Z-Day Part 1

Dawn broke on a cloudy November morning to find, as usual on a Thursday, Dexter Collins sleeping noisily on the dull, green couch in his living room. The early SportsCenter played on TV, repeating the same highlights and witty banter from the anchors for what was probably the tenth time. It was only when the high pitched screech of the Emergency Broadcast System interrupted the show did Dexter stir and awaken long enough to turn the TV off before rolling over and falling back to sleep.

It was nearly noon when Dexter finally slid off the couch and lazily pushed himself to his feet. Shuffling into the bathroom he squinted at the bright, fluorescent light above. Staring into the mirror at his disheveled appearance he tried to think back at what happened the night before. No luck. It was all a blur of bars, clubs and shots of rum, tequila and whiskey. His shoulders sank as the amount of alcohol he'd drank came back to him. He was lucky enough to have slept through hat would probably have been the worst of the hangover but still his eyes hurt and there was a constant ringing in his head.

“You're a dumb mother fucker, you know that?” He grumbled to his reflection before moving to turn on the shower. That ringing was still in his head, although it wasn't so much a ring as it was... a buzz? A long, droning tone that cut through the fog of his hangover. No matter, Dexter had been there before and the day still had to go on.

After a quick shower he decided to shave. Why not? It'd been a few days and it was needed. There was that ringing again. He shook his head a little, trying to rid himself of the awful tone. He'd thought it had gone away while in the shower but it was back. Frustrated he finished his shave and headed for the bedroom to get dressed. It was part of the way there that he froze. The tone was louder in the living room. It wasn't in his head, it was coming from outside.

Pulling aside the curtains caused another cringe from the light. After his eyes adjusted Dexter saw the source of his irritation. There had been a car accident on the street below. It looked like a head-on collision between a big Dodge pick up and a light blue sedan. The much smaller car looked like it had gotten the far worse of the exchange. A car horn was droning on as a result of the wreckage.

Dexter recognized most of the people from his building but something about the scene didn't sit right. For one it looked like the mob had been standing outside for a long time. There was only a light drizzle of rain and some of them looked soaked to the skin. Everyone was near frantic. Talking and gesturing wildly. A few where on their phones, but others it looked had given up. Curious, Dexter got dressed, a simple pair of tan cargo pants and a polo shirt, and headed downstairs.

“I don't give a damn how busy you are, these people are dying!” Kyle McGruder shouted into his cell phone. Dexter moved up beside him.

“What happened?” Dexter asked, stifling a yawn.

“I dunno.” McGruder snapped his phone shut and angrily stuffed it into his pants pocket. “Two people, a guy and a girl, got into an accident and they're stuck.” His arm flailed wildly as he gestured toward the mangled car “And we can't get even a single damn cop or ambulance to show up and help.”

“Are you fucking crazy?” Dexter pushed his way through the crowd. “How long have you fucking idiots been standing here watching these people die?” He was pissed. It was the same helpless, wait for someone else to do it attitude that had caused Dexter to lose faith in much of humanity. Somewhere out of the crowd came the typical “you're not supposed to the move an injured person” reply but Dexter snapped a “shut the fuck up” at that and kept going.

The car was in bad shape but the same could be said for the driver of the pick up. Now that he was closer to the wreck, Dexter could see the body of a middle aged man sprawled out on the asphalt, a bloody trail outlining where he had slid after being ejected from the truck.

“Could someone at least have the decency to cover him up?” He shouted back to the mob. After a short pause he added, “Please.” Someone scrambled to get a blanket.

The smell of blood and urine mingled with the lingering traces of burnt rubber and melted electrical wires. The occupants of the car were moving, but they flailed around with erratic, twitchy movements like they were dazed and probably in shock. Groans could be heard, which was encouraging despite the visual carnage.

“It's okay.” Dexter said, peering through the glassless driver's side window, “I'm gonna get you out.” His words faded and he trailed off as he caught sight of the vehicle's driver for the first time. The driver was dead. Or at least he should have been. His neck was obviously broken, the bone was beginning to dig its way out of the skin causing his head to dangle awkwardly as he struggled to free himself from the wreckage. His legs had been crushed and were pinned beneath what had been the steering column and dashboard. No words came out as the driver reached for Dexter, just a low, throaty gasp.

