The traffic was worse than it had been earlier that night, and the city was still in a panic. Michael resisted the temptation to turn the radio on, knowing that hearing whatever was causing these people to panic wasn't going to help him. Looking around at the increasing carnage on the sidewalks and streets of Los Santos, he thought it might have been safer for the people to stay in their homes instead of get stuck in what might be the last traffic jam of their lives. He took as many back roads as possible on his way to Lester's house. It was already 4:30am, and the old cliché of "it's always darkest before the dawn" came to Michael's mind as he pulled up in front of the green house surrounded by a weak chain link fence. The saying didn't seem to make any sense at the moment, and he already felt himself trying to struggle with the reality of the situation. For some reason, Michael was convinced that if he heard Lester give him the lowdown, just like the old days, he'd be able to accept it much easier. Denial was always something Michael was incredibly good at.
Shutting off the ignition and clutching his car keys in his hand, Michael stepped out of the black vehicle and hopped up the stairs to Lester's front door. The neighborhood was surprisingly quiet, considering the chaos that was breaking out all around the short, unassuming houses. Just as Michael raised his hand to knock on the door to make sure something human and alive was inside, he heard Lester's voice muffled through the door. "Come in, Michael."
Michael dropped his hand to the doorknob and turned it, opening the door and stepping into the familiar surroundings of Lester's cluttered home. Taking extra precaution, Michael locked the door behind him.
"There's a box on that shelf over there, could you get that one and bring it over here?" Lester never was one to beat around the bush, which was a relief to Michael in most situations. He didn't take it personally that Lester tended to skip out on all the small chat and "how do you do's" before cutting right to the chase. Looking around at all the shelves surrounding him, Michael poked his head further into the house and located Lester sitting on his bed, with his cane leaning up against yet another shelving unit, amongst the many others in his house.
"'That shelf'?" Michael asked, standing in front of the portly man. "Could you please specify which one 'that one' is?"
"Right there, Michael. You're literally standing right beside it. There's a box marked 'Zombie Outbreak'. It's brown and box-shaped, made out of cardboard. Specific enough for you?"
"Alright, alright!" Michael huffed impatiently. While Lester wasn't one to bore you with small chat, he was extremely prone to degrading behavior. He hauled the box off of the shelf; it was surprisingly heavy. "You've got a whole box about this, really? Jesus, it's like you knew it was coming." He commented, setting the box down at Lester's feet.
"Of course I knew it was coming, it was inevitable." Lester murmured as he opened the box and started rifling through the papers at the top. "Good, good, everything's here."
"Great, mind if you tell me what the fuck is going on now?"
"Sit down." Lester offered, motioning to a chair across from his bed. Michael did as he was told, and Lester took a breath before pushing his glasses further up the bridge of his nose. "We're into apocalyptic-level stuff here, Michael. Although it's a completely ridiculous notion to look towards film for our answers like you seem to love to do so much…" Lester ignored Michael's scoff of defiance. "…if my theories are correct, a lot of information from 'zombie apocalypse' films seem to hit pretty close to the target."
"What does that mean?"
"I'm getting there." Lester reached into the box and pulled out an MRI scan of a human brain. "Most zombie films portray these undead people as shambling, lifeless creatures, devoid of any personality or memory of who they were as a fully functioning human. This," He pointed at the MRI. "Is a human brain."
"I can see that, thank you." Michael was beginning to regret his choice of allowing Lester to explain anything to him, knowing he was probably so excited for the slim chance of being right about the zombie apocalypse, that he was likely near pissing himself. The condescending behavior just came with it.
"As you probably know, each section of the human brain serves its purpose for how we think, act and react to everything. Our motor control, our memories, our sense of self. If you were to damage as many parts of the human brain as you could without killing someone, they'd be unrecognizable as the person you once knew them to be. What I believe is happening to dear old Los Santos, is a rare infection that has essentially a million to one chance of coming into existence. With the right mixture of chemical imbalance, immune system and pre-existing medical conditions, this could occur. However, once it has come into existence, it is extremely contagious. No amount of surgical masks or paranoid germaphobe tricks is going to help you avoid the terrible outcome."
"So are you saying it's just some sort of cold or something?" Michael asked, leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms.
