by A. Giacomi
When the last piece of brain touches my lips, I am able to think more clearly. I examine the room and shoot to my feet. “Marcus, we gotta get out of here!” I scream.
He runs up to me. “No, it’s too late. We’ll have to play dumb. Security will already be outside waiting for people to leave, and they will know what you’ve done!”
Instead, we decide to hide amongst the corpses on the dance floor. Marcus and I quickly slide under a few bodies and use them as our blankets. We quietly lay there for no more than five minutes, and an entire team of officers burst into the club. They hold their guns ready for action, but there is no action to be found, only stillness and death.
One officer yells, “Check for survivors!” A few EMTs rush in with their equipment. They take the pulse of one body at a time and tally the casualties until they reach Marcus.
“We found a live one!” the EMT yells. Marcus groggily wakes up as the EMT shines a light on his face.
“Wh…what happened?” Marcus asks in a very convincing way, and then he is carted off to seek further medical attention.
They soon find me, and since I don’t have a pulse, I decide to jerk upright and pretend to be out of breath. I scare the EMT half to death; it takes her a moment to remember her training.
“Are you alright, miss?” she asks me through trembling lips.
“I don’t know,” I reply. And then I begin screaming as I glance around the dance floor. I’m not sure if I over act it or not, but they seem to buy my genuine fear.
Outside of the club, another EMT examines me for wounds. He finds holes in my dress. “That’s strange,” he says. “They sort of look like bullet holes.”
I give a little giggle. “Yes, that was the style. Sort of sick when I think about it now.”
He gives me an odd look but then nods, agreeing to fashion’s terrible taste in mocking death. He is especially disgusted with wearing dead animals and goes on and on about animal rights and eventually about lab experiments on poor defenseless creatures. If only he knew what I really am; I will never be the poster child for animal activism.
Soon, Marcus and I are questioned by police as to what we saw. We both play dumb as planned, telling authorities that we didn’t see what hit us. We were dancing and then we were on the ground. The police have no reason to doubt us, so they take down our information and let us go. I’m still shaken up about the entire incident; it is one thing for some psycho to go on a shooting rampage randomly, but something about this feels designed. I try to shake the conspiracy theories from my head. Tomorrow, this will be all over the news and explained. The authorities will have hacked into his social media by then, and who knows what sick plans they will dig up. The media will eat this up, but all I want to do is forget it.
When we get back to our hotel room, I immediately run a bath. I need to soak in order to get the dry blood off my body. I climb into the tub, and the water immediately turns red. I search my body for any scars or bullet marks, but of course, there are none. The Azrael Virus has been kind to me. I am a magnificent specimen, as Dr. August’s lab partner Dr. Matthew put it, magnificent meaning that I am deceptively human, biologically dead, and hold powers beyond any living mortal’s reach. I am “special.” I’d feel more special if I didn’t have to eat people. Perhaps I could be considered a superhero then?
I sink into the water and let it cover me. I open my eyes to look above me, and the room has a red hue to it. Soon, Marcus comes into view, shirtless. This peaks my interest enough to surface from the water’s silence. “Marcus? You okay?”
He sits on the edge of the tub and strokes my soaked locks of dark hair. His touch is blissfully soothing. “You scared me tonight,” he says softly.
“How?” I ask as I look into his eyes. I can see terror remains in his beautiful blue-green eyes. He is shaken from the events.
“I saw him shooting at you, and all I could keep thinking was what if he shoots you in the head? You can’t heal that! How did you know he wouldn’t?”
I sigh. “I didn’t know that. I only knew that I didn’t want him to shoot you. What could you have done? Thrown yourself in front of me? Died for me? For what! I’m already dead. I’m not even sure why you love me.”
That last part comes out accidentally. I don’t mean to question his love for me. I can see it upsets him, and I shake my head and look away, trying to signal that I mean no offence.
“Do you love me?” he utters in almost a whisper.
His words catch me off guard. I stare with my mouth hanging open, unable to say anything but, “I…I…”
Marcus turns away from me. “Never mind, you don’t have to say it. Forget it. It’s just words. I’m being stupid.”
The more he tries to brush it off as no big deal, the guiltier I feel. “Marcus, come back here. You know I care about you, dammit!” I scream as he is about to exit the room.
I am now standing in a pool of blood, dripping wet and asking this man not to walk away from me. How enticing can this gruesome girl be? How is it he can love me so freely?
“I just don’t know why you do!” I say to him as I begin to lose my composure. I point to the water below me and sink back down into it, trying to muffle sobs that are becoming increasingly difficult to hold back. He sees my distress and walks back over to the tub and holds me.
“None of this bothers me. None of it! The only thing that bothers me is losing you!” he says while kissing my forehead. “Do you need proof?” he asks with his classic smirk.
“What do you mean? What are you up to now?”
He removes his socks and his pants and jumps into the red water tub with me. I laugh with delight as he makes a fake disgusted face. “Nah, changed my mind, Eve. Think I’m gonna get out,” he says sarcastically.
