Those Lazy Sundays: A Novel of the Undead

by Thomas North

  @andersonp22: crazy ppl smashed window, try 2 get in. shot 1. still no cops.

  The next tweet read: guy dead on floor. need 2 board windows r sumthin.

  "Jesus," Sarah said. "He must be terrified."

  "Not so terrified that he can't stop tooting," Brent said.

  The three college students looked at him.

  "Tooting?" Sarah asked. "You mean tweeting?"

  Brent shrugged. "Whatever. If he's got time to do that, he's probably fine."

  "A dead guy on his living room floor is fine?" Sarah asked.

  "It's only a small step down from where we are," Brent replied.

  "You posted anything, Kyle?" Sarah asked.

  "Yeah, earlier," Kyle replied. "Said we were stuck in the police station in Allentown. Got a bunch of concerned replies. Anderson's the first I've seen in the same boat as us."

  Mike, who had been quiet since dinner, stood up and rolled his neck back in a long, slow movement, as if working out a kink or muscle cramp.

  “I’m going to lie down,” he said, pointing to one of the cells, and the cot inside. The cot barely looked big enough to handle Kyle, let alone a man of Mike’s size.

  He stood up slowly. His movements lacked the grace he had exhibited earlier; he looked lumbering, and lethargic. Brent noticed it, and for the first time, appeared genuinely concerned about something, minus his usual temper.

  “Mike, you okay?” he asked his brother.

  “I’m fine. Just a little tired. It’s been a tough day.”

  “You sure?”

  “Yeah,” Mike replied. “Just need to take a rest. Keep checking the news, and watching the door,” he added, and then lay down on the cell cot. His legs hung over the end and reached the ground.

  Brent got up from his chair and went into the cell with his brother, taking a seat on a corner, the only bit of white space that Mike's massive frame left unoccupied.

  "What the fuck do you think is really going on here?" Brent asked, whispering. "You saw those people. What the hell do you think it is? Really?"

  “Honestly Brent," Mike began. "I think they're dead."

  "You don't think this can be cured?" Brent asked. "I'm sure all the doctors and scientists and shit they bring in will figure that one out. I'm surprised you're giving up on them that quickly, Mike. You love this town... about as much as I think it's a boring-as-hell shithole."

  "That's not what I meant," Mike replied. "I mean I think the people out there are actually dead. They're walking around, moving, but they're dead."

  Brent looked at him in disbelief.

  “Come on Mike, you’ve got to be kidding.”

  “I’m not.”

  “The health department is saying a virus or pollution. That’s kind of their bread and butter.”

  “They’re just speculating. They have no idea. I’ve seen them, Brent. I stared into their eyes. I’ve touched them. They’re dead. Hell, you saw it! You shot one of them three times. You really thing a living person, no matter how sick, could take that?”

  Brent considered his brother’s point.

  “Jesus,” he said. “Living dead? It sounds like some kind of science fiction movie. Invasion of the Body Snatchers or some shit like that. It's hard to believe, Mike. I can still come up with a dozen more explanations than…” he snickered. “Than walking corpses.”

  “I know.” Mike rested his head back against the small white pillow that looked like it had been stolen from an airplane, and might actually have been.

  "How about we not tell the kiddies over there about this whole dead people walking around theory, for now. I think they're still a little freaked out from that one dude almost killing the skinny guy."

  "That's fine, Brent. You figure out when you want to tell them." He paused. "And believe whatever you want."

  Mike shifted in the bed, and let out a pained moan. "You heard from Jenna?" he asked.

  Brent shook his head. "No," he replied. "Not any more recently than you have, I don't think."

  "She took off on you," Mike said.

  "Yeah," Brent replied.

  Mike nodded. "I heard."

  "I'm sure you did."

  Brent left the cell and went back over to Kyle, who was still reading through the news.

  “Does it say anything about how people are getting sick?” Brent asked. "Anything new?"

  Kyle played with the scroll wheel on the mouse for a moment. “I’ll keep looking, but nothing so far. The State Police and health department are still just telling people to stay inside.”

