AniZombie

by Ricky Sides

  Erma was silent for a moment, and then she said, “I understand that your team entered the local Walmart when the zombies got inside it. Have you heard the latest about the incident?”

  “No. Did I miss something important?” Herb responded.

  “Several infested rats were located by a professional extermination team we sent in there today. The contractors killed them, and no one was bitten, but that could have ended tragically.”

  “So animals can get this parasite too,” Herb observed. “Well, that makes sense.”

  “We assumed that they could, so we are running lab tests to see what form the infestation takes,” the scientist replied.

  “Any information you can share with us might help save lives,” Herb said.

  Erma bit her lip pensively. She was being too free with information and she knew it, but she was one of the scientists who believed that the parasites could end modern civilization. She felt the odds of that happening were greater if the people who had to deal with the infestations on the front lines were kept in the dark.

  “You’re not at liberty to discuss it, are you?” Herb speculated.

  Erma was looking in the rear view mirror at the vultures circling in the late afternoon thermals above the kill zone on Highway 31. She closed her eyes as she remembered the horrors of hundreds of dead zombies she had seen on the road. She knew that the bodies continued for several more miles into the city of Decatur. Every single one of those zombies had been human beings the previous week. Yet, they had succumbed to the parasites, largely through lack of knowledge. “For lack of knowledge my people are slaughtered,” she murmured a corrupted version of an old Biblical quote.

  “Amen,” Herb responded.

  Erma made a decision then. She would share what she knew with these frontline troops. Her job might be in jeopardy, but better that than to withhold knowledge that could save lives.

  “I’ll tell you what we know,” she said.

  “Thanks. You never know when a bit of information can help,” Herb responded.

  “Alligators, sharks, and bats are three animals with the strongest immune systems. They seem capable of coping with the parasites without a problem. Twenty-eight hours after being exposed to the parasites, alligator blood tests show them free of the microbes. It takes a little longer for sharks and bats.”

  “With other species, the animals become infested, but their bodies can’t resist the parasites, so they don’t trigger the all out attack on the central nervous system by the parasite the way human bodies do. Instead, they continue to multiply until the animal is saturated with the microbes. At that point, some of the animals do die and are reanimated, but not all.”

  “Wait, you mean even in the same species?” Herb asked for clarification.

  “That’s right,” Erma responded with a nod of her head.

  “So what triggers the death of the animal?” he asked.

  “They starve. They can’t get enough nutrition to survive because the parasites are leeching away the majority of the nutrients to support their explosive reproduction. Those that survive all have one thing in common. They are being overfed drastically. Those specimens show no outward ill effects from the infestation.”

  “Can we use that to save people who are bitten?” Herb asked.

  “No, because of our immune system, you would have to suppress it to the point that a common cold or the slightest infection would kill us before overfeeding would help, and that’s not a viable solution.”

  The Humvee pulled into the armory parking lot. Erma saw some of the government people outside waiting for them. “Would you men mind keeping quiet about what I told you while we’re here?”

  “Not a problem,” Herb said. “We don’t want to get you in hot water for helping us. Besides, there’s nothing you told us that can help us much.”

  “There is this fact. The parasites live up to seventy plus hours, even in a dead host, but the government told the contractors twelve in order to get them to sign up.”

  “So they went into this thinking they were safe,” Herb said angrily.

  “I was told the government felt it imperative to remove the contaminated bodies as rapidly as possible.” Erma paused as she saw a Homeland Security agent heading for the idling Humvee. “Here comes trouble. We’re out of time, guys, but you make those contractors wear their safety gear at all times. Do that, and, as long as their gear isn’t compromised, they’ll be safe from the bodies.”

  “They did order them to wear it at all times,” Randy observed. “Now we know why they issued that order.”

  “Did you manage to secure your specimen, Doctor Langley?” asked Homeland Security agent, Brian Marx, when Erma got out of the back seat.

  “Corporal Bennett and Private Lions did. It’s in the truck behind us,” Erma responded.

  “Good. We’ll take it to the trailer and you can begin your work at once.”

  “I’ll be right with you. I want to thank these men for what they’ve done,” she said to the agent who nodded his understanding and walked away to oversee the transfer of the vulture.

  “Thanks again, guys,” she said, and then she whispered, “Don’t eat unprocessed animals. If you just have to do so, then be certain to cook it well done.”

  Both men looked a bit confused, so she added, “We think a flock of ducks carried the parasites from Alabama to Kentucky and Virginia, but we aren’t certain of that. Keep this to yourselves while I’m here.”

  Erma then said goodbye and walked over to the trailer where she would begin her experiments.

  Chapter 10

  Where have all the zombies gone?

  Herb’s team left the armory to continue their cleanup operation as the sun broke over the horizon. As they had the day before, the contractors boarded a bus that would take them to the work site.

  The first several hours of the workday were uneventful. The men settled into the monotonous grind of loading the special fork lift trucks with their zombie cargo, which were then emptied in the back of waiting dump trucks.

