ZPOC: The Beginning Read online

  The zed was on him before he had a chance to realize, the hands gripping his shoulder, forcing him to the floor, as the dead man’s weight pressed him down.

  Taron reacted on instinct, pushing the dead man away from him, just as the hungry jaws snapped shut.

  The machete had fallen to the floor and was in the dirt beside him. Not that it mattered, because there was no chance Taron could hold the creature at bay with one arm, while he turned himself enough to grab the weapon and use it.

  Taron had to improvise.

  Breaking the tension in his arms, and rolling with his legs, Taron managed to move the creature off balance, freeing up his right arm to go on the attack.

  Balling his fist, Taron threw a punch into the man’s bloodied flank. The torn and tattered flesh offered little resistance, and Taron’s entire hand disappeared inside the creature. With his hands finding bone, Taron gripped the creature’s spine and pulled as hard as he could, yanking until he heard the snap of breaking bone, and the pop of the zed’s spinal discs rupturing.

  With a final heaving effort, Taron pulled the shard of spinal column free and drove it through the side of the zed’s head. Rolling away, Taron pushed himself to his feet grabbing the machete as he went.

  Three came, moving from different directions. Ready for them now, Taron swung the machete and took out the first two with ease. The third had a pronounced limp, which meant the blade embedded in the creature’s neck, traveling far enough to cause the head to loll to one side, but not enough to sever it completely from the body.

  Four more of the dead fell upon him, converging from all sides. The hands clawed at his flesh, tearing his clothes.

  Taron had expected his end to ultimately come at the hands of the dead, but he had not expected it to be so soon.

  It surprised him that he did not feel more fear. It was far from a calming experience, but there was no fear. The only thing Taron felt was deep-seated blood lust. He would take as many of them with him as he could.

  Raising his weapon, he drove it up under the chin of the nearest zed, watching it burst from the thing's skull in what was close to slow motion. Pulling it free, the creature fell away and another took its place. Turning, he elbowed one in the face as he pulled back his arm to strike again, the forward-moving thrust splitting a half-rotten woman’s face in two along the bridge of her nose. Her eyes crossed as the bloody blade skewered whatever was left of her brain.

  Taron’s arm burned from swinging, while the blade felt heavier and heavier each time he hefted it. With a war cry that was created within the deepest part of his soul, Taron raised the blade again. Half a dozen zeds surrounded him. Their stench alone was enough to make his body tremble in revulsion.

  Swinging the blade, he missed his target, and instead his tired strike saw the dulling blade sink into a dead woman’s shoulders. Her bones snapped with a dull whisper, much like a stick filled with rot. Taron lost his grip on the weapon as the zed stumbled backward, with the blade still embedded in its shoulder.

  Hands clawed at him, tearing his clothes, narrowly missing his skin. Yet there was only so far he could sink before it was over. Taron cried out but he knew nobody would hear him. He felt hands close around him, and as the world faded to black, all he could do was hope that it was not painful.

  ***

  “He’s been gone too long,” Henry said, whispering to Hector.

  “Then we know what it is like up there,” Hector replied coldly. He showed no emotion, talking about Taron as if he had never mattered.

  “You can’t be serious,” Vanessa said, injecting herself into the conversation, having heard every uttered word.

  Hector turned to look at her. “I’m deadly serious. We go up there and whatever is there will rip us to shreds.”

  The atmosphere of the underground bunker grew stifling as Vanessa and Hector stared each other down. Henry stood between them, trying to negotiate.

  “What about the tunnel?” he said, offering his sixth solution. Nobody said anything but both turned to look at him, which he regarded as a small breakthrough.

  “What are you talking about?” Hector asked, his interest piqued, even if his mind was still made up.

  “Why don’t we use the tunnel, circle around through the trees and come up on the camp from the rear. We know the best routes. We can get close without being seen and take it from there.”

