by catt dahman
The next time Tina awakened, there was something new. There were little blisters lining her mouth and throat, and she was blazing hot with fever. Half out of her mind in pain, she thought about the water that trickled in; she knew it had been a terrible mistake to drink it. Cramping, nasty diarrhea was more humiliation than she could bear; she wailed through each wave.
The smell of rotting meat made her salivate; with her stomach growling, she screamed with disgust and desperation. She thought there was an odor coming from her foot, and when she reached up to feel her face, to check the fever, she felt little blisters popping, as if she had a bad sunburn. Nausea rose, and she turned her head to the side to vomit.
What did I do to deserve this? What was my terrible sin? She would die in this disgusting, terrible, stinking place. She began looking around for something with which to hurry her death along.
Voices.
"Hello?" she called, knowing it was a hallucination.
She thought she heard some type of muffled reply. Then there were hands reaching, pulling plaster, concrete, and debris. The hole widened. "There.”
"It stinks."
I do, thought Tina.
“Shhhh.”
"It's gonna hurt like a bitch." Somebody was doing something down close to her foot and ankle.
Tina vomited again.
"We’re going to ease you out; keep your eyes closed."
"Look at her."
"Shut up."
Tina squinted at the people standing around her.
"It's going to be okay," someone lied to her.
Tina tried to smile, dreaming of the hot shower again. "I need a bath," she said, her voice raspy and rough.
A man shook his head in disbelief.
"A bath."
Tina sank into unconsciousness.
13
Another Survivor
When the hospital began shaking, shuddering into itself, Bridget was in a restroom close to the lobby. She held on to the sink as she rode it out, bumping her head soundly, knocking herself out for some time.
When she awoke, she winced as she scrubbed blood from a cut in her hairline. Opening her bag, she meticulously patted expensive powder onto her face, clucking at the shiny places she was erasing. Her Crimson Delight, cherry red, lipstick ran smoothly over her lips, making them full and smooth. She used a sweep of brown-black Super Plump Mascara on the upper and lower lashes with a quick line of blue-grey eye pencil applied to her inner eyelid at the bottom to make the whites appear whiter.
Perfect.
In the department store where she worked, her perfume named Guinevere, smelled lovely, sensuous, and yet innocent. She immersed herself in a cloud of the fragrance.
Bridget swirled her brushed, bright blonde curls about her finger, giving them quick spritzes of hairspray, then rubbed lotion into her hands and down her taut claves, and finally straightened her designer skirt, blouse, and jacket. After she was finished, she neatly refilled her bag.
She moved to sit doll-like in the hard backed chair, a slight smile on her face; when they came to rescue her, she would be waiting as pretty as a picture.
14
And Another Survivor
Her first trial had been surviving the car accident, and that had left her blind, her second trial. Now, she knew she faced her third. In the lobby, she had listened to her brother-in-law say that he had seen a mushroom cloud on the horizon, rising angrily to the sky. She had a feeling something even worse than Red was coming, and now it had.
“Why would there be a bomb?” she asked uselessly.
“Maybe we did it, or they did it, but it’s a bomb. People were buzzing around her, fear rising like a cloud, making her stomach knot in waves of uncertainty.
Someone shouted when incandescence filled the lobby; Maryanne didn’t see the light, but she felt the air change. Voices went shrill. The floor shifted, and the wall tilted at an angle, giving her protection from the searing, hot wind, burning light, and death.
Cooler air was vacuumed from around her, and she broke into a sweat, her eyes pulsing blindly, throbbing. Instinctively, she flopped to her stomach to gasp, fish-like at the little oxygen there. Around her, the roar of winds eclipsed the screams; moaning and screeching of the rubble that pelted Maryanne.
Cocooned in her eternal darkness, she lay there, riding waves of upheaval until she lost consciousness.
