Part two: Hell unleashed
On the other side of town…
"Shit! Holy Christ!" Exclaimed Sam, as he swerved out of the way to avoid three cars which had just suddenly collided with each other. Regaining his composure… somewhat, Sam made a hard left, down Rainy street. He was only a few more blocks away from his apartment, and he wasn't planning on stopping the car. Aside from the fucking PSYCHO rioters, there might be people desperate enough to take his car. And being on foot wasn't a thought he relished much. Not an itty-bitty bit.
Moving to the left to avoid an exploded firetruck, Sam was taken aback when he collided into someone who had been trying to cross the street. Stopping, he stood in his seat, wide eyed. Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit, oh shit he repeated constantly in his mind. He hoped that the person he hit would simply get up. Just get up and leave, with a smile on his or her face. Just get up and leave. Just get up and leave. Just get up and leave. Several rioters shambled towards his car with ill intent, and Sam panicked.
"Sorry I hit you man, but I gotta FUCKING GO!" Yelled out the terrified accountant, putting the petal to the metal. The Toyota's engine roared, and the car zoomed forward across the pavement. Still somewhat in a state of shock, Sam didn't exactly take the time to use coherent thinking. He just kept on going, and going as fast as his automobile would carry him. Neglecting to notice some burning wreckage laying in the road, Sam winced as the car hit it at around sixty miles an hour. The car flipped over onto it's side, rolling for another two hundred feet or so. Poor Sam was tossed around the inside like a ragdoll, powerless to stop his tumble. When the car did stop, it crashed into a lightpole, and finally stopped.
The airbag had gone off, and Sam's face, like the rest of his body, was covered in cuts and bruises.
The car itself had landed on it's roof, and the only thing that held him in place was his seatbelt. Groaning from the pain, Sam undid the safety belt, and crashed to the ceiling. Wincing in pain, he stood in shock for a moment, before having the foresight to grab his keys out of the ignition (where the keys to his apartment were located). Opening the driver's side door, he crawled on out onto the pavement, still in a moderate daze. Standing to his feet, he looked around his surroundings. From the looks of it, he was only a block or so from his building. Emboldened, he started to run. Not only to reach his home, but to avoid getting attacked.
Just keep running, just keep running he repeated to himself while panting.
Back at the mall…
"Go, go, GO!" Yelled Alice, the soldier, as Gene got the van started. Standing at the back of the van, she held her military issue rifle and ushered in a couple of other people that they had managed to rescue. Seeing some bloodied rioters running in her direction, she eased off a couple of shots before closing the doors behind her. Slinging the rifle around her shoulder, she sat down at a vacant seat and held on for dear life. Gene, who had seen far too many action movies with extravagant car chases, pulled off a fancy stunt which involved the van backing through several FEMA tents, and then swerving around, taking out of couple of rioters. Jack nearly lost his lunch.
Putting the van into 'drive', Gene pressed on forward, and drove towards the mall. Heading towards the parking garage's entrance, he gunned the engine as he broke through the gate next to the toll both, and swerved into the garage. Luckily, there were no rioters here. Thank god… They were everywhere else.
Gene swerved the van around several times, traveling up two levels. Each time he turned, Jack held onto whatever was bolted down. But that didn't stop him from flailing wildly about. Swearing, Gene went as fast as he could as he saw what was up ahead. Some jackass had started to park his car, but couldn't go through with it. So the SUV's large ass was sticking out into his way, and Gene didn't have any room to maneuver. Swearing again, he braced himself, and called out to everyone else.
"Hold on! This is gonna be BA-AD!"
The van smacked into the rear side of the SUV, sending the parked car into a Subaru that was in the next space. The van itself wasn't in horrid shape, as it had been traveling fast enough, but the front end wasn't going to win any beauty pageants.
Taking another right, the Van finally emerged on the top level. Parking near the Mall entrance, Gene turned the engine off, and put the car into 'park'.
Everyone else piled out, running for the doors. Jumping out of the back, Jack pumped a fresh shell into his weapon, and stood his ground while the others broke into the locked doors.
Finally, Alice swore under her breath, and simply shot the lock with a single round from her gun. Shrugging, Gene opened the door, and everyone filtered inside.
"Offfgh…" Grunted Sam, as he pushed open the door to his apartment building. Much to his dismay, he had attracted a small crowd of those fucking rioters, who pursued him to no end. Locking the door behind him, he hoped it would hold, as the rioters started to beat on it with their bloodied hands.
