Zombie Response Unit

By Matthew Smith

Chapter One: A Normal Day At Work

My job is probably not the most common job you'll hear about. In fact, I'll let you take a guess, as to what my job is.

Pause.

Alright. So, did you take a guess? No. I'm not an accountant. Not a salesman. No, not a cashier. Bounty hunter? NO. Plumber? Shit, you guys, I said NOT the most common job. No. I do not have any of those normal jobs. In fact, I work… for the government. Wow. It's more common then I thought possible.

You should ask yourself, before we continue here; what kind of work do I do for the government? The answer; I am part of a Zombie Response Unit. That's right. A what you ask? Ha-ha, well, you see, it started something like this.

A government experiment (which was a virus, that basically kills you, then brings you back to life as a flesh eating zombie) went terribly wrong, and some idiot let it get out, and now, the experiment has infected the general population. The government was able to keep the main city of Bakura quarantined for about six months, before it grew into a massive pandemic.

However, unlike all those other zombie stories out there, this one takes a different route. Instead of the whole world dying off, leaving only a few of us alive, at least 50% of the worlds population is still alive, and there are still cities that are flourishing. In the city I live in, called Forklift – Yes. You read that correctly – I am in charge of a security company called ZRU. You ever watch that TV show Flashpoint? It's sort of like the SRU on that show – Strategic Response Unit, except for in my case, it's the Zombie Response Unit. Our catch phrase? Ah, yes, like all companies have one.

Actually we do.

ZRU: Locate. Decapitate. Incinerate.

And our company logo? Come on. I'm not veering too far from the genre. It's a Biohazard Symbol.

My Company Hand Book: The Zombie Survival Guide. That's right. What else would be perfect for training the folks of my community? Huh? Yes, I receive some special training for the job, but they never gave us a manual, so I picked one out myself. Hehe. Now, you might wonder, how's a general job go down?

Well, usually, I'll patrol the streets. You think people look me up in the yellow pages when they see a stray zombie scuffling through the streets? Na. But don't worry. The number is in there. Hehe. Yeah, I patrol the streets of my lovely city of Forklift, in my tricked out Ford Mustang Fastback. That's right ladies and gentlemen. I have heavy duty grill plates and armor build onto this badass. Most of the time, though, I don't need to run down anyone.

Just the next door neighbor's pesky brats when they walk their dog in my yard.

I drove the Fastback around the corner, and pulled up to the stop light. I looked left. Clear. Looked right. The idiot just stumbled into the cross walk. I sighed and stuck my head out the window. "Frank, move your lazy ass!" I shouted.

Frank looked up, and I grumbled something about him being a stupid fuck for being out at this hour. It was 2 in them morning. The fool had work early tomorrow. I got out of the car, and walked around in front of him. "Alright. Turn around, Frank."

Frank stopped suddenly. He was looking down at the ground. "Well, now. Frank. Look at me, or I'm going to have to report another one to the mayor."

Frank looked up, his left cheek fell off completely. I rolled my eyes. "God damn it, Frank!"

Let's pause for just a moment. Remember the catch-phrase? Located, decapitate, incinerate. This, is the locate part.

Frank hissed, and scuffed toward me. I reached down with my right hand and drew my 9mm Beretta pistol from my thigh and aimed it at Frank's head. Without a second thought, I pulled the trigger.

I heard a hissed behind me, and turned in one swift motion, and fired another shot, killing the zombie who'd taken Frank's life to begin with. They both fell at the same time. I looked down and shook my head, in annoyance. I walked over to my trunk, and opened it. I reached in, and removed a machete.

I'm sure you've guessed what this part is; decapitate. Right! When would the people of the city learn?

I opened the trunk of the fastback and looked down at the bodies. It was gross. I pulled them out, one by one, and tossed them onto a pile of coal. Staring down at the pile of waste, I took out a box of matches, and a can of gasoline. I tossed the can onto the pile, and took a match. With one quick strike against the box, the match lit up with a flame. I tossed it onto the pile, which caught fire quickly.

Yeah. The final part. Incinerate. The only way to destroy the virus completely, was with fire. Destroy it all. I turned and got back in the car. The drive home from the incinerator was long, if you took your time. But in my world, you never took your time.

I pulled the car into the large garage, and close the metal gates, and then the shutters, and then the actual garage door with a single button in the car. I got out, and walked over to the control panel next to the door that led into the kitchen of the house.

I entered a code of 11277 and outside, around the entire parameter, motion sensors popped out, just an inch above of the ground. Security cams covered every door around the entire building. Nothing was going to get in. Ever. I went up stairs, and entered the bedroom. I stood in the doorway, and looked around at the picture on the bedside table. I walked over and sat down, and picked up the picture of the beautiful woman in it.

I sighed and touched the face with my thumb, before setting it back down and laying down on the bed. I opened the small computer on my wrist and hit a key, which locked all the doors in the house. I hit another key, and the lights went out.