Dove: A Zombie Tale (Byron: A Zombie Tale Book 2)

by Wieczorek, Scott

  “I don’t really care who you say you meant it for. Mouse, or Bruiser, or even Sammy. I don’t care.” She crossed her arms over her chest and turned her head to one side.

  This girl likes you. Her hormone levels have increased since we started walking with her.

  I ignored the colony. They needed to learn when to keep their opinions to themselves. I also noticed that I walked a little slower. They needed to feed. That’s probably why I couldn’t block them out as well.

  “Okay. That’s it.” I stopped and grabbed her arm. “We all have names. I am Byron. This is John, and that is Evan. I already know his name is Sammy. What’s yours?”

  She narrowed her eyes at me, but said nothing.

  “If we’re going to be traveling together, I would rather call you by a name—any name— than just hey you, or punk girl.”

  “Dove,” Sammy interjected. “Her name is Dove.”

  “Great. Now Dove, I need you to understand something. I may look normal, but believe me I am far from it. Not too long ago, I woke up dead in a morgue. Zipped up in a body bag, I thought my friends played a prank on me. Instead, I found the world turned upside down. It turns out that this little condition affecting people is the result of an alien microorganism trying to colonize animal hosts. In most animals, the colonization happens without a hitch. In humans, it all goes wrong if the microorganism reaches the brain. Something about human brain chemistry drives the bugs insane.”

  Don’t call us bugs!

  “In my case, my neck had been broken and the microorganisms could not reach my brain during their developmental stages. I survived colonization and have a symbiotic relationship with the microorganisms. Most other humans just turned to blood-thirsty monsters. In order for my body to survive, I need to feed on blood.”

  “And what? You expect me to be a donor?” She raised her hands in defense.

  “No. I feed on animal blood. Human blood would degenerate the microorganisms in my body and turn me into a common zombie. There are proteins in animal blood that the colonies need to survive. In return, the colonies have regenerated and enhanced my body.”

  She pinched her eyes tight. “So, what are you? Are you dead? Alive?”

  “Yes,” I returned without any inflection.

  “Yes what? I don’t understand.”

  “I suppose I am a self-aware version of a Lord. I am still myself, the same Byron Marks who died on his college campus, but my body has been fortified and enhanced by these little critters running in my veins.”

  “What do you mean enhanced?”

  “Just that. I have been enhanced. I am stronger, faster, see better, hear better. All my senses are greater than during my human life.”

  The corners of her mouth turned up and downward at the same time. “You’re like one of those stupid vampires from that movie series.” Dove laughed.

  “Not quite.” I could feel the warmth of blood pooling in my cheeks.

  Evan started laughing. So did John. “What movies?” Sammy asked.

  I tried to stay even-keel, but my voice betrayed my annoyance. “I only told you this because I need to feed. These two have become accustomed to me sucking on rats and animals. But newcomers may not take so kind to it. I also wanted to tell you, because these microorganisms speak to me in my mind. It’s not fun sharing your mind with a colony of alien beings, and sometimes I grumble and groan at them. Like before. But if you’ll excuse me, I need to feed the little beasts.” I didn’t wait for a reply or response, but ran with all my might into the nearest apartment building I could find. The familiar smell of rats filled my sinuses. A family nested nearby and they would be my meal. The darkness of the building’s cellar absorbed me, but I saw everything in the near absolute blackness with perfect detail.

  Little beasts? Why did you call us this?

  “It’s meant with affection. Don’t be so sensitive. Now be quiet, or I won’t be able to hunt.”

  We don’t need to be silent. Only you can hear us.

  I sighed deep and chose not to respond. In a few moments, I located the rat’s nest behind a cement block wall and punched through it, grabbing a handful of morsels by the tail. One by one I drained them, letting their warm, sticky blood course its way down my throat. My muscles surged with new strength and agility. I had waited too long since my last feeding. Grabbing another handful, I scanned the room for something to put them in. These would be a road snack. I couldn’t afford to go so long between feedings.

