Blood Zombie

Chapter 1

August, 2013, New Mexico. Nineteen days after D-Day.

When people saw the hotdog lunch truck they assumed it was just another Weinermobile and not a lunch truck used for the promotion of Stadium Hotdogs. Cain preferred driving it over other vehicles in the current zombie apocalypse. The lunch truck had all the conveniences of a modern kitchen; allowing Cain to cook and preserve food, much like a RV could. Unlike a RV, the lunch truck had a special feature: a smooth curved exterior due to its hotdog shape. This smooth, curved exterior kept the zombies from grabbing on and climbing all over the lunch truck. The truck’s only door was flush to rest of the hotdog shape and to the unknowing was hard to spot. Most people, and zombies, would almost never see the hidden door handle.

Cain was convinced it was the devil, or some similar entity, that empowered the zombies. The way he saw it a devil being was the only way to explain how D-Day happened all across the world.

He didn’t remember the date, just that it was a day in August when the dead sprang up and started attacking the living. It was an uncontrollable epidemic; if the living killed a zombie it was only one less zombie, but if a zombie killed a human it was one less human then one more zombie. Incurable diseases spread among the living driving up the numbers of the dead. Medicines hardly worked; people’s immune systems could not handle the new diseases festering in the zombie’s bodies, being transferred in one bite or scratch. Quickly all hospitals became hotbeds of zombie activity.

Only one in fifty people were still alive, making the living-to-dead ratio excessive. Cain hardly saw any living people as he drove. Seeing the lack of living was becoming a problem for him; he was lonely and wanted someone, anyone to talk to. Having other people around was a liability, so he had chosen solitude. Being alone for so long does bad things to a person’s mind. Being fearful and alone does crazy things to a person’s mind. Cain started to wonder why he even struggled against the armies of undead. Joining them seemed way easier. For now he was still sane and was starting to change his mind on remaining alone.

Because of its size and elongated shape, the hotdog lunch truck was difficult to maneuver around the crashed and abandoned cars scattered along the roads. It was not a fast vehicle; Cain blamed it on the contour, too much wind resistance, not aero-dynamic, zombie-dynamic.

Cain was traveling across the United States to meet Sara, his fiancée. He had last talked to her ten days ago, back when the phones still worked. She was with a group of people hold up in a castle hidden in the Michigan country side. The man who had it built was a paranoid millionaire who had been worrying about the apocalypse coming. Lucky guy happened to be right. The castle, with a large wooden drawbridge as the only entrance and tall thick stone walls, kept the zombies out. Cain knew Sara was safe there.

He was driving the hotdog truck east on highway I-40 and coming up to an exit for a small town. Cain found towns could be both good and bad things. Towns have food and other supplies, but they always have zombies roaming around. His aim was the highway gas station situated just outside the town.

After taking the exit off the highway Cain parked the hotdog truck on the road alongside the gas station. Each pump was already occupied with gas empty cars and trucks. With electricity no longer being supplied the pumps were useless. To him gas stations were no longer good for salvaging gas. He had not stopped for gas; he wanted food and drinks from the shop. While the hotdog lunch truck’s freezer was stuffed with frozen Stadium Hotdogs, he was sick of eating only them.

The best way to fill up the gas tank was from siphoning gas out of deserted and isolated vehicles, in unpopulated areas, like from a car crashed into a tree or a truck parked in a field. In the United States there were three hundred million registered vehicles; nine out of ten ran off gasoline, the others were either diesel or electric. In the panic following D-Day most vehicles were left abandoned on the sides of the roads. Cain had recently filled the hotdog truck’s tank up, with extra gas stored in gas-cans loaded into the back. Stopping for gas was something he wanted to do as little as possible. He knew he was going to have to start checking more often, with every day that past it would become harder to scrounge up gas.

Rotten shit, Cain said under his breath, looking around the perimeter of the gas station before getting out of the hotdog truck. The hotdog truck was not a quiet machine - most big vehicles are fairly loud - and it would not take zombies long to come to check out what had been making the noise. Cain would have to be quick with his ransacking of the store. There were always the rotted-eyes zombies hiding everywhere. Cain readied his pistol and stuck his head out the side window. The only windows of the hotdog truck were in the front tip of the wiener, tinted dark red to match the hotdog color.

No zombies in sight.

Cain holstered the pistol into his pants pocket and quietly got out of the hotdog truck. The gun was just a little six-shooter revolver – a Smith & Wesson Model 586 - he had picked up off a cop’s dead body. Cain had beaten the cop, turned zombie, over the head with his pipe wrench. It was not the first zombie he had beaten over the head with the wrench. He regretted not taking the cop’s holster as well.

