Dead Aware

by Eleanor Merry

  Tentatively, the boy responded, “Hello?”

  Max grunted in happiness at having received a response and gave the door a gentle knock.

  “Are you trying to speak?”

  As Max listened to the words, he could feel his brain connecting more pathways and memories forgotten with his death. That feeling of forgetting came back to him, but this time it wasn’t accompanied with the feeling of hopelessness. He genuinely felt like he could remember.

  “Huhhai,” he let out finally, grinning at his quasi-success.

  The boy became silent once more. He was right, wasn’t he? The creature on the other side of the door just said hi to him!

  “Can you understand me?” The boy asked through the door.

  Max sat silently for a moment, digesting the words.

  Suddenly it hit him like a train at full speed.

  Words!

  Holy shit!

  “Yes!” Max replied excitedly. “I…understand.” Max frowned for a moment at hearing his voice. Just like his appearance, his voice felt off somehow, but he didn’t quite know in what way. Nevertheless, the pride from remembering words was strong.

  The boy stared at the door in shock. The zombie just spoke to me!

  After not hearing another voice for the last week, the relief of it washed over the boy. He stood up to walk over to the door and caught sight of himself in the mirror. What he saw worried him. His skin was devoid of colour with a faint blue tinge around his lips, his eyes bloodshot and red. It reminded him of his parents before they died. He looked down at the bite mark on his arm and turned on the tap to wash it once more, grateful the water was still running here. The places he had been to so far seem to vary with water and electricity. Not sure how to address the zombie further, he decided to start simple: “So…what’s up?”

  Chapter 5

  Clara wandered the once familiar house in a daze. Walking down the stairs, she lightly touched the pictures on the walls, noting how most of them contained the same face of the man she held in her pocket. While it frustrated her to not know who he was, his image comforted her. She stopped at the bottom of the stairs, cooing slightly as she ran her finger down the man’s face, smiling to herself. While she couldn’t remember much, she knew this man was important somehow. Made her happy. She touched the picture in her pocket as she continued through the house. Her fuzzy robe trailed behind her.

  As she wandered the place, Clara felt like she recognized many things, but her mind was foggy and unsure. Vague impressions fluttered through her brain but no single idea seemed to take hold. It was a frustrating feeling, made worse by her inability to follow through on any one thought process.

  She passed by a particular room only to turn around and take a second look. Although the room was empty and appeared unfinished, it stirred vague memories within her. Small yellow animal patterns lined the wall. She stood a moment longer staring before the memory was overwhelmed by a rumbling in her stomach. Sniffing to find the source, she moved out of the room.

  She could smell something that made her already ravenous belly groan with desire. She followed the scent through the house. She couldn’t quite figure out where it came from and only knew she wanted it. Finally, finding herself at the front door, she frowned for a moment as she realized the closer she got, the more she could smell it. Getting on hands and knees, she put her face along a crack at the bottom and breathed deeply, inhaling as much of the intoxicating scent as she could. From here, she could hear noises coming from outside getting closer.

  Curious, she stood up to try to see out the window just as the door flew open, pushing her backwards. Suddenly, The Smell was overwhelming, and she looked and saw several people standing in front of her, their stances aggressive. The Smell was coming from them and it made her hungry, and angry. Working purely on instinct, she growled and jumped up, and started running towards them.

  Before she made it out the door, something poked her neck, and everything went black.

  “How many more do you think we need?” The woman asked as she lit a cigarette, inhaling deeply.

  “We have half a dozen in the back already, as well as the ones we already have back at base. Surely that’s enough for now?”

  The man beside her focused on the road ahead and didn’t respond immediately.

  “Yo, Johnson! How many more?” She finally shouted impatiently.

  Specialist Chris Johnson did not like Morgan. He found her crass, rude and entirely unlikable. He preferred that feminine woman were seen and not heard. But at the end of the world, you didn’t exactly get to choose the people you were teamed up with.

  The two of them had been tasked with rounding up a handful of zombies from various areas outside of their new base located just outside of Vancouver. They had driven around for a while, surveying the surrounding area, before picking a random suburban neighborhood. They had gone through several blocks of houses that were empty, filled with corpses, or were unsuitable for a number of other reasons before coming across the blonde one they had just picked up.

  Their newly appointment captain, Jeffery Wolfe, had a team of scientists at his disposal and had plans for this group in the back. What those experiments entailed varied and Chris preferred to stay out of it.

  “We’ll bring them back to base for now and wrangle up some more if we need to. I’m done being out here. It’s fucking depressing,” he responded tersely.

  For a few moments, the only noises were the angry cries and groans coming from the back of the van.

  Clawing, howling, yelling.

  Chris gripped the wheel tighter, clenching his teeth in annoyance. “Be quiet back there!” he yelled, and was rewarded with an even louder response while Morgan laughed at his anger.

  “Dude, they are zombies. They can’t fucking understand you,” she smirked.

  He flipped Morgan off and turned on a CD, turning it up as loud as it would go. The music blasted, drowning out the noises in the back.

