Zombies! (Episode 4): The Sick and the Dead

by Ivan Turner

  "They all died, Denise. There wasn't a person left in Bucksburg. One of the troopers managed to get into the car and drive off but he had been bitten."

  She didn't say anything. What could she say?

  "I wonder…" Naughton muttered. "Anyway, the president ordered a unit of National Guard to go in and clean out the town. Full body armor and automatic weapons. Eleven hundred people, Denise. Eleven hundred!"

  With still nothing to say she grabbed him in her arms and hugged him close. Naughton had to bend down to receive her and he buried his head in her shoulder. His body shuddered once and she would have sworn that he was crying.

  "There's going to be an announcement on the news," she said awkwardly. "About Head Shot."

  As much as she wanted to hold him forever, for herself as much as for him, she let him go and swiveled over to the computer. Deftly, she opened up her internet browser and went to the local news site. Streaming video was already showing an announcer.

  "As much as the government and the public have been trying to move past the zombie panic of several weeks ago, it appears that the threat is something that we must now accept as part of society. The glorification of the crisis in the form of sensationalized television shows and commercial advertisements has eased our minds but it is clear that we must take some very real precautions in the coming days. Earlier today, the state health department released a statement disclosing some detailed information about the infection that causes zombieism and the measures that have been taken to forestall its progress. His statement also indicted the use of medications such as Head Shot which is designed to treat a viral ailment and apparently provides no relief whatsoever from the infection. This comes on the heels of the announcement that a small town in West Virginia was decimated by the plague. Details are sketchy on that story but the president himself is expected to make a formal statement later this evening."

  After a bit more, they cut to the footage of Lochschenborg's announcement, which was presented in its entirety. He spoke with vigor, his eyes intense and his jowls shaking as he described the Ward. He began with a list of symptoms and warned that symptoms may not be readily apparent if the infection was caught from a living person. In fact, the person who transmitted the disease may not even be symptomatic himself. A bite or scratch from a zombie transmitted the disease one hundred percent of the time. As deadly as the infection was when caught from the living, it was deadlier still when caught from the dead. Symptoms, mostly the same, would occur within an hour, probably in a much shorter time span. The average victim succumbed in just under five hours.

  "There are two very important points that everyone needs to know," Lochschenborg cautioned. "The disease is a bacterial infection. Cold medicine, such as Head Shot may slightly reduce the discomfort from the symptoms but will have no effect on the infection itself. Doctors have been treating it with an aggressive round of antibiotics. If you become infected, you must go to the hospital right away. The other thing people need to know is that victims who have died and risen as a result of the infection are still dead. There isn't anything left in the brain that constitutes memory or even rational thought. Don't try to talk to them and don't try to soothe them. Mourn them. Grieve for them. But remember that they are dead and gone."

  A slew of hands shot into the air after this last bit. Lochschenborg did his best to answer questions but Luco thought that they all sounded inane. She could read the frustration on his face. At last, he ended the conference abruptly and the view cut back to the original announcer.

  "The president's going to speak tonight," Lance whispered to Denise. He seemed to have regained his composure. "He's going to tell the world about Bucksburg."

  "It'll start another panic," she whispered back.

  He shrugged. Could they really stop that from happening anyway? "Are you staying here tonight?"

  She didn't answer right away. It had been her intention. The news of Bucksburg only motivated her all the more.

  "Will you come out with me?" he asked. "For dinner, at least?"

  "Okay," she said, but absently, as the light on her phone suddenly blinked to life. She hit the button for the speaker so that Naughton could listen in. It’s not that her call was any of his business but she suddenly got the impression that it would make him feel better to hear it rather than stand by and watch her talk. It meant something that she cared enough to even make that observation.

  "Yes?" she said.

  "Dr. Luco, there’s a phone call for you from a Dr. Ludlow," a man said in a hushed voice.

  She looked coldly at the phone. Every researcher in the country was scrambling for information on the infection. If the research wasn't enticing enough, the promised federal funding would be. "So what? Is he more important than any of the others?"

  “I don’t know,” the man answered. “He says he’s a geneticist. From London.”

  She and Naughton looked at each other. “Okay,” she said. “Put him through.”

  "Hello, hello?" came a new voice.

  “This is Dr. Luco.”

  “At last!” the man on the other end shouted in exasperation. He was definitely English. He had a very proper London accent. “It’s taken me two weeks to get your name and track you down.”

