Rotting Rage (Jane Zombie Chronicles Book 2)

by Gayle Katz

  “You know that’s a long-shot, right?” I know he’s grasping at straws.

  “Just do it, OK?” he says as he hands me a painkiller. “I know you think it’s hogwash, but it seems to be working so far, so don’t argue. You haven’t turned yet. And following this course of treatment, maybe you won’t.”

  “Even the dog knows something’s wrong with me.”

  “He’s a smart dog. He’s one of us. That’s why we love him, right?”

  “Yeah.”

  “He could’ve gone for the jugular, but he didn’t. Even he knows there’s still hope. We’re not going to let you go so easily.”

  I smile. Jack kisses me and wraps his arms around me.

  I break off our embrace. “We gotta grab whatever we need and head down to the basement,” I decide. “We can’t afford to waste any time.”

  “We should be fine here for a while, but you’re right.”

  “I’m gonna go upstairs, grab some things, and go to the bathroom, OK? I may not have another chance.”

  “Sure, hurry down.”

  I head upstairs to grab the metal baseball bats hidden under our bed. In a zombie apocalypse, you can’t have enough weapons, right? With additional weapons in hand, I walk over to the bathroom. I enter the familiar room, lift up my skirt, and sit down on the toilet.

  “At least I made it this time,” I mutter to myself.

  I clean myself, wash my hands, and scurry down the stairs. As I come back down, I see John, Mallory, and Jack grabbing all the liquids from the kitchen as well as the knives and anything else we can use to protect ourselves in case zombies break in. Jack has my lucky cast iron pan and a whole twenty-four pack of rainbow-colored sports drinks. They head down into the basement to stash our supplies. We already have a full complement of food, water, baseball bats, batteries, first aid kits, and more down there, but a few additional supplies can’t hurt. Before I join them, I head into our home office room and grab what is left of our duct tape supply.

  “Jane,” Jack reminds me, “It’s time to go downstairs.”

  “Sure. OK.”

  The dog is following Jack now. He usually follows me. I guess he doesn’t trust me anymore. I can’t blame him. I don’t trust myself right now either. Feeling sad because my doggie is afraid of me, I sigh and head down into the basement with everyone else.

  Part way down, Jack calls out to me.

  “Jane, can you grab the walkie-talkies from the shelf over the stairs? Bring’em down, OK?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  At the bottom of the stairs, I join Mallory and John. Once inside, Jack closes the basement door and locks it. He walks down the stairs. I hand him the walkie-talkies.

  “Now that we have some time, let’s try to make the most of it. John, look around for some flashlights and fill’em up with fresh batteries. Here are the walkie-talkies. They need new batteries too. I’m going to hop on the CB radio and try to get someone’s attention. Jane, make sure to take those painkillers and antibiotics, and drink as much as possible. John, make sure she does it, OK?”

  “Sure thing,” John replies.

  “What does he want me to do? I can’t remember,” I say to the air. “I think I need to sit down.”

  John helps me to the floor. Everything looks big and scary from this angle. Suddenly, John is gone and Jack is back. The dog is by his feet.

  “Jane, we’re gonna get you well again, but you need to drink this,” he instructs.

  He hands it to me, but I don’t know what do to. My brain is in a fog. I’m distracted that I didn’t grab a pair of clean panties when I was upstairs. How could I forget something like that?

  “It’s good,” he assures me as he drinks some of the unknown liquid. “Jane? Are you paying attention? Why don’t you try some?” He tries to get me to focus.

  Once I see Jack drink, I down the entire bottle and want another.

  “I’m so thirsty. More!” I demand.

  “That’s good. Hey John, bring the entire case over here, will you?”

  “Sure.”

  “Thanks. Do me a favor? Hop on the CB radio over there on the desk. I already turned it on, but you need to tune into a channel where you hear people, preferably police or emergency services. Try channel 9 first, OK?”

  “Sure,” John says as he heads over to the other side of the basement where the radio is on the table.

