My Zombie My (I Zombie)

by Jack Wallen

  “I don’t know. I would guess that whatever it was, screamer or moaner, took off the minute the brain banquet ran out of the main corpse,” I said, but my explanation did little to soothe the soldier’s nerves.

  “Do you think we’ll find one in here?” Dunham’s nerves were still jittery.

  “Not if we don’t shut up and look!” I didn’t mean to snap at the kid, but he was a bit annoying. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to –”

  My apology was cut off by the sound of a nearby moaner.

  “Did you –” Dunham froze mid stride.

  “Yes, I did.” I matched his freeze. A sobering silence overtook the gate, a silence broken only by the random moans of what we presumed to be the undead.

  After so many weeks of hearing that sound, I had grown accustomed to its tone and timbre.

  The sounds we were hearing were definitely coming from a single moaner. Could we really be that lucky for once? Right when we needed it most, a single member of the species homo-zombious was about to appear and make our lives so much easier.

  Jean had instructed us to draw as much blood as possible. We had to actually bring individual syringes, since the zombie didn’t have a beating heart to help pump the blood into a vial. All we have to do is lop off a head and extract as much of the beast’s juices as possible. As odd as this may sound, at this point in the game, that task will be a piece of proverbial cake.

  Zombie cake that is.

  The moaning was growing louder as we eased our way down the gates to where airport security would have been located. I had to admit, seeing JFK empty of security might wind up being the craziest scene I’ve taken in yet on this fucked-up, out of balance planet. One of the largest airports in the country and security was both literally and figuratively dead. There were possibly thousands of dead bodies on the floor, slumped over chairs, piled onto one another, or alone on the floor. The smell of blood and gore was overpowering, and I had to pull my shirt up over my nose to avoid the worst of the smell. Rot and copper.

  “How many of those things would it take to do this?” Underneath his military exterior, Dunham was shaken. Had I not already grown accustomed to the horror of such sights, I would be in a drooling, fetal ball in a corner, hoping like hell I was only having a nightmare. But the nightmare was real and laid out in greasy stains, shards of bone, and open human corpses.

  When we crossed through the void that was once security, the maker of the moans came into view. The thing was a female, slurping up the remains of what could have been her husband. Maybe the two were newlyweds, heading out on their honeymoon when all of a sudden –

  Funny how we make up these stories for strangers. It was usually a game I played to pass time. The stories generally made me laugh. Of course there was no story to tell now, but the truth. The woman was dead and she was gulping down the gray matter of another dead human.

  End of mother-fucking story.

  “What’s the plan?” Dunham asked, surprising me by deferring to my lead.

  Without thinking, I pulled out a gun from my waistband, aimed directly at the dining woman, and pulled off a shot. For a brief second the thing’s milky eyes looked our way, but as soon as the bullet went searing through her skull, the murky eyes went blank and the body went down.

  “Plan enough?” I asked simply before I sped off to the woman’s position. As soon as I reached her I pulled out the kit Jean had packed for me and immediately began draining blood from the corpse. The blood was thicker than usual, so it was going to take more time than I hoped.

  “Keep watch,” I said sharply to the soldier.

  “Yes ma’am,” Dunham replied, all military.

  It was a good thing there was no concern for comfort on the part of the patient. I was jabbing hypos anywhere I could in order to strike gold.

  Two syringes down. “Only three more to go.” Something was tugging at the back of my brain, begging me to panic. Panic was not an attribute conducive to the situation. Panic was an emotional response that would have me fleeing the situation. Panic was not a reaction we could afford at the moment. I had to complete the task at hand or forget taking down the enemy.

  It didn’t take long for the reason panic was tickling my brain to make itself known.

  The screaming came out of nowhere. At first it was nothing more than a static-like echo bouncing off the tile and brick of the gateway, the sound a sizable mosquito hanging out deep within the recesses of my ear canal. Within seconds, however, that same sound became a metallic tear that wrenched itself into the space surrounding the area Dunham and I occupied.