Cursing Dexter scrambled to back away from the car, slipping on the wet ground in the process. He barely had time to register the pain in his ass before he heard a blood-curdling scream. His eyes darted to the woman that had gotten a blanket for the driver of the pick up. He was no conscious and had pulled the woman to him and began gnawing at her throat spilling a torrent of blood onto the asphalt. The sounds of the ensuing scuffle faded and it looked as though everyone was moving in slow motion. Someone reached the woman and tried to pull her from the man who until moments ago was presumed dead. The would be hero succeeded but a shredded mass of flesh was torn from the woman by the teeth of the pick up truck driver. The bloodied corpse then rose to his feet using two fingers to mash the severed flesh into his mouth. Dexter looked back to the car where it's mutilated occupants still thrashed about trying to free themselves and then down to the asphalt between his feet. The rain came down harder and it finally dawned on Dexter that all Hell had broken loose.

Z-Day: Prologue

It had been three days since the cell phone towers went down and I had last been in contact with my brother, Isaac. Isaac was a member of the 82nd Airborne in North Carolina while I was a freelance writer from Northern California. The plan was to start traveling across the country and meet up somewhere halfway between each other before heading North. It only should have taken a couple days of travel to hit the center of the country but the end of civilization via reanimated corpses made the journey slow and rather harrowing.

Being a geek I'd talked at length about the “impending” zombie apocalypse but I was as surprised as anyone when it actually happened. I'm a shut in most of the time, making a living by writing book, movie and game reviews for a few online publications. Up until a few days ago my life was simple, living in my small Sacramento apartment with my dog, Reggie, spending my time dicking around the internet, playing video games and getting shit-faced with what few friends could stand my ass. Even though I couldn't ever say with certainty when my next paycheck was coming or from where I enjoyed life. It was, as I said before, simple and straight-forward. There wasn't a lot of bullshit unless I passed out on the couch and woke up to the morning news. That always pissed me off.

Of course I'd be lying if I didn't admit there was something missing in my existence. I couldn't quite put my finger on it but everything was just slightly off. Just a few shades away from perfect, if you will. I didn't realize it at the moment that even though my only real social commitment was to an animal that often times preferred to sit in a corner and lick his own balls for hours on end my life was needlessly complicated. I felt that everyone's life was. Cell phones, the internet, the endless desire for more money, the smothering of a skewed society just made everyone a cock-eyed pile of shit, myself included. I'm very well aware of the fact that my very livelihood depended on half-retarded directors, producers and actors making movies and the so-called 'indie' artist putting out another self-serving, 'anti-establishment' turd on CD so that I could watch or listen and offer a 'well-informed' opinion that was no doubt influenced by whether or not I'd had to wait in line at the grocery store too long that day or if the douche-bags at McDonald's had gotten my order right or if I'd been able to pound a few shots of Captain Morgan before I had to sit down and write.

So, yes, part of me wanted the world to end. In hindsight I think that perception was blinded by the bad. You never really take into account what ravenous hordes of undead actually do to your thought process. After just a couple days you start to realize that unless the person is standing right in front of you there was a good chance they're dead and taking a trip to wherever this person or persons live to find out could very well end up with someone you care about (or yourself) dead.

It's a funny thing about death. It's such a big deal when everything's normal but when you come face to face with dead bodies littering the streets you used to walk when going to the store and you've been forced to kill without hesitation you start to lose touch with what you used to be. It's only been three days since the zombies came and death cast its shadow across the world. Only three days and I've already committed enough felonies and heinous acts to be imprisoned for the rest of my life. When you've had to stare into the lifeless eyes of a person you know and put a bullet in their skull to keep them from killing your best friend it does something to you. It alters your perception of reality. Makes you hard. Makes you almost forget the value of human life. If it doesn't, though, you're fucked. You see, after Z-Day reality changed. There's nothing left but survival.

Excerpt from the Journal of Dexter Collins