Guthrie was an old government building that was easy to hide, located in a high place no one cared to remember. When the zombie infestation was curbed, and the World Humanitarian Society was enacted, there was a dire need for zombie care. Guthrie was an abandoned West Virginia state facility that was easier to conceal than modify. It was one of the first of its kind. The politicians in Washington, D.C., with zombie family, were the first to hide the ones they loved, rather than incinerate them. The inflicted children were considered the least dangerous, so they were taken in first.
Over the first couple of years, many visits by the powerful slipped unnoticed up the swerving hill to Guthrie. The change in the seasons brought changes in offices, and those visiting privileges were revoked. None of them seemed to care though, as there was no fervor about it. The zombie children didn’t know any better. If their families cared, it was never missed by their kids. The funding was. Guthrie was on its last legs, a metal tomb decaying in the hills, soon to be taken by the sticky greens and forgotten.
Candy wrappers and crushed beer cans lay scattered on a black desktop, along with a credit card. A jittery hand began dicing up lines of white powder. A crisp green bill was rolled up. One by one the lines disappeared from the desk into the green tube, in long heavy sniffs. It’s not crack, but I still like it. Jimmy sat back, wringing his nose as he opened up his eyes in observation. Things became perfect, crystal clear. He was ready for anything now, his brother be damned.
Jimmy had a mission, a secret one that no one but him knew about. They paid him, fed his need and promised there would be more. The government men were fools, he would have done it for free. The drugs were more than enough to see everyone suffer.
His shaking hands and dirty fingers became busy opening computer files and rebooting black screens. This will be awesome! Standing up, he powered up digital recorders beneath the monitors, bringing the sounds of more whirs and whines.
He spun around a few times, humming a demented tune. Jimmy flopped back down in his chair. His gaze transfixed on some figures on a particular screen. Jimmy observed Henry, Rudy and Tori standing in wonder at the sight of Louie in the kid cave. Anger rose inside him as he watched his brothers commanding presence control his stooges. His brother was a tall, lean figure with jet black hair and soft features. Henry’s vivacious girlfriend seemed spellbound by his words.
Jimmy didn’t know why he hated his brother, he just did. The pair used to be inseparable. In high school, Jimmy realized he wasn’t what his brother was — refined, athletic, and sociable. People made Jimmy uncomfortable. People were cruel, and they didn’t understand him. He tried to fit in, but he just didn’t. They teased him. As smart as he was, no matter what he tried, he still lived in Henry’s shadow.
Jealousy consumed him for years. The zombies came and his bad habits became worse. He never realized it was the drugs that rattled his mind and embellished his delusions. The little devils of his conscious always suggested Henry stood in his way to raging success. He no longer recollected that they had been best friends at one time. They used to hunt, fish and crack game codes days on end. Even after high school they were still at it. When the zombies came, their violent struggle for survival managed to put an end to all of that. Somehow it was all Henry’s fault in his mind.
Henry. Henry. Henry. Sometimes he was torn by love and hate, but not for long. His plan should have taken place already, but it proved more difficult than he anticipated. He pounded his fist over and over again on the desk. Henry’s look of concern troubled him. He’s always worried about something. Henry never let him have the kind of fun he wanted. Henry never trusted him and he would be hard pressed to succeed with the protector around. He almost had what he wanted now. He can’t stop me now. It will be too late.
He didn’t notice he was shaking and sweating as he watched his brother leave the screen. Tori and Henry were arguing back and forth when Tori stormed away. He began laughing under his breath, a wicked one, followed by another deep sniff. He wiped his sleeve along his nose thinking about what he had to do next.
Clicking his mouse, he opened folders, one by one, when he came to a folder reading TORIHOT. Inside it were several tori.wav files beckoning to be opened. Launching number 17 he became excited. There she was, splendid as a daisy working at her desk, breasts heaving inside her tight black dress. You’ll be mine soon, baby doll. He leaned back as he unbuckled his pants.
