The Deadly Thirst: A WJ Lundy Short

by W. J. Lundy

  “You may feel like you are younger now, old man, but all this cider has done is steal from the back end of your life. The doctor did not develop a fountain of youth, but a rather terrifying Zombie Elixir.

  “Soon, like your friend there, you will begin to feel the hunger, and if you do not feed or drink more of the cider, the Infinitum will fight to protect itself by consuming your own body. You will slowly waste away until you lose your mind and become one of them.” He paused, looking at the corpse on the ground.

  “The doctor was planning to control all of us, but he had no idea how quickly the enzymes would activate, or that in some people—such as your friend—how quickly the hunger would take hold.”

  Wyatt looked up in agony. “All of those zombies? They started off by drinking the cider?”

  Shaking his head in frustration Nigel spat, “Are you pretending to be this stupid? Of course not, you fool. The Infinitum can also be transferred by exchanging bodily fluids, a bite, a scratch. However, without the beneficial properties of the cider, they will never share the moments of clarity that we enjoy as we turn.”

  “How... did.... this happen?” Wyatt gasped between stomach spasms.

  “I was a special guest at an event—every important person in this city of yours was invited. They said there was a new breakthrough in cider making and Doctor Winchester wanted the seal of approval from everyone in the business. However, that wasn’t it at all, and the only reason I made the guest list was because of a rejection I gavehim over ten years ago—” Nigel clenched his teeth and looked away.

  Herb rubbed his stomach and belched. “So the guy was butt hurt over something you said that nobody cares about anyhow, big deal.”

  “Sir, I acquired the top ciders for The Orchard! The number one distributor of fine ciders in the world! Everyone with an interest in fine ciders cares about what I say.

  “Blahh, blahh, blahh, can’t say I ever heard of it, or you. When I’m looking for a cider, I usually just ask Marco at the Speedy Mart. He usually pulls me something down.”

  Nigel clenched his fists with disgust. “Regardless of what Marco may tell you, The Orchard is prominent, one of the top distributers in all of London, and Doctor Winchester was very eager to earn our approval. That is the only reason I attended his event.

  “With great reluctance I tried the cider. At first I was like you, I was surprised and even excited by the quality. It made me feel enlightened and energized; I was having the time of my life. But Doctor Winchester had done something none of us would have suspected... he took away the cider.

  “Soon, I could see something was wrong. There was food, but no amounts could satisfy our hunger. The people became enraged as the pains of hunger sat in. Then Doctor Winchester presented to us an arrangement. For everyone it was something different; something they had to give up in exchange. The contracts were already prepared. The Mayor had his own contract, the Chief of Police a different one. These people exchanged their signatures for a generous supply of the cider.”

  Herb grunted. “The black bags.”

  “Precisely,” Nigel said, nodding.

  “And you agreed to distribute the Cider worldwide?” Herb asked.

  Nigel swallowed hard and dipped his chin. “I would have, but—”

  Raising his eyebrows, Herb gave him a hard, angry stare. “But what?”

  The strange man pointed at Wyatt. “The gene mutation. Some of the guests grew violent; they had no intention of signing a contract... they wanted to feed. They attacked the staff, and the event became a murderous rage. I was able to escape with one of Doctor Winchester’s assistants. Alexander was his name. He claimed to be innocent in all of this. He said he didn’t know what the Doctor was doing, but more importantly... he claimed to know how to reverse the effects.”

  Herb twisted his face, his own hunger now clearly showing. “What do you mean reverse it?” Herb said.

  “There is a way to deactivate the Infinitum. It is at the doctor’s laboratory.”

  In agony, Wyatt rolled to his back and looked up. “Well, where is this Alexander?”

  Nigel shook his head. “After he helped me escape, well... I sorta—”

  “Sorta what?” Herb asked.

  “I guess I ate him.”

  Wyatt leaned forward. “You ate him? What the hell do you mean you ate him?”

  “After we got away, I refused to drink anymore of the cider. At some point during the next day, I blacked out. When I woke up… Alexander was gone, well... not gone but parts of him were missing.

  “In addition, my hunger had subsided, and I have my suspicions why.”

