by Jim Couper
Jane, first to rise, peered at a monitor showing Jesse sleeping. She felt relief that he looked normal and then, as she stared more closely, something didn’t appear right. His tight, rigid lips looked like they lacked blood and his forehead frowned forward, more wrinkly than usual. Black curls clung damply to the back of his neck. Jane asked a soldier to wake him, but Jesse stirred before being prompted. In the monitor she noticed he didn’t stand straight when he plodded to his cell door and started pushing at it. A soldier unlocked it and stood back with decapper ready. Jesse shuffled towards the reception room, knuckles past his knees, stooped like an ape. Jane held her de-capper towards him while the second soldier pointed his gun.
Jesse drooled, shuffled another two steps, rose to his full height, stuck his arms forward and mumbled, “Jane-brain for breakfast.”
“It won’t be zombies that kill the idiot sidekick,” Jane snarled, “It will be his perverted sense of humour.”
Jesse, grinning ear to ear, opened the front door and suggested they go and get some breakfast. The expected blinding sunlight didn’t smack their eyes. A wall of water and drums of thunder forced them to rethink breakfast at Tim’s. China Cup, directly across, served better breakfast, but had watery coffee. The owner tried to compensate by offering free refills, but police always preferred quality to quantity. A bolt of lightning lit the street, a gust of cold wind blew a spray of water through the door and Jane and Jesse grabbed jackets to repel the rain. With windbreakers zipped tightly and newspapers atop heads they sprinted as if to outdistance lightning that danced above. At the eatery they plunged through the front door and headed for a rear booth. Something about being police made them position themselves to observe everything. If a robber pulled a gun and ordered the till emptied they would step into action. That had never happened. Who would rob a restaurant across from a police station?
After ordering coffee, bacon and eggs Jesse noticed that the eyes of every man in the restaurant had risen from plates to focus on the doorway. His eyes followed. Jane looked up to see what caught their interest. If the skirt of the woman walking in was any shorter it would have been a belt. If her legs were any longer they would have belonged to a giraffe. Additional loft from spike heels put her at risk of losing her blonde bouffant to a ceiling fan. From far back in the eatery Jane and Jesse could hear the woman, like a rusty rock crusher, order coffee and French toast. Jesse stood and signalled to Joey, from the CSIS office in Ottawa, to come sit with them. Her heels clacked through a forest of lecherous leers and when she raised her arm to direct the waitress to deliver her food to the new table, her hem rose and the men lowered their heads, hoping to catch a glimpse of what she wore, or didn’t wear, beneath the skirt. Joey shuffled her chair, obviously habituated to stares, and settled in at the new table.
“What’s new?” Jane enquired.
Joey explained, in unnecessary detail, that Donald had become morose and despondent. He thought the demise of his alien theory meant the end of their department and loss of both jobs. He had invested so much time doing research and investigating landing sites worldwide that it devastated him to finally face the truth – an encounter with a zombie outranked one with an alien. She went on and on with her tale of his depression while she drowned her toast with syrup and downed it with surprising vigour between words. In mid-sentence she noticed someone standing beside their table and looked up to see Donald.
“How long have you been there?” she hawked, staring at him as if he had secretly eavesdropped on something highly personal.
“Long enough to learn how depressed I am. That’s such a downer, having someone tell tales behind your back. That could be the last straw that turns me suicidal.”
“But it’s true. Ever since your alien bubble burst you’ve been in a funk and hardly able to converse.”
“I’ve been doing research and thinking. Doing what you should be doing instead of wiggling your ass and watching men drool. I’ve made discoveries and that’s what’s depressing. The mass murders and disembowelments in other place have very little similarity to what’s happening here. As noted, the killers vanished right after the slaughters. No repercussions, no follow-up, no nothing. Probably alien related.”
Joey started to squawk about alien obsession vis-à-vis her rights to do her job when Jane asked if anyone had noticed that there seemed to be a parade of people going out the restaurant’s back door. Sinclair said he had been watching and, considering the rainstorm, it did seem peculiar.
