Dead and Dead Again: Kansas City Quarantine

by Dalton Wolf

  “Look, I love the guy, too, but do you really think your ex-boyfriend is going to go out of his way to come get you instead of getting his new girlfriend ‘the goddess’ someplace safe?”

  “You know Scooter’s not like that.”

  “I know he’s a nice guy. I already said he’s awesome, but no one is going to come get us except for family. I don’t have any family anymore, so your dad’s our last chance.”

  “I told you, Scooter will come. He’ll come, or he’ll send someone who can help us. One way or another, Scooter will save us.”

  “How can you put so much trust in any man?”

  “I’m just sorry you’ve had such bad luck with them. If you really knew Calvin you’d understand.”

  “But he dumped you. We hate him right now.”

  “We don’t hate him. He didn’t dump me. We had…irreconcilable differences. And it was my fault.”

  “But you said—”

  “—I know what I said. I lied. It was my fault. Something happened to me and I never told him and he could sense it and got the wrong idea and I just let it get out of control and…oh my God, it’s all gone now!”

  “Hey, hey. It’s going to be all right. We’re safe for now.” Lucy pulled her friend into a loving embrace.

  “I was raped,” Lola whispered into her ear.

  “What?”

  “Someone raped me.”

  “What?” Lucy practically screamed.

  “It was when me and Calvin were dating. I was hanging out with this guy when Calvin was out of town. I had a few drinks, but I didn’t think it was enough to do anything…I woke up with this guy doing all of these things to me. I tried to stop him, but I couldn’t control myself. I mean, I wasn’t completely out of control. I was aware of what we were doing, but I couldn’t say no to anything. He asked if it was ok, and took pictures and filmed me and I said and did things I didn’t really want to. Oh my God, I’m so ashamed,” she cried as Lucy pulled her tighter, hugging her fiercely.

  “You think he Ruffied you?”

  Lola nodded in her friend’s embrace.

  “It was Brick, wasn’t it?” Lucy demanded angrily.

  “I can’t say.”

  “You don’t have to. That bastard’s eyes haven’t left me for weeks.”

  “I can’t say who, Lucy. I just can’t. I’m not ready yet.”

  “I just get the willies every time I’m around him. And as good-looking as he is, that shouldn’t happen. I always knew there was something off about him. So that’s why you and Scooter broke up? This guy date-raped you?”

  “Yes. I couldn’t tell Calvin. I mean, what was I doing out with him anyway, right? I’ve got a boyfriend. I’m supposed to only go out with other people, not single guys. And…the man said he’d show everyone the pictures and…and the video if I ever told anyone. He managed to keep his face out of all of the footage, I guess. But now that the end of the world is here, that doesn’t matter anymore.”

  “Then tell me who it was,” Lucy insisted.

  “When it’s my turn, like those people down there, maybe, or when we can do something about it,” she promised.

  “We’re not going to die, Lola. Like you said, Calvin and Tripper will rescue us. And you can tell Calvin why you changed, and maybe he’ll take you back.”

  “That can’t happen now. Scooter Loves Athena. And so do I, and so do you. She knows how awesome he is. They’ll never break up.”

  “I know. I was just trying to make you feel better.”

  “No, you’re right. Thank you. I feel better. I’m glad I got that out. Now all we have to do is wait.”

  “But look at them down there,” Lucy murmured. “How can anyone get in here through all of that?”

  They continued to watch people eating people and others bashing in skulls of those who were trying to bite their family or friends. Someone had set a few of the floats on fire and a group was throwing bodies of moving, moaning dead people on the fires to try and get them to stay down. The potent stench of burning flesh floated up to them making both women gag. Gunshots now rang out in every direction at random intervals and heavy smoke wafted through the crisp morning air.

  “Why won’t they stay down?”

  “They’re undead now,” Lucy explained.

  “What?”

  “Zombies.”

  “Oh my God.”

  “Look over there. The only way to kill them is to hit them in the head like those guys are doing.”