  The bringer of the noise brought Dunham to a standing, classic military shooting position, his gun drawing a deadly bead on the forehead of one seriously pissed-off screamer.

  “Keep draining, Bethany. I’ve got this one,” Dunham said coolly, almost too coolly.

  I wanted to close my eyes and will this all way, but I knew it would do no good. Instead, the only thing to do was focus on the task at hand and hope like hell my partner was a steady marksman.

  Crack!

  One shot.

  Screamer still screaming.

  Crack!

  Two shots.

  Screamer screaming.

  Crack!

  Third shot.

  Screaming.

  I had just finished topping off the last of the hypos when the screamer managed to make it to Dunham. The zombie leaped from about twenty yards and managed to land on top of the soldier, the two tumbling to the ground like a pair of scarecrows, arms and legs flailing wildly.

  When the tumbling came to a conclusion it was, surprisingly enough, Dunham on top. One after another the man landed blows to the screamer’s face. But with what seemed like nothing more than a flip of the wrist, the zombie turned the tide and had the living body back on the ground, underneath his now gaping maw. Dunham held the mouth off with every bit of strength he could muster.

  It wasn’t enough.

  Teeth eventually tore into the soldier’s shoulder, drawing blood. Screams bellowed from both mouths as the zombie went in for another taste, but before the thing could dig in, my weapon decided to take a curtain call and sever the monster’s brain from its spine.

  With a lifeless, cold thud, the thing went down, pinning Dunham to the floor. For a brief moment it seemed like both had perished. Thanks to our vaccination from the virus, Dunham remained alive. Chances are, the only concern we would have would be patching up the hole in his shoulder and warding off infection of the wound. I was assured this when I managed to push the dead undead from the bleeding man’s body and he sat up, bitching about the wound.

  “We have to get out of here now,” I said quickly and quietly as I picked up the syringes of blood. If the first gunshot drew a single screamer out of the shadows, who knows what a full round would do?

  “What about my shoulder?”

  “Cry about it to your mommy when we get to the plane,” I taunted, playing on his masculinity.

  Dunham stood and gave me the nod to go. Men are so easy.

  We dashed past security and the wall of sound hit us from behind. It appeared an entire planeload of screamers had just disembarked and were heading our way…fast.

  We picked up our pace as best we could, but it was all too obvious the screamers were gaining ground.

  “There’s the gate. Hurry!” Dunham said, tearing past me. So much for chivalry.

  As soon as my wounded partner entered the plane’s boarding ramp, he surprised me by turning and opening fire, covering my entrance to the plane. So much for my ‘so much’.

  “Close it up! Close it up!” Dunham bellowed as he leaped into the fuselage. Jean and Michelle tag-teamed the hatch to the plane, getting it closed only seconds before the first screamer was within reach. The very second the door was shut, the violent pounding began.

  “We must be the last living brains in New York,” Sam joked, but he might well have been closer to the truth than not.

  “What are we going
to do?” Michelle asked, near hysteria.

  Our pilot was already executing a plan he had formed on the fly. Back in the pilot’s chair he fired up the engine and the jet whistled to life. The torque of the machine gave the small craft a nudge as Dunham kicked it up a few notches.

  The plane eased out of the gate. The screamers were still pounding, most likely tattooing the side of the plane with lifeless blood from broken knuckles and fingers.

  Slowly the plane did an about face and then began what looked like a standard taxi to a runway.

  “Bethany!” Dunham yelled back to me. “Tell me when those sonsabitches are directly behind the engines.”

  Dunham’s plan was simple, yet brilliant. Fortunately the screamers were not exactly analytical monsters, or else they would have caught on to the tactic.

  I watched out of the small window as the plane picked up speed. As soon as I saw the screamers directly behind the engines, I gave Dunham the ‘go’.

  The jet’s powerful engines released their own version of hellfire, incinerating the screamers on the spot. The undead dropped to the ground and shattered into bits, ashes and smoke rising from the burning bodies. The plane quickly grew silent.

