Those Lazy Sundays: A Novel of the Undead

by Thomas North

  “Kate, let’s get the hell out of here,” Jack said.

  “But what about the guy we hit?"

  "I don't know, but I don't think it's safe out here. There's something weird going on. That guy isn't right either. Let's walk towards the town. Hopefully, we’ll run into Andy and all of them on the way back.”

  “What if we run into more of those people?” Kate asked.

  “We’ll avoid them. They don’t seem to be particularly quick. We can still get help for that guy." He paused. "If he can be helped.”

  Together, Jack and Kate hurried down the street, trying to leave the man on the ground, and Gumby-Neck, well behind them. Gumby-Neck, losing sight of his dinner, stopped in the street. He turned and looked behind him. For a brief moment, he thought he saw fresh meat, but smelled nothing but dead flesh. First two, then three, then four people like him emerged from the woods and staggered onto the road. He looked at them all hungrily, but ignored them.

  Gumby-Neck began staggering down the road again, walking in the direction that he last saw his meal. The other four people followed in tow, all five creatures staggering and stumbling their way down the Vermont road, on their way to what they hoped would be a nice feast.

  LESS THAN A minute after entering downtown Allentown, he saw why his brother had sounded the way he had. He drove straight to the police station as Mike had recommended, swerving to avoid the people who were walking nonchalantly in the middle of the road ˗ a lot of people.

  He parked his BMW in front of the police station next to his brother's cruiser, two spaces over from an SUV with 'Allentown Police Department' printed in plain letters on the side, and ran inside the building. He found Mike sitting at his desk in the small Allentown Police Station with an open First Aid Kit, wrapping a bandage around his arm. He hadn’t seen his brother in nearly six months, though they lived less than an hour away from each other. They hadn’t always gotten along well as kids, but the last year had definitely been the low point. Brothers have a special relationship, their dad used to tell them, and there are only two things that can kill it: girls, and money. In spite of their dad’s advice, they’d fallen prey to both. Their relationship had never died. Not completely. But for the past three-hundred sixty-five days, it had been on a respirator.

  Mike greeted him less than warmly, though somehow, Brent detected relief in his brother’s voice. He grabbed a chair and sat down, looking at a pile of bloody gauze sitting next to the First Aid Kit.

  “Mike, you okay?” he asked.

  Mike nodded. “Yeah. One of those things bit me.”

  “Things,” Brent repeated, slightly confused. He assumed his brother was talking about the people outside, but the word "things," for some reason, sent a chill through his body. Mike took his job serving the people seriously and usually talked very respectfully about the citizens in “his town,” as he often called it. He wouldn't call people in Allentown "things." No way.

  “Yes, things,” he replied with an out-of-character coldness that continued to make his brother's alarm bells ring. “There’s something wrong with them. They’re crazy. Not human.”

  “A lot of people cops deal with are either crazy or dirtbags,” Brent replied. “It was the same shit in the service. But at least according to the guy who gave us our powerpoint ethics classes, we’re supposed to pretend they’re real people.”

  “No Brent, I’m not speaking in some cynical philosophical code. I mean they’re really crazy. And dangerous.”

  Mike told him the whole story, this time going into full detail about everything that happened: finding ˗ and later, shooting ˗ the Anders family, the attack by Mrs. Samuels, Carl the mechanic, his inability to contact his deputy, and how he was injured. Brent listened without saying anything. When he finished, Brent leaned forward.

  “Jesus shit Mike, you killed four people?”

  “I told you what happened,” Mike replied. “Those people are not people. They would have made me their next meal if they could have, I have no doubt about that. Hell, they’d not only just killed one person, they were eating her, Brent.”

  He stopped.

  “Sure Mike, but I mean, goddamn. Do you have any idea how this is going to look? Four unarmed people dead with your gun.” He shook his head. “Shit. I always assumed if one of his was going to pop off, it’d be me.”

  “Do you really think I would have done it if there had been another way?” Mike asked. “Did you see those things out there in the street? They’re violent and dangerous, and there are dozens and dozens of them. It looks like the whole damn town has got it.”

