AZU-1: Lifehack Read online

  She cursed her stupidity. For all she knew Harold got out already on an air- damn, he might have been in that crash!

  Fear of the zombie mob left her and she began running again. A building she could see ahead housed a mall. If it had an entrance on the other side, it might lead out behind the mob and she could get to the crash.

  She burst into the ravaged mall and ran down the hall. Ahead there were a dozen or so zombies scattered across the hall but her fear and logic couldn’t catch up with her. She picked out the weak spot in their haphazard blockade. As she passed a deli she picked the small folding menu board off the ground. Its top handle made it a good weapon if swung so its panels were angled to cut through the air.

  The menu impacted the jaw of an unsuspecting zombie with a distasteful crack, knocking him out of the way. Regan’s recovering target and the others nearby turned their attention to her. They began to follow her but she was already running away, further down the mall. The menu was awkward to run with and striking with it made her hand sort of sore, so she dropped it and kept going. After turning a corner she saw the glass doors of the exit she was hoping for. It was there alright, but it didn’t lead behind the mob. It went straight into the thick of it. She ran close enough to get a better look and rested, hands on her knees, checking things out.

  Nope. They were packed thick through the street and up against the glass like the world’s worst mosh pit crowd. Hundreds of them. She’d have to go back and around somewhere else. She was still catching her breath when she heard the glass start to crack. Damn, they noticed her. Her body wasn’t too happy about running again but it reluctantly obeyed. She made a mental note to pace herself in the future. Outrunning these guys wasn’t a big deal unless you’ve been running a lot, which she had.

  She turned the corner and saw where she had hit the zombie before. That thin barricade of zombies wasn’t so thin anymore. The ruckus had apparently attracted more zombies out of nearby shops. About thirty more.

  “Fuck, fuck, fuck!” she said in her gasps. Looking around, she picked a store hoping for a back exit. She ran through the shoe store and barged into the back. She pushed on the fire escape door and the alarm bell erupted furiously, a meter from her head. “I don’t need this right now!” she yelled at the bell, and pushed on the door. It bumped something and then opened more. The mob was out there too. If the alarm hadn’t gone off she might have heard the moans of the dead sooner, but as it was she barely dodged the grasp of one particularly bloody fellow. Closing the door was not an option anymore, so it was back to running.

  She ran into a store across the hall, wondering how long she had until something caught up with her. As soon as she got to the store she saw it was already infested. Odd, nearly all the zombies had taken clothing off the racks and put some on. Almost all of them had chosen obnoxiously bright coloured shirts and she could swear one had a hair barrette clipped to a chunk of exposed brain.

  Regan stopped to look at this in disbelief. She commented quietly, and stunned, “Never get caught dead in a Hawaiian shirt.” She blinked, and headed to the next store over.

  Well, it wasn’t a store, it was a bank. And it looked empty. She ran to the back, but on the way she saw a dead guard. No, he used to be a guard. He was a dead zombie now. Well, that was an oxymoron. He was an inanimate zombie. And he had a head start on decomposition. Too bad he didn’t have much for a head.

  It looked like he.. it.. had been shot.. a lot. Judging from the wounds, and the assault rifle at his side, it could have been his partner. Autar liked their over-armed guards. Everything had to be bigger and better in Autar. At least it was good to see that with enough head trauma, these things would go down for the count.

  Regan scooped up the weapon which she later learnt was one of many variants on the classic ‘Fabrique Nationale Project 90’, and headed for the back. No back door. By the time she was ready to try another store, zombies had congealed into a loose crowd out front. That wasn’t the way. It looked like a last stand situation. She went behind the counter and leaned on it, aiming at the crowd. She glanced at her ammo. This was pointless. The generous fifty round clip had maybe fifteen shots left.

