Dead and Dead Again: Kansas City Quarantine

by Dalton Wolf

  A flutist shoved her flute into the eye socket of a lumbering zombie as it reached out for her. Its eye popped like a crushed grape and the thing instantly dropped to the sidewalk. But then two hungry former soccer fans with gnashing teeth and hungry eyes leaped onto her back, rending her tender flesh with their hungry jaws. Letting out a pitiful shriek, she fell just as a skinny drummer dashed in and took down the two zombies simultaneously with a drumstick in each hand, stabbing one stick into the eye socket of each attacker, fluid dripping onto his hands and running down his arms. The boy didn’t have time to mourn the girl he’d had a crush on since Kindergarten, because three more of the gray-skinned people-things lurched towards him with clenching jaws and grasping talons. With a heartfelt cry of loss, he turned and dashed back to join his friends and reform their defensive line.

  One tuba player stuffed a zombie’s head into the opening of his instrument and then pulled down hard on the end, snapping the zombie’s neck noisily. Soon nearly everyone with an instrument was helping take down one of the intruding monsters. Those without a potential weapon turned to the parade floats, desperately ripping anything that could be used to smash or penetrate a skull. The civilians seemed to be winning for now, but Sarah and Trip knew if this was anything like the movies that was likely to change.

  “Let’s get out of here,” the doctor implored them earnestly.

  The trio ran full-out for three blocks before both Trip and the doctor had to stop, each holding their sides, chests heaving as they teetered and eventually leaned up against a wall. Trip took the time to demand answers from the doctor between wheezing breaths. “What…did you do, Doctor?”

  Sarah reached out and grabbed both men, one on each arm, pulling them both down the sidewalk, slowly, but at least they were moving away from the chaos.

  “I personally…checked the pulse…of Dr. Wilson…and that other victim,” the doctor occasionally looked to either Trip or Sarah as he explained, but mostly he seemed to be talking to himself. Both found his story slightly difficult to follow at first.

  “Wilson…contracted the virus…yes…but he was dead. The case broke…during the crash. But…none of us came…came near him…until he died. We carried him…out with the proper procedures. No one should have…contracted anything. That other man was out there…already. He was killed when we…crashed. We put him next to Wilson, but he wasn’t infected…with anything. You can’t contract a disease…after you’re dead, you know? But then he rose. He just got right up…and attacked that technician. Wilson stayed down. He’s still down for all I know. But that other…that other man…he was dead. The dead don’t attack. Not in real life. It’s not possible. He was dead. I’m certain of it.”

  “That’s fine, Doc,” Trip stumbled down the sidewalk. “But what is it?”

  “I don’t know. If anything, they should have gotten sick, but nothing like this.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I can’t say.”

  “You’ve already been saying.” Tripper informed him.

  “What?”

  “Look around, Doc. You think your security levels mean anything now? We’re almost to our car. I’m guessing we’re probably your only way out of this shit. So, spill.”

  The doctor looked around at the surprisingly empty streets. He recalled having read something regarding a detailed parking policy for the parade, about parking in distant parking lots and taking mass transit downtown and most streets being one-way downtown before the parade and one-way out of town following the festivities. There was little chance he was going to find someone else with a car. The lessening sounds of screaming coming from the distance behind them only served as motivation for the doctor. He wasn’t getting out of this area on foot; it was moving too fast now.

  “It was a virus,” he admitted.

  “I knew it!” spat Trip. “Fucking government creating viruses to kill other people and they’ve killed all of us instead.”

  “There are many uses for viruses—”

  “—like what?” Trip demanded angrily, grabbing the doctor by his lapels and pulling his face close. “Huh? Like what?”

  The doctor managed to reply calmly, despite the sweat beading along his brow.

  “Well, like simply to research the development and weaknesses of viruses themselves, or as a defense, for fighting other viruses and curing diseases and genetic mutations. Just to name a few.”

  “Bullshit. We don’t use viruses to cure viruses.”

