Middletown Apocalypse

by Brett Abell

  “Those girls were my friends,” the redhead said.

  “I didn’t cause that.”

  “You came onto the bus. We were fine before you came onto the bus.”

  He opened his mouth to reply but closed it again without speaking. He had no idea what to say to that.

  He didn’t get a chance to respond, though. A blood-covered woman in a white lab coat ran around the other side of the bus, wild-eyed. She was making weird noises somewhere between a pant and a muffled scream.

  Behind her was a tall, skinny kid in a black t-shirt and faded jeans.

  Russ didn’t notice the kid, though.

  He saw the woman and thought: Zombie!

  Russ didn’t have to think about what to do. He stepped forward and gave her a hard kick to the gut, doubling her over so that she landed on her hands and knees, gasping for air. She fell forward and to Russ, it looked like she was trying to bite his feet. He stepped around her, grabbed her by the hair, and pulled her over to the brick wall.

  The woman gasped in pain as Russ wrapped her hair in his fist and got ready to slam her face into the wall.

  “Stop!” the skinny kid said. He threw his arms around Russ’s shoulder and tried to pull him off the woman. “Don’t hurt her!”

  “Hey, back off, man! What the hell are you doing?”

  The kid wouldn’t let go. Russ pushed him to the ground, on his back, but the kid wouldn’t let go. “What the hell are you doing?” he said.

  “She’s a zombie.”

  “She’s not a zombie,” the kid said.

  “Stop,” the redhead said. “Listen to him. She’s not a zombie.”

  The kid held out his hand toward the redhead as if to say: See, what she said.

  The bloodstained woman rolled over and groaned. “I am not a zombie,” she said, and coughed. She held her stomach with both hands and groaned again.

  The kid pointed to the woman and gave Russ the same gesture. “She’s not a zombie, dude.”

  From somewhere out in the parking lot, a woman was cut off mid-scream.

  “You see that, right? She’s not a zombie.”

  “She’s not,” the redhead said.

  “I’m not,” the bloodstained woman said.

  Russ felt lost. She looked like a zombie to him. All that blood. The wild look in her eyes.

  And then he stopped and stared at the woman.

  Really looked at her.

  She was badly wounded, still clutching the bleeding and jagged bite wound on her neck. She probably had a few broken ribs too. Her face was flecked with drying blood and her expression was hot with indignation and fear. But through all that, he thought he recognized her.

  “What?” she asked.

  “You’re the woman I saw back in the morgue, cutting up those dead people, aren’t you?”

  “Of course I am, you jack ass. And you’re the one who delivered the package that started all this.”

  “What?” Russ asked.

  “You started this?” the redhead said.

  Sandy Harris pointed at him. “He was supposed to deliver the package to the immunology department,” she said.

  “I delivered it to S. Harris,” Russ said defensively. “That’s what it said on the delivery slip. What do you want from me?”

  “It said Immunology on the mailing label, you jack ass. Is your job really so hard you couldn’t have read the label?”

  “You didn’t read the label?” the redhead said.

  “I read the label,” he said.

  “And he ran over the package.”

  “I didn’t run over the package,” Russ said. “Jesus Christ, back off, will you?”

  “It was marked Fragile. It looked like you and your buddies played kickball with it.”

  “You had a package marked for Immunology,” the redhead said. “And Fragile. And you messed it up? Don’t you people have protocols for stuff like that?”

  “This is not my fault!” Russ yelled at them. “This is not my fault!”

  “Figures,” the redhead said, and shook her head in contempt.

  “Hey guys,” Charlie said. He was looking past them, toward the back of the bus. Zombies were starting to turn their way. They were getting noticed. “I think maybe we should argue about this somewhere else.”

  A group of zombies were huddled near the back of the bus, on their knees, feeding. But one of the group, an older woman with blood-matted hair, was already rising to her feet and turning toward Russ and the others. As she did, Russ could see the red smear on the grass upon which she and the other zombies had been feasting. Maybe it had once been a human being. Maybe a dog. At this point though, there was no telling. Russ could make out only bits of gore.

