The least he could do

The day the zombies came to Seattle, Aaron was sleeping under a freeway overpass. Someone kicked him and he was instantly alert. Cold and hungry, but alert. Living on the streets didn’t allow for slow wakeups.

“Rise and shine,” a voice said.

Aaron assessed his surroundings. He was wedged under a freeway. His sleeping bag was wet from the cold overnight air. And in front of him was a police officer, whose boot was gently but insistently tapping on Aaron’s shoulder.

Aaron hated to wake up outside like this. But it had become depressingly familiar.

The toe tapped him again.

“I’m awake,” Aaron tried to mumble. “I’m awake.”

“You need to be out in the next five minutes,” the officer said.

“There’s nowhere left to go,” Aaron answered. “You all have kicked me out of eight different places in the last three weeks.”

“All I know is that it can’t be here.”

“No one else is even down here!”

The office shrugged. Aaron sat up and started packing.

“Are there any services you would like to be connected to?” the officer asked, as if by rote. “Counseling, health care?”

“Cup of coffee?” Aaron asked.

“I’m not one for games,” the officer said. “Do you need services?”

“Yes, I need services! I’m on all the lists and no one’s called me yet. I’m supposed to be bumped to the top of some of them because I served in Afghanistan, but that doesn’t seem to be good for anything anymore.”

“Thank you for your service,” the officer said automatically.

Aaron looked down his nose at the officer and enjoyed watching him cringe. “Funny way you have of showing it.”

“Let me give you couple bucks for that coffee,” the officer said and held out some bills.

Aaron grimaced. Everyone always thought a few dollars would help. The worst was that it would help. He hated that he was in this place.

He took the money, just as the officer’s radio squawked. “All units, priority zero, officers need assistance at Albro Place.”

The man didn’t spare another word. He hopped into his squad car and took off. Aaron shook his head and finished packing up.

Twenty minutes later, Aaron walked into Seattle’s downtown core, looking for that cup of coffee. When he got to Pioneer Square, though, his attention was caught by a jewelry store. He stopped out front.

Almost a year ago, Aaron had attempted to rob the store. He’d been desperate those days. He’d claimed to have a gun in his hoodie pocket, which had caused the woman behind the counter to nearly laugh—it was so obvious he was lying. That set him off though. He got angry and then she wasn’t laughing anymore. She looked terrified. She gave him some cash from the drawer. In his anger, he pushed for more and demanded the heart-shaped locket from around her neck as well. He thought he could sell it.

She reluctantly removed it from her neck. “This was a gift from—” she started. But he never got to hear who. Asking for the locket kept him too long. The police had arrived. The woman put the locket back on and watched his arrest with something like pity. From laughter to terror to pity, all in the span of less than a minute.

He spent four months in jail because of that locket.

Aaron turned away from the jewelry store, brooding.

That was when he saw the figure.

The figure was alone at the southern end of Pioneer Square. It looked like a man, but from across the square he couldn’t be sure. It had greying skin and blood-splattered clothing. He certainly looked like a zombie from a horror film. Is this some sort of act? Aaron wondered. Or is he something worse? Like a crazed killer?

Aaron’s situational awareness—which had been finely tuned first in Afghanistan and then again on the streets—suddenly kicked into high gear. He’d been so focused on the figure that he hadn’t quite processed the fact that the man was alone. How was it possible there was no one else in Pioneer Square? Where was everybody?

He looked with new eyes. And he realized the figure was studying him back. Like a lion sizing up its prey. A moment later, the figure broke into a run. Heading straight for Aaron.

Crazed killer or zombie, Aaron didn’t hesitate. He ran away. Aiming north—away from whoever (or whatever) was chasing him—he headed up First Ave. He ran as fast as he could, but his boots were slowing him down. The left boot’s sole flapped on the pavement and the right boot had no laces.

After a block, he risked a glance over his shoulder. His pursuer was closer. And while that made his heart pound even faster, he got a better look. The thing lumbered in a way that Aaron had never seen. It didn’t seem efficient, and yet somehow it was moving at an incredible speed. As if it couldn’t feel any pain or discomfort from the way it was contorting its body. Aaron didn’t waste any more time wondering what was chasing him. It was a zombie. And if it wasn’t, it was probably something worse.

He ran faster.

He didn’t see another person until he passed Madison Street, where he saw a man and a woman huddled against the corner of a building. Before he could warn them away from the zombie, he noticed that the man had a handgun. Perfect, Aaron thought. If I get behind them, he can take out the zombie.

He veered toward the pair.

“It’s coming toward us!” the woman screamed. “Shoot it!”