  “Actually, we have adapted serums from several viruses as potential cures for other viruses and diseases. It is part of what we do. In fact, that’s what this was supposed to be, but something went terribly wrong and now it has somehow become even worse after coming in contact with the general population.”

  “Yeah, that’s just great. You idiots have killed us all,” Trip let go of the doctor and shoved him forward and they all began running again as he looked back and saw several corpse-like former humans several blocks back, shuffling up the street after them.

  Where are the fleeing people? He wondered.

  “Perhaps not,” the doctor insisted. “We can still get ahead of it.”

  “How, exactly?” Sarah asked.

  “Well, first we need to get to your car.”

  “It’s just up there around the corner in that garage.”

  “Excellent.”

  They sprinted to the first floor of the garage and Trip pointed the doctor to his charcoal grey Taurus. It was a little old, but it got him from A to B. He hit the remote and unlocked it and all three climbed in, the doctor sliding into the middle of the back seat. Aging tires squealed as Trip started the motor and slammed the car into reverse, barely avoiding backing into the wall. Pulling the shifter into drive, the car shot for the exit, but he slammed on the breaks, which made little sound as the Automatic Braking System kicked in.

  “The gate is down.”

  “Just break through it,” the doctor suggested

  A group of dead shuffled towards the entrance. The trio could hear the moaning and occasional cackling of their madness.

  “We can’t break it down, Doctor, or spikes will come up out of the ground and puncture the tires and we’ll be stuck here.”

  “I’ve never heard of such a thing,” the doctor countered angrily.

  “Everyone knows about the spikes,” Sarah backed her boyfriend.

  “Shit.” Trip cursed.

  “What?” the other two asked simultaneously.

  “I don’t have the ticket,” Tripper mumbled.

  “We need money!” Sarah shrieked, ripping open the glove compartment.

  “Oh my god,” Trip gasped.

  “What?”

  “I put your purse and my wallet in the trunk. The ticket is in my wallet.”

  “What the hell did you do that for?”

  “I didn’t want them to get stolen.”

  “Trip!” She shrieked. The fastest of the walking corpses had reached the car and jumped onto the hood, slavering and gnawing at the windshield, its bony fingers clawing at the glass.

  “We need a distraction so I can get to the trunk.”

  Without hesitation the doctor opened his passenger door and jumped out. “Please hurry and don’t forget to pick me up!” he shouted and dashed down the street away from the crazed virus victims shouting and banging on the case to get their attention.

  “What the hell?” Tripper said in stunned astonishment. All seven of the beings now followed his retreating form down the street.

  “That was very brave,” Sarah noted calmly.

  “Yeah.” Tripper admitted, watching the zombies stumble at a slow jog behind the man. “Hmm…they’re not moving as fast as that first one did by the plane.”

  “Trip…” Sarah said casually.

  “What?”

  “The trunk!” she hissed. “Go!”

  “I have to let them get far enough away. Don’t want them turning back when I’m half way out of the car. I don’t have a
trunk latch. Gotta use the key.”

  “Okay. And you’re right. They do seem to be slowing down. Maybe the more energy they exert, the faster they wear down.”

  “Don’t know. Something to keep in mind, though. OK, I’m going.”

  “Be careful, honey. I love you.”

  “Hey, I’m just going to the trunk.” He winked, opened the door and darted to the rear of the car, slipping the key into the slot on the first try. Reaching in, he grabbed his wallet and shoved it in his pocket and slung Sarah’s purse around his shoulder—no time for male proprieties—and started to shut the trunk, but stopped at a sudden thought. Leaning deep into the back, his fingers wrapped around the handle of his favorite bat just as Sarah let out a shriek.

  “Trip!”

