Play Dead: How to care for your Zombie

by landau, marc

***

  The fresh coffee tastes good. Not that she needs the caffeine after the workout she just had with Trevor. A nap would be better, but she knows if Sam’s open to the next stage of training she’ll need the energy.

  “I see what you mean when you say he can get agitated,” Charlie says.

  “I'm sorry. He's not good with new people.”

  “Takes more than a rowdy teen to damage me.”

  “…Do you think there's hope for him, or were my friends right? Should I…”

  Charlie puts her hand on his forearm.

  “It's going to be okay. I understand why it seems scary and yes, honestly, if he got outside, it could be a problem.” She finishes the cup of coffee. “We can work with him. He's fear driven. He sees everyone but you as a threat. At some point may have been true, but now he's got to learn that he doesn't need to protect you. We need to show him that he can trust people.”

  “Can we do that?" Sam asks.

  “We can but it won’t be easy.”

  Sam exhales, “I’ll do whatever it takes. When can we get started?”

  Trevor stands in his room with his mouth duct taped so he can't bite.

  “I'm sorry. I swear it looks worse than it is,” Charlie says.

  “Do what you have to do.”

  “Okay Trevor. I want to…”

  Trevor attacks — he and Charlie scuffle until finally, she’s able to stun gun him unconscious again. Or as close to it as possible.

  “We're going to have to start more simply,” Charlie says.

  This time when Trevor wakes he’s tied securely to a chair, his mouth still duct taped.

  “Trevor, my name's Charlie.”

  Trevor tries to attack but can't break the restraints.

  “I'm not going to hurt you,” Charlie says calmly, but Trevor doesn't calm down.

  “I'm a friend,” she says, as she nods to Sam.

  “She's our friend Trev. She wants to help us.”

  Sam gives Trevor a hug and that soothes him a little.

  This is what would be called, a seriously dysfunctional family, but it still makes Charlie’s eyes water to see the love Sam has for his brother. It makes her miss her brother Michael. Quickly, she pushes the memories away.

  “That's good. Let’s end on a positive note. I don't want to push him too much today.”

  At the front door Charlie gives Sam some homework to do.

  “I want you to buy a photography book with as many people in it as you can find. Sit with Trevor and go through it picture by picture. Get him used to seeing people in a pleasant, nonthreatening way. Maybe put on some music. …Nothing heavy.”

  “Too bad. He loves Celtic Death Metal, but I guess Yanni will have to do for now,” Sam says with a grin. Cute, she thinks.

  “Also, it may sound silly, watch some comedies with him,” she says. “There's a lot of research that laughter helps the immune system. It started with cancer patients, but it’s used for a whole bunch of disorders now.”

  “Could be fun.”

  “Just make sure there's no violence. Seriously. Nothing. Even Bugs Bunny has some pretty damaging stuff.”

  “Got it. No Bugs Bunny.”

  “I’ll be back to check on you guys soon,” Charlie says, as she heads back to the van.

  “Charlie?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Thank you,” Sam says, with moist eyes.

  Charlie offers a kind smile and quickly leaves before she loses control and rushes back to him. She wants so badly to wrap her arms around him. Kiss the tears from his cheeks.

  ***

  A documentary video plays. A weird dude on the street is being interviewed.

  “Are they intelligent?" he asks.

  “Yes, but it's hard to say exactly how intelligent. Cognitive function is well below normal.

  Dolphins are more intelligent.”

  The weird man chuckles,“Dolphins. Cool.”

  ***

  Charlie pokes a few holes into the clear plastic wrap covering the microwave meal du jour. She shoves the hard plastic all in one feast into the microwave, sets the timer, and watches the food-like substance slowly rotate as the clock counts down. She wonders what a home cooked meal would actually taste like. Maybe she should offer to cook Sam dinner. Maybe she better look up how to cook a dinner.

  Five-seconds. Four. Three. Two — Her phone rings the same moment the microwave beeps. She picks it up wondering what any meal would taste like. It seems like God wants her to die of starvation. After listening for a few moments to the man on the other end of the line she thinks, screw God.