The entrance door to the store was broken, with the glass shards scattered all into the shop. Cain liked the fact the glass was already broken. He was afraid opening the door would set off store chimes and any loud noise, like the chimes would make, could be bad. He ducked through the lower half of the door and stepped onto the broken glass. It softly crunched under his boots. His pipe wrench slapped against his thigh as it hung from his belt. Cain quickly began to fill a duffel bag with all the food he could quickly grab.

The best part of an apocalyptic world filled with zombies is the looting. Looting is fun, and in times of crisis people are supposed to loot. If a hurricane, earthquake or flood comes to region, people should loot the stores that are damaged in order to survive. A store should not be selling goods damaged by a disaster anyways. In 2005 when Hurricane Katrina had rocked the gulf coast, people looted food and drinks from flooded stores and the media went nuts. Someone had forgotten to inform the news networks that stores damaged in floods are not allowed to sell the damaged goods, and that insurance companies would cover the damage. In any crisis people will loot to stay alive, and should always loot in a zombie crisis.

Shit, Cain swore under his breath again. He filled the bag with too much junk food from the front of the store. He was not thinking straight, caught up in a frenzy of looting bliss. He went back out to the hotdog truck and emptied the bag onto its floor before coming back into the store. Getting his priorities straight, he would now be going after the canned goods and some bottled drinks. He stopped just as he got back through the store’s door to listen, thinking he had heard something from outside the store. It nagged at him to check out what it was. He really wanted some more wholesome food, but he knew he should check the perimeter once again. He was about to exit the store when a young woman went sprinting past the hotdog truck, down the road. Cain followed the girl with his gaze only for a second.

Cain’s back stiffened when he saw the next two things run past the hotdog truck: blood zombies. He knew from their red blood filled eyes and the tears of blood running down their faces what they were. They had not notice him in the shop and continued to run after the girl. A third, slower blood zombie came right past the front of the store. One of its legs was covered in blood, damaged, forcing it to limp. It stopped short and slowly turned its blood red eyes towards him.

Cain dropped the empty duffel bag, grabbed the giant pipe wrench from his belt, and pulled the pistol out of his pocket. He held the pistol’s cross hairs between its red eyes.

The zombie dashed forward, slamming into the shop’s doorframe, before ducking under the unbroken pull-open bar. As the zombie stooped under, Cain jumped forward and brought the pipe wrench down on the back if its head, in a hit similar to the rabbit-punch: a hit to the back of the skull considered illegal in boxing because of how deadly it can be. With a loud crack the zombie went limp and fell to the floor. Cain backed away from the corpse waiting to see if it would get up.

A rotted-eyes zombie sprang up at him from behind the clerk’s counter; it was the shop’s cashier, turned zombie. It had lain in wait for him to have come closer, having heard him pull up in the hotdog truck. Cain jumped back out of its reach. It slowly crawled over the counter trying to get at him. He fired off three shots at it: the first missed, but the other two tore into its face. One bullet drilled into its rotted-out right eye socket before destroying its brain. The zombie dropped flat on the counter’s top, dangling an arm in front of the selection of candy bars displayed under the counter.

Cain quickly made for the hotdog truck, stepping over the blood zombie whose head he had wacked. Its brains oozed onto the store’s floor mixing with the broken glass.

Chapter 2

A few seconds later.

Swarming around the hotdog truck was a pack of gray zombies. Cain knew from their oil black eyes and the gray color of their skin they were partial decayed zombies, having been dead for a few days. They had gone blind, and were slow moving, generally very easy to outrun. He would have to draw them away and circle back to the hotdog truck. He took off at a jog down the road scrapping the heels of his boots along the pavement; the noise encouraged the gray zombies to follow. They slowly stumbled after him with their arms out stretched trying to find their way, carelessly after him. He had implemented similar tactics before to draw off gray zombies.

After a minute of jogging, Cain heard screams ahead and assumed the blood zombies from before caught the young woman. He was too low on ammo to fight them off. He would have to find a place to hide until he could make it back to the hotdog truck. There was a small two-story house just off the road he made a break for. He would be able to hold up in there until it was safe. He was on the house’s front porch when he heard more screams, much closer, behind him. Looking back he saw blood red eyes staring back at him from across the yard. The red eyed bastard was screaming and yowling to bring the pack of grays zombies with it.

Cain wasted no time checking if it was unlocked and kicked in the front door to the house. The blood zombie would be right behind him with the gray zombies in tow. He entered the house and ran up the flight of stairs just inside, taking the stairs two at a time. He went into a bedroom slamming the bedroom’s door behind him. He had to be fast; he opened the bedroom’s small window overlooking the backyard and jumped through it. The long, un-mowed grass was dry and coarse and did nothing to help break his fall. In a dull thud he landed and stopped moving to listen.

