Z Towers: An Apocalyptic Plague (Made in the U.S.A.) Read online

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead is entirely coincidental.

  Copyright © 2017 by Jay Zano

  All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Printed in the United States of America

  Contact the author through: JayZano.com

  ISBN: 978-0-9987750-0-5

  CONTENTS

  Acknowledgements

  Chapter 1: How Did We Get Here?

  Chapter 2: Welcome to Zook Towers

  Chapter 3: The Genesis Project

  Chapter 4: The Breach

  Chapter 5: Lockdown

  Chapter 6: The Storm before the Calm

  Chapter 7: Best-Laid Plans

  Chapter 8: What’s Happening?

  Chapter 9: Emergency Response

  Chapter 10: Back Online

  Chapter 11: Zombies for Sale

  Chapter 12: Baby Steps

  Chapter 13: Supplies

  Chapter 14: Sid’s Hook-up

  Chapter 15: Meeting Matt

  Chapter 16: Time to Make a Plan

  Chapter 17: New Plan

  Chapter 18: Zoe’s Perspective

  Chapter 19: Mark Fields

  Chapter 20: Time To Move

  Chapter 21: That Went South Fast

  Chapter 22: Stockade

  Chapter 23: What Now?

  Chapter 24:Figuring It Out

  Chapter 25: Saving Lives, Killing Zombies

  Chapter 26: Falling into Place

  Chapter 27: Moving on up

  Chapter 28: All Caught Up

  Chapter 29: Survivors

  Chapter 30: The Great Escape

  Chapter 31: Breaking the Line

  Chapter 32: Where Are We Now?

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  Thank you to my wife, Jen and son, Tyler for believing in me. You two are my world. I love you both very much!

  Thank you to Dan Fazzini for the conversation that started it all.

  To Dylan Wininsky, Pete Simons and Tom Wissman, thank you for keeping the story on track by letting me know what worked and more importantly, what didn’t.

  A special thanks to Robert Wood for your brilliance in editing. The story wouldn’t be what it is without your hard work. It was a pleasure working with such a professional.

  A quick shout out to Damonza for designing such an awesome book cover.

  And finally, A very special and heartfelt thank you to my beautiful wife, Jen. I know I thanked her once already. She told me that she was so supportive of this book she deserved to be thanked twice! I agree.

  CHAPTER 1

  HOW DID WE GET HERE?

  AS WE CRAWL by the executives’ posh, windowed conference room, we notice three zombies wearing thousand-dollar suits and shambling about the room like mindless sleepwalkers. That’s what they do when they’re not ravenous for brains or blood or whatever the hell they sniff out in the living. We’ve nearly crept by, trying not to catch their lifeless gaze, when Fickle stops dead in his tracks. Suddenly, he stands upright and stares at one of the suits ricocheting away from the corner of the room.

  “Hey,” he whispers, “isn’t that…”

  Before either of us can respond, Fick’s expression changes from slight fear to an absolute, blind rage.

  “Hey, asshole!” he screams, whipping the conference room door open. He’s spotted Gerry Grand, the building CIO who has made Fickle’s life a living hell for the last three years.

  “No, Fick, wait,” I hiss, but he’s already making a beeline for Grand. “Oh shit, let’s go!”

  With no choice left, we rush in to help. As Fickle closes in, he spots Grand’s golf putter leaning against the conference table. He picks it up and, in one fluid motion, hits Grand right across his decomposing jaw. Vegas and I stop for a second, impressed with the fierce blow Fick just dropped on this fool.

  “Damn!” we squeal, as Grand flies backwards over the table, but two other zombie-suits are coming our way, and we’re forced to refocus quickly. We’ve actually become quite proficient at killing these things. We weren’t always this awesome; our first kills were sloppy; full of fear, hesitation and nausea. Now, we’re like badass assassins. Who would have thought a couple of computer guys could be so awesome? We aren’t your everyday hero types, blessed with dashing good looks and chiseled physiques. Typically, we’re the type of guys who rarely get a second look. However, our societal superpowers of invisibility and obscurity don’t apply anymore. We’re badass mothers, kicking ass and taking names! I’d like to think that all the endless hours of Call of Duty have prepared us for this moment. Anyway, Vegas and I make short work of bludgeoning the other suits.

