by Mark Clodi
“It was a raspy, whispering voice and it said, 'Here doggie-doggie! Feeding time at the old bowl, is it?' I shut the door, spun around and grabbed the table leg off of the counter. It was a zombie, I couldn't tell if it was the one from the day before, but the next thing it said confirmed it. 'I guess old Alan was right, there was some guy floating down the river after all. Where you been hiding little doggie?'”
“This guy was middle aged, he had black hair cut short, kind of like 'Mo' off the three stooges, normally a bad looking cut, but it suited him. He was not wearing a shirt, but had a bloodstained towel hanging over one shoulder and dried blood smeared down his right side into the waistband of his track shorts. His legs stood out, he had a tattoo on his left thigh, some sort of bird and he had shaved his legs. He was wearing flip flops, blue ones, and he was just standing there looking at me. I was starving and scared and now the adrenaline started coursing through my body. The zombie took a step forward and spoke again, 'Fight or don't fight, either way, at the end of the day you will be following me out of here.' I raised my free hand towards him and said, 'Wait up a minute buddy' and the zombie actually paused while I stuffed three of the cracker and cheese stacks into my mouth from off of the plate. Those crackers had to be the best thing I had ever tasted. He stood there looking amused while I crunched them down and told me he would make it easy on me, 'cause I seemed like a nice guy. That kind of made me mad, he would make it easy on me because I was nice?”
“I had found some Gatorade in the fridge and washed the cracker's down with it, then nodded to him and said, 'Thanks. I will try and make it easy on you too, you don't seem so bad yourself.' I was still quivering in my boots, this was the first conversation I had had with a zombie and I didn't like the way it had been going. He laughed at me and asked 'You wanna say any prayers or anything before I bring you over onto my side of life?' I shook my head and gestured him to get on with it. He smiled and rushed me, just that quick. I fell back and stumbled as my hurt leg rolled beneath me. That fall probably saved my life; the zombie bum rushed right into the wall, he had gotten tripped on me as I fell. His head hit right where the table leg had been and disappeared through the wall. I didn't get up, I rolled onto my stomach and swung my club into his ankle, his leg gave out and he screamed as he titled sideways, but his goddamned head Max! He couldn't pull it out of the wall! I think it was caught up on the lower edge of the drywall, he started smashing the wall with his hands and I used the time to stand up. The zombie finally pulled his head out of the wall filling the room with a dusty cloud of chalky drywall pieces. And that is when I gave him an overhand, two fist-ed blow to the top of his head with the table leg, this time the leg and his head broke.”
“He fell straight down with the force of the blow, but he wasn't finished. I am sure I broke his skull, but I guess I didn't do enough damage to his brain. Oh I had hurt him bad alright, he was only mumbling incoherently now, the same word over and over - 'mommy-mommy-mommy' as I looked for something else to finish him off with. The chair legs were too narrow, but I broke a couple of them across his head anyway. I couldn't find any other table legs either, after the fight I noticed how they were all missing. Finally I got a butcher knife from the kitchen counter and stuck it through the weak spot in the thing's head. Once it was truly dead I stood up and went back to looking for the mustard. It is amazing how quickly you get used to things. I mean here I was scrounging for food, then the next minute I was fighting for my life, then I was back looking for stuff to make my food taste better.”
“What'd you do after that?” asked Max.
“I finished eating, I even rummaged through the cupboards and downed a coupled cans of chili cold, along with the rest of the crackers. By the time I was done I felt bloated and ready to sleep again, but by then I realized I had better secure my surroundings first. Of course I was hoping for a bed to lay down in too.”
“I left the kitchen and found a blood trail leading up the stairs, I didn't think it was from the guy I killed, his blood was more black colored and this looked older. I needed a weapon too, something heavy to bash anything I found, but their wasn't a baseball bat or hockey stick or even a fire poker on the ground floor. There was a bedroom with a large bed in it, I thought about just laying down after locking the doors, but then I heard a quiet thump from upstairs. I wasn't going to leave a zombie over my head to burst in on me, it was probably a stupid slow zombie, but still I needed to check it out. I grabbed another kitchen knife from the counter and headed upstairs. There were five closed doors in the hallway there, but the blood trail was crystal clear; it ended at a door halfway down the hall.”
“I decided to check the other doors first, being as quiet as a forty year old guy could. I was hoping to find a sports storage room filled with baseball bats or better, some survivalist's arsenal, but I only found a linen closet, a den and two bedrooms. By the process of elimination that meant the zombie was in the bathroom, it doesn't take a genius to figure out you don't have a linen closet on the second floor unless there is a bathroom there too. I hadn't found any weapons and was getting ready to turn the doorknob when a thought occurred to me and I stopped. I went back to the bedroom closet to check out what the hangers were hanging from. The closets were pretty small, but the post holding up the hanger was a good solid piece of round hardwood. I ditched the clothing and pulled the wood off of the brackets it was resting on. The thing was two feet long and felt good in my hands. I tucked the knife into my belt and went back and opened the bathroom door, ready to do some serious head smashing.”
