Ground Zero: A Zombie Apocalypse Page 2

  “Does the C.D.C have the outbreak under control?” a new voice asked.

  “No.” the spokesman said frankly.

  Another clamor of voices, rising louder, desperate to be heard.

  “Do you know what we’re dealing with?”

  “No,” the man said. “But it appears to be viral. An infection that is being spread through bites and bodily fluid contamination. It’s unlike anything we have ever encountered before.”

  “Is it true these infected people are… are coming back to life after being killed?”

  The man said nothing.

  “What areas are being affected? How widespread is the outbreak?” another reported asked in the brief silence.

  The spokesman turned his head and looked directly towards the reporter who had asked the question. “Baltimore… but spreading quickly,” the man said. “We’ve already had reports from as far away as Virginia in the south and Pennsylvania to the north.”

  The voices of the reporters became riotous, rising in a roar of disbelief. A woman’s voice, sounding almost hysterical, shouted above the noise.

  “What do we do? What can be done to stop the spread?”

  Before the spokesman could answer, a second voice cried out, “Is this a plague?”

  “There is nothing we can do,” the CDC spokesman said flatly in response to the first question. Then he paused for a long moment as though gathering his thoughts. When he spoke, his words were measured and deliberate. “At this stage we are advising people to stay in their houses and avoid contact with anyone. Anyone,” he said again to emphasize the point. “Infection spreads through bite attacks. You should do all you can to ensure you remain isolated from anyone displaying symptoms of erratic behavior, or people with a clear disposition of anger or violence. Stay in your house … and pray.”

  There was another burst of camera flashes, and then a young man entered the picture. He clutched at the spokesman’s arm and bent close to his ear to whisper urgently. The spokesman listened. Then he looked up suddenly and sharply into the young man’s face. The other man nodded. The CDC spokesman screwed his eyes tightly shut for a long moment while the world watched on in silence. Finally, the man turned back towards the camera. His eyes were wet with tears and his face stricken with pure fear.

  “In the time I have been speaking to you, another thousand cases have been reported to medical staff across the north east of the country,” the spokesman said. “Officially… the virus is out of control.”

  The room fell into shocked silence. Finally one reporter asked almost fearfully. “What… what are you calling the outbreak? Does it have a name?”

  The spokesman shook his head. “The infection is uncategorized,” he said.

  “Is this a zombie virus?” one reported asked, and his tone was earnest and fearful.

  “Yes,” the spokesman said after a long agonizing pause, “because quite frankly I don’t know any other terminology to explain it. The infected are bitten and die in agony. Then they rise again. There is only one other word for it.”

  “Which is?”

  “Armageddon,” the spokesman answered. “This is the end of days. The end of life in America as we know it.”

  Arthur Harrigan stared at the television in disbelief. He felt cold. A superstitious dread crawled like ice through his veins until his body trembled uncontrollably. He snatched for the phone. Suddenly he wanted more than anything else to hear the voice of his daughter.

  He called the number and stood in the hallway listening to the hollow tone as it rang out. He dialed again – then suddenly the front door exploded back against its hinges, and a blood-covered nightmare of horror burst into the house.

  Arthur cried out in shock and terror. The phone fell from his hands.

  It was a man. His left arm had been torn from his body, his clothes just dirty ragged shreds that hung from his broken shape in tatters. It groaned – a low vicious sound of rage in the back of its throat. It saw Arthur and its sunken yellowed eyes flashed. It snarled.

  Arthur Harrigan snatched up the pistol and fired once, hitting the ghoul in the chest. The beast reeled backwards. It crashed against the hallway wall and smeared long streaks of fresh dripping blood on the wallpaper. Then it regained its balance, seemingly driven to frenzy by the roar of the weapon’s blast. It snarled at Arthur and lunged for him, its fingers seized into blood-dripping vicious claws.

  Arthur jammed the pistol hard against his own temple. His last thought was of his wife. Then he pulled the trigger.

  * * *

  Tammy Scott died because she was young and reckless.