When she awoke, it took a few seconds before she had her bearings; she sadly thought of her brother-in-law, sister, and the new baby and wondered if they had survived. There were sounds, but she was alone. She knew they hadn’t survived this; it was a feeling she had.
Carefully, she began to explore her surroundings. Glass and sharp concrete, twisted metal, all tore at her hands.
Finding a cooling body close to her that had no pulse and a hand that ended at the elbow, she shivered, moaning as she threw it away from her. Sure that the man was beyond caring, Maryanne stripped the man of his shirt to wrap her hands.
After much trial and error, she crawled and stumbled into less debris. She squirmed through tight spaces, climbed up, down, over, and under trash that scratched and scraped her skin.
A half-opened, crushed door allowed her to creep into a small bathroom that she recalled being not far from the lobby. She was able to quench her thirst, relieve herself, wash, and re-bandage her hands. Those few actions did amazing things for her mood.
She hummed to herself while she searched for a way out. Squeezing through blocks and slabs, she thought or told herself she was following faint voices.
She rested.
Yes, those were voices. Maryanne crawled through more of the collapsed building until she could stand. “Hello? Is someone there?”
“Stay where you are,” returned a strong voice.
“Thank you. I’m blind. Can you help me?”
“She was blinded by the blast?” someone asked.
Maryanne remembered to breathe, scared of being left by these people. “I was already blind. It was a head injury long ago. I need help. Please.”
“Are you hurt?” Closer now.
“My hands, I cut them a little. I got scraped up pretty bad.”
“Are you burned?”
“No,” she said.
She felt a woman’s hands on her arms, looking at her hands. “I’m Beth. Kim is here; you heard him first. And George is here; Mark, Chauncey, and Big Bill are behind me.”
“Thank you. Are you from the cafeteria?” She felt safe.
“Yes. Some of us are from the group that went out for supplies. The hospital collapsed around us.”
“There was a bomb. Dale said that.”
“Is he with you?”
“No. He was way back there with some others, but none of them got out unless you’ve seen one of them. We were in the lobby.”
“No, only you.”
The one named Kim whistled. “You’re lucky to get out of that. Sorry about Dale.” He had strong hands that she felt as he patted her arm lightly. In spite of herself, she felt herself falling into his arms as her legs gave out.
She tried to form a mental image for each person who spoke to her; she felt positive energy radiating from each one of them, but she couldn’t speak anymore. Finally, she felt safe and began to cry for her losses.
Kim carried her to the cafeteria.
Maryanne just cried.
15
Walking Dead
“I wonder if we’ll find more survivors?”
“I’m surprised we found this many,” Sally told them. “This has caused a lot of trauma; the ones we have found are fortunate.” She set up make-shift clinics in some of the rooms.
“No one has given up looking for survivors.”
“They won’t last much longer unless we find them,” Sally noted.
“We all need to stay on work details.”
A man snorted.
“That seems smart,” Roy agreed, surprising everyone. “If we are staying here a while where it’
s safer, then we need to be comfortable.”
Paul and his wife, Donna, looked unsure. “Maybe we should try to find where the military is massing to help us.”
“There is no military, but me. Maybe some had scattered around the country, but there is no place to go; after all, we’re in a hospital,” Bryan pointed out.
“He’s scaring me,” Donna said, clutching her husband’s arm.
“We are not the only ones left,” Paul growled.
“No. We have plenty of Reds out there. And yanno, you’re right. There are millions of survivors, just like us, but the radiation will take some, and the disease and injuries will take others…and the Reds are going to be hunting the survivors.”
“That’s crazy talk. They don’t turn into monsters.”
“Really? Did you see them coming at you, moaning, and trying to grab you and take a chomp? Tell Jeri and Ben there aren’t monsters.”
“That’s crazy talk.”
“Why did they bomb us?”
“Maybe it wasn’t a ‘they’; maybe we did it to ourselves. Maybe that was how ‘they’ thought to get rid of the masses of Reds in the big cities,” Bryan said.