  They watched the tight group of eight guys and four women with various rods, boards and one guy with a barber’s pole fighting their way east towards the free-parking streets escorting a group of children in the middle of their pack.

  “I hope they make it,” Lucy muttered.

  “We should have gone with them,” Lola whispered.

  “We can still go. Let’s go with them,” Lucy said, grabbing her friend.

  “No. We’ll never get there from here. We wait for Scooter.”

  “We can’t wait for help that may not come. We have to take care of ourselves.”

  “We have to wait for Calvin or Trip or Athena or Sarah to call.”

  “No. We can’t trust anyone else to get us out of this. You can’t trust people, Lola. You saw what happened. That one guy just ran.”

  “That was a total stranger. We can count on our friends. They’re always ready to help. Remember when I had to move? They were all there with less than a day’s notice.”

  “This isn’t a moving party or a barn-raising, Lola. This is the fucking apocalypse. We should have left with a strong group like that bunch there.”

  “No one was making any kind of stand when we were down there. We did the right thing at the time. No regrets.”

  “No regrets,” Lola agreed with a sigh.

  “Zombies are for real….” Lucy shook her head and her eyes dropped with tears forming in each corner. “You know…I’ll never understand you people with families.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean…If you were my daughter, and you’d called me and told me this story and told me to get out of town…I’d never have believed you. I’d be calling your psychiatrist and telling him to send a wagon to pick you up.”

  Lola looked long and hard at her old friend. “You’ve got family, Lucy,” she squeezed her fingers between both of Lucy’s soft brown hands, part of her busy brain noticing how fabulous both sets of nails looked with the alternating colors and logos of the Chiefs, Royals, and SKC Wizards—because they will always be the Wizards.

  “We’re your family,” she continued. “I thought you knew that? And Calvin “Scooter” Hobbes is the father figure of our group. He always has been, and he always will be. He’s level-headed and people listen to him. He’ll find a way to get on top of this. And he’d never let any of us die without at least trying to save us.”

  “You know. I almost believe that,” Lucy admitted, a glimmer of hope shining in the corner of one almond mocha eye.

  “Well, just to prove it. Who was the first person you suggested we call?”

  Lucy blushed. “Scooter.”

  “And you said, he’ll know what to do.”

  “That’s just because…I…I don’t know why…”

  “It’s because you know he’s the one you can trust not to let you down.”

  “Maybe.”

  “Plus he knows Athena could never respect him if he didn’t at least try.”

  “That I believe. But, still…I find it hard to believe in anyone. You know that.”

  “I can’t believe you don’t know this already, Lucy. I told you, you can believe in our friends. They’re awesome. I mean. Look at me. I was the prom queen my last two years of High School. And I was president of our sorority. You really think I’d hang around with geeks like Gus and Joel if I didn’t trust them with my life?”

  “I thought it was just because you were using them to get your secret geek RPG cravings out of your system on the weekends.”

/>   “That too.” Now it was Lola’s turn to blush. “And you’re not supposed to mention that to anyone.”

  “I don’t think anyone is going to overhear us up here,” Lucy glanced around.

  “Still, better safe than sorry. I have a reputation to uphold.”

  “It’s ok. I keep telling you, geek is chic.”

  Lola laughed. “Maybe. But I’m telling you, they’ll be here.”

  Ding. Lucy’s text messaging alert went off. “It’s Sarah.”

  “What does it say?” Lola asked, hope shining in her eyes as she wiped away the tears and sat up.

  “It says, we know what’s going on. Stay where you are if it’s safe. Don’t get bit. Zombies. Just like the movies. Follow the rules. Head shots seem to work. Scooter is coming to save us. We’re making plans. Will come get you when we can.”

  “I told you.”

  “Whatever,” Lucy rolled her eyes, but she couldn’t keep the tears of relief from falling freely now and she doubled over and grabbed her friend’s shoulders again in a tight hug.