  With my other hand, I emptied a plastic toolbox onto the floor and stuffed the rats inside, slamming the lid shut before they could escape. In a flash, I reemerged from the building and stepped into the daylight. My companions stood right where I left them.

  Dove pointed at me. “How the hell did you get over there?” I almost laughed at the tone of her voice. Shock, awe, astonishment.

  John gave me a golf clap. “You’re getting faster at this, my man. Did you feed the need?”

  I nodded and held up the toolbox. “Brought a snack, too.” I walked back into the middle of the pack at normal human speed.

  “Good. Now let’s get over to my parents’ place.”

  “Yes. Let’s.” I tried not to stare at the expression plastered on Dove’s face.

  chapter five

  I couldn’t help but stare at him. Even as we made our way through the city streets, I kept casting glances his way. He moved so fast. In one instant he stood talking to me, the next thing I knew he stepped out of a building holding a box filled with rats. It made no sense. What was happening to the world?

  “So where do your parents live?” I asked, not sure which guys to direct my question to.

  The burly guy, John, responded. “They’re about three blocks that way. They own a townhouse off Swain Street. If they’re still here. What about you? Where does your Aunt live?”

  “She’s in a row house on South Mildred Street.”

  “South Philly? Wow. You’re right by the stadium.” It surprised me to see no judgment in his eyes. Parts of South Philly could be sketchy.

  “Yeah, and you’re over by Eastern States.” I guess I could have said it a little nicer than I did. He didn’t seem to react to the snark in my voice.

  “Hey. It’s all good. When did this all start in Philly? We got hit in New Jersey a little while ago.”

  “I’m not sure. I don’t pay attention to the news much. I’m usually too busy driving from one old place to another.”

  “Wait a minute. Are you Sabrina Dove?” The mousy guy, Evan, stared at me with squinting eyes.

  I hesitated, trying to read his expression. “Yes.”

  “I watch your channel on YouTube. I love the work you do—documenting old factories, churches, schools. The coolest was that haunted insane asylum a few years back. Looked like you had your wits scared out of you.”

  I chuckled. A fan! “Yeah. That episode got pretty intense.”

  “So how is it that you missed the zombie apocalypse erupting around you?”

  I stopped chuckling. “I don’t pay attention to the news and I’m off and about at odd hours. Sometimes I need to go visit places late at night. Other times, I need to go early in the morning. Sometimes I’m lucky to go around noon. I don’t always have the news on the radio. I’m usually listening to some CDs or my MP3 player. Sorry. I didn’t know it was a crime not to listen to the news.”

  “Not a crime,” Byron chimed in, his voice just above a whisper. “Just an inconvenience. I missed the news, too. The difference being that death makes it hard to catch a newscast.” I couldn’t tell where he meant to direct the authoritative tone in his voice. “We should talk a little quieter. I can hear some of the commoners wandering inside the buildings. We don’t want to attract a swarm.”

  “Commoner? Do you mean a Goner?”

  He stopped walking and turned in my direction. His gaze made me feel uneasy. “Goner? Is that what you’re calling them here? Goners?” He tipped his head to one side, as if trying the word on for
size. “I like it. What you are calling Goners, I call common zombies, or Commoners.”

  “What are the Lords?”

  “Lords are like me. They are enhanced by the microorganisms. However, they no longer retain any of their humanity. They are driven purely by the demented microorganisms inside them. They kill and eat without any preference. They’ll eat humans, animals, anything. That’s why they retain the high functions. Because they intake non-human animals, the microorganisms survive better and make the Lords into more efficient hunter/killers. Their appetite is insatiable so far as we’ve seen. The colonies inside of me have never seen anything like this happen before in all the species they have invaded. Humans have had a truly unique reaction to them.”

  “What happened to those Lords you mentioned were following us before?”

