by catt dahman
Sally had read the reports and watched the news coverage, she had seen people in other countries attack and bite people, yet it had seemed medically impossible. People were sick, not dead, not the living dead, not zombies or zeds, but that's what they were being called, Zeds.
The smell of blood, vomit, and feces, suddenly overwhelmed Sally, so she stepped outside the room to get some fresh air. She was fighting a losing battle, and she knew it. This seemed like the end of the world.
Maybe this was how the world would end, with a gush of blood.
3
Victims
Damn, Karen thought as she curled herself into a fetal position, clenching her face so tightly that her nails dug little semicircles; her lower stomach was knotted tightly. Walking on aching joints, she stumbled to the bathroom, barely reaching the toilet before vomit blew out of her mouth in a rush. Shivering violently, she sat and reached for the toilet paper to wipe her mouth and blow her nose.
Nelwynn was there to hand her a wet washcloth. "Mom, are you okay?”
"Better now." Karen wiped her fevered face, enjoying the coolness of the cloth, now spotted with blood from her nose. Karen stood, pulled down her underwear to pee, and changed the pad in her panties. She was bleeding from everywhere, just like the people on television. God, she was afraid.
"I'm scared," Nelwynn said.
Karen felt worse, knowing that her daughter was worrying about her. Although she felt guilty, Karen kind of blamed Ed, her late husband, for Nelwynn's extra misery. She missed Ed terribly. He had always promised her and the kids that he'd take care of them forever; he had enjoyed being the breadwinner, the man who could fix it all, and the one who could take care of all of his girls’ problems. He’d wiped their leaky noses, given them a shoulder to cry on, understood female problems, had explained algebra, and he always had known the best gifts to buy. Ed had been the best Dad and husband in the world.
Karen had worried that they were too overprotective, babying the girls, spoiling them, and not even letting them scrape a knee to learn a lesson. Ed had been the kind of man who would follow Polly when she was learning to ride her bicycle, and grabbing her before the bike could wobble twice.
When Nelwynn turned fourteen a few months before he died and had complained that her peers had more privileges, Karen just laughed; Nelwynn had no privileges. Ed hadn’t allowed her to wear makeup, to go out with friends, or to go to movies unless she was with the family.
Nelwynn had been a model student, and the best daughter that any parent could ever have asked for. And he'd been right in how he had wanted to raise their daughters; they had never had a bit of trouble with either, but the children had never been prepared for the real world, the cold, cruel, hard world that had been all too likely to spit right in one’s face.
Ed had always said that he didn't want them to be exposed to what he had seen every day, a bad side of the world, and it had spit in his face a lot. He had worked vice division on the police force, wallowed in the filth, but had preferred to meet it head-on rather than have it happen behind his back. No matter how bad it had gotten, he had managed to stay apart, to somehow separate himself emotionally, until the porn movie case.
Ed had been undercover, and it had taken him two months to set up the sting: he had gone into the investigation, pretending to be a porn movie producer and managing to seem bored and businesslike about it. The operation he had infiltrated specialized in the worst of that industry; bestiality, sadomasochism, snuff films, and necrophilia. It had been the most difficult thing in his life to watch women and children being tortured, degraded, and abused while pretending not to care. Finally, he had been offered women for a snuff film, and he lured the thugs into the trap.
One of the runaways offered him a girl named, Deanna. She was only fourteen, the same age as his daughter, and wore too large blue jeans, a soft T-shirt, and sneakers; her hair was honey-colored and baby fine, and her eyes were a pale, sea green. Thin, she looked underdeveloped, without much figure, long, coltish legs, and no bosom to speak of. The pimp in the industry used Deanna, and had been looking to get rid of her because she was too difficult to handle, he said. She was unreliable and headstrong; refused to use the drugs he supplied, and was prone to fighting. Even the porn industry hadn’t wanted the girl.
