by Lee Pletzers
The door opened and the guy came in again. “I need a blood sample,” he said and withdrew a syringe from his pocket. “The urine test was inconclusive.”
“I’m not infected.”
He pointed to my hand. “How did that happen?”
“Zombie.” Wow, I was being very honest.
“When?”
“About two weeks ago.”
He gave me a skeptical look. “About two weeks ago?” he repeated.
I nodded.
“Impossible.”
I snorted. “We live in ‘Ripley’s Believe it or not’. Or have you not noticed the zombies?” I pointed at George. I felt anger building inside. “We live in Romero’s world, now.”
“And the virus is highly infectious. It’s not selective in who it dominates.” He remained cool under my building anger. “If you were bitten and the infection didn’t take hold that gives odds of seven million to one.”
“I’m not a betting man.”
“Let me take your blood and we’ll know for sure.”
“I know.” I almost growled the words. Hearing the rumble in my voice freaked me out and I saw a tiny shiver roll across the man’s shoulders. I took a deep breath to calm myself down and rolled up my sleeve. “Fine, take some.”
He latched a rubber tube around my arm and, finding a vein, inserted the needle with expert precision. “I hope that’s a new needle,” I said.
He smiled at my attempt at humor but didn’t have a comeback. The tube on the syringe filled fast. He popped it out and slid in a second tube, which didn’t fill as fast as the first. “This should be enough,” he said and finished up.
“If you don’t know whether or not I’m infected, why are you so calm around me? I could turn at any second.”
The man pocketed the needle and tubes. He looked at George who had remained sitting on the floor. “I believe that in the first few hours of infection all zombies retain some memory, or at least a hint of long-term memory. I’m talking about only a few hours at most. At least in the first ten to fifteen or thirty minutes they are clearly aware of what is going on. After that, only one thought remains.”
I stared at him, wanting him to go on.
“Hunger.” With that, he turned on his heel and walked to the door. “Clear,” he spoke to some unseen person. The door opened and he waited a moment before stepping into the doorway. He turned to me. “We’ll have the results shortly.”
And with that, he was gone again.
The man’s words echoed in my head: in the first few hours of infection, all zombies retain some memory, or at least a hint of long-term memory. I had thought the same thing when Ai Nishimoto had stroked my face before Eric took her out of the picture. A lone shadow memory that lingered for the first few hours would explain why Dad didn’t attack us straight away, but it also didn’t explain why he hadn’t just left the house, knowing we were there. Was he trying to protect Skyler until the hunger got to him? I would never know the answers to these questions, best not to dwell on them.
Leaning against the wall, I slid to my butt and stared at George. “How did they capture you?” The zombie looked at me. “Your kind doesn’t walk alone. You fucks are always in packs.” Ai Nishimoto was alone, I remembered. Somehow, zombies had broken through the gates and overwhelmed the guards in total silence. How was that possible? Someone must have let them in. But why? Was it Ai, is that why she was alone? No, I doubt she would have done that. If no one let them in, that could only mean they were learning. Learning to hunt. Like the cavemen of old. They had planned a sneak attack. If this were true, we were totally fucked. Would I be the last human?
No. I would ensure Sally was with me and safe, once I got out of here. We would find somewhere habitable, set up traps, breed and be heavily armed. We would also search for others. We would make a life and survive. That was my new plan from this moment forth.
The door opened. Two guys wearing face masks and rifles entered. George went nuts. It dodged to the left and right. “Settle down,” one shouted. The other turned to face me. My heart skipped a beat when the rifle was raised to my chest. I backed away. If this was it, there was no escape. I said a quick prayer for Sally and closed my eyes. Fuck that. I opened them again. Dying with eyes shut is not the way a man should die. I stared right at the gunman and even advanced a step before he fired.
I took the hit to the left side of my chest. I expected blood and pain, but instead I felt only a prick. Looking at the wound, I saw a dart where there should have been blood. What the fuck? George was hit also—it took two darts to slow him down. As George dropped, I felt my vision slide away and with it, all tension in my muscles relaxed. My knees buckled and I hit the floor. Hello darkness, my ol...