  As had been the case the previous day, there were no incidents of encroaching zombies. This fact was disturbing to Herb because he felt certain that more had to be in the area. “Where did they all go?” he asked himself as he stood guard near the workers.

  The men stopped for their midday meal within sight of the grounds of the old Hatfield Drive-In Theater, which had closed in 1980. All that remained of the once flourishing establishment was a chimney, a concrete slab where the concession stand had once stood, and a stretch of asphalt, showing through the grass here and there, where patrons would drive onto the grounds and stop at the ticket booth to purchase their tickets.

  The contractors were a miserable lot. They were hot in their rubberized protective clothing. Most were more interested in drinking water than in eating. Their parched bodies demanded rehydration, so they sipped their water slowly. They tried to eat a little to give them the strength they needed to see them through the day, but most found even the thought of food repugnant. The cloying stench of the dead enveloped the team like a shroud due to their contact with the bodies of the zombies.

  Herb’s team ate upwind of the contractors as they maintained a watch in the area. The odor of the zombies was bad enough, but the workmen who had been handling the bodies seemed even worse. The men had been sprayed with a strong disinfectant that was supposed to kill any germs they were picking up as they worked. Herb hoped for the sake of the men that the sterilizer would kill any of the microscopic parasites, because it sure didn’t do anything to tone down the odor. He knew that his team also smelled terrible, but they hadn’t come into direct contact with the bodies. When compared to the contractors, their odor was tolerable.

  While he was eating, Herb saw Reggie Hammond, one of the contractors, eating a piece of bread and looking at a watch he was holding in his free hand. He frowned, set his food down, and got up to walk over to the man. Herb saw one of the workmen nudge the man with his elbow as he a
pproached. “What have you got there?” Herb asked the man who had closed his fist around the watch in a belated effort to conceal it.

  “Just my watch,” the workman said.

  “Bullshit!” a voice further down the line of contractors said. “You know damned well we had to leave all personal items in the lock boxes, back at the base.”

  Herb was surprised to see that the speaker was none other than Landon Jones. He would never have expected Jones to support him. He wondered if the man had seen reason and changed the way he felt about things. However, his next words proved that wasn’t the case as Jones added, “If I can’t loot these bodies, you damned sure can’t.”

  “Damn, man, it’s a Rolex for God’s sake. The dead guy doesn’t need it any more!”

  “You do realize that the typical watch has numerous nooks and crannies where the parasites could be embedded, don’t you?” Herb asked the man. “I’m guessing you wiped it off and thought that was good enough. Your hands are contaminated, and you have been eating with them.”

  The expression on Reggie’s face informed Herb that he had guessed correctly, but the contractor said, “I didn’t eat lunch.”

  Herb glanced at the half-empty plate sitting beside the man and was about to challenge his statement, but that proved unnecessary as one of the contractors near him said, “That’s a lie, Corporal. He did eat with his hands.”

  “Thanks a lot, asshole!” Reggie said angrily.

  “He’s right to report it,” one of the other contractors spoke up. “If you catch this parasite thing, you’re a threat to all of the rest of us.”

  “Throw it in the contamination box,” Herb ordered the man.

  “All right, all right! You win!” the contractor said in frustration. He lunged to his feet, and strode over to the box where the workmen threw their contaminated gloves when they stopped to eat. Making a show of it, the man held the Rolex over the open box by its wristband, and then he dropped it inside the box.

  Herb signaled for his men to join him. “Take Mr. Hammond into custody. He is going into quarantine. Glove up, and then secure the prisoner to a seat inside the bus. Make certain you leave water with him. It’s going to get hot today.”

  “Now wait just a damned minute!” Reggie yelled.

  The contractor found himself staring down the barrel of Randy’s M4. “You’re not going to be a problem, are you?” the guardsman asked the man.

  “Don’t be a fool, Reggie. You knew the rules,” one of the other contractors said. Then he turned to Herb and said, “Before you men lock him in the bus, you should disinfect his hands and arms.”

  “Go ahead and hose him down,” Herb responded to the man. His suggestion was a good one. “Make sure you get the hands thoroughly.”

  “What’s going to happen to Reggie?” Landon asked Herb as Randy and another guardsman secured the man inside the bus.

  “He’ll go into quarantine. If he passes the blood tests, then he’ll be released in a few days.”

  “And if he doesn’t pass the test?”

  “In that case, the test will be administered again to verify the results. If he fails that test as well, then he has been confirmed as being infested by the parasites,” Herb explained.

  “What then?” Asked one of the other contractors? Will they treat him for it?”

  “There is no cure,” Herb said. “He will become one of the zombies, once the parasites reproduce enough to saturate his body. That’s why the rules are so important. You men need to follow those rules to the letter. They are meant to protect you. Nothing these zombies had is worth your life.”

  To illustrate his point, Herb put on a pair of gloves, walked over to the box that contained the Rolex, picked it up, and then threw it into the back of one of the dump trucks.