He heard the blood zombie in the house looking for him. He waited until he heard it go to the second floor before he took off across the side yard, back towards the hotdog truck. The gray zombies were still wandering in front of the house trying to follow after the blood zombie’s screams. Cain had a straight shot back to the hotdog truck with no zombies to impede him. He made it back to the road and heard something trailing behind him. Not looking back he kept sprinting; he had a good lead and would make it to the hotdog truck first with time to spare.

As Cain started to climb into the hotdog truck he turned around and saw it was the young women from before come running up behind him. He pointed his gun at her.

Don’t shoot, she said, holding up her hands. She was breathing hard and covered in sweat. She looked back at one of the blood zombies still chasing her just a few hundred feet behind. Please let me on. I’ve been running for a while.

Getting a better look at her Cain saw she was a teenage girl, with short dark hair, wearing a school track jersey.

Okay, get up here, Cain said.

She climbed up into the hotdog truck, and he closed the door as her red eyed chaser reached them and began to pound on the door trying to find the handle. Cain quickly started the hotdog truck’s engine and took off down the road back to the highway. The zombie tried to grab a hold of the truck as it drove away but could find no hand hold.

Thank you so much, she said.

Tears formed in her eyes. He noticed the tears when checking to make sure there was no red in her eyes.

He saw other zombies in the rear view mirrors chasing after them. I’m Cain, he said. Then, when she did not answer for a while, he tried to guess as to why she was crying. Sorry, did you lose someone back there?

Hey, where are you going? She asked abruptly, ignoring his question.

Getting back on the highway…

You can’t, they blocked off the highway.

The zombies? he asked shocked. He never would have believed they would do something so clever.

No, the gangs. They stop people and steal their cars. If you want to get through you are going to have to go south and around them. She looked at the back of the hotdog truck. What is this thing?

It is a hotdog lunch truck. Stadium Hotdogs made it to drive around the east coast going to sport stadiums to promote the company and sell hotdogs. It is state of the art. Best thing to drive in a zombie apocalypse. Cain forced a smile trying to put her at ease. I just grabbed some food from that gas station why don’t you hand me some of that jerky back there. Cain pointed to the back with his thumb. She went into the back. So these gangs aren’t worried about the zombies everywhere? Cain shouted back to her.

They got lots of guns and they put up barriers to keep the zombies out. She handed him some jerky and pointed out ahead. You can turn right at the next road.

Are you from around here? Cain asked. She did not respond as she sat down in the passenger seat. She had grabbed some potato chips for herself. Cain followed her directions turning down the road she directed.

Chapter 3

A few hours later.

The hotdog truck’s new route took it south of the highway by thirty miles. Even along the back roads abandoned cars were scattered about, most of them were out of gas and not worth trying to scavenge. Their new course, the girl directed, took them to a forested area. Cain was feeling uneasy about it. The number of zombies was not greater in forested areas, but the primal fear of being alone in the woods, knowing there were monsters out to kill you was unnerving.

It was starting to get dark and Cain did not like driving at night. The hotdog truck could easily plow through zombies with no problem, but being able to see was an advantage he had over the gray zombies and he wanted every advantage he could get. Cain found a long driveway to a ranch and backed the hotdog truck along a long fence where it would be easier to drive away in a hurry if he needed to.

Stopping already? the girl asked.

Yeah, Cain said. I like to do a check around the hotdog before I go to sleep. It is best to do it before it gets dark. He made sure the door was locked, and then spent the next thirty minutes checking around the hotdog truck for any zombies. It looked like no zombies had been close enough to have heard them.

I really wanted to get some different food to cook tonight but I guess it is hotdogs again. Cain went through a door to the back storage closet and came out with a jug of water and a half dozen frozen hotdogs. Pouring some of the water into a small pot Cain threw the frozen hotdogs in too, and then set it on the wide stove, part of the hotdog truck’s interior kitchen. The cooking area ran along the one inside of the vehicle. I’m cooking three for you. He started the burner under the pot.

Okay, thank you, she said. Where are you going to sleep?

Cain pulled out a bedroll stuffed into one of the hotdog’s cabinets. He then laid it in the narrow space of the hotdog’s kitchen, there was barely enough room for it to fit.

Where am I going to sleep? she asked.

Cain’s sense of proper social interaction fully came back to him. It had been a while since he had talked to anyone. I’m sorry. I don’t know I’ve only got the one bed, Cain said.