  “I'm so sorry to hear that. I thought she would make it.” Charlie sits on one of the uncomfortable kitchen chairs and puts her head in her hands. “No, I don’t know what happened. Sometimes the meds stop working. Yes, I'll do it. I'll give it to her. Sorry you're not allowed to be there. I promise I’ll comfort her.”

  Charlie hangs up the phone and stares blankly at the microwave. A tear tries to work its way out of her eye, but she makes her face go tight, turns her hands into fists. Then she rips the microwave door open, takes out the meal, and throws it hard against the wall.

  She grabs her bag and heads out the door.

  ***

  Alice sits in a ragged hospital gown, shackled to a table, inside another sparse white room. Across from her, Charlie shifts uncomfortably in her seat. She dabs a tear at the corner of her eye, then reaches into her bag, pulls out a small box, and opens it. Whatever’s inside catches Alice’s eye. Does it stir a memory, or is it just that it’s shiny?

  “Phillip wants you to have it,” Charlie says, and places a wedding ring into Alice’s palm. She immediately starts playing with the gleaming object. She seems to want to put it on her finger but can't quite figure out how. Round peg, square hole.

  On the table an official document reads: Subject Volatile. Multiple Test Failures. Order to Euthanize.

  Charlie steps behind Alice, strokes her hair. “I failed you too,” she whispers then pulls out her gun and places it softly against the back of Alice’s head. She doesn’t seem to notice, or care. She’s hypnotized by the shiny stones and polished metal. Another tear rolls down Charlie’s cheek, as she puts her finger on the trigger.

  It sparks a memory. Charlie’s back on the streets of New York City during the plague. She’s trying to shoot the man who was attacked, but can’t.

  Blam. Michael shoots the man.

  Now she’s sitting at the dinner table. Cold mac and cheese congeals in front of her. Alcot presses his gun against Michael’s skull. If only she did what she was supposed to, and killed the man, Michael never would’ve been bitten. It would never have come to this.

  Her father pulls the trigger.

  Alice grunts in frustration as she fails again to get the ring on her finger. She can’t get a good grip on the small sparkling circle. Her fingers are too weak and uncoordinated. The wedding ring drops clinking to the ground, and Alice loses sight of it.

  Charlie bends down to pick it up — Alice loses it. She screeches and attacks Charlie, catching her by surprise. Alice jumps on her, drags her to the ground and almost bites into her throat.

  Blam! An officer blows Alice’s brains out.

  “You okay?” The officer asks. His facial expression flat as day old soda.

  Charlie nods and tries to thank him for saving her life, but her lips won’t make the words. She’s not going to let herself break down in front of him. She takes a calming breath, and does her best to avoid staring at the bits of brain matter and bloodspray dripping from the walls. As she leaves she notices Alice’s eyes. It looks like she’s at peace. At least her suffering has ended.

  ***

  Charlie sits curled up in the shower crying.

  ***

  The Brute watches Charlie's window. He’s been watching a long time. Waiting.

  She exits the building and gets into her van. She needs to drive. Anywhere. Just to feel the movement. Just to
not go crazy thinking of Alice, Michael, and the many others. She can’t help wonder, Am I helping anyone at all?

  A teen rolls by on a skateboard and flashes a hand signal. He makes the letter V with one hand, and the letter C with the other. The initials of her show for the virally challenged. Charlie waves and smiles weakly.

  She drives aimlessly for hours until finally rolling to a stop. When she realizes where she is, she isn’t surprised.

  The front door opens and Sam peeks out. Charlie almost drives away, but gets out and walks towards the house. She doesn’t even have it in her to check her hair or breath. She tries at least to give him a cute smile. Her lips decide otherwise and it comes out as a frown.

  “Charlie? Is everything okay?" Sam asks.

  Nothing’s okay but she doesn’t want to talk about it. She’s not even sure why she’s there.

  “Everything's fine,” she lies.

  Sam relaxes. “You had me worried. I know you can spot check and call the authorities if you think Trevor might be a danger.”

