Plague Town

by Dana Fredsti

  Nothing except the cracking of ancient redwood branches. The forest gave off an almost-sour loamy smell tonight, causing me to wrinkle my nose a bit.

  Giving a mental shrug, I turned my attention back to my boy toy, specifically the bulge beneath his jeans. I teased him, rubbing one hand along the outline of his erection while nibbling gently on his neck in a way I knew he liked. His free hand caressed my breasts, first one, and then the other, thumb softly flicking against the nipples, a move guaranteed to drive me wild.

  We were both moaning with desire at this point, all panting with eagerness to take things to the next level... when suddenly his hand squeezed my left breast way too hard.

  “Ow! That hurt!” I smacked him on the shoulder, hard.

  “Huh?” Matt lifted his mouth from my earlobe. “What the hell did you do that for?”

  But he squeezed again, nails digging in this time. A rattling moan sounded close to my ear. The ear not next to Matt’s mouth.

  Suddenly the forest smelled rank.

  “What the fuck?” I said. “Get off me!” I shoved Matt and rolled away from the moaning. The hand on my breast stayed there, accompanied by a nasty tearing noise, like the sound of a drumstick being ripped off a whole chicken.

  Matt grabbed the lantern and turned it up. I looked down and gasped in grossed-out disbelief. The glow revealed a rotted hand clutching my 34-C, ragged nails digging into the flesh. Even worse, said hand was attached to an equally gross arm...

  And nothing else.

  “Omigod, that’s disgusting!” I suppressed the urge to hurl the contents of my stomach.

  “Jeez, babe, what is your damage?” Matt sat up, sounding mortally offended.

  I didn’t have time to deal with his petulance. I was too busy dislodging what looked like a cheap Halloween prop from my boob. It didn’t take much effort; the thing seemed to have lost all of its oomph.

  As Matt lifted the lantern, I found out why.

  The top half of what was once a young woman squirmed on the mossy ground next to our blanket. Her torso trailed off into strings of intestines and other bits of unidentifiable organs. Chunks of flesh were missing from her face and neck.

  Two spooky, milky-white eyes stared at me from above a bloody hole, chewed gristle sticking out where her nose used to be. Her mouth opened and closed hungrily as she used her remaining arm to pull herself onto the blanket.

  I choked back a definitely hysterical laugh as I wondered if this counted as a lesbian encounter. Then my stomach twisted in serious knots, and I threw up.

  “Holy shit!” Matt got a good look at our visitor as she pulled herself slowly, relentlessly towards us. “Holy shit! What the fuck is that?”

  I shook my head, holding back my own “holy shits” through the sheer force of willpower.

  “I don’t know,” I said, trying to stay calm. “But it’s ugly and it felt me up and I think it’s trying to eat us.” I fumbled in the picnic basket and grabbed the bread knife.

  “What are you doing, Ash?” Matt’s voice rose an octave as I turned back to what had to be the grossest picnic crasher ever.

  I didn’t say anything, though. I just brought the knife down as hard as I could into one of Miss Thang’s ears, shoving with all of my strength to push the serrated blade deep into whatever was left of her brain... and hoped that the movies didn’t lie.

  Kill the brain, kill the zombie.

  And it worked. She... it... stopped wriggling and chomping, like a really gross mechanical doll with the batteries removed.

  Matt stared at me as though he didn’t know who I was.

  “What did you just do?”

  I shrugged, my body still thrumming with adrenaline. I felt oddly detached from reality, possibly because reality had just received a new and totally fucked-up definition.

  “I think I just killed a zombie.” Yeah, that definitely didn’t sound like something I would say.

  “There’s no such thing as zombies!” Matt’s voice was unnaturally high, as if he’d regressed.

  “Well, what the hell would you call this?” I added emphasis with another shove of the bread knife. Matt winced. He opened his mouth to answer, but suddenly the night was filled with a moaning chorus.

  This could not be good.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  * * *

  Matt jumped up, nostrils flaring like those of a panicked horse.