  “You really want to risk your kid for the sake of Taron?” Hector asked. “Nobody gets left behind here, it would be too risky. So either we all go, or nobody goes.”

  Silence fell again, as both Henry and Vanessa gave serious thought to what Hector had said. Both looked over at James, who sat on his bed reading a comic. He looked so small and innocent, yet both knew that the time of innocence was long gone.

  “The world has changed. We can’t protect him forever,” Henry said, his resolve weak, but growing.

  Henry half expected Vanessa to object, and possibly scold him for even suggesting such a thing. It caught him by surprise when she nodded.

  Vanessa’s gaze lifted from the floor and found her husband watching her. Her head whirred with conflicting emotions, and the overwhelming instincts of a mother’s love, but she knew what had to be done. “We need to move quickly. We don’t know if Taron is alive, but if he is, then his time will be running out.”

  “You two are crazy. Sentimentality died back when the dead rose. It was the first thing they took from us.” Hector was as angry as they had ever seen him. His loud remonstrations had pulled James’ attention away from his comic and over to them.

  “What’s wrong? Is Taron okay?” he asked, looking at each of them in turn.

  Henry bent down toward his son so that they met at eye level. “We don’t know. That’s what we are talking about … and … well, um … you are old enough to have a say in things around here.”

  “Henry,” Hector said again, his words soft. “Are you sure you want to do this?” It was not often that the lawyer’s caring side came out, but when it did, his character changed so dramatically, it was as if he had been replaced by an entirely different person.

  Henry looked from his crouch and nodded. “We were talking about going to help Taron, but it would mean we all have to go. We don’t know what’s up there, but if we stay here we are only putting ourselves at risk. If somebody did capture Taron, it’s only a matter of time before they come for us.”

  James was quiet for a moment, his brow furrowed in concentration. “We need to save Taron.”

  The answer was resolute. The expression on the boy’s face said that he knew the risks and that he had given it due consideration.

  “Then we are signing our own death warrants,” Hector grumbled, giving an exasperated sigh.

  “We are already dead,” James said, his voice was tiny, yet the words rang like gunshots.

  “What?” Vanessa asked her son, shocked that such words could come from his mouth.

  “We are already dead. People die every day. Now there are monsters out there that want to eat us. People still die. If we can hide here and be eaten, then why not try to rescue Taron. Maybe together we can stay alive that little bit longer.”

  Vanessa dropped to her knees and pulled James into a great hug.

  “I love you,” she whispered into his ear.

  “I love you too, Mom,” James replied, wrapping his arms around his mother’s neck.

  “You’re smarter than I took you for, kid.” Hector looked down at James and gave a nod. It was a strange look, and one that James did not completely understand, but he felt good for having seen it.

  They wasted no time in gathering the weapons they needed. There was no need for packing anything of sentimental value, for they all realized that there were only one of two outcomes. They would survive the fight long enough to come back down and claim their possessions, or the ever-hungry dead would tear them limb from limb.

  “If we are going to do this, then we need to go all the way,” Hector said, as he g
rabbed the automatic rifles from their positions on the wall.

  Handing one to Henry, Hector kept one himself, before offering a serrated-edged machete to James. The youngster took it, almost dropping the blade as the weight of his new weapon caught him by surprise.

  Vanessa considered the small armory and chose a pair of Glock 17’s, tucking one into the waistband of her trousers.

  “We’re really doing this?” Hector asked as they stood at the entrance to the tunnel.

  “Yes, we are,” Henry answered, letting out a heavy sigh as he did. Turning to look at his family, he smiled. “Stay close to your mother and stay safe.”

  James looked up at his father, and while his eyes glistened, he did not shed any tears. A small nod was the only answer he could give, and the only one Henry needed.

  Opening the gate to the tunnel, they headed outside, unaware of what would be waiting for them.

  ***

  The woods were quiet. While there were plenty of signs pointing to the passage of the city-fleeing mob, there was no immediate sign of any lingering presence.