  Soon others rose from the huddle and turned toward them.

  “I think he’s right,” Sandy said.

  “Yeah,” Russ agreed. He turned to the redhead, who nodded back. “I think we ought to go to the police station. They’ll have weapons there, at least.”

  “Uh,” said the redhead, “no, they won’t.”

  “What do you mean? They’re cops. The place is probably packed with guns.”

  “Not our police,” said Sandy.

  “Why not your police?” Russ said.

  “After all the police shootings and brutality cases in the media,” the redhead said, “the students voted to disarm our campus police. There’s not a single gun on campus.”

  Scared as she was, Russ could have sworn the redhead actually looked proud of it. “You did what?” Russ asked.

  “Police violence is out of control in this country. So we took measures locally to stop it. All change starts locally. Change your own world if you want to change the planet.”

  “By disarming the only people who could help you when you needed it? What ignorant fool thought that was the way to go?”

  “Peaceful change is not ignorant,” the girl said, now with her chin held high.

  “Did you read that on a Bernie Sanders Facebook post, or was it an Occupy Democrats post? Which is it? You sound like you’re channeling your stupidity from someplace. Seriously, a few people get shot after resisting arrest and you think disarming the police is peaceful and meaningful change? Jesus H. Christ, if we survive this, fools like you will drive this country to hell.”

  The girl balled her hands into fists and planted them on her hips. “You started this mess,” she said. “Do you have to be a jerk too? You’re what’s wrong with this country.”

  “Like hell, missy. Coddled little outrage monkeys like you are what’s wrong with this country!”

  “You two stop it!” Sandy said. “Stop it! We need to figure out where we’re going.”

  Almost as soon as she got the words out, a zombie smashed through one of the bus windows and landed face-first on the sidewalk next to them amid a splash of broken glass. There was so much blood Russ couldn’t tell if the zombie was a man or a woman. It pulled itself to its hands and knees, but before it could rise any further, Russ stepped forward and kicked it in the ribs.

  The zombie groaned and fell over, landing on its side, both hands now waving in the air as it struggled to grab hold of one of Russ’s legs.

  “You have to kill the brain,” the redhead said.

  “With what?” Russ demanded. “How about you throw me your pom poms and I’ll use those.”

  Before she could answer, Russ felt Sandy’s hand on his shirt, pulling him toward the front of the bus. “There’s no time, you idiot. Come on.”

  “Why am I the idiot?” he demanded. “This is isn’t my fault.”

  “We have to go,” said Sandy.

  “But where?” Charlie asked. “These … zombies … they’re everywhere.”

  “The Keene Aviation and Astronomy Building.”

  Charlie just stood there and sort of shrugged, confused.

  “She’s right,” said the redhead. “The building is under construction. There’s only the one way in now, off the South Lawn.”

  “Where’
s that at?” Russ said.

  “Like half a mile that way,” said Charlie. “Up that hill on the far side of the stadium. We won’t make it through all those zombies.”

  “We’ll die standing here talking about it,” Sandy said. “We have to move.”

  More zombies appeared at the back of the bus, pressing against each other as they all tried to squeeze into the narrow gap between the vehicle and the brick wall. With living people right in front of them, their moans turned frantic.

  And they were starting to attract other zombies.

  Russ and the others took off toward the concession stand. Most of the undead had come down from the North Lawn, over by the morgue, and were starting to flood the parking lot west of the stadium. A large number had already wandered onto the road. Many were headed toward the Indianapolis skyline.

  “It won’t take them long to spread,” Sandy said. “Judging from the speed with which they’ve spread here on campus, once they hit the city, their numbers will grow exponentially.”

  “What does that mean?” Russ asked.

  “Lots of zombies, real fast.”

  “I know that,” he said. “I’m not stupid. I mean, what does that mean? When they reach the city? They have real cops there, don’t they? You guys didn’t disarm them, I hope. They’ll stop them, right?”

