The Ugly Beginning - 01

by T. W. Brown

  Crash!

  And just that quick, everything I knew, loved, did for fun…gone. My world had been shaken violently, and the pieces would never settle into anything resembling normal ever again.

  Ed’s stench hit me hard. The smell was so thick that I could taste it in the back of my throat. Two things happened almost instantaneously; Pluck lunged at the body that was halfway through my living room window, and I puked. To say “vomited” or “threw up” would diminish the true nature of that moment. It was as if my stomach heaved so violently that my intestines reversed flow and joined in the event. My mouth and nose burned from the bile-laced mixture that spewed from deep inside my guts. I staggered back, unable to see for a moment. Over the ringing in my ears I heard Pluck snarl and bark as he threw himself at the unnatural thing that threatened his master. I probably owe my life to that stupid dog.

  His sudden yelp brought me back.

  My eyes cleared, and I could see Ed holding something in his hands. It took another second to overcome the shock of what I was seeing. It held Pluck by a hind leg and his collar as it buried its face into that soft, warm, scratchable belly. When its head snapped up, long strands of skin and viscera pulled away. My best friend howled loud enough to drown out my own cry. But for a moment anyway, Ed was occupied.

  God help me.

  I ran.

  I scrambled for the door, fumbling with the lock for seconds which seemed eternal before I could yank it open, and I ran away. I ran away from my apartment. I ran away from all my stuff. I ran away from that smell of death, and blood, and puke. I ran away from Ed.

  I ran away from Pluck!

  At the bottom of the stairs was a small, pink bicycle with training wheels. My mind held up a mental flash card of a tiny Mexican girl. She would ride that bike around the square inner-courtyard of the complex. She always rang the little bell on her handlebars if she came up on somebody from behind. She would laugh.

  So I ran.

  I reached the parking lot and realized that I had never bothered to grab my keys. The stupid ones in the movies always go back. My mind flashed on that image of the Ed-thing taking a bite out of the middle of my dog. Every hero in the movies knows how to hotwire a car. I had no clue. I still wasn’t going back.

  I stood there like an idiot for a moment, then heard a low steady sound. The backside of my apartment complex’s parking lot is a steep, tree-covered embankment. There is a wall made of river rock that forms about a five foot base before the earthen slope begins and rises up to the street above. That street is like a border between my apartments and a quiet residential neighborhood. Parked on the edge of that street, just visible through the trees that overhung most of the parking lot, was a big power company truck.

  It was running!

  Hoisting myself, and scrambling up the embankment, I reached the road. Typical for this time of night (it was 3:42 a.m. according to my watch) it was quiet. I sorta turned a slow circle to make sure all was clear. Farther down the road from me something may have moved in the darkness. I wasn’t about to wait and find out. Still, rushing to the truck without at least a little caution could be as fatal as a stroll down this road into the deep, black shadows.

  I moved out into the middle of the street so as to allow myself the greatest amount of open space, then crept towards the idling vehicle. A large, dark smear marred the driver’s side door. I wondered briefly if it belonged to Ed…or worse…his co-worker. Just as I neared close enough to peer in the open window, a scream unlike anything I’d ever heard—before that night anyway—shattered the relative quiet. That piercing sound seemed to reach inside me and clamp down hard on my bladder.

  Yeah. I wet my pants.

  Now I realize that something like that never happens to action heroes. Well, I guaran-damn-tee that he or she never heard a scream like that before. Not for real anyways.

  It sounded like a woman or a child.

  I yanked open the truck door deciding it was time to move a little quicker. Thankfully, no surprises leapt out at me, and I slid into the cab. I took quick visual inventory: keys, big flashlight, clipboard, brown paper sack. Great.

