4.5.2007
Capital Z
Capital Z by: Wyatt Terwilliger http://www.netsaga.is/media/files/svenni-when%20you%20hold%20on.mp3 Then as he left the room he looked down the hall and saw about 7 of the living dead with looks of hatred and hunger on their faces. He raised the gun, skinning ones head, dropping the thing. They all began to come towards him, some very slowly, other relatively quickly. But this was different than the movies. They weren't fast, and it wasn't a goddamn piece of cake to kill them.
His eyes opened to the shade of his room. He leaned over and looked at the big red glowing numbers on his alarm clock. 8:07... He slowly got up and after wiping the crust from the corners pf his eyes, he walked like a zombie over to his dresser. There he pulled from the second draw a pair of jeans, blue, faded around the knee and thigh area. He pulled them over the boxers he went to bed in the night before.
Well that only took five minutes... if he were more awake it would have only taken him about two...even with the tremendous effort of tossing on anew pair of under shorts! He then noticed that his mouth was very dry. He opened the door and began walking to the kitchen.
Parts of the walls had been smeared with red. "Christ Joe, are ya` paintin` this early in tha` day? I hate the color." He then entered the kitchen and opened the fridge. "And yer` not doin a good job with it either..." He took out a beer and took a swig. He turned around after hearing an almost tired groan from his longtime pal Joe.
His eyes were glazed and shadowed. Wrinkles covered his usually young face. Blood stained his lips and teeth, along with a red stained shirt. Brown crusted blood was spattered on his arm next to a large bite wound that look like it were done by a large animal.
"Joe?" His friend reached out his arms and slowly came towards him. a loud moan filled the room and Jim looked horribly at his injured friend. "Joe?" Joe lunged himself at Jim. Jim moved to the side and then behind Joe, just avoiding being jumped on. "Joe what the hell happened to you man?"
Joe turned and opened his mouth wide with an eerie almost angry grin. His teeth stained and red. he swung his hand at Jim but missed. Jim pulled a pot from the counter and bashed his friend in the head with it, putting him down. "Oh my god...what the hell is happening?" He went over to the window and looked out. On the lawn were maybe six or seven brutally mangled men women, and children. Blood spirted and dripped from random wounds on their bodies. "Christ!"
He thought about it and finally came to a conclusion. "Jesus..." He knew now what was going on... These people were no longer people...They were, and Jim hated the use of this word...But, they were zombies. Real life zombies. Zombies with a capital Z. Back from the dead, hungry and unknowing of any past before them. All they knew was the hunger... The hunger deep in their gut, wanting food, in this case, human flesh. Not interested in anything but that.
"There's no way...that doesn't happen in real life... it doesn't!" Oh but it is. It is happening here and now. After overcoming the shocking reality of the fact that he was practically living a Romero film, he thought about what he could do. Joe, Joe has guns...two or three revolvers, and a samurai sword. Now this may sound farfetched, but it's the honest truth. Ever since Joe was a child, he had loved guns and things of the sort. He had purchased the two old western revolvers an antique gun shop, and the 357 python revolver at a guns and ammo store. The sword...well, Jim didn't know.
He went quickly into Joes bedroom. In the closet, a very big closet at that, was a glass case with all three pistols. He turned and there in a holder was the samurai sword in its brilliantly carved red sheath. He took the sword in the sheath and smashed the glass holding the revolvers. He took them and searched around for ammunition.
On the highest shelf in the closet was a box a colt 45 revolver ammo and a smaller box of 357 rounds. He opened the revolving chambers of each and loaded the needed bullets in each. When he was done...he picked up the phone. 9...1...1. Nothing but a busy signal, and an automated voice repeating the message over and over that "If you'd like to make a call, please hang up and try again."
"Damn." This could almost be a movie, he thought. This isn't real; it's exactly like the movies, no cops, no people, just the dark stench of dead and rotting flesh. He couldn't get the smell out of his nostrils. It was horrible. He took the two western revolvers in each hand and pulled the cold metal hammer's back.
He then took the keys to his escort. He slowly opened the door and stepped outside, guns out in front of him. He was ready for anything at this point. If this can happen, maybe the crazy thought of him staying alive is a possibility as well.
He slowly and quietly snuck over to his car and very carefully opened his door. He slipped the key into the ignition and turned it. The (now ten or so) walking dead on his lawn turned and stared him "dead" in the eyes. "Ah S*it..." He closed the door and pushed hard on the gas petal, the car already in reverse ands sped out of the drive way.
