The Demented Z (Book 1):The Demented

Version 12.10.13.1

Copyright © 2013 Derek Thomas

All Rights Reserved. The Demented is an original work of
fiction. All characters and concepts are solely owned by Derek Thomas. Names,
characters, places, concepts, and events are the product of the author’s
imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to events or actual persons
living or dead is entirely coincidental.

A huge thanks to my always supportive wife, Mindi.

This book is dedicated to my two little zombies, Carter
and Sawyer.

Beep…Beep…Beep

Tom reached out, blindly slapping
at the alarm clock until it finally went silent. The survival and preparedness
conference was over and it was nearing time for his flight back home. The
conference was the usual B.S. and mostly a waste of time. Just an excuse for a bunch of salesman to tell you
their gizmo is the greatest thing ever and nobody will be able to live
without it…
barf
.

Hefting the pile of blankets off,
he swung his legs over the side of the bed and slowly rose. His usual routine
took a bit longer since he was in a hotel room, but after a bit, the news was
playing on the TV, and the smell of fresh coffee hung in the air. Half
listening to the news he began alternating packing his clothes and banging out
some pushups and sit-ups.

He was in
the bathroom snatching freebies and throwing them in his ditty bag, when he overheard the news anchors in a heated
discussion concerning flu shots. A couple days ago the big news was
riots concerning flu vaccines. He never got his the previous winter. Not out of
fear or anything like that, but sheer forgetfulness.

After coming out of the bathroom, he
stopped by the TV to see what was getting the anchors so agitated.

Tom’s stomach knotted up when he
read the ticker at the top of the TV:

“
…911 immediately and do not approach them. Urgent! If you or
anyone you know has received a flu shot within the past year call 911
immediately and do not approach them. Urgent! If you or…
” The ticker continued to loop.

What was going on?
His mind
raced to his family back at home.
Had they gotten flu shots
…he did not
think so. Kelly had said that Sam had a stuffy nose and the doctor did not
recommend getting the shot while sick. Thank God for the common cold he
thought. Grabbing his cell phone and holding down ‘1’ he speed dialed Kelly’s
cell.

After three excruciating rings, Tom
was near panic, when he finally heard Kelly’s voice, “Hey there.”

“Have you seen the news?” Tom
stammered in a rush.

“Just catching bits and pieces,
channel 2 just went black.”

“Sam okay?”

“Yeah, he's back in his room
playing.”

Knowing the news was likely trying
to panic everyone, he said, “There's probably nothing to worry about…just stay
home until I get there.”

There was a sudden loud banging
coming from outside his hotel room door. Tom said, “Love you and I’m on my way.
Gotta go, I’ll call again.” He ended the call, dropped the cell into his thigh
pocket, and ran over to the door. Peering out the peephole, he saw only the
distorted white door across the hall, like looking
into a carnival mirror. Sliding out the privacy chain and unlocking the
deadbolt, he slowly opened the door, easing his head out into the hall. What he
saw absolutely terrified him.

A man dressed in stained khaki
pants, stood pounding on the next door down the hall, using the remnants of a
camera tripod. His once white dress shirt was covered in blood and even his
blonde hair had gore splattered throughout. Khaki’s face muscles were tight
with rage and determination. The door splintered and began to break in as he
continued to hammer away at it.

As Tom watched in horror, Khaki
slowed his pounding, and turned toward him. His mouth opened into a snarl,
blood oozing out between his bottom teeth. With terrifying speed he leapt
toward Tom.

Yanking his head back into the
doorway, Tom shoved with his left arm to close the door, but Khaki was too
fast, already having the bloody tripod shoved up against the door. Pushing with
all his strength, Tom was still losing ground,
and knew he had to think of something fast.

With a grunt, he gave one last
shove at the door, and used this leverage to propel himself over the bed. With
a roll, he came up to his feet on the far side. Khaki rushed through the now
open doorway, leaping the bed. In his haste to catch
Tom, he caught a foot on the mattress and slid headfirst across the
covers, slamming into the wall. Khaki was immediately
trying to regain his feet, barely slowed by the seemingly painful crash.