  “And who are you?”

  “Oh, pardon me. My name is Dr. Rudolph Ludlow. I’m a geneticist with…well, I suppose it’s not important. I haven’t been with anyone in almost a year.”

  “Okay.” Luco rolled her eyes. “Do you want to tell me why you’ve been trying to find me for two weeks?”

  “Of course!” he cried. He was a very enthusiastic man and didn’t seem to even notice, let alone take offense at, her cold tone of voice. “I’ve heard you’ve been having some trouble with zombies.”

  “That’s not news, Dr. Ludlow.”

  “Perhaps not in the States, but over here in England it’s news. May I ask, is it a bacterial infection as opposed to a virus?”

  “Yes it is,” she said, still unimpressed.

  Now his breathing changed and he became deadly serious. “Dr. Luco, I think I need to come to the States right away. Can you arrange that?”

  “Wait a minute. I don’t even know who you are, and, no, I don’t have any sway with the government.”

  “It is essential if we hope to beat this infection before it becomes epidemic.”

  “Well, what do you know about it?”

  He paused as if he didn’t want to say what it was he had to say. “I’m reasonably certain that I’m the one who created it.”

  ***

  LATE that night, after all of the day's events, Mikael Seaver let himself into his apartment. When Linda came out of the bedroom, he could hardly contain his excitement. He had pushed himself into the position of being Lochschenborg's attorney with the hopes of getting to meet Luco and hearing something about what went on in the labs beneath Arthur Conroy Memorial Hospital. During the conference, however, her silence had left him preoccupied. He hadn't even really been able to perform his job very well, his full attention on goading her into speaking. Well apparently she had just been waiting for the right opportunity. And it had provided him with something greater than his greatest expectations.

  "What?" Linda asked.

  "You'll never believe it," he told her.

  "Tell me. You got some information?"

  He smiled from ear to ear. "I got a tour of the facility."

  Smacking him in the shoulder, she shouted, "No way!"

  "I did. Luco was so pissed by the end of the conference that she brought us down there to show those Candid bozos just how serious this thing is."

  Linda sobered for a moment. She had a way of doing that, shifting her mood on a dime. It wasn't the same as being moody because she did it sort of voluntarily. Linda was the only person Mikael had ever met that could alter her emotions properly to fit any situation.

  "I saw the news. How serious is it?" she asked.

  He was far less successful at overriding his excitem
ent. "It’s serious. And it's scary. But these are people, Linda. And you have to see how they treat them. They have a place where they cut them to pieces and they call it the Butcher Shop. The place where they hold them is called the Zoo."

  "The Zoo? That’s outrageous. Why is it that people have so much trouble respecting a life that isn't their own?"

  He shrugged. To be honest, it was a question he'd never asked himself until he'd met Linda. Even then, he hadn't really asked himself the question. He'd just sort of put on a bit of a show to try and win her over. But she was unwinnable. She was devoted to her cause in body and spirit and that devotion was infectious. After three long months of trying to bed her, Mikael had seen past his petty goals and recognized the importance of what she stood for. And the thing of it was that he was sure she knew. The moment he had sincerely changed track, their relationship had deepened into a strong friendship. They had worked together sorting out animal rights legislation. It was Linda who had steered him toward the state job with the Health Department. She felt that he could do some real good there. And so he had.

  But nothing like this.

  Going over to the computer, he pulled his cell phone and the USB connector cable. He plugged it in and waited for the familiar alert to come up. After first copying the contents of his camera to the hard drive, he began to inspect them.

  "These aren't very good," Linda said, looking over his shoulder.

  "It was dark in the Zoo, and I couldn't risk a flash."

  She pulled a face. "I'm not blaming you, but if we're going to publish photos they have to be clear. Otherwise, we may as well be those hicks that report UFOs."

  He knew she was right and as they looked at picture after picture, he became more and more frustrated. A couple of times, he hesitated. How about this one? But she shot them down. He suggested doing a little work on them, but she shot down that idea as well. She wanted truth. Only truth.

  Finally, they came to one that showed Zoe Kolplowitz. It was clear enough that they could see what the disease had done to her. It showed the state of her clothing and dried blood around her mouth. It showed her emaciated frame.

  "That's a good one," Linda declared. "We need more like that one."

