by Ivan Turner
"It's just us," Peter said, feeling his opportunity for recruitment slipping away. "Everyone else left the city and I just needed to touch base with that day, see the reality after the nightmare, if you get my meaning."
Martin went pensive. "Makes sense. How do you feel about it, Abby?"
She was a bit taken aback by the question. Martin had always been very direct, though. "I…I was a little shaken at first, but… It does feel better to speak with someone who was there."
Martin grinned wide. "It's settled then. Peter, you'll come along and have lunch with us. What do you say?"
Surprised, though pleasantly, Peter nodded.
***
IT was almost two hours later when they were finally able to sit down for a meal. Abby couldn't leave until Whitaker came in. Peter claimed he had errands to run anyway and left the gym, giving Abby his card with his cell phone number on it. Martin hung around for a while but grew bored. He told Abby to give him a call when she was ready.
They went to a small street corner café. There was outdoor seating, which some people took despite the December chill. They agree to eat indoors. They ordered modest meals, none of them having lots of cash to throw around. After some small talk, Peer decided to start feeling them out.
"Do you have family in the UK, Martin? I heard that there were zombie sightings over there."
Martin shook his head. "They'll be all over soon enough," he said. "Had one in the store this morning."
Abby looked stricken.
"No big deal, love," he said to her. "It's our third this week."
"That's crazy, though," Peter said. "You work your everyday job and you have to deal with zombies?"
Martin shrugged. "The police do their job and we have private security personnel. It's no more dangerous than some bloke with a gun."
"But, Martin," Abby complained. "The sight of them. The smell of them!"
He shrugged, picking a french fry off of his plate. "I had some nightmares that first time. And I never even got close to it. We had a woman, last week. She came in with a stroller. Strapped into the stroller was a toddler, couldn't have been more than three years old, but it was one of them, you know?"
"That's terrible," Abby cried, drawing stares from the other patrons. She didn't care. She couldn't believe the nonchalant way in which Martin spoke of it.
"She took the kid over to the Disney pictures, said they calmed her down. She made quite scene when the police came."
"I imagine she didn't want to give up her baby," Peter said.
Martin looked at him. "Her baby was already gone."
"That's not always so easy to accept. Especially when you've got a living body to remind you of what it once was. Don't you have a son that age?"
Martin's demeanor changed instantly. He remembered being afraid that Sammy was sick. There had been a pounding in his gut, a terrible churning that wouldn't go away.
"How do you suppose the child got sick?" Peter asked.
Martin shrugged, sensing the subtle shift in Peter's questioning.
"You know, Martin, I don't want to start an argument but you sound awfully casual about something so serious."
"It’s like anything else, I suppose," Martin said. "When it's new, people are scared and hiding their heads in the sand. But it's been three months now. We're used to the idea of zombies in the streets and in our lives. It's just one more horrible thing we have to deal with. No one thinks the world is coming to an end."
"Except it's not just like anything else," Peter said. "Because we have groups like the ZRA whose efforts can actually perpetuate the disease."
Abby laughed uncomfortably. "Come on. You don't think they've got any credibility, do you?"
Peter looked at her intently. "Don't they? Just by dint of the fact that they have an organizational name, they have credibility. They're on the news. People are talking about them in the streets and at work and in street corner cafes."
Abby picked at her food, thinking long and hard about what Peter was saying. "Peter, nothing they've said has changed any of what the police and the city are doing, let alone the country."
"Not yet. But that doesn't mean they aren't taking steps themselves."
Martin looked at him. "What are you getting on about?"
"Look, ever since we were trapped by those things in the hospital, I haven't really thought about much else. Nothing makes me more nervous than these ZRA nuts. Remember when activists were throwing paint on fur coats? But take that a step further. These people aren't just protesters. They're trying to save lives."
"What lives?" Abby asked, incredulous. "Zombies are dead."
Peter shrugged. "Says you and me and anyone with half a brain."
"So what are they doing?" she asked. "Do you know?"
"I've done some investigating." Peter let that hang in the air a moment while he took a long pull on his soda. He had them both interested, although Martin was skeptical. He would have to tread carefully. "The ZRA aren't dumb enough to think that zombies aren't dangerous, but they seem to think they can be saved. So they're collecting them into safe houses until doctors find a cure. Then they'll release all of the zombies for treatment and be regarded as heroes."
Martin snorted. "Rubbish!"
