by Jim Couper
A local entrepreneur manufactured a more dangerous zombie killer than makeshift backyard tarp traps. Trespassing zombie steps on a jagged animal trap with chain attached, trap snaps onto ankle, zombie takes step and chain releases load of timber on roof that breaks most zombie bones and takes out another three or four flesh-eating cohorts at the same time.
The load of timbers made a mess of vampires not expecting to be made into log jam. While death did not result, injuries took months to heal and officials became curious when a couple of night walkers didn’t die beneath 10 tons of timber. Suspicions increased when bloody and broken vamps crawled out from under the log pile, refused an ambulance and stumbled away on crooked legs. A month or two later they walked the public waterfront in good health.
Although they did not like to socialize and their long-term interests were best served by not meeting as a group, vampires held an emergency assembly at Vladimir’s Bar in downtown Peachland. The zombie infestation created so many problems that those at the meeting didn’t know where to start in attempting to find solutions. They had no ideas about how to deal with additional vamps that had suddenly come to life and had to be fed. Curfews, cannibalism and mass hysteria combined to make it next to impossible to get a good red drink unless cranberry or tomato.
A quiet, non-violent, non-confrontational lifestyle had seen Peachland vampires live contentedly by the lake for more than a century. Great revelations would finally be made: their lives stood on the brink of change. Something was happening and a plague of undead clouded the beautiful picture.
Several irritated vampires got to their feet at the meeting and demanded a posse of vigilantes be formed to hunt and kill zombies. An equally boisterous group shouted back that none of them owned guns, none of them knew karate and none of them had any knowledge of how to kill a zombie. If police and army couldn’t do it how could they?
“Knock off their heads with a baseball bat,” a meek insurance consultant suggested aggressively. She appeared ready to swallow her words as listeners quietly stated that none of them were good athletes and their hand-eye coordination lacked finesse. They were more likely to hit a tree, dog or fellow vamp than an undead head.
“I couldn’t get near one for the stink,” a part-time psychology professor countered.
“Then wear an oxygen mask when you step up to the plate,” the consultant responded.
“What? You think I should walk into Wal-Mart and ask for a dozen baseball bats and 12 oxygen masks? You don’t think that will prompt a few questions?”
“We have passed the point where we worry about questions. There are already questions about why we don’t have children, why we don’t age, why we don’t bowl. At a time when zombies drink our breakfast juice before we get to the table, the least of our worries is people wondering why we want to buy masks and bats. We’re in the greatest crisis since we lost so many in the witch hunts. Focus.”
Half the group half-heartedly cheered, the rest groaned audibly. A young woman, a part-time dental hygienist, walked to the front and stood behind a pile of stacked chairs that served as a lectern. “We’ve been through worse,” she said. “We’ve seen world wars. We lost members to mustard gas in the first war and to gas ovens in the second. And to drought and famine and gay lynching. This too will pass. We’ve been through dark ages, middle ages, black plague, Spanish flu, McCarthy era. We’ve survived polio, yellow fever, small pox, diphtheria and more pandemics than I can name. Yet here we are − the ultimate survivors. And survive we will. This is just a rough patch in thousands of years of history. No need for alarm. Go home, sit still and it will be over in a day or two.”
Half the audience applauded and when it quieted another woman who also worked in a dental office stood up. “That’s easy for you and me because of where we work. When a patient is under and the dentist steps into the outer office we can take a sip. By the end of the day we can upload a litre at home and share. But that doesn’t go far. It doesn’t feed a community. Lately I’ve been working extra hours and taking longer sips. Patients have been waking up weak and sick and not knowing where they are or how they got there. This only happens when I’m on duty. Sorry friends, but I have to stop. I have to stop when I’m needed most. So for us in the medical it’s easy to say be patient and say this will pass. Ditto hair dressers, manicurists, psychologists, masseuses and anyone else who can get a customer to take a rest. We can't stand by while our comrades get weak, fade away and pass away. We must fight the plague that steals our blood.”