As he did so, he felt and hard crash on the back of his car. He looked back nothing, but when he looked back out the front, one of the living dead was on his windshield. "S*it!" He turned out of the drive way and the undead flung off the hood of the car onto the ground, cracking it's head in the process, causing his face to be painted red with blood.
He sped down the road and drove out of sight. He tried the cops on his cell phone, but only got the same reply as before, "If you'd like to make a callâ?¦" it trailed off as he tossed the phone onto the passenger side seat. He looked down to the ground by the seat and saw his faded blue Yankees hat. He put it on his head and the revolvers on the seat.
God they were everywhere. He couldn't look anywhere without seeing at least 4 or 5 of them. Those things. Those damn things! When he came to a relatively tall building, with large steel doors, he stopped. He looked around and opened the door, only two or three of them around, he could take em`.
He held the gun up and slowly aimed. When he figured it was dead between the eyes of the (once) being, he squeezed the trigger. It hit the zombie a little bit away from his left eye, taking off half its head. It fell to the ground dead, for good.
Another came up from behind him. Not much time to aim. He fired and hit it dead center of it's chest. The bullet pushed the zombie back but didn't affect it much. He just kept coming! Jim raised the gun and put it right on the center of it's far head. He slowly squeezed the trigger just as the dead screamed, it's brains painted the sidewalk and street red, think of it as an unmixed chippy paint, with cereal crunched up inside it, along with some wet smashed meatballs in it.
After soaking the street in the stuff, he ran as fast as he could to one steel door. He pushed and it opened with a slight struggle. Damn it was heavy! He shut it behind him and quickly looked around. There on the floor not three feet away saw a steel pipe and a large metal chain. He took the chain and rapped it through the handle, and through a hook on the wall close to the door. When he was done he checked it by pulling in on the door. Not a budge, not even a sign it was being pulled on.
O.k.â?¦thinks, what do they do, or not do in the flicks? He thought to himself. Right, first check the building for living, dead, or dead-ish people. He pulled the hammer back and began checking the first floor. Minutes later he was at his fifth room to check. He opened the door and thereâ?¦lying on the ground was a woman's body, stomach ripped open, intestines on the floor beside her and by the door. Her left arm was missing and in her rightâ?¦was a berretta 9mm. He then looked in horror at her head, her right eyes was missing and just above, was a small bullet hole, a small bit a char around the edges.
She shot herself point blank in the headâ?¦god, could it really be that bad? He prayed it would never happen to him, went over to the body, took the gun, and left the room, locking the door behind him. The next few room had nothing in them. But the 11th room was what got him. He opened the door to discover a small child lying on the couch, eyes closed, a peaceful look on her face. He noticed then that she had a small bit on her shoulder and red stains above it, on the couch as well. But along with that, the toes of her right foot were missing. Blood dripped from the wound to the carpet, staining it underneath her.
Her hair and face though were not touched, except for the bite on her neck, bleeding still. "Noâ?¦Christ noâ?¦I cant." He then watched in horror as her eyes opened to reveal glazed white eyes, shimmering in contrast the darkness beneath her lids, and bags of her eyes. He turned and quickly went outâ?¦He couldn't kill this poor girl, zombie or not, she was a girl of no more than 7 or 8. He shut and locked the door. He cant, he just can't kill herâ?¦
#1, these were still people, it's not all that easy to get past the fact that they are not who they used to be, that they want to eat your guts and innards, it's not that easy to think of them as anything but injured people. People who once had lives.
#2, it's not all that easy to aim either, especially in a situation like this, you have many of them coming towards you and your trying to hold a 6 or 7 pound gun up long enough to get an approximate feel of where to shoot. You would shake too!
As he saw them come closer, he fired again hitting one in the jaw it kept coming. Again hitting the zombie, and killing it. He then felt one behind him, grab his arm and bite down hard on it. Blood sprayed from both his arm and the head of the zombie as he fired. "S*it!" He ran and entered an office. He locked the door and fell back unwillingly onto the couch. He clutched his arm and yelped in pain.
'This isn't how it's supposed to end, not like this, I'm supposed top live!' As he felt the weariness come over him he laid back on the couch and held the gun barrel to his head, putting his thumb on the trigger, he wouldn't end up like the rest of these bastards. No, not like them. Never like them.
The zombies banged and finally
smashed through the pain of
glass in the door. Jim felt his
thumb move all on it's own,
bringing the trigger back,
feeling the millisecond of heat
from the blast.