“The bathroom floor was covered in dried blood that ended at the shower curtain, which, of course, was pulled closed. Another thump sounded from the tub and I stepped in and prodded the curtain with my club. Nothing happened, so I eased one end of my stick between the wall and the curtain then slowly pulled it back far enough so I could see. The zombie wasn't standing up, it was laying in the tub. It had been a woman once, maybe in her thirties and something had been eating on her, she was a bloody mess. Everything from her hips on down were missing, not gnawed up; missing completely. One arm was also gone and the other was cut or torn off at the elbow. Her face was the worst, she had no eyes or nose, just bite marks from where they had been eaten out of her head, the skin around her mouth was gone as well, leaving an exposed numb of a tongue that was frantically bobbing in and out between her crooked white teeth. She couldn't see me. I mean there is no way, she had no eyes, no senses left really, even her ears were gone. Still as I stood there looking down on her she started squirming frantically, like a spider trying to crawl up the side of a porcelain tub, she would wiggle her way up a few inches, then slide back down. I have seen a lot of horrible things in the past couple of weeks, but this was the worst so far. I dropped my stick and ran out of the bathroom, slamming the door behind me while wondering who was screaming 'Oh my God!' so loud. It turns out it was me, I had to put my hands over my mouth to make it stop. I turned and faced the bathroom door then slid to the floor and rested my back against the linen closet. After awhile I seemed to get a little better, I wasn't screaming anymore, and I could move. I crawled into the bedroom I hadn't stolen the hanger rod from and shut the door behind me.”
“I knew two things right then, first: I was not going to be staying in that house any longer, and second: I wasn't going to get my club from the bathroom. I forced myself to get up and dismantle the rod from the closet and then slowly cracked open the bedroom door. The bathroom door was still closed, but I thought I heard a thump from inside, I hurried by it and took the stairs three at a time, which probably saved my life. I was so busy looking over my shoulder that I didn't see the zombie coming up the stairs. It was a, what did you call it? A 'super zombie', another smart one and the first I knew about it was when I ran into it and we were tumbling down the stairway into the living room. I ended up on top of him and fortunately I had not broken my neck, but I did break something in him. His arms seemed to be working okay, at least he was trying to hold on
to me, but he wasn't kicking or anything, just twitching around with his legs. I rolled away from him and recovered my hanger rod, which had been wrenched from my hand in the collision. I broke the things arms with three blows and then spent a few minutes bashing the its head in.”
“I probably hit it more than I needed to, but I was upset, it had been a traumatic morning. When I finally stopped I was splattered with blood and had broken yet another club. I stood up and looked at my victim, he had been a soldier, but I didn't recognize him. His unit insignia wasn't one I was familiar with either, but he had a pistol on his belt and bars on his shoulder, which means he was an officer. I picked up the pistol and checked it out. No ammo. And none in his pockets either. Any thoughts I had that I might have killed a living guy and not a zombie were dispelled by the ends of his blood stained sleeves, both arms had blood scabs on them and one hand was missing three fingers and oozing the blood of the undead. I kept the pistol, I figured I might find bullets for it and went and got another club from the downstairs closet, in fact I raided both closets and got two of them. At the rate I was using clubs up I would need them. If I had been thinking I might have figured out that the guy had somehow seen me through the walls of the house right then, but I didn't make that connection until later.”
“I went to the next house over, it was locked up front and back, none of the windows were open either. I couldn't find any obvious fake rocks hiding a key or anything so I just moved to the next house. I found a fake rock in the back yard of that house that had a key hidden inside it. The key let me into the door on the side of the garage and in there I found a key to the house hidden on the top of the trim over the doorway. I locked everything behind me and made sure the place was empty before raiding the kitchen. I wasn't hungry, but I thought I should get a bag of stuff to take with me when I left. I made up two bags, one I left in the fridge to grab when I walked out the door and the other I brought with me upstairs and put beside the bed. I took a quick shower, washed and wrung out my uniform and went into the bedroom. I opened the window a bit and a breeze blew in, so I rigged up my cloths on a hanger in front of it. I didn't see any zombies on the street outside, but there were a lot of trees in the way so I couldn't see much. I then pushed every piece of furniture up against the door and piled a lot of the stuff from the closet on there as well. This house's closet was filled with the wire shelving crap, like I have in my place. Tucked into one corner of the closet was this little plunker.” Bill patted the rifle he was holding, “and there was a brick of bullets to go with it.”
“A brick?” asked Max.
“Yeah, like a case, ten boxes of fifty bullets each, five hundred shots. A twenty two is still a gun, even if it is about the smallest caliber out there, anyway it is better than a closet rod any day of the week. At longer range this rifle doesn't do shit, but close up, like twenty feet or so, it works pretty well. And it is a semi automatic with a ten round magazine, so I can afford to take a few shots if I need to. It won't get me out of a crowd, so I have to be careful never to get mobbed. Anyway, I felt a lot better after finding the rifle and lay down on the bed to get a nap in while my clothing air dried a little. I kept thinking of that woman though, laying in that tub, never getting out. How long will she be there? Days? Months? Years? How long will they last? I fell asleep trying to find an answer to that question, but I never found it. The last three days have pretty much gone the same, I run around looking for a safe place to hide in during the day and hunkering down at night.”