  “A little trick I learned in the desert,” Dunham said, patting me on the shoulder. When I looked up at him he was wearing a nearly imperceptible sniper’s smile on his face.

  Sam gave his soldier a ‘good job’ nod and then looked to me. “Shall we commandeer us a car?”

  Dunham was slowly taking the plane as close to the front side of the airport as possible. The less time we spent exposed to the elements the better. Besides the New York wind was fuck-all cold.

  “I assume someone in this plane can hotwire a car?” Three hands raised – Sam’s, Dunham’s, and Michelle’s. I expected the former two, but Michelle? I made a mental note to dig deeper into that dirty little secret.

  “When do we begin assembling our virus distribution system?” I said to Sam, almost jokingly.

  “VDS…I like that. You’re good military material, Nitshimi.”

  I laughed. If Sam only knew all of my truth he’d most certainly regret that statement. I was about as military as a drag queen. Oh sure, I could crack the best cipher they could throw at me, but confine me with regulations and rules and you’d see a cornered wolverine about to eat off your face.

  Sam ignored my laughter. “I’d like to work with the doctor here on the plane so the device is ready before we depart. This operation has to be clean and scalpel-sharp if it’s to succeed.”

  We agreed that while the tinkerers assembled our weapon, Michelle and I would go off in search of transportation. How it wound up that the women in the group were chosen to brave the real danger was beyond me. Maybe it had to do with the fact an explosive device was being fucked with inside of a small, contained space.

  Michelle informed me her carjacking skills were best applied to autos of the luxury type. BMWs, Mercedes, and Bentleys were the fastest she could jack, so we set out in search of a plush ride. Since were in the parking lot at JFK, it didn’t take us long to spot a few Beamers and Mercedes. Michelle picked her way into the first she found and had it running and ready to roll before I could buckle up in the passenger seat.

  It was becoming far too clear there are certain skills necessary to survive the Apocalypse. Of those skills, carjacking has to rank in the top ten. So when you are putting together your survival team, make sure you have a doctor, fighter, sniper, survivalist, hacker, and a car thief (to name a few.) If you really plan on surviving, your group has to be as well rounded as possible.

  Listen to me…I’ve become the Martha Stewart of the Apocalypse. Next thing you know I’ll be crocheting shovel-handle doilies and grenade cozies.

  Michelle pulled the car up to the side of the plane. Dunham popped out of the hatch, carrying one of the many bags that would make its way from plane to BMW.

  “How’s it coming in there?” I asked, hoping the device was ready.

  “No one’s dead yet. That’s good news, right?” Dunham had a strange air about him – almost as if he were put off by our plan. I wanted more information, but I knew there wasn’t time.

  “We’ll help you with the cargo,” I said, jumping the track on my train of thought before I had Dunham pegged as a threat.

  Inside the plane a library-like silence seemed to hush every noise. Sam and Jean were posted at the attendant station where they had the necessary gear spread out and were performing major surgery on a grenade. I stood and watched as Jean’s adept fingers gently moved around the lethal weapon as if they were playing the most delicate of Franz Liszt’s piano concertos. Sam was instructing Jean in a near-whisper and every so often he would remind the surgeon to breathe.

  The delicate operation was mesmerizing and when Michelle entered the plane, I immediately gestured for her to be as silent as possible. Although we were all vaccinated against the virus, I was not about to go chase down another moaner to replenish the stock due to careless behavior.

  Michelle stopped dead in her tracks and joined me in the improvised surgical theatre. We both stood, silent and motionless, as Jean and Sam finished up with the first grenade.

  “I just built a weapon,” Jean said, his voice filled with revulsion.

  And there it was…an almost perfect mirror for the story of Dr. Lindsay Godwin. A giver of life, a healer of wounds, creating tools of destruction. The bitter guilt was clearly written on the creases of Jean’s forehead. Had it not been for my stubborn single-mindedness, I would have pulled Jean from the place and driven him far away.