“Oh no, you don’t!” I say as I wrap my limbs around him. “Whatever the consequences, Agent Williams…I’m yours.”
He smiles as he begins to kiss me and replies, “That’s all I needed to know.”
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
MARCUS
The next morning, Mr. and Mrs. Roosevelt head over to the Grand Canyon. Eve finds the role-play quite fun, but I much prefer to play the agent. I don’t know how to be Patrick Roosevelt, the happy-go-lucky tourist. That isn’t me. I awkwardly fiddle with the binoculars around my neck as Eve and I walk towards one of the most breathtaking sites in the world.
We stopped at the Toroweap Overlook and have a fantastic view of rock and water and sky. I have never been to the Grand Canyon before, and Eve, only being six at the time, barely remembers her visit to this magnificent landmark. The view is as incredible as any tourist guide described. What they didn’t describe is how terrifyingly high up we are. I am a tad afraid of heights, but I think I managed to hide it well. Eve has the opposite reaction; she is in total awe. She looks down at the Colorado River every chance she gets. She wears such a large grin that you would believe her to be Eleanor Roosevelt, the patriotic, fun-loving American. I smile at her as she steals the binoculars from around my neck. I am glad to let her have them. I wrap my arms around her, thinking it a bit odd that she chose to wear long sleeves in the desert, but her body is different now. Perhaps the sun bothers zombies?
Eve stares down below, and as she watches, her smile begins to slowly fade. My mind races. “Eve,” I whisper, “what did you find?”
Without a word, she hands me the binoculars. I stare down at the same area that Eve was looking. I try not to look concerned or draw attention to myself amongst the sea of tourists. There below us lies a zombie. It seems to have broken apart at the waist so that its end is in the Colorado River, and some entrails drag towards land with the rest of the upper body. The zombie isn’t moving enough to be noticed by sight alone. You would need binoculars or a fantastic zoom on a camera to see him clearly.
Eve and I are on the same page. We glance around for anyone with a phenomenal
-looking camera or some binoculars. I spot a few people with disposable cameras, thankful that they haven’t upgraded yet. A few take pictures on their phones, but that won’t have enough zoom, so that is more than fine. Then Eve sees something. She taps me on the arm, and I turn to face what she’s pointing at. A child perched up on his father’s shoulders has some amazing binoculars and is looking in the exact spot that our zombie lays.
The young boy lowers his binoculars with a horrified look on his face. Eve and I need to do something before this kid reveals a secret we are hoping to keep hidden from the public. He could be responsible for universal panic, and it will be impossible to cover up the news when it spreads to every corner of the world. The word “zombie” could spread just as quickly as the Azrael Virus itself. I’m pretty sure panic would be even more deadly; humans begin to act like animals trying to survive when words like “the apocalypse” are thrown around.
My hands sweat profusely as I think of the endless scenarios. I’m about to approach the child, but Eve holds me back, saying, “I got this.” My heart races. I have to trust her instincts, but a part of me worries she’ll fail.
I watch as she walks towards the large man holding the child. She pretends to catch her foot on a rock and falls into them, crashing so hard that the man almost drops his son. The binoculars fall to the ground and explode on impact. I grin as I see them split apart, lenses cracked and pieces scattering everywhere. She did it!
“I am so, so sorry! Are you alright?” Eve asks the man and his son.
The man looks a bit peeved, but how can he curse at a woman who has just simply lost her balance? “We’re fine. Are you ok, miss?” he asks in a minimally concerned sort of way.
“Yes, I guess I’m fine, but your binoculars. Oh God, I’m so sorry. I have to give you something for them.” Eve shuffles around in her purse and starts pulling out money.
The man stops her hand. “No, no, we’re fine. Please keep your money,” he says, and then they make their way back to their car. The boy seems to have forgotten about the zombie. Perhaps the shock of almost being dropped on the ground has left him a bit speechless. Either way, we have succeeded, but we still have to find a reasonable way to clear the area.
I pull out my phone to call Special Agent Vallincourt with our findings; he will know the right people to contact about this. When he answers, I quickly explain the situation and that we need to get our people down there as quickly as possible. The solution he comes up with leaves me a bit perplexed. “You want Eve to do what?” I nearly drop the phone as Vallincourt tells me that only a dead body can clear out an entire tourist attraction. He suggests pushing Eve off the side, that she won’t and can’t be hurt, so, therefore, it holds no risk.
Eve stares at me. “He wants me to …” and she points to the bottom of the Canyon. Her face looks bemused and terrified at the same time. “How am I supposed to stay in one piece?” she asks with her hands on her hips, looking less and less pleased as the moment’s pass.
Eventually, she loses patience and steals the phone from me. “Now listen here, Valli sweetie, I’m not going to dump my body down a 350-foot canyon. I know I’m not exactly as valuable as some of you living people, but I happen to like me very much and would like to stay intact. Ask me to do anything else and I’ll do it, but that’s absolutely insane! You realize that?”
Eve stops talking altogether after Vallincourt says something else. I can only imagine that he has given her another option. What that option will be is completely unknown to me. Eve hands me the phone and begins to back away from me.