"No, Michael. Infection. It's an infection. An infection that feeds on the brain tissue until it becomes strong enough to take over parts of the brain completely, shutting them down. It spreads from there, eating nearly every part of a person that can be described as 'alive', until they become that shambling, lifeless creature in all your movies. I suppose the best description of it is a zombie, but I don't find it entirely accurate." Lester dropped the MRI scan back into the box and took a deep breath. "Have you seen any of them?"
"The zombies? Oh yeah, there are guys eating each other's guts out all over the streets. My fucking neighbor broke into my house and tried to eat me. But now that I know this is just some rare infection, I feel so much better."
"Your sarcasm isn't going to help anything right now. All you need is a plan, a well-executed… zombie plan."
"A zombie plan."
"Yes."
"This is fucking immature, you sound just like Jimmy!" Michael said, standing up and pacing around, his anger boiling up to a point where his face could turn red any second. "My fucking zombie plan is to find my daughter, and then kill all of these fuckers. How's that for a zombie plan? Jesus, Lester!"
"Okay, calm down." Lester grabbed his cane and stood up, pushing the box aside with the end of his cane. "There are a few important things that you need to know before you do anything. And I might have a few favors to ask of you later." Seeing that Michael was opening his mouth to protest the favors angrily, Lester waved his hand. "But don't worry about that right now. First – most importantly. Do not get bitten, no matter what you do. I know for a fact it will spread the infection faster. I don't know exactly how it works otherwise, if it's an airborne disease or if some people are immune – I'm going to try and find out. Just don't get bitten. Secondly, the only way you can kill these guys is…" Lester raised two fingers to his temple and weakly simulated a gunshot. "Trauma to the brain. It's got to be enough to put the guy out of commission. If there's no damage to the brain, the thing is still alive. Finally, do not make rash decisions. If you're running around out there, waving a gun and shooting everything that moves, you're going to attract a lot of undue attention. The infected, cops… it'll create drama that you don't need right now."
"Right." Michael replied, calming down, realizing the truth of Lester's words, and had he not gotten the warning from the bespectacled man, he might not have thought of it. "Any ideas on where I could find Tracey, then? I'm not doing anything, no zombie plan, nothing – not until I find her."
"Where's the last place you knew she was?"
"Amanda said she was supposed to have taken a cab home."
"Alright. You go look for her. Quietly. Carefully. I will contact the cab company and see if I can get a number on the cab that might have driven her." Lester hobbled over to his computer and sat down in the chair, going straight to typing feverishly on the keyboard. "Keep safe, Michael. Contact me when you find your daughter, and we can decide on the next step we have to take."
"Okay. See you, Lester. Don't get eaten, you're an easy and desirable target." Michael said, opening Lester's front door.
"I know." Lester replied with a sadistic grin, as though Michael had paid him a compliment.
Back on Lester's doorstep, Michael took a moment to listen. It seemed loud and quiet at the same time. There was the unmistakable sound of tires on pavement, engines running, and horns honking. The loud wailing of sirens and garbled instructions being shouted out by police through speakers. But something seemed so vast that all of it sounded quiet compared to some sort of stirring feeling of imminent death. Michael knew he was on a strict schedule to find Tracey soon.
Michael kept up with his new habit of keeping the radio off while he drove down the roads, searching for any sign of his daughter. He rolled past grey, rotting people shambling aimlessly on the streets, with a few of them even going right up to cars and banging on the windows. He made sure to keep rolling no matter what, not wanting one of those guys to come up and break the window out of his car. As Michael drove further away from the highways and main roads, it got quieter, and darker, fewer streetlamps lighting the way, with all the shops locked up and houses with lights off, abandoned. He rolled down his window and risked making noise, just in case Tracey could hear him.
"Tracey?" He shouted out the window, keeping his headlights on low and squinting out onto the sidewalks, trying to make out any figures that might be living people. "Tracey, where are you?"
A faint shouting caught Michael's attention, and he stopped the car and turned off the ignition to hear it better.
"Help! Help!" It was a man's voice, and it sounded like it was coming from inside a building. Just across the street was a 24/7 store with the lights on, and Michael bet the voice was coming from inside that store. Following his gut feeling, Michael hopped out of the car, grabbing his pistol from the glove box and running inside the store with his gun up, ready for anything.
When Michael got inside, he saw the storeowner behind the counter, surrounded by three zombies that were advancing towards him slowly. He was equipped with nothing but a broken broom handle, but judging from the blood on the splintered, pointed end, he had made good use of it already.