  I stop to confirm my kill, wiping the splattered blood from my face, but I know I can only pause for a brief moment. Vegas and I swing our attention back to Fickle. Vegas moves to help him out, but I hold him back.

  “No, let Fick have this. It’s been a long time coming.”

  Grand stumbles back up, his bloody jaw now dangling loosely. Undeterred, he once again lunges in Fickle’s direction.

  “You never had any intention of giving me that promotion, did you?” Fickle exclaims. “You’ve made my life miserable for three damn years! Well, payback’s a bitch!”

  Fick continues to rain blows down on Grand, landing precision shots on each of his extremities. You can hear the snapping of bones in Grand’s arms and legs as he’s rendered immobile. We find ourselves hollering like we’re cheering on a fight at a hockey game.

  “Get ’im, Fick!”

  “Fuck him up!”

  “Yeah!”

  Except this isn’t a hockey fight, it’s our friend pulverizing a zombie with a freaking putter, of all things. I know we’re brutal zombie slayers now, but it still feels a little disturbing to be encouraging our friend to kill his boss. That’s how far we’ve come in just a few hours. Not Fick, though. Up until now, Fick had only killed one zombie, and he hasn’t really recovered from it. He said he could still see life in Betty when he looked deep into her eyes, like she was trapped inside the monster she had become. After that, he lost his gumption for survival, but we didn’t blame him. It’s been a mind trip, killing zombies in the afternoon when they were our coworkers this morning. Even the ones I hated were a struggle, in the beginning. Well, Justin and his stupid haircut and desperate attempt to be relevant, I didn’t mind that one, but with the rest, it’s been a struggle. Even Glen, the loud chip-eater, was a difficult kill for me. Maybe not as hard as it should have been, but still a struggle. That’s probably why we’re so excited about Fick. Until now, Fickle hasn’t been helping us get where we need to be to survive this madness. He’s just stood there, sulking, scared and seemingly judgmental while we make all the kills. Maybe this is him turning the corner.

  Anyway, as Grand lies on his stomach, disoriented from the repeated blows to his body, Fick raises the putter above his head samurai-style for the kill shot. He slices down at full speed, with that same rage in his eyes, but instead of hearing the sound of the putter blasting through a skull like a shotgun, it sounds much more like he slams it into a sack of tomatoes. Our line of sight obscured by the granite table, we rush over to see the result. Instead of seeing a bashed-to-death Mr. Grand, we see a zombified Mr. Grand squirming on his stomach with a Big Bertha putter hanging right out of his dumb ass.

  “How’s it feel, you asshole?” Fic
kle chuckles as he falls back against the wall from pure exhaustion.

  “Geez, man,” I say, impressed. “You got the whole head up in there! I didn’t even think that was possible.”

  “Wow,” Johnny Vegas chimes in, “a hole in one.”

  I raise my weapon, the trusty ol’ blade from an industrial paper cutter, to finish him off. (I did have a better weapon, thanks to Matt, but I’ve grown partial to this more basic model; made in haste, but it does the job.)

  “No!” cries Fickle. “Keep him that way. He deserves to stay a mindless zombie!”

  I bet you’re wondering how we got here. Well, we’re still putting it together ourselves. Today started pretty much like any other day, with us arriving at work at Zook Towers. Johnny Vegas was getting the daily odds on all the office pools, and Fickle was getting his daily dose of abuse from Gerry Grand, who liked to slap Fick around, give him titty-twisters and goose him in the ass with the end of his putter. As for me, I was up to my usual daily duties of fixing computers and making moves on Zoe.