  Moving in a loop, circling back on themselves, the group headed back to their camp.

  The first zed caught them by surprise, its hand snatching out from the undergrowth to grab Henry by the ankle. Stumbling, he spun around still unsure what had grabbed him. With his weapon raised, Henry was ready to fire, but all he saw were the trees.

  The creature emerged from the trampled undergrowth, slithering on its belly like the serpent in the Garden of Eden. The disfigured thing, for it no longer bore any real resemblance to the human being it had once been, looked as if it had been spat from the very bowels of hell.

  Reaching forward with a single arm, the other nothing but a fetid stump that oozed thick, black blood, it reached up and clawed at the ground, dragging itself closer. Its face was swollen and bloated, the skin transformed into a white, dough-like substance. While its torso suddenly deflated at around the mid-chest level. The body, beaten and broken, had burst open at the seams, under the pressure of the herd that followed it. They could make out the footprint impressions left in its softened flesh, and the bloody tracks of the feet that joined the party later.

  Despite its injuries, the dead man moved on, dragging itself through the ground in search of a fresh meal. The lower half of its body was still whole, but the damage to the creature’s spine, which protruded from its body at all manner of angles, rendered the lower limbs useless anyway.

  Hector appeared beside Henry, and with his arm outstretched, gently lowered the firearm. “No need to draw attention,” Hector whispered as he moved in front of Henry.

  Striking quickly, Hector slid his knife through the zed’s head and let it drop back to the dirt.

  “Keep moving,” Hector whispered, his voice filled with urgency.

  “Dad,” James called, his voice raised with shock. He pointed to the floor at Henry’s feet.

  The outstretched hand which had grabbed Henry’s leg was still attached, along with the entire arm. Henry jumped, shaking his leg like a wild man, trying to detach the severed limb.

  “Hold still,” Hector said as he swung his boot at the limb, knocking it free and sending it sailing into the bushes.

  “Sorry,” Henry began to apologize, but there was no time. Movement in the trees told them that the fight was just beginning.

  Three zeds appeared, stumbling through the trees. Their bodies were wet with rot, while the middle figure’s belly was so distended it looked fit to burst without the slightest provocation.

  The two men moved to engage when three quick gunshots rang out. The heads of the three zeds exploded with a damp farting noise, like old balloons.

  Vanessa walked between the two men, her gun still raised and aimed at the zeds, who had fallen to the floor. She stood staring at them until the inflated man released a fart that saw his stomach fully deflate and release a gas into the air that was potent enough to kill any other creature in the nearby area.

  “Oh man, that was awesome.” James laughed at the fart.

  “We need to move, they will be coming for us,” Hector said, urging them to pick up the pace. “We need to get to the camp quickly. Anybody up there knows we’re here now, so no need for subtlety.”

  Their pace quickened as they moved through the trees. The woodland floor had been flattened by the sheer number of those that shambled through, driven from the city by the bombs that had been dropped.

  Blood and thick lumps of rotting flesh hung from branches and thorny stems, while the general stench of rot hung heavy in the air, fouling every breath they took. They didn’t talk. There was no need. Their focus was clear, and as they grew closer to the camp, the sounds of a struggle came clear.

  The camp yard was teeming with the dead. For some reason, they had chosen that spot to linger. A large crowd was gathered around the entrance to their shelter.

  “Look,” Hector finally spoke. He pointed at the crowd of zeds.

  “There’s too many of them,” Henry whispered.

  “That’s Taron,” Vanessa cried out, unable to control her emotions.

  The two men squinted, unsure what she had seen until the foot moved. A foot on the bottom of the pile kicked out, fighting back against the weight that was crushing it.

  “Move,” Hector called, raising his rifle.

  He let off a short burst, as he ran into the camp. Bullets peppered the flesh of the undead dog-pile, knocking the top layer away, but failing to keep them down.