  “It’s ok, Lucy. Calvin and Tripper and the others will come. You’ll see,” Lola hugged her friend back. They rocked back and forth together as the disheartening sounds of screams, explosions and gunshots filled the air outside and tendrils of acrid smoke occasionally wafted in through the open window.

  “You’ll see,” she whispered. But neither girl knew who she was trying to assure.

  “They have to come.”

  El Supremo and the Alley Shufflers

  In a warehouse just northeast of downtown, a tall olive-skinned man was using some very powerful tools to build something. It was something the world had never seen before and he was building it for one simple and logical reason—someone had told him it could not be done. The man was using a sonic welder to fuse two pieces of metal together. The sound waves could be very hazardous to anyone not wearing special head gear and ear plugs, but this large, bare-chested individual was always prepared and wearing both plugs as well as sound defeating headphones under a protective helmet that looked like something someone from the Empire out of Star Wars would have worn. The machine emanated a barely audible whine as it melted together two metals on what appeared to be a tread belt made mostly of titanium and some new hardened rubber material. This tread was for a very special vehicle he had designed, and it was nearly complete.

  “Yes! There you are.” He powered off the welder and removed the black helmet, hanging it on a hook on the side of the waist-high machine, rolling the cables onto a rack.

  Smiling in satisfaction, he grabbed a chain dangling from the ceiling. The chain was snaked around a power cord to a controller above and was added so the cord couldn’t be ripped from the machinery when someone pulled on it to move the overhead crane in its tracks, as the man did now. Wrapping the load-bearing chain around the gigantic belt, with little effort, he moved everything over to a table under brighter lights so he could inspect his work. His smile grew into as near to satisfaction as ever graced his dour visage as he realized it was free of any imperfections. He removed his earplugs and put them in a tiny case in his chest pocket and took a deep breath, full of contentment.

  Hephaestus Antonopoulos loved to build things, and this was nearly the culmination of one of the coolest things that he had ever imagined and put on paper.

  “And with that, El Supremo says its time for a smoke,” he announced to the walls.

  His shop was located in a warehouse district, so it naturally wasn’t very safe outside at night. Gripping the haft of his favorite weapon—a two-and-a-half foot steel-reinforced oak rod with a spiked disk welded to the end of the center rod—he pulled it from the shelf and pressed the handle into an open slot on his multi-pocketed, neon purple work belt. At a satisfying click, he knew the weapon was firmly in position Then he threw on a t-shirt and took down a few of his throwing darts and slid them into the sleeves he’d sewn onto the side pockets of the work belt.

  Hef was a pacifist by nature, but sometimes even pacifists had to defend themselves. It was stupid to believe violence never solved anything. Violence had its place the same as pacifism and it was a wise person who could evaluate the situation and decide which to use. His father had always told him that anyone wishing for peace had better be prepared for war. Not one for guns, he felt the look of wicked efficiency of his various handmade tools generally scared off any potential troublemakers. Next he reached under his workbench and with a subtle twist slid out the hidden container that held a properly screened portion of five of his best weeds, and El Supremo. The distinctive, pungent aroma of skunk filled his nostrils.

  Hef didn’t smoke cigars, and this called for a celebration. It was time to begin the final reassembly, only a week or ten days away from the shakedown cruise. With a smile and a random song whistling between his full lips, he sauntered for the door. Two bowls later and he’d been sitting outside his shop and dazedly staring at the cloud patterns for what seemed like a year, at the very least. Only fifteen minutes had actually passed, judging from position of the sun, however.

  Suddenly he heard something around the corner.

  “Gruingh, snort.”

  “What is that, a pig?” he wondered aloud.

  Then he heard a long scuffling sound like something being drug across a sidewalk, followed quickly by a stumping sound. The sound repeated itself. And then again.

  Schlick…Thump...Schlick…Thump…Schlick…Thump…Now getting louder.

  He didn’t need the hairs to stand up on the back of his neck to freak him out, but they did anyway.

  That is most certainly the freakiest sound I have ever heard.

