‘Zombies?’ Susana asked, alarmed.
‘The undead? Walkers? Anyway, I’ve seen enough movies like this and I would definitely recognise them, believe me,’ Álvaro stated.
The seagull that had been circling above them with a bone in its beak has landed on a corner of the castle wall. It could be clearly seen now what was in its mouth. It was a finger covered in dried blood.
‘Gross!’ One of the tourists shouted.
Suddenly, Father Martín’s sermon had stopped.
XXXIV
The maelstrom of zombies had now spread throughout the city of Águilas like a swarm of frightened rats dragging their long tails.
There were zombies in Las Delicias Beach and they were now approaching Cocedores del Hornillo Beach, passing by the Parra Passage all day. It was also known as “cholesterol passage” because of the passage’s excessive length, about a mile and a half, caressed by the waves of the sea.
Father Martín had suddenly appeared in the area, with his black cassock now dusty and whitish from the sand. With outstretched arms, holding a Bible in one and a syringe in the other, he began to pray again, with this part of the beach also being visible from the castle. Though, the voices could not be heard.
‘Kneel and pray, God has given you all a new opportunity!’ The sun warmed his bald and incipient neck. ‘You can live forever if you comply!’
Though, the people lying on the sandy beach, on their dirty towels, just returned to their activities, ignoring him as if nothing had happened. At least, for the moment they were oblivious to the events that were about to unfold. They had heard bit of his sermons, then screams and shouts. They had thought that it was the carnival that day, a feast that is celebrated in Águilas in February and August, internationally known. Though, they were still oblivious to what was about to happen.
One of the zombies walked onto the beach, wandering towards a woman with ample bosom, sunbathing topless, her eyes covered in dark glasses, like those of an aviator pilot. It approached her with slumped arms, blood still dripping from its jugular, and a furious glare. It stopped, and the woman, who was listening to Camela from her headphones, laid there as if nothing were happening. The zombie opened its mouth and showed off its teeth. It leaned forward and slowly slumped over the woman.
XXXV
The infection had been rapid, ever since the first victim of Father Martín’s experiments, in which he injected it with a strange substance, up until the first attack by the policeman. The disease had spread like a plague, a deadly virus. It was fast, yet quiet.
If it was true that Father Martín had been experimenting with corpses in the cemetery, observing how different body parts reacted to the strange substance injected into them, then it was also true that he had probably injected that dead old man in the morgue, and the results pleased him. Love in your prayers to God as you advance in your investigation. This was his doctrine, this was his prayer.
Already hunched over, his rickety body still covered by the dark cassock, Father Martín succeeded in obtaining results. The secret was in his hands. He fervently believed that God had chosen him to “awaken” the dead from their innocuous and invalid state. He believed in life. The Life that God had promised him, on one of those long nights where he paced around the church with his arms crossed on his back just above his hips. These were insomniac nights, perfect for reading. He would take long walks and visit the cemetery often. He would hold mass for his parishioners, as if he had done nothing, though there was always an unusual gleam of madness in his eyes, that was now spreading throughout his entire body. To his joy, his mission was being extended.
Now, everyone was following him, including those that he had unearthed in the cemetery, in those two days of bewilderment among the population. These dead opened their coffins and walked, though most would crumble if they were too rotten. If the muscle still existed, there was hope. The rotten would fall to the ground, flailing their limbs endlessly. Then new zombies joined their ranks. These new zombies could walk without the need of a heart underneath their increasingly bluish grey chest.
XXXVI
‘Not having a leader, we should at least make a plan for escape from this castle,’ one of the tourists said, approaching the circle formed by Álvaro, Javier, Juan, Diego, Carmen, and Susana, with their rifles. The eyes of this Asian tourist shown through his thick glasses, and he was sweating copiously. Around his neck was, naturally, a digital camera.
