The Unknown Zombie: Part 1

By Steve Zimmer

A NYC family and friends trying to survive the Zombie Apocalypse. The Zimmers and there companions are trying to make the most of a bad situation. The dead has risen to take over the planet, but this small band of city slickers have to figure out how to survive this new world that they are thrusted into. Fighting back and living is the only way to survive.

• Language: English
• Publisher: BookBaby
• Release date: Mar 19, 2015
• ISBN: 9781631927652

Book preview

Part One

I was pounding on the punching bag waiting for my trainer to show up. He texted me and said he was running late. I figured fine – this was all new to me anyway. I never used to go to the gym, never used to worry about my body, but as you age you start to realize your body isn't what it used to be and you need to help it stay in shape. And why not do something that you really like, like fighting, to help you pass the time and get in shape? I mean growing up in Queens in the 80s and 90s was something else. The little turf wars and girl battles between different neighborhoods were legendary: you would beep someone on the Motorola – hit me on the hip was what we used to say in the hood – and the fight was on. A spot was picked, usually a park where everyone from all over the neighborhood would come and meet up and take turns scrapping. There would be a few fair fights at first, then all hell would break loose. But there were no weapons, it was just good old-fashioned street fighting, and the worst you would get is maybe cracked with a little flap jack. So even with two bum knees the idea of MMA excited me. I felt like if the shoe fits wear it, you know? My psychiatrist once said that I have addictive personality. He must've been right: as soon as I started I was off, forty-two years old and determined to make a change in my health and maybe learn to kick some ass at the same time. I had the magazines, Tai Bo, p90x, hell I even tried the Zumba class once when no one was around, but my time is precious and I liked to get down to business. There aren't enough hours in the day to waste any.

When my trainer Mel walked in he apologized immediately and said this class was on the house. This guy was the real deal, tough as nails. He didn't like wasting time either. He put his bag down and walked right over to me. Zimmer, you ready for this work out? he said.

My name is Stan Zimmer but no one ever seems to catch my first name. I don't know why; ever since I was a kid Zimmer just stuck like that.

I joined the gym a couple of months ago to start training in MMA. I liked it so much I'm in the gym two hours a day five days a week. Must be that addictive personality coming through again. My sparring partner that day was Smash, an ex- Navy SEAL. All you had to do was take one look at him to understand why they called him Smash. Military mentality, six-six, muscles on top of muscles, hands the size of frying pans, and a look that said if you fuck with me, I will crush you. I sized him up as he got into the ring, thanking God that this hulk of a man was my friend and not my enemy. Smash was in his early forties but he looked amazing for his age, just a physical specimen of perfection. I should be so lucky to look that good, I thought to myself. But in reality I was an out-of-shape overweight pack-a-day smoker who joined the gym a few months ago with the hopes of transforming his body back to something that resembled his younger and healthier days.

It bites when once upon a time you were a good athlete in great shape and exercise and sports were easy to do and come by. I was a natural at everything I did when I was younger. I picked up skiing in like an hour. I swear I felt I was ready for the Junior Olympics halfway through the day. Physical challenges just came easy: balance was good, reflexes sharp, body strong and a pair of cojones the size of watermelons. The good old days, to be young and dumb. I might have been on the bigger size when I was younger but I moved with catlike reflexes, pure young man strength. Some people are artsy and good with their hands. Drawing, playing instruments, stuff like that. Me, I was a physical type of guy. Building the pyramids would have been the perfect job for me, nothing but physical labor. Or maybe if I could have been a professional kid as an occupation – even better! I would be the CEO and HNIC of the company. Our slogan would be: where growing up is a thing of the past. It would be all middle aged men and women running around playing video games and having pickups tournaments. Yeah, and music from the 90s constantly in the background: Guns n' Roses, the best of Biggie Smalls. I would be able to eat a meal and not worry about packing on the pounds. My metabolism was faster than a cheetah on a rail of Escobar's finest white back then.

But with kids now, with grey hair and bum knee, I wanted to stick around a little longer for my family. I figured if I was going to be here a little longer I would rather not be in pain and miserable all the time. So getting back in shape was something that I was really going to give a go at. My problem was the blown out knee. I tore my ACL and my Meniscus Cartilage when I was twenty-six. I was playing in the YMCA basketball league, having a good game too. Over twenty-five points, fifteen rebounds, seven assists and a couple blocks. I was running on a fast court break, trailing on the left wing and cutting straight to the basket. I caught the pass, turned hard with a drop step, planted my right foot and went to head fake. That was when I felt my knee pop. The leg stood still but the knee went side to side. The pain was excruciating. I knew immediately that I just did some permanent damage. The injury forced me to go under the knife for a surgery that left me off my feet for almost a year. Once I was tall and slender, two-hundred pounds spread over six feet; now I was a two-hundred fifty pound gimp with a bum knee that would never be the same again.

So there I was, a forty-two year old married father of two, with two bum knees, facing off with the Navy SEAL. The fountain of youth had been good to Smash: he was looking me up and down, jumping around and loosening up, circling in the ring.

I see you're ready to get your ass kicked, he said with a smile on his face.

Some gym rats filled in around the ring to watch the action. They talked in low voices so Smash and I wouldn't hear what they were saying. I could only imagine: "That poor guy is going to get destroyed in there. What is he thinking? He's gonna get his ass kicked."

I liked being in the ring more when Smash wasn't in there with me. My mind was wandering that day, I couldn't stay focused. My wife Sydney was going to take me shopping for a new computer that weekend. We were going to take a ride to a Wal-Mart that was about three hours north of the city. I didn't mind the ride at all, especially because I'd just come into a small skiing cabin sitting on eighty-six acres of pure country about two miles from my Gramps's house in upstate New York. The country was beautiful to be around: lots of beautiful foliage, and mountain views that went on forever. Real serene up there. I figured it would be nice to get away, just the two of us, even if it was only for a weekend. We'd sit on the old couch together, sharing a blanket. I would look at her and think to myself: this is perfect. Plus I had so many ideas for the property up there it was driving me crazy.

That's when