  He slammed the trunk and looked through the back window to see which side the new attacker was on, but she was looking behind him, eyes wide and one finger pointing over his shoulder. Knowing he didn’t have time to think, only to act, he lunged down to his right into a tight roll, feeling something sharp glance off his shoulder as he moved. In an instant, he was up and facing his opponent—a quick glance around showed there was only one, a very large white man with a huge belly and a red and gold Chiefs Jersey that would have been a tent on Trip. The stench of roadkill flooded his nostrils and he retched. The thing’s skin had turned the color of ash, eyes and mouth tightly drawn into a freakish, cadaverous mask. The mask of the dead. Unfortunately, in Kansas City the dead didn’t seem to want to stay dead anymore.

  The man moaned and lurched towards him, so Trip stepped to one side, bashed it in the head once with a level swing, followed with an uppercut. With a grunt of finality he turned and brought the bat straight down one more time on the top of the head with all the power he could muster. The man’s skull burst like an over-ripened watermelon at a Gallagher show and sprayed the area with a reddish-grey goo that dribbled down the former man’s bulky, headless shoulders to splatter all over pavement and Trip’s shoes.

  The body slumped to the pavement with a heavy, sickening plop. Unable to control himself, bile rising in his throat, Trip collapsed to his knees, vomiting every bit of an excellent steak and egg breakfast. Tears came unbidden as the reality of what he had just done hit him. Oh my God. I just killed a guy. Holy fucking shit. I killed someone. I beat his fucking head in.

  “Trip! Let’s go! We have to go help the doctor. You can throw up again later.”

  “Easy for you to say,” he gagged and wiped the tears at the same time. “You didn’t just spill some guy’s brains all over the place.”

  “I saw it. But he was dead already, Trip.”

  “You don’t know that,” he shouted back, fighting back more tears.

  “I know. I’m sorry. But it was him or you, and we have to get out of here.”

  A scraping somewhere in the shadows of the garage was all the motivation he needed. He didn’t want to be lunch, but even more than that he didn’t want to kill another guy or— what if the next one is a kid? He worried.

  Despite his sour stomach, he wiped the bloody length of the bat on the dead man’s jersey, turned, and teleported to his door, unable to remember how he got there—fear was an excellent motivator. Tossing her the purse, in half a heartbeat, he had already slid the bat between the two bucket seats as Sarah dug for the proper change. The gate was beside them and the ticket already inserted and he sat holding out his other hand to Sarah.

  “Two-seventy-five,” he said.

  “Just a second.”

  “Hurry up, babe,” he demanded, snapping his fingers and checking all around for more undead. “The dead don’t wait for exact change,” he quipped.

  “That’s not funny, Tripper,” she snapped. “I’m getting it. Don’t rush me.”

  How come I don’t see any real people running around? He wondered while he waited, knowing it was because most stayed to fight the dead. Most people were natural protectors. What does that say about us? He wondered, but only felt slightly guilty.

  “I need another quarter,” she held out her hand.

  After a minute of both arms digging into his pockets in a frenzied search, he stared back with eyes wide in dismay.

  “I don’t have a quarter!” he shouted.

  “Well, it’s two-seventy-five. I’ve only got two-fifty and a bunch of twenties.” She held up a twenty in consternation.

  “Are you fucking kidding me?” He snatched a twenty and slipped it into the money slot and the gate began to lift.

  He heard the change drop into the coin holder, but slammed on the gas, squealing out of the garage sideways and sending smoke pouring up the street and his ride drifting back and forth in the other direction after the doctor.

  “I’ll owe you,” he promised the pouty frown eying the retreating ticket machine.

  They caught sight of the Doctor three blocks down. “There he is,” Tripper noted with a smile. “They’re almost on him. Man, he looks tired. That serves him right.”

  “He said he didn’t start it, Tripper. I believe him.”

  “OK, but I’ll bet he personally knows the guys who did.”

  Sarah shrugged. “Probably.”

  The doctor scurried along the right sidewalk with the dead now hobbling close on his heels in the hop-skipping jog of football players with sprained ankles trying to exit the football field before the play commences. At last seeing the grey car approaching, and nearly on his last legs, the doctor darted across the street, his pursuers shambling at various speeds spread out in a long line across the street in pursuit.

