Clickers vs Zombies by Brian Keene, J.F. Gonzalez Page B
Authors: Brian Keene, J.F. Gonzalez
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top giant lobster-scorpion-crab hybrids?”
“There’s a riot going on in San Francisco. Some kind of mass shooting, but with multiple suspects and spread out across the city.”
“You mean like when those terrorists shot up Mumbai, India a few years ago?”
“I don’t know. The reports are pretty chaotic right now.”
“Okay. Listen, I’m going to let you get back to work, and go watch the coverage for myself. Call me tonight before you go to sleep?”
She glanced toward the building and noted the time on the dashboard. “Yeah, I’ve got to get back. I’ll call you from the hotel.”
“Sounds good,” Rick said. “I’ll be here.”
“Okay. Love you. Tell the kids I love them.”
“I will. Love you, too.”
After saying goodbye, Jeanette pressed the disconnect button and glanced back out the windshield. The late afternoon sun had burned hot, and even though it was dark now, the interior of the car was still roasting. She exited the vehicle, relieved to be out, then started to head back inside. She had to finish this database design, then she was knocking off early and heading back to the Holiday Inn. She’d be grateful to be back in the hotel room, where she could kick off her shoes and lay back on the bed. She felt…unsettled. She wasn’t sure if it was just that she missed her family, or the stress of traveling for work, or the news reports of strange lobster-scorpion creatures back home and the killings in San Francisco. It was all just too weird.
Jeanette went back inside the building and entered the conference room. She said nothing as she sat back at her spot at the table and began resuming her work. Even though she put on the appearance of being the dutiful working bee, she found it hard to concentrate on her work and found herself opening a web browser and hitting refresh on the search terms on the sea creatures to see if anything new popped up.
Within a half hour, there were so many reports that her browser locked up.
An hour later, the internet went down and the lights flickered.
Outside the building, a distant fire siren began to wail. A few minutes later, three police cars raced by, lights blaring.
Jeanette wondered what was going on.
Gardena, California
The house on Avalon and One Hundred and Eighty-first Street was filled to capacity. Joker found a place to park around the corner; he’d switched out his classic ride with something more conspicuous—a late model silver Toyota Tercel, cut normal. He’d also dressed down, like a normal citizen, in blue jeans and a tan polo shirt. Only his decorative tattoos and his look gave him away.
After a quick meal at Lucy’s, where Sparky got a taste of that carne asada he’d grown to miss while a resident of Arizona, they’d headed down the Harbor Freeway toward Gardena. They’d made small talk. Sparky had been a little surprised to learn that Joker had a cache of weapons in the trunk, everything from fully automatic rifles, clips, and hundreds of rounds of ammunition, to hand grenades. He was carrying a 9 mm handgun—it lay on the console between the front bucket seats. “I got a piece for you too, homie,” Joker had said, indicating the glove compartment with a nod. Sparky had checked. Sure enough, a black semi-automatic handgun had lain in the glove compartment. It looked brand new.
Sparky recognized a few familiar faces in the house, all rivals—from Tortilla Flats, Redondo Beach Trese, Lomita Mafia, Los Compadres, Lawndale and Hawthorne Trese, San Pedro Locos, and other South Bay crews. Sparky had asked Joker why Venice was included in this meeting. All the gang bangers assembled here were from the outlying communities of the South Bay and Long Beach. Wouldn’t it have made sense to fall in with crews from Santa Monica and the West side? Joker had shrugged. “I don’t make the rules, homie, I just follow them.”
Sparky and Joker found places to lounge near the front door. The sofas and chairs were all taken.
“There’s a riot going on in San Francisco. Some kind of mass shooting, but with multiple suspects and spread out across the city.”
“You mean like when those terrorists shot up Mumbai, India a few years ago?”
“I don’t know. The reports are pretty chaotic right now.”
“Okay. Listen, I’m going to let you get back to work, and go watch the coverage for myself. Call me tonight before you go to sleep?”
She glanced toward the building and noted the time on the dashboard. “Yeah, I’ve got to get back. I’ll call you from the hotel.”
“Sounds good,” Rick said. “I’ll be here.”
“Okay. Love you. Tell the kids I love them.”
“I will. Love you, too.”
After saying goodbye, Jeanette pressed the disconnect button and glanced back out the windshield. The late afternoon sun had burned hot, and even though it was dark now, the interior of the car was still roasting. She exited the vehicle, relieved to be out, then started to head back inside. She had to finish this database design, then she was knocking off early and heading back to the Holiday Inn. She’d be grateful to be back in the hotel room, where she could kick off her shoes and lay back on the bed. She felt…unsettled. She wasn’t sure if it was just that she missed her family, or the stress of traveling for work, or the news reports of strange lobster-scorpion creatures back home and the killings in San Francisco. It was all just too weird.
Jeanette went back inside the building and entered the conference room. She said nothing as she sat back at her spot at the table and began resuming her work. Even though she put on the appearance of being the dutiful working bee, she found it hard to concentrate on her work and found herself opening a web browser and hitting refresh on the search terms on the sea creatures to see if anything new popped up.
Within a half hour, there were so many reports that her browser locked up.
An hour later, the internet went down and the lights flickered.
Outside the building, a distant fire siren began to wail. A few minutes later, three police cars raced by, lights blaring.
Jeanette wondered what was going on.
Gardena, California
The house on Avalon and One Hundred and Eighty-first Street was filled to capacity. Joker found a place to park around the corner; he’d switched out his classic ride with something more conspicuous—a late model silver Toyota Tercel, cut normal. He’d also dressed down, like a normal citizen, in blue jeans and a tan polo shirt. Only his decorative tattoos and his look gave him away.
After a quick meal at Lucy’s, where Sparky got a taste of that carne asada he’d grown to miss while a resident of Arizona, they’d headed down the Harbor Freeway toward Gardena. They’d made small talk. Sparky had been a little surprised to learn that Joker had a cache of weapons in the trunk, everything from fully automatic rifles, clips, and hundreds of rounds of ammunition, to hand grenades. He was carrying a 9 mm handgun—it lay on the console between the front bucket seats. “I got a piece for you too, homie,” Joker had said, indicating the glove compartment with a nod. Sparky had checked. Sure enough, a black semi-automatic handgun had lain in the glove compartment. It looked brand new.
Sparky recognized a few familiar faces in the house, all rivals—from Tortilla Flats, Redondo Beach Trese, Lomita Mafia, Los Compadres, Lawndale and Hawthorne Trese, San Pedro Locos, and other South Bay crews. Sparky had asked Joker why Venice was included in this meeting. All the gang bangers assembled here were from the outlying communities of the South Bay and Long Beach. Wouldn’t it have made sense to fall in with crews from Santa Monica and the West side? Joker had shrugged. “I don’t make the rules, homie, I just follow them.”
Sparky and Joker found places to lounge near the front door. The sofas and chairs were all taken.
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