Running down the corridor, Sam stopped in front of the elevator and pressed the call button several times in quick sucession, taking a moment to look back over his shoulder at the rioters. Their constant banging on the door was splintering the glass. At this rate, they'd be inside soon.
Swearing violently, Sam rushed into the elevator as soon as it arrived. Pushing the 'close door' button, he panted nervously at the rear of the vehicle as it ascended to his floor. All he had to do, was get to his room. He had a baseball bat in there, and he'd be damned if any fucking rioter was gonna tear him up. No sir…
The elevator door opened, and Sam rushed out into the hallway, bumping into his neighbor, Bill.
"Hey man, what's going on?" He asked in his loopy sort of way. Sam looked at him curiously, and then spoke.
"There's some crazy assed shit going on out there. Have you left the building?"
"No way man. I've been here the whole time. Jesus, it looks like you've seen a ghost. You want something to drink?"
"No… Thanks. I saw my boss EATING one of my coworkers."
"Shit. That's hardcore. What, was he on PCP or something? That shit screws up your head. I heard this one story about this guy that took PCP, and he ate his fucking dog. Can you believe that shit man?"
"It wasn't FUCKING PCP. This is something else."
"Chill the fuck out man… Anyway, this sounds serious."
"Yeah, but we're on the sixth floor of our building. We should be ok. Have you seen anyone else this morning?" Asked Sam, his composure leveling out somewhat. Nodding, Bill responded.
"Yeah. Molly and Jim next door. Everyone else must have gone to work."
Sam was worried. Massaging his forehead, he looked back up to Bill.
"The stairs. Have you blocked the stairs?"
"I didn't think to do that. Why?"
Sam pointed to the TV, which was showing footage of stumbling, bloodied rioters.
"Um, maybe because of the bloodied homicidal maniacs outside? There's a bunch on the first floor by the lobby. We may have to deal with them later, if it comes to that."
Meanwhile, the newscasters looked increasingly tense.
"Uh, I've just gotten word from my producer that we're receiving a live uplink to the situation in New York City. We're going live to one of our affiliates in New Jersey, near Manhattan..."
The screen went black for a couple of seconds, before the picture came back on. A man in a suit, with Sandy blonde hair, stood with a microphone in hand. From the foreground, he appeared to be on some kind of boat. Probably a Ferry. Off in the background, was the George Washington Bridge, which was full of beeping cars. Off towards the city, the mournful howl of emergency sirens, along with an old air raid siren complimented the smoke that rose from some of the streets of buildings. Faint automatic gunfire could be heard as the reporter spoke.
"In the eight years I've been a journalist, I've never quite seen anything of this magnitude before. I was at Fallujah, I was at Katrina, I was at 9/11. Those events seem to be miniscule in comparison to what I'm seeing today. From what we can still tell, thousands of people are attempting to flee the city, causing massive traffic jams. Uh, public transportation is so swamped right now, that it's barely functioning. The subway, the bus system, pretty much everything. One mode of transport that HAS managed to remain successful at this point is Ferry travel, but as you can see, there's a large police and port authority here with us today."
The screen flashed back to the people in L.A.
"Can you tell us anything else about the situation?"
"Not really. There seem to be at least three government choppers that go into the city every hour, and that's only what we can tell. As far as soldiers are concerned, the military seems to maintain a solely airborne presence. There have also been some rumors that the ends of bridges and tunnels are being closed off by Federal troops. Uh, this was shot about an hour ago by an amateur film maker inside the Eisenhower tunnel." Said the reporter, giving hand signals to his crew. After several seconds of the sound of someone fidgeting with equipment in the background, the image changed to that of a camcorder. The picture was shaky, but that wasn't the main focus of the footage.
Car after car was backed up, bumped to bumper. The sounds of car horns filled the tunnel, along with angry expletives. Soldiers in biological warfare dress stood at the far end, wielding large rifles and machine guns. In front of them sat several police issue stop-gates, while behind them were several armored vehicles, bustling with machine guns and other assorted weapons. Several civilians got out of their cars, and attempted to cross the barricade on foot, but were gunned down without compunction by the soldiers. A mass panic ensued, with several hundred people screaming and running. Automatic gunfire filled the air as chunks of concrete and plaster chips, along with glass from the cars flew in every which direction. The people that remained in their cars tried to flee, but were gunned down with machine gun bursts before they could move a few feet. The ones that weren't shot by the troops ended up causing fender benders, trapping people into an insane maze of smoke, debris and screams. Before Bill and Sam could see any more, the reporters back on the ferry brought themselves back on the air with glum looks on their faces.