"Please don't tell me you're here to rob me," The store owner grieved in a thick Indonesian accent, his voice shaken and panicked as he flicked his eyes from the zombies to Michael.
"I wasn't going to, but if you're just going to assume…" Michael said, not even trying to hide the annoyance in his voice.
"Please, just help me!"
"Fine, but only because you asked nicely!" Michael replied, aiming carefully for the zombie's heads and putting bullets into one… two… three skulls. The zombies fell to the floor instantly, and blood leaked all over the already dirty floor. Michael winced, mostly at the strong smell of rotting flesh. "…you might want to go back in there with the broom."
"Thank you, how can I repay you?" The store owner lowered his broom, appreciation filling his dark, wrinkled eyes.
"Ah… this is probably a long shot, but did you happen to see a blonde, early twenties, whiny…?" Michael asked, studying the owner for a reaction, and feeling his heart rate skyrocket when he saw recognition in the man's eyes.
"Yes! Yes I have!" The owner rushed to the back of the store, opening a door that led to some stairs, undoubtedly to an apartment on top of the store. "Kimberly! It's safe to come down now!"
"I'm never coming back down! I don't know what's going on, but it's terrifying!" A rather high-pitched voice, easily described as being whiny, was the voice that responded.
"Nevermind." Michael said, feeling incredibly dejected. It couldn't have been that easy to find Tracey, after all – nothing in his life could be easy.
"Ah, have you lost your mistress? I will keep an eye out, sir." The man replied jovially, feeling much better now that he knew he wasn't going to be robbed or killed.
"My daughter, you sicko." He said, debating throttling the guy right here and now, but instead waving his hand dismissively as he left the store, ignoring the apologies from the store owner. Michael returned to his car and turned the key in the ignition, muttering to himself. "I regret even saving you. Idiot."
Michael's search for his missing daughter continued for another twenty minutes with no luck. He only managed to get into the more worse-for-wear part of town, and it was too quiet for him to feel comfortable. He dearly hoped he wouldn't find Tracey here of all places, because it probably meant she was in more danger than he thought. Zombies? They were bad. Gang zombies? Hopefully they were too dumb to know how to use guns. Driving slowly through the trashy-looking neighborhood, just a bit worse-off than Lester's neighborhood, and Michael's slow cruising speed quickly became complete vehicular cessation. "What the-" Michael slammed his foot down on the gas pedal a few times with no response. "Oh, great. Perfect." Michael's eyes were fixed on his fuel gauge, which stubbornly told him that it was empty. Once again, Michael retrieved the pistol he had been carrying with him, and left the car, taking his keys and locking the door. He'd be coming back if he could find more gas. He regretted not bringing a flashlight with him at this point – everything was pitch black, even if it would just be a couple more hours until sunrise at this point. With the way Lester was talking, he wouldn't be able to survive a couple of hours if anything unexpected should happen.
Deciding to move forward in silence, Michael held his pistol in front of him as he stepped slowly, trying to adjust his eyes to the dark. The rusted streetlamps held a dim light, but there were some that flickered, and from the sudden sound of crunching glass, Michael assumed there was a couple that were shot out. In the faded light, he was able to confirm that he was actually in a cul-de-sac. He looked around at the houses carefully, trying to check for any sign of people in the area.
"Yo, friend or foe?" The sudden voice gave Michael a bit of a start, and he instantly turned towards the sound of it, pointing his pistol at an indiscernible figure on the porch of one of the houses, who was also holding a gun, pointed at Michael. The figure might have been indiscernible, but the voice didn't leave much room for doubt.
"Franklin?" Michael called back.
"Michael? Is that you, dog?" Michael could see Franklin lowering his gun, and he did the same. He jogged up to the porch where Franklin stood, and pat the young man on the shoulder.
"Franklin, am I ever glad to see you alive and well." Michael said, feeling a buzz in his pocket. "Hold on a sec," He pulled his cell phone out of his pocket and saw that he had a text from Lester.
"Yeah… what is all this, anyway? Shit's crazy," Franklin seemed exasperated. "It's all over the radio and TV that we gotta evacuate the city."
Michael nodded, not paying much attention as he read the text from Lester. Michael – found the taxi driver that had Tracey. Said they were attacked and he lost her. He couldn't remember where it happened. I guess the rest is up to you – he said Tracey wasn't injured, as far as he knew. Michael quickly texted Lester back while Franklin kept an eye out, expecting a member of the undead to pop up any second. Lester, found Franklin. Car's out of gas. Give you an update later.