...I awoke strapped to a table.
The man stood to the side of me. He wore a white coat and a blue facemask. He was inserting a tube into my wrist. I followed the thin tube up to a drip-bag filled with blood. What were they pumping into me?
“You’re awake. Good. Sorry about the dart, the men here are overly cautious.” He opened the drip tube. “You can’t blame them though. They’ve been through a lot. We all have.” He tapped the drip-bag. “Your test came back at five percent, which means you’re infected but the virus is not taking hold.”
I felt a prick in my other arm. Another guy dressed like a doctor was drawing blood. “How much of this stuff do you need?”
“We’re going to do some cross checking.” He stepped away from the bed. “Oh, where are my manners?” He pulled down the mask. A smile cracked his face. “I’m Dr. Speaker. Cannon Speaker.” He took my hand in his and gave it a slight squeeze. He was careful of the tube in my arm.
There was a white curtain separating beds. I could make out the shadow-shape of someone in the bed to my left. I shut my eyes as the doctor left. Were they trying to cure me? Five percent was a very small figure. Was all this testing necessary? A urine test, two blood tests and a drip bag of blood sent my panic mode into alert. Were they testing me or were they running tests on me?
I looked up to the drip bag. I’m A-negative, were they giving me the right blood? From my position in bed, the blood type was unreadable. Tilting my head, I managed to reach the tube and clamping it in my teeth, I gave a soft tug. It was enough to reposition the drip bag. I released the tube and looked up. The name: GEORGE was printed in block letters.
They were giving me fucking zombie blood! The fucking cunts were trying to make another George. How many pints had I been given? How long was I here?
Something I’ve never felt before built up inside, boiling my blood, and exploded. It wasn’t anger or hate. It held more powerful than that. It was rage. Pure, uninhibited, rage. Parts of my skin flaked and peeled like dried, partly sanded paint. I gritted my teeth against the intense pain. It covered my entire body. My hands balled into fists. A jolt of agony arched my back and the leather straps loosened. My vision sharpened but all color faded and my hearing became more acute. My breath came in hard and fast in giant gulps. The strap across my waist was buckled tight. It was a traditional belt seen in many movies, but attached to each wrist hung a leather strap without buckles and that was held in place by small punch holes with split pins securing the ends together.
The pain subsided and my breathing calmed. I waited for security guards to come running in or the doctor. I wasn’t exactly silent during this...transformation. I still had my wits about me, could think rationally and there was no burning desire to feed.
Rage remained, but I contained it, allowing it to fester and build up to unleash at the right moment. My skin started to return to normal. I let my head hit the pillow and saw the drip bag of George’s blood.
Fuck containing it.
I let the rage free. My skin peeled much faster this time, I barely noticed the pain. The energy surged through my blood, invigorating me.
I heard raspy breathing and knew it wasn’t me. It had to be the person in the next bed. I pulled at the wrist straps. With split pin
s used in old car engines, the only way to remove them was with pliers. Not letting up with the stress on the straps, I spread my unstrapped legs and pressed my feet against the frame. And I pulled like never before. I looked at the drip bag of infected blood and thought of Sally. My self-promise was to keep her safe and alive. I thought of Skyler’s laughing face and it morphed into the image of her covered in blood and changing.
Tears built at the corner of my eyes. This was fuel and the rage fed on it. The strap was going to break or I was going to snap in half trying. There were no other options.
Something gave a soft squeal and I noticed the bed frame on my right had a bend in it. The strap was looser around my wrist and with a little squirming and stretching my fingers could reach the split pin. Gripping it between my index finger and middle finger, I squeezed the ends together feeling the metal dig into my flesh and press against the bone. Wriggling my fingers, I pushed it into the hole. A sharp tug on the strap and it popped free.
