I Zombie I [Omnibus Edition]

by Jack Wallen

  I pulled on an oversized backpack, grabbed the Obliterator, and told Gunther to pack as many weapons and/or weapon-like objects as he could without encumbering his ability to haul ass.

  It’s shopping time!

  When we exited the building I was amazed (and oddly disturbed) by the silence that greeted us. I expected a hailstorm of noise; screamers bemoaning their pain and suffering, moaners searching for another victim, crashes…your average soundtrack to the apocalypse. Instead, we were blessed with silence. The only sound to be heard was the occasional wind whipping through and around the buildings and corridors.

  Daylight brought a ghost-town to Paris.

  “This way.” Gunther knew exactly where he was going.

  Just like in Munich, the city streets of Paris were littered with dead bodies. Doorways and cars were piled high with carcasses, some of which were missing portions of or their entire heads. No matter where we turned, we stared down death. But in this case, death did not stare back. I was waiting for one of the bodies to sense the presence of live brains, sit up, and give chase. Naturally that paranoid thought gave birth to plenty of others. Eventually my overactive imagination had the entire street filled with reanimating bodies intent on cracking open our skulls and digging in.

  I picked up my pace. Fear has a way of making people either do stupid things or slow them down enough to allow the bogey man to catch up. I wasn’t about to let either happen.

  Gunther caught up and took the lead again. He turned a corner at what once was probably an artsy public square of sorts, stopped, and had his gun aiming before I could reach his side. When I turned the corner I realized why Gunther had stopped. In the middle of the square was a group of moaners, transfixed and slowly swaying from side to side. I grabbed Gunther’s arm and gave him the signal to be quiet.

  “Go around them…silently,” I said as quietly as I could. Gunther nodded and started slow-stepping his way around. I followed in Gunther’s footsteps as we slowly walked to avoid the moaners. We were about halfway around when the wind picked up and caused a wind chime to dance right above our heads. The moaners turned and finally sensed something alive was in their presence.

  “Shit! Run, Gunther!” We took off just as the moaners gave chase. Out of the square, Gunther sped down an alley and then, without saying a word, ducked inside a building. I had no choice but to follow him. If we stayed together the chances of us both making it back alive were significantly greater.

  We found ourselves in the storeroom of a clothing store. The room was dark and smelled of musty fabric. I’m guessing there are fifteen moaners out there searching for us. I should have fired up the Obliterator, but I was caught off guard and my only thought was to run. We have to do something. I feel like a fool. Had I been thinking we wouldn’t be trapped. That mistake would only be made once.

  “Gunther, I’m going to turn on the Obliterator.” I fumbled around in the darkness to power up the device. When my finger found the switch the Obliterator kicked on and cried out its painful melody. Outside, the sound of the moaners could finally be heard. They started pounding on the door to the storage room.

  “It’s not working, Bethany! They aren’t running!”

  “Maybe they can’t hear it. We need to open that door.” The idea made me sick, but I knew it was probably the right thing to do – open the door and let those fuckers get a taste of full-blown suffering.

  I instructed Gunther to pull the door open which would reveal me, ripe for the killing, hoping the Obliterator would work its magic.

  Fortunately, before we set the plan in motion, Gunther came up with a better plan. He pulled me to the door so that the Obliterator was directly against the old, cracked wood. There was no way the moaners could not hear that sound.

  “Why isn’t it working?” Gunther demanded.

  “I don’t know! Fuck!” I had no idea what to do. The moaning continued from the other side of the door. My brain raced around for possible plans, anything that could get us safely out of this horror. My eyes scanned the room for inspiration. At this moment, I would do whatever it took. The dim light made it a challenge to see anything that could be of any use. But finally, lo and behold, mounted on the far wall of the room was exactly what we needed.

  “A fire alarm!” I said desperately. “I pull that and all hell will break loose. The noise of the alarm should confuse those moaners enough to cover our escape.”

