Epidemic of the Undead: A Zombie Novel

by P. A. Douglas

  Chris prayed his parents were strong. He wasn’t sure if it was the Catholic school, Father Clark, or the undead threat outside beyond the gates, but he felt himself growing closer to God somehow. Maybe it was his way of coping or coming to terms with the situation around him. Whatever it was, prayer was helping him keep his sanity. He knew he needed it too. Last thing he wanted was to fall to the same fate as that dumb little man who dealt himself two shots to the chest like that.

  The dead man’s wife was going ballistic with hysteria. At least, everyone assumed that they had been married. From what he could tell, no one actually knew anything about the poor guy or the woman he was with, other than they were together. For all anyone knew, they had simply met in the chaos and stuck together to survive. It was so odd how quick people can connect in times of desperation and Chris knew it to be true. He felt it with Nan, with Brady and Stephanie too. Chris didn’t blame that woman for losing it either. Had he watched Steve, or even Stephanie, weaken to the point of self-destruction like that, he would have definitely lost it also. Realizing that the poor woman wasn’t going to snap out of it, Father Garcia Clark escorted her elsewhere to talk things out.

  That was more than an hour ago and it hadn’t helped one bit. Everyone sat quietly eating what little they were given, while doing all they could to drown out the woman’s cries. Wherever Father Clark had taken her wasn’t far enough.

  Between the shots fired earlier and the ongoing screaming and crying from that poor lady, activity outside of the compound had definitely thickened. Although there wasn’t nearly as many ghouls lingering around out front, compared to when Chris had first drove up to the school, their numbers were definitely getting closer. The gated entryway to the schools parking area was crowded two and three zombies deep for thirty feet at the front fence line.

  Not only was everyone’s mood dreary from the sudden violent loss, the moans from the dead were growing louder by the hour, which only meant that more creatures were joining in by the day. Soon, the living dead would surround the school. Chris didn’t like the feeling of being trapped inside the school’s four walls. He hoped to hear at the upcoming meeting that there was a contingency plan if they were ever to get boarded in by the dead outside. Chris started to consider these things. He needed to be ready. He didn’t feel safe not being on the move and was still on edge with people in general. Someone would be bound to snap and put everyone else in harm’s way, and that poor bastard shooting himself was a prime example. What if he had taken a few people out first or went nuts and let those things inside the school grounds before taking his life?

  The life of a touring musician was beginning to set in. He hated staying in one place for too long. It didn’t feel right, didn’t feel safe.

  Before the meals of oatmeal and bottled water had been distributed to everyone, word about a group meeting quickly circulated. Word was that the meeting would be held in the center of the courtyard soon after everyone was done eating. And Chris couldn’t help but wonder what it was going to be about. He was hopeful that it was an update to the rescue situation or that more supplies were on their way.

  “Any ideas on what this meeting is going to be about?” Chris asked with a spoon full of oatmeal to his lips.

  Brady coughed up some of his food then wiped his mouth. “I think I’s got an idea as to what it’s gonna be about.”

  Both Chris and Stephanie grew curious.

  Brady set down his lukewarm bowl and said, “Other than the pistols the two of you got and the one here…” Brady patted down his side. “We’re missing a handgun.”

  “Wait, what?” exclaimed Chris.

  “What are you trying to say, Brady?” Stephanie scooted forward on her cot, sitting on both hands.

  “I don’t know it for a fact, but that fella that done shot himself, well, I got a quick glance at the weapon before one of them cops took it. That was definitely my gun. All I can reckon is that poor bloke dug through our stuff while we was talking with Father Clark. And…well, you’re smart enough to put two and two together, right?”

  “So what,” Chris said. “Some dumb punk stole from us and offed himself.”

  “I’m sure they plan to bring up another thing or two. But what, I don’t know.” Brady took a swig of bottled water and looked around the courtyard. “One things for sure. Between the handful of armed officials that have been posting watch, my guess is they aim to take our weapons. Pull rank on us.”

