by Ivan Turner
That was some promise. He may as well have promised to come back from the grave. Oh, wait…
She wanted to argue with him. The whole notion was ridiculous. But her softer side recognized that he was dying. Whether or not she granted him the favor, he wouldn't know it. Dead is dead. So she nodded.
"I've got to get back to work now," she said, sure that he wanted her to go as much as she wanted to go. "Let the nurses know if you need anything."
"Thank you, Dr. Luco," he said and then went back to his phone.
***
Ludlow didn't go right to the morgue. He went back to his office first, stared at screen saver on his computer monitor, the system laying miles and miles of pipework over and over again. That particular escape from reality lasted less than five minutes.
Damn you! he thought as he left the office and headed across the installation.
There were four guards on duty in the morgue. Thankfully, he didn't know any of them. They spared him just a glance as he entered. His face was well known in the installation so they didn't have any reason to question his being there.
He tried to look official as he studied the labels on the drawers. So many people went into and out of the morgue very quickly. If there wasn't much left of them, they were cremated. Others went to the Butcher Shop for a variety of tests. He remembered the story of the screamer. A zombie had been sent to the Butcher Shop for surgical tests and had let out a scream as soon as the doctor had cut into him. Ludlow hadn't been there. Just the story was enough to chill him.
The labels on the drawers were mostly recent. It didn't make sense that the inanimate first zombie would still be in the morgue, untouched. But as he got closer to the end, the dates started to spread out more. Large jumps took him deeper and deeper into the past. Finally, at the second drawer, he saw the name Lucy Koplowitz. She was there.
And Larry was in the first drawer.
Ludlow had never seen Larry Koplowitz. Not even a picture. He had once asked Lucy to show him pictures of her family, but she refused. She didn't want to associate him with them. He hadn't even seen Zoe until he'd come to the Zoo. He was curious about what Larry looked like. So curious that he found his hand wandering to the handle of his drawer. But he stopped himself and withdrew his shaking hand. Now that he was there in the morgue, he didn't know what to do. Did he really want to see Lucy's corpse. She was dead. Johan Stemmy had shot her in the head right before Zoe had bitten his leg. Whatever was inside that drawer was just a body, right?
Right?
Closing his eyes and swallowing, he pulled open the drawer. He didn't look to see if any of the guards were watching him. Only suspicious people looked at the guards. Inside the drawer was a body bag. The label read Lucy Koplowitz and had a date of death on it. Through the black vinyl, he could just make out the contours of her face. Even through the opaque material, her features looked sunken. He laid a hand upon her and shut his eyes. He daren't open the bag.
"I'm sorry," he whispered.
The bag suddenly shifted beneath his palm and he jumped back. Now the guards noticed and their guns came up quickly. Ludlow stared down at the body bag, waiting for it to move but it didn't.
"Forgive me," he said to the guards with a little laugh. "Just a bit jumpy is all."
"Are you going to be checking that one out, Dr. Ludlow?" one of them asked in a clipped tone. She hadn't lowered her gun.
"No," he said. "I just…I knew her is all…"
Quickly, he threw his weight up against the drawer and slammed it shut. He muttered a quick goodbye and then fled the room.
***
I didn't expect to see you again today.
Still jumpy from his encounter in the morgue, Ludlow looked up and down the corridor. There was another new guard on patrol. The shifts changed fairly frequently, guards moving from location to location throughout the course of the work day. The benefit was that each guard was familiar with the entire installation. They also didn't have the opportunity to grow complacent during their short patrols. Ludlow wondered how long it would be before they all discovered just how insane he had become.
He knew how crazy he was. He wasn't even denying it. The rational part of his brain told him that there was no way that Todd could actually be talking to him. The rational part of his brain told him that he was inventing the voice so that he could hash out his guilt with one of the victims. The rational part of his brain told him to visit a psychiatrist before things got out of control. But who ever listens to the rational part of his brain? After all, it certainly hadn't been the rational part of his brain that had sent him to see Lucy. It had been Todd. So he'd had to come back. He'd had to.
"I had no right to be cross with you," Ludlow said. He was reticent about admitting that he had visited Lucy. Of course, if Todd was just another piece of Ludlow's brain, then he already knew that anyway.
Ha ha! Here I am, dead and with a ruined brain all because of you and you're worried about mouthing off?
"It's the little things." Ludlow tried smiling.
No. It's the big things. I want you to fix me.
