Zombies! (Episode 2): Abby's Bad Day

by Ivan Turner

  "Listen to me very carefully," Heron said as he turned to Culph. "Only a bullet in the head is going to have any effect. Any other shot puts a zombie closer to you and you closer to being a zombie. If any of you get bitten then this ends as badly as she says." He jabbed his thumb towards Luco.

  "I understand," Culph said.

  "Good. She's in charge, which means she tells you how to go in and how to get those people out. No dead cops today," he said firmly. "Not one."

  Culph nodded again and Heron ran off to deal with the other situation.

  ***

  THE streets were cordoned off for two blocks around the hospital. That almost blocked off Push Ups, which was where Martin stopped first. It was busy and Whitaker was beside himself. When he saw Martin, he saw an avenue for him to vent his frustrations.

  "Where's Abby?" Martin said, cutting him off.

  "She took a customer over to the hospital and said she'd be right back. It's been over two hours, man."

  "Didn't you hear the bloody sirens?"

  "This is freakin' Brooklyn. All I ever hear is sirens."

  Martin went behind the counter and began changing channels and raising the volume. A few customers looked up angrily at this disturbance. The screen filled with the scene of police cars blocking the streets surrounding Sisters of Charity. A helicopter camera showed the expansion of the police perimeter. They could see that perimeter was two blocks and absolutely no one was getting in.

  "There's no word yet on what exactly is going on inside but there have been reports that both the police chief and the mayor are on the way," the newscaster, a once pretty lady in a suit that was cut for a much younger woman, was saying.

  "Holy crap," Whitaker mouthed.

  "Two blocks away and you have no idea, you dimwit," Martin spat at him. But he wasn't really angry and Whitaker. The past several months without a job and with Abby and her family supporting him and his child had left him irritable to say the least. He snapped at Abby and sometimes he snapped at Sammy. He was cold to her parents who had never been anything but supportive. He incessantly bugged her about going back to England even though things were no better there. In fact, they'd probably be a damned sight worse considering that neither of them would have a job and everything was more expensive. Deep down he knew that he only wanted to even the playing field between them. It was a selfish and childish attitude.

  Martin left the gym without further acknowledging Whitaker. Over and over he played his conversation with Abby in his mind. People dying and getting up didn't make any sense. It sounded like a zombie movie. Of course, there were those rumors of zombies in Manhattan, but that was just internet fluff. No respectable news agency had done a report on it so Martin had dismissed it. But the sensational always has a way sticking in the back of one's mind. It tickles the adventure nerve. But what sounds so exciting over the information superhighway is simply terrifying close up.

  Zombies! It would explain why the media had been blocked off from approaching the hospital and why there was no information about what was going on. If it weren't utterly fantastic, it would explain everything.

  Trapped in the emergency room. She had said that, too. Trapped by zombies.

  There was a throng of people approaching the barriers but Martin was not to be deterred. He was a big man who seldom used his size to any advantage but today was a very special day. Allowing the frustration of the past several months to fuel his ardor he pushed forward eliciting angry snarls from people he would never see again. It took him almost five minutes to go forty feet but he finally pushed his way up against one of the blue wooden barriers. The officers stood with their backs to the crowd and did their best to ignore the shouts and calls. At the front, Martin was mostly surrounded by microphones and cameras. The reporters had been the first on the scene and had gotten the best seats.

  "Hey!" Martin called out to the nearest officer. The officer did not turn to face him. "You listen to me. I need to get through. My wife is trapped in that hospital."

  The officer would have probably still ignored him if the surrounding media hadn't suddenly taken a great interest in him. All of a sudden, all of the microphones and cameras were being aimed at him. Questions were being fired his way. Is she a patient? Have you spoken with her? Do you know why there's such a huge police presence here?

  "Shut it, you jackals!" Martin shouted at them, oblivious to the cameras. With one arm, he swept the microphones away from his face and ducked under the barrier. The approaching policeman was on the radio, no doubt calling for backup.

  "Sir, you have to stay on that side of the barrier…"

  Martin lowered his voice and spoke directly to the cop. "Unless you want me to tell the newsmen that my wife is trapped in the ER by zombies, you'll let me through."

  The officer, a young black man with a flat nose and thick eyebrows, suddenly looked uncertain. Another officer, this one much older and much heavier, was approaching. The first man spoke into his radio again. "I've got a man here who says his wife is trapped in the ER by zombies."

  There was some static and then an answer but Martin couldn't make it out.

  "What's your wife's name, sir?"

  Martin calmed. "Abby. Abby Benjamin."

  The officer repeated the name into the radio and was given a series of instructions.