  “No, no. I wouldn't ever do that.” Great, she just wanted to see him and now she feels like shit for worrying him. “I just thought I'd stop by and see how Trevor’s doing.”

  She can tell he knows she’s lying about something, but he’s considerate enough not to push it. Either way it’s nice just to see him.

  “It's only been a couple of days but he's making progress. I got this awesome book of photography. At first he’d grunt and paw at the pictures, but now he seems to enjoy looking at them. Especially the women.”

  Charlie forces a small smile.

  “Do you want to come in and say hello?”

  She can't help but stare at Sam's lips when he speaks. It makes her sick to think that she wants him after what just happened to Alice. How can she be so callous? Then again, she remembers someone telling her once that people often have sex after funerals.

  “I have to go,” She blurts, then rushes back to the van, leaving Sam with a bewildered look on his face. She can tell he wants to say something. Maybe offer a friendly ear. But she just can’t. She’s not ready. She hasn’t talked to anyone in so long.

  As she pulls away, Charlie calls back, “Tell Trevor I say hello.” It’s the best she can do.

  ***

  Charlie does frustrated sit ups. Works out until her limbs burn with acid and her body is soaked like a wet dog. And then she does more. Crunches, sit ups, pushups. She needs to burn off the anger. Someone’s killing her clients. She’s lonely as hell. She wants to jump Sam’s bones. But she won’t put him or anyone she cares about in jeopardy. People close to her get hurt. They get dead. She needs to be alone. She punches the heavy bag until she practically vomits.

  Outside Charlie’s apartment the Brute stares at her bedroom window. The bedroom light blinks out, and he shuffles to Charlie's van. He twists hard on the back door until it pops open, then steps in, and hides under a pile of blankets.

  Charlie can’t get comfortable under the comforter. She’s still too agitated. The thoughts won’t stop. She stares at the ceiling and tries to relax. She counts her breaths. That doesn’t work. She counts sheep. Do people still count sheep? She counts the number of people she’s tried to help, but it only makes her blood pump to think of people murdering the infected. Why can’t they just leave them alone. They’re not hurting anyone. Wait for the damn cure.

  She twists and turns. It’s getting late. The clock reads: 3 A.M. There’s one thing that might at least distract her mind even if it’s only for a few moments. Charlie slides a hand under the blanket and lets it fall between her legs. An image of Sam’s bright brown eyes flashes in her brain, and her tongue touches her lips. She moans softly.

  The phone rings.

  “Jesus,” she grunts while rolling over and picking it up.

  “Hello?” She tries not to be grumpy. “Okay, don’t worry. It’s fine. I'll be right there. Goodbye,” she says, knowing she sounded more annoyed than she meant to.

  Charlie rolls up to Randy’s well manicured Georgian house on its well protected, upscale block. She thinks she spots one of those nosey neighbors Elliot mentioned, peering from behind a curtain across the street. Hopefully whoever it is won’t call the authorities.

  The bundle of blankets jostles in the back of the van.

  Charlie gets out and walks to the door. Before she can knock, the door swings wide open and Elliot rushes out arms flailing wildly. Her hand goes to her stun gun. Is he infected and attacking her? Or is he just panicked?

  “I don't know what happened. Randy just got so upset and then ran out. I don't even know what triggered it,” Elliot says. “We were just —”

  “Which way?” Charlie cuts in. It doesn’t matter now what set Randy off. It matters where he went.

  Elliot points towards the woods.

  “It's going to be okay. I’ll go get him. Wait for us inside.” Charlie takes off keeping the stun gun at the ready.

  “Please don't hurt him,” Elliot calls out after her.

  The trees are close. Randy’s only been gone minutes, and he can’t move too quickly. It should be easy enough finding him.

  She creeps through the brush. “Randy? You there?” A twig snaps in the distance, and Charlie heads towards the sound. She spots a swaying shrub. Moves towards it. It twitches again.

  “Randy?” She lifts the stun gun and reaches into a cluster of leaves.