  “What am I going to do with you, Jane?” Jack chides, “You’re turning into a zombie and you’re still acting stubborn!”

  I stare at him.

  “Drink some more, OK?”

  I continue to stare at him.

  “Drink!” he orders.

  Jack hands me another bottle. I drink it down in seconds.

  “Now let me look at your bite, OK?” he requests as he reaches for my arm.

  He unwraps the previous bandage and sees it’s still bleeding a little.

  “Mallory, can you bring me a medkit?”

  She brings one over and opens it. Jack removes the bandage and gauze. I can hear him exhale. I turn my head and stare at him.

  “We gotta change your dressing again. It looks like your wound has finally stopped bleeding. Thank god. But it’s still infected.” He opens a wipe from the med-kit and begins to clean the area around the bite.

  “That hurts,” I attempt to recoil, but he does not let go.

  “Happy to hear you still have your faculties,” he smiles. “I guess we haven’t lost you yet. Let me wrap it back up and you’ll be good as new.” He puts fresh gauze back in my wound and covers it with another bandage.

  “Yeah, I wish.”

  “How are you feeling now?”

  “A bit better,” I lie. “Thank you, Jack. What would I do without you?”

  “Let’s hope we never have to find out, OK?”

  He hands me another sports drink. “Drink another, OK?”

  “Sure. Why don’t you hand me two of them?”

  “Good girl!”

  Jack stands up and walks over to John. “Any luck reaching someone?” Jack inquires.

  “No. Not yet,” John shakes his head.

  “Why don’t you let me try again?” Jack requests.

  “Good luck. It’s all yours. I need a break anyway,” John confesses as he gets up from the chair, stretches and then lies down on the floor between Mallory and me.

  Except for the sound of Jack’s voice, there is silence. Every so often, I hear whispers and I look around, but see no one talking. It’s an odd feeling. Is this what happens when you’re turning into a zombie? The paranoia of people talking behind your back right in front of you. The hallucinations of zombies talking right to you as if they’re your best friends. Not being able to determine what’s real and what’s fantasy even though both seem to be happening right before your eyes? I pick up another sports drink and chug it down.

  Jack turns around from working the radio. “I’m not sure exactly what our problem is with this thing,” he says, frustrated. “We tested it a bunch of times, so why isn’t it working?”

  “Maybe there’s no one out there to respond?” John suggests the worst-case scenario.

  “Way to be positive. That doesn’t seem likely. This situation just started not too long ago,” Jack argued. “How could it have gotten out of control so quickly?”

  “Something like this can spread fast. Before you turn around, an entire area is affected,” Mallory speaks up.

  “How do you know that?” Jack pries.

  “I researched it. I read all the accounts from the previous outbreak. I like to be educated.” she replies.

  “Then you can help us stay ahead of it. Predict what’s going to happen. Keep us safe,” Jack suggests.

  Mallory nods.

  “Maybe we need to check the antenna on the roof?” Jack shares his thoughts, “If it fell down or got damaged in some way, that might be our problem.”

  He stands up, walks back to the desk, and flips on the security cameras. “It doesn’t look like
any of our friends have busted into the house yet. Maybe my alcohol trick worked. Maybe they don’t know we’re here. Maybe someone can go up to the roof and check on the antenna.”

  Silence.

  “Don’t all volunteer at once,” Jack jokes. “I can do it. I’m the one who knows where it is and how to fix it.”

  Chapter 17

  ________________________________________

  Jack loads up his backpack with sports drinks, his travel toolbox, and duct tape. He also takes two of the metal baseball bats I grabbed from under our bed. “Nice day for some fresh air, don't you think? Let’s keep your mind working and active, OK?” he says as he takes my hand.

  Jack grabs one of the walkie-talkies and we walk up the basement stairs. John follows us up. He hands the other one to John. “If you need anything, just click in the talk button. We shouldn’t be long.”

  Rocky the dog is still following Jack. Jack stoops down so he’s up close and personal with him.