“I’ll find out,” he said and walked away in his ghostly manner. In five minutes he came back and announced, “I’ve bought four tickets to the zombie show. $50 each. Courtesy of the department. Apparently they have a live zombie in the basement, not locked up. A ticket entitles you to get in the same room with it, talk to it, poke it and prod it. No chains, no cuffs, but safe. Maximum four at a time, maximum five minutes. They’ll call when it’s our turn.”
The two women congratulated Sinclair on his good work then Jesse told him they had zombies in the station that he could look at for free. That amazed him and he said he would love to have some time for observation. Before they had chewed the last crust a waitress led them out the back door. Twenty quick paces along a back lane, in the thunderous downpour, led to a heavy steel doorway and then down 13 cement steps.
“Here comes another fart-fest,” Jesse quipped as a stomach-turning stench drifted up the stairway and took command of their nostrils. The waitress opened a door to an unusually bright room with a low, beamed ceiling and cement walls. In the far corner a creature huddled, the front of its head covered by its hands. It could have been a hobo or street person. According to the waitress the restaurant owner captured it in his yard two nights previous. She said the people of Peachland deserved a chance to meet the enemy face to face so they could recognize zombies and learn how to defend against them. It was all for the public good and 10 percent of proceeds would go to the fire department.
“And the other $45 covers the electricity bill?” Jesse inquired sarcastically.
“Glad you asked,” the waitress responded, like an automatonic Disney guide, “The bright light is our defence. We discovered it. Let me demonstrate.” She ushered them into the room and pushed the heavy door closed behind them. “We are now alone with a genuine flesh-eating zombie.” She put her hands on two large dimmer switches and as she cautiously turned them counter-clockwise the level of lighting diminished and the creature moved its hands from its eyes and stood as erect as a zombie can.
Tufts of white patchy hair sprouted from the beast’s head and it wore a filthy, tattered wedding dress that once, with glowing whiteness, represented her purity. On her hospital bed, her last wish must have been to be buried in her wedding dress. Her little wrinkled face had an avuncular sweetness, although she was undoubtedly an aunt or grandmother. The lighting dimmed as the waitress fiddled with the controls and the creature turned, snarled and revealed four yellow teeth on top and a matching number on bottom. Fractionally the light dimmed and the puckered mouth started snapping, its eyes widened and the word brain slid out. Quickly the young waitress turned the lights back to full brightness and again the zombie cowered and covered its head. With the spotlights dimmed even more the mouth again snapped open and closed while “brain” spat from between teeth and the agitated monster lumbered forward.
“This is a good show, but it’s too dangerous,” Jane asserted. “I’m closing this down.” As she uttered her order a lightning bolt cracked, something crashed above them and the room went black.
“Our generator will kick in,” the waitress announced calmly, but nothing happened and brain could be heard coming closer. “Plan C,” the waitress said equally calmly and shone a small, dim flashlight at the approaching ogre who hesitated.”
“We’re outta here,” shouted Donald, who stood closest to the door. He pushed, but the thick slab wouldn’t move. “Something’s fallen behind it.”
Illumination from the flashlight dimmed signifi
cantly. “Guess we forgot to recharge it,” announced the waitress, unperturbed, “I’ll keep my beam trained on its eyes while someone opens the door.”
Donald rammed with his broad shoulder and whacked with a piece of wood, making no impression with either. From his pocket he pulled a miniature flashlight and directed the narrow beam at the zombie who stopped moving.
“Let’s move on to plan D,” Joey croaked and before anyone had a chance to ask about it she danced forward, kicked out her right leg and implanted the heel of her spiked shoe into the zombie’s eye socket, leaving red footwear dangling. “And now plan E,” she said, but before she could carry out another flying kick Jane held her back. “It could be expecting it. It could have some smarts we don’t know about. Surly there’s another exit from here.”
