Free Last Stand on Zombie Island by Christopher L. Eger Page A

observed Sergeant Durham huddled in a group of cops listening to a chubby man in polo with Deputy Chief embroidered on the chest, reading from a clipboard.
    “With the MDC offline, I need each of you to use paper forms to complete reports. Submit these paper reports at the earliest possible time to the supervisor working the area where the report was taken. The supervisor will ensure that the approved report is collected and logged for entry by the admins when the system is back online,” the man droned to the collection of officers, many of whom had bandages. One had a torn epaulette on his uniform and his pocket ripped off. None seemed too interested in the deputy chief’s monologue.
    Billy caught Sergeant Durham’s face as he walked by and the look Durham gave him told him all he needed to know.
    Sitting in a chair next to the wall was a handcuffed Spud, still in his quick-lube uniform. This time, one cuff was on his wrist and the other affixed to the chair in which he slumped.
    Spud greeted Billy by gesturing an upturned middle finger in his direction.
    Billy walked up to the main desk behind a window sandwiched in metal screen. A woman glanced at him blankly as she tried to get the phone on her desk to work.
    “I need to place a missing persons report. My twelve-year old son is missing from the elementary school,” he said.
    “Have you gone across the street and checked at the Community Center? They are setting up a shelter over there,” she advised, pressing button after button on the multi-line phone and listening patiently for any sign of life.
    “I already tried that. His name is not on any of the lists they have.”
    “Keep trying sir, that’s all I can tell you for now. We have officers out looking and reports of kids running all over town. I got a woman in labor and I can’t get anyone to her. I got report after report coming in and now the phone doesn’t even work. It’s a mess.”
     
    — | — | —
     

    ChapteR 10
 
 
Gulf Shores, Orange Coast Bank
     
    Mackenzie’s day had deteriorated at the satellite bank. Starting shorthanded and alone already, she had her computer go offline during the first hour of the day. A call from the bank’s operations manager told her to limit cash transactions to $100 going out for bank customers only and to advise them that the Federal Reserve was offline and to try back tomorrow.
    Lines of cars asking for large cash withdrawals, and complaints their ATM cards were not working soon eliminated her cash supply. When she called to get a cash fill, they told her to put a sign in the window saying Deposits only , and they would call her back later.
    This cut off the rest of her business. Cars would motor up with a frantic driver waving a checkbook or identification card, see the handwritten sign, throw their hands up and drive away cursing.
    She had tried to call her mom during lulls in the morning but the cell phone network was nothing but busy signals and error messages. Occasionally, a text message or part of one went through hours apart from when it was originally sent. Her Facebook application on her smartphone had a red asterisk on her notification icon where she had tried to post updates on how crappy her day was turning out on her wall.
    In quiet Gulf Shores, it was rare to hear sirens, but that day she had heard them nonstop. First coming from one direction and then another. Once she looked out the window just in time to see a line of camouflaged military hummers race past.
    The sound of what at first she thought were firecrackers and then realized were gunshots only added to her anxiety.
    She looked up from putting her battery back in her smartphone, hoping it would jumpstart its connection, and saw fast movement out of the corner of her eye. She turned and looked towards the street and saw children running past. She was an eternal clock-watcher, and lived her day one sixty-second minute at a time while at work but she did not need the clock to tell her