  “Why am I hiding behind the counter? They don’t have guns!” She stood normally. Aw heck, if she was gonna die, she may as well have fun. She used a chair (which nearly rolled out from under her) to get up on the counter and made her best heroic gun-toting pose. She paused, looking into their faces. They were people. They were innocent. They had families, some who weren’t even in Autar and didn’t know yet. Some had brothers and sisters. They were people. Were. They weren’t people anymore. She choked down her pity, and summoned her bravado back.

  “Alright you bandito gringos! You aren’t getting into my sa-“

  She stopped, and blinked. “My safe...?” She hopped down, and ran to the back again. There was the walk-in safe, door left open as if the bank were currently operating. She got in and hauled the heavy door shut. The simple interior control panel only had four buttons. Lock, open, lights on, and off. She hit the lock and heard the bolts sliding shut. Stunned in her new sanctuary of calm, she staggered back against the far wall, dropping her gun as she went. The safe was about the size of a cozy living room, but there was nothing cozy about the cold metal lock boxes that lined the walls. She slid down the back wall into a seated position, staring at the door. How much air was in here? The thought got put on hold as the zombies started scraping at the door. It was barely audible, but it was an inescapable, desperate sound. She may as well get comfortable.

  ~~~

  Captain Harringer, in many ways a model soldier, walked into the cockpit of the unmarked Lancer airlimb. Its dark interior was lit only by status lights and control displays.

  “Here, Sir.” the copilot said, standing to give up his seat for Harringer, “Chief’s on the line.”

  Harringer nodded and took the seat in front of a display with a waiting call. He tapped the screen to take it off hold, and the sullen visage of Mr. Book appeared.

  Mr. Book turned his attention to the display. “Harringer, report.”

  “We just unloaded our third trip of evacuees. The other three limbs are at about the same progress. It’s getting harder and harder to find survivors. Over the last hour, resistance put up by the infected has mushroomed. The harder we focus our forces, the thicker they counter. The more we take down, the more there seem to be to retaliate.”

  Mr. Book groaned. “It’s probable that the infected you take down won’t stay down very long, Captain. Do what you can, but don’t risk any of our boys. There’s all kinds of reasons that we can’t afford that.”

  Harringer nodded. “Sir, you realize there’s no way we can get a significant number out of Autar.”

  Mr. Book grunted. “Of course. But it will be significant to those we do get out.”

  “And out of curiosity, how do we hide our involvement?”

  “That’s my job, Harringer, Don’t worry about that. There’s going to be more than enough confusion flying around to bury this operation in.”

