by Dalton Wolf
Smiling uneasily up at him, she twisted in his embrace so they could watch the events unfold together. Her smaller frame vibrated with fear or cold. Uncertain which, he wrapped both arms around her torso and squeezed firmly. This didn’t seem enough until he started rubbing his hands up and down her arms to try and calm her. Her body finally seemed to be loosening up when more gunshots rang out far down the street and faint screams echoed up to them from the gathered crowd. Now even Tripper tensed.
“Trip…”
He said nothing, but his hands ceased their massaging and gripped her arms tightly. The police finally broke through the crowd, the individuals of which were now trying to flee, getting in each others way and pushing each other down in their haste. There was a brief pause in the action as the police linked arms and pushed to create a perimeter around the scene, which quickly broke down when the red-clad attacker lunged at the blue line. There was a brief struggle with two of the officers and the red-clad body was thrown several feet back. Hundreds of shots rang out from the surrounding police and the figure jerked and spasmed as bullet after bullet hammered into every inch of the nearly six-foot body.
“Oh my god. It’s just like on TV. They’re killing someone right out in public,” Sarah sobbed.
“He attacked them first, Babe. And he should have been dead already, like a few dozen bullets ago.”
“I know, but there are enough of them to take down one person.”
What happened next proved her point entirely wrong. The body lay immobile for only a few seconds before jumping up and lunging at the officers again. The streets once again echoed with repeated thunder of gunshots and the body fell, seeming to stay down this time. One tall black officer walked up and shot the dead man in the head three times, just to be sure. The attention of the shocked parade-goers was so focused on the red-clad body that only Trip and Sarah noticed the person wearing the white coat that had been slammed against the jet fuselage as she jumped up and lumbered into the crowd like a drunken man on the deck of a rolling fishing trawler.
“Now what’s that one doing?” Tripper asked. Everything around the couple had become so quiet following the gunshots that they could clearly hear the first screams float up to them as the blood-smeared white coat person they’d thought was dead now leaped onto an old lady in a Chief’s jersey and appeared to sink her teeth into the woman’s shoulder. “What the fuck.” Tripper said.
“Trip, let’s get out of here,” Sarah whimpered, breaking free from his embrace and once again trying to pull him away from his curiosity.
Chaos erupted and increased throughout the streets below. More gunshots rang out as police fired at several different people. Some of the officers dashed into the crowd and jumped on random civilians and Tripper could swear some of the other cops were shooting at them. One group of police made a line and stood their ground, still shooting at the bloody-coated attacker.
“What the hell? Are you seeing that? Are they shooting the other cops, or the people they’re jumping on?”
“Take me out of here, Tripper, please,” she pleaded, now pulling with every ounce of strength in her body.
“Just wait a minute,” he pulled back. “We don’t even know what to tell anyone.”
“I don’t care. Let the news people figure it out later.”
“Babe, don’t you see what’s going on?”
“No, Trip, and I don’t care. I want to go now!”
The situation had degraded at an amazing pace. They watched as gunshots and screams filled the air and bodies were thrown against buildings and drug through the streets by groups of people only to be dashed head first against floats, cars and buildings.
“It’s nothing,” she continued, shouting now to be heard over the repeated gunshots and refusing to look back. “It’s a riot, just like it started in Ferguson and Baltimore. Let’s go find someplace safe until it’s over.”
“There are cops shooting cops down there. That ain’t no riot.”
“Well do you know what it is? Huh?”
“No, but it’s spreading fast. It looks like something out of a bad horror movie.”
“You know I don’t like horror movies. That’s just one more reason to get the hell out of here. I—oh my god!” she screamed. “What’s that cop doing to that little girl?”
Both watched in horror as a one of the police officers held a screaming and kicking child of about eight years up and pressed her body to his face like he was at a pie-eating contest, teeth gnashing through her red dress as he took bite after bite while the nearby bystanders screamed and beat on him with whatever they could find. Blood sprayed from the small body and drenched the crowd and the frenzied people doubled their efforts to beat the blue knight down and free the girl. Despite the number of people and the damage done to his body, the officer ignored their presence for almost a full minute until the child stopped struggling and its head went limp. Disappointed, the psycho cop threw the child as soon as it stopped struggling and the tiny body bounced limply off the pavement and lay still, clearly dead. Hunger still unsatiated, the officer then immediately grabbed the nearest attacker’s arm and sunk his teeth deep into the forearm, swallowing a large chunk of flesh and digging in for more while the petite woman struggled and screamed as sticks, posts and bricks bashed his arms, back and head.
“Trip?”
Trip watched in horror. It had to be the weed. And the heat. And the distance. Yeah, that was it. Things could get confusing from a distance.
“Did he just take a bite out of that woman?” someone said next to them, thereby verifying his suspicions.
“Did you see what he did to that girl?” another asked in disgust.
Now he had full confirmation. He wasn’t imagining it. He wasn’t hallucinating. Sarah gasped and clutched him tightly. “Oh my God, Trip,” she whispered.