  “It’s the end of the world as we know it, and I feel fine...”

  Chapter 6

  “What’s your name, anyway?” the boy asked, sitting with his back against the bathroom door. Max sat on the opposite side in the same position. He thought about it for a minute.

  “Don’t know,” Max responded sadly.

  The boy contemplated this for a moment. He imagined that would have been a very confusing and lonely way to wake up. He felt for the man, wondering if he truly understood the situation.

  “You do know…” the boy hesitated, “you do know you are dead right? Like…I don’t want to offend you, man, but you do know that, right?”

  “What mean dead?” Max replied, recognizing the word but wanting to be sure he was understanding.

  “Well,” the boy paused again, “it’s like, you died. Kinda like you went to sleep forever but got back up again.”

  “Oh.” Max did remember waking up. I am dead?

  The silence between them was deafening, and immediately the boy felt bad for bringing it up. Max wasn’t offended though, just melancholy over his forgetfulness. Being dead wasn’t all that bad, but not being able to remember how to do or say things brought a feeling of loss he didn’t like.

  “Name?” Max asked finally, trying to get the conversation going again. He liked talking to the youth. He felt like the more he was around someone, even just through a door, the more pieces of himself kept fitting together. He didn’t want to lose that again.

  “I’m Jason. But my friends call me Jay or Jay-man,” he responded proudly.

  Max grinned. “Jay-man.”

  “We should make a name for you too. You know, just until you can remember better.”

  Jay thought about it for a moment. “I know! How about Daryl? He was like, my favorite character on this rad show about zombies….”

  The boy continued talking, but Max didn’t hear anything after that.

  Zombie.

  That word he remembered quickly. Is that what he was? Max vaguely r
emembered zombies as fearsome monsters who killed and ate people. Brainless, terrifying, and evil were all words his mind conjured when he considered the word ‘Zombie.’

  Jay’s reaction when he first came into the room made a lot more sense now. Right now, he didn’t feel violent, didn’t feel like killing people. However, he did remember The Smell that came off Jay when he first came in. It had made him feel angry. And hungry. Then again, he could still smell it; it just wasn’t driving him into an anxious frenzy like before.

  “...but then the show got kind of lame, so I stopped watching it. Hey man, are you listening? What do you think? Is Daryl a good name?” Jay prattled on.

  “Jay-man. Me Daryl,” He replied sullenly.

  For a moment, Jay was silent.

  “Did I say something wro…” before Jay could finish the sentence, he felt an overwhelming sense of nausea and barely made it to the toilet before his stomach emptied itself of the meager bits he had been feeding it the past days. He continued to heave and sputter, his head spinning like a top.

  On the other side of the door Max listened, concerned. “Jay, you okay? What wrong?”

  Jay continued to heave and spit on the other side of the door. Max rattled the doorknob, once again frustrated at another doorknob keeping him out.

  “Open…I help.”

  Jay wiped his mouth and sat against the bathtub.

  “Daryl…You seem real nice and all. Especially for a zombie. But how do I know you aren’t going to try to eat me?” Jay replied, not wanting to offend him but was unsure if he could bring himself to ignore the basic instinct which had led him to the bathroom in the first place.

  Max thought about this for a second, pressing his forehead against the door. He wanted to help, felt an odd sense of care over Jay, but he knew there were no reassurances he could give the boy, or even himself.

  After all, he was a zombie, wasn’t he?

  For the rest of the day, Jay spoke to Max, telling him stories of before FIRE hit. He spoke about his parents, his friends, and even spent a good half hour talking about the little girl, Dawn, who had lived next to him. He told Max she was like an annoying kid sister, but he missed her and wondered where she was now.

  Max was pleased that, throughout the day, more words were coming back to him to the point that he could respond in mostly full sentences, with the only major difference being the strange new cadence in his voice.

  By that evening Jay was getting worse. Max listened and stayed by the door but was unable to do anything to help his new friend. A familiar feeling of hopelessness settled over Max as he listened to Jay empty his body again and again. Max listened to him cough and sputter, the racking sobs clear even through the door.

  It seemed to Max that he had a history involving this feeling of helplessness, and the inability to remember why further depressed him.

  “Jay,” he asked, “I help you?”

  There was silence on the other side of the door.

  One minute went by.

  Two.

  For a moment, Max worried the boy had already died and that he would never be able to get to him or talk to anyone again. He wasn’t entirely sure which was worse.

  Finally, the teen responded, and Max sighed in relief.

  “No, Daryl,” Jay said through gritted teeth. His body felt like a furnace, starting from the bite in his arm and spreading all through his limbs.

  “Daryl, I think…I think I’m infected.”

  Max paced the room for a while, those words repeating on a loop through his head.

  I’m infected, Jay had said. Or he said he thought he was infected.

  Cursing his slow brain, Max tried to work through what this meant.

  It means he will probably die, he told himself as he stopped pacing. It means he will be like me. A guilty feeling of the thought of relieving his own loneliness crossed his mind.

  Max continued his pacing and trying to force his thoughts into completion.