A normally reticent vampire, who kept up appearances by pruning fruit trees, stood up and announced, “I saw them drown. They can’t swim. They don’t even know they can’t swim. They just walk into the water, flap their arms and go under. Pretty funny.”
The speaker paused for laughter, but none came. He continued. “Here’s a plan. At night a few of us plump ones stand at the end of a dock as bait and lure zombies. When they get near, we jump into the water and swim to shore. Zombies jump after us and drown. Easy to execute, no downside.”
A high-pitched voice shot out, “In case you haven’t noticed, none of us are plump.”
“Insignificant point,” the slightly portly pruner replied. “I’ve put on a few pounds eating peaches and plums. I’ll do it. I’ll stand at the end of the dock. Anyone with me?”
The second dental assistant answered quietly, but loud enough for all to hear, “I’m with you. Everyone go home before curfew except us two. We stay here and rest on the couch. At 2 a.m. we make our way through alleys, avoiding patrols and hopefully catching sight of some zombies who follow us to the dock. All in favour raise a hand.”
Following a mass mumble half the hands pointed upwards. The plan could hardly be rejected. Quietly heading home made everyone a part of the plot and they felt good about participating.
At 2 a.m. the dental assistant and orchardist exited the tavern’s back door and skulked across the parking lot to a laneway. The army patrolled with a barrage of illumination, the purpose of which was to announce their coming so other patrols didn’t shoot them. They also announced their coming to those they hoped to capture.
Zombie stink, and accompanying clouds of flies and mosquitoes, permeated the air to such a degree that the vamp duo could not determine if the enemy hid around the corner or had passed an hour ago. The pair skittered from alley to alley, slowly heading towards the lakeshore. They heard rustlings and the stench got stronger. “Brain” reached their ears and they become afraid, very afraid. Their fear intensified when a slouching figure lurched from a doorway into the alley in front of them. The vamps quickly reversed direction and found two zombies blocking their retreat. Jaws snapped audibly while they hummed “brain” as if a TV jingle couldn’t escape their heads. For the first time in their long lives the vampires feared their end was nigh. Regeneration of broken limbs and infected lungs happened systematically, but when brains and innards went hither and yon there could be no recuperation.
Delivery vehicles used the alley so the spry vamps had space to deke left and, as dumb zombies lunged for them, dart right. Once beyond the long fingers that grasped at straws they smiled with relief. When more revenants came out of doorways the duo mockingly patted their stomachs, pointed to their brains, licked their lips and shouted, “Come and get it, dinner’s ready!”
Taunting vamps backed to the shoreline and gingerly backed down a private dock. As per plan, zombies followed, then searchlights, flashlights and flares lit the sky. A shot sizzled through the air, whizzed through a zombie and hit a houseboat below the water line of its pontoon. Along the wobbly, wooden walkway, a few feet above the water, a horde of zombies shuffled and stumbled as gunfire put light to the night. Bullets found their marks and chunks of flesh flew from undead. A long-shaft Honda motor on the back of a sailboat caught a bullet and caught fire. The vamp duo couldn’t believe what unfolded before them.
Bullets didn’t stop ghouls from staggering forward. They didn’t seem to notice the blizzard of flesh
– their flesh. Even when parts of heads blew into the air their feet kept going and their hum continued like a baritone men’s choir in need of direction.
At dock’s end the vamps kicked apart a wooden guardrail so nothing would deter the lemmings from marching into deep water. Black Gucci shoes and matching Dernier jackets came off in preparation for a dip. A bullet thudded the tree pruner’s shoulder and knocked him to the deck. A second bullet slid through the hygienist’s hip and she dropped next to the pruner. The two bleeding bodies felled by stray bullets, caused pursuing zombies to quicken their lugubrious pace. Before the pruner got back to his feet an older, tuxedoed flesh-eater, more fleet than the others, bit into his arm and both tumbled into the lake. The zomb made no attempt at swimming while the vamp did a desperate breaststroke, dragging attached carnivore towards a piling. A downward pull, equal to a battleship anchor, came from the zombie who would sooner sink with meat in its teeth than remove its bite from the pruner’s arm.
