The Lazarus Impact

by Todarello, Vincent

  The young man tosses his pistol aside and puts his hands up. “I’m unarmed.”

  "It don't matter," Wallace says as he squints one eye down the sight.

  Just then Wallace's head jerks back and a mist of blood bursts out from behind. He falls to the ground, lifeless. Vogel's skin jumps at the sound of the gunshot, despite all the sounds of war going on around him. He turns to see a young boy with his eye trained down the barrel of an old rifle.

  Jesus Christ, a kid? What the fuck is happening. In shock at the sight of a kid holding the weapon, he can't concentrate on the old man. It's a mess. The old man's skin is ice cold, blood is pouring out all over the place, and he can't seem to get a hold of the bullet. Frustrated, he tosses the tweezers aside and tries closing the wound. But his fingers are too cold and numb to feel anything. Sticky yet slick with blood, they're pretty much useless. He can't fix the wound, and the old man is slipping away, shivering. He can’t help but feel responsible for the old man. This might have gone better if the circumstances were different. Just a few degrees warmer, perhaps. Or if I had gotten a hold of that bullet.

  A roar of cheers erupts all around them. The barricade is completely down, and the soldiers are in retreat. Floods of people barrel over the rubble and into the west, to freedom.

  "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry." Dr. Vogel looks the old man right in his eyes as they slowly roll back into his head. Soon the shivering stops. He lies motionless, cold and dead. Dr. Vogel slams his medical kit to the ground in frustration, stomping it under his foot.

  "Willy!" The woman drops to her knees beside him. Her mask fills with tears.

  CHAPTER 40

  "What the hell happened here? Who are you?" Marcus asks. He's nearly out of breath from running, but his scythe is slung across his back once again.

  "I'm Dr. Vogel. I tried to help this man. Willy. Was that his name?"

  They stand in silence, looking down upon Willy. After a few moments Marcus introduces himself and the others.

  "Willy was a good man," Marcus says.

  “He was, or at least he seemed to be. I only knew him, what, half a day? But he already got me to think about guns differently. In fact I think I’ll take one of these handguns to keep on me. I feel bad that I was harsh towards him,” Michael offers as he tucks a dead soldier’s sidearm into his waistband.

  "He reminded me so much of my dad," Sheryl adds. "He really tried to hold me together, you know? He could've just left me to fend for myself. He would've survived on his own, no doubt about it. It's like he came out this way to help me. Totally selfless. And now he's dead because of me."

  "Don't say that," Marcus consoles her. She hugs him.

  "I feel terrible about this. If it wasn't for all the insanity that was here a few minutes ago, he'd still be alive," Dr. Vogel says.

  "I'm sure you did your best," Michael says.

  "Well, let's give him a proper burial," Marcus suggests.

  "I'll help," Dr. Vogel offers.

  They dig a hole and find some rocks to use as headstones for Willy's grave. They lower him into the grave as the sun begins to fall. After they cover him up with stones, Marcus gathers them for a prayer. He finishes with: "and you shall return unto the ground; for we come from dust, and we return to dust. Amen." Silence follows for a few moments as they stand and pray.

  Brandon smirks as they walk away. "Ashes to gashes, dust to dead."

  Marcus smacks him on the back of the head.

  "Oww!"

  "Knock it off little man. Show some respect," Marcus sternly reprimands him.

  "What, I'm just trying to put the 'fun' in 'funeral.' Jesus!"

  Marcus smacks him again. "Don't call him unless you mean to talk to him."

  "Oww! Alright, already! Alright!" Brandon rubs his head. "Sorry."

  "Ain't nothin' to be sorry to me about. Be sorry to God. Be sorry to Willy," Marcus says.

  They all walk down the county road, away from the battlefield. Bodies lay strewn all over the area, staining the yellowed grasses red with gore. The lingering zombies feed on the bodies, paying no attention to the living.

  “Ah, now isn’t that clever?” Michael remarks. He picks up the crisped remains of the picket sign that reads “Man-feast Deadstiny.”

