Book Read Free

I Zombie I [Omnibus Edition]

Page 36

by Jack Wallen


  I hate this. I hate what my life has become. I want this all to end – now.

  Gunther returned from examining his piece of work. “I think I’ve solved our little problem. The trap will work this time, I promise you.” Gunther looked at me, again, with those big, round, ice-blue eyes that had Ed Harris written all over them. How could you not trust a man that reminds you of Ed Harris? You have to trust that man. And so I did. I took in a deep breath and nodded my approval.

  “Would you like a gun?” Gunther added through a whispered voice.

  I just shook my head. The gun was much better off in his capable hands. Knowing my luck with weapons, I’d wind up shooting the hell out of one of us. Since we needed each and every member of our little gang, I happily passed.

  Gunther got the clue and went back to his overhead cubbyhole. After making one last check on his feat of engineering, he looked at me and smiled – at least I think it was a smile. If it was a smile, it was fueled by raw nerve. That smile defined us all – it painted a perfect picture of who we were and what we were all about. This group, this gathering of lost souls and hearts, scrambling every second to remain alive while we searched for the key to the kingdom. As we raked, scratched, fought, screamed, and cried, we did so with, at the very least, an attempted civility. We could have so easily disintegrated into a vile cesspool of bitterness and anger. That would have been the easy way out of this mess. Just let it all get the best of us and slowly, one by one, turn on one another until there remained only one standing.

  We were all still struggling along together – ready to make one more attempt at trapping a zombie. Ridiculous, but that’s our situation.

  Once we were all in place, Gunther gave the thumbs up again.

  The second I heard the buzzer announce the door had been unlocked, I unleashed a frenzy of vitriol to shame the most bitter, angry, cynic alive.

  “Is that the best you’ve got?” I yelled. “We took your friend down with one shot! Come on you son of a bitch! I want to watch your milky white eyes roll into the back of your head! Come on pus bag, let’s see your best fuck face!”

  It didn’t take nearly as long this time before the horrid screeching was heard bounding off the walls.

  “Here it comes, Bethany!” Michelle warned.

  I stopped in the spot Gunther had marked out on the floor. The monster came within sniffing distance and, to my great surprise, stopped. The sour-milk eyes stared nearly uselessly at me as the screamer took in a lengthy whiff of my scent.

  Gunther jabbed out with the device and managed to sink the needle to the hilt on the first try. The plunger depressed and the sedative flowed into the meat of the beast.

  I couldn’t believe my eyes. Gunther’s device worked. The zombie released its best ‘What the hell?’ roar and then its ruined eyes rolled back into his thoughtless head. Before I could move out of the way I had the pleasure of dancing the dead weight to the ground.

  As I squirmed out from under the beast, a mouth-full of zombie drool dropped from the thing’s maw and landed on my right cheek. Why I didn’t toss chunks I have no idea.

  “Grab the ropes! We have to get that thing tied up!” Gunther barked out the orders as he climbed down from the ceiling.

  *****

  By the time we managed to get the zombie completely encased in bedsheets (keeping it secure for Jean, in case it were to wake up mid-operation), we were all mentally and physically exhausted. After getting the zombie onto a gurney, Gunther wheeled it into the room Jean set up to work his magic. A part of me wanted to watch the procedure, but I wasn’t sure if my stomach could take it at this point. Besides, I finally realized how late it was and how exhausted we were. But what a campfire story we had to tell. That’s right, the urban legend had been usurped by a truth for more frightening and far uglier than anything dreamed up to scare young teens and children into submissive behavior. The world’s new reality was a true suckfest of fear that could not possibly be improved upon by the very masters of horror themselves.

  I managed to steal a moment of peace, in order to try to bring myself down from the fear-induced high that had my pulse and my blood pressure skyrocketing. What I really needed was a good read. I need to download a book or two onto the laptop so I can read myself off into a different world – disappear from this Hell on earth. That simple, pedestrian thought made me realize how many things there were to miss.