  I popped the column shifter into drive and stomped on the gas pedal while twisting the steering wheel hard left. Making a big U-turn, I raced to the corner and did a bouncy power-slide. Turning sharp left again, I dropped into the entrance of my complex. I veered slightly left clipping a beat up Buick parked in the first tenant’s parking spot. The truck fish-tailed the short length of the lot where an opening in the two-story building on my right indicated the entrance existed to one of two breezeways. Slamming on the brakes, the truck screeched to a halt and banked right just enough to have the nose pointing into the void. I found the knob and pulled, turning on my headlights.

  The scene in that dark tunnel-like breezeway threatened to cause another upheaval from my stomach. Ed, along with two more of those things were clawing at this short, pudgy, Mexican woman. One of them was tearing out what looked to be a strand of intestine from a gaping hole in her abdomen. Another was jerking back with a chunk of left forearm between its teeth. Ed was on hands and knees chewing away at a thigh. Backing toward the steps was a little girl.

  I struggled to remember the name I’d heard when her mom or dad had called for her. It was my little bicycle rider.

  Thalia!

  I leaned out the window and called her name. She spun, and I could see her clothing was splattered with blood.

  Please don’t be a zombie.

  The three things feasting on what I was pretty sure had been her mom glanced up, then went back to what they’d been doing. Thalia, on the other hand, ran towards me.

  Zombies don’t run. Right?

  “Ayuda me, por favor! Ayuda mi mamá, señor!”

  “English, sweetie.” I reached down and grabbed the tiny girl, yanking her rather unceremoniously through the window.

  “Please to help my mamá, Mister Steve!”

  Her accent was kinda thick. “Mister” sounded like ‘meester’, but her family was the sort that worked hard at their English. Good thing, because my Spanish was limited to a poor Speedy Gonzalez impersonation.

  She looked at me with large, pleading eyes. I didn’t have time to explain. Besides, I felt that any help on behalf of her mamá at this point would be useless. Mamá was done. I shifted into reverse and backed out as quick, and still cautious, as I could. It would be really stupid to wreck now.

  As the headlights drifted across that horrific scene, I took one more look. My mind was screaming that this could not possibly be happening the way I was seeing it. I slammed on the brakes causing Thalia to fly forward and hit her head on the dashboard. She started crying, but I didn’t hear it. Creeping into the breezeway was a short, squat shadowy figure.

  Pluck.

  I watched in painful fascination as my constant companion for so many years nosed into the body sprawled on the concrete. His head pulled back, and a flap of torn flesh hung from his mouth.

  Slowly, I regained awareness of my surroundings. Tiny fists were pounding on my right shoulder. I glanced at Thalia in confusion as the sounds of her sobs poured into my con-sciousness. The blurred vision and burning sensation in my eyes made me realize that I was crying, but that wasn’t why the little girl was pummeling me.

  A bloodless face stared at me through the closed window of the passenger side door. The mouth opened and pressed against the glass. My mind focused on the weirdest thing.

  No fog.

  The window didn’t fog up! This thing’s mouth was all over the glass, and it wasn’t fogging up even a teensy bit. Crazy.

  An equally pale hand with a chunk missing, and what looked like just a stub for a thumb, smacked against the increasingly slime-smeared window. I heard a rattle of the door handle. This thing was trying to open the door, albeit clumsily. Time to go!

  I made sure I was still in reverse and goosed the accelerator. Our friend came with us as he still had a grip on the door handle. I swung around and
brought that side of the truck almost flush with the rock wall. A gout of blackish fluid made a macabre Rorschach pattern on the glass. Thalia screamed again and was practically in my lap. Her arms clutched about my neck so that I had to crane around her to see. My head turned just enough to allow me to see a shape rising in the shadows of the breezeway.

  I eased the little girl down next to me and wrapped one arm protectively around her. She buried her face in my side and for that I am grateful. She didn’t need to see what was staggering our way. The thing outside the passenger’s side was not letting up in its effort to try and get at us, so I gave another tap on the gas. Gripping Thalia, I hit the brakes and shifted back in to drive.

