhausted their abilities to maintain control. We expect the National Guard to be called in any moment, if not already. The streets are not safe right now, and we can’t stress this enough…if you are watching, get to a safe place and lock the doors and stay inside. We currently do not know if this is some terrorist action or if …what? Oh God…they’re inside? I have to go.”

  The reporter quickly gathered up his papers and could be seen running towards the back of the studio. The reporter cursed loudly and turned off camera, moving fast. Paul continued to watch the empty news desk for a few moments until the camera shook and one of those creatures from before chased after a running cameraman. Three more of the creatures joined in within seconds. It sounded like they took him down just off camera and his screams where so loud it made Paul’s speakers buzz. Clicking the remote off, Paul shuddered, grabbed his bag and headed to the basement.