CHAPTER 12
Nate McDaniel had trouble sleeping. It was the time of year where the interviews and the past wore his mind down. Saving mankind had its benefits. Fame, fortune and a never ending line of willing companionship, but none of that cleared his conscience. The truth was something that had little meaning to him back then, but now he became obsessed with it.
An eighty inch Plasma TV was filled a variety of pictures as he lounged on his soft leather sectional. News, sports, Facepad, Tweeter, and other sites were active, along with the voices from ESDN radio. A wireless keyboard sat in his robed lap, and a half empty glass of orange juice sweated on the lamp table at his side. A soft figure was huddled in the corner of the sectional, snoring softly. She was dark haired, wearing lime colored lingerie and he couldn’t recall her name. Julie? Christy? Danielle? She was a talk show anchor, one of the best. If the audience only knew what a freak she was.
He laid a cotton blanket over top of her. She rustled. Oh no. She lay back down, continuing her snores. Good. It was time to obsess on the truth again as he began to learn what guilt was. Jeanine entered his thoughts a lot this time of year. No therapy could remove the image of her hapless face being splattered across the tiny jail cell. The ringing blast of the shotgun woke him up in a cold sweat countless nights. That little man in black. He hated him.
The killer’s compassionless face of a viper haunted his thoughts. Fate entwined him with that man, who could be seen in the background of many interviews he caught on the web. He never got his name, but he was there, armored in dark glasses and a chiseled expression. He took a sip of juice as he reviewed the headlines on the plasma screen.
WHS CLOSE TO ZOMBIE PEOPLE CURE
ZOMBIE PEOPLE TAKE OVER VILLAGE IN SOUTH AFRICA
SOUTH BEACH WOMAN CLAIMS ZOMBIE PERSON INPREGNATED HER
GOVERNMENT OFFERS NO EXPLANATION TO ZOMBIE DISAPPEARANCE
MAN CHARGED WITH HATE CRIME FOR KILLING ZOMBIE WOMAN
ZOMBIE VACCINE TESTED IN AUSTRALIA
MYSTERIOUS DEATHS IN ATLANTA ZOMBIE CARE RAISE QUESTIONS
Every day he did more research, contacting a few sources under anonymous profiles. The list of conspiracies grew for years, but now it began to dwindle. A few of them began to make sense. The biggest question that no one asked anymore was: Where did they come from? It bothered him day and night.
He was now the poster boy for the World Humanitarian Society, but that was all. He was given a script and told to stick to it. Jeanine, according to his handlers, was his inspiration for finding a cure. At the time it seemed like the right thing to do. They convinced him, by giving him the firm impression that he didn’t have a choice. He played along just like he always did. He even lied to her family about how it all ended. He was a coward, but he was no longer use to it.
He got up, ignoring the biting pain in his stiff knee and pulled some curtains back. The sunlight began to fill the room with a soft glare. It was Saturday, his dates day off. Christy. That’s it. He cast another glance the woman’s way, she hadn’t moved. He gave a sigh of relief, and limped from the living room in his Washington, D.C. condominium. A loud space tune jingled from the kitchen. Pain stabbed him below the knee as he bolted over and snatched up his smart phone. He dropped it with a loud thump in the metal sink as it rang again. He got a hold of it and answered in a soft voice, “Hello.”
The voice was blaring on the other side.
”Good morning sir, how are you feeling?”
He held his hand over the phone, while looking over at Christy.
He tiptoed back to his
bedroom.
“I’m fine. Why are you calling Harry?”
“Just making sure you survived your big day. You and Christy made plenty of headlines last night.”
He sat down on his bed, face drawn tight. “What? She was in a limo the whole time. She met me here. No one could have seen.” He didn’t see anything in the papers, but he hadn’t been checking the tabloids either.
“Take it easy son, I’m just pulling your leg. Glad to hear you are alright. I’ll let you get back to your day. Have a good one.”
The line went dead. Nate’s face was blank as he stared at the phone.