  “No way!” Stephanie snarled.

  Both Nan and Brady’s expressions conveyed the same message. Brady was more than likely right.

  “But they can’t do that! Can they?” Chris frowned

  “They sure as hell are gonna try, son.”

  And as if to prove Brady’s suspicions, one of the uniformed police officers walked up, introducing himself as Brandon Phillips, with the DPS; Department of Public Safety. “Afternoon everyone.” He shook only Brady’s hand, while giving hard looks to everyone else. “If you are about finished with your meals, we will hold a meeting. Please join us at the center of the yard when you’re ready.” His bright red hair was cut very short. His skin was fair and his checks were covered with freckles. Chris guessed him to be in his mid to late forties. When he smiled, his cheeks were plump and shiny.

  “Hey, I got a question for you?” Chris raised his hand as if in school.

  The officer nodded. “What’s that?”

  “Why is it that we have all of the cots out here in the open? Wouldn’t it be better to get everyone out of the weather and into some of the classrooms?”

  Officer Phillips smiled. His chubby cheeks made the freckles slightly stretch. “You’re not the first person to bring that up. What’s your name, son?”

  Chris’ brow crinkled, while pondering that maybe being called son was a Texas thing. “Chris Commons,” he said.

  “Well, Chris. Even though we have some power, we feel it safer for everyone to be out here. Because…if those things out there ever do get in here at night, at least we have the moon giving us some light. I don’t know about you, but the idea of getting attacked in the darkness of buildings I’m unfamiliar with doesn’t seem like a good time. At least out here we are all accounted for. Just a safety precaution, that’s all.”

  The man in blue, still sporting his badge, said nothing else. He nodded, and then walked on to the next group of people, until he had finally introduced himself to everyone announcing the meeting. Chris noticed that the whole time he talked his hand had never left his sidearm.

  “He seems nice,” Stephanie said, looking optimistic.

  “Nah . . . I know his type.” Chris scowled with repulsion. “Never trust the nice guy when talking to a pig. Had plenty of run-ins with his type.”

  “Oh?” Nan looked back at Officer Phillips with uncertainty.

  “Yeah, its cops like that guy that enjoys giving everyone a hard time. Power hungry tools. That’s all they are. He’s going to play buddy-buddy at the little meeting, you can count on that. But anybody questions his authority and it’s going to get bumpy, and quick. Just how bumpy is the main question.”

  Stephanie rolled her eyes.

  “No, seriously, Stephanie. Those types of cops are nothing but trouble. This one time when the band was doing a two month run through Georgia down into Florida, we turned around because we needed gas. We were pulled over and the cop asked where we were headed. Well, when we told him Florida, but we were facing the opposite direction, he didn’t believe us. We tried to explain that we were headed back a few blocks because we were low on gas and the dude flipped. With a lot of those guys, any back talk at all is taken as insubordination, a question of power. Needless to say, the guy ended up cuffing all of us. Almost three hours later and three more cop cars, all flashing their lights, they successfully emptied out the entire tour van and trailer. When it was all said and done, we missed the show, and guess who got left on the side of the road to pick up all of our gear? Yeah, we did. They had our stuff all over the str
eet. One of Mark’s guitars was even broken. Snapped the neck plain as day when they drove off. They drove over it as they left and didn’t even flinch. All of that, just because the nice guy had a big head. That dude there,” he pointed toward Phillips, “is the nice guy with a big head.”

  “You really think so?” Nan’s complexion had taken on a sickly tone.

  Chris smiled at Nan with a reassuring nod. She looked weak and very tired. Her hair was damp with perspiration. It was similar to the several times Chris had gotten a pretty severe cold or flu. Her cheeks were flushed with fever and her skin was pale and clammy.

  Chris glanced at her with concern. “You all right?”

  “Old age, dear. All this stress is a bit much for these old bones.” Nan was snuggled tightly in her green jacket. “Just need some real rest is all.”