The people back in the studio looked shocked.
"Jesus. Were those AMERICAN troops?" Asked the lead anchor to his Colleague.
"Yes, yes they were. The man that shot that footage barely escaped with his life. Thank god he gave us the tape."
"Yeah. As many people as possible have gotta see this. Can we roll that footage again? Marsha, will-"
The anchorman was unable to finish his sentence, as black clad SWAT policemen kicked open the doors to the studio, guns at the ready.
"Shut that equipment OFF!" Yelled one of the SWAT troopers to the newscaster, who remained moderately well composed. The screen was now spilt down the middle, ala a talk show, with the reporter in New York on one side, and with the Newscaster in Los Angeles on the other.
"We have a RIGHT to be on the air, and if you fascists are gonna come in here and-"
The cameras kept rolling. Sam passed a glance over to Bill, who bit down onto his lip, looking at the television pensively.
"Shut the FUCKING cameras OFF! Now!"
"Don't listen to them! Keep rolling!"
More shouting filled the small room. Then gunfire. The cameraman was one of the first people hit, causing the damaged equipment to fall to the floor. Like a miracle, it kept working, still managing to roll film. The footage that it picked up was one of a slaughter, with the yells of people getting shot to death bouncing off the walls. Finally, there was one last burst of gunfire, and the studio turned to static, soon replaced with a 'please stand by message'. Horrified by what he had just witnessed, the Reporter swallowed, trying to regain his composure.
"Well, Ladies and Gentlemen. There you have it. Conclusive proof of what atrocities have been taking place today. What you have just witnessed was real, not a macabre practical joke. The press is being silenced by our government, and-"
The man stopped in mid-speech as the thump-thump-thump of a helicopter neared. Swallowing, he turned his crew around, and continued to report. As the chopper came into view, it was recognized as a dark green Army Blackhawk. Its doors were open, exposing the crew chiefs, who manned rotary chain guns. The reporter had to yell over the sound of the rotor blades, as the chopper came to a halt over the ship, hovering in midair. He was soon interrupted by a soldier wearing a gasmask inside the chopper, who held a megaphone.
"In the name of the UNITED STATES GOVERNMENT, I order you to shut down your equipment!" Yelled the airman. Turning around to face the chopper, the reporter gave them the bird, still a little in shock of what had recently transpired. Surely he thought that they wouldn't take action. They wouldn't, right?
He was quickly proved wrong, as the chain guns fired up, hundreds of bullets tearing up the deck of the Ferryboat like a swarm of enraged killer bees. The reporter and several bystanders were hit, and practically exploded. It wasn't long before the cameraman expired, as did the camera he held on his shoulders. The screen went to fuzz for several moments, before being replaced with a 'Please stand by message'. Sitting with his friend from school, Sam stared at the television for about thirty more seconds, before he turned it off. Looking to Bill, he chewed his tongue, before looking to the windows and doors. After a minute of silence, he spoke out very softly.
"We're going to board up every single window on this floor. We're going to turn off the elevator, and barricade the stairway. Do you understand?"
Bill simply stared into space, not recognizing his friend was even next to him.
"BILL! Do you have your shit together?"
Bill nodded.
"Yeah, I'm here."
"Ok, glad to hear it. I need you to keep your lid on TIGHT. You got it? In the meantime, let's figure out how to barricade the stairwell."
"Ok. We're obviously gonna need something to block it with."
"The coke machine the hallway should do it. Help me move it, will you?"
Bill nodded. The two men left Sam's apartment and ran out into the hallway. Coming up to the older model coke machine, Sam and Bill tried to figure out how to move it.
"Well, how are we gonna move this thing without it falling onto us?" Asked a somewhat concerned Sam.
"Is it on wheels?" Asked Bill.
"I don't know. Only one way to find out." Said Sam, getting down on his knees, and looking underneath the machine.
"Yeah, it is. How else would repair men move it?" He asked.
Bill shrugged.
"I don't know. I'm not a coke machine expert."
"Well, neither am I. But I figure, if we move it against the wall, with one of us pushing it forward, and the other keeping it against the wall, we should be ok. That way, the damn thing doesn't crush us."
Bill nodded. It was a solid plan.
"Just one thing. The stairwell door opens inward. Someone could still open the door and push the coke machine over. We don't have the keys to the stairwell either."
Sam thought.
"Uh Bill? I don't think that this coke machine is gonna cut it by itself. What if we threw it, along with other bulky objects into the stair well. That would pretty much block everyone trying to get up here." Said Sam, scratching his throat.