"I can't do that. I don't know how. I don't even think it can be done."
Then don't fix me. I'm okay the way I am.
Ludlow looked up. Todd was leaning up against the wall, striking a pose.
I guess I'm bored, though.
"Would you like me to fetch you a magazine?"
Oh, ho! Funny guy!
"I'm sorry," Ludlow said, hanging his head. "What would ease your boredom?"
Well…I wouldn't mind getting out for a while.
Ludlow looked him right in the eye. "Are you mad?"
Todd looked right back. No. I'm dead. You're mad.
"Well this is quite enough." He turned away. "It's one thing to have a chat, but quite another to listen to requests for favors."
But I've already got my travelling clothes on.
Ludlow turned back and saw that Todd was now perfectly clean with his face shaven. He was wearing a dark pinstripe suit and velour fedora. He looked like a mobster from a black and white movie. All he was missing was the Tommy Gun.
"Too much…" Ludlow mouthed. "Have to go now."
As he left the room, Todd followed him with his eyes and tipped his hat just before the doctor disappeared. And even though Ludlow was long out of range, he heard Todd say, See you later and knew that it was true.
***
It was getting close to the end of the work day when Naughton finally showed up at Arthur Conroy. He didn't bother to go and see Luco, knowing that someone would spot him and recognize him. After that, it was just a matter of time before it got back to her that he was in the building. So instead he went straight to the Ward to see Heron. Luco had called him hours earlier to let him know that the lieutenant had been bitten. At the time, he'd been involved with Kraemer from Homeland Security. Apparently, the whole day had been a formality just as Heron had predicted. The meeting in the morning had given Kraemer an opportunity to assess the Commissioner, the Mayor, and Naughton himself. The inspection of the hospital allowed him to see which facets were worth bringing to Atlanta and which were better left behind. The brand new NYPD Undead Unit was being swallowed up and placed under direct control of the FBI. It would have been disbanded entirely if not for the fact that there were so many experienced officers who were a part of it. As for its leadership, the Federal Government was not so impressed. After Heron had missed the morning meeting Kraemer had made up his mind to drum the lieutenant out of the unit.
Not that that really mattered now.
As he stepped into the Ward, he looked around the room at the sick and the dying. And the dead. Since there wasn't enough staff to monitor every bed at all times, those at the very end of the sickness were strapped down. The nurses and orderlies tried to have them removed before they turned but sometimes they turned so quickly that it was impossible. So they might wind up staying strapped to the bed for a few minutes, struggling to get at the fresh but rapidly
spoiling meat all around them. Heron was nowhere to be seen, but a busy nurse pointed him in the right direction.
When he stepped through the curtain, he caught Heron squatting next to the bed, reading the instructions for assembly and disassembly. The lieutenant looked up at the interruption and smiled.
"It's about time you showed up."
"What are you doing?"
Heron climbed back into bed and lifted his phone off of the mattress. "The battery died and I was looking for something to read. Did you get my email?"
Naughton nodded, sitting on the corner at the foot of the bed. "That map's not particularly useful, but Baches has been cleaning out the building all day. They're taking it really slow."
"Good. What did the Homeland Security guy say?"
Quickly, Naughton filled him in on what had been going on all day.
Heron laughed. "So he's firing me on my last day?"
That made Naughton laugh, too. "He says that compared to New York, the rest of the country is clean. That's an exaggeration, of course. You and I have seen the numbers. But when a situation pops up somewhere, it gets resolved. Here, everything seems to escalate."
"That's because it started here," Heron replied. "The rest of the country is still three months behind us. Once people in other cities start getting the same ideas as the people here, their escalation will be quicker."
"I told him that and he took it to heart. A day with Ralph Kraemer has taught me a lot about him and the people he works for. He's aggressive and doesn't care whose feelings get hurt. But he's more than competent. I suppose his job isn't really designed for nice guys."
Heron shrugged. There was an awkward silence between them.
"Have you told Alicia?" Naughton finally asked.
Heron's eyes fell to his hands. "My phone died."
Naughton started to laugh. Really laugh. "That might be the worst excuse I've ever heard."
"Yeah, I know." He started laughing as well. He felt a little guilty, thinking that they were laughing at Alicia's expense. After all, when she found out about his bite, there would be very little to laugh about. At least he wouldn't have to tell her about the cancer.
At that moment the curtain parted and Luco walked in. "When did you get here?"