  “They’ve got, what, a thousand cops on duty at one given time? A thousand cops armed with handguns. Maybe a few rifles and shotguns thrown in. But they’ll be up against a flood of zombies. A few hundred at first, but everybody killed by a zombie turns into one. Within a few hours of first contact, you’re going to have tens of thousands of zombies. They’ll spread faster than the flu. A thousand cops will be like the little Dutch boy with his finger in the dike.”

  “The who?”

  Sandy rolled her eyes. “Never mind.”

  “Must suck to know you caused all this,” said the redhead.

  They were still running, something Russ hadn’t done in a while, and he was feeling winded already, but the girl had his ire up already, and he wasn’t going to stand for any more of her shit.

  “Go stuff it, you little cunt.”

  The redhead slowed to a walk.

  Russ slowed too.

  “What did you call me?”

  “You heard me.”

  “Oh my God. Do you have any idea how offensive that word is? You’re such a sexist pig. You should come with a trigger warning.”

  “A trigger warning? Are you fucking serious? What in the hell happened to college students in the last fifteen years? Back in my day, kids actually learned stuff in college. They didn’t waste their time getting offended every time something made them uncomfortable.”

  “Would you two please shut up?” Sandy said. “Please.”

  “Dr. Harris,” Charlie said. “Look there.”

  Parked alongside the concession stand was a Gator, basically a golf cart on steroids, that looked like it belonged to the university’s grounds crew. It was hard to tell for sure, though. The man behind the wheel was little more than a bloody pile of guts on the driver’s seat. One detached hand was still hanging from the top of the steering wheel. Russ wouldn’t have even known it was a man if he hadn’t seen part of his face stuck in the arm rail, staring at him. Even worse, it looked like the man’s mouth was still moving.

  “We can use that,” Charlie said.

  “Uh, yeah, that’s great,” Russ said, his lips curling up in disgust at the silent gulping motions the man’s head was making.

  The others ran for the Gator. Russ brought up the rear. Sandy jumped into the front passenger seat and started looking around for the keys while the redhead—what was her name, Charlotte, something like that?—jumped into the backseat. Charlie, the tall, lanky kid, ran for the driver’s seat, but he slipped in the puddle of blood the landscaper had oozed onto the pavement and landed facedown on the sidewalk, next to the Gator. When he looked up at Russ, his face was plastered with red.

  He could have just left the kid there, let the zombies devour him while the rest of them got away, but he wasn’t made that way. No matter what the little bitch of a cheerleader said, he wasn’t a dick. He did care. Even whiny little college kids deserved better than to be eaten alive.

  Russ grabbed the back of the kid’s shirt and tossed him onto the seat next to the cheerleader.

  “You got the keys?” Russ said to Sandy.

  “I’m looking.”

  “Look faster.”

  A police bicycle was on its side near the Gator’s front bumper. There was a heavy chain hanging around the frame with a solid-looking padlock hanging from one end. Russ grabbed the chain and pulled it loose of the bike. It wasn’t much of a weapon, but it was better than nothing.

  A man with half his face missing came around the side of the building, moaning desperately. He raised his hands and started to clutch at the air. Russ swung the chain for the man’s head. The padlock connected with a solid thud and the dead man fell to the ground.

  He didn’t move.

  “Hurry it up over there!” Russ said.

  “I can’t find the keys.”

  The doctor was looking at the coiled mound of intestines on the seat like she was afraid to touch them.

  “Check his pockets.”

  “His …”

  The woman glanced down at the blue Dickies stuck to the seat. What remained of the grounds keeper’s legs was in those pants.

  “Hurry!” Russ demanded.

  Another zombie, a young girl of about eighteen, one arm chewed completely off, lumbered toward him. She tried to reach for him with her chewed-away arm, giving Russ a chance to swing the chain at her head.

  It connected, but too far back on her skull.

  She sank to her knees but kept snarling and clutching at him.

  “Come on,” Russ said. “Get the damn keys!”