  But there, held aloft in our good doctor’s hand, was the weapon we would use against the group that helped bring the virus to life.

  “Good work, Doc. For a surgeon you make a good soldier.” Sam gave Jean a slap on the shoulder. Jean looked like he wanted nothing more than to vomit.

  “What’s say we build us another of these babies, eh, Doc?”

  I pointed Michelle back outside so we could continue loading up the car. There was no desire in me to watch Jean suffer through this agony any longer. The man must be horrified enough without having an audience. As I passed by Jean he reached out his hand and tenderly grabbed my arm. The look in his eyes made me want to drop to my knees and weep. Instead I leaned over and kissed him on the cheek and then exited the plane.

  When we came in for the last load, Sam announced all the grenades were complete. We were ready to attack. All we had to do now was drive ourselves to the site and make our way in.

  Famous last words, as they say.

  On the drive to ground zero I made sure Jean sat in the back of the car with me and Michelle. Dunham was driving with Sam in the passenger seat. It was clear Jean needed comforting, not fist pumps and hoo-rahs.

  Within my chest, my heart was beating like hummingbird wings. Each breath I drew in seemed short and cold. Panic attacks were not something in my usual emotional repertoire, but for some reason it seemed my mind and body were busy having a bit of a revolt. My palms were clammy with sweat. Were we heading to the prom or to the endgame? I honestly couldn’t tell. Either way, I hope I get lucky.

  “Bethany,” Jean’s voice was still locked in whisper mode, “I haven’t told you this yet, but…thank you. Thank you for being strong. Were it not for you we wouldn’t be alive.”

  I blushed. Armageddon is imminent and I had the shame to blush. For a split second I felt both human and female again. It seemed so long since I’ve been able to lay claim to either. God that felt good. Within the breath of a sentence, everything had been redeemed. Not the horror of the world around us, but the actions and reactions that had led us up to this moment. And now, whether we survive or not, I can die knowing that everything was not done in vain. Even if the result was the salvation of only a single human being, we have done something good.

  Fortunately – or unfortunately, depending on how you look at it - the memory of Jacob was still coursing through my system, so going all goo-goo eyes for the Fr
ench doctor was not in the cards. But even with the sorrowful memory so prominent in my mind, it did not stop me from melting into the moment. I wanted to indulge my human side for just a moment, to replace the smell of fear with the smell of warm, living, human skin – just one simple, lovely moment.

  “Oh shit!” Dunham shouted, shocking me from bliss, which was quickly followed by squealing tires and a loud thumping sound.

  “What happened!?” I screamed.

  “Damn screamer came out of nowhere,” Dunham yelled back, a twinge of fear in his voice.

  “Where did it go?” Michelle’s asked, clearly frightened.

  “Where do you think it went? It’s under the car. I hit the damn thing and ran it over.”

  “Is it dead?” Michelle whimpered.

  Dunham slammed on the brakes, put the car in reverse, and proceeded to run the screamer over again. And yet again.

  “Does that answer your question?”

  Michelle quickly shook her head, as if the soldier might well toss her out of the vehicle and plow over her skull just for kicks.

  The car tires squealed again, only this time in an effort to get the hell out of Dodge. The lack of traffic paired with Dunham’s impressive driving skills made the trip to ground zero fairly quick. Our driver pulled the car up close and personal to our target building. I was a little wary of getting so close, but it was still early enough in the morning that the sun was only peeking out. Plus, no one was actually expecting guests.

  We stuffed back packs full of everything we needed, including the “MGs” (short for Mengele Grenades – we didn’t have time to come up with anything more clever).

  It was go time.

  I looked over at Sam. We knew he was going to have to stay at the car. With only one working knee the man was a liability. At least with him here we had an instant escape, should we make it out.

  I reached out and gave the burly man a hug. Sam surprised me when he wrapped his arms around me very tightly and whispered ‘Thank you’ in my ear. When I pulled away he gave me a nod and pointed me off toward the entrance.