“This ain’t happening…” Tripper whispered back, a sickly feeling grasping at his gut and twisting it into a pretzel.
The officer fought for a few minutes until the crowd finally overpowered him and pushed him to the pavement and someone with a heavy boot stomped on his head repeatedly until his brains splattered over the sidewalk like a gallon of spilled yogurt, the terror stemmed for a moment, but only a moment. The dead child the cop had bitten suddenly jumped up and leapt onto a heavy woman’s back and sunk hungry teeth into her neck as if it were an ice cream cone.
“This can’t be happening…” Trip repeated in disgust. Screams and shots once again rang out from further down the street and the crowd broke into separate groups of battle as other injured individuals turned on their friends and family. “You’re right; we have to get out of here.”
Sarah nodded weakly, but stood frozen in place. “Look there!” Sarah pointed.
“What? Where?”
“There. From the plane. That doctor looking guy.”
“Yeah, I see him.” Tripper hissed. At least he thought it was a guy.
Even though the figure was clearly trying not to stand out, the lone remaining white-coated person from the small jet stood out to the couple like the sun in a clear sky as he moved amongst the blue, red and gold clad sports fans. Edging slowly up the center of the street, fleeing chaos as it expanded towards them like a colony of ants on a piece of ham dropped in the park. The figure regularly paused and nervously glanced about, seeking openings before darting to its next hiding spot. Eventually they got a clear view as the person took a chance and ran full speed up the street towards them, only a few blocks away. It was a man, a man appearing well past middle age with a head of wavy hair as white as his coat with a full beard to match. The man carried a silver metal case clutched to his chest and once again darted between the floats as he pressed through the throngs of people trying to push up the street. Spying an escape route, he crossed the street and headed east down a side street as the craziness continued to spread slowly up the street towards them.
“You’re right, babe. I think it is time to go,” Trip said distractedly and
finally let her drag him back up the street towards the cross-street they’d originally used. The shooting and screaming seemed to increase as they ran, moving closer despite their speed, but neither partner was willing to look back and find out if that was an illusion. Trip wanted to see if he could spot the white-coated man on the next street and Sarah just wanted to leave.
“Oh my God. You’re going after him aren’t you?”
“Yup. Whatever is going on started with that crash and that dude’s the key.”
“Don’t do anything stupid, Trip.”
“Just gonna hold him and ask some questions.”
“You’re not a cop.”
“I’ll hand him over to them, then.”
He felt her hand grip his shoulder and dodged, pulling away, running.
“There were kids down there,” he shot back angrily, his gray eyes blazing.
“Ok.”
Children, Sarah’s mind wept as they ran. They were attacking children. Why were they doing that? But one part of her knew exactly what they had seen, even if she was afraid to admit it. Those crazed people had not simply attacked the others. That cop was eating that child. Trip is wrong. It’s not like a horror movie; we’re living one. She sobbed as she ran, wishing that instead of chasing some mysterious scientist-looking guy through the crowded, confetti-strewn streets she was instead back at MU again, running for the Tigers and another ribbon.
Doctor of Death
“There he is,” Sarah called back to Trip a few minutes later, pointing out the lone white dot skittering amongst the thousands of red, gold and blue jerseys down the hill.
“Let’s get him,” she darted off, knowing that if they caught him fast enough, they could hand him over the cops and get the hell out of here and go…just about anywhere else for a while. She sure as hell didn’t want to hang around here anymore. Maybe they could spend some time out in the ocean on Hef’s yacht.
“Wait…up…Babe!” Tripper shouted between labored breaths.
But she was out of her mind. After running back up Broadway they’d rounded the first corner and then sped through the next intersection, surveying whatever north/south street they paused on until they spotted the man continuing east, moving much slower than even Tripper, so the couple ran on, paralleling his route all the way to Main before turning north towards the river, against the flow of the parade. The man would be slowed by the other half of the U-shaped parade which, surprisingly, was still moving south along the street as if nothing had happened. Sarah felt if she tried hard enough, maybe she could make herself believe none of that nightmare had occurred. She believed that right up until they spotted the guy in the lab coat again stumbling from the side-street a few blocks down, desperately seeking a place to cross.
Trip was right. That guy was the key. He was the reason cops were eating children to death and those children were then getting up and eating others. It all seemed so ridiculous, like the plots to those awful SkyFry Channel movies, which seemed to be the only crap they played anymore, or it had been before her boycott of the station.
“Hurry up! We’re almost on him,” she called to her faltering boyfriend.
Red-faced and puffing, Tripper promised every power in the universe he would take one day off a week from smoking weed if he could just not die right here on the food, confetti and manure-covered street.
Unwilling to wait, Sarah shouted, “You! White Coat! Stop! We saw you!”
The man was less than a block down the street from them now and somehow her voice had carried over the sounds of music and merriment any good parade emanates. The gray man paused and turned, arms clutching the shiny case to his heaving chest.
“You!” she pointed. “Stop!”