She seemed not to care about the movies, being in them, degrading herself, it just never had touched her. She did what she was told to do so that she wouldn’t get beaten, but there was no emotion from her; she seemed dead in many ways. After so many experiences, she hardly noticed what was being done to her or even what she was doing, unless there was physical pain.
When Ed and his team made the arrest, Deanna had been lost. She did not know what to do, but she wouldn’t go back home because her stepfather had beaten the hell out of her and he didn’t want her back. Without the movie people to abuse her, she had nowhere to go and no one to be with. As soon as she had been placed her back in her home, she ran away, again.
Social workers tried to find her a foster family, but each time, there were problems within days; she was a smart girl, a good girl, but too willful and too accustomed to freedom. She hadn’t known how to be a child, how to be taken care of, or how to be watched over. She was a too-often kicked puppy with fear in her eyes and no trust. She had run away again and again.
Ed lost track of her, but he thought of her often.
A few months later, during a routine bust of a prostitution ring, Ed found her with the pimps and hookers, her lips were been painted bright red, her skinny body was dressed in a slinky, neon purple miniskirt and halter top. Ed let the rest be taken, but asked an officer to keep Deanna there so he could talk to her.
He had been thinking of what they could do to help her, and his mind had not been on his duties. From an unsecured doorway, a man bolted. Ed took a deep breath and started to chase after him. The pimp topped mid-stride, and the split second before Ed fired his gun, the man fired his own, turning Ed’s stomach into a fury of burning, and acidic pain.
Ed's partner had taken the pimp out.
Ed tried to move his legs but felt tired, exhausted so badly that he had fallen to the ground; he wanted to find a more comfortable position, but there was a strange sensation, a burning, pulling, sliding feeling. Heat. Reaching with his hand to his midsection, he found the mess of his stomach, the slimy intestines slipping out between his fingers as blood soaked the ground around him.
His partner, the other officer, and Deanna, stood close to him while a fourth officer caught and tried to stuff Ed’s intestines back inside of him and to stop the blood flow. Ed let the man help while he had looked up at Deanna, “Well, look who it is.”
"Yup, I guess you have found me again." She looked at him curiously. "You sure as hell have been hurt."
"No shit. So have you." He looked at her bruises and cuts.
She smiled.
The scene had been chaotic. While the officers yelled for paramedics to hurry and they had waited for the siren to draw closer, Deanna sat down beside him, and reaching out, she squeezed his hand. But in his mind, it seemed as if his daughter, Nelwynn, had been there with him.
This little hooker smiled at him, as if she cared.
Ed didn’t want to let go of her hand, but the paramedics pushed her away as they tried to save his life. He died before they could strap him in.
Deanna looked at one of the officers, "You know what he said to me? He said he loved me; no one’s ever said that before. I guess he thought I was someone else."
"You will be fine," the officer told her, wondering why this little prostitute had even been talking.
She squeezed her eyes shut and said, "I sure will be."
Karen met Deanna at Ed's funeral. Although Karen had mixed feelings about the girl and didn’t want her own daughters exposed to her, she was gracious, listening to how the girl had known her husband. It made her proud of Ed, but she also thought his life had been wasted for people like this. To Karen’s surprise, she f
ound herself scared of what and who Deanna was, but also caring enough to accept the girl’s persistence, and willing to keep in touch with Deanna at her next foster home.
Maybe it had been a connection to Ed that the girl was with him when he died. It had been something.
As Karen sat in her bathroom, sick, she thought of how she needed Ed and how worried she was for her girls, yet wondered about Deanna, too. She worried about Nelwynn and Polly since they didn't have the skills to survive as someone like Deanna would have. They had no street smarts, but who would have thought they would need them? She was terrified for her daughters.
Deanna called to check on Karen, and the girls whom she had never met. Finding out that Karen was ill, Deanna went to the house in a taxi to help Nelwynn take care of Polly. Karen didn’t want her daughters around someone jaded like Deanna, but she passed out and had been helped to her bed right after Deanna arrived. When Karen came to, Deanna asked her to call for help next time.