“Where did you sleep?”
“After that first nap on the second floor of a house, well, I got woke up by zombies breaking in the front door. After that I figured out these things have heat vision or something, they can see me right through the walls, so now I stick to basements. The last two nights I have slept as low as I can get, that seems to work better.”
“What were you doing up here by the highway?” asked Stewart.
“I thought I would see if I could get across, but I've been that way and there are way too many of them, I can always swim across if I have to. Before I saw you I thought I would keep heading north and see if I could...” Bill stopped talking and put his head down into his hand.
“Find John?” Max asked softly.
Bill nodded glumly and wiped his arm across his eyes.
“Are you sure he...that he didn't make it? Your men could think the same thing about you and they would be wrong.”
“I don't know Max, I know John, he is a good kid, but he, well he isn't much of a fighter. Or wasn't before all of this.”
“I think we should cross over and see if we can find him first. See if he came in over the last few days. Is the army checking people as they go across?”
“Yes. We strip them and check them, anyone with bites or wounds has to be detained.” answered Bill.
“Then we have a problem, Stewart and I.” Max went on to explain about their various wounds, going so far as to lift up his shirt to expose the almost completely healed cut across his stomach where the bullet had hit him less than a week ago.
“That happened a week ago?” Bill asked skeptically.
“Well nine days ago, yeah. I told you some weird things have been happening. It happened to you too.”
“How do you know?”
“Well, how sure were you that you busted your leg when you fell off the bridge?”
Bill nodded, “As sure as the sun rises in the east. I see your point, I am walking around on it now without much pain and it has only been three days. That is fast, compared to” Bill gestured at Max's exposed wound, “that. Why am I healing faster than you?”
“HellifIknow. It affects people differently. Stewart can move like a cat, fast reflexes and, I think heal faster too. Nothing like you, if your leg healed up in a couple of days. Have you noticed anything else?”
“Not really, well, maybe. The dark doesn't bother me so much now, it is like I can see really well with just a little bit of light. I thought I was just used to the dark, but when I think back to the past, I dunno Max, it could be better. And this is from killing the zombies?”
“The fast zombies.” Stewart clarified. Looking over the cell phones behind the counter, she chose one and took it out of the packaging while the men watched. Plugging it in, she said, “Well it can't hurt, maybe there will be coverage. The place has power, so maybe the towers are still working.”
The men also picked out cell phones and plugged them in. These were inexpensive models, designed to be used for the short term with prepaid phone cards, which the station also sold.
“We gotta activate these somehow don't we?” Max asked, holding up a bundle of the cards.
“Yeah, I think so. Go for it, I hope you can scan them, if the worker signed out before he left we might not be able to activate the cards for use.” Stewart said.
Max approached the cash register, which was a touch screen with a scanner on the counter. He held the first card up to the scanner and the red laser hit the bar code, turning the terminal on. To his surprise it prompted him to run the card through the slot in the keyboard, and asked if he wished to authorize the card, which he did. Stewart handed him a dozen more cards priced in the fifty dollar range. After handing her the first one she went back to where her phone was plugged in and entered the code from the card onto it.
“I got a signal!” she said after a moment, “Who do we want to call?”
“Home.” Bill said, she handed the phone to him and he dialed in his home number. To his surprise Trisha did not answer, in fact the phone was picked up by someone completely outside his family.
“Can I help you sir?” came a crisp militant voice.
“Uh, yeah, I just got phone coverage, I can't believe I got someone! Who is this?”
“Sir your calls are being routed through South Sioux City, in Nebraska, is this your location?”
“Yes! Yes! I need to get out of here, do you know somewhere that is safe?”
“Sir, are you close to highway
one twenty nine? Or can you get there?”
“I am on highway twenty now! It turns into one twenty nine. What do I do? Is the way clear?”
“How many are in your party?”
Bill looked at Stewart and Max, who were both following his side of the conversation intently, “Uh, I am alone. Just me, Bill...uh Bill...uh Card, Bill Card.”
“Are you on foot or driving?”
“I, uh, found this car along the road, I am from Colorado and this car is a police car from Colorado. I didn't drive it from there I started out in a minivan, but had to abandoned it...”
“Calm down sir. You are in a police car heading east on highway one twenty nine, is this correct?”
“Actually I am stopped at a gas station. I saw these phones so I thought I would give one a try.”
“Okay, good. Do you have a weapon?”
“Yeah, an old rifle.”
“Sir were you bitten or injured by any of the zombies?”
“No. I am fine, not a scratch on me.”
“Okay sir, I am going to get word to the people at the bridge that you are coming in. Watch out for the zombies and drive slowly to the bridge, if you can.”
“Okay, I will, how long until they know I am coming?”
“I will tell them as soon as I am off the phone with you, but wait at least ten minutes before you try to get to the bridge.”
“Will you call me back if something goes wrong?”