"Ok. We're going to need to talk to Molly and Jim. We need their help."
Bill nodded, and the two men left the coke machine to idle while they marched to meet the pair. Sam knocked loudly on the door, and it was soon answered by Tim.
"Hey guys. Jesus, it's really bad out there." He said, with a tinge of worry in his voice.
"Yeah, we know." Began Sam.
"Listen, we're barricading the stairs with bulky stuff, so our floor will be ok. Can you spare any chairs, or tables? Anything like that would be helpful."
Tim scratched the back of his ear. Looking back up to Sam and Bill, he nodded.
"Ok. I'll get you some furniture. I'll be down to help you in a sec. By the way, have you seen anyone else?" He asked.
Bill shook his head.
"No man. Just you, Sam and your wife. Everyone else must have gone to work."
Tim nodded.
"Hmmm…. weird. Well, I'll go get those things you need." He said, closing his door.
Sam turned to Bill to speak.
"Go to your room, and get all the chairs you can. Alright?"
Bill nodded.
"When should we meet again?" He asked, eyeing the stairwell door nervously.
Sam glanced at his watch.
"Ten minutes. Alright?"
Bill nodded.
"It's gonna be ok man. Just fine." Comforted Sam as he left.
A little while later….
Sam dragged the last chair from his room to the hallway by the stairwell door. He was met by all the other neighbors, also with lots of furniture. Looking to Bill, he tossed him a wooden baseball bat. Bill eyed him strangely.
"A baseball bat? Whatever do you want me to do with this?"
"C'mon Bill, think. I need you to watch our backs while Tim, Molly and I put stuff in the hallway. Didn't you ever play war games when you were a kid?"
Bill looked at the ground sheepishly. It was rather obvious.
"Alright. We need to position the chairs in a way that you can't move through. Like a puzzle that locks together." He said, gesturing with his hands.
"Well, if we put them in the most haphazardly way possible, then don't you think that it might lock together? 'Cause I don't know about you, but planning chair by chair is gonna take a while, and we don't know if some of those rioter guys are gonna come stumbling up those steps."
Sam reluctantly nodded. The guy had a point.
"Alright, new plan. We haphazardly throw chairs into the stairwell. He said, picking up a plastic lawn chair which used to exist on Bill's balcony, and throwing it through the door. The others joined in, and in a rather short amount of time, they had finished.
"Ok, for the grand finale, we need to push this coke machine out too." Sam explained, patting it with his hand.
Tim nodded in agreement.
"How are we gonna move it?" He asked, eyeing the bulky machine with a look of fear in his eye.
"Simple. You, Molly and Bill keep it from tipping over, while I push it."
"Woah-woah-woah. Aren't we getting ahead of ourselves?" Asked Molly.
Bill gave a blank stare.
"What do you mean?" He asked.
"What about those warning stickers you always see on those machines? Y'know, the ones that tell you not to try and move 'em, with the risk of death? I've read that there have been people that tried to steal soda from those, but it only ended up crushing him."
"Molly, you're forgetting that the guy who tried to steal the soda was acting alone. There are four of us. I'm sure that we'll be ok."
Defeated, Molly nodded.
"Ok then. Let's move this damn thing."
And with that, they go into position. Sam pushed the machine to the doorway, while the others made sure that it didn't tip over. When it was in place, Sam gave it a hard kick, pushing it through the door, and tumbling door the stairs, smashing into the other furnishings, and creating a large, impassible blockade of stuff.
Sam, panting, looked to the others.
"Well, I don't know about you guys, but I could use a nap right about now. I'll see you in a bit. Gimme a holler if you hear anything new on the news." He said, retiring to his room.
That night….
Sam woke up to the sound of it. At first, he didn't know what to make of it. It couldn't have been the wind, as when he opened the small window he had in his bathroom. It certainly wasn't the wind. Shutting the window, he reached for the light switch. Flicking it into the on position, he grimaced when the room wasn't illuminated.
"Shit. Power outage." He swore, slumping down onto the toilet seat.
Massaging his forehead, he decided to meet up with the others. Knowing that the power would be out everywhere else, he went to his closet, where he grabbed his utility box. Opening the lock, he grabbed the Mag-light flashlight, and checked the batteries. The thing worked alright, so he left his apartment and knocked on Bill's door.
A minute or so later, a groggy looking Bill answered the door.
"Hi. Hear anything new?" He asked, yawning.
Sam shook his head.