As Karen lay back, she knew that she was dehydrated and had lost a lot of blood. She wasn’t stupid. She knew she was dying, and that part didn't scare her because according to the news, millions were also dying. It was the end of times as foretold. She had her faith and her religion, and she never had been afraid of death, though this apocalypse of the plague scared her badly for her girls. Karen faked strength for Nelwynn, telling her to be strong and that she loved her, and asking her to please take care of Polly, but when her vision cleared a little, she saw it wasn't Nelwynn standing there; it was Deanna.
"Deanna, would you tell Nelwynn to come in here, please. I need her.”
"I can't." Deanna looked around the room, straightened the bed covers and refused to make eye contact.
Stubborn girl, go home, Karen thought. "Bring her to me," Karen raised her voice, blood rising up in a clout from her mouth and almost strangling her.
Deanna looked at her sadly. "I can't, Karen," she cried, "Nelwynn is asleep…unconscious… she was bleeding out. She’s not immune, either."
Karen felt herself spiraling away, falling into a vacuum; darkness descending.
"I'll take care of Polly," Deanna promised.
“What? No, this is wrong.”
The girl's voice was far-away sounding to Karen. No, she thought, no, not you; we sheltered the girls so much; I don't want you. But Karen slipped away.
4
Hospital and Neighborhood
Everyone had gathered for breakfast but was hardly able to eat, just watching the news coverage.
Len and Hagan sat with Beth and Kim, all offering theories. Bryan and his buddies patrolled the hospital. Groups of people sat talking, crying softly, commenting on the news, and finding chores to keep them busy.
Most could no longer reach loved ones by telephone or cell phone, and reports from those who did manage to reach people across town, told a totally unbelievable story that the sick were rising up to attack, bite, and sometimes eat the immune people.
The television had shown that very thing, but in a nation of avid movie fans, things were not-so-concrete-believable, just because they saw them. Most distrusted the media, mainly, because those actions were impossible, so the actions were dismissed. And even if they had happened in every other country, this was America, and America had provisions and plans for this kind of action, with FEMA and the military ready to help. Right?
Scientists speculated, and cameras showed sick people. Then, scientists warned and offered ideas, and cameras showed attacks. Finally, scientists said that it was all FUBAR and they had no idea of what to do, but were headed to bunkers. Cameras showed bloody cannibals, eating the guts and flesh of people, ripping muscles away, feasting on belly fat, and swallowing fingers; they showed camera-people and the newscasters running, the military being ripped apart, and that was that.
Someone decided they should organize, while some wanted to leave; they did leave but were warned that they might not be allowed back, so they didn’t try to return.
Len, retired as a major in the Marine Corps, began to talk about security; Hagan, the hospital security guard; Mark, a young deputy in training; and Kimball, a former police officer-turned-PI, were interested. Without a military structure, civilization was doomed.
Roy, with the pointed cowboy boots, Hank Williams, Jr, yellow-tinted glasses, sat to the side, poking holes in everything they heard. “Last thing we need is more military.”
“I disagree,” Len said.
“We need security and more,” Mark said. “Military or police force, they’re all sick...so who, besides us, does that leave?”
It was decided that they would hole up there with the benefits the hospital offered, but some pointed out they wanted items from their homes, and if the state of the country was an indication, they had little time to get them before being besieged by deadly predators and looters. Some said they didn’t need anything, but the debate got heated.
Bobby, a self-proclaimed redneck with an easy grin, a ball cap, checkered shirt, jeans and boots, told them he was the most valuable asset they had, that he and his brother owned the gun and survival shop in town.
After a lot more debate, one team decided to drive several streets over to the gun shop and the hardware store to fill SUVs and trucks with supplies. Another team would strip the grocery stores and fill more trucks. For that trip, the soldier, Bryan, offered to go so no one would be shot for looting and to help with guard duty. He gathered a huge group to do the job.