  “Uh huh,” Herb guffawed. “Yeah, you ate him.”

  Nigel rubbed a knuckle along his cheekbone and nodded solemnly in agreement. “The van was filled with cases of the cider, so after that I drank to curb my hunger. As I ran low, I attempted to ration it and when I reached the last twelve bottles, I decided to make my way to the laboratory.”

  Wyatt rolled to his side, looking up, his back convulsing. “But since then you… you haven’t ate nobody?”

  Nigel smiled slyly and moved back toward the wall. Retrieving a fresh bottle of cider, he pulled a bottle opener from his pocket and skillfully removed the cap. Putting the bottle to his nose, he took in a deep breath before placing it against his lips and taking a long drink. He exhaled loudly then passed the bottle off to Wyatt. “Drink, it will relieve your suffering.”

  Wyatt took the bottle and gulped thirstily, pulling the bottle away to gasp for air. He went to drink again when Herb snatched the bottle away. Wyatt fell to his back feeling the cider surge through his system and relieve his pain. Quickly, he was renewed, his muscles filled with warmth and his hunger gone. He looked up at Nigel standing over him.

  “How do we make it stop?”

  Chapter Nine

  Bright rays of sunlight filled the small office Susan had barricaded herself in the night before. She leaned forward off the steel desk she had slept on and attempted to stretch the cramps from her back. She sat silently listening. Whatever drunken rampage the boys were on the night before appeared to have ended. She eased her feet to the floor and crept to the bolted office door.

  Unlocking the mechanism, she allowed the door to swing out into the main room of the gas station. She could see the crumpled forms of the men still sleeping along the wall of boarded up windows. She walked across the room to check that the main entrance remained locked. She had heard them outside during the night in their drunken stupors, laughing, giggling, and climbing on the roof.

  She put her hand to the lock, double-checking it. “At least they had the sense to lock the door.” As she stepped away, her toe clipped an empty cider bottle and sent it clattering along the floor. The pile of men moved and groaned.

  Nigel rolled over and looked up at her with his yellow eyes. “Bloody hell, woman, could you be any louder?”

  She ignored his comment and stepped closer, kicking at Wyatt’s feet. “Wake up, you two. I want to get out of here. “

  When Wyatt rolled to his back, she took a step back and gasped. “What the hell happened to you?”

  He pushed up against the wall, squinting and holding his head. “It’s just a hangover, relax.”

  “Hangover my ass! Did you get bit last night? Your skin… it’s the color of death!”

  Herb coughed and rolled over. “Let me have a look.”

  Taking a stumbling step, she held back a scream. She spun, pointing at Nigel. “What have you done to them?”

  He flexed his arms and pushed up to his feet, smiling at her with his grey lips. “Are you boys sure you’re attached to this one?” Nigel scoffed. “She’d make a lovely breakfast.”

  “Hold up, nobody is eating Susan,” Herb said, squinting to look at Wyatt. “Damn son, she’s right; you don’t look so good.”

  Susan held a hand over her mouth and moved toward the entrance. “Oh my God Herb, you look even worse than he does. What happened to you?”

&nbs
p; The old man leaned forward and looked down at his pale hands, the skin thin and translucent. “Well, I’ll be—ughh, damn cider hangover. They never have been good to me.”

  Moving further away, Susan put her hand to the door. Instantly, Nigel was on his feet racing toward her. Seeing the look on his face, she screamed, “Stay away from me!”

  Nigel ignored her plea and continued stalking across the room until he heard the distinctive click of a hammer locking back. “Leave the woman alone,” Herb growled.

  The stranger froze and put his hands out to his sides and stepped away. “Easy, mate, I wasn’t after her.” Making a wide berth, he circled around her and knelt down to one of the black bags and removed a bottle of the cider. He held it high and showed it to Herb, who nodded his agreement.

  “Really?! More cider?” she shouted, backing against the door.

  “Relax, sweetheart, it’s just some hair of the dog to treat your pasty friends,” Nigel said, moving away from her then winking at Herb as he recognized the insult.