The man started to run, but must have realized the pair of younger runners could easily catch him if he fled. He was right on one count; Sarah would easily catch him, but Tripper’s eyes rolled halfway into the back of his skull and his beat-red face dripped sweat. He was already picking out his future Smoke Free Day, but realized maybe he should be picking out a plot in the cemetery instead. The older man turned back and awaited their approach with a look of fear mixed with uncontrolled curiosity. Sweat also dripped from every visible inch of skin and he reached into his coat to pull out a pink kerchief and wiped his brow with a shaky hand, clutching the silver case tightly in the crook of the other arm at his side.
Sarah slowed so that she and Trip could stagger up to the old man together. She wasn’t sure exactly what to say or what the man had planned and she wanted her boyfriend there just in case. The boyfriend in question stumbled up beside her and grinned in exhausted appreciation. Taking two great shaking breaths, he turned his anger on and aimed it at the waiting man.
“What…” he paused and panted several times. “What…oh geeze…oh my God…what…in…the hell…did you people do?”
“I …don’t…know…ungh…what you mean?” The man panted back. Both men stood hunched and clutching their sides and waving side-to-side like prairie grass blowing in a breeze. Sarah would have laughed were the moment not so serious.
“You know damn…you know damn…damn well what I mean.”
“We saw the crash and what happened after and followed you,” Sarah added, hoping to move the conversation along so they could all leave sooner. Whatever was going on a few streets over wasn’t going to spontaneously stop. The anarchy would eventually make its way their direction. How much time they had before that happened was the only unknown quantity.
“That’s…that’s…all…classified information,” the man answered.
“You think I give a rat’s ass about your stupid security clearances?” Trip found enough air to respond. “You think…that shit matters now? There was…a cop eating the face off…a little girl back there. I watched the girl die. She was…dead and then she got up…and attacked somebody!”
This announcement caused several of the surrounding parade watchers to turn and observe the confrontation.
“I’m sure it looked that way, young man, but—”
“—no buts about it, dude. I saw it. What is that you got there? A virus? A Cure?”
The man backed away from the anger expressed in Trip’s voice, both arms clutching the silver case to his chest protectively. Sarah stepped between them.
“My name is Sarah. Sarah Devorah Berg. This is my boyfriend Tripper Grissom.”
“Doctor Devon MacGreggor. We should be finding our way out of here,” he added, clearly agitated at having been held up.
“We have a car nearby. It will cost you information.”
“We should get to it,” he replied without pause, but gave a nod of assent. “Before the others realize they need to leave.”
Sarah pointed across the street at a barricade blocking off the street their parking garage was on and the trio waited for an opening between a marching band and a float built on a flatbed being pulled by a ten wheeler. When the diesel paused, they darted across Main, ignoring the blowing whistles of the police behind them. The trio then pushed through the celebrating crowd lining the street and around the barricades and down the cross-street, the sounds of revelry lessening as they moved down the mostly barren side-street.
“What can you tell us about what happened, Doctor MacGreggor?” Sarah asked, haunted eyes looking back as if expecting more of the psycho killers to pop out at any moment.
“It wasn’t me. I was sent to neutralize it. I was taking it back to a lab.”
“OK. Why don’t we start at the beginning?”
But there was no more time for chat. Just then a scream broke out from somewhere behind them. The three stopped in horror and turned to see a group of crazed parade-goers break from the alley behind the far police line and leap onto the nearest revelers. They were much closer this time so Sarah and Trip both got a good look at the ‘changed’ people. Each had some form of damage done to them; bitten off hunks of flesh, blood running freely from open wounds. But it was their faces that caused the most concern.
The eyes of the affected individuals were milky-white and the skin around the eyes and mouths were pulled back, stretched as if they’d had ten thousand plastic surgery appointments in one minute. The eyelids and lips were drawn so tight they appeared to have been cut away entirely, giving them a hungry, maddened gaze, much like—
“—Zombies,” Trip spat. “You made fucking zombies, man!”
“Don’t be ridiculous. There’s no such thing as…” the doctor’s denial trailed off.
The evidence for the existence of the very thing for which he had intended to disavow was clearly facing them from across a sea of drunken revelers, parade floats and one red and black clad marching band that currently seemed intent on doing battle with their various instruments. There before him were crazed formerly dead humans whose objective seemed to be to feed on their former brethren.
Zombies, or something pretty damn similar.
“Their eyes! My God! What’s wrong with their eyes?” Sarah cried.
“I don’t know,” the Doctor replied. “It’s not supposed to do this. I don’t know what this is. Nothing has ever done this.” The trio stood rooted to the pavement, fascination overriding any natural survival mechanisms that were supposed to be signaling flight.
It was the band that brought meaning from the confusion first, possibly because band geeks were more likely to know not only what a zombie was, but how one was dispatched from the planet. Although equally possible was the likelihood that they were pissed off about getting interrupted in the flawless performance of the march they had been practicing so hard for nearly six months. The group of marching musicians pulled together and charged right for the incoming group of zombies.