It took only a minute to free my left arm. I ripped out the needle and unstrapped the belt around my waist. I was wearing only my underwear. On a chair to my right were my jeans, shirt, and boots. I climbed into them, keeping a keen ear for any sounds of people coming. I heard only the raspy breathing of the person in the next bed.
“Don’t worry, mate. I’ll get you out of here. Hold on.”
I threw the curtain open and saw George strapped to his bed, a drip in his arm. I turned the bag and saw my name. This did not surprise me. This zombie was more than a brain dead, hungry abomination. This monster could at one time think and reason, and judging by the tracks in his arms, he had been tested on numerous times.
I pulled the drip out of his arm. “Ready to get out of here?”
It roared. Its head tried to reach me, teeth snapping. I grabbed its head and forced it back into the pillow. The rage had stolen my fear. I was going to tell him to shut up but only a roar came from my mouth. It was quiet and rumbling. I squeezed George’s neck until his body relaxed. “I’m leaving. Come or stay. Your choice.”
George answered by rattling the straps and I released him. Yes, him. No more it. We were similar now both infected but the virus had a different reaction on me. If I hadn’t been fed his blood, I may never have changed. The rage I’d felt since Skyler’s death was weak. The infected rage was all-consuming. It gave me power, strength and confidence, something I’d never lacked but unfortunately was waning on. I no longer needed my leather gloves.
He didn’t attack me. George only stared at my eyes for a moment then looked at my hands and the peeled skin. He raised his arms and looked at his rotting skin. Then he swung his legs off the bed and stood up.
“Follow me.”
His lips curled back in a growl, which I took as a ‘yes’. I pulled the edge of the curtain open a crack and peered through. The room was empty. It looked like a hospital ward. Empty beds lined the other wall and there were a pair of thick swing doors at both ends of the room. I scanned the ceiling for video surveillance CCTV but couldn’t spot any.
“Which way?” I said and looked at George. He had been here many times. If he’d been conscious he might remember. It was a long shot, I know. He leaned in close to me, his rumbling growl intense. I knew what he wanted: live flesh and revenge. “Have fun. But don’t hurt Dr. Speaker. I want to speak with that prick.”
George pushed past me, ran down the hallway, and crashed through the doors. He looked both ways, sniffed the air and raced off down the hall. A moment later, I heard a female scream, then a man’s cry for help.
I went in the opposite direction. Near the end of the room, something horrid came up beside me. I froze and turned to the left. It was my reflection in a mirror. It didn’t look much like me. The peeling covered my face as well as the rest of my body. There were track lines, like veins all over my face. That didn’t bother me in the slightest. I was prepared for this from seeing the rest of my body while I changed. But it was my eyes that scared the crap out of me and sent a shiver down my spine.
I leaned forward not really believing what I saw and pulled my eyelids wide. Brownish-yellow eyes stared back at me. The pupil was pure white. WTF. I was a freak, a fucking freak. Not zombie, not human, but something much worse. I was new. I was RAGE. It must have been George’s blood that had been the tipping point.
Turning away from the mirror, my anger, my rage was boiling. At the heavy swing doors, I let fly a kick to the left door, the closest. It swung forward at massive speed and slammed into the wall. The plaster shattered. The door didn’t close. It stayed open and I was facing a short corridor with an empty nurse’s station. My sharp nose was giving me new smells I’d never noticed before. Faint hints of perfume and cologne and sweat danced in the air. Even fainter were the aromas of blood and coffee, and a brief whiff of stale tobacco.
He was here somewhere. It was going to be the most exquisite pleasure ripping that fucking doctor’s face off his fucking skull. The bastard had crossed all boundaries of morality and humanity. What’s to say he hadn’t made George? And he was doing the same with me, making me an experiment.
I followed my nose. In the background, I heard the odd person here or there screaming, then groaning a few moments later. The virus does take hold at a fast rate. The doctor wasn’t lying about that. I was an anomaly—a freak. I didn’t change. I beat the virus or the fever beat it for me, sweated it out of my system and made it nothing more than a smudge in my DNA.