  “But won’t that noise attract more of them?” Gunther’s point was well made and received, but at this point, we had no other options.

  “Yes, which is why we are going to have to run like crazy away from this building. Do you have any idea where we are in relation to the grocery store?” My heart was beating so fast I was already out of breath.

  “I could lead us to one, yes.” That response gave me all the go I needed.

  I pointed to the stairs next to the alarm and told Gunther to hit them now. As soon as the alarm sounded we would exit the building and run like fuck-all to the location of the grocery. Once we have the food, it will be all about hauling ass back to the hospital.

  Gunther’s feet hit the stairs and my hand grabbed the pull cord on the alarm. For a second I thought the plan would bottom out when nothing happened. My heart stopped. We were dead. But then the klaxon kicked in and the emergency sound pierced the air. We both hit the main floor running as hard as we could.

  No zombies in sight yet.

  Gunther slammed into the door to the shop, nearly throwing it off its hinges, and we met danger head-on. Somehow the zombies had either anticipated or lucked into us coming out of the front of the building. With a cat-like grace, Gunther had his weapon up and began firing. One of the zombies managed to catch Gunther by the arm and bring him down. The two bodies rolled in a tangled mess, I was unable to distinguish which body was getting the best of which. But when a gunshot exploded and brain matter flew out of the pile, I knew Gunther had the upper hand. He kicked the limp body off and stood up, just in time to aim, shoot, and take down one of the monsters about to sink its teeth into the back of my neck.

  I felt like an idiot, staring on at Gunther’s battle, without watching my own back. I caught up to Gunther and we took off.

  “Did it bite you?” I asked, nearly out of breath.

  “No,” Gunther replied, “this way.”

  We turned a corner, only to find another group of moaners blocking the alley.

  “Shit! Come on. I think I can find another way in.” Gunther did a 180. I followed.

  The Obliterator was still in my hands. I wanted to stop and change the settings so we could make use of it, but that was simply not in the cards at the moment.

  “Down this alley,” Gunther panted, and led me down what looked like a dead-end.

  “Gunther…” I protested.

  “Trust me.”

  What else could I do? I only hoped his plan didn’t have us trapped in a dead end with a dozen or so hungry zombies getting in line to snack on our sweet meats.

  Gunther stopped at the end of the alley, looking left and right. There were doors along the alley and he started trying each of them. Eventually one opened and I followed the man into an unknown building. We went through the building to the front side, facing a main street, and exited. Gunther turned to the left and took off again. I followed. The sound of moaners could be heard nearby. But before a single moaner could attack, we heard a distant gunshot, and Gunther went down holding his leg.

  “Oh shit! Gunther, are you okay?” I bent over to look at his leg. Blood was covering his pants, just above his knee.

  “I’m alive. It hurts, but I will be fine. Help me up.” I pulled Gunther back to his feet.

  “This way.” Gunther limped off around a building. “There it is. Inside.”

  Gunther grabbed the door handle and yanked it open. He waited for me to pass through before he stepped in and closed the door behind him. As soon as the door was shut and the sounds of the moaners outside silenced, Gunther hit the
floor, nearly crushing the remains of a lone, molded orange.

  “Let me look at your leg,” I said, kneeling down to him.

  “I’m fine. We really need to gather supplies and get back to the hospital. I’ll let Jean patch me up.”

  Gunther was in pain, but it was obvious he could plow through and make it back. He did at least let me wrap his leg enough to try to stop the bleeding. When I was convinced enough the bleeding would stop, we tackled the task at hand.

  The storefront had already been emptied. Luck was with us, however, when we discovered a storage room filled with goods.

  We started packing as many non-perishables as possible into the packs. Canned fruits and vegetables, canned meats, peanut butter, bread, anything and everything that doesn’t require refrigeration or cooking.

  Gunther anxiously reminded me we had little time to spare and needed to exit the building before the undead gang caught up. Plus, we would now need extra time since one of us was hobbled.

  “Bethany, this pack might be too heavy for me with my leg. Can you carry this one?”