  Bracing one hand against the... thing’s head, I tried to extract the knife, but I’d jammed it in there well and good, and it wasn’t budging.

  Eerie moans floated through and above the trees, drifting with tendrils of fog coming in from the ocean.

  I needed more leverage.

  Scrambling to my feet, I grabbed the knife with both hands, and pulled. The blade came up slowly, reluctantly. A horrible squelching sound and the knife gave way, nearly sending me back on my ass with the suddenness of its release.

  “We have to get out of here,” Matt said unnecessarily. He started gathering up the picnic gear. I just stared at him.

  “Are you crazy? Leave this shit behind!”

  “This shit cost me over a hundred bucks.” Matt tossed the champagne flutes into the basket. I heard one of them break as it hit a china plate.

  “We’ll come back for it later!” I grabbed the lantern and shoved it into his hand. “Now, Matt.” Latching onto his arm, I pulled him out of the grove. We used the lantern’s light to navigate uphill through the trees as milky fog poured in like a bad special effect. The only thing missing was the blue backlighting.

  The moaning grew louder as we neared the top of the hill. At the summit the old redwood growth gave way to an overgrown field with a trail leading back to campus through blackberry bushes and bracken. All we had to do was follow the trail and call the cops when we reached Big Red.

  We reached the top and paused to catch our breath. Mine stuck in my throat as the smell hit again, but stronger. A thick, coppery mix of blood, rot, and shit. In my mind’s eye I pictured decayed flesh oozing out with stuff meant to stay inside... like intestines.

  The moon hit a break in the clouds and I scanned the field. Tendrils of fog drifted across the landscape, but not enough to obscure the sight of at least two dozen—maybe more—ambulatory figures staggering through the bushes and on the path. One of them spotted us and staggered in our direction, its moans growing louder.

  This set off a chain reaction and pretty soon the entire crowd moaned in discordant harmony, some internal zombie GPS system set on me and Matt. A couple of them were close enough that we could see strips of flesh and white bone glistening in the moonlight.

  “How are they moving?” Matt’s breath rasped, in and out, in and out. “They should be dead!”

  “I think they are.” I fought the impulse to puke up what was left of my Prosecco.

  “Then they shouldn’t be walking!” Matt’s well-ordered world view had been smashed to hell and back, and he was having serious trouble dealing. I couldn’t blame him. I mean, if the dead could walk, then what other nasties from our nightmares were waiting to appear?

  But there was no time for this.

  “Well, they are walking, Matt,” I said harshly, “and we need to get out of here. We don’t have time for you to freak out!”

  “We should go back through the woods!”

  I shook my head.

  “We don’t know how many of those things are in there. At least here we can see them... and it’s a straight shot to campus.”

  Matt nodded, visibly struggling to keep a grip. I suppose everyone has areas outside of their comfort zone. I wasn’t sure why zombies weren’t outside of mine.

  The same thing must have occurred to him. He looked at me as if I were a stranger.

  “Why aren’t you freaking out?”

  I didn’t have a real answer.

  “I guess I’ll freak out later,” I offered, “when we’re safe.”

  His expression made me wonder if our relationship would survive the night, e
ven if we did, but I didn’t have time to dwell on it. The zombies lurched closer with every second. Classic George Romero ghouls, thank god, not the ones that could sprint. Still...

  There was a loud crack as a branch broke like a gunshot. At least I hoped it was a branch. Time to run. I seized Matt’s hand.

  “GO!” I shouted, and hauled ass down the trail for all I was worth, Matt right beside me.

  There were more of them than I had realized. Rotting, diseased hands clutched at us from either side, like the gauntlet scene in The Last of the Mohicans except with zombies instead of Hurons.

  We shook off the first of them, barreling through the ones that stepped in front of us with the velocity of a well-thrown bowling ball smashing into ninepins. The blackberry bushes helped us—they grew all around the path and even at their sparsest, the brambles clutched at the encroaching undead.

  But they kept coming. For each one we knocked down, two more would stagger out of the brush, leaving bits of themselves behind as they pushed through the thorns, oblivious to pain.