The hygienist got up on her good leg and pondered how close she should allow the zombies to come before taking the plunge. Survival of her compatriot in the water didn’t concern her. He would find a way: vamps always survived. A bullet holed her stomach and made the decision for her as it knocked her off the dock and into the water. She landed on the back of the undead that bit into her comrade and the force knocked them apart. The attacker vanished into the deep. First zombie down, according to plan.
“Thanks,” gasped the pruner as both swam beneath the dock and waited for the cascade of stinking reborn flesh.
Vampires out of sight were vampires out of mind and pursuing zombies ended their long walk off the short dock. Eight uniformed men crouching behind blazing machine guns presented a bigger feast. Undead skin, hair, bone and muscle filled the air like debris in a hurricane. Tattered revenants marched fearlessly forward.
“Hold your position,” the commander ordered. When Swiss-cheese zombies reached the men, hand-to-hand combat ensued. Bayonets and rifle butts harmed the zombies no more than a curious finger harms a bowl of jelly. When five soldiers lay brainless and gutted, the remaining disobeyed orders, fled and lived to flight another battle.
Sated, the undead dispersed and some found refuge in sheds and dumpsters as sunlight touched the tops of trees on distant mountains. Others buried themselves in sandy soil so not even an eye showed while others burrowed into gravel and rocks. They felt comfortable beneath a familiar layer of dirt and debris.
In cold water beneath the dock the vamp pair realized their mission had been a bust and were it not for a bit of good luck one of them would be at the bottom of the lake attached to a zombie anchor.
When army reinforcements arrived, the swimmers knew their shoes and jackets on the dock would lead to their discovery. The pretty dental worker volunteered to emerge and confront the troops. She dog-paddled alongside the dock and waded out of the lake.
“Please don’t shoot,” she yelled before stepping onto sand.
“Hold your fire,” a sergeant ordered. “Hands on top of your head lady.”
“Zombies were chasing us,” she gasped. “We saved ourselves by jumping into the lake.”
“Where’s your friend?” the army man demanded.
“He decided to swim home. We live across the lake. He’s a champion swimmer. Probably in bed by now.”
“You can lower your hands. You’ve been wounded.”
“It’s nothing really. I’m OK. I’ll be on my way if you don’t mind.”
“You’re not OK. You’ve got a hole through your stomach and a chunk of your hip is missing. You’re in shock. You need help.” He turned to his troops. “Someone bring a blanket. Radio for an ambulance. Get a medic up front, now.”
The hygienist quickly replied in a soft voice, “Really, I think you’re overreacting. It’s just a little hole. Missed the vitals. I’ll be fine. I should be getting home, there’s laundry to finish.”
“I can’t let you go lady. You’re delirious. You’ve got a hole in one side and out the other. I can shine my flashlight through it. You need medical attention.”
The hygienist didn’t assert her right to refuse treatment and walk away as that would have caused more trouble. Plus, there had been a suspension of civil rights and she didn’t know exactly where she stood on the legal scale. One foot on and one off, she suspected. A blanket arrived first and a medic came right after. He gaped at the hole in her middle and swore he had never seen anything like it: it wasn’t even bleeding. Four privates lifted her onto a stretcher and into an ambulance that sped off.
Halfway to hospital the hygienist beckoned the attendant to come closer, as if she was going to whisper her last words or tell him she loved him. She got a perfect hit into his left jugular. A mile later she begged the driver to stop as she had to urinate. He told her to pee in the potty in back, but she replied that she might miss with the ambulance bouncing around and she didn’t want to embarrass herself. He pulled over and as he stretched to provide toilet tissue, she scored squarely with both eye teeth. Now she had blood to spare, to share.
The hygienist stepped out of the ambulance with its two unconscious occupants and wondered what to do, where to go. The sun brightened everything to intolerable levels. Daylight gave her a headache, but full sun practically incapacitated her. If she wore dark sunglasses she could tolerate the discomfort, but she hadn’t thought about glasses.A rummage though storage spots in the driver's door of the ambulance located a reflective pair that she had to hold against her thin head.
