by James Master
A few keystrokes and Hank was already posting the image he captured of the undead in the elevator. Adding text to go with the picture “Appears that the man I captured in the elevator did, in fact, turn into a zombie. Here pictured below, is the still shot I got from my security camera. Eat it master4460. I told you he would turn. Less than an hour, slower from what I've monitored. Check out my video page for the complete change, also you can find it on my account name Undead_Pika on youtube.com for more videos on the Indiana Quarantine event currently taking place.”
He leaned back in his chair stretching. Standing up, his legs protested, cramping from hours of inactivity. Walking into his living room like an old waddling man, he turned on his plasma television for any news of the quarantine. None of the cable stations were showing anything but static, but that didn’t surprise Hank. The satellites were out of commission since the outbreak started. Hank scowled at the television, tossing the remote control down on the couch. Moving into the kitchen he pulled the curtains aside to peer through the wrought iron bars, looking towards the city. Columns of smoke were puffing into the air, proving the city had turned into total chaos. Opening the fridge he pulled out a two liter of Pepsi. He carefully measured twelve ounces into his normal cup and replaced the bottle. Returning to his workstation, he sat down with a sigh of relief.
*** 2 ***
Silently Ben Jones opened the utility door that led to the tunnel into the undead world. His rifle held with his left, he switched on the lights with his right. He waited a moment, letting his eyes adjust to the light. Slowly, he entered the access tunnel that led to the garage. It was where Ben worked on his classic cars. He owned the business, but left the running of its operations to his head mechanic, Mike, who was unaware of the tunnel underneath the garage. Only Ben and the people that built it know, now it was only Ben that knows. The electric golf cart he kept for these occasions was where he left it last. The tunnel ran below right underneath the wall connecting to the garage about two miles away from the wall. Ben didn't need any exercise now so he hopped on his cart and zipped down the tunnel at a whopping five miles an hour.
Jessica, meanwhile, was staring at the first lunch she had ever made. A whole wheat low fat peanut butter sandwich and a handful of Lays baked potato chips followed with a tall glass of skim milk. She took the meal into the dining room, still unable to eat in the kitchen, and sat down. She picked up the sandwich and ate it without any preamble. Chips and milk followed soon after. Wiping her face with a napkin, she gathered her plate and cup and carried them into the kitchen. Placing them in the sink, she looked at the dishes from the past day and felt her anxiety grow. She was dreading washing the dishes. Along with being the helps job, washing the dishes meant getting dishwasher hands and she wasn’t about to risk spoiling her lovely skin for a couple of measly dishes. She knew her father would be angry if she didn't, but how could she? Quickly turning around, she walked briskly out of the kitchen and up to her room to relax. She knew her nails could use some work. Her father couldn't get made at her then. She can't wash dishes with wet polish.
She sat down at her vanity table and looked through her collection to pick out one of her favorite colors, aqua blue. She searched around for a couple minutes when she came to a deadly conclusion. “I'm out of aqua blue, son of a bitch.”
Her hand flew to her mouth. That was one of the few times she ever used a swear word. Out of habit, even though she knew she was alone, Jessica glanced around as if someone had overheard her faux pas. She looked down at the many bottles of nail polish with a sigh. She liked aqua blue. She plucked one out.
“Eck, Mesa Verde Green. I'd have to change my skirt. This would mean changing my shirt. Hmm, I guess I wouldn't have to if I put the green cardigan on.” She looked at the mirror, finally noticing that she was talking to herself. She placed the little bottle of Mesa Verde Green on the table and stood up, jumping on her bed, she started laughing.
“Zombies outside, dirty dishes everywhere and here I am without any aqua blue. Now I'm starting to talk to myself.” She laughed some more so hard she snorted a couple of times, causing her to laugh even more. “Wouldn’t that be a funny? Unclean dishes and silverware attacking the clean dishes making them dirty. When the sink is full, the dirty dishes will walk the Earth!”