  There was a place down by the river near her childhood home that Tammy would hide when her father came home drunk and her parents began to fight.

  It was a quiet place; somewhere she could retreat to when life seemed dark and uncertain.

  She wished she could go there now.

  She wished for that more than anything else. Because if she were there – in her quiet happy place – she wouldn’t be staring at herself in the mirror and contemplating the dreadful thing she was about to do.

  “Haven’t you got higher heels?”

  “No.”

  Margie dropped onto the narrow bed and looked at her friend. “Turn around.”

  Tammy turned awkwardly, feeling acutely embarrassed.

  “Mess your hair up. It looks too tidy.”

  Obediently Tammy scraped her fingers through her blonde hair, letting it tumble over her shoulders.

  “Is that denim skirt the shortest one you’ve got?” Margie ran her eyes up to the tops of her friend’s smooth brown thighs.

  Tammy frowned. “Jesus, Margie. How much shorter can a skirt be? Anything with less material is called a belt!”

  Margie pulled a face. She stood up. “You’ve gotta give a glimpse of the merchandise,” she said. She unfastened three of the buttons on Tammy’s white blouse, revealing the lacy tops of her red bra. “Competition is tough. You’ve got really nice tits. You ought to show ‘em off.”

  Tammy took a deep breath and wished that she could stop her legs from trembling. She stood still while Margie pulled the collar of her blouse off her shoulder a little, pushed and prodded at her hair, and then painted her lips with bright red lipstick. “You’ll do,” Margie sighed. “But don’t overprice yourself. You’re not eighteen. You’re twenty-two. That means you’re old in this game.”

  Tammy nodded. In the background, she could hear some kind of an urgent news bulletin on the radio. She tried to focus on the sound of the reporter’s voice, but Margie was still talking. Tammy frowned, somehow suddenly uneasy. She leaned across to turn the volume up, but Margie slapped at her hand to get her attention.

  “And try to pretend tonight tha

  t you’re not a wide eyed innocent waitress from Cornpoke Arizona,” Margie insisted. “The reason you haven’t had a single date your first two nights on the street is because your scaring the business away. No guy wants to put his money down for a good time with the girl next door. They’re looking for Lara Croft.”

  Tammy turned her head sharply.

  “What?”

  “Girl, they’re looking for some action! When I worked the streets I done real good because I was nasty – full of attitude and up for anything. That’s what you’ve gotta do if you wanna actually make some money.”

  Jesus! Tammy cringed.

  “Most guys cruising for sex are looking for a sixteen year old girl who looks like she’s twelve,” Margie explained. “You can’t compete with that, so you gotta offer something different. You gotta be the experienced confident score.”

  “How can I possibly do that?” Tammy fretted. “Margie, I’ve only had one boyfriend – and that was three years ago. I can’t do experienced. I can’t –”

  “Just wiggle your ass and walk like you own it,” Margie said. “And be confident. When a car pulls up at the curb, you saunter over, lean in the window so they can get a good look down your top, and ask in a real s
exy voice if they want to party. It’s easy.”

  “Easy for you, maybe.”

  Margie rolled her eyes. “Honey, the rule in this game is that you gotta fake it until you make it.”

  Tammy’s hands were bunched into anxious fists. She took one last look at herself in the mirror and cringed. She threw her handbag over her shoulder and tried to keep her balance on the threadbare carpet.

  “I don’t want to make it,” Tammy said. “I am just doing this to make ends meet.”

  “Make it… make ends meet… its all the same thing, honey. That’s why Angelo is going to meet you in the alley,” Margie said. “Tonight he’ll take you to your corner and keep watch.”

  “I told you I don’t want anything to do with Angelo!” Tammy hissed. “This isn’t a career, Margie. It’s… it’s just for a few nights until I can replace the rent money. I don’t want to be one of Angelo’s working girls.”

  “You ain’t got a choice,” Margie said. “You struck out two nights in a row on your own. Angelo has connections. It’s worth the cut he takes.”

  “He’s a pimp, you mean.”

  “He’s protection,” Margie insisted.