  I’m not much of a runner—jogging is last on my list of exercise options—so I got winded pretty quickly. Matt, on the other hand, quickly outdistanced me, sprinting down the path with one arm outstretched like a fullback smashing through the opposition. He sent a few zombies flailing back into the blackberries, but several landed their decomposing asses on the path... right in front of me.

  I leapt over the first one, what was once a skinny woman with chunks of her arms and legs missing. A broken branch stuck out of one milky eyeball, indefinable goo all jellied and gross below it. She wore a robe, thankfully zipped up the front. I so did not want to see zombie boobies.

  Barely eluding her grasping fingers as they skimmed my ankle, I stumbled, recovered, and then tripped right over a fat businessman type, suit still surprisingly intact. I know this because I fell right on top of him.

  Ugh. Squishy.

  He clutched me with implacable strength before I could move. I looked right into his dead eyes, and smelled decomposition wafting out of the gaping maw of his mouth.

  I shrieked as the zombie brought his gore-drenched teeth toward my neck, and shoved my left arm in-between us without thinking. He growled and sunk his teeth into my sweater-clad forearm. I screamed bloody murder and managed to jerk away from him.

  A chunk of my arm and sweater stayed behind.

  Fatty reached for me again, but this time I threw myself back to the ground before he could take another bite out of me. I crab-scuttled away from him as quickly as I could, the bite in my arm burning as if it was on fire. I scuttled right into the woman I’d vaulted over—she was just getting to her feet. Clawed fingers seized my hair. I flailed wildly, sacrificing a handful of hair to get away, but she got a bite of my shoulder anyway.

  God, that hurts.

  I wailed in pain and terror, my screams mixing with the moans of more zombies closing in for their share of the feast.

  “Ashley!”

  I heard Matt shout my name from what seemed miles away, along with what sounded like footsteps pounding my way. Then his voice.

  “Get off me, you motherfucker!”

  A loud thud as several bodies hit the ground. And then the screams began.

  Matt kept screaming for what seemed forever, shrieks of unimaginable pain accompanied by the sound of teeth rending flesh.

  I didn’t know guys could scream so high, I thought vaguely as I struggled to my feet, the world fading out around the edges. I knew I was dead, but part of me refused to give up, even as what seemed like hundreds of undead hands reached for me again.

  I backed away into the blackberry bushes, hemmed in by zombies on both sides of the path. No retreat, no way forward. Thorns dug into my back, poking through the fabric of my sweater and jeans, and grabbed at my arms. My hair snarled in some branches, trapping me as effectively as a fly in a spider web, no matter how hard I tried to pull free.

  Death closed in from all sides, reaching for me with implacable hands and ravenous mouths.

  I gave one last scream of despair mixed with fury. This was so not how I wanted to die. I mean, zombie chow?

  Fuck my life.

  A red light suddenly danced in the center of the closest zombie’s forehead. Just as suddenly, there was a loud burping sound. A neat little hole replaced the light and the zombie fell to the ground, the back of its head a gaping wound.

  The rest of the ghouls were dispatched with similar efficiency as I cowered against the blackberry bushes, nearly fainting with fear and pain. The closer ones fell one by one, while those that were further away fell before a fusillade of bullets.

  Suddenly I was harboring the smallest hope I might make it out of this alive.

  A tall figure appeared in front of me, dressed entirely in black. I shrieked again and struck out with my fists. Strong, gloved hands caught me by the wrists and a deep male voice yelled.

  “This one’s alive!”

  Maybe not for long, though, I thought as the blackness around the edges pushed inward. I gave up, and let it take over completely.

  CHAPTER SIX

  * * *

  I struggled to find my way back to consciousness, swimming through a sea of fever, pain, and nausea, all wrapped in a battening of cotton around my brain. I knew I felt like shit, but either shock or some sort of medication prevented me from feeling the full effects of what had happened to me.

  What had happened to me?

  I opened my eyes and stared blearily at my surroundings. I was lying on a bed of sorts, covered by a lightweight blanket. The room looked like some sort of temporary hospital ward, something out of a war movie or M*A*S*H reruns. I think they called it a triage unit.