  In the end, out of sixty three pictures, they decided on four. They had been hoping for more, but the four they chose were good pictures. One showed the bare cells in which the zombies were held, a bit of Dr. Mwabi visible on the side. Another was a good and clear shot of the beds and the dying patients in the Ward. Mrs. Wilson wasn't in the shot. The last was a picture of a blood spattered area. Even Seaver didn't remember which of the zombies had been in the cell but it didn't matter. There were half-eaten rodents and other animals strewn about the area. It was truly disgusting and it was all real. As soon as they had finished choosing the photos, they got to work on captions and text content for accompaniment. In the early hours of the morning, they logged onto their server and published their organized content over the web where people all over the world could have a look.

  ***

  IT was getting dark by the time Heron and Culph were able to pull themselves away from Suzanna DeForest's apartment and drive over to John Arrick's. They didn't speak in the car. In fact, Culph hadn't said a word to him since stripping off his gear and stowing it back in the trunk. Heron didn't have much to say in response. His emotions were running high. He felt angry with Culph for his attitude. They were not equals and Heron's decision had been borne of a completely different motivation than Culph's would have been. But in the end he had done exactly what he'd warned the other against. In fact, he'd been doubly hypocritical by reprimanding Culph for even considering going into the apartment without armor.

  When they pulled up in front of the building, Culph asked Heron if he should gear up. There was just enough sincerity in his tone that Heron was able to bite back the angry retort. But he shook his head. Even though he was pretty sure of what they were going to find. While he'd been stuck at the crime scene at Suzanna DeForest's house, he'd done some information gathering on John Arrick. He was a public school teacher employed at Clinton High School. Heron had called over there and discovered that Arrick hadn’t shown up for work that day. In fact, he hadn't even called in.

  As the two men stopped outside of Arrick's apartment, Heron took a deep breath. Two of these visits in one day. He was beginning to like it behind the desk. He knocked.

  There was no answer.

  He knocked again.

  "Mr. Arrick, are you in there?" he called. "My name is Anthony Heron and I'm a policeman."

  Culph rolled his eyes.

  Heron knocked again.

  Still, there was no answer.

  Impatient, Culph reach forward and turned the knob. Or tried to. It was locked. "Do you want me to gear up now?"

  "Shut up. Go get the super."

  "Will you be here when I get back?"

  "What didn't you understand about shut up?"

  As Culph turned to leave, they heard some movement behind the door. They froze for a moment, undecided about what to do. Then Culph pulled his gun.

  Heron knocked one more time. "Mr. Arrick, are you in there?"

  Much to their surprise, they heard the chain being slid off and the locks being turned. They tensed, not knowing what to expect. But when the door opened all that stood before them was a thirty something man with brown hair and pale skin. He was covered from neck to ankle in a brown robe and his hair was wet.

  "Sorry, mate," he said. "I was in the shower and didn't hear you knock. Did you say you were a policeman?" Then he noticed the gun. "Did I do something wrong?"

  Heron looked sternly at Culph, who quickly replaced his weapon. “We were a bit concerned,” he said, turning back to Arrick.

  “About me? And you needed a gun?”

  “Can I ask you about your relationship with Suzanna DeForest?”

  Arrick froze. “Has something happened?”

  “There’s been some trouble. I’m sorry to tell you that she’s dead.”

  “Dead? That’s ridiculous. I saw her on Friday night.”

  “Was that at her apartment?”

  Arrick shook his head. “No. It was here. We had a date but got into a bit of a row because she was ill and…” Whatever color there was in his face whooshed away like a paper on the wind. “Did she have it?”

  “Did she have what?” Culph asked.

  Arrick didn’t even look at him. He kept his eyes firmly fixed on Heron’s. “I know you. I’ve seen you on the television. You’re that zombie bloke. Is that what happened to Suzanna?”

  Heron, who had suspected that it was Arrick who had been in the apartment with her and bashed her head against the tub, was beginning to doubt. To begin with, anyone who’d been exposed to that much of a zombie’s blood, bitten or not, would have likely caught the infection. And yet here was John Arrick, healthy as an ox and surprised in the bargain.

  “I’m afraid so,” Heron said. “You say she was sick on Friday?”

  Arrick slumped against the door frame. He nodded. “I asked if she had seen the doctor and she grew very upset. She thought I was suggesting that she had the zombie plague. My God, will I get it?”

  Heron shrugged. “It’s been three days. You’d probably know by now. There’s more, though. It seems there was a struggle between Suzanna and someone else. We’re trying to find that someone else.”

  “And you thought it was me?”