  “Well that’s real friggin’ helpful of them,” Brent replied. “What, do they think we’re going to run outside and start kissing those fucking people?”

  Mary got up from her chair and walked around the station, stretching her legs. While Kyle and Brent continued discussing the news on the web, she cautiously approached the front door, her eyes carefully examining the desk and the door behind it. A few feet away, she heard – or thought she heard, beneath the thumping on the door ˗ a quiet crackling, a noise that reminded her of Rice Krispies in milk.

  Leaning forward with her waist touching the front of the desk, she inspected the door knob and lock. The edge of the wood, which should have been flush with the doorframe, was protruding inward a quarter of an inch. Mary leaned in further. Splinters of wood stuck out near the locking mechanism.

  She stepped back, realizing that the sound she was hearing was the buckling of the wood around the door lock. “Hey,” she said weakly. Kyle and Brent were still talking, and appeared to be in a heated discussion about something, while Sarah looked on.

  Mary raised her voice. She was naturally quiet, and rarely had occasion to try to talk over somebody. “Hey guys!” she yelled. The room went quiet, and everyone but Mike turned and looked at her. “I think the door is broken.”

  Without saying anything, Brent got up from his chair and walked across the room and looked at the door.

  “Shit,” he muttered. “The fucking door is about to bust open. Old-ass piece of crap.”

  He backed away from the desk and looked around the room.

  “Let’s grab another desk and get it on top of that one,” Brent said, moving to the desk Kyle was sitting at. “It’s a laptop, you don’t need the desk.”

  Kyle nodded. He lifted up the computer and mouse and set them on the floor. With one large swing of his arm, Brent swept everything else off the desk. Kyle grabbed the other end, and he and Brent again muscled the heavy piece of furniture across the room. Brent paused so Kyle could get his breath, and together they hoisted it up to just below waist-level.

  With one more burst of strength, they began lifting it higher, trying to get it the final few inches so they could slide it onto the first desk. Kyle’s arms shook under the weight, and Mary and Sarah hurried to join. Together, the four of them managed to stack the desk on top of the first one, and push it against the top of the door. The two desks covered about three quarters of the entrance.

  “That should hold them for a while longer,” Brent said. “Even if the fuckers do get through, they’re going to have a bitch of a time getting those desks out of the way.”

  As if to punctuate his statement, the wood around the door splintered loudly. They stared at the door frame as the door moved another quarter inch towards them – and stopped.

  7

  JACK AND KATE sat in the hallway facing the door, Kate with the pistol lying on her lap. Together, they had managed to move a heavy dresser from the bedroom and place it in front of the door. Phil hadn’t been able to help them much, and was now lying in bed. Though they’d managed to escape the sick people, the house was anything but quiet. The people in the stairway banged on the door constantly, and every so often they’d hear a crash or bang from the floor below, the sound of other people in the house breaking dishes and knocked over furniture.

  Along with the din outside the door, a CNN news broadcast blared from the TV in the bedroom. They had tried the local news station fir
st, but were met with a “We are experiencing technical difficulties” banner. The national TV stations were still on the air, though all of them had cut away from their regular programming and were airing news specials exclusively on what they were referring to as an "epidemic of an unidentified illness.”

  No more messages arrived from Andy or their other friends. They sent a message back to him and another to Sarah, Mary, and Kyle letting them know where they were and that they were both okay. The messages sent without any trouble, but three hours later, they still hadn’t received a reply.

  Jack glanced at his watch. It was already 9 o’clock. He was usually an early riser and would have normally been heading to bed at around this time, but he wasn’t even tired. With the noise, and the fact that a violent mob was just a few feet away with just a few inches of wood separating them, he was still wide awake and alert. He looked at Kate, who was sitting up straight, eyes fixed on the door.

  “I’m hungry,” she said matter-of-factly.

  Jack hadn’t thought about it, but he realized that his stomach was also running on empty. They hadn’t eaten since lunch, and it was now way past dinner time. Shortly after Kate spoke, his stomach growled loudly.

  “Guess you are too,” Kate said.

  Jack nodded.

  “Hey Phil,” he yelled, turning toward the entrance to the bedroom. “You didn’t bring any food up here by any chance, did you?”

