Middletown Apocalypse

by Brett Abell

  She picked up her pace. At home, Janice had stashed away an entire triage kit. Whatever was going on, she could manage.

  All she had to do was reach 76 East Elm Street.

  Short order for a marathon runner.

  “Shut up legs,” Janice hissed the familiar encouragement.

  She was about to cross Oak Street when a vehicle raced through the stoplight, spun, and overturned. The horn of the crashed Jeep blared its siren song into the darkest night. A chorus of moans joined the symphony.

  Janice opted to not offer her assistance to the driver. She sped off … a few quick blocks and she’d be within the walls of her two-story ranch, attending to her own wounds.

  One block.

  The fire spread to her shoulder.

  Twenty yards.

  Her arms.

  Ten yards.

  Her hands.

  Janice raced to the side of the house and retrieved the key. Back at the door, her blazing fingers fumbled to get the key in the slot.

  Moans sounded—close.

  She finally managed to get the door unlocked and opened. Janice fell through the door and stumbled into the room. She turned, slammed the door shut, and twisted the deadbolt to lock away the madness.

  As the silence of the house washed over her, Janice slid down the solid door and wept. “What is going on out there?” she asked herself.

  There was no answer to be found—at least not in that moment. All that existed beyond the door was chaos and damnation.

  On her hands and knees, she crawled to the living room and switched on the television to the local news. The screen was filled with images of horror. A woman in a clean-cut skirt suit and fresh coif sat before the telecast and read clearly from her prompter.

  “We are live from the Middletown University Stadium, where an innocent rivalry between two college football teams turned deadly. The attacks are random but fatal.”

  The screen cut to an on-site interview. A skinny blond location reporter stood next to Dean Stockwell, the chair of MU’s biology department.

  “Doctor Stockwell,” the reporter started, “do you have any speculation as to what might have caused this …” The reporter stalled and placed her hand on her left ear. “Incident,” the reporter cleanly recovered.

  Dean Stockwell shook his head. “I cannot. From what I am seeing, this is biological in nature, but not natural. If I had to guess, I would say this was the result of biological warfare.”

  Before the chair could say another damning word, the newscast cut back to the studio, where the anchor took over.

  “We have been informed that the Middletown Chief of Police has issued an emergency order that everyone is to remain indoors. If you are spotted in public”—the newswoman cast her gaze deep into the heart of the camera—”you will be arrested.”

  Janice powered off the television and forced herself to stand on legs barely able to carry her weight. A stabbing pain at the base of her neck reminded Janice it was time to check the first aid kit.

  She reached the bathroom and switched on the light. A wash of brilliance flooded the small room, causing Janice to bury her face in the crook of her right elbow.

  “Jesus!” Janice shouted at the sunspots dancing on the backs of her eyelids. With her free arm, she fumbled for the light switch. The familiar high-pitched hum of the dimming lights informed her arm it was time to free her sight.

  The second Janice opened her eyes, they flooded with tears. She stared, long and hard, into her reflection in the vanity. Without warning, a primal scream breached her lips and vibrated against the mirror.

  Her eyes were pale, a milky cloud beginning to form around the irises. She could still see, but some deformation of the vitreous was doing its best to obstruct her vision.

  “Focus, focus, focus.” Janice whispered the calming mantra as she opened the cabinet and retrieved the first aid kit. She unsealed the kit and withdrew chemicals to sterilize and cauterize the wound.

  Two bottles—each ready to burn a hole in Janice’s pain threshold. She opened each and took in a round of steadying breaths.

  Before undertaking the task, Janice stared deep into the mirror and said calmly, “Okay, girl, this is going to hurt like a son of a bitch.”

  Another few breaths and she tipped the contents of the bottle into the wound.

  The pain was instant and shocking. Her head fell back to unleash a hate-filled roar.

  When she opened her eyes to check the status of the wound, she nearly dropped to her knees. The flesh around the bite was black. She raised her left hand to the wound and carefully touched finger to flesh.

  There was no feeling … no sensation, whatsoever.