  “You need to stay here, OK? We’ll be back soon.” Jack gives his assurances as he points for the dog to go back down into the basement. Rocky licks his face. “Yeah, I’m gonna miss you too, boy.”

  “Good luck and hurry back.” John pleads.

  Jack unlocks and unbolts the basement door. He pokes his head out for just a second to check and make sure there are no zombies loitering about.

  “We’re safe to move forward,” Jack affirms.

  He grabs my hand and we tiptoe over to the main stairs. Every step we take is a cautious one. As soon as we can see the second floor, we scan our immediate area to make sure we’re the only ones up here. Once we get up to the second floor landing, Jack reaches for the attic stairs and pulls them down. There's a shrill creak as he lowers them. They’re so noisy! Jack doesn’t seem to notice, but the sound echoes in my brain. It’s all I can hear.

  “Do you hear that?” I say, holding my ears.

  “Hear what?”

  “That horrible creaking. The stairs when you pulled them down. You didn’t hear that?”

  “It’s just a little squeak. Nothing too loud,” Jack shrugs.

  “Any sound is too loud,” I lament.

  “Let’s hurry up this ladder before we get any uninvited guests.”

  We start to ascend the stairs. Halfway up, we hear banging on the front door and windows.

  “That can’t be good,” Jack states the obvious. “C’mon. Up the stairs. Watch where you’re going, but we need to move faster.”

  As soon as we’re in the attic, Jack reaches down and pulls the stairs back up.

  Sitting there quietly, we hear more noise below. The walkie-talkie makes a whir and crackles quietly.

  “Jack? You OK?” The voice on the other end says. “It’s John.”

  Jack clicks in the talk button, “John. Check the cameras. What’s going on in the house?”

  “Already checked, man. It’s a mess. A real mess.”

  “Shit.”

  “Whatever sounds you made definitely caught their attention. You two just made it. Those things must have crazy good hearing.”

  Jack looks at me.

  “We’re almost to the roof. As soon as we check the antenna and make sure it’s working, we’ll let you know.”

  “Sounds good.”

  “So much for my alcohol idea.” Jack pulls out another sports drink from his backpack and hands it to me. “Drink it quickly.”

  I gulp it down.

  Jack gets up and finds the hatch to the roof. He pulls himself up briefly to check if it’s safe. Once he’s through, he turns around to help me up.

  “No. That’s OK. I’ll just stay here.”

  “No way. You’re coming with me. I’m keeping an eye on you at all times. I’m not gonna lose you and the best way to ensure that is if we stick together, OK?”

  “Fine. OK.”

  He helps me up. Our roof is slanted. Really slanted. More like angled at forty-five degrees and easy to fall off.

  “Drink some more, OK?” Jack again implores, “And stay right here in the middle of the roof. Plant one leg on either side so you’re balanced and don’t fall. I’m gonna go out to the antenna, see what’s going on, and straighten it out.”

  “Be careful,” I say, fearful for his safety in my more lucid mindset.

  Jack nods. As he turns to start his trek out to deal with the antenna, I grab his attention again, “Jack.”

  “What?”

  “I love you.”

  “I love you too.”

  I smile. With his toolbox and duct tape in hand, Jack turns back around and heads off to see if he can fix the antenna that doesn’t seem to be working properly.

  Sitting here straddling the roof, I close my eyes, feel the wind in my hair, and the sun on my face. It’s been a while since I stopped and smelled the roses as the cliché goes. It’s one thing that’s definitely not overrated. I inhale deeply. While the fresh air feels good, there’s something not right. I can detect a hint of odor in the air that wasn’t there before. I look down as best I can and see zombies. The roof is blocking most of my view, but if there are zombies in the house now, I guess it makes sense that there are also zombies running around outside too. And boy do they stink. I sigh under my breath.

  Turning my attention from the zombie infestation back to the roof, I see Jack. He’s coming back. That’s quick.

  “Are you able to fix the antenna?” I ask.

  “Not so much. No. The antenna is bent. When I touched it, it broke.” He shakes his head as he shows me the damaged antenna in his hand.

  “That’s not good. Can we fix it?”

