Paul had looked like a corpse. She thought about that: The way Paul had looked, how he had sounded when she spoke to him on the phone, the blue goo that he had talked about. It wasn't his fault, she knew. He hadn't asked to be like that. Still, he had horrified her with the way he looked. And he had brought her a ring. A ring, of all things!
She wanted to forgive him, to go back and apologize and find some way to help him. She just couldn't stomach it. Not even for Paul. Neither could she turn him in to the cops. She owed him that much.
She wiped her face and cleared her nose, then put the car into reverse. She had meetings at work and then she would buy a bottle of nice, sweet wine and go home. She thought about that term now: home. She had an apartment, a few friends at work, a nice job, everything but Paul. And Paul was not coming back to her, at least not the Paul she had known all these years. There needed to be a new plan for the rest of her life, one that didn't include Paul. The thought of it made her cry again.
She went to the college, walked into her first meeting ten minutes late. The rest of the day, she just phoned it in, getting to her final meeting, managing to hurry it along. Come tomorrow, she might need a mental health day. But for the rest of this day, she managed to hold it together.
It took some thought for her to remember to get the wine on the way home. She grabbed some chocolate as an after-thought, then stuck a pre-fab sandwich into her mix. Now, she figured, she had everything she needed to make it through the night.
The police car was still out front when she got there. She waved to the officers inside and parked her car in the driveway. Even if she couldn't spend the rest of her life with Paul, she wasn't about to give him up to the cops. She got out of the car, grabbing her laptop case and grocery bag from the backseat and locking the car before she went inside. The sun would set in about an hour. She hoped there would be something upbeat and fun to watch on TV. This was not the night to be grading papers.
Linda went inside, pushing the door closed with her butt as she struggled to kick off her shoes. She dropped the laptop off next to the table, and then went to the kitchen to get a bottle opener and a glass. She padded through the house in stockinged feet and collapsed onto the sofa. Ferris Bueller's Day Off was on TV. Perfect.
Paul waited until a half hour after the sun had set. He had gotten bored while he sat and did nothing, so he had been picking at the cat meat the whole time. He looked into the mirror and liked what it saw. There was no better time than the present.
He started the truck and put it in gear. Oddly, he hadn't seen another living soul the whole day. Not even the bums came to hang out there, he guessed. Today must be his lucky day.
He turned right and then left and then right again, trying to scope out the backyard and gauge where Linda's apartment was from the back. He knew that it was brick, that it had a tall oak tree on the side. And then there it was. The tree stood a good twenty feet higher than the apartment and its spread offered shade to the side yard of the building adjacent to it. It was a pretty tree, and it seemed to him that it was just standing there, waiting for its tree house to be built. Paul let the car idle.
A cursory glance proved that his method of encroachment would not be as easy as he had thought. There was a fence which separated Linda's apartment from the neighbor's mid-century ranch. It was a six foot fence, made of wood, and it looked fairly new. The fence surrounded Linda's apartment rather than the neighbor's, so he had hopes that there would be no dog standing guard.
He parked the truck and got out, shoving a huge piece of cat meat into his mouth and chewing quickly. He would need all his strength and agility to crest that fence. And he wanted to look his level best when he was face to face with Linda. But as he approached the yard, he realized the error he had made. The wood fence did indeed surround Linda's yard. But there was a chain link fence surrounding the backyard of the neighbor's house.
Inside that yard, watching like a predatory cat in the jungle, was a Rottweiler. Lying beneath the bushes as he was, even the dog's eyes couldn't be seen. But when he stood up and made a run at the fence – just as Paul had put his hand on the latch – Paul got a clear picture of just how much trouble he was in. The dog stood at least waist-high, his head broad and his chest even broader. And when he leaped, the dog nearly cleared the fence.
Paul took three stumbling steps backward, arms flailing and his mouth hanging slack. The dog strained at his chain link bonds and barked and snarled. Lights came on in the house where he lived and someone opened a door and came out on the back porch. Paul turned to run then, managing to conceal his face before the woman rounded the corner. By the time she arrived at the side yard, the dog now whining and panting, begging for a pat or some food, Paul was back at the truck.
So, no way in hell was Paul going to make it to Linda through the back yard. A full frontal assault was required and he knew no other way to go about it. He walked to the corner, rather than give himself away with the chugging growl of the truck's engine. Then he turned and walked to Linda's street. He was coming at the apartment from the police car's rear, keeping to the natural shadows on the sidewalk and keeping his head down. If he was very lucky, he would get right to her driveway before the cops realized he was there.
