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With their car wrecked, the Reds took off down the street, literally ru
This last act was, in another ironic twist, one of the few cases of overkill ever recorded in an undead uprising. Well-protected, well-armed, well-led, well-organized, and extremely well-motivated, the gang members were able to dispatch the living dead from the upstairs windows without losing any of their own. Reinforcements (allied street gangs promising their support) did show up, unfortunately at the same time as the L.A.P.D. The result was the arrest of all those involved.
The incident was officially explained as “a shoot-out between local street gangs.” Both Reds and Peros tried to relay the truth to anyone who would listen. Their story was explained as a delusion brought on by “Ice,” a narcotic popular at that time. As the police and reinforcement gang members had only seen shot corpses and no walking zombies, none could be counted on as actual eyewitnesses. The bodies of the undead were removed and cremated. As almost all of them had been homeless people, none could be identified and none were missed. The original gang members involved were each found guilty of first-degree murder and sentenced to life at one of several of California’s state prisons. All were murdered within a year of their incarceration, supposedly by rival gang members. This story would have ended there had it not been for an L.A.P.D. detective who has asked to remain nameless. He/she had read about the Parsons-MacDonald case several days before and was intrigued by its bizarre details. This allowed him/her to partially believe the gang members’ stories. The coroner’s report gave the most compelling argument. It perfectly matched Parsons’ autopsy. The final nail in the coffin was a wallet found on one of the undead, a man in his early thirties who appeared to be better dressed and groomed than the average street vagrant. The wallet belonged to Patrick MacDonald. As the owner had been shot in the face with a twelve-gauge solid slug, there was no way to positively identify him. The anonymous detective knew better than to bring the matter to his/her superiors for fear of disciplinary action. Instead, he/she copied the entire case file and presented it to the author of this book.
FEB. 1993 A.D., EAST LOS ANGELES, CALIFORNIA
At one forty-fiveA.M. Octavio and Rosa Melgar, the owners of a localcarnecería, were awoken by frantic cries beneath their second-story bedroom window. Fearing that their store was being looted, Octavio grabbed his pistol and raced downstairs while Rosa telephoned the police. Crumpled near an open manhole was a quivering, sobbing man, covered in mud, dressed in tattered Department of Sanitation coveralls and bleeding profusely from the mangled stump where his right foot had once been. The man, who never identified himself, shouted repeatedly for Octavio to cover the manhole. Not knowing what else do, Octavio obliged. Before the metal cover slid into position, Octavio thought he heard a sound like distant moaning. As Rosa tied off the wounded man’s leg, he half-whimpered, half-yelled that he and five other sanitation workers were inspecting a storm drain junction when they were attacked by a large group of “crazies.” He described his assailants as being covered in a variety of rags and wounds, groaning rather than speaking, and approaching at a methodical limp. The man’s words trailed off into an unintelligible string of phrases, grunts, and sobs before he slipped into unconsciousness. The police and paramedics arrived ninety minutes later. By this time, the wounded man was pronounced dead. As his body was driven away, the L.A.P.D. officers took statements from the Melgars. Octavio mentioned that he had heard the moaning. The officers noted this but said nothing. Six hours later, the Melgars heard on the morning news that the ambulance carrying the dead man had crashed and exploded on its way to the county hospital. The radio call from the paramedics (how the news station was able to obtain it is still a mystery) consisted mainly of panicked screams about the deceased subject tearing out of his body bag. Forty minutes after the broadcast, four police trucks, an ambulance, and a national guard truck pulled up in front of the Melgar’scarnicería. Octavio and Rosa watched as the area was sealed off by the L.A.P.D. and a large, olive drab green tent was erected over the manhole with an identical passage ru
MAR. 1994 A.D., SAN PEDRO, CALIFORNIA
If not for Allie Goodwin, a crane operator at this Southern California shipyard, and her twenty-four-frame disposable camera, the world might have never known the true story of this zombie outbreak. An unmarked container was offloaded from the S.S.Mare Caribe, a Panamanian-flagged freighter out of Davao City, the Philippines. For several days it remained in the dockyard, awaiting pickup. One night, a watchman heard sounds emanating from the container. He and several security guards, suspecting it to be crowded with illegal immigrants, immediately opened the container. Forty-six zombies streamed out. Those in close proximity were devoured. Others sought shelter in warehouses, office buildings, and other facilities. Some of these structures provided adequate shelter; others became deathtraps. Four intrepid crane workers, Goodwin among them, climbed into their machines and used them to create an ad-hoc fortress of containers. This prefabricated shelter kept thirteen workers protected for the remainder of the night. The crane operators then used their machines as weapons, dropping containers on any zombie within range. By the time the police arrived (entry to the facility was barred by several locked gates), only eleven zombies remained at large. These were put down by a barrage of gunfire (including some lucky head shots). Total human casualties have been estimated at twenty. Zombie dead numbered thirty-nine. The seven unaccounted for are believed to have fallen into the water and been taken out to sea by the current.