*** 3 ***
Ben got out of the cart and stretched his legs, yawning. The trip was so boring he almost fell asleep. He drifted off once and almost ran the cart into the left wall of the tunnel. Walking stiffly to the back of the cart, Ben picked up a nearly, empty backpack. He slung it over his back and walked up a staircase that led to a door. Past the door was a ladder that led up to a drainage gate in the basement of the garage. He climbed the ladder, stopping as he got to the gate, listening for any sign of the undead. Hearing nothing, he reached with his left hand to his belt and in one of his pouches he produced a small telescopic handled mirror. He extended it an inch and slid it through the grate. Ben looked into the mirror, swiveling it like a periscope. Nothing dead or alive was up there that he could see, so he pocketed the mirror and pushed the grate free. Ben climbed into the basement causing just a bit of sound. The drainage grate scrapping across the cement sounded about the same as a bomb going off in the eerie silence of the basement. Ben drew his pistol and reached into his belt pouches. This time he produced a silencer, twisting it onto his gun barrel.
Glancing around to get his baring’s, he walked over to the door that led into the first floor. Climbing the stairs quietly proved to be somewhat of a challenge. The wood staircase was creaking worse than an old man's hip. When Ben finally made it to the door, he reached for the mirror again. Slowly, he crouched to the ground and, using the mirror, looked into the garage from the crack between the floor and the door. Spying three sets of feet, Ben carefully stood, pocketed his mirror, and with one hand firmly gripped on the handle of the gun, pushed open the door with his other. A seemingly loud creaking filled the room, causing the three zombies to turn towards the source. Ben had already dispatched one before the other two even saw him. They started to shamble towards Ben. He let out a sigh of relief seeing them shambling and not running. Two pssts filled the air as one more zombie fell down. The other started raising its arms when it fell down next to its companions. Ben took a moment as he reloaded his 9mm.
Ben covered his face with his handkerchief as he knelt down next to one of the bodies. He had recognized the corpse as Mike, the garage manager. Searching the body, he found a set of keys to Mikes brand new Camaro. Carefully pocketing the keys, Ben walked over to the windows, light spilling into the waiting area of the garage.
The outside was a disaster area, he observed. The road was littered with abandoned cars. It looked passable, however. There were more cars going out of Oxford than going in. Ben took out a pair of binoculars and spied as far down the road that led into town. He then spent a minute or two until he found the Camaro that Mike the Mechanic had treasured in life. He found the blue sports car with the white stripe running down its middle parked exactly where Mike always parked.
He took the keys out of his pocket as he slowly took hold of the handle of the door to the outside world. His breathing started to get short in quick bursts and felt his heartbeat get steadily faster, each thud felt like someone nailing his coffin shut. Ben looked outside the garage and found none of the undead wandering the parking lot. He did see a deer grazing on the other side of the road. A moment later he watched as a fawn jumped out of the wooded area and started grazing next to its mother. Seeing this calmed Ben's heart enough that he was ready to go out and face the sunlight. He forgot that when you open the door, the bells welcoming customers clanged, reminding Ben of those huge bells on farms that announced dinner was served. With an enormous effort of will, Ben stepped out into the open.
*** 4 ***
Starke was proud with himself. He trusted the gut feelings he gets occasionally. He needed to get to a computer fast and communicate with his colleague. His gut told him to ch
eck out the apartment complex that was across from his hiding place. He had holed up there after his McDonald's feast. The last of the fries eaten, he decided it was time to check in with the man based out of Indy. He was a corpulent asshole, but Starke was bound to him by their superior.
The complex was one of those deals where four different building house their tenants. Starke eyed the buildings with a scope from one of his guns, long since lost, until his gut told him which one was his destination. Stepping outside his hideout, Starke breathed deeply. Looking both ways before crossing the street, more out of habit than actual concern for traffic, he quickly made his way to the apartment.