He walked briskly, a man with a purpose, a man with a plan. His hands were in his pockets, on the note and the ring box. He had neatly refolded the note and written on the outside a message that he hoped would capture Linda's heart and make her read the letter:
FOR OUR LOVE
READ ME
I BEG YOU!
His plan was to out-distance the cops, make it to the door, and either ring the bell and hope that Linda made it there before the cops, or simply burst inside. Then he would shove that note into Linda's face where she couldn't miss the message outside. Hopefully, that would do the trick.
When he came even with the neighbor's driveway, he heard the dog bark in the distance. No doubt, the cur was still upset by Paul's visit. So was Paul.
The cops notice him as he turned up the driveway. He heard the car door creak a bit as it opened and he hurried his pace. It was no use. The cop was coming toward him now, his face set into a very serious scowl.
"Hey, buddy. Can I talk to you for a second?" The cop waited a beat and when Paul didn't stop, he said, "Hey, pal! Hold it! Stop! Police!"
Now the other car door creaked open. Paul heard footsteps behind him, sensed without looking that the cops were chasing him.
"Stop or I'll shoot!" said the other officer.
Paul was on the front step now and he let his hand flail outward and smack into the doorbell. He turned then and faced the cops. They stopped for a minute, sudden realization stealing their momentum. Their guns came up, both at the same time, aimed directly at Paul. Paul started to raise his hands, the ring in one and the note in the other.
And that's when everything went horribly, terribly wrong.
The sound of the door opening registered briefly in Paul's brain, as did the nearness of the gun-bearing police officers. Then Paul did the worst, most dangerous thing he could have done. Paul Tremblay turned and dove toward the door. His only hope was to stun the police into not shooting him.
Linda had opened the door and she stood there, her mouth forming a tiny "o" as she gawped at the sight of Paul. His sudden leap toward her stunned her as well, though not as much as the cops.
The policemen, who were far too keyed up to think clearly, panicked and opened fire. Paul felt the bullets strike his body and pass through it. He didn't spend any thought on where they went after that. His eyes lifted and he caught the expression on Linda's face just as he fell. His dive had taken him in through the door, but then gravity took hold and dumped him at Linda's feet.
Focused on the task at hand, desperate to complete his mission, he thrust up both hands, the one with the note and the one with the ring. His eyes pleaded. But by the time his brain caught up to his vision, he realized that it was too late. The bullets that had passed thro
ugh him as though he were made of air had hit Linda in the chest and the abdomen. Her eyes opened wide and her knees buckled. Paul let out a yell as he watched her fall, felt the jarring thud as she hit the tiled floor.
"No!" he yelled in his gruff zombie-man voice, grabbing onto her and shaking her. "No, Linda! No!"
Her head turned and she brought her eyes to bear on him. Blood was leaking from her in four places, covering the tiles and his hands as he clutched at her. He began to sob, his eyes meeting hers, his face a study in misery. "Don't leave me, Linda. Please don't leave me."
And then the most startling, brilliant idea hit him. In his other pocket was the jar full of blue goo. It had killed and then resurrected him. Maybe it would resurrect Linda, too. He reached into his pocket and grabbed the jar, twisting the lid off in one smooth movement. Then, he spread the stuff over her, pouring some in each wound, smearing some on her face, getting it into her mouth. He knew how it would look to the rest of the world, but if it worked, if it saved her, it would all be worth it.
Then Paul took the only out he could. He already had four holes in him. His heart had stopped and he no longer breathed. So, Paul just collapsed on Linda's lifeless body and waited.
EPILOGUE
The two cops would forever talk about that night. They told and retold the story about how they killed the zombie over the next few days, lengthening and embellishing it until there was very little truth to it. The official report that they filed with their superior, however, was far more accurate.
Upon seeing that they had shot not only the zombie boyfriend, but Linda Gilchrist as well, they had run to the doorway to see if they could save the girl. When they arrived, they spotted the man's body, splayed across the girl, both of them dead. There were four holes in the man and four matching holes in the girl. Blood was everywhere.
They found the ring, the note and the jar. In the light of the foyer, the blue goo was invisible, so they had no idea that it was there. But they stuck the other items into the man's pocket and called it in. The two officers were suspended for their grievous mistake, but eventually allowed to return to duty. They spent the rest of their careers as resource officers in the local middle school, breaking up food fights and in general being mocked by snot-nosed punks.
