Chapter 3: Bad to Worse

(LINDA)

Linda was blissfully ignorant of the world crisis at the moment.

She was heading home tonight, instead of her dorm at the college. It was the weekend and she was ready to relax. It had been a rough week. Zoey had finally gotten kicked out of the college for ignoring her school work, she had insisted to Linda that she felt the inexplicable need to research everything zombie. Linda had seen this coming for a while, but Zoey, just like a normal teenager, denied the inevitable.

Zoey had gone home to live with her parents, who lived in the same apartment complex as Linda and her vacationing parents, who were furious when they learned what happened to Zoey's education, but quickly more important matters were on hand. Zoey's father had fallen ill just before Zoey's expulsion. Zoey had gone out to the pharmacy, but Linda had no knowledge of this. She was coming over to visit Zoey, since Linda had promised she would hang out with her friend on weekends so they would still see each other.

Linda was a typical college girl. She was about 5'7'' with a smooth face, large brown eyes, and flowing, back-length auburn hair. Linda wasn't very conceited, but she was prideful of her ample-sized chest. She was wearing her favorite outfit: A dark purple sweater over her jet black Metalhead t-shirt. She had on black cargo pants, which covered her long, toned legs entirely, and her favorite combat boots.

The entire apartment complex had been empty. That's weird, thought Linda, where is everyone? Some doors were ajar as she walked down the halls in the complex. Finally she arrived at the hall containing her and Zoey's apartments. As she arrived at Zoey's apartment, she heard noises inside. She knocked on the door and didn't get an answer. Linda had always been welcome in Zoey's house, as if she were Zoey's sister in all but blood, so she ignored the silence and went inside. "Hello? It's Linda, anyone here?" she asked, as she opened the door.

It was one of the most horrific things Linda would ever witness.

Zoey's father was on top of a severely bloodied body. He was doing whatever he could to harm the dead person, punching, kicking, biting, and spitting. Linda took a good look at the mauled woman? The gender was unidentifiable, but there was only two people in the house it could be, Zoey or… "Oh, God." Linda whispered.

It was Zoey's mother. Then the Infected that had been Zoey's father, turned and set its sights on Linda.

She screamed.

(LOUIS)

Louis was having his usual day at work. By usual, he meant boring as hell. He had been the only employee at Check's for the last week. All of his co-workers had called in sick, ALL of them. Louis couldn't believe his bad luck. First, he had stopped himself from advancing on Zoey, figuring she was out of his league, then his week alone on the job. Next stop, getting shot on my way home, thought Louis drearily.

Before he could continue with his depressed train of thought, there was a loud BANG on the door. Louis jumped and turned to investigate the sound, and saw a man who had apparently never used a pull door, as he was banging on the door with his fists. Some sixth sense told Louis this man would not be the number one candidate to open the door for. There was something wrong with the man. After a minute or so of banging while glaring at Louis with eyes full of venom, he turned and sprinted away, as if called by some unknown force.

Then, the phone rang.

The shrill noise made Louis jump for the second time that day, but he regained his wits. He quickly checked the caller I.D. and saw it was a 1-800-XXX-XXXX number. This usually meant telemarketer, and Louis wanted nothing to do with them, so he ignored the phone.

That was the worst choice he could have made.

As if by magic, twenty of the crazed people began banging on the door to Check's, desperately trying to get in. Louis had known the door could stand up to one person hitting it, but he wasn't so sure about twenty. He quickly pressed the silent alarm button under his counter that would alert authorities in the event of an emergency. Little did he know, this was a useless, if practical, action, as the police had been overrun minutes earlier.

No help would come.

