by C. M. Fick
Powell sat in disbelieving silence; this woman was further gone than he'd thought. She must have lost a little too much blood.
"My daughter... my daughter will be home soon and she doesn't know that he's going to try to eat her too." Roslyn shifted into a sitting position, grimacing with each movement. "You have to go warn my little girl and arrest my neighbours. They're killing people."
"Can I look at your side Roslyn?" Powell said calmly, although he didn't feel calm. His guts twisted a little more with each word Roslyn spoke. She'd obviously been through something traumatic, but he couldn't bring himself to believe that there were people in his city eating one another.
"You'll go right?" She reached out with a bloody hand and clasped Powell's arm tightly. "You're going to go..."
"I promise to send someone. My partner is getting help right now." That seemed to appease her and she lifted her shirt, baring her bloody side for Powell.
The bleeding appeared to have slowed but Powell couldn't make out much beneath all the blood; he'd have to wait for Lewis to come back with supplies. To the veteran cop, it looked almost as if she'd been bitten by another human. Cold chills ran down his spine. "Is this the only place you're hurt?" he asked cautiously, unsure if he wanted to know the full extent of the woman's wounds.
"My back." Roslyn tried to pull her shirt up further, but it was too painful for her and Powell sat beside her, lifting it for her. He was glad she couldn't see the horror on his face as he inspected the long scratch marks on her lower back. He bent closer; there was something imbedded in her skin, at the bottom of the longest scratch, just above her pant line. Without thinking Powell pulled it out, making Roslyn cry out in pain. He studied the crescent shaped object, wiping away the blood from its jagged surface. He felt bile rise in his throat as he realized what had been imbedded in Roslyn's back: he'd just pulled a human fingernail from the poor woman's flesh.
"Tell me what happened Roslyn," Powell said in a tone he hoped didn't alert her to how shaken he was.
"I don't know anymore. It just doesn't seem real." She looked at Powell; fear, confusion, pain, and uncertainty radiated from her eyes.
"Just tell me what you remember, no matter how unbelievable it may seem." He was surprised when Roslyn took his hand in hers, squeezing it tightly.
She inhaled deeply, letting the exhalation out in a slow, controlled breath before beginning. "I'd just gotten home from the grocery store. I'd been kept late at work and picked up tacos for dinner because it was quick. The kids love it when I make tacos for dinner." Tears splashed down onto Powell's hand, but Roslyn went on without noticing. "I called to Peter, my son, to come help me unload the groceries. I was angry that he'd left the garage door open and his skateboard in the driveway again, so I'd shouted loudly for him. I began pulling bags out of the backseat when I saw his shadow. I started to say that if he didn't get his stuff put away properly that I'd take it away for a month and it would teach him to take better care of his things." Roslyn looked up at Powell with more tears shimmering in her eyes and a small sad smile on her lips. "Do you have children Officer?"
Powell nodded, remembering the many time's he'd done the same thing to his twelve year old son Stevie. "I have a son and a daughter," he said around the lump growing in his throat. He wasn't sure if he wanted Roslyn to continue with her story; he had a very bad feeling about the direction it was headed.
"Then you know how they are." Roslyn's tears spilled over, leaving streaks on her cheeks. "He was always such a good boy; strong like his father and smart like me. He just had a problem putting things away."
She broke down into sobs for what seemed, to Powell, like forever. He was used to dealing with hysterical women - it was part of his daily job - but this was different and his gut knotted with anxiety. As a cop, he always trusted his gut instinct and now it was telling him to grab his family and head for the hills. No matter how badly he wanted to trust his instinct and go, he knew he couldn't do that. "Go on Roslyn," he gently prodded.
"Well I'd started to scold him when I felt cold hands on my back. I yelped because the cold was unexpected and I started to back up so I didn't hit my head on the car roof. Then pain shot up from my side and I began to scream; he'd bitten me hard enough that he'd broken skin. My first thought was that it wasn't him, that some sicko had hold of me. I scrambled over the groceries in the back seat and had just gotten the passenger side door opened when he pulled me back through the car and bit me a second time. I managed to get out from under him - get through the car again - when I felt his fingers dragging down my back, trying to find another hold. There was another stab of pain in my lower back but I kept going. I knew that if I didn't get out, I'd be eaten alive right there in my car. My groceries would get all bloody and dinner would be ruined." She let out a small mirthless laugh, "Silly isn't it?"