  There was a pause, but no reply.

  “Phil!” Jack yelled again. He moved to get up, when they heard Phil’s voice from the other room. It was loud, but sounded weak, and rough.

  “I brought some stuff from the fridge earlier. I put it all in the closet. You’re welcome to it.”

  Jack went into the bedroom and walked across the dark blue plush carpet. Phil was sitting on a neatly-made queen sized bed on top of a light blue comforter, leaning back against the headboard. A small gray revolver and a box of ammunition were on the bed next to him. The TV was a small Panasonic LCD that sat on a small TV stand against the far wall, across from the foot of the bed. There was a large dusty spot on the floor where the dresser had been. A nightstand with a lamp and a digital alarm clock was next to the bed. A half-empty glass of water sat on top of it. There was an open door on the other side of the bed, which led to the master bathroom.

  Phil took a sip of water from the glass and placed it back on the nightstand. He gestured to the sliding closet door in the corner of the room. The door was open, and Jack walked over to it and looked inside. The closet was large, though not a walk-in. Several pairs of shoes were arranged in a neat row against the wall, their toes facing outward, below an assortment of suits and dresses hanging from the bar above. A beige hard-plastic gun case lay open in the corner of the closet. There were also two plastic shopping bags, and a twelve-pack of Coca-Cola.

  Jack opened one of the bags and peered inside. There was a bag of Doritos held shut with a purple chip clip, an unopened bag of Tostitos, and a jar of mild salsa.

  “We’re in perfect shape to watch a football game,” he thought, and moved to the other bag.

  The second bag had a box of Special K cereal, a loaf of bread, a jar of peanut butter, a jar of grape jelly, an unopened bag of paper plates, and a bag of assorted plastic utensils. Jack frowned at the limited selection. He grabbed the second bag and tore open the box of Coke, grabbing two cans and going back to the hall.

  “Looks like it’s Coke and peanut butter and jelly,” Jack announced, holding up the bag and soft drinks. “Though we do have some chips and salsa if we get hungry for a snack.”

  Kate laughed, happy that they had anything to eat at all. She was starving. Together, they sat and munched on peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, savoring them like they were eating caviar and foie gras. They offered one to Phil, but he declined it when Kate brought it in, his voice scratchy, his face pale and sickly looking. Their meal wasn’t exactly a picnic, either. The people outside continued to pound on the door, moan, snarl, and smash things on the floor below them. The racket wasn’t deafening, but it was a constant stream of noise, without any repose. The people on the stairs didn’t seem to tire.

  Jack finished the can of soda and crushed it in his hand. “I’m going to take a leak,” he told Kate. He went down the hall toward the bathroom, looking into the bedroom as he passed. Phil was still leaning against the headboard, his head lolled slightly to the side, his chin resting on his collar bone. His eyes were closed. Jack leaned into the doorway and called his name in a soft voice.

  He didn’t move.

  Jack looked more closely. Phil’s eyes were closed, but his chest was still moving up and down with his breath. Jack backed away and glanced over his shoulder, then left the room.

  “He’s sleeping,” he whispered to Kate. She nodded.

  He continued down the short hallway to the bathroom. The toilet sat next to a normal sized window with pink curtains and blinds, both of which were closed. Their color matched the frilly cover on the toilet bowl lid. Jack flipped the lid up and began urinating. He looked to his right at the window, and a bout of nervousness hit him. He knew they were on the second floor and the people outside didn't seem to be in their right mind enough to think about climbing up a drain pipe or getting a ladder, but he was still unsettled at having nothing but a brittle sheet of glass separating him from the outside world, and the people just feet below.

  With his free hand, he opened one of the blinds an inch. He half expected to see a pair of dead eyes staring back at him. But other than the raindrops striking the outside of the window, he saw nothing but blackness. He remembered that Phil had turned off the lights after he invited them inside, and with the forest cover and weather, there wasn’t anything to see. He wanted to get an idea of how many people were around the house, but it was impossible.

  He finished, washed his hands, and came back out. Kate was still sitting in the chair facing the door.