  "All right, sir," he said. "Follow me."

  ***

  TODD Mayfield was holed up in an alcove near a service exit. In the intervening minutes between Heron's first being informed of Mayfield's location and his orders to track the guard, he had tried three exits, all of which were manned by security personnel on the inside and police on the outside. To his credit, Mayfield wasn't doing anything rash or stupid. His panic had long since diminished so all he was doing was sitting down on the floor and taking a breather. When Heron walked up to him, he just looked up.

  "Is it because of this?" He held up his hand and there was blood on the knuckles.

  Heron nodded.

  Mayfield shook his head. "Of all the dumb luck. I took a swing at the guy and hit him right in the teeth. It would have been a great punch against anyone but a zombie." He laughed and shook his head again. "I'm sorry I ran out on Sven. Is he okay?"

  Heron made no move at all. Mayfield looked at him for long moments, waiting for that confirmation.

  "Damn." He indicated his knuckles again. "Does this kill me?"

  "I'm not the guy to ask," Heron said. "There's a doctor down in the ER who's been working on this. Her name's Denise Luco and she's brilliant. If anyone can help you, she can."

  "But you don't think anyone can help me."

  Heron's radio squawked, saving him from having to answer that question. Mayfield seemed stable enough so he took a chance and answered it. It was a patrol cop on the outside asking about someone named Martin Benjamin. He was Abby's husband. After some garbled talk, Heron said, "Let him inside the perimeter but not into the building. You can tell him his wife's all right for now."

  Holstering the radio, he turned back to Mayfield. "Are you coming?"

  Mayfield nodded, standing up. Flanked by security, Heron led him back down to the ER.

  ***

  A WEEK before, Denise Luco had been a successful, if not particularly ambitious pathologist. She'd always been hardcore about her work but didn't really care about making her way up the ladder of success as long as no one stood in her way on the ladder of discovery. It was this devotion to the science rather than the politics that had gotten her the call when the Koplowitz family had been discovered. It was that call that had changed her life.

  Luco was thirty six years old, but looked older. She was tough but acted tougher. No one ever gave her an inch and she was disinclined to be forgiving about it. Throughout her time working for the city of New York, she'd seen mostly your average run of the mill diseases. The flu was the most common. Every year the flu claimed thousands of lives. And it would be that way for ever more. Or, at least, it would have been. Now there wa
s this…this thing.

  In the first two days after the discovery of the bacterium that caused the zombie plague, she'd learned a lot. There was a flood of information. In the first place, the bacterium was not at odds with the human immune system. That was what made it so strong and so resistant to antibiotics. It actually strengthened the immune system, making other, normal bacteria in the body powerful. Antibiotics, which came with a whole host of side effects, didn't really stand a chance. In fact, Luco had early on hypothesized that a course of antibiotics actually had opposite the desired effect.

  She had spent a number of nights awake wondering if she hadn't in fact killed Heron's partner by ordering the strong course of medicine.

  As she had told Heron on that first evening, the germ had all the telltale signs of being manmade. Its lifecycle and development were unnatural. Millions of them seemed to group and actually work together to keep the body functioning. The normal decay that you would see in a typically dead human being was slowed to the point of being unnoticeable. Despite the grayish pallor and vacant eyes, Zoe Koplowitz had shown little signs of change. Since the immune system is largely responsible for keeping people from decaying while they're alive, the bacteria essentially acted as protection for the body. Even Detective Stemmy's body, never animated due to the brain damage caused by Heron's bullet, was decaying at the tiniest fraction of the normal rate. Luco still didn't know how or why the germ activated the motor centers of the brain, but she did know why it needed to feed. The germ was a hard worker. And there were trillions of the little buggers. They ate just about anything organic, even microbes in the air. At that rate, a zombie could survive almost indefinitely. But it was strongest when devouring live flesh. Animals, all animals, were teeming with other forms of bacteria. An entire microcosm existed on a child's little finger. For the zombie, that wasn't just a meal. It was a feast. Even though Zoe hadn't been given anything to eat, the bacteria inside of her fed off of the environment whenever they opened up her cell door.

  All of that seemed like a great start but after the two days, Luco hit a brick wall. No more information was forthcoming. There were reports of some cases in some other states, but she couldn't get confirmation and she definitely couldn't get her hands on specimens. Only one other zombie had been sighted in New York during the course of the week and it had burned.

  Now she would have what she needed. There were blood and flesh samples all over the ER. There were zombies trapped inside a room, all with open wounds. Those wounds were important. They would let in bacteria of decay in droves. Dr. Luco would have the opportunity to see firsthand how the zombie infection would fight against those.