Thinking quickly, Tom unzipped the top
sleeve of his suitcase, and reached in to
grab his Leatherman multi-tool…one of the few
nice gifts from the conference.

Khaki was back on his feet, and
with a growl began his charge. Tom knew there was no time to pick the weapon of
choice from within the multi-tool, so instead he held it tightly in his right
fist while pivoting on his left foot. With all of his strength, he brought the
edge of the Leatherman down on Khaki’s forehead. A sickening crunch was
followed by blood splattering out as his skull gave way. Like a puppet without
its master, Khaki’s legs dropped out from
under him.

Bloody dead guy on the hotel
room floor…great.

Reaching in his pocket and grabbing his cell phone, Tom dialed
911
.
The receiver immediately sounded, “All operators are currently busy, please
hang up and try dialing again later.”

Tom set the bloody Leatherman down,
not sure he would ever want to use it again.  He reached under the lamp to grab
the room phone, but before he could lift the receiver an ear piercing
screeching began. The noise cut out and then started again every couple
seconds.

His severed friendship with the
Leatherman was quickly stitched back up. Grabbing it, he headed through the
open doorway into the hall. The noise was much louder out here and was beginning
to make it difficult to think. Bright strobes flashed from red boxes along the
hallway.

Fire!

No time
for calls, he had to get out of here. Partway down the hallway, a green
exit sign hung from the ceiling. Beginning to turn that direction, he heard the
distinctive
thwok
of a deadbolt being disengaged.  Spinning back around,
he tried to determine which door the noise had
come from. The brass handle on the splintered in door slowly
began to turn.

He flipped both
handles of his Leatherman 180 degrees so that the sharp pliers could be
used as a weapon if needed. Crouching down, he tensed waiting for the door to
open.

The door slowly opened inward.
Nothing happened for a few seconds. Time stretched on, feeling like an eternity
to Tom.  Finally a head of blonde hair poked out, turning toward him. At the
sight of him she tensed, looking ready to duck back into her room.

Holding his left hand out, palm
down, he gave a patting motion, and said, “I’m not going to hurt you, but we
gotta get out of here.” Either she had trouble hearing him over the sirens, or
the bloody Leatherman in his other hand made her question his sincerity. He
quickly pocketed the Leatherman and just shouted, “Come on
!"

“Where’s the camera guy?” She
hollered back.

Not knowing what else to say, he
shouted, “Dead.” Strangely enough, this seemed to release the tension in her
face, and she eased out into the hall.
Dressed in black slacks and a light blouse, she looked to
be in town on business. Hoping to avoid explanations
about the dead guy, Tom turned and ran for the exit
sign while giving a “follow me” gesture over his shoulder.

The exit sign was mounted above a
large metal door with a blue stairway symbol next
to it. Slamming into the crash bar, he glanced
over his shoulder to see if she was following him. Seeing her racing toward
him, he continued into the stairwell.

The sirens were deafening in the
enclosed space, which is why Tom was unable to hear
the chaos four flights below. Oblivious to the danger, he began taking the
steps several at a time. At the first turn, he grasped the metal rail to spin
around the corner while looking back up the way he came. He was glad to see the
blonde following with surprising speed.

Tom was busy trying to calculate how
many floors he had went down, when he made a turn and slammed right into the
back of a large man. The hotel foyer was in sight, just a half flight
farther down, but the stairs were jammed with
people trying to push their way down.

On the other side of the foyer,
huge flames were leaping up the wall, licking the ceiling. The entire entrance
was consumed in fire, filling most of the room
in black, acrid smoke. One of the giant windows to the side of the entrance was
broken out, forming a makeshift exit.  A huge mass of people were piled in
front of the open window, trying to climb over one another to escape.

For an unknown reason, many of the
people in the foyer were fighting with those trying to escape, often times
dragging them to the ground in a thrashing of arms. Near Tom, at the bottom of
the stairs was a huge brawl between those wanting to escape through the window
and those wanting back up the stairs.

Tom’s decision was immediate. The
foyer was certain death, so he spun around on the stairs and ran smack into the
blonde. He yelled “UP, UP, UP!” Forming a plan in his mind, he raced
back up to the second floor, and then took the door leading to the hall.