More tears splashed on Powell's hand and he squeezed reassuringly; he wasn't sure if he completely believed Roslyn's story... no, he believed her - he just didn't want to.
"I fell out the other side of the car and kicked the door closed behind me. I think I was already going into shock at that point. I got to my feet and starred into the car - into my son's face; but it wasn't my son... not really. It was his body clawing at the window sure, but my sweet little boy was gone. His eyes were cloudy and white. He had part of his neck torn out and his mouth was filled with blood and skin - my blood... my skin..." another sob burst out, and Roslyn's small body shook. Powell wanted to tell her to stop. Tell her he didn't want to hear more but knew she wasn't done.
Roslyn took another shuddering breath and continued with her story. "I noticed movement behind me in the window's reflection. I turned and saw old Mrs. Demarsh stumbling around the corner of my house. I think I gasped when I saw her blood covered nightgown and that her arm was missing below her elbow. She stopped when she saw me, and her belly puffed up. It was so strange. Then she moaned." Roslyn shuddered as if recalling the sound. "It was the most horrible, unnatural moan I've ever heard. I heard Peter moan in the car and then there were more moans coming from the surrounding houses. It was like Mrs. Demarsh rang the dinner bell and everyone was coming for the feast. I knew I couldn't stay there but I didn't know where to go. Thankfully I noticed a car idling in the street. The door was open and so I ran to it and jumped in. I didn't look back as I turned around and drove away." Roslyn ran a hand over her face, leaving a bloody streak on her cheek. "I wasn't sure where I was going to go until I saw the station. You know the rest."
Powell wasn't sure what to say once Roslyn finished her story. Only then did he notice Lewis standing down the hall; eyes wide and his dark skin unnaturally pale. "I'll be right back Roslyn." Powell squeezed her hand once, before pulling it from her iron grip.
"Don't leave me," Roslyn half shrieked. She clutched at Powell's uniform, looking up at him with fear.
"I'm just going to go talk to my partner." He spoke slowly as he motioned towards Lewis, "I'll be right back with some first aid supplies to clean your side and back. Will you be okay for two minutes? You'll be able to see me the whole time. I promise." Roslyn nodded, slowly releasing her grip on his uniform. Once free from her clutches, he hurried over to Lewis who handed him the first aid kit. "How much of her story did you hear?" He asked in a low voice, not wanting Roslyn to overhear him.
"Enough," Lewis croaked.
"Did you call an ambulance?"
Lewis nodded, casting wary glances over Powell's shoulder to where Roslyn sat. "No one's coming though."
Powell frowned. "What do you mean no one's coming?" he hissed.
Lewis looked as if he were about to hurl. "There was a disturbance at the hospital. They called in and requested several officers to be sent over. A woman apparently came in, went into cardiac arrest and then started biting people." Lewis lowered his voice to a whisper as he leaned towards Powell, "They told dispatch that there were a lot more patients biting people now and they needed help controlling them. They sent over three units and when they stopped responding
to dispatch, they sent another four units in riot gear to see what was going on. They've lost contact with those units as well."
"What the hell is going on?" Powell growled. "What are we supposed to do with her?" he jerked his head back towards Roslyn who sat crying silently.
Lewis shrugged. "Clean her up, bandage her wounds as best we can and put her in a conference room until they figure out what's happening." Powell sighed; his hot shower would have to wait. "There's one other thing... and you aren't going to like it."
Powell scrubbed his hands over his face. He was supposed to be off duty and they were sending him back out. He wasn't happy with the turn in events, but overtime was often part of the job. "Give it to me." He motioned in a 'bring it on' gesture with his hand.
"There are two paramedics who responded to a call early this afternoon in Pecan Valley. They haven't returned. With all the confusion at the hospital, no one's reported them missing until just now. They've asked us to head over there and see what's going on."