After this, there was a deep silence that invaded the group, only broken by the ocean waves against the other side of the castle, the wall that overlooked the sea, through which the sewers leaked. Given the distance that was still growing between Álvaro and Javier, being unable to agree on anything, Juan decided to take control of the matter.
‘Yes, you’re right,’ he said, moving his hair back. The Asian tourist smiled as his closed his small eyes. He was wearing a pair of beige shorts that came up to his belly like a balloon and a white t-shirt that showed off his sweat stains.
Álvaro and Javier turned their backs to each other.
‘I know the castle quite well,’ Diego explained, ‘I have seen the original blueprints about four months ago in the office of the architect Romero. They had a hand in restoring much of the castle.’
Carmen looked at him with square eyes, as if expressing that she knew what he was talking about. Of all of the things in Spain in which to waste money, this bloody country…
‘In any case, we need to get out of here,’ Juan interjected, moving back and forth across the corridor, surrounded by the castle walls. It couldn’t be more than three metres up.
‘Bah!’ Susana grunted, looking to Carmen.
Diego leaned over the edge of the wall that led to the sea, resting his chest over the stone railing. His hands formed claws like that of an eagle, grasping the sides of the castle, just in case. From below, the waves crashed against the rocks at the bottom and formed copious amounts of seafoam. It was right there.
‘Do you see?’ Juan asked, clearing his throat. He was thirsty.
‘It’s the sewer that leads out to the ocean,’ Diego replied, releasing one hand to point at the six-metre-high void, ‘It’s right there on the left side and we could use it as an escape route.’
‘How so?’ Juan asked, his voice going down in a crescendo. It was a phlegm, or colloquially, a “frog” in his throat. He cleared his throat again and spat, his spittle being thick and opaque. It was in the dusty floor of the castle passage. Carmen and Susana looked way with their hands to their mouths. Carmen wanted to vomit, just let it all out. ‘Gross!’ she exclaimed.
‘Let me think,’ Diego said, oblivious to the drying and intense heat.
Álvaro stroked his rifle, watching how the metal shined in the sun.
The Asian tourist began to wipe his glasses with his white shirt. His eyes were now much smaller and there was hardly any gap. What colour were his eyes? Inappropriate joke, mate.
While Javier watched the sea, in all of its immense beauty and relaxing sounds of the waves crashing against the jagged rocks underneath, and spotted the seagull from earlier, as it squawked in the blue sky.
XXXVII
The hundred or so houses were located in a district known as “the Lawless City” and were very close to the Tápena warehouse, where the miserable refugees were currently hiding, who would possible come face to face with the meekness of death or life. The distance from the warehouse to the district was small, only about three hundred metres. The second street in the district, Calafria Street, was between two bifurcations that led to a small centre plaza. There was a newly-kicked drug addict, cornered in one of the white, unadorned façades, not spattered with blood. The wretch had not heard anything, and the zombies limped by him without noticing as well.
‘Oh my God!’ An old woman shouted, pulling her hair in fright as if trying to hurt herself. Was it a product of an anxiety attack? Her lover, or rather, her brother-in-law, with w
hom she would occasionally shag when she felt like, was now lying on the ground in a pool of blood, with a woman with a high and tight bun in her hair biting his face, biting his cheeks and ripping them out with such violence as to release a torrent of dark blood. He began to convulse and move violently. Now, his jaws were extremely strong and there was a spider web of veins that now covered his body, dilated by an irreversible ire that almost exploded. His eyes went white, and the old woman was still screaming.
The drug addict was still crashed out against the wall, with scrambled eyes and a buzz in his ears like bees in a beehive. A zombie that had been shambling close by, tripped over the drug addict’s ankle with its right foot, stood for a moment, sniffed the air, and, after what seemed like an eternity, continued wandering towards another neighbour who was curled up in a ball on the other side of the centre.
A gypsy man, with a huge, bulging belly compressed under his newly pressed jet-black shirt, was firmly clutching an enormous, razor-sharp knife in his right hand. The edge of the metal glimmered in the sun, the man began to sweat profusely on his back. His legs, insecure, kept him standing with an air of fear on his face.
