Dead: Snapshot 01: Portland, Oregon

by T. W. Brown

  And then the impossible happened.

  Frank sat up.

  It Begins: Jason Edwards

  Jason Edwards stepped through the gate. It wasn’t much, but in that single step, he had gone from being an inmate and “guest” of the Oregon Department of Corrections to being a free man. Well, sort of anyway. He still had a parole officer to report to, but he knew that was going to be temporary. He would be walking the straight line this time.

  This latest stint down had cost him everything. Apparently that had been what it took for him to decide that he needed to make some major life changes. He’d walked away from the gang inside. That had been tough. The subsequent assaults to try to get him to change his mind had been futile. If nothing else, they had convinced him that he was on the right path.

  The large city bus pulled up to the stop and he climbed aboard. The driver gave him that look. It was obvious.

  The old version of Jason would have said something nasty to the obscenely overweight man who had given him the stink eye as Jason swiped the state-issued card that would provide him with bus fare for the next forty-eight hours. This version simply smiled politely and walked to the rear of the bus.

  Sitting down, he took a moment to look around. A mirror just above the mid-bus exit revealed a reflection that made him smile. He had gone in for this latest and final trip down in terrible shape. The smoking and the drinking had made him a scrawny, tall man who looked almost twenty years older than his actual thirty. To add insult to injury, he had been sporting a rather pronounced pot-belly that made his tall frame look even more bizarre.

  He had hit the track and the weight room every chance he got. In addition, he had put in for the vegetarian diet. It was only a real sacrifice on Fridays when the standard hamburgers and fries dinner was put on the line. Still, he saw this as a test of his discipline. If he could say no to burgers and fries, he could do just about anything.

  Now, at age thirty-seven, he was in probably the best shape of his life. Not only that, but he had enrolled in some programs this time that helped him write a resume after obtaining his GED. An old friend had even offered him a job on a construction crew. After checking in with his parole officer, he would be heading down to the job site to fill out the paperwork. This would be another new experience. In all his life, Jason had never worked “on the books.” He had always been paid under the table in order to avoid the county being able to get their hands on his money to pay off his fines. This time would be different. He would live within the confines of the system.

  It had been seven years this time. An old home invasion he had actually committed before his last stretch had come back to haunt him. One of the guys on that ride had been busted for some major shit. He had dropped dimes on everybody in the crew in order to get a deal put on the table that would not see him strapped to a gurney and given the lethal needle.

  Jason stared out the window as the bus rumbled past a ratty looking strip mall. He spotted a coffee shack and his mouth began to water in response. Then he saw something else that made him question his eyesight. Reaching up, he tugged the cord that rang the chime indicating to the driver that he needed to stop at the next bus stop.

  He jumped up as the bus slowed. The driver seemed to give the brakes an extra hard tap which sent him lurching forward. Jason’s eyes shot up and locked on those of the driver as he scowled in his big rearview mirror.

  “Not worth it, pal,” he whispered to himself.

  The doors opened with a hiss. Jason gripped his small carry bag and jumped off. He would catch the next one. He still had a few hours before he needed to be at his PO’s office. He had seen something, and if he saw what he thought he saw, maybe he would start off on a good foot with whoever got his case. Besides, when he got on that next bus, it wouldn’t be right in front of the Columbia River Correctional Institution. Maybe the driver would just treat him like every other passenger.

  Jason ran across the lot and headed for the alley that ran alongside the strip mall. There was a dingy cinder block wall that made that alley along the side of the shops and allowed just enough room for a pedestrian or bicycle.

  As he got close, he could hear something odd. It sounded like wet slurping or smacking, like somebody with really bad table manners. That had him puzzled. He rounded the corner and froze.

  He had believed that he had spotted a possible rape in progress. He had seen the figure grab the other and drag it down. Jason had just assumed…

  “My God,” he breathed.

  A body was, in fact, sprawled on the asphalt. There was a dark pool spreading out from it. However, the attacker was not raping the victim. In truth, the attacker was a woman. But her face was a dark mask. He knew it was blood despite the early morning hour preventing any real light from pushing back the gloomy shadows that struggled to maintain their foothold for just a while longer.

  The victim was on his back. Despite the relative darkness, Jason could see that the man had been ripped open at the belly. The woman had had her face buried in that ugly tear until he arrived on the scene. Now, her head was up, something dark and thick dripping from her mouth and landing with a wet splat on the concrete.

  Jason backed up and turned to run, but a bright flash of white light blinded him momentarily and caused him to halt. The light blinked off and a lady emerged from her car. She eyed Jason with suspicion. After all, it was barely six in the morning, and here he was at the edge of the alley running alongside the strip mall, caught in the headlights just as he was obviously about to flee.

  The woman emerging from the car was perhaps in her late twenties. She was a bit heavy with long dark hair pulled back in a bun. She had dark eyes and Jason guessed her to be Hispanic.

  “I don’t want any trouble,” the woman warned in a shaky voice that confirmed his suspicion as to her nationality. Her hand went into her pocket and emerged gripping a phone.