  “I know man, I get that there’s a fuckin’ crisis going on… but damn.” Brent said, shaking his head. “For all we know the National Guard is going to roll in here in a few hours with a truck full of pills and cure everyone. What then?”

  "If the National Guard does show up, it'll be a while. I can't even get ahold of the State Police fifty miles away. Getting a damn busy signal every time." He stopped.

  "And I don’t think they can be cured, Brent. I told you, they are not people. I think they’re—“

  He stopped mid-sentence, cut off by the sound of an approaching vehicle outside, followed by the crunch of metal. Brent grabbed his pump-action shotgun and rushed to the front of the station. He peered through the barred front window and, seeing the van pressed against his BMW, swore out loud. His face turned red, and he could feel the anger welling in his stomach. He had never been a patient man – in that respect he was the polar opposite of his brother – and right now, he wasn’t in the mood for any bullshit.

  He threw the door open, stormed outside, and pointed his shotgun at the windshield of the van, glaring through the windshield. A chubby man with short brown hair sat in the driver’s seat – the guy who was responsible for crashing into his nearly brand new car – and a blond woman was in the front passenger side seat. Behind them, it looked like there were at least two more passengers in the vehicle.

  He wasn’t altogether sure what he was planning to do. The people in the van hadn’t committed any crime, and he wasn't a cop anyway, but given how bizarre the situation was and everything his brother had done, he somehow felt justified in pointing his weapon at them. They could be one of the crazies that Mike had been afraid of enough to shoot four of them.

  Finally, he just opened his mouth and yelled.

  “Get the out of the vehicle with your hands up!”

  He could feel the adrenaline flowing through him as he yelled his command.

  Inside the van, Sarah and Andy looked each other in the eyes but said nothing. Andy gestured towards the door. Sarah opened it and got out, putting her hands on her head.

  The second he saw the door open, Brent began yelling again, demanding that she put her hands on her head and kneel on the ground. Andy, Kyle and Mary also jumped out, and before long, all four of them were kneeling in the small parking lot in front of the police station.

  Keeping the shotgun trained on Andy, Brent stepped out of the entranceway of the building onto the sidewalk. “What’s the matter with you?” he asked. He took a few steps towards his cruiser and pointed. “See that? That’s my car that you just smashed up. So what is it? You drunk? High? What?”

  Andy looked up at him, but said nothing.

  “I’m talking to you,” he said to Andy.

  “I hear you,” Andy said. “I didn’t mean to hit your car.”

  Before Brent could reply, the door behind him opened and his brother emerged from the doorway, his giant frame towering over the four college kids kneeling on the pavement.

  “Brent, what’s going on?” Mike asked calmly. He had a white gauze bandage around his forearm, which he absent-mindedly massaged with his other hand.

  “Look at that,” Brent said, pointing to the two vehicles. “He hit my car. Think these may be some of the crazy fuckers you told me about.”

  Mike looked at the two vehicles, which were obviously intimate with each other, then at his brother.

/>   “They’re just a bunch of kids,” Mike said. “Let them u—shit Brent, shoot, shoot!”

  The final word was punctuated by a loud blast from the shotgun. The four friends yelled in surprise when the weapon discharged, assuming the bullet was meant for them.

  Brent pumped the shotgun and fired again. Kyle turned around and shrieked. A man with a goatee, wearing a pair of dirty jeans and a gray t-shirt that said “WPPV, 98.2” on it, loomed over him, his mouth open, pinkish saliva dripping from his whiskered chin. His chest had two gaping wounds from Brent’s shotgun, but he was still moving.

  “Jesus Christ!” Brent yelled, giving the shotgun another hard pump, sending an expended shell flying through the air. “This guy got kevlar on or something?”

  He fired again, tearing a third hole through the man.

  The man with the goatee moaned and reached down for Kyle, who recoiled, instinctively throwing his hands over his head to protect himself. Mary screamed as the man grabbed Kyle’s arm and leaned in, gnashing his teeth. With a surprisingly quick movement, the man snapped at Kyle’s arm near his bicep. Kyle fell over sideways and tried to pull his arm away. The man’s teeth caught on part of Kyle’s dark green jacket, but Kyle yanked it away, the goateed guy coming away with a mouthful of cotton and polyester.

