Floodwater Zombies

by Sean Thomas Fisher

  “Rachel, you mean everything in the world to me,” he whispered, narrowing his eyes. “I can’t imagine ever spending another day without you and…” He trailed off and squeezed his eyes shut. “Okay, that’s stupid.” He wiped a sweaty hand on his jeans, looked into the mirror again and cleared his throat. “Rachel, you complete me…” His chest rose as he inhaled deeply. “Oh my God, that makes no sense.” He shook it off and gazing at his reflection with thoughtful eyes. “Rachel, I’ve known you my entire life, and one thing I’ve never been so sure of is my desire to keep that trend going.” He dropped his head. A long burst of air ruffled his lips. “My desire to keep that trend going? What the hell is that?”

  High heels clacked down the hallway’s wooden floor. “Oh my God!” his mom shrieked, stopping in his bedroom doorway with a large brown purse slung over her shoulder.

  Rory snapped the jewelry box shut and dropped it into the open drawer, bumping it closed with his hip as he spun around. “What?”

  Laura looked up from a Kindle Fire in her hand and wrinkled her brow. “Were you talking to someone?”

  Rory looked around the empty room. “No.”

  She stared at him for a moment longer before returning her attention to the small tablet in her hand. “They’re blaming all the deaths in town on Listeria!”

  His eyebrows drew together. “What?”

  Her eyes swept back and forth across the screen like an old fashioned typewriter. “They’re saying people got food poisoning from bad cantaloupe.”

  “Bad cantaloupe? Who’s saying that?”

  Laura shook her head and dropped the tablet into her purse. “Fox News.”

  “Are you serious? I still don’t get this whole cover up thing,” he said, staring at the floor with unfocused eyes. He could still see the confidentiality agreements they had all signed, agreeing not to speak of anything concerning the walking dead in/or around Minot, North Dakota. Unsurprisingly, there was little choice in the matter. Everyone in town - including twenty-seven unlucky out-of-towners who managed to survive the nightmare in one piece – were told to sign the papers and take the money or be branded as doomsday nutballs. Public panic was to be avoided at all costs.

  Rachel’s dad had scoffed at the deal, arguing they could make millions for their stories and possibly stop it from happening again. The Army, however, made it very clear they would be the ones to stop it from happening again, and confidently insisted their troops would not be pulling out of town until there wasn’t a single shred of evidence left to back up any far-fetched zombie stories. In the end, everyone signed the papers. Besides, it was easier than reliving it with Matt Lauer and Anderson Cooper.

  Laura adjusted her purse and shrugged. “What’ya gonna do, Rory? Take on the entire Army?”

  “It just makes ya wonder what else they’ve covered up with ridiculous stories like bad cantaloupe.”

  “Probably UFO abductions and Bigfoot attacks,” she said straight-faced. “I always knew that kind of stuff was true.”

  Rory raised his eyebrows and pocketed some keys.

  “I wouldn’t be surprised if vampires were living right here in this very town. I bet one of em is probably the Mayor.”

  Rory laughed. “You need to lay off The Vampire Diaries.”

  This time Laura was the one to laugh. “Well, who do you thinks works the overnight shift at Perkins?”

  Rory turned back to the mirror and tried not to laugh. He splashed on some cologne and double checked his hair. “Either way, I think I’ll skip out on this year’s Founder’s Ball.”

  Laura threw her head back and laughed the hardest he’d heard her laugh in weeks, a little too hard. She seemed to realize it too and drew in a deep breath while digging some car keys from her purse. “What time is Rachel coming over?”

  “Any minute now.”

  “Do you need some money?”

  “No, mom, I have money.”

  She pulled a twenty from her purse and handed it to him anyway. “Here, take this.”

  Rory smiled. “Thanks, but I’m all set.”

  “Just take it.”

  “I don’t need it.”

  She cocked her head and let a resolute sigh seep from her lips.

  Rory rolled his eyes and grudgingly took the cash. “Thanks.”

  “You two have a great time this weekend and call me if you need anything.”

  “Sounds good,” he replied, grabbing a black nine-millimeter from the dresser and popping the clip to make sure it was fully loaded.

  Laura’s face soured. “Really, Rory?”

  He slammed the clip back in and checked the safety. “What?”

  “Do you really need to take a gun with you everywhere you go? This isn’t Chicago.”

  He stuffed it into a small holster in his lower back. “I thought you just said there were vampires living here.”

  She huffed and waved a hand through the air-conditioned air at him. “Your father wouldn’t have approved and you know that.”

  His eyes rose to study her in the mirror. “Which is why he isn’t here anymore. If it wasn’t for Christopher and a fireplace poker you’d be dead now, too,” he said, regretting his words as soon as it was too late to take them back. The pregnant pause that followed seemed to make the walls bulge outward, like the ski boat did at Doc’s. Laura opened her mouth to respond and turned for the stairs instead, her long blond hair twirling through the air behind her.

  Rory shut his eyes and massaged his temples as her heels clicked across the wooden hallway floor. “Mom…listen, I didn’t mean anything by that,” he called out.