  When Jay came in the room, he thought. No that isn’t right…Wait…He opened the door to the room….

  The door!

  The fucking doorknob of hell!

  Max rushed back over to the door.

  “Jay…Jay-man!!” His words rushed out of him as he banged on the door to get the boy’s attention.

  Groaning, but without opening his eyes or moving from his spot on the floor, Jay snapped, “What?”

  Jay felt a twinge of guilt at how sharp that word had sounded, but in all honesty, he felt awful. He couldn’t open his eyes without shooting pains piercing his brain. He had thrown up and soiled himself almost a dozen times, sometimes both at once. Every movement hurt.

  He coughed lightly, which brought another sharp pain, and tried again a bit softer.

  “What is it, Daryl?” he tried again, softer this time.

  Max explained quickly to the boy what he had been thinking.

  “Jay-man…You sick. Know me can’t help…Me not even help me.” He stopped for a moment. “I know you don’t trust yet and don’t know what can do convince you. But you need know a thing.”

  Max stopped again for effect. “If Jay-man die and don’t open this…Fucking door, then you trapped in there…Like Daryl. And it sucks.” He finally finished, proud at himself for getting those words out in what he hoped was a coherent way.

  Jay sat up a little higher, listening to the words as he thought about this.

  Although they hadn’t talked about it before, it did make sense as to why he was just sitting in a hotel room. The key controlled door had been unlocked and yet, Daryl truly didn’t know how to get out. Jay had come bursting through the door not expecting to see anyone, or anything, on the other side.

  “Please, Jay-man, open door… And other door, before in case of you die,” Max continued, with zero subtlety.

  For a long time, they both waited. Max wondered if maybe he could even figure out the doorknob if only someone showed him once. He figured out words that way, didn’t he?

  Meanwhile, Jay took inventory over his body and its various aches again. Like a looped mantra in his head, he went from toe to head, noting to himself the things that hurt. Toes feel kind of numb, but my knee is burning hot. My chest feels heavy and full. My arm is kind of numb and hot too…. Tears welled in his eyes as he accepted his fate. He was going to die. Jay knew from the news that he had about a one in three chance of waking up again.

  As his tears fell, he thought about his new acquaintance, Daryl. He had never heard of nice zombies before. Or even talking ones for that matter. But there had been that awful growl when he first came barreling into the room. And the others that had been chasing him, leading to room 1201.

  When I first came into the room, Daryl was more zombie than he is now. Maybe when I turn into a zombie, he can teach me how to not be like those…things. Or maybe I’ll just stay dead, but at least if I die I will have helped Daryl get out.

  Although it hurt, he wiped his tears away angrily and struggled to stand up. With determination, he put his hand on the door handle and turned.

  Chapter 7

  Clara woke up confined, with blackness filling her vision and a steady low rumbling beneath her. Flailing about, she quickly found she had been gagged, and there was fabric covering her head, blocking her sight. Disoriented, she tried to move her arms only to realize that they too were bound. She tossed her head back and forth in a frenzy until the sack covering it slipped off, revealing a dimly lit area with several people around her who were similarly bound.

  Across from her was another woman who had managed to remove the bag. The rest remained covered, snarls and growls coming from beneath some of the bags. Clara noticed that most of the others also had visible injuries that looked like bite marks. She wondered if someone as hungry as her had taken a bite….

  She stopped moving as she looked at the other woman’s face with interest. She had lanky brown hair and skin that looked like it was once darker, but now had the appearance of coffee with too much cream
. Even in the minimal lighting, Clara could tell the woman’s eyes were unnaturally pale blue.

  The other woman nodded her head towards the barrier separating them from the noise and made a small sound in her throat as she shook her head.

  Clara frowned, unsure of what to make of this. She felt like she should be able to respond somehow, but words failed her, and she started to let out a groan of her own but quickly stopped at another head shake.

  Clara’s frown deepened as she took in more of her surroundings.

  There were six of them total, all bound in a small space that bumped and vibrated.

  Van.

  The word fluttered through her mind. Behind the other woman was a wall, and Clara could hear music drifting through the tight area.

  She also smelled The Smell drifting in from the front. The Smell that made her want to rip and tear and…Eat.

  Her confusion quickly turned back to anger. She howled loudly beneath her gag and started wrestling against the bonds that tied her. The other woman kept shaking her head, her eyes wide, looking between Clara and the front of the van, but stayed silent as she watched Clara struggle.

  After a few minutes, Clara realized she would not get free this way, as she assumed the others had discovered earlier based on their current stillness, and ceased struggling. She laid back and tried to get comfortable while the music blared around them.

  After what seemed like a long time, the vibrating stopped, along with the music. The others around her all started thrashing about again, irritated by the change. One more bag fell off from another one who didn’t have visible bite marks and revealed an older man. Spittle dribbled down his chin through the gag and anger flared in his eyes. Clara felt no fear, but rather sensed a kindred spirit. As soon as he caught her eye he stopped for a moment, taking her in as she did the same.