  Gunther handed me his heavier pack, but not before relaying a short anecdote about a similar situation he went through during his military heyday. It was going to be a struggle, but we needed every single item it held. If my friend could make it back with a gunshot wound in his leg, I could certainly carry an overweight backpack a few blocks.

  “Now, let’s get the hell out of here,” Gunther said as he grabbed the door and opened it a crack to see what was going on in the streets. When he pulled the door open, I knew it was clear. We ran as fast as Gunther’s wounded leg would allow us.

  From both sides of us we could hear moaning and crashing. But then, joining in the fray, the familiar roaring of a screamer joined in.

  “Fuck! Gunther, did you hear that?” I said through ragged breaths.

  “How could I not?”

  And then, to make matters worse, more gunshots began echoing off the building walls.

  Another gunshot was heard and a puff of blood sprayed from Gunther’s arm.

  “Oh God!” Gunther was knocked to the side a bit, but he managed to stay on his feet.

  “Gunther! Are you –?”

  “Shot again? Yes. This time my arm. Don’t worry about me. Just keep running.”

  We continued on as the sound of moaners, screamers, and gunshots followed close behind.

  “There it is!” Gunther cried as the hospital came into view. “Hurry!”

  We made it back inside the safety of the hospital and rushed directly to the elevator. We had to get Gunther to Jean as soon as possible.

  When we did finally make it back to the room, it seemed chaos had taken control. Sally and the stranger were going at it, the stranger insisting Sally release him, the zombie in the other room screaming - because that’s what they do - and Gunther joining in the mix because he’d been shot. It didn’t take long for most of the chaos to ease once everyone saw we had returned. Jean immediately began tending to Gunther’s wounds. Not being able to tolerate another second of zombie noise, I took a syringe full of tranquilizer to the zombie’s neck. Sally stormed away from the stranger. The only truly peaceful being on the floor was the comatose Susan. Every time I look at the girl, I keep thinking she is going to pop up and say “All better now!” with a smile.

  Not yet, my ward, not yet.

  “What happened? Who shot at you?” Jean was animated, more so than normal.

  “We don’t know. We were too busy running from a pack of zombies to stop and ask names. But it seemed like sniper fire,” Gunther said, speaking in that same clipped military tone he used earlier. I have to remember to ask him about his past later on.

  “Probably some whack job militia type taking the opportunity to fire at will upon innocent citizens,” Sally ranted as she returned to the fray.

  “You’re not in America now. Paris isn’t known to breed the paranoid militia type,” Jean half-smirked.

  “The only rule of law now is chaos. The world has lost all sense of order,” the stranger spit out through an angry grimace.

  “Well, Mr. Cliché, so you can speak like a normal human, I see. Do you have a name?” I was actually hoping to get some answers from this man and I wasn’t ready (or able) to go all Jack Bauer on him.

  “You can call me fuck you for all I care!” he spat again.

  “Okay, Mr. Fuck You, let me tell you something, outside may be chaos, but in here we have order. Part of that order is we don’t attempt covert military missions on one another and we all understand one fundamental principle – together we fucking stand, united we fucking fall. Now shut up unless you have something to share with the class that might help us last awhile longer.” My hormones must be all out of sorts, maybe it’s the baby growing inside me, the one I keep trying desperately to forget about.

  Goddamn it.

  “Okay, who’s hungry?” I had to change the subject in my mind before said mind was permanently lost.

  Jean had Gunther patched up and we systematically emptied the packs and rationed our small store of food. We figured what we had would last a couple of days or, if we really stretch it, a week.

  I was never so happy to eat a can of baked beans in my life. Isn’t that insane? I’m in Paris, France for the first time in my life and I’m dining on that age-old stereotypical American camping food. Oh well, plenty of protein and it’s not horrible to the palate. I was briefly reminded of the hard, green cakes we ate at the installation in Munich. That thought made me very much appreciate my beans.

  It’s all about survival now.