"Power's out."
"No kidding? Shit. You think this is a related incident, or isolated?"
"You get three guesses, and the first two don't count. Isn't it obvious? Something really bad has happened out there. I mean, the TV's out, along with everything else in the building."
"Christ. What about the plumbing?"
Sam shook his head.
"I haven't checked it. Does the plumbing system in this building use power?"
"I don't know man. Should it?"
"Beats the hell outta me. I'm no plumber."
"Well, the important thing is to watch how much water you're using. Before long, we might run out of that too."
"What should I do? Fill my tub and sink?"
Sam nodded.
"That's a solid plan. Also, with the power out, the food in our refrigerators is gonna be turned into shit within the next few hours. Refrigerators are insulated, so they should keep some cold air inside, but only open them if you need to. Got it?"
Bill nodded.
"You want me to tell the others?" He asked, scratching his neck.
"It wouldn't hurt. I'd also find out what your battery situation is. The power may not come back on for a while, and until it does, we're going to have to depend on flashlights, candles and mirrors. Just save your power."
"Ok. What about food? I have lots of tuna fish. What about you?"
"I have lots of soup. Enough for a few weeks."
"You always liked soup."
"Is that a bad thing?" Asked Sam, raising his eyebrow.
"No, it's just that it's nice to eat something that doesn't come out of a can every once in a while. That's all."
"Hey, don't knock it unless you try it."
"I do my best. I'm gonna go tell the others now. What are you gonna do?"
"Oh, I'm just going to make sure that I have all of the basics."
Bill turned back to go into the apartment, but stopped.
"Wait, do you still have that CB radio?"
"It doesn't matter now. I threw it out ages ago. Besides, it wouldn't do us a lot of good. It ran on power from an outlet."
"Damn. Can't blame a guy for asking."
"Have you tried your phone?"
"My cell? No… I haven't."
"If you get some time later you might want to see if you can get a signal from one of those cell towers and find out what the hell is going on in the world. One of them is bound to still be working."
"Ok. If I have time, I'll check it out."
"Good luck."
"Yeah, you too."
The two men went their separate ways.
The next morning…
When Sam woke up, he tried the lights again. Nothing. The power inside the building was still dead. Swearing, he got up from his bed and rubbed his eyes. That's when he heard it for the second time. The other day, he had just dismissed the noise as something coming from the plumbing. But the more he though about it, the fewer plausible explanations he could come up with. Taking a few steps to his window, Sam undid the blinds and peered out onto the streets below.
Watching with horror, he saw bloodied people stumbling their way through the congested, wreckage filled streets, seeming to bumble about without meaning or purpose. There was a certain hopelessness in the way they moved, like they were horribly, horribly depressed, but Sam knew otherwise. Any normal person wouldn't just stumble their way around, seeming without a care in the world, even if they were injured in a rather grievous manner. Grimacing, Sam eyed some of the more disfigured people. People missing arms and even legs moved about, like their wounds didn't hurt at all. They hobbled along on bloody stumps, where their feet should have been without a second thought, which scared Sam.
If these things didn't feel pain, then even a blow to the chest with a baseball bat wouldn't affect them. Swearing, Sam put the blinds back down again, and tried to move his thoughts to another place. Finding that rather difficult, he decided that a talk with Bill about supplies would take his mind off those things outside. While in the process of leaving his apartment, he tried to think of a name to call the things. He couldn't just keep on calling them things, but the lack of a better word made that necessary. He decided to ask Bill, who always seemed to have an answer for everything.
Knocking on Bill's door, Sam glanced at his wrist watch. It was three forty two. In the afternoon. He had certainly overslept.
Bill opened the door and set down a plastic milk-crate he was apparently holding a moment earlier.
"Hey sleepy-head. What's up?"
"Hey Bill. Mind if I come in?"
Bill shrugged.
"I'm not busy." He said, closing the door behind them. Sam looked to the milk-crate.
"What's in the crate?"
"Oh, just a few things essential for my survival." He explained, as Sam looked over the crate. He spotted a toothbrush, toothpaste, a package of toilet paper and a six pack of booze.
"Ah. I see."
"You wanna sit down?" Asked Bill, picking the crate up, and itching his nose.
"Sure, why not."
The two men walked into Bill's Kitchen/Living room, and plopped down onto the couch.
"So… what's new for you? Heard anything from the love birds?"
"Not a peep. Hope they're ok."
Sam nodded.
"Have you tried raising anyone on your phone?"
"What's the problem with your cell?"