At Bobby and Billy’s store, Bucks and Ducks, Bobby warned them to stay calm, keep weapons out of sight, and keep their hands in full view. “Hold the steering wheel, unroll the window, play drums on the car roof, stand by the vehicle, or have your hands on your hips, but don’t let your hands look as if they’re going for a hidden gun.” He motioned Len to come with him so that his brother would see he wasn’t kidnapped.
Once inside, Bobby and Billy discussed the present situation as Billy looked Len over carefully.
“I thought we’d fight from here,” Billy said.
“Well, the hospital has supplies and a generator.”
“So do we.”
“And a doctor or two, one is female,” Bobby said, “and while we’re gathering supplies here, they are fixing things up there. We have a bunch...over a hundred. Some of them females, anyway.”
“Ya’ don’t say…hmmm.” Billy scratched his head.
“I guess I’d rather hole up with some females around, waiting for the end of the world if I had my druthers,” Billy agreed.
“So, I’m thinking we pack it all in, go hang out there with the rest, and teach them some survival stuff.”
“It’d make us real heroes.” Billy directed some to load boxes and bags with every firearm he set on the counter, while others were to load the heavy ammo, and a few were to gather items such as crossbows, mace, cleaning kits, water bottles, and MRE’s. “We don’t need the more unusual guns or ammo that we can’t get more of.”
“Basic is always best,” Len stated. “I’m thinking to outfit a group and train them military-style camouflage, guns, bug-out packs, you know, the basics.”
“Sounds good,” Bobby agreed, “training military teams is about the only way to survive this clusterfuck.”
“We’ll get you a room and stock all this there, and it will be yours…with a lock, so you can hand things out as you see fit,” Kimball told Bobby and Billy.
Although the men were seeing their hard work destroyed and the money they had invested evaporate, there was pride in both of the men’s eyes as they watched their supplies being appreciated. If the world were ending, it was far better to show off their great planning than to hole up and have no one know, or to be over run and robbed by raiders.
“What about clothing? We need pockets; can we use this?” Beth looked at the garments. “I like these pants.”
“We’ll take it all and them boots, too. And socks. There’s a changing room; load yourself up.”
Beth grabbed some clothing, dar
ted into the room, and changed quickly. Clean clothing felt great. She laced the boots, thinking they were comfortable, light, and sturdy. She put on a long sleeved tee and a pair of pants, where she found tons of pockets.
Len appraised her. “I like the camo.” Then he handed her a holster, a small backpack, a K-Bar knife to go into her boot, and nodded. Len thought his first recruit looked like a really bad ass. “Grab things for the pack; keep it light and smart. Find a bandana, too; we’re taking those.”
Beth picked a small first aid kit, added a tiny roll of duct tape, some wire, a bottle for water, dried food packets, another pair of socks, matches and a lighter, toilet paper, a rain poncho, rope, flashlight and extra batteries, and a compass. The pack was still lighter than she expected. Gloves went into a side pocket and boxes of ammo into her other pockets on her shirt and pants. She found a small knife with a thin sheath that she threaded into her braid, using elastic to secure it. It might never be needed, but she liked having a secret, a last resort weapon. In a way, she felt silly, like an actress in some bad apocalyptic movie, but she also felt tough and then guilty for feeling that. She felt strange with the AR-15 hanging on her back. She added a P226.
“Oh, Chica, help me get in an outfit like that,” Julia demanded. “I wanna be in Len’s Military, too.” With her lean, muscled frame, she would look fantastic, strong, and dependable.
Beth showed her what to get, and while Julia dressed, Beth loaded several backpacks the same way she had loaded hers; each person could then add personal items or more that they needed to carry.
“How’d you know what to pick out?” Billy admired her work.
“I watch television, survivalist stuff.” She laughed. “I may have missed a lot though.”
“Add a whistle and those tiny bottles of insect repellent.”
Beth nodded.
“We’re gonna get all those plastic bottles and jars, too. When we get back to the hospital, I want you to soak cotton balls in Vaseline and seal them in a jar, adding one to each pack. Do you know why?”