Then, he did something not so practical. Under the panic button was a shelf. On that shelf lay Louis' second line of defense. He had never been a gun nut, but always believed in personal protection. After his first day on the job, Louis had gone to a gun shop and purchased a handgun, a M1911 to be exact. The thing kicked hard, but it was a big gun for its classification as a pistol, and if someone tried to rob Check's, Louis would only have to fire once. After Zoey had come last week though, the bad feeling Louis had gotten persisted. On an instinct, Louis went to a gun store. He tried out the Beretta 92FS and the MP5 but hadn't liked either of them. What had caught his eye was the Israeli made Uzi. It was small, and fired the same round as his M1911, a .45 ACP, and the standard 9mm as well. That made it versatile in terms of ammunition, and had a decent rate of fire. He had felt comfortable with the Uzi on the range, where he had also tried the other two guns, and decided this was the gun. It cost him a pretty penny, but Louis had a feeling he would need the Uzi.

It was worth an arm and a leg when the Infected broke in.

Louis aimed down the sight of his Uzi, putting the center of the horde in the circle of the ironsight, and the particular zombie he aimed at in the center of the three prongs at the end. After careful sighting, which took all of a second, Louis opened fire. He fired off most of his fifty-round magazine, as all of the Infected dropped to the floor, dead. Louis took a breather. He ejected the mag and counted the bullets left. 17, he finished, just enough for another group.

(ZOEY)

Zoey was leaving the pharmacy after purchasing some medication for fever from the grumbly register clerk. Her father had developed one after his illness had really hit him, and he occasionally complained of itching and hunger. Maybe Zoey had watched too many zombie movies lately, but the symptoms he displayed suggested he was turning into one. Zoey chuckled at the thought. Her father, a zombie, how ridiculous.

That was when she saw the mob attacking the helpless person trapped in a car. Thankfully, they hadn't reached the inside yet, but the person inside was frantically calling for help. Zoey ran back inside the pharmacy and grabbed the phone on the clerk's register, dialing 911. "Hey! What do you think you're doing?" demanded the clerk. She ignored him. The line was busy. 911, the emergency line, was busy. What is going on in this city? thought Zoey. She noticed the mob finally got into the car and start mauling the person inside to death. Ouch, Zoey cringed, that's a bad way to go. Why are they all so angry at that person anyway? There was nothing she could do for the person, so she started to wonder what her next course of action should be. She had a BAD feeling about going home, so she did the next best thing, start on a list of checking on people she knew. She included Louis without realizing it. Louis was the closest, so she decided to go to Check's first and see if he was still there.

(LOUIS)

Louis was thankful they had that stockpile of ammunition in the back. Check's had had a contest last year, to see who could collect the most ammunition on the birthday of the NRA. Louis didn't remember who won, but it sure was useful to have all that ammunition now, when things went to Hell. Several more mobs of the crazed people had come, whom Louis knew were zombies by now, as they had all wandered in with several mortal wounds, yet still able to run right at him, murder in their eyes. Not that they got close enough, though not for lack of trying. He was about to go collect some more ammo from the back when the glass from the broken doors crackled again.

Louis turned around, Uzi at the ready, finger on the trigger, tensing as he turned.

Click.

The worst sound Louis could hear right now, he went frantic, charging at the zombie that had wandered in, ready to kill it. Except, it wasn't a zombie.

It was Zoey.

(ZOEY)

She was staring at the hardware store entrance open-mouthed, oblivious to the fact he almost killed her. She was now terrified of Louis, she hadn't thought he had gone off the deep end, he had seemed nice enough a week ago. Certainly not the man to murder, she took a quick count in her head… fifty people, at least, that walked into his store. She decided to try and calm him before he killed her too. "Hiya, Louis." She said.

(LOUIS)

He noticed her voice was shaking, and she was trying not to make any sudden movements. He took a look at his surroundings, and then behind him, scared she saw something behind him. Then the realization hit him, she wasn't scared of something around him, she was scared of him. He took a quick count of the zombies at her feet. Jesus, she must think I'm a deranged maniac, he thought. "Hey, Zoey. Sorry I couldn't keep the place clean, a zombie apocalypse kinda makes that pretty hard." He tried the humor approach.