  ~~~~~

  Chapter 7: Broken Bird

  ~~~~~

  Once or twice the sounds from the other side of the safe’s door stopped, but whenever Regan peeked out, the zombies were still in the area and the sound of the door opening attracted them. She’d have to be more patient and wait for them to wander farther away.

  She took off her jacket and curled it up for a crude pillow. She sat back down, when her terminal rang. It was amazing that the signal got through the safe. Hoping it was Harold, she rifled though her ‘pillow’ to find it.

  The display read ‘Incoming: Kris Taylor.’ Lovely. Just who she wanted to hear from.

  Regan answered sourly. “What do you want? You can skip tormenting me today. I’m kinda having a bad day already.”

  Kris smirked. “Oh, such venom! I’m calling to see if your whiney ass is alright. You’re not on the list of evacuated people.”

  “What? How can y
ou see such a list?”

  “They’re posting em on the net for family n stuff. Have you seen the news? This is all anyone’s talking about. They’re building some kinda wall thing, and-“

  Regan bit her lip and rolled her eyes. “Ya know what? I haven’t had a whole lotta time for TV today, what with the undead massacre and all!!”

  Kris huffed. “Yeah yeah. Well you’re alright, so I’ll just-“

  “Hey wait!!” Regan interrupted, “See if Harold’s on that list!”

  Kris turned her head to another screen unseen by Regan. “Nope. He’s not with you huh? Well just get out, you’ll probably meet up. I’m sure this list is still being added to, and-“

  ‘Connection Lost’ suddenly replaced Kris’s image. It shortly changed to “No Network”. Well, there went trying to call Harold again. She lazily tossed the terminal and watched it spin across the floor. She stared into nothingness, letting her brain catch up with events. The things she’d seen today. Even here in her little sanctuary there was a bloody smear across a few of the safety deposit boxes.

  She stared. After a while it occurred to her that they probably didn’t have time to clean out the boxes. Hmm. The owners must be insured. Or dead. And it didn’t seem like anyone was coming back for it. Maybe she could loot a little. Just for something to do. She stood back up and tried one. Locked. She stood back and grabbed the salvaged P90 and took aim. She winced and squeezed off a single precious bullet. The locking mechanism was quite nicely brutalized. She also learned in the process that she should hold the gun a bit more sturdily, according to the twinge of pain in her wrist.

  A recorded voice came from somewhere in the ceiling. “Security has been compromised. Authorities are on the way.”

  “Yeah, I’ll hold my breath for that!” She pulled open the drawer with some effort. The damage to the front made it difficult. Inside was a set of very old, but not exceptionally valuable looking jewelry. Someone’s heirlooms probably. She stared at the necklace and other bits, and thought about all the lives that had ended today. Lives. Not just statistics on a list, or filled body bags, but people. People with heirlooms and families, and a world of concerns that were all cruelly made irrelevant today.

  She slid the drawer shut again and went to lie down. She didn’t need their heirlooms. She thought about checking other drawers for things that didn’t carry emotional baggage, but right now her ammo was probably a lot more valuable in practical terms than a fistful of cash.

  Regan awoke, not really remembering falling asleep. She looked around, remembering where she was, and everything that had happened. She felt her eyes burn with approaching tears but pushed them back. She had work to do, and a brother to find.

  She put her jacket back on and collected her things. Her mini terminal might be useless for communication now, but it still had city maps on it. Who knows what else might be useful. The pain in her wrist from yesterday’s recoil was gone but she remembered to hold the P90 a bit better. Like she’d seen in movies. The way the soldiers in the background hold them, not the way the star holds it.

  She hit the button to unlock the vault and leaned against the door to open it, slow but silent. At first glance there were no zombies in the area. She began by stepping out slowly, then hopped around the corner to check behind the door. She’d seen that in movies too but her little hop turned out more cute than typical hollywood heroics. No zombies there either. Maybe they all just died overnight. That happened in one of those old movies too, didn’t it?

  Not this time. Once she got near the front of the bank she saw a few wandering aimlessly further down the mall. One of them was one of the hawiian shirt lovers. He’d found himself a fishing hat too. He was quite plain to see out in the open. Not like his friend rummaging through a large bin of plastic lawn flamingos as if it was full of candy. How many others might be hiding? She went the opposite way down the mall. In the far end of one of the shops she passed she saw one a zombie with a pair of underwear on his head. It gave a new meaning to those ‘Inspected by’ tags.

  She made it to the glass doors that had yesterday been swamped with zombies. The street looked pretty clear now, so she stepped out and got her bearings. Where had that airlimb crashed? She got to the next intersection. From there she could see a great distance down the street. The mid-morning sun seemed to be entirely ignorant of the massacre yesterday, and the dead things walking the streets. Its light reached between the buildings and flooded around her. Almost to say ‘Its not so bad.’ Except for the reality around her. Blood drenched streets which had mostly dried were starting to stink, and yelled back to the sun, ‘Oh yes, yes it is that bad.’

