by Won, Mark
The initial effect was like a giant hand had scattered several thousand circles, ovals, and blob shapes of Change around the globe, over the period of less than one day. Keep in mind we hadn’t all the information we would have liked. For all we truly knew the Change might still have been happening somewhere.
Within each area it was hypothesized that there had been two effects. One killed people and the other caused the dead to Change. These effects were simultaneous but separate. Some people were immune to one effect, some to the other. Some were immune to both and some were immune to neither. Hypothetically, that could explain why some died and some Changed, and why some waited until they died by another cause before Changing.
What remained less clear was why so many children died outright, with no reported case of anyone under the age of seven Changing. Again, our records were by no means complete. Another area of concern was the number of churchgoers who survived. Fully fifty percent of the survivors had self-identified as devout, conservative, evangelical, or whatever. Traditionalists of one stripe or another. That might not seem indicative at first, until compared to the mere ten percent they represented before the Change, according to some of the more ecclesiastically minded.
A number of Haven’s selfsame ecclesiastically minded, had come up with the unpleasant theory that baptism (of all things) prevented a person from suffering death during the initial Change event. An extension of that theory stated that a person of genuine ‘saving’ faith would be immune to the Change. In that context, kids were considered to have an ‘unconscious faith’ (which I found to be quite convenient). So the children who died wouldn’t have died, if their parents had had them baptized. Try telling that to the parent of a deceased child.
Another aspect of the so-called ‘religious theory’ stated that for every baptized believer untouched by the Change, an ‘unbeliever’ would also be spared. Because that’s ‘fair’. But only until the unbeliever died, then all bets were off. That’s why some people Changed when they died and some didn’t. Just to make the unpleasantness of the notion clear, If somebody’s dad died and became a zombie, then poor old dad was doomed to rot in hell. Hence all the trouble with Reg.
To be fair, Reverend Ert had never endorsed the religious theory. He’d never denied it either. Ert had said it wasn’t a ‘critical point of salvation’. By which he meant he wouldn’t preach it from the pulpit or consider any such thing as an essential belief. Take it or leave it, as the believer wished.
That wasn’t good enough for some people. Specifically, people like Reg who were torn by grief and loss. Such notions filled many of those people with an abiding resentment, even an unreasoning hatred.
Fortunately, there was a more palatable theory, the ‘parasitical bio-weapon theory’. The general idea behind it was that people had made the Change happen. Families had some tendency to be spared for genetic reasons, children suffered death without change due to immature brain development, etc.
Don’t get me wrong. I felt no personal stake in the matter. All of my immediate family had passed on before the Change, and what was left I hadn’t been all that close with. Except for Rick I didn’t think any of them had been too religious. I had been pleased to hear that Rick had been getting religion from behind bars, even encouraged him when I could. I had no idea how sincere he had or hadn’t been. Basically, I couldn’t afford to get too worked up about it. People make their own choices about that kind of stuff, and if folks want to go to Hell, let ‘em. Who am I to judge?
I said I was a believer, I didn’t say I was a very good one.
In any case, I preferred the bio-weapon theory over anything that scans like it’s straight out of the book of Job. Science gave us options for experimentation. Spiritual cause and effect, not so much.
Which was why I’d had a research station built on Venture island. A tiny island, much smaller than even Lincoln Island, northwest of the peninsula.
My plan had been to take a few zombies captive, and have some serious experimentation done on them. Get a little dissecting/vivisecting accomplished. See what the microscopes had to say. That sort of thing.
I mean seriously, what could possibly go wrong?
Chapter 4: A Sharp Stick, Zombie Soup, and In the Eye of the Zombie
“Okay, now watch what happens when I poke a sharp stick into this part of its brain.” That was from ‘Dr.’ Shelly. I’m pretty sure his only claim to a doctorate arose from countless hours of playing Dungeons and Dragons, from age six until yesterday. That would be about twenty years of gaming, by my estimation. But, considering my own humble origins, I wasn’t about to start throwing stones. Besides, all the geeks that had actually earned letters after their names seemed to think he should be boss. That was good enough for me.
“Observe how there is no reduction in motor skill. When I put my hand right in front of its face it still strains forward trying to get a bite.” I suspect that the good doctor hadn’t stepped forward for the job so much as everybody else stepped back. Dr. Frank Shelly was a certifiable lunatic. The man had scars from numerous bites up and down both arms and hands. It was a miracle that he still had all of his fingers.
“Now watch as I insert this wire into the hole I’ve just made in its motor cortex. Joe, are you ready with the current?” Every time Dr. Shelly got bit we put him in quarantine for a day to see if he’d die, but so far he’d held up just fine. Not everyone Changed even if they did die, and some people seemed immune to the whole venomous affliction. Dr. Shelly was one of the lucky ones.
“See how the subject seems oblivious to the electrical current. I assure you, based on my researches, that a human would be writhing continuously at this point.” No kidding. If somebody cut off the top of my skull and stuck a live wire in me, I’d be doing a bit of squirming with or without the doctor’s assurances. To give credit where credit was due, Dr. Shelly was a very thorough researcher.