  My bed. Movies. Hot tea. Hot baths. Indian food. Bike rides. My cat.

  How many nights had I gone to bed with the sound of my cat, Wookie, purring in my ear? My little, adorable runt calico terror. She knew she owned the house and made a point to show me she knew every chance she had. There were times that sweet disaster would look up at me with her huge, green eyes as if to say I’ll let you stay here as long as you continue to put food in that bowl.

  And with that precious thought, I shall cry myself to sleep.

  Blog Entry 12/10/2015 7:53 a.m.

  I woke this morning to our newest members standing in a corner in the heat of what looks like a lover’s spat. They were at least trying to be civil by keeping their angered French voices to a whisper. It never ceased to amaze me how, no matter the language, you can always tell when two lovers are having an argument. It’s a very different tone and rhythm than two friends or two enemies fighting. Between the words you can hear the implied I love you, but… The words dancing between Michelle and Mikka were definitely of that flavor. I remained in my sleeping position longer than I would have normally – if only just to hear the language of love bent and twisted around affection into some other thing, some inbred cousin. It was amazing. I could almost tell what they were arguing about; Mikka didn’t satisfy Michelle last night and he was defending himself saying how he couldn’t perform in a room with strangers, a wanna-be zombie-girl, and a hand full of misbegotten refuges.

  The waft and lilt of the language bounced and flung off the walls like a child with severe ADHD who hadn’t been medicated for weeks. And what started out as a romantic notion, quickly became an annoyance forcing me out of bed.

  When Michelle and Mikka realized they had an audience they shut up. It was as if no words had even been exchanged. Mikka looked at me and offered a nervous smile. Guilty! But of what?

  Around the room everyone else was still asleep. For the first time since we all gathered, I was awake before Jean. I had half a mind to wake him, but the sensible half of said brain insisted I leave the man to sleep. Yesterday was a long day and I know today is going to be full of working with rabies and one guinea-zombie.

  I need breakfast. We will all need to refill our empty stomachs as soon as possible. The rations we have are growing less than paltry and the amount of physical exertion is demanding more than the scraps we are able to dish out. We need a trip outside – and I am in a mood.

  The idea that is beginning to hatch in my mind is insane, but since everything has reached critical mass on the stark-raving scale, I figure ‘What the hell?’. At least at this point, if I die I die with a purpose.

  After filling Michelle and Mikka in on my little plan to go out alone, three things found their way into my possession: gun, backpack, and obliterator. Yes, the device failed on the last outing, but a few minor adjustments made it possible to easily change the pitch and modulation on the fly. The fact that the adjustments could be made on the fly will hold little comfort if the exact settings cannot be found, but no matter how slim the chances, I feel safer with the Obliterator at my side.

  A quick glance at the map to memorize the most direct route to the nearest stock of foodstuffs and it was time to fly. Without a sound I slipped out of the room and made my way to the elevator. The stairs were still off limits due to the remaining screamers.

  At the elevator it was surprising not to hear the insane cries of the zombies. The only sound spilling out from underneath the stairwell door was that of an empty wind. When the elevator sprang to life, the Hell hounds did not roar a single note of discord, making me wonder i
f they require sleep. For the moment I was safe. I said a silent prayer to the Great God Binary that this moment of safety would last…… and last.

  As the elevator hit the ground floor I pulled out the Obliterator and prepared to fire it up. Fortunately the operating system was embedded, which made the device as ‘instant on’ as you could get in a semi-complex operating environment. Two easy-to-access dials allowed me to change both pitch and oscillation with my thumb. The modification gave me about as much confidence as I would ever have, given the circumstances.

  I stood staring at the front door to the hospital. The outside world was calling me, beckoning me to join in the chaos. After three deep breaths, I pushed the door open and slowly stepped out into the bitter cold. My breath coalesced in front of me in a thick fog. The ash from the fallout was still on the ground. Crashing sounds swam in the air around me. My feet began pounding the pavement beneath me, picking up speed to a running pace. My heart was threatening to call a moratorium on this craziness.

