Waking The Zed

by Katz, ML

  “Am I even escaping?” Pam asked herself out loud. “I could be heading right back to Ground Zero instead of towards safety.” Paul, still apparently unconscious, did not answer.

  Despite her fear, Pam was still a sturdy farm girl at heart. Her ancestors had fought on the Sioux side of Little Big Horn and both sides of the Civil War. There was nothing in her personality, natural constitution, or upbringing that would allow her to just succumb to her fear of the living or the dead.

  The road was very dark, and she took turns quite a bit faster than the posted speed. She had no way to see the two cars that had collided and blocked the street right at the end of a sharp right turn. With the sound of screeching brakes and tortured metal, she swerved and stopped the vehicle after plowing through a late model Ford Ranger. The momentum of her vehicle shoved the pickup down into the rain ditch. With her heart pounding, she threw the car out of gear and tried to assess the damage. Then it occurred to Pam that somebody might be injured in the pickup. She cursed beneath her breath.

  Her leg ached from stomping on the brakes, and her arms felt wrenched from grasping the wheel, but she did not seem to feel badly injured. More alarming, Paul simply slumped forward in his seat belt. She turned on the interior light and saw a thin trickle of blood on his thigh. She wondered how he had sustained an injury like that belted to his seat.

  “Paul, we have to get out now,” she said. She moved her hand to shake his arm. He suddenly jerked back in the seat and seemed to flop around in his seat belt. His eyes had popped open but he looked very disoriented and unaware of his exact surroundings. “Are you in shock?” she asked.

  Just then she noticed two figures rising from the rain ditch. One appeared to be a tall man. The other looked like a slim young woman. Pam rolled the window enough to should at them for help. She saw them turn their heads and approach. As she watched them, she became convinced that there was something odd and jerky about their movements. Maybe they were injured, but neither figure replied. As the man crossed near her headlights she saw a shard of glass sticking out of his shoulder. Pam cursed and quickly closed the window and set the door locks. Why had it not occurred to her that they might be infected creatures?

  She frantically looked around the vehicle for anything that could be used as a weapon. All she saw was a hard laptop case on the floor in back. She grasped the handle but doubted it would provide much protection. Meanwhile, the two Zeds lurched and ambled towards her vehicle.

  The vehicle still ran and it occurred to Pam that her best option would just be to try and creep away from them. In fact, a better option might just be to plow into them as I drive away. As she began to put the car into gear, she saw headlights in the mirror behind her. This was either an innocent driver or her military pursuit. She honked to get the approaching vehicle to slow down in either case. She hated to draw more attention, but she did not need to be rear ended by an unsuspecting driver right now.

  It was then that she saw Paul lurch towards her. Now the wound in his thigh was bleeding freely. How had she not noticed that he had a rip in the seam of his work pants before? George had succumbed to his wound very quickly. Dr. Klein and Dr. Lincoln had taken longer. But she had no time to ponder the question of why it had taken Paul so long to turn. In the dim light she could see his red rimmed eyes. He snarled.

  She threw the laptop case up between them, fending him off with both hands. His movements were uncoordinated and they lacked the power she would have expected from a tall young man. Still, she suspected that if he managed to get a good grip on her arm or her hair, she would be in trouble. Her breath came out in ragged gasps as she held the hard case up as a shield between them.

  There was certainly no way she could drive while fending him off. She also doubted she had the strength to throw him out of the vehicle without risking a bite or scratch. He was still constrained by her seatbelts but his long arms could reach her. Her only option seemed to be to exit the vehicle. She managed to get her left hand behind her to crack the door open. Then she released her own seatbelt and dropped to the ground. The thing that used to be Paul, the medical student, roared in frustration as it strained against the seatbelt.

  Now the two walking Zed were very close, and they seemed to be ambling up to her much more quickly, excited by the sight or maybe the smell of her out in the open and unprotected by a vehicle.

  Pam really had no time to notice the approaching vehicle as she dropped to the ground and looked for an escape route. The brilliant doctoral candidate had been reduced the state of a primitive prey creature. But even then, her agile mind kept frantically grasping for solutions.

  She figured her best chance would certainly be to make it to the brush and trees where she might find a large branch she could use to crack the heads of her undead pursuit if they got too close. The things could walk, but they did not seem very coordinated. She figured she could outdistance them easily if she sprinted. A few hours ago she had been using high tech equipment in a modern laboratory. Now she just needed a good solid wooden club.

  She did believe she could run a lot faster than the Zed seemed to lurch along, but the dark and steep rain ditch made her way hazardous. Fear of falling slowed her down but the Zed just kept coming. She would have to operate by instinct more than sight. Pam hoped that the isolated road might work to her advantage as it may not be heavily populated with creatures yet. She thought she had a way to evade the two Zed, and Paul still seemed stuck in his seatbelt. She doubted she could hold off against a crowd of the things though.