“Now for the exciting part! Joe, slowly up the current. I recommend that you stand well clear Mr. Incumbent.” I did as I was bade. I tried to get everyone to call me by my first name. It’s better politicking that way, but Dr. Shelly was having none of it. He was always very formal with me.
“Look! It’s stopped moving! Kill the current, Joe! Did you see that?! Did you see?” Yeah, I saw the damned thing stop moving. That’s what happens when something has smoke coming out of a hole in its head.
I said, “You’d better spell it out for me Dr. I’m not sure of the significance.”
“There was no reaction to the current until it reached very high levels. A human would have been incapacitated. The zombie merely displayed some minor motor control issues.” I would have to take his word for that. Zombies didn’t exactly fave a lot of dexterity even before being electrocuted.
“Then, when the current became strong enough to fry its brain, then, it was rendered inanimate! Don’t you see?! We finally know just how much power the fence will need to remain effectively electrified. Naturally, we will want to use a little more than strictly necessary. Safer to err on the side of prudence, if we must err. As it would happen, I’ve already performed this experiment on a subject with an intact skull and have the results right here,” he held up a sheaf of papers. “Mostly, all of this was to emphasize the point. You understand the implications?” I did, I did indeed. Now we could save on power. Redirect it to some other area, like explosives production.
“Excellent work, Doctor. Excellent work all around. I would like a copy of your conclusions to send over to the militia when we’re done here.”
Most of the zombies hated the water, they just wouldn’t put a foot in it. Every once in a while, though, we had an adventuresome horror who dared to brave the deep. Then, a few others would follow and a few more after that. Maybe one in ten. So far none had been able to cross the straight. I presume that they had gotten lost and wandered into the deep. The ones that crossed at the narrowest point fell in at the steep man-made bank and had no way to climb out. People were afraid that a gh
oul might be able to make the climb or an ogre might not get lost in the crossing. It was a scary thought, hence the electrified fence.
“What can you show me regarding the Changed fear of ice?” Another thing that gave us the heebie-geebies was the thought of zombies crossing the ice during the winter. Dr. Shelly was of the opinion that zombies were afraid to cross the ice for a reason similar to their fear of crossing the open water. If the ice broke then all who fell through would be lost and less able to hunt effectively. Also, it had been demonstrated that a zombie becomes permanently inanimate if under 200 ft. of water. No one knew why. Regarding the zombies’ fear of ice, I wanted some evidence to assuage my fears.
“Please put your coat on, Mr. Incumbent. We have another subject in the boathouse.”
That was good news. The stink of the place was oppressive. We’d had to use separate housing for the staff. Things were more secure that way, too.
Outside, in the evening air, I noticed that the temperature had really fallen since that morning. That could be a problem if I didn’t want to get iced in. The idea of spending the winter on this horror show of an island did not appeal. I made a point to hurry things along.
Once at the boathouse, I saw another of the good doctor’s victims set out on a small raft, frozen in place. Its hands had been removed as a security precaution, and we were facing it from across bars set in the doorway. As soon as it saw us it stretched its arms out toward us and began a low howling moan. But it stayed on the raft.
The doctor said, “Please understand, our researches have had a fairly small pool of resources, but from what we’ve seen so far only two in eighteen have tried to cross the ice in order to reach prey. That’s still a dangerously high number, so I respectfully recommend that the fences remain guarded and be prepared for electrification at all times.”
“Thank you, Doctor.” As if I would have ignored island defense on his say so. The ice situation looked pretty good, though. I didn’t get the impression that zombies would be smart enough to wait for a full freeze before braving the ice. That would put the courageous ones safely wandering around the bottom of the bay until they wandered into a more lethal depth.
Dr. Shelly had another subject to bring up. “About the human test subjects that I requested… Have the Representative Councils come to a decision on that matter?” He was so hopeful, I was sad to disappoint him.
“I was hoping to speak with you on that subject more privately.” Which was true enough. I never liked to shoot down a good worker in front of his minions. It’s bad for morale.
I said, “All three councils are in unanimous agreement that what you request would be…unacceptable...for all the various reasons we’ve already discussed.” I thought I saw his assistant, Doctor Joe Hanson, let out a sigh of relief.
Dr. Shelly was keen on human trials. We had in our jails three men held guilty of offenses deserving of death. One was a rapist, one had committed murder for the purpose of stealing his crippled house mate’s ration (the murderer would always ‘pick up his friend’s ration for him’), and one had been convicted of committing theft five times. All were scheduled to be shot in the head. Dr. Shelly wanted to experiment on them to death.
When the good doctor had initially proposed the idea of using humans for experimentation I’d been personally open to the idea. But I knew no one else would much care for it. The idea of intentionally trying to make another zombie was considered generally unconscionable. I knew that, but it still seemed like the best way to learn about our enemy. We were going to kill those men anyway, so what was the harm?
I put my hand on the good doctors shoulder. “I’m truly sorry, Doctor. You have to understand, even though I personally agree with you I can’t go against the entire council. It would be undemocratic.” Actually, I could go against the entire council if I really wanted to. In fact, I hadn’t needed to bring them into it in the first place. But I had, for purposes of solidarity. Also, I had a feeling the people might not like the idea. If nine leaders could come to a unanimous decision on this matter than the general populous might be very much against the idea of turning people into monsters. An immature, short sighted, and entirely human perspective.
