by Jason Deyo
Mrs. Kim
A Zombie Apocalypse Psychological Thriller Book
By
Jason Deyo
Without the people mentioned below my book would never have become a reality.
Thank you
Lorrie Hagan
Jessica Clark
Pheobe Jackson
Timothy Melton
Maly Copeland
and
David Gregornic of All Ivy Writing Services Inc.
for all your constructive criticism and editing.
Mr. C.J. Love (Charlie Love)of www.clove2design.com [email protected] for designing the cover and putting my vision on paper.
And a special thank you to my father Robert Deyo (author of Moon Dancer) and my mother Deborah Van Ness for supporting me no matter how twisted and disturbed my imagination got.
This book is dedicated to my loving wife and very creative son.
Chapter 1
The bowling alley
The smell of ancient cigarette smoke and stale beer greeted them when they opened the dirty double doors of the bowling alley. Something was eerily absent from the air. The usual sounds of bowling balls dropping and rolling down the freshly waxed and polished lanes and the crack of bowling pins smashing into one another were almost nonexistent. The building was abnormally empty for a Thursday evening.
On any other Thursday, customers would be waiting at the front counter, everyone alert and anxiously watching for a party of bowlers to put their scoring pens down and pull their outdoor shoes out from under the chairs, so they could be the first to claim the newly available lane. On this particular Thursday, the vast majority of lanes were open. The bright lights reflected off the polished wood and at the end of each lane was a darkened pit where the balls would meet their wooden pins.
Keith looked at his watch. They were a little early, but not enough to be the first to arrive. Keith Bell was a large man in his late thirties, with a full beard of brown and black hair. His large frame demanded attention when he entered a room, but in this room there wasn’t really anyone around to even acknowledge his presence. In his left hand, he carried a large blue and black canvas bowling ball bag containing two balls; a heavy sixteen-pound ball that matched his bag, and a nine-pound ball, for little Jimmy, with the Star War’s Death Star imprinted on it.
Little Jimmy clung to his father’s right hand and looked at the ground as they entered the bowling alley. He stared at the dull gray carpet with small red and blue dots mixed into it, occasionally passing century-old, smashed in blobs of dried chewing gum. Jimmy was small for his age. In every one of his class photos he sat in the front, because if he was not the smallest kid in the class he was always one of the smallest. His mother was not a small woman as averages go and his father was above average in height and build for a man. Everyone believed Jimmy would be above average in build and size, but so far that was simply not the case. His hair was as blond as the summer sun, his skin was pale and his eyes were a distinct light green. Keith would refer to him as his child from the corn, referring to Stephen King’s movie Children of the Corn.
Jimmy did not feel well but tried to maintain his composure while walking into the bowling alley because this was going to be the last time the school was going to host a bowling night for the school year. Light headedness and nausea began to set in, but he was willing to fight a little discomfort in order to play a couple more times. He had mentioned to his father in the truck that he was not feeling well, but when Keith asked if he would be okay to bowl, the last thing Jimmy wanted to say was no. He looked forward to these nights. Every other Thursday was children’s night for Graceland Park Elementary School and because it was the end of the school year they expected a lot of students to attend.
Jimmy looked up at one of the many crookedly hanging posters of the great Willy Ray Williams. Willy Ray was a heavy man for a professional athlete, especially when compared to the athletes Jimmy looked up to today. His chubby face and pastel colored, broad-lapelled coat hung over every other lane. Little Jimmy could not help but look at the posters every time he walked into Fairway Lanes. In many of the pictures, Willy Ray stood in front of red and blue lasers darting behind him as if he were in a Star Wars action scene, with the good blue beams firing against the evil red empire. Keith always found it humorous when his son asked questions like, “Why is he smoking in these pictures?”
Keith tried to explain that the 1970s and 80s were a different time, and that what was acceptable then is no longer acceptable today. Keith especially found it funny when Jimmy asked, “Why is he wearing his hair like that?” Willy Ray Williams was at the pinnacle of fashion in Georgia at the time; he wore his hair high (“puffy,” Jimmy would say) in the front and smooth and long in the back.
Keith would look down at his son and explain, “For some reason, we all believed we looked good wearing our hair like that. Sadly I tried to grow a style as phenomenal as Willy Ray, but God seemed to actually care about me and denied me the privilege of looking back and smacking myself.”
Jimmy never understood what he was referring to, but decided he would not pry. He was happy knowing Willy Ray Williams was an old guy who broke all kinds of records and won all kinds of trophies and Fairway Lanes was where he got his start.
Keith felt the perspiration of his son’s hands on his and stopped. “Hey buddy I don’t think too many people are going to be showing up today.” He knelt down in front of him. “I think we should probably get out of here. Are you okay with that?”
Jimmy scanned the bowling alley one last time, looking for his friends, but none were around. “Yeah. We can get out of here.” He glanced at the long line of empty lanes. His eyes immediately went to the ground again and found another piece of chewing gum that had become the same color as the carpet after being walked on for decades. Keith knelt down and put the back of his hand to his son’s forehead.
“You’re burning up bud!” he said in angst. He looked up and saw his wife walking through the double doors. “Hey babe, we’re leaving.”