  She hurled the laptop case at the head of closest Zed and took off running. As Pam sprinted, she did not notice the low road guard. Her right foot connected with it, and the force sent her tumbling down the ditch. She ended up in a heap at the bottom. Winded and shaken, Pam felt a sharp pain as she rolled onto her back. She did not believe she had broken anything, but she had landed on a sharp stone. She forced herself through the roll and saw the tall male Zed above her on the road. He stumbled over the same road guard that had tripped Pam.

  As he seemed about to fall on top of her Pam frantically rolled out of the way. She had no way to see the thirty pound stone stuck in the earth by her head. She simply felt the sharp blow as the heavy rock connected with her skull. Then the darkness seemed to become more intense as her vision grew cloudy. If not for her high levels of adrenaline, Pam would surely have already been unconscious.

  Only just then, she could not resist the urge to turn her head and vomit. The creature that used to be a tall young man hit the ground with a loud and mindless thump. Pam was certain she heard something crack as one bone or another broke within the young man’s body. Oblivious to his injury, he raised his head. Within seconds she heard him began to wiggle towards her without bothering to regain his feet.

  Pam knew she needed to find one of the heavy stones to crush the thing’s head, but her body seemed to dissolve with weakness. She tried to move her legs to get them underneath her but the action sent another wave of dizziness through her head. She felt the thing’s cold fingertips brush her arm. The sensation felt distant, and the solid world seemed as if it had dropped out from under her.

  For a moment, Pam pictured the kitchen in the large old farmhouse where her parents still lived and worked. She guessed they would both be peacefully asleep now, resting after an active day and preparing for another. Instead of feeling panic, she simply regretted not being able to tell her folks what happened or warn them about the catastrophe.

  Both her mother and father had been so proud of her and supportive of her education. She remembered how happy her mother had been when she had gotten to tell all of her friends at church that Pam had been accepted to graduate school and was going to become a famous scientist someday. Now Pam figured she would either become a meal for this thing or a murderous creature that only elicited fear and revulsion until it could finally be put down like a rabid dog. The image of her parents sitting in the large and cluttered farmhouse kitchen filled Pam’s head. She wh
impered with regret, pain, and fear.

  Her ears rang. She did not even hear car doors slam or men scrambling out of the car that had been approaching from behind her own vehicle. She had totally forgotten about her human pursuit. A light shone on her face, but it just blinded her more than her blurred vision.

  As she turned her head to look into the crawling Zed’s red eyes, bloody face, and snarling open mouth, it was finally Pam’s turn to scream. But all she could manage was a shrill whine as consciousness became unbearable and faded out. A shot exploded near Pam’s ear but it seemed distant, like the echo from another universe.

  Morning at the Mediterranean

  Hercules Onassis stood five feet five inches in his stocking feet, though he normally wore expensive shoes with cleverly inserted lifts to help him appear a couple of inches taller. The last time a doctor had weighed him, he had tipped the scale’s balance bar at over two hundred and fifty pounds. He had promised that doctor to lose weight after that last visit and then never returned. This extra girth sat mostly around Hercules’s middle, and from a certain angle he seemed almost as wide as he was tall.

  Hercules had risen slightly later than normal, having lost electricity sometime during the night. The old electric alarm clock he had relied upon since his school days was still and dark. He had overslept a couple of times in the fifteen years since his parents had retired and moved to Florida, but Marina the morning prep cook usually called up to his apartment after she arrived to begin the morning prep work in the kitchen. Most days, he was already showed, dressed, and working in the kitchen when she arrived.

  This morning, he dressed quickly, forgoing his usual morning shower, and found the ground floor café kitchen empty. Marina had worked for his parents before working for him, and he could not remember her ever missing a day at work without calling in. Even the days when she called in to explain an absence were rare.

  Concerned, but not angry, he tried to call her. The phone went through to voice mail immediately. Then he tried to call her son. The young man helped with The Mediterranean’s evening deliveries after attending a full day of classes at the local university. But now he could not make a phone connection at all. The café’s kitchen phone was dead too. Hercules’ cell phone just beeped when he tried to dial out. He tried to use the cell phone to access the Internet to see if there was news. Maybe the power outage was all over the city, and Marina was just held up somewhere. Even the omnipresent Internet was down by either trying a Wi-Fi or 4G connection.

  Hercules fiddled with the phone for a few minutes trying to get a connection and finally gave up. Something was amiss. He was certain that as soon as the situation cleared up, Marina would contact him.

  Right now, Hercules tried to figure out how he could handle the morning’s usual rush by himself with no electricity. A frugal man, he could certainly afford to close the popular café for the day, but he hated to disappoint his regulars. Some of the older folks had been coming here for breakfast or lunch several times a week since his parents had opened the place three decades ago. Hercules felt a duty to be ready to serve them strong coffee, sweet pastries, or a hearty country breakfast.

  Within an hour, the place could be full of breakfast customers, and he still had no power, much less a selection of pastries to serve them. The two waitresses and the morning cook had not appeared yet either. While Hercules was happy to pitch in to help with any job in his small café, there was little chance he could handle food preparation and serve customers. Without electricity he would not be able to collect credit card payments either. If the situation did not improve quickly, he might just have to close the café for breakfast for the first time in his memory.