  Keeping the pistol up, he waved it away from Susan, directing the man back toward them. Cautiously, Herb rose to his feet and tried to steady himself. Susan watched the old man suspiciously.

  “What is going on with you?” she asked him.

  He tried to force a smile as he moved, and turned so that he was standing between her and Nigel. The Brit was already across the room with the bottle uncapped. He had climbed up onto the old sales counter and sat with his legs crossed. He took a long pull from the bottle and released a drawn out sigh of relief. Susan shifted her focus and could see that Wyatt was now watching the strange man enviously.

  She shook her head and put her hand to the door. “I’m leaving. I refuse to stay here with you idiots.”

  Her outburst caused Nigel to laugh maniacally. “Gentleman, our breakfast is leaving.”

  Ignoring him, Herb raised a hand to stop her but she moved away and glared at him. “I’ll come back. I’ll find Reid and I’ll bring help back for you,” she said.

  The old man nodded and flipped the pistol in his hand, holding it by the barrel. He offered it to Susan. “Here, you’ll need this,” he said gently.

  Wyatt leaned forward. “Whoa, wait… you’re giving her the gun?”

  The old man shrugged. “You don’t think I should? I still have the rifle.”

  “Well, I guess… I mean, it’s not like she should take a shovel or anything,” Wyatt pouted. He got to his feet and stepped toward her. “You should just stay here. It isn’t safe to leave.”

  The woman took the gun and smiled at him. “I’ll be back as soon as I can; just stay alive, okay?” She unbolted the door, cautiously pulled it back and slipped outside, then closed the door behind her, leaving the men alone in the dark room.

  “Gawd, I thought she’d never go,” Nigel said. The color returned to his cheeks, his energy back. He took another swig from the bottle before stuffing a cork in it and tossing it across the room to Wyatt who scrambled to catch it. He pulled the cork with his teeth and drank eagerly until Herb snatched it from him to finish off the rest.

  Nigel walked past them to the bag and pulled it open so that he could see inside. “We’ve got six bottles left. I say we take one each and head to the lab.”

  Belching, Herb pulled the bottle from his lips. “Why not take it all, or drink half and take the rest on the road?”

  “Yeah, I vote we drink it all now,” Wyatt added, looking at the bottles thirstily.

  Ignoring them, Nigel removed three bottles and set them aside before closing up the bag. He then carried it to the gas station counter and left it there. “We take one bottle each, that’s enough to get us to the lab. Then we get the antidote. If we are successful, we will never need the last three. If we fail… well, then we know where to find what’s left.”

  Wyatt paced back and forth, looking at the three bottles sitting on the floor. “Okay, but can we have one each now though?” he asked, stopping and looking over the bottles.

  “Yes.” The stranger grinned, watching as Herb and Wyatt moved close and hovered over the bottles, knowing he had control over the two men. He stepped between them and placed his right hand on Wyatt’s shoulder while twirling the bottle opener playfully in his left. “Then we all go to the farm to visit Doctor Winchester.”

  Herb snatched a bottle and shoved it toward Nigel, eager for him to open it. “Okay, then let’s go.”

  Chapter Ten

  Herb led the way as they walked along the shoulder of the dusty road, his rifle slung on his shoulder, the now nearly empty bottle of cider grasped in his left hand. They moved quickly—even walking they were at a jogger’s pace, the cider making the men feel strong and limber. Nigel finished the last of his bottle and tossed it to the shoulder of the road. Pointing in the distance, he showed them where the hills turned from the desert shades of yellow and brown, to a lush green, the sides of a hill filled with rows of apple trees.

  “That’s it. We’re almost there, gents.”

  Carrying his trusty shovel, Wyatt moved up alongside the others, all of them now traveling online together. “When we drink the antidote, will we still feel like this?” he asked.

  Shaking his head, Nigel laughed quietly. “No, I’m told that the antidote will deactivate any of the Infinitum enzymes remaining in our bloodstream. Soon after, you will return to the way you were with the addition of one hell of a bloody hangover.”

  “No side effects then?” Herb scoffed.

  The Brit laughed. “For him not so much, but you, old man, I’m afraid you’ve burnt up a good portion of your remaining days; the youth you’ve used had to come from someplace.”