Aaron ducked, giving the man a clearer shot at the zombie, but he nevertheless felt something tear through his sleeve. He’d nearly shot him! What was he thinking? And then it got worse. Because the man was now lining up his sights on Aaron’s head.

Just before another shot rang out, Aaron threw himself to the ground. He landed to the left of the couple, colliding with the building wall. He was on the other side of the corner from them. Scant cover, but it would have to do. His military training took over and he immediately maneuvered into a defensive crouch. He reached for the gun that jutted forward and pulled it out of the man’s hands. Aaron swiveled and popped three quick shots into the head of the zombie that was now just feet away. The creature fell in a pool of—well nothing. It was merely dead flesh.

The three survivors stared at it in shock, all three breathing heavily.

Finally, Aaron turned to them. “Just what the hell was that? Why were you shooting at me instead of the zombie?”

“We thought you were one of them, man,” the man mumbled.

Aaron looked down at his clothes, covered in dirt and grime and plenty of stains. He felt a dawning realization. “I’m homeless,” he spat. “I’m not a goddamn zombie.”

“You looked like…” The man gulped and changed tactics. “We could hardly tell, man. Shoot first and ask questions later, you know?”

“Yeah, I’ve gotten used to that approach in this city. As far as you’re concerned, I’m as bad as him,” he said, pointing the gun at the zombie’s corpse. A flash of motion caught his eye. He looked down the street and saw a small crowd of zombies coming up the street from Pioneer Square.

“Better get moving,” he said. “Here they come.”

“Give us the gun back!” the woman shouted.

Aaron checked the weapon. “Four rounds left,” he said. “You wasted two on me. Consider yourself lucky I’m not going to waste two on you. Now run. And don’t follow me.”

He kept the gun and headed north.

Three blocks later, Aaron looked back. He was once again losing ground. He couldn’t hope to outrun them much longer. What he needed was a place to hole up.

Nearby was a huge skyscraper of glass and steel. The kind that usually had several levels of security to keep out people like him. But on this day, someone’s fallen shopping bag had gotten caught in the door and propped it open. Aaron slipped into the building and kicked the bag out of the way. The glass doors closed and automatically locked, but it wasn’t enough. He needed more security than just glass.

Off to the side was a small door that said Security. Aaron slipped into the empty room and surveyed his options. No people (and no zombies for that matter) showed on the security cameras. Either the building was abandoned or everyone was in their apartment. There was a computer on the desk, but he wasn’t very confident with technology. He saw a breaker box and opened the cover. “Now we’re talking,” he said aloud. He disabled power to the elevators and the garage doors. He was about to leave when he saw a massive ring of keys hanging by the door. Aaron grabbed the ring and headed back to the lobby.

Around the corner from the elevators, he found a staircase behind a heavy metal door. Once inside the stairwell, Aaron looked for a way to barricade it shut. A firehose was coiled on the wall. He unrolled it and managed to lash the crash bar on the door to the railing on the staircase. He pulled hard until the firehouse was taut. With the garage doors and elevators shut down, he’d just sealed off the last entrance to the building.

It was a long climb to the top floor, but he made it eventually. There were only three units up here. Aaron moved to the farthest penthouse suite from the stairs and looked through the keys to find a match. He found a black plastic fob and held it up to the door. The door clicked opened and he poked his head inside.

“Anyone home?” he called.

Silence.

Aaron crept down the unit’s main hallway. It emptied into a spacious apartment with ceilings that soared twenty feet high and windows to match. He checked every room and closet before he was certain he had the place to himself.

He took a moment to peer down at the streets. They were full now, but it was clear they were all zombies. Seattle was overrun. He held back from the windows, not wanting to be spotted. In fact, he decided to lower all the blinds to make sure no one could see inside.

That done, he moved to the kitchen.

The refrigerator was a bounty of fresh produce and dairy. And the freezer held stacks of fancy ready-made meals. He threw a lobster risotto into the microwave.

While he waited for it to reheat, he couldn’t resist the lure of the rain shower in the bathroom. He soaked in the hot water. He carefully shaved his unkempt beard. In the closet, he found men’s clothes and put on a pair of track pants and a soft sweatshirt.

Back in the kitchen, he put a pod in a coffee maker. Fresh coffee started to brew.

He took his risotto and coffee to an easy chair in the living room, put his feet up on an ottoman, and stretched out. It was quiet. He couldn’t hear a sound from the streets below.

He could get used to this.

As he feasted, he wondered about the man whose clothes he wore, whose food he ate, whose coffee he drank. He was probably down on the street somewhere. Maybe he’d been at work and his fancy office had been overrun. If he wasn’t a zombie yet, then he was soon to be one, Aaron guessed.

Maybe if he saw him on the street sometime, Aaron would give him a couple of bucks to help him out. It was the least he could do.