  Directly in front of me was Pluck. Without any further thought, I floored it. The time was long past to be outta here. The big truck lurched just a bit as our tag-along fell free and ended up under the rear wheels. Then the front sorta bounced like we’d hit a speed bump.

  That “speed bump” was the end of my boon companion. My best friend. My foot warmer. I looked in the rearview mirror long enough to know I’d crushed his head like a jack-o-lantern in November. My dog, good old Pluck, lay still in the middle of the Villa la Puerta apartment complex parking lot. I think, in a lot of ways, I was relieved.

  ***

  One sentiment that popped up in most of the zombie books and movies was the desire to ensure friends and companions didn’t “come back.” I get it now. Not just the fact that I didn’t want him wandering around as one of them, it was much more. Honestly, that thing wasn’t Pluck. It is just so vile to see somebody you knew and loved become a part of the cause. To think that his body would still be moving after his… essence?...soul?...whatever the hell you want to call it, is long gone? It just ain’t natural.

  ***

  I pulled out onto the street just as I saw Thalia’s mom appear in my rearview mirror. I’m really glad that sweet little girl never saw what I did at that moment. What she had seen moments before, as well as what she would see in the next hours…days…weeks…would provide enough nightmare fod-der.

  I turned right. Away from the airport and towards the freeway seemed the best choice. A few blocks ahead, I could see that the power was on! That held some definite plusses and minuses.

  Plus—I could see. I did a quick look-over of Thalia. Not that I’m heartless, but I had to make sure. Thankfully, there were no bites or scratches. I was really hoping there weren’t any that I couldn’t see. Her face was nestled right in my side. If she turned…

  Minus—I could see. Here and there, singles, doubles, and mini-herds of those things were on the move. Or worse, feeding. Again, really glad Thalia couldn’t see this. A couple of times, I had to swerve to avoid one of those things as they wandered out into the street after the few passing cars. I saw no reason to play Death Race with…

  Zombies. That’s it. That’s what they are, and I can’t avoid it. After Pluck and Thalia’s mom, I have no doubts that the dead are, in fact, returning. For whatever reason...instinct, anger, hunger...they are attacking and feeding off the living.

  As I hit the I-5 South on-ramp, it dawned on me to switch on the radio. A monotone, obviously recorded message, was repeating on every station I scanned to:

  “The Emergency Broadcasting System has been acti-vated. Please stay tuned to this local station for information…”

  The message was on a loop. I tried the two-way radio. It came alive with all sorts of frantic chatter.

  “...advised, we have lost contact with units seven, nine, twelve, and seventeen.”

  “…came out of no place and just grabbed Duran…”

  “…where the hell is anybody!”

  “…damn lady just bit me! I mean took a chunk out of my arm!”

  As I drove down the interstate listening to the insanity unfold, I passed a couple of cars that were pulled only partially off the road. In the opposite lane, a few cars whisked past heading north. There was no way I would even consider heading into downtown Seattle. Within hours, if not already, that place would be a chaotic death trap. I was considering my options when a snippet of conversation caught my attention.

  “…of people grabbed Ed. I heard him scream as they dragged him into the bushes. I stayed up on the pole. God forgive me, but I was scared to death.”

  “Then what?” a female voice demanded. “You said you lost the truck. So what the heck happened?”

  “A few minutes later…five, maybe ten…one of them came out of the bushes and took off with the vehicle.”

  I turned off the two-way. There was nothing I could say or do now that wouldn’t take forever to explain or clear things up in any manner. There was little doubt that it was my ‘Ed’ they were discussing. The problem being, I was pretty sure my explanation would not be very welcome. Not yet. If things held true to form, nobody would acknowledge or believe what this was until too late.

  I reached over and opened the glove box. Thalia didn’t make any attempt to move away, not that I blamed her. I wasn’t sure what I was looking for. I rummaged, keeping one eye on the road as I felt around. Two wallets! That was the same moment I realized that I left mine. For somebody determined not to make stupid mistakes, I wasn’t doing so well.