  “Well, I think that both you and Brady are being a little too paranoid. Let’s just go see what the fuss is all about.” Stephanie stood up, setting her bowl aside. She started walking toward the growing congregation of bodies, and then turned, waving Brady and the others to follow.

  “Honestly, son. I’m with you. I got a bad feelin’ about that police fella.” Brady shook his head in disgust.

  A few minutes later, the meeting was underway. Chris sat back and did a head count. Excluding Steve and the other people recovering from various injuries, Chris counted exactly thirty-seven people. The priest, six armed officers in blue, about ten ratty previously homeless people and a bunch of average looking people of every ethnical background. Chris only noticed maybe three people younger than he was and two kids that had to be middle school age and a toddler being comforted by a really rough looking dude. The guy looked like he was holding the child as if she were a football, ready to drive her down the line for a touchdown. He was as big as a professional linebacker or something. His head was bald, reminding Chris of the Mister Clean commercials. All this guy was missing was the gold hoop earrings. The tribal tattoos covering both his arms definitely made him look scarier than he probably was. In contradiction of his tough image, he was holding a baby of all things. It was hot outside and with the buildings that wrapped around the yard, there was almost no breeze at all. Humid was an understatement. The faint sound of chirping birds was in the background along with the moans of the dead out past the parking lot.

  “Thanks for gathering together again, everyone. As all of you know, with the exception of our new arrivals, help is on the way.”

  “When?” The big bald man with the baby shouted, cutting off Father Garcia Clark.

  “We’ve already gone over that and you know it, Jesse.” Garcia said. “Now, the reason we called everyone together is obvious. Mr. Clouse committed suicide this morning. Things have been rather tense since. And because you mentioned it, Jesse,” Garcia pointed toward the big man. “I want to take this time to reassure everyone that the National Guard should be coming soon. We just need to give it a few more days at best.”

  “What the hell makes you so sure they are coming at all?” A female from the back shouted, but Chris didn’t get a look at who it was.

  “We have kept radio contact with members of the National Guard from day one. We aren’t the only rescue station they are supporting,” one police officer stepped forward to say. Chris noticed his bright red hair from the back of the crowd. It was Officer Brandon Phillips, no doubt. “Our last transmission from them was early yesterday morning. All we can do for now is stay calm and stick together.”

  The crowd started to rant in an uproar of protest. Amid the noise, one voice stood out, cutting everyone off. Chris was shocked to find that it had been Stephanie. “If you talked with them yesterday, then when the hell are they getting here? The dead outside are growing in numbers even now! The longer we wait, the less likely we’ll even be able to get out of here at all. And we don’t have enough food to feed everybody. Supplies will probably last less than a week!”

  Chris sat back eager to hear what Father Clark and Phillips would have to say to that one. It was obvious that Stephanie knew nothing about the supplies or how much was left, and Chris imagined she had just said that as a way to find out. They would either refute the rumor or agree to it, and Chris sure as hell hoped it wasn’t the latter.

  “That is true,” Garcia said. Before the wave of bickering started up, he waved both hands into the air to calm everyone down. “As a man of faith, I…” He had to wait a second for the people to settle down. The courtyard was getting restless. Speaking much louder and with authority, he said, “NOW…as a man of faith, I do not feel the need to lead anyone astray through false hopes. The fact is that supplies are low, and food might only last a few more days, yes. But the National Guard is coming! When? We don’t honestly know.”

  Phillips spoke up again, stepping toward the center of the crowd. “The last we spoke with them, they had three or four other rescue locations being cleared out first. Since then, we’ve lost contact, but we should hear from them by tomorrow morning. Have faith like Father Clark; they will come. We just need to wait it out. It is true that food is a problem, but if needed, we can clear out some of the dead at the fence line and do a scouting run in one of the vehicles we have in the parking lot. There are some stores nearby. Honestly, I don’t think it will come to that. We will be out of here before you know it. Having brought up the growing mob out front, brings me to the real reason we are having this meeting right now.” Phillips rested his hand on his sidearm and took two more steps forward. “Because of some of the weaker spots in the fence, we need to neutralize some of their numbers.” He pointed toward the parking lot. “But we are limited on ammunition. The sudden death of Mr. Clouse has us talking and we realize that most everyone here has come in with firearms of some type.”