"Left it in my car, which is a block away, upside down."
"Aha. Little oversight there, eh Sammy?"
Sam nodded.
"I doubt we're gonna raise anyone Sam. Have you looked outside?"
"Yeah. Lookin' kinda grim out there."
"Yes, well burnt out cars, zombies and dark, black smoke aren't exactly something you'd put on a hallmark card."
Sam paused.
"Did you say… zombies?"
"Sure, that's what they are. Aren't they?"
Sam laughed.
"Aren't you being a bit premature here? Zombies?"
"Yep. What's your problem with my little assessment?"
Sam chuckled.
"Uh Bill, the last time I checked, zombies were fiction. Like vampires or aliens. How could those things down there be zombies?"
"How are you going to refute that they AREN'T zombies?"
"Um, because zombies aren't real?"
"Then what kind of explanation would you slap onto this?"
"Uh, well I dunno. Maybe it's a new drug. Like PCP, except much more potent."
"Oh Christ. Sam, Sam, Sam. You're pulling rabbits out of your ass now. A new drug?"
"Oooh, they're coming to get you Barbara!" Mocked Sam.
"Why won't you even accept the possibility that these things may be undead, flesh eating ghouls?"
Sam laughed.
"Look, it doesn't really matter what they are. The important thing is making sure that those things, whatever they may be, don't get inside our building. Alright? Now we need to stop arguing about these stupid, little details and focus on the matter at hand. Here's the situation as it stands. We're cut off from the outside world. We have no power inside the building, and we don't know what exactly happened in the last couple of days. I think that our main priorities right now should be to organize our food and water supplies into rations, and try and contact others, and try and figure out what the hell happened. Do you agree?" Asked Sam.
Bill sighed.
"Alright. I filled my tub full of water, so I'm ok in that department. I have ten cans of beans, eight cans of chili, and fourteen cans of tuna fish. Are you taking this down?" Asked Bill, scratching the tip of his nose.
Sam quickly nodded and produced a notepad and pen.
"So… you got ten beans, eight chili's, and fourteen tuna's?"
"Yep. How's your food situation?"
Sam flipped to a page in his notebook.
"Uh… I got eleven cans of chicken noodle, seven cans of tuna, three cans of beans, one can of sweet corn, and eight cans of clam chowder. Should we check out Molly's and Tim's food situation?"
Bill nodded.
"Ok. Jesus Sam. You must like canned goods."
Sam shrugged.
"Yeah, well…. Guess I do. I get… got some good deals on canned food at Safeway."
"Well, I think we should finish the perishable foods first. Then we start rationing. It's not gonna last very long in those refrigerators anyway. Besides, I've been thinking. The other apartments on our floor should have food. We should check them out. It's not like the original tenants are gonna care anymore."
"You're right. We might want to check out the upper levels for supplies too. We only barricaded the stairs leading downstairs. We can still go up. For all we know, there are other people up there too."
"Shit, you could be right. But first things first. Let's check out the Tim and Molly's food situation first. Then we'll check things out up front."
"Then what are we sitting around here for?"
The two men got up from the couch, and exited Bill's apartment. Sam knocked on Tim's door, and waited. Molly answered.
"Hey guys. What's up?" She asked.
"We're taking log of all our food. This whole thing may blow over soon, but then again it may not. It's better to be on the safe side."
Molly nodded.
"The most sensible thing I've heard all day. You guys want to come in?"
Sam looked to Bill, and shrugged.
"Eh, alright."
The two men stepped inside, and Molly closed the door behind them.
"You guys have been kinda quiet since yesterday. Everything alright?"
"Yeah. Damn power still doesn't work though."
"Have you seen the streets?" Asked Sam, with a worried look on his face.
"No, I haven't looked. Why, what's down there?"
"Oh, only the bloodthirsty undead cannibals." Said Bill in a very blunt sort of way, as he plopped down onto Tim's couch.
Molly frowned.
"Bloodthirsty, Undead cannibals? That's an interesting way of describing them."
Sam chuckled.
"Yeah, well Bill is convinced that they're zombies."
"Oh shit, not this again." Said Bill, scratching his beard.
"Where's Tim?" Asked Sam, changing the subject.
"Counting all of our canned food. He overheard you guys talking about it, and thought it might be a good idea."
"Well, actually, that's what we're here about. Bill and I thought it might be a good idea if we pool our food and water together. We ration it, make it last as long as possible."
"Sounds good, but…"
"But what?"
"But how long are you guys expecting this whole thing to last?"