Unlocking the apartment, Starke pocketed his lock picks and drew Eddie’s gun from the gun belt he had managed to scavenge from Eddie’s body. Not expecting any zombies to be inside the apartment, Starke still kept the gun loosely by his side. The apartment was a two bedroom one bath, he noticed as he searched for any undead, happy to find none. While searching, he reasoned that it was once lived in by a single mother and her daughter. Walking into the kid's room, he sat down in a wicker rocking chair. Starke sighed in relief as a book caught his eye while he rocked. Stopping, he picked the book up and read the title, “Cloudy with a Chance of Meatballs.” Starke jumped as he heard a voice behind him.
“Daddy, Daddy, read it again. Just one more time, please. I promise I'll go to bed afterward.” He turned his head to see who had said it, but Starke already knew the voice. The voice belonged to a boy that looked exactly how Starke remembered his son. Starke shook his head.
“You’re not Daniel. You can’t be my son, so who the hell are you?” The boy laughed sending shivers up Starke's spine.
“Daddy quit being funny. I am your son.” Daniel tilted his head, his voice changing into a deeper, sinister voice. “Who else could I be?”
Starke stood up suddenly, pulling his gun up, aiming it at the boy with a shaking arm. “Don’t dare impersonate my son. Do it again and I swear to God I’ll shoot.”
“You gave up faith in your God years ago so don’t use his name in my presence again. If you do, your spawn will burn forever in Hell.” The thing impersonating Starke's boy laughed. “Starke, I should snap your runt's neck for what you've done. I needed Edward alive. Do you realize what I must do to compensate for your recklessness?” His momentary dash of courage ran out as Starke dropped the gun on the wicker rocking chair and fell to his knees. “I'm sorry Master. Please, I beg of you, don't torture my son. Ed's death was a mistake pure and simple. Roland's still kicking though. That's good right?”
The thing smiled, “Yes, I suppose, but even still, Roland is no use until he reaches Indianapolis. That is what your new task will be. Make sure he gets there Starke. Remember what happens if you fail. Also, I can see through the eyes of my minions. Your 'mistake' was not as you said. I saw how Edward died by your hand. Lie to me again and I will tear out your son's guts and feed them to you.” The boy tilted his head again but didn't stop. The head continued until a loud snap caused Starke to close his eyes. He opened his eyes a minute later only to find no dead boy in the room. It was just him and the book he was still holding was cloudy with a chance of tear drops.
Chapter Seven
*** 1 ***
Scavenging everything they could possibly carry, Roland and his crew started tracking Starke. It had been three days since Starke had fled and Roland was already having doubts about finding the man. They decided to return to the street where he had escaped, desperate of finding any clues where to look for Starke. It took almost half a day, due to Roland’s insistence that they keep using his method of roof/ladder method of travel. They took a break when they arrived back on the pharmacy roof where they started.
Roland and John walked out of the drug store and then signaled for Ashley to follow. It was noon and the sun beat down on them, Roland started sweating as he stepped into the empty street. John, also feeling the heat, took off his handkerchief and wiped his brow. “Lord Jesus, it's a hot one today. It's October. Why is it this hot? I mean Indiana weather is weird, but this is crazy hot.”
Roland nodded in agreement. “Who knows, maybe Al Gore is right. Maybe global warming is happening.”
“Uh huh, you must be a democrat. Only those guys would believe that crap.” Ashley caught up with both of them as they headed down the street. “In a world where the dead walk the earth, how can we think something is impossible?” John exchanged looks with Roland and shrugged. “Point taken girl, now let's see where our buddy Starke went off to.”
Roland walked to where Starke was last seen. He knelt down and tried to remember that day. Failing to recall exactly which building he ran off to he looked over to John. “John, do you remember seeing which building he ran into?” He had his own guess but wanted to hear John's opinion. John rubbed his chin.
“I don't know Roland. It was rather hectic that day. I think it was the one between those two.” It was the one that Roland also thought. “Alright,” he said standing up, “let's get off the streets.”
The trio moved across the street and stopped short at the entrance. Roland signaled them to stop. Leaning with his back against the wall, Roland peeked into the building. He saw four zombies shambling about, backs turned to Roland.