  A small chunk of the blackened flesh broke off and dropped into the sink.

  From outside, a scream rang out that barely registered. Janice was locked—mind, heart, and soul—on the sink and the tiny, dead piece of what was her shoulder.

  Tears rained down on the blackened meat. Janice hyperventilated. She pulled her top over her mouth and breathed deep until the spasms faded.

  “I have to get help,” Janice whispered into the heart of blackness. She fished her hands into the pockets of her hospital coat to find exactly what she needed.

  “Okay Google,” she said evenly, “call Seth Baker.”

  The phone complied.

  After five rings, the call was answered. On the other end, a timid voice stuttered, “H-hello?”

  Janice swallowed hard against the rising pain. “Seth, it’s Janice.”

  A deep sigh rose from the speaker. After a beat, Seth spoke in a carefully measured tone. “Are you okay?”

  Silence. Janice glanced back into the mirror and then spoke. “I think so, yes. Can you tell me what’s going on?”

  This time Janice was greeted with silence.

  “Seth?” she begged.

  “Meet me in my office as soon as possible,” was all Seth said before the call dropped. Janice turned her attention back to the mirror. She picked up the cauterizing liquid, braced herself against the coming rush of pain, and poured.

  “Fuck,” she cried out until the burning subsided.

  With shaking hands, she applied a thin coat of antibiotic salve and covered the wound with a bandage.

  Before her sanity could spiral down a very dark hole, Janice grabbed her key, glanced out the window, and left the house. The university was a few short blocks from her house, so there was no need to retrieve her car.

  She ran. Her lungs and legs burned against the exertion. With each pounding step, pulses of pain radiated from her neck.

  “You can do this,” Janice said between gulps of air.

  From every possible direction, the sounds of madness assaulted her hearing. On the sidewalk ahead of her, a trio of bodies stood … swaying. Janice glanced over her shoulder to check on-coming traffic, and then she raced to the other side of the street.

  Fuck you, she thought and insisted her legs find another gear.

  Metzinger Hall loomed ahead of her. The biology department, and Seth Baker, awaited. Janice cast a glance to the swaying trio to find them shambling toward her at a slow, steady pace. Within a few quick paces, she had added enough distance between them to make for a comforting cushion.

  Up the steps, two at a time. She crashed into the door … to find it locked.

  “Shit,” Janice shouted as she retrieved her phone and demanded it dial Seth again.

  “Janice?” Seth’s jittery voice answered.

  “The damn doors are locked,” Janice cried.

  “Hold tight, I’m on my way.” Seth disconnected.

  The moans came next. They wafted across the chilly night air like lowing cattle crying out for one another. The sounds reminded Janice of the wound at her neck. A piercing whine sounded inside of her head to send a thunderstorm of pain crashing over her frontal lobes. She fell against the door and pressed her palms against what felt like swelling eyeballs. Off in the distance, a symphony of horror sounded, joined by
the percussive blasts of random gunshot.

  The town was coming undone.

  As was Janice Lundquist’s mind.

  Her palms pressed hard against her eyes. The pain refused to give quarter. Bolts of electric hatred slashed through her head and down her neck. She slammed her head against the door—once, twice, three times.

  Her arms dropped, slack to her sides. Janice opened her mouth and released a low, sorrowful moan.

  “Oh m-my God, Janice.” Seth held the door open and waved Janice to enter.

  The woman awkwardly stood and stumbled forward.

  “Are you okay?” asked Seth.

  Janice did not reply. She did, however, lunge for Seth and missed. Just as Seth dodged the grasping arms, Janice stumbled into Metzinger Hall and flopped to the marble floor; the crack of her head echoed off the stone pillars and walls.

  Seth made to assist Janice to her feet when she released a deep, hungry moan.

  “What’s going on, Janice?” Seth asked. “Is this some kind of sick joke? P-please tell me you are enjoying some whimsical p-prank at my expense.”

  Seth was greeted with more moans.

  Janice stood and swung her arms out in a B-horror attempt at catching Seth around the neck. He ducked, sending the contents of his lab coat sprawling across the floor.