  A moan surprised me from behind. When I turned, my eyes caught sight of exactly what was to be expected. The dirty fucker was standing in the street, swaying side by side, his eyes directed at me. The Obliterator began a low, slow oscillating war cry I knew would have no effect. Happily, my thumb started rotating the pitch control until I felt the pitch was close to the target range. My thumb slid over to the other dial and began turning it slowly until the oscillations were racing at about two hundred-twenty beats per minute. The moaner now knew my precise location and showed no signs the Obliterator was having any effect. My thumb returned to the pitch and cranked it up another octave or so until, bingo!, the moaner’s eyes nearly doubled in size, and then he dropped to his knees. I had him and I wasn’t about to let up until the full effects of the Obliterator were known.

  Just as it looked like the moaner was going to pop, the familiar screeching was heard echoing off the brick and wood buildings, so I wouldn’t be able to complete my plan to shred the moaner from the inside out. I had to hide. Thankfully there were plenty of open buildings surrounding the area. I silently slipped behind one of the doors into the safety of a building, and perched myself behind a second story window, to watch the nightmare unfold.

  What happened on the street didn’t seem real. The moaner continued swaying back and forth in the middle of the street as the screamer quite literally ripped the thing apart. As the screamer tore at the placid zombie’s clothing I awaited the retaliation. It never came. When the clothing was in tatters on the ground, the screamer began flaying its victim. Bits and pieces of skin flew into the air like wet cardboard, landing on the street with a splash of blood. The violence, of course, didn’t stop with the outer layer. As soon as the rotten outer covering was mostly removed, the screamer dove into the inner workings of the zombie. The moaner simply stood by as he was ripped asunder, his sour-milk eyes staring blankly into the space in front of him.

  Eventually there wasn’t enough of the zombie to keep its body upright and it collapsed to the ground, nothing more than a heap of scrap meat. The screamer wasn’t content with the moaner’s demise and focused on bashing the head onto the hard street until useless ooze spilled from the cracks. The screamer took one sniff of the rotten meat and roared its disapproval.

  In a very odd way it was sad – like a group of senior citizens being mauled by a single, Hell-born thing. The dismantling of relative innocence. But even beyond witnessing the atrocity, what I hated the most was that the sight had become so pedestrian as to not even evoke a gag reflex.

  After the screamer announced his anger to the world he froze as if something had snatched his attention from his task. His head jerked from left to right. The zombies’ eyesight is especially poor, so they rely primarily on sound and smell. When the screamer began sniffing the air my heart jumped. Surely the thing hadn’t detected my scent? When the monster jerked its head so its ruined eyes were doing their best to look my way, I knew my assumption to be wrong.

  The zombie let out an horrific roar that echoed off the walls of the room I was hiding in. The zombie knew I was here and it was trying to frighten me out of hiding. I don’t know what to say. The screamer knew I was up here and it was using the higher functions of its brain to solve the problem it faced. This is not good. Thinking zombies. Fuck.

  I have to grab food and haul ass back to the hospital, but there is one problem. In the act of hiding I managed to get myself lost. Each window on the second floor of the building brought my paranoia no relief. I was lost. And then, as if things couldn’t possibly get worse, I heard a sound that nearly brought my heart to a stand-still. Somewhere near, a baby was crying and it was obvious the screamer heard the cry. I didn’t even want to think of what was about to happen. But it did. One second the cry was raising the hairs on my arm, the next minute silence jerked them back to their natural position. The silence was followed by another massive screech and then I saw the screamer run off. The baby was on the ground. Moving. It was still alive. The zombie didn’t kill it. Without so much as a hesitation, I ran to the infant.

  And then, what little contents my stomach held decided to make a fast exit onto the floor.

  I thought there was no horror left for the world. Once the virus hit and monsters become real, I was sure that no new Hell could be presented to make everything else pale in comparison.