  “Call the cops!” Jason exclaimed.

  He glanced over his shoulder just as the woman in the alley was taking her first steps his direction. But then the man on the ground sat up, his insides spilling from the hole torn in his gut. The lady with the phone looked confused.

  “Call them…NOW!” Jason spun and backed up, his eyes not daring to leave the sight of the pair heading his way from that dark alley. He heard an audible gasp as the pair emerged.

  Good, he thought, now maybe she will call—

  The thought vanished when he heard the thud and a soft clatter. He spun to see the woman lying unconscious on the ground, her phone a few feet away where it had skittered after her hand relaxed and let go.

  Without giving it another thought, he ran to the woman, scooped her up, and carried her to the car. The driver’s side door was still open and he shoved her in, pushing her awkwardly over to the passenger’s seat of the old model Buick.

  As he put the car in gear and stomped on the gas, he had the briefest thought. Maybe I would have been safer in prison. He looked in the rearview mirror as the two figures lurched and stumbled after him in futility.

  He went a few blocks and pulled in to a fast food place. He briefly registered the fact that the place was closed despite the sign that read “Open 24 Hours” that spun lazily under the main marquee.

  Looking over at the unconscious woman, Jason sighed in resignation. He’d heard news reports the past several days talking about some sort of weird infection or something that was causing people to attack each other in horrible ways. It hadn’t been long before the “Z” word started making circulation.

  Gritting his teeth, Jason picked the woman’s purse up off the floor of the passenger’s side. He glanced again to see if the woman might be waking. He felt a tingle of discomfort as he opened the purse and rummaged through it until he found what he was looking for: a wallet.

  Opening the orange wallet that practically exploded in his hands from being stuffed beyond capacity, Jason pulled the driver’s license out and read the details.

  “Juanita Reyes, born Octobe
r thirteenth, Nineteen eighty-six. Address, Two-one-oh-four Northeast Flanders Street.” Jason tossed the wallet and license back into the purse. “Not too far from my old hood, Juanita.”

  Jason took that as a good omen. This lady lived someplace that he could find without help. Pulling out into the light traffic of the morning, he switched on the radio.

  “…as reports continue to come in at an alarming rate. The CDC has issued a statement that this sickness being called the ‘Blue Death’ by some, is quickly reaching epidemic proportions. However, they were equally quick to dismiss claims that this was what some are calling the start of the…” there was a nervous titter before the voice read the next bit, “…Zombie Apocalypse. Dr. Linda Sing had this to say.”

  There was a slight pause, and then the audio resumed. “Those rumors of the dead coming back and attacking the living are beyond ludicrous. Ignoring the pure physiological impossibility, there is simply no way this can be considered with any seriousness.”

  “Well, I don’t know about the old doc, but I think folks are getting a bit carried away. We will be back with thirty minutes of your favorite classic rock. In fact, I think in honor of Dr. Sing and the folks at the CDC in Atlanta, we will kick off your next rock block with a two-fer from The Grateful Dead right after a few messages.”

  A loud and far-too-excited voice began to prattle on about the deals at a car dealership, but Jason had tuned it out. He was considering what he had seen. Unlike many of his fellow inmates that oddly enough could not get enough of Harry Potter or Twilight despite their convict status, Jason had been turned on to zombie fiction by a grizzled old man who he never saw without a book in his hand.

  The old man was down for life on a murder beef, but his passion back in his youth had apparently been movies by some guy named Romero. He had passed off a book called Zombie Fallout one day. Judging by the title, Jason had expected it to be something to do with nukes or radiation.

  He could not have been more wrong.

  He was up all that night reading. Jason was thrilled to discover that it was a series. He found that he really could relate to that Talbot guy. And that proved to be the tip of the iceberg. There were hundreds of titles when it came to zombies. Some were better than others, and some were just downright ridiculous.

  The last year, he must have read forty or more titles when it came to zombies. As unlikely and far-fetched as it seemed, this was exactly what was happening. Of course there was no way he could actually say such a thing out loud; he would be committed before the end of the day.

  No, Jason decided, he had to act like everything was fine. At least for now. Once he got this woman home safely, he would go to the parole officer and do his check in. That would buy him a week. In that time, he would either be proven right, or he would be smacking himself for being such an idiot.

  A soft moan to his right got Jason’s attention. He decided that he needed to be proactive and start talking to this woman so that, hopefully, she wouldn’t freak out.

  “Hey, you okay, Juanita?” Jason spoke softly.

  He was only a few blocks from her home, perhaps if he pulled in and then got out of the car and just walked away, she wouldn’t freak out. The last thing he needed was to be accused of kidnapping some woman. That would get him right back in the lockup. Even worse, he would be facing charges that would ensure his time inside would be more unpleasant than normal.

  Jason turned on Flanders and spied the house. It was a blue two-story and had that typical Sixties-era look to it that was the norm in this area. The yard was well tended and a small scooter leaning by the porch hinted at children.