If it’s okay with you, I don’t mind sharing this, she said as she lay down on the mattress.

Cain assumed she was only resting there and only realized that she was sleeping when he tried to give her the three cooked hotdogs and she did not responded. He felt a little stupid when he realized because he had continued talking to her thinking she was listening.

After eating his depressing meal Cain lay down on the mattress trying to leave her as much space as possible in the cramped area. Fears of waking up to a blood zombie started flooding into his head, but he pushed the fears away. He stared at her sleeping face. She was a cute girl despite looking like she had not bathed in the last week. Her hair was a tangled mess and she smelled of sweat, but he was sure he smelled even worse. She rolled over bumping right up next to him. Right now she seemed so small and vulnerable.

Like any normal healthy male thoughts, suited for safer times, entered his head, but he pushed them away with thoughts about Sara. He hoped she was still safe in that castle.

He pushed the girls shoulder back and she rolled onto her other side, now with her back to him. It read across the back of her jersey: WINTER. He rolled around in place putting his back to the girl.

Chapter 4

The next day.

The hotdog truck came to a stop in front of a large wooden gate built over the road. The gate was one of three built along the wall surrounding the small town Cain and the young woman came to. Over the wall on either side of the gate were crudely built towers, each with people pointing guns down at the hotdog truck. The gate swung open and a cop, totting a neatly polished wooden shafted rifle, came walking over to the front of the hotdog truck.

Come on out and show yourselves, the cop said.

Cain looked at the girl. Is this the gangs? he asked her. It was starting to seem like a big waste of time to leave the highway to avoid the gangs if they were to meet them out here.

I don’t know, she said.

I am going to give you the count of ten to get out, the cop said, then after a moment’s pause, One… Two…

Cain exited the hotdog leaving the pistol behind on the driver’s seat. It only had one bullet left in it. The girl followed him. Don’t shot, Cain said.

Anyone else in there?

No… dude. Just us two. Cain tried to say it casually, a little nervous.

You guys sick? The cop holstered the rifle with the bunt resting on his hip. His body language implied he had no problem shooting them dead in the head.

Both perfectly healthy, Cain said patting his own body in an attempt to show he was solid.

Go stand over there. The cop pointed them to the gate where two more people with guns had come out. One of them was looking down the road from where they had come. The other had his gun pointed straight at Cain’s face. The cop entered the hotdog truck and they could hear him opening and shutting the various compartments inside.

The one not pointing the gun at Cain’s face asked, Where you from?

California, I was on my way to Michigan, Cain said, he felt no reason to lie.

That’s a long ways away. They got zombies in Michigan?

Yes, but that is where my fiancé is.

She a zombie?

Cain gave him a dirty look. She wasn’t when I talked to her two weeks ago. Cain thought back when he had last talked to her on the phone. He still had his cell phone in the hotdog truck. The battery had died soon after the phone networks had.

Where you from? The guard asked the girl.

She looked at Cain, and said, California.

Cain was sure she was not from California. She had never said otherwise so he kept his doubts to himself.

The cop came out of the hotdog truck with one of the Twinkies Cain had looted the day before in his mouth and a few more in his hands. He nodded at the others. The one pointing the gun at Cain’s face finally eased up. The cop tossed the Twinkies to the other guards and looked at Cain as he finished swallowing the yellow cake treat. It all checks out, he said. You can keep your gun. In fact you may want to get more ammo once inside. You should go see the Boss Man.

I get my vehicle back? Cain asked. The girl’s fear of the gangs seemed a little off to him. Or these guys were not the gangs she told him about.

We don’t care about your vehicle. All we care about is the zombies and keeping the gangs out. He pointed to the side of the road at some charred corpses.

You guys aren’t part of the gangs? the girl asked.

Hell no we aren’t! said the guard who had been pointing the gun at Cain. We are just trying to survive peacefully, we welcome all into our walls that are healthy and if everyone is carrying a gun, anybody that goes zombie gets a face full of lead.

It was not an ideal plan, Cain thought. If everyone was carrying guns it would only take one of them becoming a blood zombie with a gun to start a D-Day scenario all over again.

Cain got back in the hotdog truck and drove it through the opened gate. Once inside the wall he saw it extended around most of the inner town. It was made up of fences, improvised scrap material, highway concrete dividers, and boarded up buildings were parts of the wall in some areas. The town had people living both inside the wall and in homes outside the wall. The homes outside the wall were boarded up and within sight from the towers. Snipers would take out zombies that came near. Because of the wall the town had fared better than most other places.

After a short drive they rolled up to a store with a sign that read Boss Man. Cain parked the hotdog truck in the