  She stopped, silencing the clattering high heels, and wiped away a tear before turning to face him. “I know you didn’t, sweetie. Your father was a good man. Maybe not the most…hands-on father in the world but he meant the best for us. He really did.”

  Rory plopped down on the twin bed that had been in his room since the ninth grade and let out another long breath. “I know he did. It’s just that…after what we just went through, I’ll never go anywhere without a gun again.”

  She stared at him through sad eyes, as if he was the only victim in the room. A tear rolled over her cheek and plunged to the floor below with a soft splat. Her eyes followed it as she nodded with a tight smile gracing her plum-colored lips. “Are you sure you want to move into that apartment? It’s so tiny.”

  “It’s not that small,” he said, tying his black Nikes.

  “Maybe we’re moving too fast. We could all stay here,” she said, looking around the room. “Even Rachel. Keep the house for another year or so, just until we get our heads on straight.”

  He finished a knot with a tight pull and got up off the bed, glancing out the window overlooking the pool. Ghastly images immediately began flickering through his mind in no particular order. Before he could see too much, he reached up and closed the drapes. “We could use a fresh start. All of us.”

  A wistful sigh slipped from her lips. “You’re probably right,” she said dully. “But I sure hate to leave this old house. We have so many great memories here, but…” She trailed off, lowering her watery gaze to her blue high heels.

  Rory smiled thinly. “We’ll make new ones, mom.”

  Laura nodded with a sniffle and looked up. “I know we will, honey.” She held his soft gaze for a moment and then checked her watched. “Oh my God!” she gasped. “I’m late for a meeting with your father’s attorney.” Her heels clicked across the room to him. She grabbed his face with both hands and planted a kiss on his cheek that left an outline of her puckered lips. “We’re going to be just fine, Rory. I really believe that.”

  He tried returning the smile, succeeding to some degree.

  “Okay, drive safely and have some fun already!” she said, her heels clacking out of the room and down the hallway.

  “Good luck,” he shouted, turning to face the dresser.

  “Leave the door unlocked for the realtor! There’s a spare key in the kitchen for her,” she holler
ed on her way down the stairs.

  When he heard the front door shut he pulled the small black box from his dresser and gazed at it for a few seconds before cracking it open to let the chocolate diamond jumpstart his heart again. Suddenly, he found himself wondering if he was the one moving too fast. Woody’s cracked face and hollowed out eyes shot through his mind. The only thing Rory knew for sure now was that time was a gift that came with no guarantees. If he let this moment slip away from him now, he might end up regretting it for the rest of his life. The diamond winked at him approvingly as the front door opened and closed downstairs, breaking his trance.

  He snapped the box shut and stuffed it into his front pocket, staring at the square bulge in the mirror as high heels climbed the wooden steps. “What’d ya forget?” he yelled, quickly adjusting the box and then pretending to fix his hair in the mirror.

  The heels stopped in his doorway. “I forgot to get some of that tight little ass.”

  Rory’s heart dropped. He whirled to see Rachel leaning in the doorway with a sly grin cutting across her milky face. “Jesus Christ, I thought you were my mom.”

  Her face wrinkled. “Ewe!”

  “My thoughts exactly,” he said, crossing the room and then going back to grab his cell phone from the charger.

  “So your mom’s really going to sell the house, huh?”

  “Yep, realtor’s dropping by to check it out today.”

  “That’s what she just told me in the driveway. What if it doesn’t sell?”

  “It will if the realtor doesn’t bring up the Poltergeist swimming pool out back.”

  Rory cringed as soon as the words slipped from his mouth. Rachel dropped her baby blues to her red high heels and began twisting her fingers. “You ready to go?” he asked, changing the subject.

  She looked up and smiled. “Yes! I don’t think anyone on the entire planet has ever been as ready to go to Bismarck, North Dakota as I am right now.”

  Rory planted a quick kiss on her lips and ushered her down the hall. “You and me both,” he said, admiring the way her butt wiggled inside her tight-fitting jeans. “I’ve got a room for three days and dinner reservations set for tonight. Other than that, we can do whatever we want - whenever we want - all weekend long.”

  She stopped at the top of the stairs and turned to face him. “Good.” Her shiny red lips found his and gently probed from top to bottom. When they pulled apart, Rory slid his tongue across his waxy lips, tasting her cherry lip gloss. “Why do I suddenly feel like I’m in one of those commercials for erectile dysfunction?”

  She laughed sharply and slapped his arm. “Why do you always have to go and ruin it?”

  “Ya know what? I forgot something in my room,” he grinned, dragging her back down the hallway.

  “Oh, no!” she laughed, pulling her hand free. “Save it for the hotel, Romeo!” Her heels clattered loudly down the wooden steps with the grace of someone fluent in such footwear.

  He gave chase and she screamed, skipping the last stair and sprinting out the front door, giggling wildly along the way. Rory shut the door behind him in one fluid motion and dashed into the sun-splashed driveway, catching Rachel next to his dad’s brand new yellow Corvette. A high-pitched shriek escaped her when he snatched her from behind and lifted her off her heels. “Put me down! This is police brutality!” she howled with laughter.