"Did you just say Pecan Valley?" Roslyn called from her seat behind Powell; Lewis nodded. "That's where I live... Swan Forest, just off of Southeast Drive. That's where everyone's gone crazy. Will you go and find my daughter? Will you keep her safe and bring her to me?" Roslyn's eyes were pleading with Powell; how could he say no to a woman who's been through so much already.
He sighed; his shift was over but he knew he couldn't turn his back on this situation - someone needed to go look into what was happening in Pecan Valley. "I will, but first we have to clean your side and back. There is something going on at the Baptist hospital and it may be a while before someone can get here to take you in for proper treatment."
Roslyn's eyes went wide. "What's happening at the hospital?"
"Nothing you need to worry yourself about." Lewis smiled weakly at Roslyn, but Powell knew it didn't ease her fears. She saw the truth in his eyes.
"What's your daughter's name?" Powell asked, as he took the first aid supplies from his partner. He was glad Lewis had enough presence of mind to grab a bottle of water and a towel on his way back. A quick splash of water had most of the blood running down Roslyn's side.
She grimaced when he dabbed the edges of the wound. "Marcy." Her voice quivered when she spoke.
"Sorry," he muttered, concentrating on the task, "I'm going to have to disinfect it and it's going to hurt. How about you tell me about Marcy and try not to think about what I'm doing here."
Roslyn gave Powell a weak smile before turning back to face Lewis who reached out and held the woman's hand tightly. "Marcy's a firecracker. She just turned sixteen and runs like the wind..." She screamed in pain as Powell dabbed at the largest bite with an antiseptic towelette.
When she took in several gasping breaths, Powell feared she'd hyperventilate and pass out; at least then, she wouldn't feel the pain. "Go on." Powell urged when she'd calmed enough to speak. Now that he was seeing beneath all the blood, he realized the bites were much worse than he'd first assumed. Two large chunks of skin were gone, revealing the muscle beneath. She's going to need a lot of stitching up and some heavy-duty antibiotics.
"Marcy's the top long distance runner on her high school track team and is always changing the color of her hair - this week she has bright pink streaks." Roslyn laughed but Powell could hear the tears in her voice. "Next week they'll be green." She screamed again as Powell dabbed at the second, smaller bite. Mercifully, this time she did pass out.
Powell finished cleaning the wounds on Roslyn's side and back in silence. He wrapped them in gauze as best as he could. He had Lewis carry the woman to one of the conference rooms while he ran the address for Roslyn. If he were going to keep his promise, he'd need to check her house for signs of Marcy. He wasn't looking forward to missing the hot dinner waiting for him at home but knew his wife would understand.
Carnage in Pecan Valley...
Lewis made the turn onto Swan Forest and slammed on the breaks. Powell's heart thundered in his chest as he looked out the car window; there'd been an accident at the corner leaving the road impassible for the cruiser.
Powell cursed under his breath. "Well I suppose we get out and walk from here."
Lewis turned to him with wide eyes. "You want us to walk the three blocks to the Macpherson's home?" Powell nodded to his partner, unable to speak. The street beyond the accident was littered with garbage and dark splotches. In the dim light, he could see two more accidents and several other cars abandoned in the street. "What if we come across any of those... those things Roslyn was talking about?"
"Zombies..." Powell said wearily; Lewis spluttered incoherently. "What else do you call something that's walking around eating other people?" he snapped, "I know it sounds unbelievable, but you saw those bite marks."
"Does that mean Roslyn's going to turn into a zombie?" Lewis shrank back in his seat.
I hadn't thought of that. If we are dealing with zombies, then it's likely. Did we close the door to the room that she's in? What he said to his partner was, "We don't know what's going on here Lewis; do you really think the dead can get up and walk?" Powell shoved open his door. "I was just making a comparison to movies - for all we know these people are infected with a type of rabies." As an afterthought, he told Lewis to leave the keys in the ignition. If they needed to get out of the area quickly, he didn't need to be searching for the cruiser's keys.