He said, “I understand. I realize it was a bit much to hope for. Best if we just let the matter drop. For now. Let me show you something that I’ve been cooking up.” Oh goody, more death.
Dr. Shelly lead me back inside and into a small sweltering alcove. The room in question had once been the house’s basement bathroom. Inside, there was a zombie sans arms and legs, inside the tub, and weighed down with chains and barbells. The tub was full to the brim with steam coming up off the surface.
It seemed a foolish question, but it just sort of popped out: “Are you trying to forcibly drown it?” Those had been some of our earliest experiments. Very disappointing. Apparently, it’s impossible to drown a zombie, what with them not needing lungs, and all.
“No, no, of course not. This used to be our forced decomposition chamber. This subject had been interred in a compost heap and treated every day with compost activators for six months. Notice anything interesting?”
“Actually, I do. For a ‘forced decomposition chamber’ this room doesn’t smell all that bad. No worse than usual, anyhow. And the zombie doesn’t look any worse for the wear, either. What’s up with that?”
“Although everything we added to the compost decomposed at an expected rate, the zombie remained completely unaltered. Furthermore, insects and rodentia have no interest. I suspect no animal does. This wasn’t our first try. It seems that zombies are completely immune to decomposition in the ordinary sense. At least until they’re neutralized.” By which he meant killed.
So I had to ask, “They look like they are decomposing. They smell like it too.”
“I only have baseless theories for why that is, at this time. I wouldn’t want to waste your time with them. I will speculate, however, that the apparent decomposition and accompanying aroma are a natural and healthy state for zombies. If you’ll excuse my use of those words, considering the context.”
“So, what are you doing to it now, Doctor?” It looked like they were trying to cook it in the bathtub.
He answered, “We’re, essentially, cooking it.” I felt a headache coming on. The doctor continued, “I was curious, just exactly, how much heat would be necessary to cause the thing to die.”
The way Dr. Shelly said that last bit made me aware of just how much he hated the Changed. I wouldn’t have been surprised if, underneath his cold detached exterior, he just enjoyed the hell out of torturing zombies.
“Is this the first such experiment of its type? Or do you have some expectation of an outcome?”
“This is the first such experiment at low temperatures. We’ve found that a zombie can withstand significantly higher temperatures than a human, and for a longer period of time. I believe what causes final death is a very specific kind of damage. When that happens termination is immediate.”
I commented, “Well…that’s not very useful. Has it led to any other considerations?”
Dr. Shelly gave me a warm smile. “Yes, yes it has. If you’ll please follow me, I think you’ll appreciate this next experiment.”
Back outside, I was taken out to the shed. Inside, there were the severed heads of at least a dozen zombies. All of them were working their jaws and turning their eyes toward us. Dr. Shelly walked over and picked one up by its hair and placed it in a bowling ball bag. Then he returned and led us back into the house, where he had a mysterious vat brought forth by his assistants.
“Observe, Incumbent.” He put on an extremely thick pair of gloves (for once), took the head out of the bag, opened the vat, and carefully placed the head within.
He motioned to the vat and said, “This is a container of semi-liquid nitrogen. As everyone is well aware, ordinary cold is ineffective at stopping the so-called undead. But, this is a different matter.”
With that he hauled out the head using tongs.
Yep, it was a frozen head. That’s what happens when one places a decapitated member in a vat of liquid nitrogen.
“So, what’s your point?” That stuff took a lot of effort to make and was a bitch to store. It would make for a highly inefficient weapon.
“Now we know cold can be effective. The question is, ‘how cold?’ That, I do not know. Yet. But perhaps, just perhaps, the answer will offer some hope. Imagine if one fine winter morning the mercury has frozen and all the farmers are taking special pains to preserve their animals. While out in the wild, all zombies, all the Changed, are completely frozen, terminated. It would be something to look forward to.”
I answered, “Well, that would be nice...”
“What I could really use is a series of freezers. A walk in model would be most helpful, also.”
Ah, a funding pitch. Now it made sense.
“Sure thing Doctor. All you had to do was ask.” A bunch of freezers would be easy. And who knew, maybe it would result in something useful.
“What else have you got for me, Doctor?” Not that I was complaining. The information about the enemies susceptibility to a specifically high level of electricity had already vindicated this whole project. But I had the feeling Doctor Shelly was on a roll.
“Joe, Burt, wheel in subject one nine six eight and one nine four three.” Wow. I had no idea that Floyd had been collecting so many specimens. That couldn’t be right.
“Doctor Shelly, how many subjects have you acquired, in total?”
“Seventy-Eight. Why do you ask?”
“I was curious about your numerical designation system.”
“Oh, that. Our latest batch number was 19. Total number 78. At first we only got one or two in a batch, but this latest batch was quite large. I think the marshal used nets.” That made more sense. I’d been worried for a minute there. I had nothing against Floyd doing his job, but over nineteen hundred specimens would have been too much of a good thing.