  Straining her eyes against the sun, Regan saw two zombies wandering around oblivious to the sun and unfortunately NOT conveniently bursting into flames. The alley nearby had several more, protected by shade. So sunlight wouldn’t keep her safe, but when she had the option, she’d stick to sunlit routes.

  But what was that building far in the distance? It was far enough that it faded a little into the colour of the sky. It wasn’t super tall but it was wide enough that she couldn’t see either side edge from where she stood. She shrugged it off. It’s not like she knew every building. She continued on to the next intersection. Looking down the street, she could still see the building. Was it wider than a block, or was the perspective and street layout just playing tricks on her?

  The next intersection revealed two things of interest. To her right about half a block away there idled about two dozen zombies. They didn’t seem very motivated but more were joining them from a nearby building.

  More importantly to her left, buildings showed great scars where the crashing airlimb had slid in yesterday. It had apparently then bounced a little towards the middle of the street, where it now rested. Its back end was more or less shredded, with chunks of metal littering behind it. Streaks of black served as evidence of there having been a fire. It had probably burned through much of the night.

  She approached the back end carefully. It was facing her approach anyway, and the ripped open end made an obvious entryway. Standing in the jagged threshold, it didn’t look like there had been anyone on board. There were no signs of blood in the immediate area and nothing to suggest there had been a mass of people riding. The airlimb was either empty when it went down, or the passengers all evacuated safely. Or were in the back half and were shredded. No, there would have been signs of that.

  The door to the cockpit beckoned her ahead. The floor was slanted up a bit. Was the pilot trying to pull up desperately to save the cockpit from taking the worst of it, or was it just the way it happened to land?

  The door was unlocked and slid aside. There on the floor lay the body of the pilot face down, and in military fatigues. A relatively small mark of blood on one of the edges of the dash said to Regan, ‘He shoulda buckled up.’

  Regan stepped up slowly to the pilot, her P90 trained on his head. She nudged him with her boot and stepped back. Nothing. She pushed him over. He had a small wound on his forehead, but it was enough apparently. He was dead. Just plain, old fashioned dead. It lent a different mood to the blank stare in his eyes. Regan couldn’t force herself to close his eyes. She just stepped back and slumped in the co-pilot’s seat. She leaned forward, resting her head on her arms with the P90 dangling in her hand in front of her face.

  At least she knew if she gave up and blew her head off, she wouldn’t turn into one of them. Is that what passed for a ‘comforting’ thought now? She smiled a little at the absurdity while forcing back tears again. She felt a little weak for having to, but dammit, having your city overrun by the dead is pretty bad. She could justify a tear or two.

  No time for it now though. She had work to do and staring at her gun gave her a good idea. She was on a military vehicle. She was low on ammo. She slipped back to the section behind the cockpit and started going through the lockers she had passed on the way in. Bingo. A full clip of ammo. And another, and another. She then turned to a larger locker tha
t was built more like a trunk, and lifted the lid. There were at least six boxes of ammo that were marked as ‘500 rounds’. That would keep her going for a while!

  Below the boxes was a large package marked ‘AP MASS IMPACT ACCELERATOR’. Before she got to open it, she had visitors. A mob of zombies was closing in to the rear open end of the airlimb. She wasn’t going to be able to get out the way she came in. This was probably the same mob she ignored from the intersection. Lovely. She grabbed a duffle bag from one of the lockers and dumped in the clips, and one of the boxes. There was some other stuff in the duffle bag. Whatever it was, it was flat now. No time to be gentle.

  The mob was now boarding the airlimb. Regan’s first thought was to go out through the cockpit window, but then she saw the regular personnel side door not far away. She ran the few meters to it then turned to the mob. “Not today morons!” She whipped the door open. On the other side were four zombies hanging around, who took notice immediately. “Aw, ruined my snappy escape.” she thought. No matter. The few rounds she had in the gun when she found it were now less precious than they were two minutes ago. Taking aim, she fired a round into the zombie furthest to the right. SPAP! in the head. It staggered but didn’t go down. She fired again and missed, overconfident. Another round sent it down. By this time they were closer, making the lineup tighter, so she fired on the next one in line less discriminatingly. She yanked on the trigger four or five times. She didn’t know how many hit and how many missed, but the result was what was important. It was down. She took her opening and ran.

  A dead zombie just looks a lot like a badly mutilated human. Running past her first kill, she muttered “I’m sorry.”

  ~~~~~

  Chapter 8: Nesting

  ~~~~~