  “Yes, but it’s not going to be easy.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “Well, I can’t just duct tape the two pieces together. It doesn’t work like that.”

  “Oh. I didn’t realize.”

  “Yeah. The antenna is a no go unless we can find something that conducts radio signals to connect the pieces.”

  “OK, then. What conducts radio signals?”

  “Metal. The easiest way I can think of is to wrap the broken ends of the antenna in aluminum foil. Then wrap them in duct tape to keep ’em from falling apart.”

  “But we don’t have aluminum foil up here. It’s in the kitchen.”

  “And that’s why it’s not going to be easy. One of us is going to have to go down there and get it. That’s the only way we’ll be able to fix the antenna so we can use the radio to call for help.”

  I inhale deeply and then exhale. “I’ll do it,” I offer. “There’s no reason for you to put yourself in danger. I’m already infected. I should go.”

  Jack looks sad, but he doesn’t argue. He knows I’m right. I can see the mounting challenges taking their toll on him, and the unsettling reality had begun closing in, casting a shadow on his previous hopeful determination. Maybe he’s scared?

  “Are you going to be OK down there?”

  “I don’t know. I hope so.”

  “Because you’re going to have to keep yourself together enough to get to the first floor, get to the kitchen, find the aluminum foil, and make your way back again.”

  “I know.”

  “Will you be able to embrace your zombie side and still hold on to your humanity?”

  “I’ll try.”

  “Once you get back, we’ll pump you full of sports drinks, antibiotics, and painkillers. They should help, but I’m not sure how much. Just do it quickly and get back here.”

  “Stop worrying. Whatever happens, everything will be OK. Aren’t you the one who always tells me that?”

  “Yes, but…”

  “But what?”

  “I don’t want to lose you. I wasted so much time at work when we could have had more time together. I’m sorry.”

  I look deep into his beautifully sincere eyes and touch his face with my pale, almost gray hand in order to reassure him, letting him know everything is going to be fine.

  We make our way back into the attic and s
tand over the entrance to the second floor. Jack pushes down the stairs so I can get my balance and place my feet on the second floor landing. From here, I only have to run down the main stairs, make a quick right, and head into the kitchen.

  I look back at Jack before I go, “Don’t worry. I’ll be back soon, OK?”

  “Hurry!” he whispers.

  And I’m off.

  Chapter 18

  ________________________________________

  Walking down the main staircase is challenging. I decide to go slower. My balance is less than perfect, my mind is wandering, and I can barely concentrate on my task. I have to fight the fog that’s building up in my brain. I stop here and there when I forget who I am and what I’m looking for. The zombies milling around me don’t seem to notice or even care I’m here. Is that good or bad?

  As I make it to the base of the stairs, I can feel my legs getting stiff. It’s difficult to walk. And who’s making that moaning noise? I look around at the docile zombies loitering in our house and none of them are saying anything. There it is again. Shit! Is it me? It can’t be.

  What am I doing down here? Think. Think. Right. Aluminum foil. Gotta keep going. I slowly make my way right and head for the kitchen. No one notices me yet.

  I enter the kitchen and look around. I see more zombies. Does my scent provoke them? I must stink. I’m still enveloped by the vile urine odor from my accident earlier. They still don’t acknowledge me—at least not yet. I think that’s good. I remember zombies smell bad too. At least they did, but I don’t notice any strange odors floating in the air. Is that a bad sign? Am I really turning into one of them? Gotta focus. Gotta focus.

  I go to the far end of the kitchen and open the top drawer to the right of the sink. Aluminum foil. At least something is still functioning properly in me.

  I grab the aluminum foil box. I have some trouble gripping and lifting it out of the drawer. My fingers and arms aren’t moving like I think they should. How am I going to get this out of the drawer? Instead of picking it up, which doesn’t seem to be working, I decide to yank it out. When I do that, the whole drawer comes out and falls on the floor. No one dead or undead can ignore that crashing sound. Before I know it, a crowd is forming around me. I can’t think. What am I doing?