  A dozen or so flimsy-looking cots occupied with moaning, weeping patients; intravenous fluid set-ups; lots of people in olive drab hazmat suits—the kind meant to protect you against chemical or biological nasties. I couldn’t see anyone’s face through the protective goggles and faceplates. Some carried medical gear.

  Others held firearms.

  WTF?

  I tried to move, but it hurt so much that I stopped trying, shut my eyes, and lay back, becoming more aware of every ache and pain in my body with each passing second.

  White-hot poison bubbled inside my right shoulder and arm. Itching, burning sensations coursed through the skin, muscles, and blood vessels. I wanted to rip out the pain and the itching, but I couldn’t move my arms, so I just suffered in a fog of confusion.

  Someone groaned nearby, and the sound became more frantic. I slowly turned my head until I could see the cot next to me. The man occupying it thrashed in apparent agony, head whipping back and forth so fast that his features blurred.

  “She’s awake.”

  I jumped, and pain flashed through my shoulder, causing me to groan. Someone was standing at the head of my bed. I couldn’t tell if it was a man or a woman—everything was filtered through the bass drum that was pounding in my head.

  “Ashley?” the muffled voice said right next to my ear. “Are you hungry?” I forced my eyes open and saw one of the faceless hazmat wearers standing next to my cot. He/she/it held a styrofoam container holding a chunk of raw, bloody meat, waving it in front of my nose as if it were a gourmet dish.

  I gagged at the sight, trying desperately not to puke.

  “Get that away from me!” I tried to move my left arm so I could get the nauseating thing out of my face, but something held me down. I tugged violently against whatever restrained me, and the movement was enough to send shards of glass burrowing into my head. My vision blurred and my eyelids slammed shut as someone yelled.

  “We’ve got another wild card!”

  Another wild what? I thought before passing out again.

  When I woke up again, I still hurt... but the pain was less intense, as if someone had kindly poured Novocain inside all of my wounds. I knew it was there, but it was muted. Almost bearable.

  “Ashley.” It was a familiar voice that I couldn’t
quite place. “Ashley, can you hear me?”

  I opened my eyes, and blinked once or twice in the glare of a stark fluorescent ceiling light. My eyelids hurt and my vision was blurry, but at least no one was shoving raw meat in my face.

  “Ashley?”

  I focused on the figure in front of me, trying to place the voice. Blurred lines and features slowly coalesced into the familiar smile of Professor Fraser, still dressed like Katharine Hepburn, sitting in a chair next to me.

  Her presence made no sense. Yet I found it oddly comforting.

  “H... Hi,” I stammered. Ohhh. It hurt to talk. My throat felt as if I’d swigged a glass of Drano. Probably from all the screaming I’d done.

  Professor Fraser looked down at me.

  “How do you feel?”

  Like shit, I thought. I struggled to sit up, but quickly realized it was a bad idea when a wave of nausea and weakness swept over me.

  “Crappy,” I said.

  “Not surprising.” The professor laid a cool hand on my forehead; it felt good. “You’ve been through an experience most people don’t survive.” She picked something up off of a tray. “Here.” She held a straw to my mouth. I sipped and was rewarded with a mouthful of cold ginger ale.

  I don’t think anything in the world ever tasted as good.

  A few more sips settled my stomach, and I risked moving my head to look around me. The surreal movie-set med ward had been replaced by an equally surreal small room, windowless except for a little view panel in the door. Sterile white walls, no closet, no bathroom, no other furniture except the chair occupied by Professor Fraser, my bed, and a little stand next to it.

  “Where am I?” I asked, and I totally expected some bullshit answer. This is a secret facility, and I can’t tell you...

  “You’re in a lower level of the med lab behind Patterson Hall.”

  Okay, not so secret. I decided to press my luck.

  “What’s going on?”

  “What do you think is going on?”

  Ah, and there’s the bullshit.

  Professor Fraser stared at me, waiting for an answer. If only I’d had one.