“No, there isn’t,” the waitress replied unemotionally. “For safety’s sake we have made sure the captive has no escape route. The generator will run momentarily.”
“The generator has been hit by lightning and when this little flashlight battery dies so do you.” Donald spoke as calmly as the waitress, although his edgy, clipped words reflected the situation’s severity. “Turn off your flashlight and save what’s left. Mine should hold the thing in place. What’s above us?” he asked.
“A dance studio, it doesn’t open until late afternoon.”
A series of beeps sounded in the dark, then Jane spoke cryptically into her softly glowing phone, “Need help. Trapped in a basement with a zombie. Across the street from the station. Two doors north of the back door of China Cup restaurant. Hurry.”
She closed the call then turned and took a picture with her phone. The enemy retreated at the flash then raised its arms to block the beams from Donald’s flashlight and from future photography. A wilted, yellow ray from the waitress’s flashlight limped across the room. The other three cells combined to barely put a glow in a two yard radius.
Ignoring weakening lights, the captive shuffled towards the waitress. Joey’s left leg took to the air and her heel landed perfectly in the zombie’s other eye and, as before, hung there. She balanced on one long leg as she withdrew her bare foot. The blinded zombie grabbed her ankle and she lost her balance. The ogre fell atop her as shoes fell free and yellow puss dribbled from eye sockets into Joey’s screaming mouth.
Donald hoisted the stick he had used against the door and laid into the kneeling zombie’s head with the fervour of a madman. As black cranial fluid sprayed, Jesse grabbed the zombie’s left arm and Jane the right and they yanked back, but the beast bent forward, defying their combined strength and plunged its face into Joey’s stomach. She screamed, as a horse would scream, from both pain and horror. Donald decreased the frequency of his blows while increasing the force behind them so any one of his swings would have hit the ball out of the park. Jesse cuffed one wrist but Jane couldn’t force the other arm back to link them together. She knew there was no point is asking politely if it would allow itself to be cuffed. A shot from Jane’s sidearm whizzed through the old, shrunken head and everyone ducked as it ricocheted off cement walls and ceiling. Unperturbed, the beast again plunged into Joey’s midriff. The agent squirmed on the floor, gasping and squirming to get out from under the forceful creature. It clamped five gnarled fingers onto a piece of stomach lining and held Joey in place while biting deeper and deeper. Jane finally got the other arm back and as Jesse clamped the wrists together the creature took another bite of Joey and its head practically vanished inside her. A river of coffee overflowed and bits of toast floated on top like little islands. The taste of flesh added to the beast’s formidable strength and twice more it pushed deeper, each time biting off bits that it swallowed until it hit her spine.
Donald, sweating and gasping from futile pummelling, stepped in front and landed a cascade of blows on the monster’s shoulders and head, rendering it unrecognizable as anything zombie or formerly human. Joey’s final hysterical screams escalated. Jane pulled out her taser, aimed it at the beast’s upper region and unloaded. The jolt energized the zombie so it ripped its hands through the cuffs and pressed fingers against Joey’s skull, trying to break through.
A tsunami of light filled the room as if curtains had been thrown open on a sunny day. The waitress emerged from a corner and declared what could not have been more obvious, “The generators have started. Safety is our number one concern. We’ll recharge our flashlight prior to next showing.” The enemy slid along a wall then sunk into its corner.
Two police smashed the door from its hinges and entered. Jane called an ambulance and ordered de-capping the zombie. Donald comforted Joey, held her head and pulled together her gaping stomach. “Get my shoes,” she hissed. “They’re expensive.”
An ambulance arrived at the same time as additional police with a Z-D-Capper. A cop, wearing vest and helmet, held a polycarbonate riot shield in front of him. The de-capper rested on the bullet-proof top edge. Cautiously he closed in on the docile creature cowering in a corner. The blades fit around its neck and as everyone waited for the head to fall the policeman whispered, “I think that’s my Granny. Granny Graham. I know her dress. It’s her old wedding dress.”