Amelia looked at him with concern as she immediately recognized something was seriously wrong. His wife moved quickly toward them and knelt in front of Jimmy to feel his forehead. “How long has he felt like this?” She was a very attractive, thirty six-year-old strawberry blond woman and Keith felt lucky to be part of her life. He routinely mentioned to his friends how lucky he was to have such a good, sexy, and loving wife. Amelia always kept up with her appearance, and Keith valued that.
Keith stood up and took Jimmy’s hand. “He mentioned in the truck he wasn’t feeling too well, but he wanted to come anyway. He didn’t want to miss the last day of bowling.”
“The ladies at the office were talking about some people getting sick.” Amelia worked for a Human Resources Consultant company not far from the bowling alley. “It’s all over the radio too. Whatever it is, it’s really affecting a lot of people. Apparently some hospitals are being forced to turn people away because so many people are coming in,” she said nervously. She worried her son might have whatever was going around. “Let’s go to the urgent care. There might not be as many people there.”
Keith was hesitant when it came to hospitals and doctors for himself, but not when it came to his son. “How can a hospital turn someone away?” he asked with concern.
“They’re too full. People are forcing their way in, trampling over one another in the waiting rooms.”
Keith looked at her with confusion. “So what are we to do?” Some shouting from the back of the bowling alley distracted them, causing them to look up from Jimmy.
Two women began to grab
at each other’s hair and pull each other to the ground. Two of the men in the group tried to pull them apart while the other league members began shouting at each other.
Turning away from the fighting group, Amelia sad, “Let’s go to Calico. They might be able to see us there.”
Keith nodded in approval and picked his son up in his massive arms.
*****
Calico Urgent Care Center sat between The Lucky Inn Chinese takeout and a Food Lion grocery store in a shopping center minutes from the bowling alley. The shopping center’s parking lot was virtually empty, with the exception of the group of awkwardly parked vehicles in front of the urgent care center. The painted lines designating individual parking spaces seemed to only be a suggestion. Keith and Amelia parked their vehicles side by side, away from the other vehicles.
Walking to the clinic, they looked through the Lucky Inn’s red shuttered window and saw that every table was empty. Calico Urgent Care was standing room only. Multiple couples waited outside, sitting on the small brick lip under a window, rapidly puffing their cigarettes. Keith and Amelia could feel tension between the couples, even though no one was talking.
As they reached the door it opened and then slowly shut as someone either decided to stay a little longer or to allow fresh air into the waiting room. “Wait here,” Keith told Amelia. She squeezed Jimmy’s hand holding him close.
A few people shouted obscenities and pushed him as he shouldered his way through the crowded waiting room. He made his way to the intake computer screen to enter his personal information, but a spider-webbed shaped crack sat directly in the middle of the black screen, as though someone had punched it. A clipboard with people’s names and arrival time had fallen to the floor. The top names were legible, but as the list grew longer, the names became a series of scribbles. Someone had scrawled “FUCK YOU” in all caps across the paper.
He looked around the corner and down the hallway to see if anyone was receiving care. The hallway was not as crowded as the waiting room, but he could see no one was receiving any form of treatment. A pad of paper flew across the hall. He decided this wasn’t the best place to be.
The crowded room surged in his direction, pushing him against the computer. A fight had broken out and the waiting room erupted into shouts and swinging fists. A small woman struck Keith; she had simply turned and randomly punched the person closest to her. People all around him began to fight for no apparent reason. Adults were abandoning their children in the waiting room in order to join the brawl.
He couldn’t peacefully make his way through the crowd, so he began to push his way through to the front door. As he exited the clinic, three people fell through the door and landed at Amelia’s feet. Amelia already knew what Keith was going to say as soon as he came out.
“No one is getting any help in there.”
“We’re going home,” Amelia stated.
“He’ll be better taken care of at home than he will be here. We could run him a cold bath to battle his fever, or try the hospital?”
Amelia became visibly upset as her eyes welled with tears. “No…they’re turning people away remember? We’re going home,” she demanded.
Keith put his hand on her shoulder, but she jerked away from his touch as if he too had the virus. He knew she didn’t want to receive physical contact from him, but he couldn’t stop himself when she started to cry. “We have a whole medicine cabinet full of stuff and I’m sure there’s something in there that will help break the fever. Let’s head home.”
Chapter 2
Just in case something bad happens…
Traffic was chaotic. Keith followed close to Amelia’s van with his gunmetal grey F-150 truck. A few cars ran a red light, causing Keith to slam on the brakes and allowing multiple vehicles to speed in front of him. Everyone was in a hurry to get somewhere. Traffic lights were pointless and no one used their turn signals. He lost sight of his wife and son, but knew the route they would take, finally catching sight of their van a few blocks away from their house. Cars lined the street; no one could move because of all the vehicles attempting to squeeze in between abandoned and haphazardly parked cars.
She tried to back up, but a person in a blue station wagon pulled up behind her and started to bang on his horn. Amelia looked through her rearview mirror and could see a very old and clean-shaven man cursing her.