Lewis got out, glaring at his partner over the cruiser's roof. "You know, rabies doesn't sound any better." He slammed the door then flinched as the bang echoed down the street.
"Just shut up and let's get moving," Powell snapped. He shouldn't have said anything. Now Lewis would be afraid of his own shadow, but a nagging feeling that he was right with his first description, crept over him as they walked down the empty street. There was movement to Powell's right, and on instinct, he pushed Lewis behind the cover of one of the abandoned cars.
"What the hell?" Lewis hissed as Powell peeked over the car's trunk; what he saw made his blood run cold.
A woman, dressed in a business suit, staggered across a lawn in front of them. She had an odd gait and Powell quickly realized it was because she was missing one of her high-heeled shoes. Her face and neck were covered in blood while a gory trail of what Powell guessed were intestines, hung from beneath the suit's jacket; two of her fingers were missing. He heard Lewis retch behind him and was glad he hadn't eaten anything in the past several hours. The woman paused, slowly turning towards the sounds Lewis was making. Powell clamped a hand over his partner's mouth and pressed a finger to his own lips, indicating Lewis needed to be very quiet. After several tense minutes of absolute silence, the woman began her uneven shuffle down the street once again.
"We need to get moving," Powell finally said in a low voice, once the woman had moved three houses down. "Try to stay as close to the cars as possible. I don't want to be caught in the street without cover."
They made it down to the next cul-de-sac, silently creeping from car to car, before Lewis stopped Powell. "This is the street where the ambulance was called to." He pulled his flashlight from his gun belt and shone the powerful beam down the street. Three houses up the ambulance sat in silence. "Should we go check it out?" Lewis looked to Powell and missed the shambling figure that stumbled out from behind the ambulance. He had a paramedic's uniform on but Powell could see the missing flesh from his neck.
A scream, followed by gunshots further down the street, had both officers turning to see where it had originated. All the surrounding houses were dark, which was unusual for being so early in the evening. Lewis turned his flashlight, shining it further down the street they were on and they could see figures moving in the dark, beyond the light.
"I think we should get to Roslyn's house and check for her daughter. Then I think we need to get back to the station." A low, unnatural moan came from the other side of the car they were hiding behind. "Fuck!" Powell cursed as goose bumps prickled down his arms; he'd been distracted by the scream and had forgotten ab
out the paramedic.
"What? What?" Lewis spun back to Powell.
Powell withdrew his weapon and peered over the hood, knowing what he'd see. The zombie - he was now sure that's what these dead things were - stood no more than ten feet away. His eyes were milky and his once crisp uniform was wrinkled and covered with large splotches of blood; gore hung from his mouth. Lewis gasped beside Powell, as he realized what his partner was looking at. The zombie's belly puffed out and another low guttural moan came from the creature; a responding moan came from behind the pair of men, further down the street.
Lewis jumped up from behind the car as soon as the zombie started shuffling forward. "Freeze," he said with too much volume. Powell cringed; these things seemed to be attracted to sound and Lewis with his loud mouth was going to get them both killed. "I said stay back," he commanded, as the zombie continued his shuffle towards them. "If you don't stop, I will shoot." Powell could see the gun shaking in Lewis' hands and felt sorry for his partner. He knew the rookie had never shot a person before.
The gun fired. Powell scanned the street for movement; he could see the woman in the business suit shambling towards them with a few friends. The gun fired a second time. "What are you doing Lewis? You're making too much noise," he hissed.
"He-h-he took two shots in the chest." Lewis whimpered.
Powell looked back over the car and was shocked to see the paramedic was still approaching them. He raised his own gun, took aim, and pulled the trigger. The bullet entered the man's forehead, right between the eyes, and the zombie slumped to the ground.
"Head shots Lewis. We have to move," Powell growled, pulling his partner further down the street in search of somewhere he could easily fortify while he radioed for backup. The gunshots had brought out more shambling figures into the streets. Where it used to be still and silent, the street was now filled with movement and those awful moans. Powell saw at least twenty figures ahead of them but was sure they'd be able to navigate around the slow figures, shooting any that came too close.