A zombie, drenched in blood after having been bitten by several dogs, was now approaching him. It dragged its feet with a short swooshing sound, not pausing, but could still be distinguished from the distant screams. Perhaps it was a slight tremor from his feet. Its dark skin was now white, and its eyes were now like white crystal balls that were about to fall from their sockets.
‘Oh Lord, what is this?!’ the woman cried out again, pulling her hair. Her brother-in-law, Simón, was now lying on the floor, with his mouth open, baring all of his teeth. Between its open mouth and the giant hole in its cheek was the other zombie, who had taken notice of the woman and, with slow movement, lifted itself from the ground.
‘Simón, what have they done to you?!’
The other zombie glared at the woman, its mouth still contained pieces of flesh and blood caked its face. Its bristly hair was now stained with dried blood and its arms were stretched out in front of her, as she slowly began to make her way towards the woman, with a constant yet slow moan emanating from her throat.
The woman stopped screaming when she saw that this horrible looking woman, who had taken a large chunk of flesh from her lover, Simón, was approaching. The woman’s heart began to beat faster, much more than before, and a chill shot down her back from the nape of her neck. Her face clearly expressed feelings of horror and fear. She lowered her arms and began to walk back, not averting her gaze from the zombie. Simón began to move his mouth, opening and closing it with violent spasms, and his eyes turned inwards towards their sockets, showing bloodshot white eyes.
‘God help me,’ the gypsy man said, putting a hand to his forehead. He was growing paler, and his hand, holding the knife, began to tremble.
Three young men, also gypsies, with long, curly hair, left through the door of one of the houses that was behind the man. The three young men had looks of terror in their faces, but soon grew courageous.
‘Dad, what is happening?’ One of them asked from behind, in a soft, passive voice. He was also wearing a black shirt, even though it was fairly hot. His pronunciation of “dad” was also somewhat peculiar, mispronouncing the vowel.
‘Get back,’ the father shouted, moving his plump body with the knife, hoisting it into the air.
The three young men stopped in their tracks. Before them, they could see several zombies already eating a few other victims, biting them and pulling out their inside with spasmodic, almost violent movements. They were not very quick, but they were quite strong.
The three young men became very pale and began to sweat.
‘Oh Lord, be with us!’ One of the young men exclaimed, while the rest stood like statues on the pavement. On the asphalt was the father, who was still swinging his knife around.
‘Daaaaad!’ Another plump, gypsy woman exclaimed, with an abundant, dark mane covering her shoulders. The woman was inside the house, clinging to the gate bars.
The woman watched as Simón seized on the ground. Drool leaked from the corners of his mouth, though it was a copious amount, like a dog that had contracted rabies. He wasn’t shouting, only emitting grunts that mixed with the shouts of people that were still alive and trying to escape the centre. There were also shouts emanating from the end of Calafria Street.
‘What is wrong with you, Simón?’ The woman muttered, already inside her doorway. Her heart was now beating like a wild stallion underneath her large breasts. A sour, nervous taste entered her mouth.
Simón shook his neck violently, and his shoulders followed suit. The woman, known as “the sergeant” has never seen Simón move in such a many, even after reaching a forty-degree flu at one point.
The zombie was now getting closer, with its arms outstretched and crossing the paths of other zombies, all covered in blood and some with entrails dragging outside their bodies like long chains on the now reddened asphalt.
Simón now raised up his arms compulsively. Slowly, but in a devilish way, with sudden movements, and exaggerated spasms. He was looking for her. This was a very different Simón, with a cold, distant, and tenebrous look in his face.
The woman put a hand to her mouth and began to feel faint. There was a bussing in her ears and a soft feeling of falling asleep. That was the right description. Though, her heart continued beating slowly.
Now, Simón stood up compulsively, as if shot up by an invisible spring. He was now staring at her with those white, opaque eyes, with a few wounds on his cheeks and near his mouth. There was a ugly intention of desire to disfigure his lover in his gaze.