  Tammy sighed. It was probably Angelo who had smashed her apartment window and robbed her, for all she knew. “Fine. I’ll meet him in the alley. Then I’ll decide.”

  Margie made another face. “Just don’t piss him off,” she said. “I know what you can be like. This is business. So keep your thoughts to yourself. It don’t matter if you don’t like him. It only matters that he protects you and makes sure you get paid. Remember, whatever you do – don’t get him angry.”

  “Your boyfriend is an asshole,” Tammy said.

  “Be that as it may,” Margie said primly, “but he’s my asshole, and he’s your bodyguard. We both need him.”

  Tammy bit her lip. She looked around her tiny apartment bedroom one last time and then picked up her keys from the bedside table.

  “Will you still be here when I get back?”

  “Where else would I go?” Margie asked.

  Tammy kissed Margie on the cheek and tottered through the door, down the dark rickety staircase and out through the building’s side exit.

  The alley was narrow, walled on either side by dilapidated high-rise apartment blocks. Tammy glanced up through the crisscross maze of rusting fire escapes and curtained windows to the night sky. There were no stars. The night was black and she could smell smoke in the air.

  The alley wasn’t dark. City lights filled the narrow backstreet with a flickering glow as traffic snaked past garish neon signs. Tammy stepped past piled plastic bags of trash and wheeled dumpsters filled to overflowing.

  There was a huddle of dark shapes in the alley, their bodies silhouetted. Tammy tugged self-consciously at the hem of her denim skirt and walked towards them. Her heels echoed loudly on the ground and the group of figures changed shape as they turned toward the sound. Then one man broke away from the others and swaggered towards Tammy.

  “Well now,” the man’s face appeared from the shadows as he neared. “Don’t you look fine.”

  Tammy stood still and sighed. “Hi Angelo.”

  He was a tall broad-shouldered man with Latino features and a hawk-like nose. His long dark hair was pulled back behind his head in a greasy ponytail. He wore a white t-shirt and dirty jeans. He gazed at Tammy with piercing dark eyes and rubbed his chin as he circled her.

  “You’ve certainly got it going there, girl,” he smiled wolfishly. “You certainly do.”

  Tammy folded her arms and stared at Angelo listlessly. “Are you finished?”

  He laughed. “Well actually… I’m only just starting. You see, I gotta taste the goods before I put ‘em on sale, Lilly. So how about you and I go somewhere more comfortable, and you can show me what you’re offering?”

  “No chance,” Tammy sneered. “And I don’t think Margie would like to hear what you just said either.”

  Angelo pointed his finger. “Girl, I am serious,” he said suddenly. “None of my bitches goes on the street until I get to sample her wares. That’s the way it was for Margie when she worked, and it’s the way it is for every other bitch I protect. You ain’t special.”

  He closed the space between them, his expression dark, his eyes menacing. Tammy took an uncertain step backwards. She heard a police siren wailing somewhere close by, and the night seemed alive with frenetic noise and bustle. She blocked it all out and focused on the menace in front of her.

  Angelo’s raised voice had drawn the attention of the two other men. They started down the alleyway.

  “Bro? You got trouble?”

  “This little bitch ain’t a good sharer,” he called over his shoulder. “It’s nothin’.”

  The two men exchanged sniggers of laughter and turned away. Tammy watched them retreat into the shadows. When she flicked her eyes back to Angelo, there was a leering smile on his face, and a short-bladed knife held low in one of his hands.

  “What the –?”

  “I ain’t got time to play with you, girl,” Angelo said. “Every minute you’re standin’ here and not on your back is costing me money. Now my boys think you’re giving me lip. That ain’t good for my business. Now I know you got a mouth on you. I want to see it go to work.” With his free hand Angelo began to tug at the zipper on his jeans. “And if you ever tell Margie I got a free sample, I’ll come back with this knife and cut out your tongue. Business is business. You wanna be on the game, you gotta play by my rules.”

  Tammy’s eyes widened. She took another step away, and felt cold damp bricks against her back. Angelo saw the startled expression in her eyes.