  ***

  Inside the trailer at the armory, Erma looked up from the microscope at her associate who was helping conduct the experiments on the vulture. “You were right. The parasites are indeed present in the feces, and they are still healthy enough to infect another host. Get Sergeant Shannon on the line.”

  “Erma, you know we need to go through proper channels. We can’t just release this information on our own. It could mean our jobs.”

  “Oliver, we have to do this now,” Erma responded, doing her best to remain calm as she addressed the man. “We already knew the parasites were in the vomit the bird produced. Think about what that means. Vultures don’t carry food to their young. They regurgitate, and the chicks get their nourishment in that manner. That means that they will spread the organisms to their young. They also sometimes vomit before taking flight, when fleeing other predators. That’s another scenario in which they can spread the microbes, and now this news that they are also in the feces samples that we have tested.” Erma shook her head. “No, we can’t wait. I won’t.”

  During the ten minute phone conversation Erma had with Sergeant Shannon she explained the ramifications of what they had learned. “What are your recommendations?” the sergeant asked.

  “You need to instruct your men at the highway to kill every vulture they see there, and if they should see any other animals feeding on the bodies, they too should be terminated.”

  ***

  Herb put his phone away and called a halt to the work. When the contractors gathered around him, he informed them that he had just received orders to kill every vulture present. He added that the contractors would also be responsible for disposing of those bodies. Some of the men complained, but he pointed out that the vultures were a lot lighter than the zombies were.

  “Well, at least we don’t have to worry about the birds attacking us once we begin,” Randy observed.

  “That’s true,” Herb responded. “At worst, they’ll fly away. But it’s our job to see to it that they don’t get away.”

  The six guardsmen spread out in a rough skirmish line and advanced on the feeding vultures in their area. Herb estimated that there must have been at least a dozen. He was about to give the command to fire when one of the guardsmen said, “Hold up, Corporal Bennett. What about those?” He pointed skywards to the three birds that were circling overhead.

  “That’s a good point. They’ll settle to the ground to feed now that the work has stopped. Let’s back off a bit and wait.”

  The men waited for ten minutes, but the birds continued to circle the site. Herb was growing impatient, and was about to order the men to move back in to take out the vultures on the ground before they took flight when the airborne birds began to land.

  Herb gave the new arrivals time to settle down to their feeding, and then he gave the order to advance to within firing range. The gunfire that followed was intense, but of short duration. When the shooting ended, all of the vultures had been killed.

  The contractors went back to work, and the guardsmen returned to guard duty. They had only been working a few minutes when one of the guards reported movement along Ridgedale Road. “Corporal Bennett! I’ve got movement on Ridgedale!” one of the guards reported.

  “Vehicle or foot traffic?” Herb asked from his position near the dump truck.

  “People on foot. A lot of people,” the private amended his statement.

  Ridgedale Road, and a few other streets that forked off from it, was a residential section of expensive brick homes. Herb had driven through it on a couple of occasions and was impressed by the quiet, well managed, and peaceful nature of the community. Many of the properties were tree covered and gave the illusion of seclusion, despite the fact that they were situated in the middle of a high dollar residential section that contained 100 homes. There were no derelict automobiles in evidence, and the homes were all well maintained.

  As he considered what he knew about the area, Herb frowned in consternation. Highway 31 had been covered with zombies well past Ridgedale Road. Anyone who hadn’t gotten out of the community prior to their arrival would have been trapped there. He knew the first afternoon after the air assault on the highway only a couple of people ha
d walked out from Ridgedale, but he knew nothing about their stories.

  “How many people are you talking about?” he asked the private.

  “There must be hundreds. I see them way down the road, and they have it covered. I can’t tell if they are normal people or zombies,” the private reported.

  Herb knew the magnification on the private’s rifle wouldn’t be sufficient to pull up the detail that he needed to make a positive identification of friend or foe, so he rushed over to the Humvee where the spotter’s scope was stored.

  It took a couple of minutes to set up the scope, but then Herb could examine the approaching people. “Randy!” he shouted.

  “I’m right here,” his friend responded from behind him.

  “Get the workers in the bus and send them back to the armory. Do it now.”

  “I’m on it, but they will have to decontaminate first.”

  “I know, so get on it,” Herb said and then he turned to the other guardsmen who had moved in closer in order to see what was happening. “Get extra magazines and ammo, men. Those are all zombies heading toward us. They must have been drawn by the sound of our weapons fire earlier. We can’t just leave. Not yet. We have to buy time for the contractors to decontaminate, so get going.”

  The men ran over to the transports and grabbed extra pouches with loaded magazines. Herb took a moment to ensure that the contractors were complying with Randy’s orders. They were. By now, they could see the approaching zombies with the naked eye, and they needed no further encouragement to work with a sense of urgency than what their own eyes gave them.

  Herb raced over to the Humvee and got his and Randy’s magazine pouches. He was returning to the gathering guardsmen when he heard three shots fired in rapid succession. There was a brief pause, and then someone fired another three rounds.

  “Someone is back there and needing help,” Randy said.