  Jason brought the car to a stop by the curb and shut off the engine. Hopping out, he grabbed his bag, slung it over his shoulder, and then went over to help the woman out of the car. He tried to put on his best smile. The look of confusion on her face battled with fear as she tentatively accepted his hand and climbed out of the car. As they walked up to her porch, he could sense her tension. Crap, Jason sighed inwardly, she thinks I’m a freak.

  “I brought you home after you passed out. I don’t want any trouble, and I could not leave you back there.”

  “That woman,” Juanita gasped. “She was…”

  Jason watched the emotions war for purchase on the woman’s face. He was slightly relieved that she had seen what he had seen back in the parking lot. Maybe he would get out of this without any hassles. She opened the front door and he nudged her forward so that she could go inside, He had turned to leave when a hand clutched his arm and pulled him back around.

  “Please don’t go,” the woman almost begged.

  “Look, Juanita, I gotta get to my PO before ten this morning or it’s my ass. I just got out of prison, and ain’t looking to go back.”

  If nothing else, Jason figured the woman would be glad to be rid of him as soon as he mentioned prison. Most folks did not want to associate with felons. The funny thing was how often people interacted with the men and women who had done time without even realizing it. It wasn’t like they all wore signs or something. And while there were certainly a fair share of them who were shining examples of the negative stereotype, there were actually more who just wanted to take another try at being part of the real world.

  He actually felt bad that it had taken three trips for his own awakening. However, he was committed, and that meant making the appointment with his parole officer. He seriously doubted that whoever had his case was going to want to hear that he was late because of a zombie apocalypse.

  “And how are you going to get there?” Juanita asked.

  Jason was actually taken aback by that question. He had been so prepared for a negative reaction and a frightened dismissal that he stood there with his mouth hanging open for several seconds.

  “I can drive you,” Juanita offered with a warm and genuine smile.

  If Jason was confused before, he was now absolutely dumbstruck…and just a little bit suspicious. He couldn’t help it. For the past several years, he had not seen anybody offer something that did not have strings attached.

  “It is all the way downtown,” Jason finally said. Nobody liked driving in downtown traffic, and it was getting to be close to eight or so in the morning. This would be the worst possible time to be driving in the grid.

  “Then we best get moving.” Juanita pulled his little bag of personal effects from his hand and set them inside the front door before shutting it and locking it. She hurried over to the driver’s seat after opening the passenger side door for him and waving that he join her. The drive seemed longer in the uncomfortable silence. Juanita had turned on the radio, but all of the news reports were clearly getting her nervous. Jason wanted to broach the topic of what had happened, but he simply did not know how.

  As the exit for downtown came up, Jason was more than a little surprised at the relatively light flow of traffic. When they reached the series of one-way streets, Juanita drove without needing to be told where to go. This caused Jason to suppress a smile.

  It was not until they pulled into the parking garage right across the street from the Justice Center that Jason turned in the seat and faced the woman. “Who you got in the system?”

  Juanita actually blushed. “A few people actually. My brother Tito is doing county time on a UUMV, and my sister Rosa is down for meth. I have a cousin named Juan Hoya who is in and out so much that I couldn’t even begin to tell you.”

  “So, you want to come in, or do you want to wait in the car?”

  Juanita looked around the parking garage and then back to Jason. Her wide eyes gave up her answer before she opened her mouth. “I don’t want to stay here alone.”

  With a nod, Jason hopped out of the car. Together, he and Juanita made it to the parole officer with plenty of time to spare. After signing in and waiting almost three hours, a woman from behind the desk called his name. Jason stood, stretching the kinks out in his back and trudged to the counter.

  “You have been scheduled for next Thursday at
eight AM,” the woman said without even looking up. She shoved an envelope through the slot under the protective glass. “You have been given a bus pass and an Oregon Trail card that has been credited with a hundred and ten dollars in food stamps.”

  “That took three hours?” Jason snapped, unable to bite back his anger.

  When the woman did not answer and simply continued to stare at her computer monitor, Jason grabbed the envelope and stomped back to where Juanita was tapping at her phone in obvious frustration. The woman looked up, her face was sapped of color and tears were welling up in her eyes.

  “What’s up?” Jason asked warily.

  “There are reports of attacks at Washington Park. Even worse, supposedly something has happened at the zoo,” Juanita sniffed.

  Jason didn’t get it at first. What was such a big deal about something happening at the zoo?

  “The zoo was hosting two schools that came for a field trip.”

  That sentence sunk in and Jason winced. He could handle just about anything, but if animals or kids were involved, his sensitivity was raised several degrees.

  “We need to get out of downtown.” Jason took her by the arm.

  They exited out onto the streets of downtown Portland. There was a sense of hustle, but it was tempered with something else. In a way, it reminded Jason of when a riot was about to go down inside. Everybody usually knew it was coming—even the guards. There was this calm before the storm that crept in and took root in the pit of the stomach. That was what he felt now. This was bad. He didn’t know if it would be anything like those crazy books, but he was certain of a few things. If you thought a storm was coming, you prepared. If it blew past or turned out to be nothing like the forecasters said, then you were ready for next time.

  “We need to head to the store,” Jason said as they entered the relative darkness of the covered parking garage.