Every day, at any given hour, Harry or some other underling of the WHS would call. There was never a day without them. He hated it. They always seemed to know what he was doing. He got up, rubbing his knee, checked his blinds, and scoured the ceilings and doorways with his eyes. He ran his soft hands along the mirrors and door frames. It was a habit. Despite all of his precautions, they still knew who he was with.
Inside the bathroom he began brushing his teeth, gargled and spit. He stared in the mirror, rubbing his grizzled face and began squeezing some blackheads from his nose. He combed his curly brown hair with his fingers and smiled at himself. Not feeling it today.
The day after his global celebration was usually filled with relief and relaxation. All of the planning and interviews from being ‘The man who saved the world’ were done. He was still filled with anxiety, however. Someone sent him a link to one of his profile accounts. It led to another series of videos, articles and speculation … and they made sense.
He hung his white terry cloth robe behind the bathroom door, slipped out of his Darkslayer pajama pants and got inside the shower. The hot water drilled deep into his hairy chest, steaming the bathroom glass.
“Ah,” he said as he worked up a soapy lather.
He slipped at the sound of a rubbing squeak that came from the other side of the shower glass. He tried to rinse the soap from his eyes, only to open them to a burning sensation. What in the …. A figure began to appear in the moisture of the glass. It started with an ‘S’ and ended with an ‘X’. A perfect figure with a heart-shaped ass stepped inside.
“Good morning.” Christy’s voice was hotter than the water.
He watched the water soak her hair and cascade down her body.
“It certainly is,” he said.
Christy erased all of his anxiety while another figure moved about the condominium with a gun. The cries and moans from inside the shower brought a smile to the man’s crooked lips. The man could make out the word on the shower door, nodded and walked away.
Minutes later, Nate stepped out of the shower and could have sworn someone had been there. On the floor, an imprint of a shoe appeared on the wet tile, but Christy stepped right through it. He looked at the carpet and noticed nothing strange.
“What’s wrong,” she said, staring up into his eyes and wrapping her hands around his neck.
He hoisted her up and tossed her onto his bed. “Nothing baby.”
CHAPTER 13
“Grandpa,” said little Ferguson as his pudgy thumbs worked his GameToy, “… are you going to ever tell me what’s inside there?”
John’s grandson asked that question often over the years. The boy had been coming to work with him, once or twice a year, since he was six and now he was ten. John wasn’t one to tell a lie, or make open assumptions. He just scratched the back of his neck, while gazing upward into the dim midday sky. What kind of story would he concoct this time around?
“Well Grandpa?”
A brisk wind was rustling the turning leaves, and the surrounding pines began to bend. He poured the last of his coffee from his battered metal thermos. He took a sip of the luke warm substance, thinking about the daunting building inside the rattling fence.
The air felt cold in his lungs as he struggled to find the right words.
“Fergie, sometimes yer just better off not knowing. Besides, I can’t really say for sure, and maybe that’s the best for both of us.”
He rubbed the boy’s head with his rough hand.
“And I figure if the Lord wanted us to know, we’d know. I do know this, there are some good people in there, and I’d just assume that good things must be going on.”
His grandsons head never came up, nose down in his video game. A few moments passed before he took another long swig of coffee.
Ferguson made a flat remark. “The kids at school say there are zombies in there.”
He choked in mid-swallow and began to cough.
“You all right Grandpa?” He felt a small hand pounding on his back. He took another slug of coffee and began clearing his throat. He pulled his mirrored sunglasses from his weathered eyes.
“Who on earth told you that?”
“Teddy Knox … Jasmine Starks … Russell and his dad … lots of kids say it.”
He honestly had no idea that zombies were in there, but he suspected it. The truth was, there had never been a zombie within a hundred miles of the place as far as he knew. But something about this facility never settled right with him. It wasn’t long after they got the creatures under control that it was remodeled. He’d worked there when it was a state owned building, then the federal government took over, followed by the WHS. Sometimes people just knew things in small towns.