Jane placed her hand over the cop’s and together their fingers pressed the de-capper’s trigger. Pruners snapped and Granny Graham’s blood-drenched head, with face beaten to mush, thumped to the floor.
Donald accompanied Joey in the ambulance to the hospital. On the way she died, clutching her damp shoes in her hands.
Before dusk the next day, and before cremation, Donald held a memorial ceremony at the police station and invited the few people in town who knew Joey. He tearfully spoke of her untapped intellect, and a heart and kindness unlike anyone he had ever known. With eyes like kitchen taps he told of how he met her on the streets in Ottawa and was captivated by her curiosity and thirst for knowledge. A month later they met again, at a rehab centre, where both struggled to overcome addiction. When he eventually got a responsible position in government he created another position and hired her. Like brother and sister they quarrelled, shouted, made up and argued more. He ended by saying she was the best friend he ever had. Some of her ashes would be spread on the Peachland lakeshore and the remainder would go with him to Ottawa.
24
The proprietors of Vladimir’s Bar stared at their TV as never before. Hour after hour came one riveting announcement after another:
- zombie prisoners in local lock-up
- death at restaurant displaying live zombie
- a bite from zombie doesn’t turn you into one
- all civil liberties and rights suspended
- Z-D-Capper sold out, on order at $999 each
- more $1000 rewards claimed
- army stationed at top winery
A serious, beautifully configured young woman, dressed in black leather, hosted the newscast. Vampires knew her well as she was one of them, but they did not regard her fondly because of her penchant for public performance. For a decade she worked part-time at the local station, but her continuing youthful appearance could be attributed to makeup and surgery for only so long. Straight black hair bounced on her shoulders as she carefully pronounced, “Colonel Mayhew-Shostakovich …” Off-camera a barely audible voice whispered, “Bless you.”The announcer suppressed a slight smile and continued, “… has ordered all citizens to keep every light on throughout the night. The Colonel said light provides defence against cannibal killers. A powerful light aimed at an undead will cause it to retreat. The colonel suggested all battery-operated lights be fully charged and ready for use. At this moment the army is mounting searchlights on helicopters. Additional wheel-mounted lights will arrive by air and highway convoy.”
The dour announcer introduced the town engineer who added that headlights on newer cars could be left on since an automatic shut-off prevented battery discharge. He gave instructions on how motion-activated lights could be set to stay on and he pleaded with businesses to ignore conservation and ecology and leave office and st
ore lights on. The Colonel was quoted as saying that if Peachland had sufficient illumination the curfew could be pushed back a few hours and a semblance of evening business could resume. Bars and restaurants could stay open for dinner and drinks.
Vanessa looked at Victor and neither showed joy that their puny customer base would be able to return for evening drinks. Normally night business came to a near standstill as regulars had pickled themselves by 6 p.m. and staggered home to sleep until morning.
Vanessa stated what was obvious, “Things are getting worse.”
Victor’s dark head shook in despair and he responded, “It’s bad enough no one walks around outdoors anymore, but now all that night light will give us migraines. It’s going to be painful. And every one of us has a thirst: our reserves consist of two bottles for an emergency. This is an emergency. Everyday ruddy humans, bursting with blood, decrease in number and these dead creatures, with kitty litter in their veins, increase in number. No one walks the streets and hookers don’t answer the call. On top of that dentist and hairdresser appointments get cancelled every hour. People shouldn’t neglect their teeth and their hair just because of zombies. And men shouldn’t ignore their sex drive. Where are our hookers when we need them?”
Vanessa thumped her bloody Mary mocktail on the counter, stood up, paced back and forth and said nothing. Victor resumed his inspired lecture. “The Vault. We built it but have never used it. Now’s the time.” He stared at the only customer in the place, Barstool Bob, swaying on his favorite stool. A few words of casual conversation had revealed their best customer lived alone, had no job and no family. The fact that he drank alone indicated he had no friends. He wouldn’t be missed.