Sam looked to Bill nervously, and then looked to Molly.
"Molly, what happens if this whole thing doesn't just 'blow over'? What if it never does?"
Molly's smile faded quickly.
"What do you mean?"
"What if, the government doesn't just pick itself up again? What if the mail doesn't start delivering again? What if the power doesn't come back on? What then? What will we do?"
"I…I don't know. I didn't think of it in that way."
"Well that's the way we're going to have to start thinking. When the plumbing shits out, we're going to have to start rationing water and using chamber pots. It's quite simple really."
"Let's hope it doesn't turn out that way." Molly hoped.
"Yeah, lets, but it would be foolish of us to not expect it." Finished Bill.
Tim entered the living room carrying several bottles of water. Surprised to see the others inside, he set them down onto the coffee table.
"Hi guys. What's going on?"
"Bill and I thought it would be a good idea if we all pooled our food and water together. We gather food and water from the unoccupied apartments, and start rationing once we run out of perishables."
Tim nodded.
"Yeah, I heard you guys talking about that earlier. Are we sure we're the only ones in the building?"
"Not exactly. On this floor we are, but I'm not so sure about the upper or lower floors." Explained Sam, scratching his ear.
"Ok. We already barricaded the stairs leading downstairs, so it would be silly to take out our first line of defense against those… those…" Tim struggled for the right word.
"Zombies?" Offered Bill.
"Oh Christ… Again with the zombies!" Exclaimed Sam, throwing his hands into the air.
"Let's not get into that again." Stated Molly, rolling her eyes, and looking back to Tim.
"Okaaay…. But the upper floors should be ours for the taking, assuming that nobody else is up there. If so, we shouldn't have any problems."
"And if there is a person or people up there?" Posed Bill.
Sam bit his lip and looked to Tim.
"Then we may have a problem." Sighed Tim, as he sat down next to Molly.
"Uh-huh. How much food do you have?" Asked Bill.
"Well, lots of perishables unfortunately. The good news is that we have a couple boxes of energy bars, and plenty of potatoes. While they're still perishable, potatoes last a while. We should be ok."
Sam nodded, biting his lip and jotting it down.
"How many potatoes exactly?" Sam asked, taping the end of his pen on the notepad.
"Uh… twenty five. And three boxes of bars."
Sam nodded, and scribbled some more on his notepad. Tearing the sheet out of the binding, he put his reading glasses on.
"Alright. Now if we don't use much energy every day… I'd say we'd be able to eat and drink about… a pint and a meal the size of a sandwich every day for…. three, maybe four weeks if we really stretched it."
"That's not a lot of food."
"You're right, but the more energy we expend, the more calories our body burn. Now, it's pretty bad when you have no more remaining calories inside your body. You slowly start to shut down, and the result isn't very pretty. Have any of you heard of the rule of three?"
Bill frowned.
"The rule of three?"
"Yeah, the rule of three. The average adult human being can survive three minutes without air, three days without water, and three weeks without food. While food should be a major concern of ours, water is bigger. Most doctors don't recommend eating anything if you didn't have water or some other healthy beverage to drink. That means if we run out of water before we do food, we're in a very bad spot."
"What's the problem? We have lots of booze."
"It's not a good idea to drink alcohol without being well hydrated. It dehydrates you." Said Tim, taking a sip of water.
"Well guys, this is nice and all, but don't you think we should gather food from other apartments before we start planning out our rations? We have only checked our apartments. There's still this floor, and four floors above us. That's a lot of food." Said Molly, raising her eyebrow.
"She's right guys. There's still a lot of food in this building. Enough to last a while."
"Ok. Here's a plan. One of us goes up to the roof and climbs the antenna to try and see if we can get a cell or radio signal. We go through all of the emergency listings, and try to contact somebody. If we're lucky, we'll be able to pick up some sort of signal. If we're really lucky, maybe we can actually raise somebody." Suggested Tim.
"I call dibs on that job." Quickly said Bill, always eager to do jobs not requiring much physical labor.
"Ok. But you have to go through all the emergency numbers and frequencies. And I mean ALL of them Bill. I don't want you half-assing like you usually do. Comprende?"
Bill nodded.
"Yeah, totally."
"Alright. You'd better go do what you need to do."
Bill left Tim and Molly's apartment to go into his. Retrieving his cell phone, he checked out the battery. Only half remained. Swearing, he tried the phone. Selecting one of the emergency call numbers that had been recorded earlier, he pressed the call button. The words 'No Signal' flashed across the screen.
He swore.