“We only saw a small herd of them…hundreds, imagine thousands out hunting,” Len agreed. “Even one can be deadly if it gets you.” He thought of Gina. “Johnny, hand me a smoke; I need a fresh pack.”
The woman shot him a dirty look. “You have your own.” But she offered him one from her pack. Bryan and Kim held hands out. “You want me to fix a fancy pitcher of girly drinks for you, too? Add the fancy umbrellas?”
“I’d like that if you put enough vodka in it,” Len chuckled.
“How can you people laugh and make jokes?” Donna dramatically waved smoke away from her face. Since the bomb, she and her husband had stayed close to Roy.
“’Cause we aren’t dead, yet,” George said quietly.
One of the other men, along with Donna, and Paul, drifted away with Roy, heads together, talking quietly.
“Division?” Bryan asked.
“Human nature,” Len reminded him.
“Roy is building his own camp, I think,” Beth said, “small so far, but it’ll grow. On this side, we have those following Major Len.”
“I’m in this camp,” Johnny said, her voice rough.
Bryan held an arm up, and they did a fast high-five.
“You have me and the boys,” George added.
“And us, Misty and Julia, Mark and Bobby, and Hagan. I think Chauncey and Big Bill, too,” Kim added.
Len raked a hand through his short hair, “You people are amazing, but about stupid, electing me a leader.”
They laughed.
“How’s the generator?”
Kim shrugged at Len. “With this place going down, I figure we can make it a month with lights if we conserve. I’m no expert. Mark knows more than I.”
“Ah, but you’re smart, farm boy.”
Kim laughed. He was still ropey, muscled the same as when he had grown up working his dad’s farm. His reddish hair and slow grin, along with his tendency to remain quiet until he warmed up to people, let his secret weapon, intelligence, remain hidden. In his Wranglers and tee shirt, roper boots and hat, he personified the term ‘goat-roper’ look. He hadn’t adopted the camouflage style that most had.
He tipped his hat to Johnny, making her cackle.
In one hall, the half-wall hid most of the view, but they could see where a dark tunnel snaked upwards. Len held his hands out for them to halt.
“Another survivor,” Bryan said quietly.
Beth cocked her head. “It sounds…”
Len pushed them back. “Get back.” Only he and Bryan still carried weapons. The moaning might have been someone injured, but Len had heard that infernal noise outside. It sounded like a Red Zed.
Fists pounded from behind a fallen door.
“Get them out.” A man named Arnie had heard and brought Sally running. Several others filled the hall behind them, trying to call to survivors.
“We need to be sure.”
“What the hell is wrong with you?” Arnie and another man rushed forward to move the door, side-stepping Len, as he listened.
“Wait.”
“It sounds wrong,” Kim said as the moaning intensified. He pulled his pistol from his back, surprising Len.
“Help us, why do ya wanna shoot a survivor?” The man snapped and then went back to clearing rubble. “Asshole. We need help.”
“Stop digging,” Len ordered.
“Hey, Len says to wait,” Johnny yelled.
The two men heaved the door to the side, and everyone waited a heartbeat to see what was in the dark.
The smell assaulted them first. Beth’s eyes went wide as she took in the smell and the moaning. She grabbed Sally before the doctor could move closer; everything went to slow motion. A torn body shoved forward, shambling out of the dark, hands reaching; it wore jeans and a shirt that were once blue, both garments shredded now.
“My God, are you okay?” Arnie was slack-jawed at the staggering form that managed to keep on its feet despite missing flesh from its thigh and chunks from both arms; the stomach was torn open, showing the white ribs bones protruding boldly.
“Get back,” Len yelled.
But Arnie wanted to be a hero and save this one. He moved closer to help, accidentally allowing the zed to snatch his arm and sink his teeth in, lightning fast. Arnie screamed as his flesh disappeared into the mouth, down the gullet, and out again, back to the floor.
The second man tripped, trying to get away.