  Not giving up, the man turned his attention to Mary, who was frozen with fear, hypnotized by the situation unfolding in front of her. He leaned down, reaching out for her. She screamed, and recovering her senses, pushed herself backwards. Thinking quickly, Andy grabbed the back of her shirt and pulled hard, causing her to fall backwards onto him. The man swiped at her, but missed.

  He turned, focusing on Andy and Mary, preparing for a second attack. He took one plodding step, then a second, before a fourth gunshot rang out. The man’s head jerked backwards. His eyes went wide and he fell over, his head smacking on the pavement in front of Kyle.

  Kyle, staring at the dead body a few inches in front of him, jumped to his feet and stepped backwards, almost tripping over Sarah, who hadn’t moved. He looked straight ahead, the police station to his back. He counted seven more people, their mannerisms unmistakable, walking towards them. He pointed, getting the attention of his friends and the two men standing in front of the police station.

  Andy jumped up, pulling Mary with him. “Guys let’s get the hell out of here!” he said, almost screaming. “We need to get Jack and Kate!”

  He looked around, counting four more people across the street, and looking down the street past the police station, another five moving in their direction, with several more that were staggering around in odd directions. Kyle and Sarah pulled themselves off the ground and moved towards the van. Brent aimed his shotgun at the four people across the street and motioned at the four people outside the police station.

  “Everyone, inside the station now!” he ordered, stepping back toward the building.

  “We’ve got friends we left out there,” Andy said to him. “We need to get them.”

  “Like shit you are! I said everyone inside."

  “I’m going,” Andy said resolutely, moving to the van and blocking the open passenger door with his body.

  “You guys, go inside with them.” He looked at Mary, Kate and Kyle. “I’ll find Jack and Kate and get them back here.”

  “Andy, I’m coming with you,” Sarah said defiantly, grabbing his arm.

  “No! Stay with these cops. You’ll be safe. I’ll be back soon,” he said. Before she could react, he jumped in the van and slammed the door, locking it.

  Sarah scowled at him. She banged on the window angrily, and then, realizing that the side door was still open, headed for it. Seeing her move, Andy slid to the back of the van and slammed the side door shut. Sarah swore at him. He pointed at the men who were alternately watching the quarreling couple and the approaching people.

  “Go,” Andy mouthed, then paused, and mouthed, “I love you.”

  Sarah glared at the van while Andy hopped into the driver’s seat and started the engine.

  “If you two are done, we'd love to get back inside the damn building!” Brent yelled.

  Sarah took one look back at the van before dashing up the steps to the police station, Mary and Kyle following close behind. The metal doors of the two vehicles screeched as Andy pulled the van away. Brent ignored it and went back into the station, followed closely by his brother, who closed and locked the front entrance. The sound of the van’s engine became progressively quieter until it disappeared completely.

  Sarah, Kyle and Mary looked around the old building that housed the Allentown Police Department. Two desks were against the wall to the left of the entrance with a black office chair behind each. The front desk had a few papers scattered on it, as well as a black Dell laptop computer. Two plain metal folding chairs for guests were in front of it. The desk to the rear of it had two baskets – one marked “In” and one marked “Out” – and a dark green blotter the color of a pool table. Another desk sat facing the rear wall, with a computer monitor, keyboard and mouse beside a fancy looking radio. The radio had a handset on it, but a headset microphone was also lying on the desk, with a wire running to one of the input jacks of the radio. A full-size, white refrigerator sat in the corner, near a wooden door. The right wall of the room was taken up by two jail cells that didn’t look like they got much use. They each had a bench along the wall, and a single cot. Neither cell had a toilet. There were two windows each on the left and back walls, all four with bars across them.