"Not too long ago." Naughton stood up and gave her a quick kiss.
She looked at Heron. "Can I get you anything?"
"A phone charger," he said and he and Naughton began to laugh again.
"I'll see what I can do," she answered in a clipped tone. She didn't really know how to react to their attitudes. When they finally stopped laughing, she asked, "How are you feeling."
Heron took a moment to self assess and then answered, "Fine, really. In fact, I could use something to eat."
He did look all right. There were no circles under his eyes and his nose hadn't started to bleed.
"That's strange, isn't it?" Naughton asked. "Shouldn't you be sick by now?"
Luco tapped a finger on her hip and thought about it. It had been almost four hours since Heron had arrived, which meant that it had been well over four hours since the bite. His preliminary blood work had shown evidence of the bacteria so he had definitely been infected. While it was true that some bodies fought the infection better than others, no one had gone so long without at least showing signs of fatigue.
"I need another blood sample," she said. She left the enclosure and came back a moment later with a blood work tray. Heron sat cooperatively while she took the sample. Then she left them without a word.
The awkward silence had returned.
"Why don't you go with her?" Heron asked. "I think I'd like to be alone for a bit."
Naughton looked at him. "You sure?"
Heron smiled and nodded. The simple phrase are you sure always meant the same thing. Naughton desperately wanted to go after Luco but wouldn't if Heron really wanted him to stay. He was out the door in a puff of smoke.
As much as Naughton had noticed a change in Heron over the past several months, Heron had also noticed a change in Naughton. Naughton had always seemed so detached. But not anymore. Maybe it was the zombies or the effect it had had on his life and his job and those around him. Maybe it was just Luco. Whatever the cause, that detachment was now fleeting. Naughton expressed a personal opinion a lot more than he had in the past. Heron remembered the night Stemmy had died. Naughton had been compassionate but otherwise unemotional. And he'd been a lot closer with Stemmy than he'd ever been with Heron. Naughton had known Stemmy for more than twenty years.
Getting out of bed, Heron slipped aside the curtain and stared out at the Ward. The poor nurses and orderlies were worked to the point of exhaustion. They were practically zombies themselves. He couldn't imagine what it was like running around this giant windowless room three stories underground day after day. There was nothing to see but the dead and the dying. There was no hope.
On his left was another curtained enclosure. On his right, still another. His was in the middle of a row of seven of them, the last row of private "rooms" to be kept intact. How long would it be before they were all gone? How long would it be before all of the people were gone? A crash came from behind the curtain on his left and he jumped. A nurse looked over, fear crossing her face.
Moving quickly, the hospital gown flapping behind him, Heron parted the curtain and stepped inside. What was the worst that could happen?
The patient had been strapped to a gurney, but had struggled so fiercely that one arm had come free. The gurney had toppled onto its side and the patient was trying to wriggle free.
"Calm down," Heron said, leaning in. "Let me help you."
When the patient turned her head, Heron jumped back in alarm, nearly tripping over the hospital gown. There was no patient there. Just a zombie.
Two orderlies rushed inside quickly. They were wearing rubber gloves that reached halfway up their biceps. Together, they managed to restrain the right arm and lift the gurney. The woman struggled and struggled throughout the whole ordeal, trying to use her pinned arm, and snapping with her teeth.
When it was over, one of the orderlies noticed Heron. "Sorry you had to see that."
He shrugged. "Do you have a phone charger?"
The orderly hesitated a moment.
"I need to call my wife," Heron explained.
The orderly nodded. "I'll see if I can scare one up."
Heron thanked him and left the curtain area. He was badly shaken. The zombie strapped to the table had seemed so pathetic, like a rabid animal. Heron hadn't been disgusted or angered, just saddened. Was this the new humanity?
A few minutes later, Naughton and Luco came back into the Ward with giant smiles on their faces. Heron was still standing outside of his curtain, wishing badly for a cigarette. He knew what their expressions meant but didn't have it in him to smile back.
"Let's go inside," Luco said, ushering him through the curtain. "I don't want anyone to hear this."
They moved inside and Heron sat down on the bed. "It's gone, right? There's no more infection."
Luco nodded. Jesus, even she was happy for him. What was the world coming to? "I'm going to need to run a lot more tests to find out the cause but…"
"I already know the cause."
This stunned both Luco and Naughton. They stared at him, waiting for further explanation.