  He rubbed his chin and put his pipe away. Pulling out Gronk, his special spiked mace-axe, he took a step towards the corner. “Hello. I am not playing here. I have weapons. You should go hang out someplace else.”

  For a brief moment, he thought he might have scared away whoever it was, but only for a moment. The shuffling sounds sped up. At first he thought they were running away, but the volume increased; it was getting…closer.

  Schlick. Thump. Schlick. Thump. Schlick. Thump.

  “If you want money, you should know that I am loaded. But you will never see a dime of it. Just move on before we have a problem,” he called in his most menacing voice. To cover all bases, he loosened one of his darts it its holster and had it ready and put another in his left hand—in case the one coming around the corner was packing—all the while hoping he’d never have to use it. He was very good with the darts and would easily be able to kneecap the guy, but he was also rich and the ensuing law suit would be an enormous pain in the ass.

  A shadow began to form on the pavement and expand from the corner of the building, growing larger and more ominous along with the strange sounds. The shadow seemed to sway from side-to-side.

  Drunk, or worse, he thought in disgust.

  “Hey, why do you not go and—” The universe would never know what Hef was going to say next, because the drunk rounded the corner and stopped his heart.

  “Good God. What kind of shit have you been doing?” he demanded in disgust, looking down at the mess on the white male coming around the corner.

  The man’s light pants were stained with some black muddy-looking goo. One arm hung limply and he walked on the side of a broken ankle. Hephaestus looked up to demand an answer and jumped back in deeper disgust. The man before him seemed more creature than man. He’d clearly smoked so much crack his eyes had gone to hell. The creepy doper stared at him with wide, unblinking milky-white orbs that seemed to still see him well enough, but his un-brushed mouth was rotten as hell and sent out a rank, musty odor even from twenty feet away. Festus could see that whatever infection the man had gotten from whatever drugs he had fallen to had slowly killed off the muscles around his mouth, and pulled the skin back to reveal the full set of teeth and gums. The man lurched towards him and the jaw began clenching and gnashing and the injured man reached out a hand so atrophied by arthritis it w
as melded into a perpetual claw.

  “Begone, Huffer!” Hephaestus warned, raising his club with the promise of pain. That was when he noticed the color and design of the uniform shirt and the name on the patch on the collar.

  Harold. With a bone-jarring shock, he recognized what used to be his friend Harold Pembrooke. Harold was one of the security guards on duty in what was left of the yards. He was supposed to be on-duty watching the tracks to keep people off the private grounds. Harold’s uniform was always meticulous and he didn’t do drugs. Only two months from retirement, the dependable man would never leave his post unless something very significant had occurred. But now Harold stumbled before him looking every inch the walking corpse.

  “What in the hell? Hey, get…get back,” Hef ordered, nervously brandishing his club. “Harold, I do not know what has happened to you, but you clearly need help. Why not wait here, and let me go call someone, ok?”

  But that wasn’t ok with Harold, who lunged at Hephaestus with his good arm clutching and teeth snapping. Hephaestus grabbed the man’s hand and twisted, turning his friend backwards and putting him into a hold. But Harold was a lot stronger than he looked, and apparently feeling no pain, as he twisted around with amazing speed and force, snapping his own arm in the process without even a grunt of pain, springing at Hephaestus with gnashing teeth going for his neck.

  Despite the absurdity of the situation, Hef’s first thought was to protect himself. One push with every ounce of muscle in his mighty body and the man went flying ten feet into a stack of scrap iron with a great crash of steel on steel as flat bar, rebar and angle iron scattered. One of the poles that made up the corner of the rack pierced the man’s chest, but he made only a few moans as he twisted and kicked himself free of the spears, leaving chunks of his own flesh clinging to the rebar, and came on again, limping on a broken ankle, both arms now dangling limply at his side.

  “What in the hell?” Hephaestus wondered in awe. “Why will you not stay down?” he asked of his friend. “You are clearly sick. I can get help for you if you just give me a minute. Did you fall on the tracks? Is that what is wrong? Some kind of chemical spill?”