There were doors o
n both sides, running all the way to the end, where
there was a large glass window overlooking the back parking lot. Glancing back
to make sure the blonde was still following, he sprinted down the hall,
stopping just short of the window. He turned to the side, and with all of his
energy, he kicked right next to the doorknob on room 226. With a loud crack,
the door shuddered but did not give way. Several kicks later, the door jamb
splintered, and the door swung inward, slamming into the wall.

Nearly identical to his room
, there was a queen bed on one side, and across from
it, a short dresser with a TV on top. Next to that sat a mini-fridge with a
black microwave above. Tom grabbed the microwave with both hands, turned, and
ran for the door. There was a loud snap as the plug ripped free of the outlet,
probably damaging the receptacle, but that was the least of his worries.

Returning to the hallway, he could
hear screams coming from the stairwell door, and smoke was pouring out into the
hallway. The blonde looked at him and then down at the microwave in his hands.
She must have known exactly what his plan was, because she immediately stepped
away from the window and backed up against the wall.

With a heave, Tom threw the
microwave into the large window, and with a loud thunk it came bouncing right
back. His eyes were beginning to burn from the thick smoke, and he was becoming
increasingly worried that this was a really bad idea. He grabbed the microwave
again, and this time went about twenty feet down the hallway. With a yell, he
sprinted down the hall as quickly as he could with a forty pound microwave
held in front of him. With a grunt, he launched the microwave toward the large
window. While it flew through the air, seemingly in slow motion, all Tom could
think was
how could this day get any worse...

With a loud
crack, the microwave slammed into the window, and then dropped to the floor
next to him. Tom’s heart sank.  Then he heard something, a familiar crackling
noise. Looking at the window, he could see a
small set of cracks slowly fanning out like a spider web. Grabbing the
microwave for what he hoped would be the last time; Tom
shoved it at the center of the spider web. With a loud crash, the glass came
straight down as the microwave went flying out the window, nearly taking him
with it.

With the
open path to fresh air, smoke began rushing through the hallway, out into open
space. Knowing there was no time for a careful escape, Tom peered out the
window, and leaped toward the small shrubbery that marked the edge of the
parking lot.

A couple
seconds later, the blonde came crashing down next to him, crying out in pain.
Tom had landed in the middle of the shrubs, causing minor scratches, but
blunting the fall enough to avoid real injury. Unfortunately, the blonde missed
the shrubs, instead landing on the hard packed bark landscaping.

Trying to
catch his breath while crawling out of the shrubs, Tom asked, "Are you
okay?"

"Think
I got my ankle."

"Bad?"

"I'll
live, help me up."

Tom had
to give her credit, she was one tough cookie. Extending his hand, he helped her
to her feet. She grimaced and stood gingerly, but no complaints.

Surveying
the street, it was clear problems extended beyond their hotel. Several cars
were piled up in the center of the intersection, steam coming out from under
some of the hoods. The drivers were nowhere to be seen. The little
coffee shop he had used the previous morning had a metal patio table thrown
through the front window. The hotel fire alarm could still be heard, but
several car alarms in various directions could also be heard.

"Holy
crap....now what? " The blonde asked.

"We
gotta get somewhere safe and find out what the hell is going on."

Tom
reached into his pants pockets for the keys to his rental car, but found only
dryer lint and his Leatherman. Thinking back, he could picture the keys laying on the
nightstand in his room, right next to his wallet. In all the excitement he
failed to grab much of anything.

The blonde
must have known what he was looking for. With a smile of pride, she dangled her own set of keys
out in front of him. "I have the blue
Focus back under the tree." She said while pointing with the keys.

Tom
started to turn in that direction, and then noticed movement down by the wrecked
cars. It was a small boy, maybe ten years old, dodging through the wreckage.
He was definitely in a hurry. A couple seconds later it was clear why the boy
was in such a hurry. Several people were chasing after him.

The
only thing keeping the boy out ahead of his pursuers was their own haste. All
of them were in such a hurry to catch him that they were pounding into cars and
tripping over debris. Tom thought back to Khaki's rush to leap over the bed in
his hotel room.