  The exit door swung open and three students entered. Seth recognized them from his class.

  “Can I get some help here? I b-believe something is wrong with Ms. Lundquist,” Seth begged.

  Three moans joined the carnival of crazy.

  Seth opted to not stand around for the conclusion of the scene. He turned and sprinted into the comforting shadows of the hall. His footsteps echoed off the marble and stone. Close behind, the sounds of moans filled his heart with dread.

  As he ran, Seth fumbled for his phone and shouted, “Okay G-Google Now, call 911.”

  The phone chimed and complied with the command.

  “Is this Eileen?” asked Seth. “Oh, thank G-God. Something is happening—” Seth paused to listen. “Wait, you know? Then why haven’t you”—Seth caught himself before moving on—”I’m trapped in Metzinger Hall with three or four of those … whatever you’re calling them. I need help n-now.” Seth listened to the reply and then screamed into the phone, “What do you mean you can’t help me? I’m about to be attacked by fucking m-m-monsters. Come on, Eileen; I need some help.”

  “I’m sorry, Seth,” Eileen said frantically. “The whole town has gone to shit. Every officer is busy preventing one disaster after another.”

  Seth shot through a set of double doors and into a stairwell. He race upwards, two stairs at a time.

  “What am I supposed to do, Eileen? Face this gang of z-zombies alone?”

  “Now, Seth, I don’t think we’re dealing with zombies,” answered Eileen.

  “Then what the fuck would you call them?”

  “There’s no reason for such language, Doctor Baker,” Eileen admonished Seth.

  “You’re k-kidding, right? It’s a goddamn apocalypse out there and you’re smacking my knuckles for cursing? J-Jesus Christ!” Seth disconnected the call and continued ascending the stairs.

  Seth reached the landing and stopped to listen. From below, in the wells of darkness, doors crashed against walls and moans drifted upwards.

  “Whatever they are, they’re coming,” he whispered before turning and exiting the stairwell.

  The hall wasn’t empty. A young couple stood motionless at a door. Seth tilted his head and waited for the telltale sway. They remained locked in place—bodies revolting against time and space.

  “What are you doing?” Seth demanded.

  Silence.

  “You’re not moaning, so I assume you can speak. If so, answer my question.”

  It was a young, rail-thin redhead who spoke up. “We were looking for a place to … just looking for somewhere to hang out, when these crazy bastards scared us from the bottom floor. Whoever they are, they’re fucked up and still here.”

  Seth stepped closer to the couple to confirm they weren’t part of the nightmare. He tapped the flashlight app on his phone and shined it at the two faces. “Let me see your eyes,” insisted Seth. Both looked Seth’s way, their eyes perfectly human.

  “This way,” whispered Seth.

  The couple followed without hesitation.

  “What’s going on?” the young male asked.

  “I have no idea … yet,” answered Seth.

  “Wait,” the female interrupted, “you’re Professor Baker. I was supposed to be in your biology class this semester.”

  “Let me guess,” replied Seth. “It was too full, so you had to opt for Doctor Stein’s class instead.”

  “Yes,” she huffed. “I was so bummed. Everyone said I should have signed up early to land a spot—”

  Before she could continue, the hall filled with a horror-scene soundtrack. Seth pulled his classroom door open and insisted they duck inside. Once they were tucked within the confines of the room, Seth pulled the door closed and turned the deadbolt.

  “Will that keep them out?” asked the young woman.

  Seth turned to her, his face twisted in doubt. No words were exchanged. Seth gestured for them to follow him away from the door.

  “I have no idea,” replied Seth.

  “What are they?” the young man asked.

  “I have no idea,” Seth repeated.

  Seth leaned against the far wall and gestured for his fellow survivors to sit. “What are your names?”

  “I’m Gwen,” replied the young woman.

  “I’m Bradly,” answered the young man.

  “Well … Gwen and B-Bradly … how many of those things have you seen?”

  Gwen shook her head. “Only those. Why, are there more?”

  Seth nodded.