  “The guy holding it was chanting ‘go west, dead man’ over and over. I wonder if he made it.” Dr. Vogel adds. “This is horrible. I know you guys must have been struggling just to get here, and fighting to get across, but a busted quarantine means bad news for the rest of the world. You shouldn’t be here. And I’d try to stop you myself if I thought it’d make a difference. But the truth is it’s too late. We’re fucked.” Unless I find Wolf...

  "Think the military will be back to plug this hole?" Marcus asks Dr. Vogel.

  "Maybe. I'm not sure. I came here today just to deliver some medical samples I collected from a patient. He seemed to be immune to the airborne version of this disease."

  "Deliver to the military?" Michael asks.

  "I thought maybe I could get an escort down to the CDC. The guy your son shot promised to help get me on my way but I guess that isn't happening. The military retreated, the chopper is destroyed, and so are the samples," Dr. Vogel explains.

  "He's not our son," Michael corrects him.

  "After a ways this road runs up and hits the highway, and the highway is like a whole other kind of war zone. I think you're better off going through the woods to wherever it is you're going," Dr. Vogel continues.

  "West," Brandon says.

  "Me too," says Dr. Vogel. "I need to go back and find Wolf, so we may as well walk together a while."

  "What you need to find a wolf for?" Marcus asks.

  "Not a wolf. Wolf. Wolf Camden. He's my immune patient," Dr. Vogel explains.

  Brandon's eyes widen. "Are you serious? I love Extreme Naturalist. It's like the coolest show ever!"

  "Yeah, you and my kids too." Dr. Vogel chuckles. "Greatest show to ever happen to the Boy Scouts."

  "What do you mean he’s immune? I watched him breathe the smoke right in! I hadn't thought about it since, but he should be a zombie right now. How awesome is the idea of a zombie Wolf Camden?!" Brandon bounces with excitement. "He'd be like, totally invincible."

  "I dunno kid. He came to my hospital and was having trouble breathing. He told me what happened, so I took some samples. I heard the emergency broadcast, so then I locked him up because he was west of the quarantine. I tried getting in touch with the CDC. No luck. And then he broke out. Escaped."

  "Stupid ass. Wolf can escape anything," Brandon brags.

  "Apparently so," says Dr. Vogel. "So where are you all heading?"

  "The Branch Davidian Compound. Our happy new home awaits!" Michael says sarcastically.

  "You can go your own way now if you want. We're past the quarantine," Amy snaps back.

  "About 70 miles from here," Brandon says as he pulls out one of the many printed maps he has with directions on it.

  "Shit. How long is it going to take to walk 70 miles?" Michael asks.

  "Where are we now, let's see..." Dr. Vogel looks over the map. "You're gonna have to cross the highway anyway, looks like. And a river, too. Good news is we're still heading in the same direction for a while. Let's just hope the highway isn't too badly mobbed when we have to cross."

  “There are some military tents lying around back there.” Brandon points. “We should go as far as we can before nightfall and then sleep in those.”

  CHAPTER 41

  After an uneasy sleep in the cold, they try to put down some MREs they found near the border. The morning is darker than the previous evening. The woods and a creeping set of black storm clouds block out the sun. They walk on and on. It’s so dark that most of the day goes by without a change in brightness overhead. Dawn bleeds into day, and day bleeds into dusk. And all the while it’s snowing.

  Brandon sings. “I’m dreaming of a red Christmas, with every zombie that I fight. May your days be dreadful with fright, and may all your
Christmases be bloody.”

  Michael shakes his head. “You’re a crazy person. That doesn’t even rhyme.”

  “Who cares, it’s funny,” Brandon says through a laugh.

  “There’s a road up ahead. It’s the highway I was telling you about. We have to cross it, but when I was there it was a madhouse. We better be ready for the worst,” Dr. Vogel cautions. He glares at Brandon. “And be quiet.”

  The trees thin out ahead of them. The road sits silently beneath frozen, snow covered traffic. Marcus scans the area looking for demons. “I don’t see any,” he whispers.

  “They’re covered in snow, laying on the ground,” Sheryl answers. She sees the snowy bumps in the road and knows that there must be people underneath.

  “Those are dead people though, right?” Amy asks. “Wouldn’t the zombies be up?”

  “Who knows. Let’s find a place to cross with less bumps. Better safe than sorry,” Sheryl says.