  “Perfect.” Trip crowed.

  He didn’t even have to think about it; he knew what the Doc had in mind. Gunning the motor as he approached the line of undead and yanking the wheel at the last moment, the aging sedan slammed full-broadside into the group of walking cadavers, coming to a dead stop. He then slammed into reverse and backed into the two he’d missed. With a primordial scream, Trip jammed the shifter into first and ran them all over again, sickening both himself and Sarah with the stomach-churning crunches of shattering bones while the spinning tires sprayed blood and skin onto the side of the building behind them like stucco. A yank of the wheel spun the car to follow the Doc, who had continued running twenty or thirty more feet up the street before he had to finally stop, holding out a pasty thumb as he stood doubled-over trying to catch his breath.

  “Nice,” Trip said. It was nice to have something to smile about given he’d just mangled seven beings who not a half-hour before had been innocent Humans just out for a good time. Pulling up to the curb, he pointed to the back seat and the Doc jumped in.

  The next issue started as he pulled away from the curb. “Uh-oh,” grumbled Trip quietly, eying down at the steering wheel in horror.

  “What is it?” the Doctor asked and both he and Sarah leaned over to look.

  “No, it’s…” he spluttered, and nodded towards the front of the car. “The steering is pretty tight. I’m fighting to get away from the curb. I think I bent something.”

  “Shit,” the doctor understated.

  “Oh my God!” Sarah cried.

  “It’s OK. I don’t see anything else around,” Trip assured her calmly.

  He pulled on one side of the wheel and turned the car out into the street, but then overcompensated and headed almost immediately for the other curb.

  “Damnit!” he slammed the dash and jerked the wheel back the other direction with both hands. “Bent tie rod and who knows what else. We need another plan. I can get us a few blocks away, but after that…” The car continued down the street, zig-zagging as if they were heading home at 3am on a Saturday morning.

  “My work,” Sarah said excitedly.

  “What?”

  “My building. I have a key and the alarm codes. No one will be there today. It’s got a concrete exterior. It’s bomb proof with barred windows and bomb-proof doors in front. No one we don’t want in there is going to come in. Also, it’s just down from the police station.”
r />   “Sounds like a fortress,” the doctor seemed impressed.

  “It’s an insurance company,” Tripper informed him logically. He was beginning to sweat profusely as he muscled the car between the sidewalks.

  “Why does an insurance company need bomb proof windows?”

  “It used to be a library.”

  “Thank you for clearing up the issue.”

  “And a museum.”

  “Still not seeing it.”

  “Tripper,” Sarah admonished him. “It is the home office of a very big Life Insurance Company with very sensitive files inside. We want to make sure no one can steal our clients’ privileged information.”

  “What a very nice corporation. That must be the first one ever.”

  “Plus we lease out offices to some government types who paid a lot of money to protect the building.”

  “Now you’re telling me something I can believe,” the elder man said with a knowing nod.

  “Ninth and locust, right?” Tripper asked.

  “Right.”

  “Ok, we’ll drop the doc off at the police station and run around the block to your building and hide out until someone can come get us.”

  “Who are you going to call?” Sarah asked

  “Scooter and Hephaestus, maybe Hef first.”

  “Excuse me. What do you mean you’re dropping me off at the police?”

  “We can’t protect you, Doc. And they need to know what’s going on.”

  “I don’t know what is happening either,” the doctor responded.

  “Never-the-less, you need to be someplace where they can keep you safe and contact some people to come and get you so you can stop this.”

  “Again, I think you have imbued me with qualities I do not posess. I don’t know how this happened.”

  “But you work with viruses and such, right?”

  “Well, yes, but—”

  “—and you originally said you were trying to neutralize it?”

  “The Ebola variant, not this.”

  “But it is what you do, right? And you have a sample with you?”

  The man sighed. “I see what you mean. Yes, I suppose I have more knowledge than anyone else about the situation,” MacGreggor conceded reluctantly.