  I spotted an off-ramp that advertised FOOD-GAS-LODGING. Veering right, I decided it was time to get just a little proactive. I made up my mind that I knew what was going on, and it was my responsibility to this child beside me to start taking steps to prepare for the worst eventuality.

  A fully lit service station was perched at the top of the off-ramp. You know the kind; the mini-mart disguised as a gas station with a garage added as an afterthought that was good for nothing beyond a tire change. A small car was parked in a dark corner across the expansive asphalt lot from where the entrance was—probably the on-duty cashier’s.

  I pulled up to the pump station closest to the doors. No surprise, I saw no sign of an attendant...or cashier...whatever. My head was on a swivel, searching for any movement. Inside or out. I pried Thalia loose and took her tear-streaked face in my hands.

  “I’m gonna take care of you, but I have to get out of the truck for a minute. I will lock the door. Don’t open it until I say. Can you do that?”

  She nodded.

  “I will leave the engine running. So don’t touch anything. Okay?”

  More nodding.

  I looked around again. This was a bad time for any surprises. At the moment, the coast was clear. I climbed out, locking the door, closing it carefully, and checking it to be certain. So far, so good. I fast-walked to the glass door and tugged.

  Damn. Locked. Naturally.

  Trying to watch everywhere at once, I scooted to another set of doors around the corner. Nothing was moving inside or out of the store. Yet. I could hear the occasional vehicle speed by on the nearby freeway. I think I heard gunshots from somewhere distant. I briefly wondered what I would do if another vehicle arrived with people having the same idea as me.

  Also locked!

  Damn! Damn! Damn!

  Just a tiny bit desperate and a whole lot scared now. I looked everywhere for an idea. Turning my attention fully inside, I knocked on the glass. I don’t know if I wanted somebody to be there or not, but old habits die hard.

  No answer.

  I knocked again. Louder. Still no response from within, or thankfully, out. That left me with what I saw as my final option: the metal ashcan sitting next to the door. I picked it up, dumped the contents on the ground, backed up a few steps and hurled it as hard as I could at the glass door.

  CRASH.

  I had half-expected the thing to come bouncing back at me. Lucky me. The entire door exploded inwards. Fine cubes of glass glittered like fake diamonds under the white glare of the fluorescent lighting.

  Now it was time to be quick. I glanced back at the truck. Thalia was staring wide-eyed but calmly back at me through the windshield. I noted that pump nine was closest. Peering over the counter to be assured of no nasty surprises, I qui
ckly climbed over and found the panel allowing me to turn on my pump. In no time, I had the nozzle in place and put the lock on so that I could tend to other issues while the tank filled.

  Back in the store, I stopped at a rack of those burlap carry bags imprinted with pictures of Mount Rainier, the Space Needle, and other local touristy things. Grabbing a few, I literally ran up and down the aisles scooping stuff from the shelves. The medicine aisle was almost empty by the time I finished. Mostly basic things, like allergy pills and aspirin mixed in with the first aid stuff, filled six of those bags. I grabbed food second, which made me sorta proud that I was thinking clearly. Food would be easier to grab than medicine or hygiene as this dragged on. At least that was my logic.

  I decided that milk would likely become a luxury. It would do good to get some while I could. I paused at the wall of the glass-doored refrigerators when I came to the milk section. My hand grasped the handle and I totally froze, my heart pounding in my throat. I had found the clerk. Plus one.

  Inside the refrigerated stock area, behind the tilted display shelves, stood two zombies. They were staring at me from the shadows, behind the orderly rows of beer, orange juice, and various name-brand sports drinks. A quick look behind them at the main door to the chill box helped ease my heart rate back under triple digits. The big, metal door looked shut.

  I backed down the aisle a few steps away from the milk towards the soda. Sure enough, my ‘friends’ followed. I tapped the glass like you would an aquarium. They both lunged forward, tangling themselves in the shelving and each other. I bolted, popped the door where the milk was, grabbed a couple of cartons, and headed to the exit.