  Mike and Brent both stood facing the door, holding their guns at the ready, while Mary, Kyle and Sarah moved to the middle of the police station, watching the front door anxiously. A loud thump on the door drew screams from the group of college kids, and even caused Brent and Mike to jump. Brent's finger brushed the trigger of the shotgun, but he didn't fire.

  A moment later, there was another hard bang on the door, and then another. They began to come in a regular rhythm now, a slow, dull cadence, not particularly loud, but no less unnerving to the five people in the police station. The noise picked up after a couple of minutes, and they realized that another person had joined the first in slamming on the front door.

  "What're they doing?" Sarah asked.

  Brent looked over his shoulder contemptuously. "Uh, I think they're trying to get in there, Einstein."

  Sarah rolled her eyes. She was already starting to really not like that guy, even though he had probably saved their lives.

  "That's not what I mean," she said sharply. "I mean it sounds like they're just banging on the door with their fists. Why haven't they tried to get like... an axe. Or a sledge hammer. Or a gun. Or something."

  Brent looked at her again. "Why, were you hoping to give them some suggestions?" He asked. "You can go out there and coach them if you want."

  Sarah glared at him. "Don't be a dick."

  He smirked, an expression of both amusement and surprise, not expecting to be addressed that directly.

  "I just mean that it's weird. They're not even trying the doorknob. The first thing most people do, even if a door is locked, is to try the knob. See if the lock didn't catch or something. They just started knocking on the door like they're going to ask us to come in."

  Brent opened his mouth to give another dickhead answer, but closed it, then thought about it for a moment.

  "That's actually a good point," he said. He looked at his brother. "Mike, you're the expert here. What the hell is with these people?"

  Mike lowered his gun, then re-holstered it. "I'm sure as hell not an expert, Brent," he replied. "But they seem completely out of it. In a trance. I don't think they're thinking at all."

  Mike went to the front desk and sat down in the chair. Brent lowered his shotgun, grabbed one of the folding chairs and spun it around, sitting down facing the three college students who were still standing in the middle of the station. He clicked the safety on the gun and placed it on the ground by his feet. Sarah, Kyle and Mary stood where they were, the b
usiness end of Brent’s shotgun barrel still fresh in their minds.

  “Have a seat guys,” Mike said, his voice firm but unthreatening. “You can grab the chairs from my deputy’s desk and from the dispatcher.”

  Sarah moved into the main portion of the police station, followed by Mary and Kyle. Sarah and Kyle wheeled both office chairs in front of Mike’s desk. Kyle sat in the remaining folding chair, and Sarah and Mary sat in the two office chairs, all facing Mike and Brent. They were arranged in a circle like they were about to play a “breaking the ice” game.

  Brent eyed the three students, and they eyed him back. Mike was engrossed in an article on his laptop.

  “So what brings you all to Allentown?” Mike asked, looking up from his screen for a moment before turning back to whatever he was reading. The three of them looked at him, perplexed. He spoke with a casualness that belied the bizarre situation they were all in. A few moments of silence went by, and he looked up again.

  Sarah finally spoke up. “We were on our way back to Burlington. We were at a college retreat. Kind of a, you know, get in touch with your spirituality, find who you really are, that kind of stuff.” She smiled awkwardly.

  Brent smirked. “So what are you doing here? You’re miles from the interstate.”

  Sarah met his eyes with hers. “It’s autumn. We decided to get off the interstate and see some of the foliage.”

  Brent chuckled to himself and shook his head.

  “That worked out well.”

  “You going to start acting like a dick again?” Sarah asked angrily.

  Brent acted as though he was getting up, but stopped. Kyle and Mary remained quiet, watching the exchange between their friend and what they thought was another cop, even though he was dressed in a pair of jeans, work boots, and a leather jacket.

  “You know, you’re lucky those wack-jobs are out there, or my brother would have booked your buddy for crashing into my car."

  "Brother?" Mary asked. She looked at Brent, then at Mike. Now that Brent said it, they did look a lot a like: sandy brown hair and a square jaw, and both of them were tall and big, and looked like they could snap any of the four college kids in half without much effort. The guy in the cop uniform was bigger, but not by a lot.