Paul rose first, having lain there for hours, waiting for the attendants to leave. He was far smarter than they would ever have guessed, since he knew damn well that they would think him dead and would send him to the morgue right along with Linda. There were stories circulating and they probably would continue to circulate for decades. But he didn't care.
He turned his head and listened to his neck crackle with the movement. Linda was right there next to him, on the table but not yet autopsied. He stretched then, fighting off an eerie sense of déjà vu. He swung his legs over the edge of the table and he staggered to Linda. Smiling, he stroked back her hair, kissed her gently.
"Wake up, Linda. Come back to me, baby." He waited. He couldn't remember how long it had taken for him to come out of it but he was sure it was longer than a couple of hours.
Her eyelids fluttered then and she peeled them open. The first thing she saw was his face and she nearly screamed with terror. Paul helped her sit up and held her hand while she fought to remember what had happened.
"Where am I?" she asked softly, trying out her new voice and blinking.
"You're in the morgue." He hugged her carefully, and then it hit him. He thrust her out to arm's length, staring at her.
"I understood you. Oh Paul!" She hugged him hard, laughing. "Wait! Why am I in the morgue? What are we doing here?"
Paul looked sad at that, his eyes lowering and his smile fading. "I'm afraid you're dead, honey. Just like me. The cops shot us, remember?"
She screwed up her face in hard thought and nodded slowly. "Did you bite me and make me come back?"
"No! I would never bite you. I just smeared some of that blue goo on you to make you come back. I'm so sorry, Linda. This whole thing is my fault. I should have stayed in New York. It's my fault that you got shot and it's my fault that you're undead."
"Well, it's not like you could ask me what I wanted. I mean, I was . . . dead." She shrugged and slid off the table, testing her new legs and searching the room with her pretty eyes. "So, what do we do now?"
"I suppose we get out of here before they autopsy us. Our clothes should be right under the tables on those little shelves." He looked and, sure enough, there were the bags with their clothes. "Let's get dressed and then we can decide where we're going to go and hang out for the rest of our . . . lives."
She began pulling on her jeans, her little feet popping out the end of the pants legs, toes wiggling. "Do we have to eat human flesh? I don't think I'll like it."
"No, any old flesh will do, as long as it's raw."
"Ew! I hate raw meat. How about sushi? Does that count?"
"I don't think so, but I'm no expert."
She pulled the t-shirt over her head and then slipped into Paul's arms. "Canada or Mexico?" she asked with a grin.
"I think Mexico. It's warmer there."
"But the cold would preserve us," she argued.
"Not really. But before we go anywhere, we need some food." He watched her make a face, pulled open one of the drawers. There was a body inside and Paul smiled. "He's already dead. He won't miss it."
"Won't they freak out when they find us gone?"
"I'm sure they will. You know, it occurs to me that we need a Renfield."
"A what?"
"Dracula had Renfield, a guy who could go out in the daylight and do his bidding, fetch him fresh bodies, and all that. Let's go to New York. We'll pick up Matt and then decide where to go."
"Okay." She smiled at him, trying not to watch as he sliced slabs of meat from the corpse and stuck them in a plastic bag.
When he was done, he closed the drawer and turned back to her. All of a sudden, he snapped his fingers and reached into his pocket. "I almost forgot," he said, sinking down to one knee and holding out the ring to her. "Linda Gilchrist, I love you with all my unbeating heart. Will you marry me and be my wife for as long as we both don't live?"
She clapped her hands together and laughed, taking the ring from him and putting it delicately on her finger. She studied it in the light, watching the sparkle and casting reflections on the wall behind Paul. Then she sank to her knees and took both his hands in hers. "You know I will. I love you, Paul Tremblay."
He smiled at her, his new wife, the love of his life and his partner in the future. She was perfect in every way, not just perfect for him. So, they headed for New York and even after the cops discovered that their bodies were missing, they were hesitant to do anything about it.
Paul and Linda grabbed Matt from New York and headed for Mexico, where they would live happily forever after.
Davis, Lopez and Milligan buried the case files in the cold case section. It wouldn't benefit anyone's career to institute a search for two walking dead people. Besides, they were pretty sure they knew what had happened. The pair had been revived and, now that they were together, had no interest in much of anything else. They would be no further danger to the world. Two years later, while vacationing in Mexico, visiting family, Lopez thought he saw Linda at a local Cantina. He kept it to himself, and found another place to drink.
Zombie - A Love Story Page 12