  Zoe’s the most beautiful woman in the building, and she works on the seventy-fifth floor. I usually spend half my day thinking of ways to run into her ‘by chance’. So far, it’s only been in the elevator or lobby, but I make the most of it. Speaking of the seventy-fifth, that’s the place where all this shit started. It’s a locked-down floor dedicated to lab coats, military personnel and lots of top-secret bullshit. The infection started there and spread so fast, too fast for most to react. Anyway we’re headed to the top floor now, more or less, in hopes of… Well, let’s just get there, first. I’ve learned not to think too far ahead. One thing is for sure, if we do get out of here alive, I’m going to make some changes; be a better person, live in the moment more. If we get out, that is. Maybe Sid was right and there are only two ways out of this godforsaken building: as a mindless zombie or in a body bag. Welcome to Zook Towers!

  CHAPTER 2

  WELCOME TO ZOOK TOWERS

  WALKING UP TO the building is always a mesmerizing experience. Dual hundred-story towers stand side-by-side, connected by two catwalks and an enclosed, external escalator that combine to form a perfect ‘Z’; the building’s signature look. Tower one has been there for a few years, while tower two is slated to open soon. It’ll be a big spectacle, I’m sure. I have to admit, it is a breathtaking sight. Coming up to the building, it’s always hard not to feel like a celebrity. Tons of tourists can always be found at the base of the buildings, there to get their pictures taken under the ‘Z’. There’ve been plenty of protests held in the same space, thanks to the boss, Mr. Zook, and his constant shady dealings and massive contracts with the military.

  Because I work here, I’ve been asked to pose for pictures on multiple occasions. It seems so ridiculous, but I always oblige, as it’s probably as close to celebrity status as I’ll ever get. The superstar persona of ‘guy who works in the cool building’ is always short-lived, and walking in the front doors is enough to remind me that this is my workplace. The job is okay, and the people are cool for the most part; it’s Mr. Fredrick J. Zook, billionaire owner of Zook Towers and my boss, that I really can’t stand. He represents everything that’s wrong with this country: a greedy, self-centered, pretentious, egomaniacal asshole who’d destroy anyone to get what he wants. I guess you could say he’s lived the true, rich man’s American dream, exploiting everything and everyone to make a profit. He once used eminent domain to close an orphanage so he could put up a mini-mall. He’s actually fired people for disagreeing with him or looking at him without permission. He dabbles in everything from franchising ice cream trucks to running a private university where, for the small fee of $75,000, you too can have a ‘Zook degree’, which is worth about as much as the shit I took this morning.

  All of his businesses pale in comparison to his biggest money maker, which is supplying massive amounts of weapons to our military. He’s made hundreds of millions, maybe billions, off the backs of tax payers and probably doesn’t pay a cent back. He ran for president during the last election cycle, under the brand of fear and idiocy. Almost won, too. He successfully scared a massive amount of Americans, claiming that Mexicans were crossing the border to rape and pillage, the Chinese were stealing our manufacturing jobs and that all Middle Easterners were terrorists here to destroy us. What a disaster it would have been if he’d actually become president. During one of the debates, it came out that the dude thought New Mexico was just a cleaner, rebuilt area in Mexico! He’s living proof that you don’t have to be smart to be rich. My loathing for this xenophobic asshole washes over me whenever I enter his building, since the entrance has an enormous mural of his big, fat, lumpy head in the lobby for all to see. Being greeted by this obnoxious display of arrogance every day has always pissed me off. He’s a squat, chubby little dick with small, peg feet in real life, so it’s no surprise that he has this ridiculous mural to convince everyone of how big and powerful he is; it’s a hell of a way to overcompensate for his physical and mental shortcomings. I imagine he’s got his way his entire life, never having a single person tell him ‘no’, which is why he feels he can say and do anything he wants without consequence.