"Daddy?" Michael shoved his phone back in his pocket and looked up at the screen door to see Tracey standing behind it. She pushed the door open and ran over to Michael, hugging him. "I was so scared! Is mom okay? Are you okay? What's happening?"
"It's okay, Trace. Everybody's fine. I'm so glad you're okay." Michael held his daughter close to him, stroking her hair a few times and giving her a kiss on the head before it clicked with him where she was. He gave an accusatory glance at Franklin, who looked back defensively. "Let's go inside. C'mon." Michael led the other two inside the house and he stopped in the living room area, which had a couple crappy couches. "Whose house is this, anyway?"
"My cousins lived here," Franklin replied with a shrug.
"Alright, so you wanna tell me why you're here alone with Tracey?" Michael's words quickly engaged a response in both his daughter and Franklin.
"Daddy!" Tracey hissed, clearly embarrassed and angered.
"Shit dog, it ain't like that!" Franklin waved his hands, and shook his head. "I just found her, she said she was tryin' to take a cab back home when they were attacked and the driver ran off. I told her I'd watch out for her and take her back home."
"Fine. We'll talk about this later." Michael accepted the explanation for now, but he still shot one more accusatory glance at Franklin, causing Tracey to huff and roll her eyes.
"So do you have any clue on what's goin' on then, man?" Franklin asked, sitting down on one of the couches. Tracey situated herself on the coffee table and Michael sat on the couch as well.
"Lester said it's an infection. Something happens to people's brains, and it… eats them alive, or something."
"Kinda like everyone is doing to each other." Tracey responded, with a disgusted expression on her face.
"Yeah. Kinda like that." Michael nodded.
"So now everyone's going crazy and tryin' to get out of the city, huh?" Franklin said, leaning forward, and putting his gun down on the coffee table. "If it really spreads as fast as it has been these past couple'a hours, no other city is gonna be much safer."
"My thoughts exactly." Michael said, using his forefinger and thumb to rub his chin thoughtfully. "Lester says we need to formulate some kind of plan. The way things are sounding; the military are running some evacuations out of the city. From some kind of meeting point or something?"
"Yeah, man, they're asking everyone to go over to Legion Square, they're doing some airlifts out of the city, and some evacuations with armored vehicles." Franklin explained. "It's all over the radio, they keep sending out instructions for everyone."
"Have they said anything about where they're headed?"
"Nah, they just keep saying they're going 'somewhere safe'."
"That doesn't sound very promising." Michael grimaced, looking over at Tracey, who looked like she was trying very hard not to appear as though she was terrified.
"So what do we do?" She asked, her voice as high pitched as it always was when she was scared.
"First, we should get back home. Franklin, you should come with us, I don't want to lose track of you. We've probably got more chance of surviving together." Michael said, reaching into his pocket and feeling his keys jingle. "Ah, shit. My car's empty."
"There's ditched cars all over the road, we could find somethin'." Franklin suggested.
"Yeah, we could look for something else. I don't really want to leave it here, but I guess we have no other choice." Michael stood up.
"What, you mean now?" Franklin asked.
"Yeah. Amanda and Jimmy are at home alone, and I gave Jimmy a fucking gun, so we'd better get back ASAP."
"You gave Jimmy a gun?!" Tracey squealed – that was the whiny voice that Michael had been looking for this past hour or so.
"Everyone makes mistakes, Trace. Let's go."
Franklin led the way out of the cul-de-sac, with Tracey close behind and Michael following up the rear. It didn't take Franklin long to find one of those abandoned cars that he spoke of, and he hotwired the old car with no trouble, motioning for the other two to climb in, and he took off towards Michael's house. The sky was already starting to get a bit lighter, but the mood definitely wasn't.
"If the infection is spreading so fast, shouldn't there be like, a ton of zombies somewhere?" Tracey managed to ask the question that Franklin and Michael were both silently wondering to themselves. The answer was bound to cause trouble.
Hey guys, sorry it took so long to get this chapter up!
But let me say, reviews would be highly appreciated. Let me know what you like, give me some constructive criticism, am I moving too fast, or not fast enough? Just say hi! Either way, thank you for reading!