Everyone knew there were zombie cares all over, and where many of them were, but not all. For top secret reasons, certain situations were only need to know, by those who knew. He’d waved many a dignitary through the gates from time to time, but still he did not know. He didn’t want to either.
John’s voice was playful as he said, “Now, what makes you think they have any idea what is in here? They’re just pulling your leg, trying to scare you.”
His grandson growled as a deflating chime came from his game, and the boy snapped it shut.
“It says so on the internet. They showed me a website.”
“Did it scare you?”
Heck, the sound of thunder scared the boy, and he couldn’t imagine him not being scared of zombies.
“Yeah … but I’m not scared anymore.”
“Why not?” John was curious.
“I’m never scared when I’m with you grandpa.”
John’s mild eyes began to tear up as he gave his grandson a warm hug.
He studied the facility; green beacons were lit along the lower entrance and posted along the fence. Many of the beacons were black and without light. This place is going to all heck. He could have sworn some of those lights flickered as the sun dipped below the tree tops, shadowing the outer gate in darkness. He couldn’t shake the coldness. This shift won’t end soon enough.
CHAPTER 14
Red. Green. Red. Green. The basement was indistinct from the rest of the facility, cold and impersonal. More florescent lit corridors led from the elevator to a stairwell. As he made his way down the spiraling steps, an uneasy feeling set in again. Working upstairs was uncomfortable, but downstairs was downright claustrophobic. A red beacon awaited him at the bottom. It was time to get some answers. He sucked in his breath, scanned his card and the metal doors split open.
A pale yellow light illuminated the room that had the makeup of a forensics lab. A pair of autopsy tables kept two small bodies at rest. The smell of chlorine and vinegar, along with other pungent smells filled his nose. A large black man was pulling green and white striped papers from a loud printer. The man tore the sheet off and studied the results, pushing up his thick framed glasses.
Henry could hear, ‘uh –huh’, sounds muttering under the man’s breath. He watched as two big hands crumpled the large papers into a tight ball. The big man spun and shot the wad of paper over the autopsy tables. The ball of paper landed with a bang inside a metal trash bin in the corner.
“That’s a three!” the man shouted in a deep voice, arms high, and fingers almost touching the high ceiling. Henry began a mild applause as the man lurched at the sound.
“Well,
look whose back,” the big man said, arms wide as he approached.
Oh no. He felt the man’s arms wrap around him, pinning his arms as if he were a child. His feet left the ground for a long moment and his back cracked before he felt the hard floor again. Henry straightened his glasses.
“Do you always have to do that?”
“Of course … you’re my boy,” the man said, smiling. It was hard to resist Stanley’s charm. The man was always positive, his face wizened and cheerful, with a soothing and powerful voice. Henry’s anger had subsided, but not to the point he would not vent his concerns. As ingenious a scientist Stanley was, he still had his flaws.
“Dad, why on earth is Jimmy back here?” he said, raising his voice. “What are you giving to the zombies? Is what I saw with Louie the XT serum?”
Henry stepped towards the man and looked up into his eyes, but Stanley turned away, shuffling papers on a desk.
“Don’t worry about it son … you’re always so serious. Come over here, we had a break through while you were gone?”
Stanley draped his arm over his shoulders and shoved him along between the autopsy tables. Two girls in pink and white striped sweat suits were strapped down. Their faces were ashen, eyes sunk, skin dry and grey. Black pupils rolled all over without a flicker of knowledge. Their hands and feet flinched from time to time. He expected some moans, but they were silent.
Careful to keep his distance from the edge, Henry stayed at the foot end of the table.
“What is this? They aren’t moving.”
“They’re dying,” Stanley said in a sobering voice.
The words sent a jolt through his body.
“What happened? How do you know?” Henry said, studying the two girls.
His dad leaned against the table, pulled out a cigarette and began to smoke.
Zombie Day Care Page 5