"You think so?" Peter glared at him. "Take a ride over to Angus Construction. It's not too far from here. I met the parents of a young girl who went hunting there last weekend. Her boyfriend was killed and she was bitten."
"Hunting?" Abby asked. "Why would anyone hunt a zombie?"
Peter shrugged. "Who knows? I've seen kids come through the doors of the ER with all kinds of weird injuries."
"So what are the police doing about it?" Martin asked. "Surely they're not allowing this to go on."
"According to Tiffany's parents, the police posted a car outside the lot," Peter snorted. "A car! They should bring the whole goddamn force in there and level the place."
"Is that what you want to do?" Martin asked.
Peter paused and breathed. He knew that he couldn't directly answer Martin's question. "What happens if one of these safe houses cracks open? Can you imagine a hundred zombies all pouring out of one location?"
Martin opened his mouth to reply, but Peter cut him off. "How many zombies do you think there are in the city? A thousand? Ten thousand? If you don't see your neighbor for two days, do you wonder what's become of him?"
He would have gone on, but Martin had heard enough. He slammed his palm down on the table, bringing Peter's flow of questions to an abrupt halt. "Here now," he said. "I don't know what you're all about, but I don't like it."
Peter glared at Martin, forgetting all about Abby. "You don't like it? Will you like it when you have zombies at your door? Will you like it when…"
Martin slammed his hand down again, his neck and face turning read. "You'd better go," he said simply. "We're not here as recruits for your sick crusade."
Breathing heavily, Peter made to challenge Martin, then thought better of it. One look at Abby showed him that she was undecided. Fighting with her husband would likely put her off. And it might get him killed. Martin was both large and volatile. That's not a good combination. So, standing, Peter reached into his pocket and pulled out his wallet.
"Forget it," Martin said, not even looking at him. "Just go."
Peter hesitated, then decided that Martin's motivation for paying the check held nothing more than the desire to see him gone as quickly as possible.
So he left.
***
THERE wasn't much conversation after Peter left the restaurant. Martin was in a foul mood and Abby was loath to contest him on it. For her part, she had sat by and listened, taking in all of what Peter was saying and wondering if he wasn't right. Martin was brash. He made quick decisions and rarely looked back. It was one of the things that had attracted her to him. Their relationship had been the result of a chance meeting while he was on holiday from London. Practically overnight, he had given up his life there and moved
to the United States to marry her. His complete confidence had infected her, won her over completely. And she didn't regret it for a minute. Martin was a good husband and a good father. She loved him dearly. But he wasn't always right. And she didn't think he was right now. But she also didn't think she'd be able to change his mind. So she said nothing as they parted, kissing him in a way that reminded him of just how much she loved him and needed him. She promised to be home early so they could all enjoy dinner together.
When he left her, he was calmed down enough to only grumble.
Back at work, Abby found it difficult to concentrate. True, she hadn't really been able to concentrate much lately anyway. The three months since her zombie encounter had gone by in a gurgling, unmemorable chunk. Day by day, Abby grew more and more distracted. Whitaker had given her grief right up until the minute she'd caught him in the locker room with that teen aged girl. Now he was very tolerant of her missteps. It wasn't what she wanted, but it was better than getting fired. She needed her job but just couldn't seem to find the wherewithal to perform her duties properly.
That afternoon, though, her distraction was borne of a completely different origin. Instead of having no focus, her thoughts were drawn to the subject of the ZRA and Peter's notion that they had to be stopped. Martin had called it a crusade. If that was the case then so be it. She had seen zombies close up, witnessed them killing and eating their victims. It was not something she would soon forget, nor would the oppressive feeling of believing that Sammy would soon become one. If there were people declaring themselves as the protectors of zombies, then the other side needed champions, too. Whatever Peter had in mind, be it littering flyers or picketing ZRA installations, she would have to make it her business to be a part of it. If the end of the world was coming, Abby wanted to be able to say with her dying breath that she had fought for the human race.
At 5:00 pm, Abby's shift came to an end. The gym was empty during the dinner hours and tended to fill up again as closing time approached. Whitaker could handle it. After all, she handled the morning crowd by herself. Before heading to the train, she found herself a nice quiet spot on the street and made a phone call.
"Hello?" came the sleepy voice on the other end.
"Peter. Did I wake you?"
"Abby? It's okay. I have to work the overnight shift again anyway. I didn't think I'd hear from you."
"If Martin knew, he'd blow a gasket, but you were right. Talking to you helps me cope."