Kim motioned for everyone to retreat, but people blocked the hallway, screaming and staring blankly at the carnage.
Another partially eaten body, a woman in a dress with her arms chewed to yellowish bones, shambled out from the dark, and a male Red Zed came out, his mouth solidly covered in dried blood. Both had oozing sores that dripped. All three moaned.
Len fired, taking out the one who had come out last, but the other two in his line of fire were tangled with the two men now, biting. A fourth and fifth appeared, sending some of the survivors bolting down the hall as others ran forward to see why there was a shot being fired. Chaos ruled.
A family with a victim of Red, Beth thought. Why was a family here? Why was a Red here?
Blood spurted as the zed bit into his stomach, pooling fast beneath him, and making it impossible for him and the other man to get to their feet in the slick liquid. Both men howled.
Unnerved, Kim fired, finally putting a second one down.
Kim handed his handgun to Beth and swung down low, scooting forward and grasping the man’s feet to pull him to safety. She could have screamed with fear and frustration at Kim for this suicidal move.
“Man up, Beth. Acquire,” Len yelled as he hit a third. With an unexpected wash of anger at Len for making her do this, Beth took a breath, firing at her target, and taking it out in two quick shots to his head. Her ears rang.
Amid blood and other liquids washing out from all his wounds into a slimy mess, the man was yanked by Kim to safety.
Bryan took the final shot.
The fight had lasted mere seconds.
Johnny held Sally back this time as Len nodded to Bryan, and Arnie fell back with a single shot to the forehead.
“Why?”
“Sally, look how torn up Arnie is, and he was infected with the first bite,” Johnny reminded her.
They all looked at the other man whose name they didn’t know, wounds gushing blood as he convulsed with pain.
“You don’t wanna see this.” Len motioned everyone back. “Go on back. It’s over.”
“But he’s alive,” someone muttered.
“No he’s not; he just doesn’t know it yet.” George and Johnny walked over to herd the on-looking crowd back down the hallway.
Kim sat back, frustrated. Bryan and Len let Mark and Tink, both armed, back them up as they carefully searched the dark space, watching for more movement and listening
for moaning.
Tink fired once.
Beth’s ears were still ringing. She handed Kim his pistol. Sally walked over to check Kim for bites, yanking his shirt and sleeves up, then checking his legs and going over his hands carefully.
“Clear,” Len called back
“He’s clear, too,” Sally announced, allowing Kim to redress.
“Looks as if the Red and the others were on a floor above and slid down. The Red then infected the others. But that doesn’t make sense.” Tink scratched his head.
All heads turned to Sally.
She shrugged, “We had a few infected.” She went to the dead ones and felt for their pulses, felt around, poked.
“If they aren’t dead…” Len checked each again, with one eye on Sally.
“They’re dead,” she said, rocking back on her heels as she crouched there. “But, this is impossible. They have been dead.”
“What?”
“I mean, they were dead before they attacked.”
“That isn’t possible, Sally,” Len told her. “I mean none sounds possible, but I gotta draw the line when you say we had dead people, biting and attacking.”
“Draw a line then, but they were dead. I’m sure.”
“No way. ‘Cause that would mean…”
“That the bombs were for nothing and there’s still just as many.” Beth sank to the floor next to Kim.
“That’s what I thought. I mean, I figured it out when they were attacking; they looked dead,” Kim said. He took a cigarette as Johnny, hands shaking, passed out more cigarettes.
Bryan squatted, looking at Sally, “And we have Red in the hospital?”
“Yeah. His temperature and the rigor; he’s been dead half a day. You can smell decomp over the rest of the smells.”
“And they really are zombies.”
“Zombies, zeds. We’re seriously screwed,” George said.
16
Knock at the Door
“Len?” Big Bill called, “Chauncey and I can get this taken care of; they need you at that other exit…not the pharmacy.”
“What’s up?”
“We hear people. People are outside beating on the door.”