  I was terribly wrong.

  It might, at first, sound crazy, or fodder for nothing more than B-grade horror, but I just had to kill a baby zombie. The undead tyke was lying on the ground, its dead eyes staring uselessly up at the sky. When I reached to pick the thing up it sensed my presence and issued a scream I really never needed to hear.

  This was make or break time for my heart and soul. The idea of leveling a gun at a baby’s face is not something anyone should ever have to experience, but what choice did I have? The baby was destined to join the zombie rank and file and I wasn’t okay with that. This ordeal had me on my knees crying over the infant life I had just taken. At the moment I didn’t care who or what heard me. Let the monsters come, let them rend me asunder, let them devour me until I am no more. I don’t care.

  As the tears dripped and dropped onto the street beneath me, my thoughts turned from the dead baby below me to the living one inside me. Did Jacob pass along corrupted chromosomes into my womb? Is there a moaner or screamer gestating inside of me?

  Whatever it was, I wanted to take a knife and slice it out. The thought of giving birth to yet another strain of beast made me want to die.

  The distant sounds of screamers pulled me out of my self-inflicted bout of sorrow. I had to locate food and get back to the group. Once back in the safety of the hospital I can chat with Jean about my options. Maybe there is a chance that whatever is growing inside my womb is clean and I can give birth to a new generation of hope, instead of yet another of the undead.

  My feet took off in what seemed like a random direction, but soon it became clear my mind had something to do with the choice. Not only had I regained my bearings, there was also a glorious grocery mart standing directly in front of me.

  The store hadn’t been looted, which is both good and bad. Good for us, in that there is plenty of food to be had. But knowing no one had touched the place meant there were few survivors in the area. The fewer survivors the more undead there would be waiting to devour the living.

  Again, the distant screams filled the area to announce impending doom. I had to grab as much as possible and get the hell out. Filling a backpack full of quality food is not nearly as challenging in France as it is back in the States. Bread, cheese, fruits, peanut butter, trail mix, nuts – it was like any health food store I had ever visited, only this time the price didn’t affect my ability to pay the rent.

  When the pack was stuffed to near explosion, I quickly zipped it shut and hoisted it onto my back. As soon as I stepped outside my eyes happened upon what might be the sweetest sight I had seen in a while: a bicycle. It was the perfect form of transportation, given
the circumstances; faster than walking or running, silent, didn’t rely on fuel – what more could a person ask for in a post-apocalyptic world?

  Fortune smiled upon me one more time. The bicycle was not chained. The efficient machine would carry me quickly away from undead square back to the hospital. With the weight of the pack throwing off my center of gravity, I nearly tumbled to the ground swinging my leg over the bike. After an awkward moment of getting started, I was peddling down the street, toward the hospital. Had there not been the fear-inducing sounds of screamers growing ever-closer, I would have been laughing and singing as I pedaled my way back.

  The bicycle must have been someone’s primary mode of transportation. Not knowing much about bikes, I could still draw the conclusion the bike was well kept and not your average off the rack purchase. Even with the awkward weight of the pack throwing me off, the bike still handled like a dream. I was flying through the streets, the sounds of the undead receding in the background. My plan was actually going to work! I was going to make it back, food in hand, to save the day.

  When the hospital came into sight, I immediately saw Jean standing behind the glass of the entryway, his arms folded in front of him. When I got closer, I could see the consternation on his face. I had hoped Michelle or Mikka would have passed on my plan to everyone. I may have been wrong.

  Just as I was about to carefully swing my leg over my bike I heard the sound of a screamer, fast approaching, from behind me.

  “Bethany! Get inside!” Gunther was holding the main door open for me, gesturing me to hurry.

  In the middle of swinging my foot over I lost my balance and went down. The next thing I heard was Gunther yelling, the zombie screaming, and a gunshot. When the last echoes of the gunshot faded away, Gunther was pulling me up by my arm and helping me into the hospital.

 

‹ Prev