"Is that all you need? Someone to talk to?"
For a moment, Abby was taken aback by the question. Was he coming on to her? She'd heard about people who'd suffered tragedies together eventually becoming romantically involved, but it was the furthest thing from her mind.
"Um…not exactly," she said tentatively, not wanting to give the wrong impression regarding her intentions. "I was thinking about what you said, about the ZRA gaining credibility and support."
"It will happen," he said, sounding a bit too eager. "Unless someone does something about it."
Now she let an edge creep into her voice, unwilling to be led like so much cattle. "And what do you plan on doing about it?"
"Can you meet with us tomorrow night?"
"Us?"
"There are six of us, including the two parents that I mentioned this afternoon."
"Peter, I'm not going to fight zombies. That's a job for the police."
"We're not fighters," he said. "I swear. We're working on a campaign to combat the ZRA."
"Okay then," she said. She'd have to lie to Martin. "I'll come."
He was overjoyed. He quickly gave her the where and when, which she sloppily scribbled onto a tissue, and then hung up. For a few moments, Abby just stood there, phone in one hand, tissue and pen in the other. She was breathing heavily, so frightened of the risk she was about to take. It wasn't the zombies that scared her. She wasn't going out to fight zombies, just fight against them. But the risk to her relationship with Martin might be more than she could bear.
Later, when she was at home and sitting at the table with her husband and her son, her mind kept floating back to the meeting that next night. She told Martin that she had to work late to clean up a mess that she herself had made. She promised that it was a one-time thing even though she knew it wouldn't be. Her lies sounded transparent and ugly, but Martin didn't question her. Why would he? She had never been dishonest with him. Not even so much as a white lie had ever crossed her lips. If he sensed her tension, he ignored it. Sammy was his usual two year old self talking about Diego and Thomas the Tank Engine.
When dinner was over, they cleared the plates and put Sammy to bed. Abby desperately wanted to be alone but curled up on the couch next to Martin anyway. They sat there in front of the television, two people in completely different realities. When they finally went to bed, Abby couldn't even say which shows had been on, let alone what they were about. It took her a long time to fall asleep and when she slept she dreamt of the undead.
***
"WHITAKER, I need a favor," Abby said when it was close to the end of her shift.
He looked up at her, the shadows under his eyelids deepening. He did not like it that she would ask him for a favor. He really didn't like it that he felt as if he couldn't say no.
"I told Martin that I'm working late. If he calls, I need you to tell him that I'm in the bathroom and then call me on my cell phone immediately."
Whitaker's eyes widened and the shadows fled. "You want me to lie to your husband?"
"He probably won't even call."
"Where are you going?"
"That's none of your business," she said firmly.
"Really?" he asked with a knowing tone. "I guess not."
Abby huffed. "His birthday is coming up and I need some time to buy some things. Are you satisfied?"
Whitaker looked at her doubtfully. "Is that all?"
She jabbed a finger into his face. "If you say one word to Martin, I'll string you up by your pinky toes."
"Okay, fine. But we're even after this," he said.
"Whatever," she said, not caring for any leverage she might have had over him. She would never have used it anyway. It wasn't her style.
When 5:00 came, she grabbed her coat and left the gym with a quick reminder to Whitaker regarding their deal. He nodded (yeah, yeah) and walked away. There were two hours before her scheduled meeting with Peter. The meeting was in Queens. The train ride would take about forty five minutes, which gave her plenty of time to have some dinner before running out there. She went to one of her favorite delis and ordered one of her favorite hot sandwiches. But she wasn't very hungry. After the sandwich arrived, she stared at for a bit, picked at it for a bit, and just let her mind wander. Before she knew it, forty minutes had gone by and most of the sandwich was still on her plate.
"Hello, Abby."
Looking up, she saw John Arrick. Arrick was a high school teacher that had, not too long ago, been a regular at the gym. "How are you, John. I haven't seen you in a while."
"No," he admitted. "I've kind of lost my taste for the gym. Without Suzanna…" He let the sentence hang, seeming to drift off in thought. Suzanna had become infected with the zombie plague and died as a result. Arrick had been with her when she'd turned and had had to fight her off. The twist to the story is that she did actually bite him and he also caught the plague. But unlike one hundred percent of the other victims, John Arrick's body had miraculously fought off the infection. Of course, Abby didn't know about any of that. To her he was just a pleasant, if sad man who had been a regular customer.