  He thought he should just close the café now and venture out in the delivery van to find Marina. Then he thought he would delay the trip until at least one of the employees showed up to relieve him. They might have some information about the situation, and it seemed too impulsive to venture out without any knowledge about the world outside.

  Besides, he still felt groggy from so recently being roused and skipping his shower. All he could do right now was light the gas burners to boil some strong Greek coffee for his own breakfast. The grinders were electric, and he did not have enough finely ground coffee to serve more than a few customers, but he had plenty for himself.

  They had run out of fresh pastries yesterday before the lunch rush even ended. He had meant to ask Marina to make a larger batch this morning as the place had gotten increasingly busy. He had even meant to ask her if she knew anybody who could be trained to help her. In the last few years, the older neighborhood had gotten more popular, and The Mediterranean had really outgrown the small staff his parents had always relied upon. Hercules scratched his head and figured he might be able to offer customers eggs and toast.

  While he thought about handling his business this morning, Hercules added sugar, water, and finely ground coffee to a small pot for his breakfast coffee. He had originally entered the café’s kitchen from the stairs that led to his small upstairs apartment. In all this time he had not actually entered the dining room or looked out at the street. He remembered that Marina usually unlocked the front door when she arrived so the waitresses and morning cook could get in.

  Perhaps they are locked outside and I have not been able to hear them knocking. He should let them in and offer them coffee. If they did show up, whether or not he decided to conduct business, Hercules decided to give each of the women some money from petty cash to compensate them for their lost tips. He would also let them punch in for the day, and he could punch them out later so they would still be paid. He had learned from his parents that it was always good business to treat employees as fairly as possible. He had not thought to clock Marina’s time, but he could do that later. Then he recalled that the electronic time system would not work without electricity anyway. Hercules shrugged. He would figure something else out.

  He turned down the flame on the burner under his coffee before making his way out of the kitchen. Daylight already streamed in through the barred windows. He made out several indistinct shapes on the street which was unusual for this time of the morning. Normally people would enter the café in small groups when they first opened, but he still had the better part of an hour before that would happen. Maybe the loss of electricity and the number of people on the street were related. Was there something he should know?

  Hercules casually stepped up to the window to get a good look at the street. The scene was so shocking that Hercules stared in open mouthed horror. A prone woman crawled on the ground directly in front of him. A man passed her without even glancing down. The man dragged his leg and his head seemed perched on his neck at an odd angle. Hercules looked back down at the woman and she seemed to be missing part of the back of her head. Her hair and scalp had been scraped off, and he could see the white bones of her skull. He forced himself to look beyond the part of the sidewalk where he had set out a few tables and chairs for diners who preferred to eat outside on pleasant days, and he saw stopped cars with about a dozen of the injured looking people moving slowly between them. The lurching man brushed into one of Hercules’s ornate sidewalk chairs and knocked it over without pausing.

  What horror is this? Has somebody dropped a bomb on the city?

  He had the initial thought to venture out to help the prone woman, but a sudden flash of memory stopped him. His grandmother had frightened a young Hercules into behaving with stories of the Twice Dead from Greek legends. She even had an old book with engraved images that reminded him of the bloody spectacle in front of him. He knew enough of the old language to struggle through the ornate book and his grandmother had filled in the gaps.

  Necromancers, or witches, could revive the newly dead for advice or favors before returning them into the underworld. He had not thought about those stories for years, but suddenly the image had popped into his brain.

  His grandmother had fancied herself as a sort of a white witch, and the rest of the family most
ly put her claims down to eccentricity. But as a child, Hercules had a creative and sensitive nature, and her stories sparked his imagination. Plus when Hercules was a child, a steady stream of visitors called on her. She seemed able to produce cures for everything from high blood pressure to depression.

  At least that’s what her clients claimed. Hercules own mother had mostly insisted on taking him to a regular doctor for childhood checkups and treatments. His own mother was a modern woman, and she insisted that the old woman’s tinctures only made people feel better because the healing herbs had been dissolved in strong alcohol.

  How had the dead been revived? He thought it had something to do with pleas to the old gods, but perhaps one of the narratives had mentioned a potion too. More importantly, he remembered that the dead had been sent back to the afterlife by burning them on a funeral pyre. Since these creatures seemed mobile despite various severe injuries, Hercules wondered if there was another way to rouse them. As he contemplated this fantastic scenario, he stared at the street in wide eyed horror.

  He finally tore his eyes from the street and glanced up. He believed he saw the shadow of a woman staring down at him from a second floor window across the street. The apartment had a small balcony but the woman did not venture outside. He wondered if he knew her. He knew she could not make out his features because he had the windows treated to block light from the outside. He could see out, but people on the outside could only see shadows from the café.

  None of the creatures seemed to pay him any attention, but he stepped back from the window. He wondered if the old book had been left in the small apartment over the shop or if his parents had taken it with them to Florida. He doubted his mother would bother to pack such a thing, and his father never bothered with what he called women’s lore.