  “They are still there. Just laying low. I would hazard a guess that John, Evan, and I have developed quite a reputation among the Lords, so they keep their distance. We have killed a few dozen of them. The colonies have a way of communicating with each other through the use of chemical and hormonal signals. So my colonies send out a strong warning signal, and most Lords pay attention. The colonies occupying the commoners have lost too much of their own identities to even understand their own communication methods. So they will attack without hesitation.”

  “At least we’re safe from the Lords, then.”

  “Not quite. If a horde swarms us, the Lords will push the advantage and attack, too. We’ve had it happen. Which is why we need to stay as quiet as possible.”

  We stopped at the corner of Brown and North 26th Street. Small storefront delis and coffee shops fronted toward the intersection. Shadows passed behind the windows with odd, jerky movements. The figures that came into view wore clothing blackened with various unidentifiable stains. Gray and white flesh poked out from rips and tears, or the occasional uncovered area. None lived.

  “We need to keep moving,” Byron whispered. I could smell his breath. Despite what he told me about being undead and drinking blood, it smelled minty. “There are only Goners here, and they’re beginning to notice us.”

  Almost as if it heard his comment, a glass pane broke in one of the doors and a hand reached through. Moans resonated through the desolate intersection.

  I didn’t need much more inspiration than that. Breaking into a sprint, I headed south along North 26th Street on John’s heels. Evan and Sammy kept pace right behind me. Byron stood back in the intersection, both Katanas drawn, ready to protect our retreat.

  John turned right down the first block across from a row of mansard-roofed townhouses. Little more than a glorified alley, cars choked Swain Street. John ran to the far end of the block and stopped in front of a two-story row home with a rooftop garden spilling over its walls.

  I turned to see Sammy and Evan a few paces behind, but saw no sign of Byron. Turning back to John, I saw him remove his key. Byron materialized from nowhere, walked up the steps and placed a hand on his friend’s shoulder. “Remember John, whatever happens—happens.”

  ~ ~ ~

  The inside of John’s house surprised me. He had told me about it plenty of times, but I never realized that something so modern could exist within a brick-clad nineteenth century row house. It stood in stark contrast to the exterior decor of historic Philadelphia neighborhoods and reflected the ideals and beliefs of the early twentieth-century’s intellectual giants. Clean lines, geometric shapes, simple colors. That final aspect alone spoke volumes—simplicity.

  “My God, John. I had no idea you grew up in an art museum,” Evan teased as we passed through the front door.

  “Beats growing up in a sewer,” John mumbled back.

  I drew in a deep breath. Nothing fetid struck me right away. Hope still lived that his parents may have survived.

  “Mom! Dad!” John called out to them as he ran toward the back of the house.

  Something moved upstairs.

  “John, wait!” He stopped in his tracks and turned to look at me. I pointed my finger up at the ceiling. “There’s something moving about up there.”

  “Is it a something, or a someone, Byron?”

  I shrugged. In all honesty, I couldn’t tell. Usually my senses could detect if a place were occupied by Goners. But right now, I drew a blank. “Your guess is as good as mine.”

  “Wrong,” he said, stabbing a finger at me. “Your guess is a hell of a lot more educated and accurate than mine ever will be.”

  I grinned. “True.”

  “I vote we send the dead guy to check it out,” Dove offered up.

  I shot her a nasty glare. “The dead guy has a name, and it is Byron.”

  “Yeah, well, miss punk rocker has a name, too,” Sammy interjected. “It’s Freakshow.” He started laughing, showing his browned and yellowed teeth.

  “You two been dating long?” I asked Dove, chuckling under my breath.

  She whipped around and glared at me with a stare that could freeze boiling water.

  “Hey, if looks could kill, I’d be...” I gave her a huge grin. “Oh wait, I already am dead.”

  Sammy’s laughter went from a rolling chuckle to snorts and guffaws.

  John smacked him on the shoulder. “Hey, you mind keeping it down?”

  I draped an arm around John’s shoulder. “What say we go upstairs and check on your parents?”

  Tears threatened at the corners of his eyes. He nodded without lifting his gaze from the floor.

  “Moment of truth,” I muttered as I ascended the stairway, drawing both Katanas as I did.