  “Here we go,” Brady said under his breath.

  “What was that, sir?” Officer Phillips looked like he didn’t much appreciate the interruption from Brady.

  “If you think you’re getting my weapons, officer, you can forget it.” Brady crossed his arms. “Those things out there end up in here, you ain’t leavin’ me defenseless, no sir.”

  “Yeah!” Someone else agreed.

  “Well now, what was your name again?” Officer Phillips thumbed his badge, buffing it, his chest out.

  “Names Brady, Brady Bingham.”

  “Excuse me,” Chris interrupted, stepping in between Brady and Phillips. “How exactly have you been communicating with the Armed Forces? My cellphone and laptop have both been totally jacked to shit since this all went down. I can’t get ahold of anyone.” Chris swallowed hard, realizing it may have not been the best of ideas to be the center of attention, but he was trying to look out for Brady. He held his composure, not wanting to come across as nervous. He glanced over at Stephanie, who had been smiling at him. He smiled back.

  “Yeah, me too,” Jesse shouted, holding a cellphone up with one hand, the baby held in the crook of his other arm. “I haven’t been able to get hold of anybody.”

  The crowd burst out into another uproar of objection. Chris could tell that Phillips was losing control and that he didn’t like it one bit. The red haired officer walked over to one of the other policemen, retrieving a double pump action shotgun. With most of the survivors chattering amongst themselves, they didn’t notice. He raised the gun, pointing it into the air and then he fired it. Its loud report reverberated off the brick walls surrounding the courtyard. A tree close to the wishing well fluttered to life as startled birds suddenly flew from its branches. Silence filled the yard. It was then that Chris knew that this would become violent. Phillips would rather not lose the power that had gone to his head.

  “Listen up . . . and listen good!” Brandon Phillips shouted. “I’m in charge and it’s my job to keep everyone safe! Yes, we have had contact with the National Guard, and yes, I realize that the cellphone towers are down! That doesn’t mean the police scanners and radios are down too, all right! There is no need for a mutiny here. We are here to protect and serv
e. If we plan to survive, we need to all stick together. Is that clear?”

  The people mumbled their understanding with nodding heads.

  “I agree…” Phillips continued, his face red. “You all have the right to self-protection. We all have that right. But the truth is,” he pointed at the other officers, “we are also running low on ammunition too. There are several weak points in this place and if any one of them is breached, those of us standing guard need the ammo! I realize that many of you . . . including yourself, sir.” He pointed to Brady. “You came in well armed and I don’t blame you. I’m not asking that you give up all of your weapons. I am only asking you to relinquish most of them to us so that we can better protect the group as a whole.”

  “But I don’t think that…” Brady started.

  “Let me rephrase that for you, buddy . . .” Phillips pointed the shotgun at Brady and pumped in a shell. “I’m not asking. I’m telling.” He waved the five other policemen over. As they walked up, he commanded, “This is how it’s going to go down, and I don’t want any lip. Any person or persons with firearms of any kind better start giving them up right now! I was going to play nice guy, but you are leaving me no choice. You people aren’t getting it. We are here to keep you safe. This isn’t a vote. We are the law and we need all the firepower we can get if we are going to keep those things from getting in here. If anyone has a problem with that, then you have the right to leave right out that front gate.” He turned and pointed behind him. Past the parking lot was the fence line, crowded with the dead. It wasn’t something anyone could see, because of the buildings that wrapped around the courtyard, but everyone knew exactly what he had been pointing at. “Get the guns, all of them!” He shouted.