  “Nowhere else to go,” he said softly. “So it’s time to get down and party. Only now, we don’t do it comfortable – we do it nasty. I’m just gonna throw you down on some trash bags and do you. ‘Cause... that’s what you are now, right? White trash.”

  Tammy couldn’t take her eyes off the glinting silver blade. In Angelo’s hand it weaved slowly from side to side like the hypnotic dance of a deadly snake. The taste of her fear was thick in her throat. She could feel her heart racing, pounding hard against the cage of her ribs.

  Angelo drifted closer. It was just one more step, but he was so close now he was within striking distance. Tammy heard him growl at her and she glanced up at his face. His teeth were bared in a malicious snarl.

  Tammy slowly eased the strap of her handbag of her shoulder and held up her hands in resignation. “Alright,” she whispered. “Alright…” Her handbag splashed into a muddy puddle. She brought one of her hands down to the front clasp of her bra, and as Angelo leered at her, she suddenly lashed out with a vicious kick.

  Tammy’s heel socked into Angelo’s crotch with a meaty thump. All her anger and fear was behind the blow and she felt the instant satisfaction as it landed heavily between his legs.

  For a moment Angelo froze, and then he slowly toppled sideways like a felled tree, his hands clutching low at his stomach, his face twisted into a rictus of agony.

  Tammy turned and ran.

  The darkened alley was a dead-end. Tammy knew her only chance of escape was to get past Angelo’s two minders. It was the only way out of the alley. She started to run, screaming as loudly as she could.

  “Help!” she shouted at the two dark shapes. She waved her arms and then doubled over. The men ran towards her and when she stood up again she had her heels in her hands.

  “It’s Angelo!” she said breathlessly, her eyes wide. “I think he’s been shot.”

  The two men looked at each other, their expressions stunned. On the ground, deeper into darkened alley, they could see Angelo writhing on the pavement.

  Tammy raced past the men. As she got nearer to the corner, the light from the city and the noise of passing traffic grew louder and more chaotic. A police car flashed past at high speed, and then she heard a woman’s chilling scream and a screech of brakes.

  Tammy ran out of the alley and turned left without thi
nking.

  Then froze.

  The world was on fire. The Laundromat and a Chinese restaurant on the corner were ablaze and there were scattered groups of terrified people running in all directions. Some were carrying suitcases. Others were carrying guns. Their faces were ghastly white and filled with manic horror. She saw one man swing a baseball bat at a car’s window, but the sound of the glass shattering was drowned out by the panicked screams of three women who were running straight towards her. Tammy’s stared in confusion and sudden panic. The frantic fear on the women’s faces, and the chilling sound of their shrieks above the clamor of wailing sirens and alarms was infectious. She felt herself overcome by an ominous sense of dread.

  Then, from a dark alley across the road, Tammy saw two blood-drenched figures emerge onto the sidewalk. They were big, bulky shapes, moving briskly towards her, lit by the bright orange glow of the burning buildings. Tammy screamed. A surge of panic filled her. One of the figures was naked. Tammy could see the man’s chest had been torn open. Its entrails hung in long twisted slimy ropes as it moved, and its face was a mask of dripping blood. It hissed at Tammy, and there was an enraged murderous frenzy in its eyes.

  She turned to run, but suddenly a figure crashed through the glass front of the Chinese restaurant. It was a man – and he was on fire. He lumbered across the sidewalk and onto the street, twisting and turning and squealing in a blazing pyre, like a human torch, until it seemed he could go no further and finally collapsed to his knees in the middle of the road.

  Horns blared. Tyres screeched. And then a dark colored SUV came hurtling past at high speed and crashed the burning man to the ground. Tammy screamed again. Headlights blinded her, and panicked voices shouted violent abuse. She turned to flee, jinking past a middle-aged man who was carrying a television set in his arms, then stepped out onto the road.

  And lost her footing.

  Tammy staggered – whirled round in terror – and fell directly into the path of a swerving, speeding car.