(ZOEY)

Zoey gaped at him in disbelief. He had implied that the dead people at her feet were zombies? "Do you think I'm that much of – Oh, god." She had gotten a good glimpse at one of the faces on the bodies. Its eyes were wide open, revealing pure white orbs that glistened in the light. The mouth was bloodstained. Now that Zoey looked closer, almost all of the bodies were bloodstained, most of them on the mouth, and even more on the body. The unifying factor was they were all gray-skinned, which meant they were dead. She had heard the gunfire though. There was no way for all the blood to coagulate that quickly. Oh my god, Zoey face-faulted, he's telling the truth. It all made sense, the bloody bodies, the skin, the "riots" on the news, her father's—"OH GOD! NO!" she shouted, suddenly frantic.

Louis gaped at her sudden start. "What is it, Zoey?" he asked with genuine concern. It would have touched her had she not been so hyped up on adrenaline all of the sudden. "I think my father's been Infected. He's probably a zombie by now." Louis stared at her, shocked at the revelation. The silence in the room was deafening. Louis had nothing to say, nothing he could say to that, except "I'm sorry, Zoey" knowing it wouldn't be good enough. She would have broken down in tears had she not heard the Infected shouts coming toward the store as Louis looked wide-eyed at the door to the store. They must have heard Zoey's shout. Zoey saw Louis look at her and gesture her over, handing her a handgun as she vaulted over the counter. Zoey hadn't been to the range in ages, but her pure undiluted fury at the zombies had made her accuracy perfect. The adrenaline coursing through her made her old habits from the range come back, as though it were riding a bicycle. The Infected didn't make it within two feet from the doors, despite the range they were at, at least 15 feet, from the counter to the door's threshold. Zoey saw Louis gape at her in her peripheral vision. She smirked through her grief, a small moment of pride at her shooting prowess.

When the last Infected fell, Zoey was out of ammo. She finally broke down, and cried on Louis' shoulder as he sat there comforting her. As Zoey sobbed, not a single Infected came. They finally had some downtime.

After the last of Zoey's tears vanished she stood with a new resolve. She calmly asked Louis where she could get more ammo. He took her to the back and showed her the stockpile. She actually gawked at the huge pile for a second, before reaching in and taking out three cases of fifty .45 ACP rounds, which Louis had told her was used for that pistol. Louis grabbed three of the same cases, and three more cases of a hundred 9mm rounds. This way, either he or Zoey had a hundred and fifty rounds of ammo, or Zoey had three hundred, if she took all of Louis' ACP. Even if this happened, Louis still had three hundred of the 9mm for backup. It was enough for the zombies they would encounter.

"Let's get going, I need to go see if my friend Linda is at the apartments we live at." Zoey said, leaving out that was where her parents had lived too. Now with a purpose, the two headed out towards the apartments, into the burning city that had become Hell.

(LINDA)

Linda stared at what she had done to Zoey's father. He had chased her out of the door, trying to hit her all the way, when she had shut it in his face. Well, not quite in his face, as his head had become stuck in-between the door and the wall. Linda was so afraid of the man, she just smashed the door shut, over and over, until the man was no longer moving, his "head" a bloody pulp. As if a metaphor for his death, the lights in the building and on the street went out.

The city lost power the moment the Infected that was Zoey's father died.

Linda had vomited all over the floor after the incident, as murdering your best friend's father was a very scarring occurrence in one's life. It had been too much, especially the method of his demise, and Linda had gotten sick.

She had turned to go down the hallway, and leave the building, and any reminder of her crime, when a door on the wall burst open.

(CHICO)

There had been reports of riots all over the city. When the base officers called for an emergency meeting in the Mess Hall, everyone on base showed up, punctually right on time. The Mess Hall had been very crowded as the base was a big place, but everyone was silent as they listened to the captain give an announcement. "Ladies and Gentlemen, today we need volunteers to help the city's finest control these riots." Immediately, it was as if someone stirred a hornet's nest, every single soldier in the base, almost 3/4s of the population, volunteered with a loud "YES, SIR!". The captain quickly corrected himself, "Every single soldier above or at the sergeant rank, is requested." This cut the volunteer population in half, but everyone who still could volunteer, did so.