Glass shattered nearby.
Gunshots. Loud blasts. Shotguns. Close.
The aroma of gunpowder wafted from the West. At the T corridor, I went to the East. The doctor wouldn’t be involved in a gun battle. His experiments were too important. Most likely, there was a lot of money at stake. Big boys in suits somewhere looking to take advantage of this situation. There had to be a dollar made here somewhere in amongst all this blood and death and violence.
A few times, unable to stop myself, I glanced over my shoulder, positive that I could smell someone coming at me, but no one was there and the corridor was empty apart from the smells.
Silence dropped like a heavy blanket. The guns fell instantly quiet. Had they won? Was each bullet to the head? I continued on my path. This hospital didn’t seem as high-tech as I originally thought. It was old and the paint was chipped in several places. I didn’t expect to see the halls flooded with people but I did think a few doctors or scientists would be wandering around, perhaps a few security guards. They had to be pretty secure to leave our ward unattended.
They didn’t expect me.
They didn’t expect RAGE.
I reached the end of the corridor and turned into a large waiting room for emergencies. It was empty and the exit was wide open. Decay washed over me. Turning, I saw six guards and a few nurses or orderlies racing along the corridor. Some were fresh, a few had bullet wounds and two looked like they had come out of the ground. The guards were fresh zombies and they moved at a fast clip, the others were older and moved slower. I watched them pass. Each one ignored me. I was, after all, one of them now.
“More will be coming.”
I spun around looking for the voice. I couldn’t find anyone. Even my sense of smell failed me. Then I remembered: hospitals had speakers in the ceilings. I looked up and there it was embedded into the tile. I doubted he could hear me so I said nothing and walked towards the exit.
“We’ve been experimenting for months now, John.”
His voice stopped me. Looking around wildly I saw three hallways and the entrance to the nurse’s station. I approached it and looked over the counter, hoping the fucker was there but he wasn’t.
“What are you looking for? Me?” He laughed. “You won’t find me there.”
“Where are you, you fucker?”
“Sorry John, one-way speakers. I can’t hear you, but I can see you. You look beautiful. You are exactly what we need. You’re a weapon, John, a natural weapon. The zombies accept you, you walk amongst them and they couldn’t car
e less.”
Access to the speaker system meant he was here somewhere. Even if I had to break down every damn door in this building, nothing could stop me from finding him. And when that happened, I was going to destroy him.
“With some training and a gun in your hand, John, oh John, you could end all this. We have your blood and we will create an army of thinking soldiers that can walk with the dead and clean up this mess. Your success is our success.”
I picked a hallway at random.
“You can lead this, John. You can be the hero. Avenge Skyler.”
At the mention of my sweet daughter’s name, RAGE took complete control. I felt my body going through another change. My muscles tensed, locking up so I couldn’t walk. I brought my hands to my face and saw the skin mottle and turn a green-gray shade of death. My vision narrowed and all I saw were sepia images of the hall and streaks of colored light at the side of my vision, giving me a tunnel view. But with these limitations, I was more aware than ever before. They weren’t confines like I’d always assumed. With the sudden relaxation of my muscles, I heard ragged breathing up ahead around the side of a doorway. Someone was waiting. The smell of gunpowder mixed with sweat and fear filled my nostrils.
I leaned against the wall. He was inches from me. Lightning fast, I reached around and grabbed the M-16, yanking it out of his grip and tossing it against the wall. I was hoping the strap was around his neck, an easy grab, but alas he released the weapon and stumbled back.
He lost his footing and hit the ground. I rounded the corner. He was fumbling with something. He pulled out a small bottle and sprayed me with Mace. A slice of RAGE left me at his feeble attempt to live. I almost laughed. He was a kid, barely eighteen.
The M-16 called my name. I stepped backwards to it, watching the kid try to push himself into the wall. Without looking, I reached down and scooped it up. There was no strap. I pointed the barrel to the ground. “I’m giving you the chance to get out of here.”