  “I think we should set up camp before it gets too dark,” Brandon says.

  “We can’t do it here. We’re too close to the road. I’m telling you it’s bad,” Dr. Vogel says.

  “Yeah we should get as far past the road as we can before we stop for the night,” Marcus says.

  “I don’t like it,” Brandon says.

  “It’ll be alright little man. Have some faith,” Marcus says.

  “Opiate of the masses, kid. Soothes all your worries,” Michael retorts. Brandon’s face is blank. He doesn’t get it. Must be nice to be so ignorant, Michael thinks.

  They step out of the woods onto the shoulder of the road. A cold shroud of snow covers the whole scene like a white sheet draped over old furniture in an abandoned mansion. Snow drifts pile up alongside flipped and crashed cars, hiding God knows what kinds of horrors beneath. The wind pelts them with icy bits of snow as it blusters down the empty highway. There are eerie snow bumps almost everywhere. Some are big, and some are small. Some are faintly reddened with blood, and others are yellowed with piss. Some are on cars, and some are on the road. The cars are all covered in snow too; it’s even managed to pile up on one car that’s still running but stuck in place, jammed into an accident and overturned along the center median. A few moments later the engine sputters to a stop, and the air is filled with only the sound of wind, and the quiet tinkling of icy snowflakes as they silently shatter on every surface they fall upon.

  “Move quietly,” Sheryl whispers. But the squeaky crunch of snow beneath their feet sounds so loud compared to the unnerving silence of the road. So loud it could wake even the dead.

  The wind blasts them as they reach the middle of the road. The snow sticks so fast that their masks get covered and need constant wiping. Dr. Vogel shields his eyes and tips his head down as he plods on, not looking where he’s stepping. One wrong step topples him over the edge of a bump in the road. He falls on top of it with a grunt. “Fuck,” he utters as he tries to regain his footing. But the bump stirs. He hears a moan and then sees the snow fall away from the bump as it rises to its feet. “Run!” Dr. Vogel yells. The others turn back to see what happened. Other bumps are rising now; three, five, eight... “Run!”

  They bolt across the rest of the road with reckless abandon, stepping on bumps, tripping, falling, getting back up, fending off cold dead grasps, and heading fast for the woods on the other side. They run, and run, and run, until the silence of the woods surrounds them once again. They stop to catch their breath. Night has fallen.

  “Anyone bitten?” Marcus asks. No one answers.

  CHAPTER 42

  After dragging the bodies of several dead zombies outside his living area, Wolf settles in for a bit of crisped squirrel and some hot birch bark tea. He flips on a small battery powered radio and twists the knobs until the static clears. He hears a new emergency broadcast.

  “Weather patterns are preventing debris from moving west of the impact. The debris cloud is settling, and isolated parts of the northeast have safe air, however it is best to continue using air filtration systems and breathing masks to be safe. The Lazarus condition is now spreading more violently in the form of aggression; specifically by bites from the infected. Remain indoors, and avoid contact with anyone who may be infected.”

  Thanks for telling me what I already knew. They’re not even letting people know how you can stop these things with a blow to the head. Typical politically correct garbage. They don’t want to encourage people to kill each other.

  Next he gives the CB radio another try. To his surprise he hears the familiar voice of Spider yammering away with another story of vanquishing the undead. Cough Drop’s raspy voice pokes in with questions here and there.

  Wolf jumps into the mix. “Breaker one nine, this is Wolf.”

  Spider howls like a wolf. Cough Drop laughs, and so does Wolf. “How you doin’ old buddy?” Spider asks.

  “Barely surviving, you know. But tomorrow...”

  “There’s always tomorrow.” Cough Drop and Spider deliver Wolf’s tag line in unison.

  “You got it,” Wolf responds. “I set up a home camp a little ways off the highway. Close enough to poach supplies if I need any, but far enough not to be detected by anyone. Only problem is every once in a while I get some stragglers, some poisoned people wandering around in search of flesh."

  "Not too shabby, considering," says Spider.

  "Any news since we spoke last?" Wolf asks. "I’ve pretty much been living in the woods.”

  “Well it looks like we got ourselves another civil war brewin’ up at the quarantine,” Spider answers.