  Herb lifted the bottle and stared at the remaining drops in it. He nodded his head and drained the rest before tossing it to the shoulder. “Well, it was fun while it lasted.”

  “Aye, I reckon it was.” Nigel laughed. “We’re coming up to the gate. We need to watch ourselves.”

  “Why? The dead don’t bother with us,” Wyatt said sarcastically.

  “No,” Nigel replied. “But the living might.”

  Wyatt turned to Herb with a questioning look on his face and was about to speak until the old man held up a hand and shook his head. “Think about it, Junior.”

  The trio now moved cautiously forward, letting Herb lead the way with his rifle while the others drifted off the shoulder of the lane into the taller grass. Winding through high grass and lined with trees and overgrown shrubs, the lane ran up the hill. The old man waved an arm then pointed to a far off tree near the summit. At the base of the tree stood a man in a red jacket carrying a long military style rifle. Herb knelt in the tall grass, raised the Garand to his shoulder, and leaned into the weapon.

  “No, hold your fire, mate,” Nigel whispered.

  A scowl on his face, Herb turned his head to look at him, then, with his palm up, raised his hand slightly.

  “You shoot now you’ll wake the dead,” he said, snickering at his own joke.

  Herb lowered his rifle and Wyatt watched Nigel move deeper to the shoulder, then duck walk as he disappeared into the thick brush lining the lane.

  “Where did he go?” Wyatt whispered.

  Herb put up his hand, Wyatt watched the old man’s eyes go wide, and then followed them back up the lane toward the armed sentry. Behind the guard, they spotted Nigel. Almost horizontal, the Brit was moving in a Leopard’s crawl, sneaking up on the man. Once in striking distance, he pounced forward and landed on the guard’s back. Wyatt flinched as Nigel chomped into the man’s neck and pulled away with a mouthful of blood and flesh.

  Turning to the shoulder of the road, Wyatt dry heaved into the tall grass. “That was awful,” he gasped.

  Herb grunted. “Well, better hope we find this antidote or we might be up to the same thing soon.”

  “Not me. Shoot me if it comes to that, okay?” Wyatt said.

  Herb nodded and pointed up the lane. Nigel was on his feet and waving them forward. The old man stepped off
first, leading the way. “You know, I expected there to be people here. Guess I didn’t count on having to kill anyone though.”

  At the top of the hill, they found Nigel wiping his face with a bit of red cloth, the dead guard’s rifle slung on his shoulder. Turning and looking down, Wyatt could see the expired guard’s legs partially concealed in the heavy brush.

  “I thought you didn’t eat people?” Wyatt said.

  Nigel shot him an absent stare as he tossed the scrap of fabric to the cadaver’s feet. “What? This? No, I was just taking out the guard. Now come on, we can’t stop here for long.”

  Over the crest of the hill, they found a black Jeep with tinted windows. Herb moved around it cautiously with the rifle. Looking into the cab, he waved the others forward once he confirmed it was empty. In the ignition were the keys. The men moved and gathered around the hood of the vehicle. Looking beyond the hill, they could now see a tall, white, plantation-style house and several small barns that made up the Winchester Farm. All around the property, they observed stumbling figures that moved random and awkwardly.

  “Zombies,” Nigel proclaimed. “Not to worry though; they are deterred by the Infinitum. They’ll leave us alone.”

  Wyatt scowled. “What are they all doing here?”

  “Doc’s victims, I suppose. The ones who refused to pay, or those he grew tired of,” Nigel answered. “Come, we’ll take the Jeep. The other guards won’t suspect it.”

  Herb turned and put his hand to the driver’s door. “What are you? Some sort of British Secret Agent?”

  Nigel laughed, entering the Jeep from the opposite side. “No, mate, I’m a cider buyer, but I watch a good deal of television. Let’s go; there’s no time to waste now.”

  Wyatt was the last to enter. Crawling behind Herb, he sat on the rear bench and noticed both men ahead of him now carried rifles while he still clung onto the shovel. “Hey Nigel, you’re pretty good at biting people, you mind me having the rifle?”