  Rory gently set her down and kissed her again, taking her face in both his hands. They pulled apart and he let himself get lost in her ocean-colored eyes as they caught their breath. “I love you,” he whispered. The words felt even better on his lips than her cherry lip gloss. It had been a long time since he had said those three words and meant it.

  She smiled and opened her mouth. A Blue-Jay screeched out from a treetop above. Her eyes flickered over his shoulder and immediately narrowed. The smile on Rory’s face slowly faded as her face fell. She took a step back and he turned behind him to see dark storm clouds rolling in from the southwest. Suddenly, the bright sunshine slipped behind a large gray cloud, draining the color from the grass and roses running along the front porch. He turned back to Rachel who was halfway back to the house, a look of sheer terror controlling her facial features like a puppeteer.

  “No,” she murmured, not taking her eyes from the ominous clouds.

  “Rachel, come on!” he yelled, throwing his hands into the air. “It’s okay! It’s just some rain.” He tried flashing a reassuring smile but the grave look on her face made it impossible.

  She shook her head and finally found his eyes again. “I’m sorry,” she said faintly, turning for the house and running up the front steps.

  Rory stood paralyzed, unable to command his body into action. “Rachel! It’s over! We’re safe now!”

  She burst through the front door and slammed it shut behind her as the wind picked up. Rory put his hands behind his head and interlocked his fingers. He turned to face the funeral home across the street and shook his head. “Shit!” he said, staring at the darkened sky above. A humming sound pulled his attention to the street where another city pickup was motoring past with a sprayer mounted in its bed like a fifty-caliber machine gun, spraying a smelly plume of mosquito repellant into the air as the truck slowly drove along. The receding floodwaters had left stagnant pools of water behind, providing the perfect breeding ground for a massive infestation that had left the town’s residents covered in itchy red welts - adding further insult to injury. Many feared contracting the zombie infection from the stinging pests but, so far, that hadn’t happened.

  Rory turned back to the house, trying to find the right words to ease Rachel’s mind. He knew he’d have to choose carefully or she would never leave the house again without the comfort of a crystal clear sky. He worried she would be forever scarred by dark clouds bulging with threatening rain, unable to attend a simple baseball game or amusement park without The Weather Channel’s assurance of a perfect forecast. Forever haunted by the past. Forever damaged goods.

  “Shit!” he repeated again, just as an old man wearing a blue suit and yellow tie passed by the house’s large front window. The man stopped in the living room, staring into what used to be Stephen’s office. Rory blinked, thinking his mind was playing tricks on him. Thinking he was just as damaged as Rachel. Scout began barking like crazy in the backyard, making Rory’s pulse pound in his ears. The man swayed in his stance for a moment before turning to Rory with sunken eyes. Rory’s heart lodged in his throat, his feet pinned to the ground. The man cocked his head to the left, studying Rory with a keen interest. And now there was something else Rory knew for sure: the Army had missed something.

  The city pickup’s sputtering sprayer faded around the corner, leaving a pungent haze in its wake. The old man’s head suddenly snapped to the right. His lips drew back, revealing sharp teeth. Then he limped off and disappeared from the window altogether. Rory’s breath came hard and fast, the wheels in his mind finding no traction. It was impossible. He had to be dreaming. Rachel’s scream finally launched him into a full on sprint to the front door.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Connor hit the switch for the lethargic fluorescent lights in the chilly room. The lights slowly flickered to life, flashing longer and longer bursts of a body lying on a silver table across the room. With a stoic expression, Connor stared at the woman through sleepy eyes. “Oh wow,” he muttered, holding a steaming cup of coffee in a mug that read Women Dress Me With Their Eyes on the side.

  He blew on it and took a careful sip of the thick brew, admiring Don’s handy work, and set the mug down on a long steel counter against the mint painted wall. Legs, too long for his black slacks, carried him past vacant tables to the lifeless body in a cinnamon-colored dress. He bent over her, careful not to bang his head on the round light fixture above, and nodded approvingly of Don’s choice of pale pink lipstick and chocolate brown eye shadow. “Now that is some true art,” he said, straightening back up and checking a metal clipboard hanging beneath the table’s edge. He
nodded in satisfaction again. Mary Hanson was nearly ready for the public, giving him more time to work on Carl Hopkins. Since the Army had burned all of their corpses, it had been slow but due to an unfortunate series of badly timed heart attacks and one rollover DUI accident over the last few days, they would have their hands full today. When it rains, it pours.

  He dropped the clipboard back onto the hook and returned his attention to the seventy-nine year-old DAR member who had recently gone to sleep after watching a rerun of Murder She Wrote on the Hallmark Channel and never woke up again. “Boy, I wish I would’ve known you before your ticker crapped out,” he whispered, stroking her freshly styled gray hair that made her dress that much brighter. “We could’ve had some real kicks together, sweet pea,” he smiled.