  “Bethany, thank you for being there for me. You saved my life,” Gunther whispered to me, his hand jutting out of an arm-sling, holding a Styrofoam bowl of beans.

  “You’re welcome, Gunther.” I gently touched his shoulder. “I am always here.”

  “I know, and I for you,” he said and then leaned in and kissed my cheek. There was nothing sensual about the kiss – it was, well, very fatherly. It was also the most warm, human moment I have had in a while and it brought me back to life.

  There, for just that brief second, it seemed like everything could possibly be okay. No matter what level of Hell had been unearthed, the human spirit was remarkable and powerful enough to seemingly lift us above it all. Our race has persevered atrocities from the moment we wiggled out of the primordial soup. Maybe this manmade evolution will only prove to be the next great challenge to mankind.

  That, of course, had far too many religious overtones for my liking. Seriously, think about this; man creates a virus that nearly wipes out the human race. Religious zealots would call this God’s next test – a faith check, if you will. From my perspective, no God could be that cruel.

  The word cruel brought my mind right back to our captive stranger; his kneecap blown to bits, tied to a chair, and quite obviously out of his comfort zone.

  “Hungry?” I nodded the stranger’s way. He nodded. “I’ll untie a hand so you can eat. I should warn you, there are enough guns on enough people in this room that one rash move from you would certainly cause at least one bullet from us to take you down. Are we clear?” The man nodded. I untied one of his hands, placed a bowl of beans in his lap, and handed him a spoon. He immediately began slurping down the rich, brown food.

  “You have a name, other than fuck you? I know it’s a stupid question; of course you have a name, but do you mind sharing?”

  “Zander, with a Z,” he said through large spoonfuls of beans.

  “Well, Zander with a Z, I’ll ask another question for you to answer – what are you doing here?”

  Zander nearly dropped his spoon into the bowl on his lap. I had either caught him unaware, or he had just shit himself.

  “Same as you, surviving,” Zander said nervously. I didn’t buy it. I could read a lie like a book. It doesn’t take much skill, just a bit of practice watching for the telltale signs: a bead of sweat here, a nervous twitch there. Mr. With a Z had all the tells, subtle as th
ey were.

  “Care to try that one again?” I smiled, trying to get him to warm up to me a bit. “Why are you here?”

  “I already told you, just trying to stay alive.”

  I don’t know, maybe the man was telling the truth, but something about the whole situation struck me as odd.

  “Echo, Bravo,” I said, nearly under my breath. A flash of memory snaked its way into my conscience. The words had to mean something. I knew the military code and Echo Bravo was “E.B.” What could that mean?

  When the words tripped out of my lips they had an almost imperceptible effect on Zander. I gave the man a seriously hard stare that only a woman could give. The stare said I’m on to you, but did so in a sort of flirtatious way. It was the old push and pull routine. It worked every time.

  Only this time the recipient didn’t break. Zander bent, but didn’t break. I was impressed. I had taken down many a man (and a few women, to be fair) with that technique. This man was steel.

  Of course, if you add enough heat to steel…

  “So what happened to the Obliterator?” Gunther was at my side, appearing silently. Maybe my concentration was focused too much on Zander.

  I turned to Gunther and gave him a quizzical look. He was obviously still shaken, and a bit weak. The doctor had him well patched up, and probably on some light pain medication. “At first I thought maybe the two strains of zombies reacted differently to varied oscillations and frequencies, but then I remembered, back in Munich, both screamers and moaners were repelled by the same device, with no modifications. Then I thought maybe the reaction we saw from our captive zombie was not what we should have been looking for.” I stopped my train of thought as another possibility hit me.

  “Bethany?” Gunther waved his free arm in front of my face. “Are you okay?”

  “There could be another answer. What if the zombies aren’t limited to moaners and screamers?”

  “I don’t follow?”

  “We assumed the mutation stopped at only two stages of evolution. What if there are more?” Although fascinating, the idea made me want to retch.