  The modern decor continued up the stairs. I had to admit, despite the cold appearance to the style, it still managed to feel homey.

  As we crested the stair into the hallway, a soft thump resonated from a room at the far end. John pointed, an aluminum baseball bat resting on his shoulder, looking like Babe Ruth calling out his hits. “That’s mom and dad’s room.”

  I nodded, zipping down the hallway without a sound. I sniffed at the door. My senses reeled with the overpowering odors of Chanel perfume and human body stench.

  I knocked on the door, with a light touch. “Hello? Anybody in there?”

  Blam! Blam!

  The door exploded outward. Thousands of lead pellets pelted my skin, sending me reeling backward. Both swords went flying from my hands. One stuck into a nearby wall, the other clattered to the floor.

  “Whoa! Don’t shoot!” John shouted behind me.

  “God dammit!” I shouted. “What the hell is wrong with you people? Zombies don’t knock!” I grabbed my chest as the sensation of being stabbed with a thousand acidic needles faded. I ripped the one sword from the wall and kicked the other up into the air before sheathing them both behind my back.

  “Dad!” John shouted as he ran down the hallway.

  “John? Is it really you?”

  “Yeah, Dad! It’s me.”

  “Is everyone okay?” A face peered around the doorjamb down the hallway at me, likely trying to figure out why I was still standing and not dead. “I didn’t mean to hurt anyone. It’s just that things have gotten a little tough around here.”

  I heard footsteps pound on the stairs and I glanced over the railing, holding my hand up to stop anyone from coming up.

  “Yeah, we noticed,” John replied to his dad. “Are you guys both okay?”

  Silence. A taller, thicker version of John stepped through the doorway. He had gray hair and a beard, but in every other way, he seemed the identical match to what John would look like in his fifties.

  “Dad? Is mom okay?”

  The elder man turned his gaze to the floor. “I’m sorry son. One of those damn things got her the other day.” His voice cracked as he spoke. I could see dampness pooling along his lower eyelid. “She’s out there somewhere.”

  John stepped in toward his father and wrapped his arms around the massive man. John’s father seemed the kind of man who never cried, the stoic, larger-than-life father figure of myth, legend, and childhood r
ecollections. But to see him here so vulnerable dashed that illusion to pieces. I backed out of the room, my wounds already closing over. They needed some time alone. Time to talk, father to son. Time to grieve over a wife and mother.

  About halfway down the steps, Dove shouted up the stairs at me. “What the hell happened up there? Did someone get shot?”

  “Yeah, me. But the microorganisms already healed the wounds. Ruined my shirt, though. I liked this shirt.” I opened up my trench coat and showed her the tattered shreds of blood stained cloth. The color drained from her face, leaning toward pale green.

  She collected herself, stiffened a little, and grimaced. “Oh. Okay. At least it’s nothing serious.” She turned her back to me and stalked across the room.

  I joined the group in the front room. “Yeah. Taking both barrels of a shotgun point blank to the chest is nothing serious.” I glared at her a moment, trying to burn a hole in the back of her head with my stare, then turned to Evan. “John’s dad is still alive. He’s the one who shot me. His mom didn’t make it.”

  Evan hung his head. “That’s terrible.”

  “Hey,” I lay my hand on his shoulder, “his dad is still alive. And who knows, your parents may have survived as well.”

  “I hope so.”

  “So do I. As soon as we finish up with John’s dad, we’ll go find Dove’s aunt. Then we’re off to Ohio, where with any luck your family is still safe and sound.”

  “Do you think others have survived? Could there be a place this thing hasn’t hit?”

  “I don’t know,” I responded. “And neither does my colony. They were just part of the colonizing team. They didn’t have access to what sort of tactics were being employed during colonization. There could be places in the countryside where colonies didn’t reach. We will need explore more to be certain. I am hoping that John’s dad has a little more information about what’s been going on. Maybe there have been news reports or something.”

  Almost in response to my words, two sets of footsteps echoed down the stairway.