Zombies had no use for the sandy beach behind the hospital, she presumed, so she carefully made her way to the shore, sat beneath a willow and examined her superficial wounds. The sky brightened more: her head throbbed. Her phone had taken a dunking, but still worked so she called Vanessa to pick her up and to bring a blood jar. Twenty messages left on the wet cell asked about the mission. The only one she answered came from the tree pruner. He deserved to know how she escaped. He said he had laid low for a while under the dock and then tried to call for a ride but his phone was waterlogged. He hailed a taxi that demanded extra tipping to make up for the dripping. The other vamps would learn soon enough that the great killing spree resulted in one zombie drowning and two vampire near-deaths. It had badly-planned disaster written all over it.
A black Jaguar with dark tinting driven by a dark woman with large ebony sunglasses took the hygienist home. She had spurted excess blood into a one-litre jar that went into a refrigerator. Feeling sorry for herself and her race, she went to bed and rested soundly while her wounds began to heal. The infusion of fresh blood helped.
19
Donald Sinclair returned from the Dominion Astrophysical Observatory and its array of antennae like a man who had found salvation. His partner Joey returned like she had failed her audition for Sex Kittens from Planet X.
With hands flying to express excitement Sinclair danced around Jane Dougherty’s office, loudly explaining that the huge antenna could capture signals sent by aliens and direct them into the ground.
“You should see the suckers,” he shouted as gleefully as a child discovering chocolate. “They’re bigger than a house. They’re humungous funnels sucking life and energy from the sky and shoving it into the earth. If …”
“I’ve been there. I’ve seen them,” Jane interrupted. “You don’t have to describe them.”
“Sorry, but I never realized until today that aliens could channel themselves as radio waves, beam themselves to antennae and travel through the earth. They energize the dead and emerge as zombies.”
Joey’s hands covered her ears. Her face looked like a hiking boot stepped on it. Jane asked her, “What’s your opinion?”
The wire brush of a voice scraped across rusty steel and Joey tapped forward on high heels that needlessly exaggerated her height, most of which came from legs, “I’m so embarrassed. Not just for myself, but for the department. My partner sees a maple tree and it’s a hideout for aliens. He sees a car and it gets ener
gy from little green men. It never ends. You win Donny boy. I’m outta here. I quit. You’re now the entire department.”
“Good,” he replied without hesitation. “You’ve been a hindrance since you joined me. Now I can progress with my research.”
“Sit down,” Jane ordered harshly. “We need your reasoning. You can quit anytime, but not in the midst of my town’s crisis. I want your opinion and Mayhew wants your report. How far along are you?”
Joey bent her legs and eternity passed before her ass, bound by a tight red skirt, touched the chair. “I’ve done a dozen pages. We can’t agree on anything so there will be two reports. OK, this might not be the time to quit. I’ll wait before I make it official.”
“Sorry to hear that,” Sinclair interjected and Jane spoke loudly before he could continue.
“That’s the type of destructive comment we don’t need. Cut it out, both of you. Now, Joey, what’s your take on the antennae?”
“They’re key elements, for sure. Donald’s research is right. In other towns where maybe dead have risen radio antennae point to space. We spoke to the chief astronomer and he said last week’s conditions could be repeated. There’s exceptional sun flares, lightning storms, radio waves and shit like that and they somehow interact with the protective mountains, a lake and maybe uranium deposits. All other outbreak places have similar topography. Except California, but it has Hollywood and imagination. I think those antennae have to be bulldozed before another lightning storm comes at the same time as sun flares and stuff. Flares are active now.”
“How do you see it, Sinclair?” Jane asked the question quietly and Sinclair answered quietly.
“Remember your high school biology and physics? A guy named Luigi Galvani. Hemade frog’s legs twitch by applying electricity. That’s what it’s all about. Electricity in the form of radio waves, or magnetic waves makes the dead twitch. It comes from the antennae sucking them up and forcing them into the earth. They have to come down. That’s all we agree on. I mean this department’s focus is aliens. If we don’t look for aliens then what use are we? I’ve got a kid to support. I can’t have the department close its doors. I can’t lose my job because I can’t find any aliens.”