  *

  Zook’s Presidential Concession Speech

  Hello everyone, and thank you for staying so late. Obviously, this isn’t the outcome I, and all of you, were expecting. To be frank, this presidential process is a rigged system designed to help those in power to stay in power. I don’t accept the outcome of this election, and cannot endorse Helen Clampton as our next president. She is corrupt and should be in jail. Quite frankly, she’s behind all the rigging that’s going on in America. So much rigging, folks! It’s incredible, absolutely incredible, how much rigging is going on. I have to be honest, folks, she is the main reason why jobs are going to China. She is solely responsible for all the terrorist attacks that have ever happened on American soil, and overseas, and she’s the reason why so many Americans are struggling.

  Let me tell you, you guys are in for four years of death and destruction in America with Underhand Helen running things. She is a rude old woman who only cares how she can help rich people, illegal immigrants, the gays, the blacks and the corrupt media in this country. So, if you don’t fall into one of the categories, guess what? You’re screwed! Good luck, folks. You’re going to need it.

  That said, all is not lost. I, and I alone, will be here to pick up the pieces of this fallen nation and resurrect its days of glory. I first plan on suing America for its rigged system and corrupt media that denied me the presidency by passing false truths about me. So rigged! Then, and here’s the most important part, folks, I am opening my own news company called Zook News, where you can get unbiased news from only me and my trusted and loyal sources. Where we will offer you an unfiltered look into the real news that doesn’t worry about hurting feelings and political correctness. The true, raw news on how Mexicans are hurting this country, how China is stealing and how the Muslims are all here to take America down. Educate yourselves, folks, because I can’t do it alone. Well, I can, but certain laws prohibit me from doing what needs to be done. That’s why I needed to be president to do the things that need to be done in this country. You think Underhand Helen can do it? I mean, if she wasn’t so old and hadn’t already been through menopause, maybe. She could have gotten tough during one of those unpredictable monthly cycles but, without that, she has no fight, no energy in her. I mean, come on folks, does she have the energy and stamina to lead this country? We’re all doomed since every other powerful country in this world, and there are a lot of them, folks, will now walk all over us, just like they have been doing for so many years under the previously weak and, quite frankly, pathetic administration.

  But I’m going nowhere, folks! I will be here when you need me most. Until then, do your best to arm yourself against the terrorists flooding into this country, the crime that is spiking out of control and the end of America as we know it. Watch Zook News and read my latest book, Bringing
America Back from the Dead to inform yourselves. God bless you and God bless this nation that used to be the greatest nation on earth. Not anymore, folks, not anymore. Good luck!

  *

  Besides Zook, it’s really not such a bad place to work. Every business you could imagine is in the building. Well, every business that can turn a profit. Each floor offers a different experience; we have floors dedicated to stockbrokers, lawyers, architects, managers, tech development and medical research. Basically, any job you can imagine has a place in this building. I work on the fiftieth floor, which is dedicated to providing tower one with technical support. It’s a good job for a couple of reasons. Firstly, we have plenty of work, since most people are absolute bumbling idiots when it comes to pretty much anything that has a plug. Secondly, it’s the best job for gossip. No one ever notices the IT guy. Just the other day, I heard Susie got syphilis from Frank, who was also sleeping with Jessica, who’s married to a stockbroker on the thirty-eighth floor. It’s crazy, like every modern-day soap opera bundled up into real life, and that’s even before you consider having complete access to everyone’s data. We have terabytes of hard drive space dedicated to all the nude pics we’ve intercepted from people’s computers. Some are truly cringe-worthy! Honestly, it’s hard to look some of these people in the eye. I once had a request from a woman known chiefly as a religious zealot to remove all the porn that had ‘somehow’ ended up on her hard drive. Strangely, she demanded I look at every image with her so we could catalog them for my investigation.

  That’s the type of job I expect on any given day, and I don’t expect anything different this morning. In fact, today starts like most others, with me waiting in line for the Starbucks in our lobby, hoping I can ‘run into’ Zoe. I can never go see Zoe at work, since the seventy-fifth floor is an off-limits laboratory way above my security clearance. Even IT can’t get access; it’s that locked down. The lobby and the elevator are the only places I ever see her, so I always make sure to make the most of it.