  “I have to go too,” she said. Jack took the gun from her, and she got up and went down the hall. He sat in the chair, the pistol in his hand.

  It was the first time he had held it. He’d never fired a gun before. It looked easy, but he knew most things are harder than they look. He pointed it at the door, closed one eye, and looked down the top of the gun. Kate had shot two of those people. Blew their heads off. He wondered if he could have done the same.

  He heard the toilet flush, and he put the gun down, resting it on the arm of the chair. Kate came back, but didn’t sit down.

  “Mind if I watch the TV for a few minutes?” she asked. “I want to flip through the channels. See if there’s anything new.”

  “No problem. I’ll yell if they get through.” He chuckled at his own joke in a moment of gallows humor.

  Kate smiled back and went into the bedroom. She grabbed the remote control from the bed next to Phil and sat on the end near the television. CNN was still on, and one of the newscasters was interviewing an expert on viruses, speculating on the possible cause of the outbreak. Both the newscaster and the scientist were calm, speaking as if they were discussing the next Presidential election or a local sports team.

  Kate flipped through the channels. While the major networks were all showing special news shows, many of the cable channels were still broadcasting their normal schedules, something she found unsettling for some reason. There was something strange about seeing reruns of Friends and Seinfeld on the TV while the world outside was in chaos.

  She paused on one of the movie channels, thinking that it was a live news broadcast. She laughed out loud to herself when she realized it was an old zombie movie on Showtime.

  Zombies. She started to feel uncomfortable watching the old scene of people dressed up like walking corpses, blue-gray makeup caked on their faces, their costumes made to look dirty and old. It felt too familiar.

  But it was a movie. Zombies weren't real. Viruses were real. Bacteria was real. Sick people, that was real.

  She changed the channel, flipping throug
h several more before going back to the beginning. The “technical difficulties” banner was gone from the local news station, but it was still not broadcasting live. Instead it showed a marquee with instructions flashing across it.

  THE GOVERNOR OF THE STATE OF VERMONT HAS DECLARED A STATE OF EMERGENCY.

  THE CENTER FOR DISEASE CONTROL IS WARNING THAT AN UNKNOWN VIRUS OR BACTERIA IS CAUSING PEOPLE TO ACT OUT VIOLENTLY, INCLUDING RANDOM VIOLENT ASSAULTS ON PEOPLE.

  CITIZENS ARE ADVISED TO SAY IN THEIR HOMES OR OTHER PLACE OF SAFETY. LOCK ALL DOORS AND WINDOWS AND AVOID GOING OUTSIDE FOR ANY REASON.

  IF APPROACHED FOR HELP, DIAL 9-11 OR YOUR LOCAL POLICE STATION. DO NOT ATTEMPT TO RENDER ASSISTANCE TO ANY PERSON EXHIBITING SYMPTOMS OF THE DISEASE OR OTHERWISE ACTING ABNORMALLY.

  Kate flipped back to CNN. None of the news stations seemed to have much new to say. She glanced at Phil, and then went back into the hall.

  “Anything new?” Jack asked.

  “No. They’re just telling people to stay inside. Nobody seems to really know anything.”

  Jack nodded.

  “I wonder if they’ll ever give up,” Kate said pointing at the door.

  “I hope so. Would be pretty nice if they just got tired and went home.”

  They sat in silence for several minutes longer, listening to the drone of the newscaster on CNN, who grilled his guest on all of the possible causes and solutions to the problem. Nothing he was saying was much different from what Jack and Kate already knew. The scientist described the sick people as being in a “semi-catatonic state, with an increased tolerance for pain and homicidal tendencies.” Psycho-babble mumbo jumbo, Jack thought.

  He rolled his eyes. Kate yawned.

  “You want to take a nap?” Jack asked.

  “No. No, I’m fine.” She replied.

  “Seriously, we’re probably going to be here all night. Maybe longer. We need to sleep sometime. If you want to sleep now for a few hours, I’ll get some rest when you wake up.”

  Kate looked at the door for a moment, thinking.

  “Okay. Just promise me you’ll let me know if anything goes wrong.”