“Eve, what are you doing? Eve, what the fuck are you doing?” I begin to scream, and every tourist is now staring at us. I have no idea what Vallincourt has told her, but it has convinced her to do this very stupid thing that she is about to do.
She looks terrified as her boots reach the edge. She is half here and half gone, which feels like a grave allegory for her current state. “Eve, you don’t have to do what that bastard says. Just stay here. Stay with me.” I reach out my hands to her, but she shakes her head and dumps herself backward with her eyes closed. I suppose I wouldn’t want to see what was coming either.
The entire scene replays in my head a few times as screams echo through the canyons, people screaming for a stranger they don’t know. I suppose horror belongs to everyone. It’s a feeling that sweeps over you and sucks out your joy even if you feel it for an absolute stranger.
I slowly walk to the edge and look down, my fear of heights forgotten. Below lay a small body in the dust. Part of me wants her to rise so that I know she’s okay, but the more logical side of me knows that she should continue to play dead, or double dead.
I sink to my knees, playing the role of the grief-stricken husband, but the emotions aren’t that far off. The scene around me grows very quiet, but I do not move until a police officer rests his hands on my shoulders and asks me to come with him. I don’t want to go. I claw into the ground with my hands and push him away at first, screaming into the air. Eventually, the police have to drag me away.
***
At the police station, I am questioned under my assumed identity. Patrick Roosevelt has to provide every detail about the moments before his wife’s suicide. I have already told the story about four times by the time the chief of police comes in. He is a burly man with a mustache who talks as though he is constantly spitting.
“Did your wife mention anything about killin’ herself, or had she ever exhibited any behaviours that might lead you to believe she’d attempt to kill herself?” he asks with a lack of sympathy in his voice as he chews and smacks the gum in his mouth. This guy is obviously a jerk; he’s earned that title wholeheartedly.
“No, she never did. I’m telling you what I told the last four guys. She never ever seemed sad or upset. She was the happiest woman. She was…happy,” I reply with real tears of honest sorrow. I want to see her, to hold her. I know by now that a CIA clean-up crew will be down in the canyon retrieving her body. What else they’ll find, I haven’t a clue. What they need to find, what I desperately need them to find, is Eve, still walking, still being Eve.
When the officers see tears, it appears to deter them. They leave me with my cup of coffee, deciding it will be best to give me some breathing room. Little do they know that I can’t breathe; my breath has been taken by this woman who I might never see again.
An hour later, they release me and inform me that they will be in touch with the details of their investigation. I know that that will never happen. The CIA will tell them that they will take over, and the case will be handed over to them without question, and then the case will cease to exist altogether.
I leave the police station and grab a cab back to the Luxor. This is where I am to wait for word, and it feels like years have been drained from me as the second’s pass. Finally, a call comes through on my cell phone, and I answer it hastily.
“Agent Williams, I have news of our findings. I am Special Agent Pearsall with the CIA. Our scientists recovered your specimen, and we found some other interesting things out there.”
I can only focus on the word “specimen.” How dare he call her a specimen! She is mine, and that makes her something more than just a test subject. “She’s not…forget it! Where is she? Can I see her?” The phone shakes in my hand as I wait for his reply.
“We’ve placed her in a container. She is to be taken back to your labs tonight,” Pearsall replies without emotion.
“Is she…is she still alive?” I realize the term doesn’t really apply, but it will suffice for the moment. I simply need to know if Eve is or was. The tense is the most important detail at the moment, not the case, and not even the damn zombies.
“Agent Williams, she is not moving, if that’s what you wish to know. I clearly cannot check her pulse or airway. You know what she is, and if she’s not moving, then that’s that, I’m afraid. She’s in a container. Ha
ve no fear. Your ‘specimen’ is safe.”
If I could slam my fist through the phone and reach Special Agent Pearsall, I would. “She’s not a specimen. She was a person, dammit!” I punch my thigh a few times, trying to calm down. I may have lost her, but the case is not over. I have to continue. I force myself to move the conversation along in a civil manner. “What did your scientists find, Pearsall?”
I can almost hear his eyes rolling over the phone, but I ignore it. It’s not the time for confrontation. “Agent Williams, it appears that many corpses had been buried down here in the canyon. The scientists had dug up a few bodies, and there were other sites where traces of blood were found, but the bodies were simply gone. Their belief is that they reanimated.”
I feel my spine turn to ice as he continues. “A cult in the 70’s had sworn to be buried together and rise again, but we had never found the massive grave site, until now, that is. We deem this to be it. The cult believed in some legend about a stone that had belonged to Satan himself and that if they gave their souls to him, he would reanimate them and give them purpose. Their mission would be to infect the earth and bring Satan more souls that would do his bidding.”
I almost have to laugh at the theory. “So you’re telling me that the Azrael Virus was created by Satan? Do you hear how stupid that sounds?” Anger begins to pulse through me; I suppose my grief has taken on a new form. “That is the most ridiculous theory I have ever heard, Pearsall! I think you need a new team down there. Fire those other whack-pots, because they’re out of their god-damn minds!”