  “How many more?” added Bradly.

  Seth sucked in a deep breath. “If I had to venture a guess, I’d say at least half of Middletown.”

  A war broke out on the other side of the door; monsters, determined to break down the walls between the living and dead. With each successive assault, the moans grew in number and decibel.

  Gwen cried out and curled up into Bradly’s lap. Seth flicked his phone light back on and shined it directly into the face of the young girl. “You have to b-be quiet,” Seth hissed. “Otherwise …” He fell silent and leaned in closer to inspect the young girl’s neck.

  “Young man,” Seth continued, “p-please tell me you became a bit exuberant in your physical overtures and drew blood from this woman.”

  “What are you talking about?” Bradly demanded in a hushed tone.

  Seth forced Gwen’s head to the side and pointed the light directly toward her neck. “I’m t-talking about this.”

  Bradly’s eyes went wide with horror. “Fuck,” he whispered. “Gwen, why didn’t you say something?”

  She glanced between the two men. “What do you mean? Say something about what?”

  Seth slid away from the couple. “G-Gwen … answer me honestly. When were you bit?”

  Her lip quivered and a flood of tears broke the dams of her eyes. She looked to Bradly for comfort. He had none to give.

  “I didn’t want you to leave me,” Gwen whispered, her voice choked with sorrow.

  “Fuck,” was all Bradly could say.

  “H-How long ago was it, Gwen?” insisted Seth.

  She looked back to Seth, her green eyes falling dull and hopeless. “Maybe ten or fifteen minutes ago.”

  Set turned his phone around and glanced at the time. “I have yet to be able to d-discern any pattern for the transformation.”

  “What do you mean transformation?” asked Gwen.

  Seth turned to stare down the young woman. When he spoke, his voice was bereft of emotion. “Gwen, very shortly you are going to die, only your basic motor functions won’t get the message. You’ll continue to function on a purely instinctive level.”

  “What the fuck,” Bradly interrup
ted. “You mean she’s going to turn into a goddamn zombie?”

  “That is exactly what I am saying,” answered Seth.

  “How do we stop it?” asked Gwen.

  Seth shook his head. “I don’t know if there is a way. As I do not know the c-cause, there is no way for me to posit a cure. And at the rate this d-disease is spreading, I cannot imagine there’ll be time enough to f-fashion a cure.”

  Gwen opened her mouth to speak and a torrent of blood poured over her lower lip and onto her chin.

  A crash at the door broke the bloody spell. The room filled with angry moans and stumbling, shambling bodies. Among them … Janice Lundquist. Seth turned back to instruct the young lovers to run, only to see Gwen gnawing on the lips of what might have been her soul mate.

  Seth stood in a slow-motion ballet, his arms up in a vain surrender. Janice stepped nearer the biologist. “L-Listen, Janice,” Seth stuttered. “You don’t …”

  Before Seth could complete the thought, Janice lunged for him. Seth ducked from the killing grasp and planted the heel of his right foot into the pool of blood that had only just spilled from the lips that love’s own hand did make.

  Seth dropped to the ground, arms flailing and voice wailing. Janice was on him before inertia had a chance to put a full stop to momentum. Seth struggled under the dead weight of the woman. With a great heave, Seth managed to roll Janice from him, but not before she clamped down on his arm to take a taste of his pasty-white meat. Blood pumped out over the flesh, making it too slick to hold. Seth managed to slip his arm free and scramble to the corner of the room. His heart raced as he watched Bradly being devoured by Gwen. Bite by bite, the young woman deconstructed and swallowed her lover.

  Hour Thirteen | Seth Baker

  The undead were piling onto the dying Bradly. His screams fell silent, his blood ceased to pump. Seth took the opportunity to leap to his feet and race from the room. The hall was surprisingly silent.

  Somewhere, in the back of his mind, a kernel of thought had sprouted. He knew his life was forfeit. It had become all too evident the virus was passed from host to host via bite and the chunk of flesh missing from his forearm was all the proof he needed to know the raging hell in his blood would soon take control.