  A dog scurries away.

  “Why the hell is there some random dog in the woods?” Charlie mutters. Damn. Now she’s got to also find the dog. She can’t just leave it out here on its own. She doesn’t want a dog. Even if she did there’s no time to care for one. Then again, a shelter will most likely put it down. She resigns herself to keep it. Damn dog.

  A thought forces itself into her consciousness. I always wanted dog. She pushes the idea quickly from her mind. First she has to find Randy and make sure he’s okay. Then she’ll go back for the lost pup.

  In another part of the woods, an attractive fortyish woman wearing purple sweats is searching for the four legged creature. She had been jogging to keep away the ravages of time. No one likes a fat girl, her mother used to tell her. They only like fat grandmas. Her pleasant night time ritual had now become a frantic search for the only creature on earth that never judged her. He’d never run off before, but tonight something caught his attention. She wondered if it was an animal. Were there coyotes in the woods? She never heard of any wildlife being out here except for squirrels and the occasional raccoon. Maybe Henry caught the scent of one of them. Maybe a rabid raccoon spooked him. Oh gosh, is there a rabid animal out here?

  “Henry? Henry come back here,” the woman calls, but there’s no reply. “Please Henry.”

  In the distance, she hears a bark and her eyes light up. “Henry?” The woman jogs towards the sound.

  Another bark comes from behind a tree. She slows to a creep. Something’s moving. When she sees a happily wagging tail, she smiles relieved. Then her brow furrows. There’s a lanky man standing next to her tan, fluffy, Henry. What’s he doing out in the middle of the woods? Realizing she’s alone and has nothing to defend herself with, she turns her hands into claws and readies herself to scratch his eyes out, if he tries to rape her.

  The man gently reaches out to the dog like he’s going to pet it. She may have to fight off a rapist but what choice is there? She can’t leave Henry, her good little boy. The woman takes a deep breath, tries to remember the one kung fu kick her cousin taught her when she was nine, and storms in to save her one and only friend.

  The man’s features come into focus, and she quickly realizes she doesn’t need to worry about being raped. She needs to worry about being eaten. He’s infected. He’s not trying to pet Henry. He’s trying to eat him.

  “Keep your dirty infected paws off my dog!” The woman yells, and she lunges at the man, who in fact is Randy. She hits him with her heft, like a linebacker, and knocks him to the ground. All those squats she’s being
doing finally paid off.

  “Zombie piece of garbage!" she yells while kicking at his groin. She moves to his face and decides to use a kung fu kick. Her foot hits Randy dead center in the mouth and gets stuck there. She tries to pull it out but can’t. It’s lodged in deep. She lifts her leg, taking Randy’s head with it and smashes it back to the ground hoping he will release her. Instead, the force sends his teeth digging through her sneaker and into her foot. And she does what anyone would. She screams, and then there’s a crackling sound. Randy wriggles then flops unconscious to the ground. Charlie steps back, checks her stun gun and zaps him one more time, just to be safe.

  “Are you okay?” Charlie asks as she dislodges the woman’s foot.

  The woman checks her bloody toes. “Son of a bitch bit me.”

  “He’s not violent. I don’t think he meant —”

  “He’s not violent? Look at my foot!”

  The cut isn’t bad but it’s enough to spread the virus.

  “It’s going to be all right,” Charlie says, remembering the days of the plague and the infected man she couldn’t pull the trigger on. At least her father wasn’t here to murder this woman. Hopefully, she had a loved one to care for her until the cure is found. If not, there were institutions. Not ideal, but better than a bullet to the brain. Either way, Charlie vowed to work with her.

  “Oh, it’s going to be all right is it? I just got bit by a God damn zombie.”

  “He's not a zombie.”

  “I can't turn into a fucking zombie. I have a huge deal to close tomorrow.”

  Charlie doesn't reply. She watches as the realization of what’s happened slowly hits the woman. When it does, her face turns somber.

  “I can feel it.” The woman starts to shiver.

  “It's going to be okay,” says Charlie.