The Sergeant turned back and ran into the door of her house, and felt a slight tingling sensation. The zombie woman was now only a metre away from her, shuffling slowly as if tired. It was close, very close, but the woman wanted to check on Simón. Now he was also walking towards her, arms inert to both sides of his body, and shuffling, with an obsessive anger in his eyes.
The Sergeant fell to the floor, faint, sliding through the door and collapsing. Time took care of the rest…
XXXVIII
‘I need to piddle,’ one of the women hiding in the warehouse said.
‘Well piss then,’ one of the men said. His name was Santiago, he was a tall man with tangles hair, quite tall and thin.
‘Where?’
‘Here.’
‘Where, in front of you?’
‘You could always go outside and get bitten by one of those crazy schizoids out there.’
‘Better than pulling my knickers down so that you all can see my twat!’ She exclaimed, her arms sustaining the jar.
‘Yes, of course, because it is so bright in here.’
‘There’s still a bit.’
‘Stop bloody complaining and piss already!’ The other woman shouted, the one with curly blonde hair and blue eyes that looked like two full moons.
‘Calm down everyone,’ the third woman demanded, with dark and wavy hair. ‘Go and piss, now is not the time to be fighting.’
The tall man laughed jokingly, without meaning to. He knew it. Outside, anything could happen to those who walked too slowly.
This laughter was short-lived, with silence quickly invading the inside of the warehouse without so much as a whisper.
XXXIX
Simón bit her jugular while she was unconscious, though this sudden, sharp pain caused her to stur from her stupor with a muffled scream that sounded like alarms. Blood spattered the wall and Simón’s face, now with pieces of flesh between his teeth, a strange grin, and glittering eyes that shined, despite everything.
The woman put her hand to her neck and felt the hot stream of blood spouting through her fingers, down her arm, and down her neck. Her eyes slightly narrowed, and the zombification process began. It was the passage to death, then back to life, or more like, undeath.
XL
The planks creaked li
ke paper in their hands as they opened part of the wall to the light of day. The sun’s rays licked his rough face and he closed his eyes tightly at the sudden glare of light.
‘You couldn’t have gone out the door, could you?!’ The tall man yelled, lifting his chin slightly. The daylight was now shining on his beard.
‘It’s better from here,’ the woman suggested in a broken voice. Her wet t-shirt was now warmed by the sun’s rays. ‘I will be able to piddle better if I go out from the back.’
‘Fine,’ the man said, now touching his knees with both empty hands.
The woman went out, bending her body and ducking her head in a strange way, going out from the tiny hole that she had opened. For another woman, she grew worried for the strange attitude of the madmen swarming outside.
The woman finally left through the small, wonky hole. Her soft arm was marred by splinters, with a tiny drop of blood appearing on her skin without her realising it. She walked slowly, only two or three paces, without stopping to look around. She sharpened her senses and finally crouched down, lowering down her hosiery and red panties.
She began to piss, with a small stream finally leaving her bdoy, when suddenly she felt a sharp pain in her ear. She did not scream, though she put her hand to her ear and the flow of urine was cut. She was still crouching with her panties at her ankles.
‘Ah!’
She hadn’t seen anything, nor had she heard anything. She left the warehouse at only about a metre or so way, and she left from the back, where the grass was tall and could cover anything. She swore out loud and looked to the side. A zombie had ripped out a piece of her ear and had it between her teeth. There was blood leaving its mouth and its gaze was empty.
The woman immediately stood up and, with her panties at her ankles, tried to kick him away while she felt the warm blood dripping down her neck. The zombie raised its hands and she jerked away. She crouched down again, and in one fell swoop, pulled up her hosiery and panties. The zombie shook its head slowly and looked at her, causing her to be overcome by a sinister darkness. The woman kicked the zombie and fell into the tall grass.
Infected, Zombi The City of the Zol Page 7