She put her arms up and shrugged her shoulders as if to say, what do you want me to do? The old man stepped out of his car. He quickly moved to her window but Amelia rolled it up before he reached it. He slapped at the window and started to scream. His face was pale, but his eyes were glazed over and beet red with anger. He stretched his mouth as he screamed. The man would begin to say something, but then stretch his mouth, turning his words into a yell.
“Make him stop, mom!” Jimmy screamed from the back seat. Amelia jumped as the old man rapidly slapped the window. “Mom, make him stop!” His second scream was not from worry, but in agitation.
She put the van in reverse and hit the station wagon. The old man turned in shock, closed his fist, and began to beat on the window. As he screamed and struck the window, she could see a thick black vein extending over his neck and under his chin.
She pulled forward and bumped the vehicle in front of her. The man opened his eyes wide and continued beating violently on the van, breaking the window. Amelia was fully surrounded by cars. No matter how many times she backed up and moved the van, she was trapped.
The only sound that was louder than the old man was the sound of Keith screaming. Once he realized no one was moving anytime soon, he got out of his truck to check on Amelia.
As soon as he stepped out he could see the old man yelling and smashing the van’s window. Keith ran up yelling, “Hey!” but the old man paid him no mind. He sternly grabbed the manic man by the shoulder and could feel sweat seeping through his thin shirt onto his hand.
Keith did not want to hurt this man, but he could not have him trying to assault his wife and son. “You need to go!” Keith screamed as he shoved him to the ground. The man pushed himself up and began to say something, but then he stretched his mouth again, the sound coming out as a forced scream. The old man dripped with sweat and his skin was a very dull grey color.
Keith backed up and tripped the man as he lunged at him. Keith was impressed and shocked by his speed. He moved well for an older man. “Get Jim to the house. I’ll take care of this,” he told Amelia.
Keith pressed his knee into the man’s back, pinning him to the concrete. “Stay down old man. I don’t want to hurt you, but if you mess with my family I will.” He placed both of his hands on the man’s shoulders, keeping him from getting up.
The old man fought and grunted with deep and heavy breaths. He tried to get up, but Keith easily overpowered him. Keith saw his neighbors watching from their windows and looked around to see if anyone was going to assist him. He wasn’t proud of what he was doing, but he had to protect his family. Looking over his shoulder, he saw Amelia holding Jimmy’s hand as they walked down the block.
“Old man,” he said, carefully choosing his words to display dominance. “When I let you go, you will walk that way!” He pointed in the direction away from his family. The man stopped struggling. “Old man?” Keith released some of the pressure on his shoulders and he did not move. Letting go of his shoulders entirely, the man remained still.
Keith put his hand to the man’s clammy neck to feel for a pulse. The old man was no longer breathing and Keith was unable to find a pulse. He searched frantically with both hands on both sides of his neck, but none existed. He looked at his neighbors again and many of them closed their curtains. Keith felt ashamed, but didn’t know what to do. He decided he would call the cops and inform them when he got home.
*****
Jimmy walked straight upstairs and to his room. Amelia trailed behind him and noticed he didn’t bring his book bag with him, which was very unusual. The home routine was very strict and he never deviated
from it.
He would walk in, place his book bag on the dining room table, go into the kitchen, pour himself a glass of orange juice or tea, and then immediately begin doing his homework.
“Do you want anything honey?” Amelia asked, but Jimmy ignored her. She dug through the pantry in the kitchen and retrieved the children’s Tylenol. The dosing instructions for an eight-year-old child read 10 ml, so she filled it to the appropriate line.
She paused mid pour and thought about how warm he was. Warm really didn’t accurately describe his temperature. He was on fire. She had never felt him this hot. She filled it to the next line up at 12.5 ml. Hopefully with a higher dosage and a cool bath, he would be able to fight the high fever. She grabbed the thermometer and went upstairs.
Amelia found Jimmy lying in bed in his school clothes. The sheets and comforter were bundled at the foot of the bed, as if he kicked them off of him and pushed them into a pile. She kneeled down next to his small twin bed. “Sit up for me and take this medicine,” she whispered. She reached behind his head to assist him. His pillow was damp with sweat and his hair was soaking as if he had just stepped out of the shower. She expected the back of his head to be warm to the touch, but it wasn’t. His head was cold.
She gently laid his head back down and felt his forehead with her cheek. She couldn’t believe how quickly his temperature reversed itself. Before he was burning up, and now he was freezing.
Amelia laid her head on Jimmy’s chest, listening to his shallow and labored breathing. She could hear fluid rattling in his chest right before he started to cough. Amelia knelt on the floor next to his bed, wrapping her arms around his body. He did not respond to her questions. She noticed he was not shivering; she found it odd for him to be so cold, yet not showing any signs of feeling cold. Holding him in a loose hug, she felt alone.
Pressing her cheek to his and touching forehead to forehead, she compared how much his temperature had dropped from just minutes before. The temporal thermometer continued to flash “Err” with every new position she placed it on his head. She meticulously spread his blond hair, ensuring not a single strand interfered with the reading. After each error reading, she compared her temperature to his, hoping the thermometer was broken, but it read her temperature as the standard 98.6 degrees.