  “Got it!” Sandy said. “Hurry, get in.”

  Russ didn’t even hesitate. He reached into the driver’s seat with both hands and scooped all the gore out of the vehicle, pulling the pants with it.

  He dropped down behind the wheel and took a moment to figure out the controls. It looked a lot like the John Deere riding mower he’d grown up using on his family’s farm, so it wasn’t all that hard to figure out. He put the shifter into neutral, pulled out the choke, and turned the key. With the engine fired up, he pushed the choke back in and pushed the shifter down to Forward. The vehicle lurched ahead. He knew from experience you were supposed to let the vehicle warm up, but they didn’t have time for that. Not with more and more of the undead taking notice. Instead, he smashed his foot down on the gas and they rushed ahead.

  A man with no legs was crawling toward them across the grass, leaking a trail of bloody gore behind him. He was right in the way, and rather than risk flipping the Gator by driving around him, Russ just pointed the vehicle for the man’s head and drove right over him, crushing his outstretched arm and skull beneath the vehicle’s weight.

  The others bounced out of their seats, but stayed in the vehicle.

  Once he was past the man in the grass, they had an open stretch ahead of them that led all the way to the South Lawn. From here, all they had to do was hold the course and they were in the clear.

  “Oh no,” Sandy said.

  “What?”

  “Look.”

  With a quick glance, Russ saw what she meant. Most of the zombies, the ones who could still walk or run at any rate, had turned their way and were hobbling along behind them, trailing like wounded soldiers limping off a battlefield. They were making good time, but they were making noise too.

  And attracting every zombie that could hear them, apparently.

  “Just keep going,” Sandy said.

  “I don’t understand this,” Russ said. “What in the hell is going on? How is this even possible?”

  “It’s whatever was in that package,” Sandy said. “As soon as it got cold, this happened.”

  “What was in the pa
ckage?”

  “I don’t know,” Sandy said. “That’s the problem.”

  “You should know,” Charlotte said from the backseat. “You’re the one who started all this.”

  Russ glared at her over his shoulder. “I told you, this is not my fault!”

  “My friends are dead because of you! You’re the one who delivered the package to the wrong place. You’re the one who smashed it before you delivered it. All this blood is on your hands, mister.”

  “You need to cut that shit out,” Russ said. “I deliver a hundred and thirty packages a day. It’s not my fault your friends are dead. I didn’t put that shit in that package.”

  “No, but you’re the one who couldn’t read the label right. This is on you!”

  “Look out!” Sandy screamed.

  Russ looked front again just in time to see a nude elderly woman running right for them. Her skin and hair were flecked with blood, and there was a thick, black Y-stitch on her chest. Her white hair stood on end as she ran, screaming, arms waving in the air. There was no time to react. Russ mashed down on the brakes and tried to turn the wheel hard to the left, but the woman was moving too fast. She hit the front of the Gator and tumbled headfirst into Sandy’s lap. She tore into Sandy’s neck with her teeth, ripping the doctor’s throat out. Sandy’s body convulsed as she struggled for breath, and as the Gator slid to a stop, the doctor and the zombie both tumbled out of the vehicle.

  “Help her!” Charlotte yelled.

  Russ jumped to the grass and stood over the two women, shocked at the zombie’s ferocity. She was clawing at Sandy’s face. Sandy tried to fight back, but every time a part of her got too close to the zombie’s mouth, the zombie bit into her. It was like watching two dogs fight. He didn’t see a way to jump in without getting bit himself.

  “Help her!” Charlotte said again. “Do something.”

  Russ swallowed the lump that had formed in his throat, collected himself, and then lashed out with a kick that managed to catch the older woman in the hip. It didn’t knock her off the doctor, but it put her off balance enough for Russ to plant another kick under her chin.

  That sent her tumbling over backwards, where she landed face up in the grass, still moving, but unable to get back on her feet.

  Russ turned his attention on the doctor. She had rolled over onto her face. She was groaning in pain, her breaths hitching in her chest.