  A few more turned away, their attention drawn by the new guests at the party. They were met with a second burst of gunfire. The strafed shots tore through undead flesh, taking three out with neat headshots, while the final rounds tore through the throats and torsos of the approaching undead. Knocked from their feet, they floundered, trying to get up, only to be put down by Henry, who, moving in for a close-range finish, could not miss. Especially when he placed his booted foot on their chests before pulling the trigger.

  While the men started to clear away the top layers of the pack, Vanessa ran and grabbed Taron’s foot, pulling on his leg with everything she had. The weight was immense, and even when James put his fears aside and ran to help his mother, they made little to no progress.

  “James, watch out,” Vanessa called, as one of the zeds closest to them turned from the pile to chase a less crowded meal.

  The thing’s jaw was broken on one side, and swung uselessly from the left joint. Thick blood dribbled from the gaping wound on the right side of its face, hanging down in long strands like a dog’s spit on a warm day. With a deep growl, it made a move, but James pulled the second Glock from his mother’s trousers and pulled the trigger.

  Firing three shots, the first went wide but somehow managed to take out the top of the skull of a smaller zed further back on the pile. The second shot tore open the zed’s throat, sending gouts of the same rancid-smelling black blood spilling down the former man's chest. The third tore open his head, splitting it from the nose up.

  The creature hit the floor, and as more and more of the undead turned to face the newcomers, the weight on Taron changed, and together, Vanessa and James managed to pull him free.

  Unconscious and covered with blood, they managed to haul him away from the pile, which collapsed inwards on itself, as the pillar of its construction, not to mention the main focus of those caught in it, was suddenly removed.

  Hector and Henry moved in, firing their guns with wild abandon. The dead were falling like flies, as blood, bone, and putrefied brain matter was spread over the ground like post-apocalyptic fertilizer.

  “Watch out,” Henry called as a pair of zeds came up on Vanessa from behind.

  Strong, cold arms wrapped around her, grabbed her and pulled her closer. Vanessa screamed, as her body froze. She dropped the gun and felt her legs go out from beneath her.

  James turned at the sound of his mom’s screams, but three more shambling figures emerged. Henry and Hector moved fast, each moving down one sid
e, trapping the dead between them. Henry fired the shot that obliterated the skull of the creature holding his wife, while Hector took care of the remaining two zeds.

  There were a few stragglers left in the camp, but they were easy pickings for the two men. When all was done, there were thirty-six bodies littered around the camp, and the stench of their bloated rot hung like a smog over what had once been a haven in the midst of hell.

  “Quick, let’s get him inside,” Hector panted. He was out of breath from the assault they had completed, and the adrenaline was already starting to ebb.

  “You take Taron, I’ll take Vanessa,” Henry said, scooping his wife up into his arm.

  Vanessa had fainted not long after she was splattered with zombie brains, but Henry caught her before she fell.

  “We need to clear a path first. The bastard corpses are blocking the door.” Hector kicked out at one of the bodies as he spoke. His foot disappeared into the rotten flank. “Fuck.”

  Hector shoved the bodies aside, throwing them with the same level of compassion one might expect from a baggage handler unloading cases from an airplane.

  Both Taron and Vanessa were still out of it as the three men entered the shelter; James doing so as a man now, for after the fight they had endured, he was no longer a child in numerous ways. He didn’t speak but placed the gun on the table and went to the kitchen to get a drink.

  Henry carried his wife to their bed and laid her down. It felt strange knowing that they were lying above the underground bunker. Even though he had always known, something about having been down there, trapped, made it all feel that little bit different.

  Taron started to stir as Hector carried him over the threshold and was soon sitting on a chair by the table. The quiet and calm, a stark comparison to the world they had just sealed themselves away from.

  For a while, there was nothing but silence in the shelter. Taron sat with his head in his hands, while James, Henry, and Hector all sat with the same blank expression. Their minds busy processing everything they had seen.

  Taron was the one who broke the silence when he finally started to weep.