  “How do you mean?” Wolf asks.

  “A bunch of people from the east were mobbing up and trying to break through the barricades just west of Pittsburgh. Folks on our side are helping the government keep ‘em at bay,” Spider says. “But now it’s gotten pretty serious. No more rubber bullets and water cannons, and every road that goes west out of the quarantine has fightin' brewing up. It’s a border war, and the good guys are losing to the dead guys.”

  Cough Drop chuckles. “It might be the only time in history that the mid-west conservatives are on the side of big government.”

  “Sometimes you got to protect the homeland from the people at home,” adds Spider. “Get your guns ready, cause the west just got wild again.”

  “Might not be worth fighting anymore. I heard there were some meteors further west too, near the Rockies. Unconfirmed though. But I say these borders ain’t going to hold. Better off just holing up and protecting our own now. Pretty soon no place’ll be safe,” Cough Drop adds. “Glad my family and I have been preparing for something like this.”

  “Any more info about the disease itself?” Wolf asks.

  “They callin’ it Lazarus, named for the meteor,” Spider says. “Lazarus A for airborne, and Lazarus B for the bite kind.”

  “Did they identify what it is? A virus?” Wolf asks.

  “Don’t know. But another guy on the CB said that he heard some older house pets can turn; weaker domesticated types, but not the younger ones or wild animals. Seems if you’re in better physical shape then it’ll take longer to make you change, at least for breathing it in. When people are bitten I guess it all depends on how severe the bite is,” replies Spider.

  “Yeah we thought you’d have changed, being you breathed it all in,” says Cough Drop.

  “I did feel quite ill, but then it passed,” Wolf says. “I'm a wolf, so I guess I’m immune since I’m a wild animal. What happens if a wild animal gets bitten by one of the undead?” Wolf laughs.

  “Hell, you got me there boss. I got no idea,” Spider says through a laugh.

  “Me neither,” Cough Drop adds.

  “Say... if we’re close by we should meet up and have ourselves a bar-b-que!” Spider suggests. “I still got about a dozen cases of beer. I prepared myself real good.”

  Wolf laughs. “I’m going to ride it out in the woods until all of this passes. At this point it seems more dangerous to be around others than to be alone
in the wilderness in winter, no offense.”

  “I reckon it’ll be a long while before this one passes,” Cough Drop warns.

  “Let’s hope you’re wrong about that one, mate. But if it does pass that bar-b-que sounds like a great idea,” says Wolf.

  “Is it true, you know, about Australians puttin’ shrimp on the bar-b-que?” Spider jokes.

  “Only when we run out of kangaroo meat,” Wolf says sarcastically.

  The three of them laugh.

  “I’d better turn in for the night,” Cough Drop says.

  “Yeah me too,” says Wolf. “Time to climb up into my tree bed.”

  “There’s always tomorrow. Spider out,” he says.

  Wolf shuts the radio and disconnects the battery. The silence of the winter’s night fills his ears once again. He puts the fire out and climbs up his tree for another cold, uneasy sleep. A light snowfall coats the sparse oak canopy above. Wolf hears a light rustling in the distance. A few of the dead leaves that still cling to their branches moisten and fall to the ground below. But it’s not that. Footsteps. People. He hears their voices as they approach. Then the car keys jingle. They’ve set off his trip wire.

  CHAPTER 43

  “Jingle bells. Dead guys smell. Shoot zombies in the head. Oh what fun it is to die in a zombie apocalypse. Hey! Bleeding on the snow, with the dead piled on a sleigh. Through the woods we go, killing zombies all the way. Hey! Shells from shotguns ring, making brains fly. What fun it is to laugh and sing in a zombie song tonight. Ohh... Jingle---”

  “Oh man. Here we go again,” Michael interrupts. “Christmas is over!”

  Brandon suddenly goes silent. “Shit, did you hear that?” he asks.

  “Yeah, ADD boy. We’re trying not to hear it,” Michael adds, winning laughs from the others.

  “No, it was a jingling sound,” Brandon explains.

  Michael stares at him blankly, expecting it to be some kind of joke. “Maybe it was Santa Claus. His sleigh got knocked out of the sky by meteors,” Michael adds.