He tried again, but only got the same answer. Thinking that reception might have been the issue, he left his apartment to go up to the roof, where he bumped into Sam.
"Where are you going?" He asked.
"The roof. I can't get a signal from inside the building."
"Well, cell phone reception inside the building has always been a little shoddy. It could work. That is if the cell towers are powered separately from the rest of the city."
"Lets hope so. You got the walkie-talkie?" Asked Bill, as the two men climbed the stairs to the top.
"It's right here." Said Sam taking the small, yellow radio out of his pocket. It was slightly larger than a cell phone.
"If you do raise somebody, then I'd keep conversation to a minimum. We have limited power on this phone. And when it runs out… well, then we're on our own."
"There's got to be another cell phone in this building." Said Bill.
"Yeah, maybe. Your phone is famous for working all the time though. Plus, my cell is in the car down in the parking garage. Molly and Tim don't own a cell phone between them."
"No shit? No cell phone. Wow, that's really quite amazing."
"Yeah, I know. Apparently, they think that it's an invasion of privacy."
"So say we all." Mused Bill as they reached the door to the roof.
"I don't know about you, but the land lady I rented my apartment from didn't issue me keys to the roof." Said Bill.
Smiling, Sam spoke.
"I'm sure we can figure something out."
"Y'know, I've been thinking. There could be other people down on the lower floors."
Bill nodded.
"Yeah, but are you sure you want to let them in onto our own level?"
Sam looked at him with a strange look in his eyes.
"What do you mean by that?"
"Well… do you know what caused this whole mess?"
"Well… no, but I'm sure someone does."
"Uh-huh. Don't you think that it's a little strange that a huge zombie riot starts all over the world, for no apparent reason?"
"Christ, not the zombies again. Well, what if it wasn't a riot at all. Maybe some kind of medical thing?"
"What, like AIDs or Ebola?"
"No, not a disease. Like a virus or something."
"Well, that's nice and all, but how could a virus cause all this? I think it was a military or government thing. Maybe this is the end of times. The point is, we're not scientists, and unless we find one, I highly doubt we're gonna figure out what happened. Alright, here goes nothing."
Taking a deep breath, Bill backed up and prepared to charge into the door. Sam stopped him.
"Wait… what are you doing?"
Bill looked at him like he was insane.
"Uh, breaking the door down?"
Sam chuckled, and undid the deadbolt. With a simple push, he opened the door.
"See? Sometimes the gentle approach works."
"Yeah, yeah you smartass." Said Bill, as the two men walked out onto the roof. It was still in the wee hours of the morning, and the sky hadn't yet begun to brighten. Sam clicked his powerful flashlight on, illuminating their path as gravel crunched under their feet.
Bill removed his phone from his pocket, and tried again.
"I got something." He said. Sam rushed to his side.
"How many bars?"
"Only one. But we're certainly got a signal."
Sam nodded.
"Alright. Move around, see if you can get more bars."
"Alright. What are you gonna do?"
"I'm gonna check out the situation on the street."
"Why, are hoping to signal someone?"
"Maybe. If I can spot somebody. Do you have any roman candles left over from the Fourth?"
"Do I ever! They're in the white, cardboard box at the bottom of my closet. Why, are you trying to make smoke signals?"
"In a manner of speaking…." Said Sam, running back into the building.
Bill looked around the roof for a place he could make a call. The higher he could get, the better, so he eyed the antenna array in the corner. It had to be at least thirty feet tall, so it would probably provide a great place to get a better signal. Only problem was getting to the top of the damn thing.
Swearing, he pocketed the phone and jogged over to the array. There was a small ladder at the base of the antenna, so he decided to climb it. Doing his best NOT to look down at the ground below, he took out the phone as soon as he reached the top.
The other day, when the TV was displaying the locations of rescue stations around the city, Bill had taken down the phone numbers of the stations into his phone. Opening the digital address book, he picked the number for the FEMA station at the train station. Pressing call, he dialed the number. He got a dial tone, but no one answered.
Swearing, he tried another number. This time a mobile Army task force. No answer. Swearing again, he continued trying numbers. But he kept coming up empty. At all the numbers he tried, either there was no dial tone, or nobody answered. He was going to give up, but decided that one last call wouldn't hurt. This time he dialed a shopping mall at which a civil rescue station had been established.
This time, he got a reply.
"Hello? Is anyone there?" He asked, losing hope.
About to hang up, he nearly dropped the phone when he heard a reply.
"Hello? Is someone there?" Said the phone.