Turning back, he indicated the numbers by holding four fingers up. Roland drew his newly acquired machete from the mall; John took his newly found fire ax and hefted it across his chest, holding it in both hands. Roland looked over to Ashley who had her single shot at her side, her eyes full of concern. Roland nodded and started walking quietly into the room, trying not to attract the undead. He lifted the machete and swung with all his strength. John was in the room by the time the first zombie had fallen, swinging at the next closest zombie. The remaining two undead turned around facing Roland and John but didn't attack or moan, they just stood there staring. Roland, in his struggle to get the machete freed from the neck bone of the now dead zombie, looked up at the two motionless zombies. John dug his ax out and brought it back into his hands as Roland finally freed his machete and stood. The four of them stood staring at each other. Roland and John had matching expressions of shock while the undead stood there with blank, emotionless faces.
The live two shared a glance at each other. Their looks were the same, surprised and curious. Roland shrugged and stepped forward bringing the machete down on its head splitting the skull, digging deep in the brain. To Roland's surprise, the thing crumpled to the floor taking the blade out of Roland's hand. He looked up, expecting the other zombie to attack. John was there instead, bending to grab the machete, yanking it out of the skull. Handing it to his buddy he said. “What the hell Roland? Why is it just standing there doing nothing?” Roland took his weapon back, ready for any attack from the zombie.
“I don't know. I've never seen anything like this before. It's creepy. What do we do, kill it?” John raised the ax as if he already knew the answer.
“Yup, we have to kill it. Those two would kill us in any normal circumstances. Normal these days anyway.”
He was about to deliver the deathblow when the zombie's hands started moving in weird patterns. Roland laid a hand on John's shoulder. “Wait, John, look at it. What the hell is it doing now?”
Ashley's voice piped in, full of curiosity and wonderment. “It's sign language.”
They both glanced back at the girl who shrugged. “I took it as an elective in high school last year.” Roland turned back to the zombie but spoke to Ashley. “Can you, umm, translate?” Instead of answering, she began doing what Roland asked.
“I would talk using vocal chords, but they are far too decayed in this body and you two have dispatched the ones that could speak. I wanted a chance to parlay with the one called Roland.” The hands paused, giving the group time to respond. Roland was thinking he was in a dream where zombies could communicate. This was something his father had never mentioned before. John was the first to break the silence.
“Kill it. Whatever it is, it can't
be good. Just let me kill it.” He started to raise the ax again, ready to swing.
Before he could the zombie started signing, Ashley instantly started translating. “Kill me Jonathon Francis Cavalier and you'll never find Starke.” John dropped the ax to the floor, startled by the zombie who knew his full name. “How the hell does it know my name?” Roland shook his head not knowing how the zombie was able to communicate with sign language.
Roland lowered the machete to his side. “My name is Roland. Who are you and what do you want?”
The hands began again with Ashley interpreting. “As to your first question, you will find out if you live that long. What I want is to help you find Starke. He is located at the McDonald's just east of here. That is where you should start looking.” The hands stopped. For a moment, Roland saw the intelligence from the zombie's eyes die out, the decaying yellow slowly eeked its way forward. It started to moan when John cut off its head. Silence filled the air until Ashley walked up towards the back door and shut it, leaning against it. “What the hell?” Roland shrugged, deciding not to try to explain it. John was too busy trying to make sense of the strange event that just happened. “We're taking directions from a zombie?” Answering before Roland could, Ashley said, “John, that wasn't a zombie, whatever it was, it was controlling it.”
*** 2 ***
Hank, when not ruining the government's plan of controlling information, kept himself entertained like any twenty-two-year-old shut in would: porn and video games. The video games consisted of either adult content or massive gore. He got up from his computer, closing the folder on his computer file named lesbians. Plopping down, the couch threatened to crash to the ground by creaking loudly. He switched on his Xbox 360, dismayed when it gave him the red ring of death. He sighed, waited a full minute, and tried again. His face scrunched up in anger when the game system still gave him the ring of death.