  Events proceeded quickly after Heron left. Luco took charge of the situation confidently, forgetting all about the way he made her feel. She never addressed Culph directly, instead speaking with the seven officers as a group. She put on a serious face and tried very hard to relate to them in a way she didn't fully understand.

  "Every one of you that goes in there runs the risk of infection." They all turned green at that. All except Culph who looked almost eager. Luco was no psychiatrist but she guessed that Heron's deference to the kid had buoyed his naturally eager personality. "If you're careful, you should be okay. You can't get it by breathing it in." That was sort of a half truth. She didn’t think you could breathe it in but she really didn't have any way of knowing. She continued. "Don't touch anything or anyone. Especially if you're sweating, it can enter your body through your pores. The zombies are in exam room one and shouldn't be able to get out. They got lucky pushing inside but there's very little chance they'll stumble upon pulling the door open, even if they manage to work the handle. There's no intelligence. They're all motor function and instinct. I need one man to guard that door. The rest of you will direct the survivors to the other exam rooms. Don't touch them. Don't let them leave the ER."

  "Ma'am?" said one of the officers. He was the one who's came in with a sledge hammer, a big muscled black guy with a shaved head and the eyes of a stuffed teddy bear. "What if they try to run?"

  Luco hesitated. She hadn't thought of that. She knew what she wanted to say, but she didn't know how it would go. She couldn't very well instruct them to physically restrain which left only one option. "Shoot them. Disable them."

  They didn't like that answer. She could tell they didn't. But they didn't say anything. Not with their mouths anyway.

  Once they popped the seals on the ER, Culph took charge, once again using Heron's attention as authority to set himself above the rest. Luco hated to admit it, but he was a natural. He positioned the other cops, two by the door to exam one instead of the one she had ordered. The rest of them ushered the survivors into the other rooms. They gave the zombie trap a wide berth, eying it cautiously as they went past.

  While that was going on, Luco ordered Mancina to cannibalize his staff and provide her with nurses and technicians. She got on the phone and ordered a bunch of her stuff brought over from the Manhattan hospital where Johan Stemmy had died. She needed blood from the survivors, blood from the zombies and blood from the floor. She wanted bits of flesh and DNA. She wanted every last tissue sample she could get her hands on.

  At some point, Captain Naughton showed up. A week before, Luco had never met him. Now she had met with him six times. Her boyfriend thought they were having an affair. That was only half a joke. Naughton was his usual composed, impeccably dressed self. It was good to see the way his cheeks paled at the sight of the carnage in the ER. It showed at least that he was human. He commented that it was odd that Heron had left her in charge but didn't try to override it. It didn't matter because Heron returned with the security guard in tow moments later.

  Luco smiled. It was a good smile. Only Heron was suspicious of it and that was because he didn't like her. "You must be Todd."

  "Do I have to go back in there?" Todd asked, indicating the ER. "I don't want to. I don't ever want to."

  He was already sick. She could see it in his eyes and hear it in his speech. Stemmy had looked and sounded like that, but Stemmy had undergone a terrible physical trauma followed by surgery. He was hardly a point of reference.

  In the end, they set Todd up on a gurney in the waiting area. It didn't alter the risk of infection. They'd all been exposed when she'd opened up the ER and they would all need to be tested. That was a lot of blood work. Still, she ran the situation tirelessly, never missing a beat and paying keen attention to the details. She wrote some instructions on a piece of paper and gave them to a nurse. The nurse looked from the paper to the doctor as if she suspected that Luco wasn't actually a doctor. But she didn't say anything and got one of Luco's coldest stares for her trouble. Todd's IV was set up and he was hooked up to monitors. They began taking fluids from all portions of his body right away.

  It was going to be a long night.

  ***

  ABBY spoke with Heron in private. Ever since their conversation on the phone, she had been preoccupied with the connection between the infection and Push Ups. Heron had said that if she was infected she would know it. She'd be sick. How long was Karl sick before he was too weak to hold that weight and dropped it on his foot? How long had Larry been sick? Had he brought the disease to the gym from his home or brought it home from the gym?

  "I don't have the answers to any of those questions," Heron told her honestly. "Dr. Luco might have a better idea."

  "Those people, the ones that Karl bit. They turned so quickly."

  "Their wounds were fatal."

  "Not that doctor's. She wasn't gone yet, but she was going." Abby dipped her head. "Dr. Leke knew that. She used that poor woman as bait so the rest of us could get away. I suppose it's just as well she didn't make it out herself. I'd never have been able to live with that."

  Heron didn't answer right away.

  "Anyway," Abby continued. "Why was it a week for Karl and only hours for that doctor?"