Chico was among them. He had been assigned to a group of six soldiers that would "take a tour" of the college district of town. There were three teams going to that section of the city, so they would have backup if they needed it. Chico didn't see the need for all these precautions in a riot-infested city. Surely one battalion of riot cops could handle a riot in one place, and then move on. People were also scared shitless of soldiers, and took orders from them, usually without question. This is gonna take an hour, at most, thought Chico.

He probably would have been right on the money, ahora a el dinero, as his father would say, if it were anything other than a full-scale zombie apocalypse.

As soon as they had arrived in the district though, everything went up shit creek.

There was a mob of at least twenty, if not more, rioters in the middle of the road. Three of the squad moved forward to see if this could be dealt with nonviolently. "All right, you goddamned bastards, get on the fuckin' ground right now before I rip you a new one," ordered the front soldier in the squad. As one, the whole horde turned to look at the soldier. He smiled smugly, "Did you not hear me the first time, maggots? Get on the fucking ground." He raised the M4. He never did anything again, nor would his comrades, as they were beaten senseless by the mob that had bumrushed them as the front soldier finished his snide remark.

Chico was still trying to comprehend what had happened in the second it took for the group to overwhelm his fellow soldiers. The two that had been next to Chico had charged forward, M4 carbine assault rifles blazing on full automatic, trying to rescue their wounded comrades before they too, were swallowed up by the horde of rioters.

Then, they turned to Chico.

He quickly did a head count, there were ten left after the volley of automatic fire, but that was too many for one man to handle. He turned his head, scanning his surroundings frantically, when he spotted an empty (abandoned, his mind corrected) apartment complex. He headed for the door, and slammed it shut on the Infected following him. Thankfully the door was made out of reinforced steel, so nothing would be getting in that way anytime soon. He locked it just in case.

He moved through the building tactically, watching for any more rioters. He stopped at walks and gave a fleeting glace around it, seeing it was clear, and repeating the process at any other corners he came across. He made it to the second floor without incident, when the power went out. Ay, Dios, thought Chico, thank him I brought my "flashlight". By flashlight, he meant his rail-mounted light that attached to his M4 carbine. He switched it on, and saw he was in front of a door. Remembering all that had occurred, he decided he better make sure nothing unfriendly was waiting on the other side. He put his hand on the knob, braced his foot against the door, and then turned the knob and kicked the door open in the same motion, the door banging against the wall of the floor he entered in.

At the same moment the door hit the wall, there was a shrill, feminine scream.

(LINDA)

With Linda as edgy as she was, the door banging against the wall sounded like a bomb going off. She tensed herself, the fight or flight response triggering in her brain. As the tension began to kill her, a handsome, Hispanic soldier walked through the door, rifle at the ready.

Then, he pointed it at her, his finger on the trigger.

Her mind filled in the blanks, and she raised her hands, open wide. "Wait! Don't shoot! I'm not a crazy person!" His face was still taut. "Have you been bitten, or hit by a "persona loca?" he asked, his voice commanding. She squeaked timidly. No one had ever spoken so forcefully in her presence, certainly not directed at her. "No, sir, I haven't." she replied, still afraid the soldier was going to kill her.

His body language relaxed and he aimed the rifle at the ground. He walked over to her, an apologetic look on his face. "Lo siento, chica. I just had to check, ya know? The rioters are dead people getting back up, los hombres muertos, or what you would call 'zombies'." Linda stared back at him, in shock. "You mean to tell me all these insane people are zombies?!" she asked almost frantic. This can't be happening, she thought, it just can't. The look on his face when he replied only confirmed her fears.

"Si, Señora," he replied, his expression grave "they are zombies."