Damon turned the truck off Main Street onto Renwick Drive. He wanted to avoid the St. Mary’s Hospital at all cost. He could only imagine how many zombies were lurking through the halls of the medical facility. Renwick Drive was lined with tall oak trees still littered with dark green leaves. Damon knew what was coming up on the corner. It was Renwick Park. He used to take Michael to the playground there. The truck rolled by. The playground was made up of two slides one blue and one red with bridges and tunnels connecting them. Damon could make out a short zombie wobbling across the bridge. It looked like a small child. Some residual memory led the zombie to wonder through town and end up at the playground. Shivers ran through Damon’s body when the zombie turned its little head and made eye contact with him. He stepped on the gas pedal and left the playground behind and the zombie child reaching for him.
He had a new resolve. He would survive. “I will survive.” Damon said out loud. He turned onto First Avenue, which led to the highway. His tires crunched over debris in the road. He hoped the way was clear, but he doubted it.
Chapter 4
When the dead rose, it was just a normal day in April. The local bank and grocery store were open and filled with customers. Damon remembered getting the call from his son’s school. The nurse on the phone told him that Michael had been bitten by another classmate on the playground. Amy and Damon went to Mernberg Elementary to pick him up. The bite did not look serious, the skin was barely broken. It looked more like a scratch more than a bite. Amy had said that she would make an appointment for Michael to go to their family doctor the next day… Little did she or he know there was not going to be a next day…
Once they were home, they turned on the TV to see an emergency broadcast about unexplained riots all over the town. Everything seemed to happen all at once. There was no time to react. News feeds showed screaming people running wild in the streets. Some were knocked to the ground only to be surrounded by others. It looked like people were being beaten to death. People scattered every which way to escape the madness, people panicked trying to get out of the city, jamming the streets and freeways with cars. The unknown attackers assaulted unsuspecting people in their cars, dragging them out by whatever they could get their hands on. Cars were left running the middle of the street. There were accidents everywhere caused by people trying to escape. Trucks were rammed into convenient stores, and cars were run up light poles. It was utter chaos. Damon remembered turning off the TV and holding his wife and son close to him. He locked all the windows and doors, and then went into the bedroom and pulled out his pistol from the nightstand. Amy followed him into the bedroom and watched him in disturbed silence. Not sure whether to laugh or drop to her knees and cry in fear. Damon would never forget the look on his wife’s face that day.
Sometime later, Amy had taken their son up to bed after cleaning his arm. His temperature was starting to rise, and he began to get a little feverish. She had given him some Children’s Tylenol and laid him down to sleep. She crept back down the stairs with soft steps, and she wrapped her fragile arms around Damon’s neck from behind hugging him tightly while he sat in front of the black TV screen. She kissed Damon’s scruffy cheek and told him how worried she was about Michael. Damon tried to calm her fears by telling her that everything would be just fine. Michael would see the doctor in the morning and the police would have the riots under control by tomorrow…If only he would have known then what he knew now… She told Damon that she loved him and tipped toed silently into their son’s bedroom to sleep.
As soon as he heard the door click shut to the bedroom he flipped the TV back on. When the picture reappeared he saw a man dressed in a white lab coat with Center for Disease Control stitched into the pocket standing in front of a tall black podium. “We believe that it is a virus that causes the body to die, and then reanimate to a primal state.” The scientist stated matter-o-factly. Damon sat astonished; he could not believe what he was hearing. He checked the channel to make sure it wasn’t a spoof. He saw the reports of violence on the news just under an hour ago. “The virus is extremely contagious and is transferred through bodily fluids. The fluids can be trapped under the fingernails of an infected person, so the virus can potentially be transferred by a scratch.” The hair on Damon’s arms stood on end, and he felt a prickle on the back of his neck.
The reporters sitting in the audience were obviously disturbed by what was being said because they began shouting questions at the man in the lab coat all at once. He pointed at one reporter in the crowd, and he stood up to ask his question. He was dressed in a brown suit that stretched across his chest and fit tight around his wrists. It looked like it was much too small for him. “What suggestions would you or the CDC give to our viewers watching?” He squeaked.
“Stay in your homes. The infection can take anywhere from a few minutes to few hours to manifest. The infected person’s body will die, and when the virus manifests the infected will reanimate and attack. I repeat…They will attack.” There were a few gasps from the audience. Some even got up from their seats and ran out of the small conference room. “They have very little to no memory at all, which means they will not hesitate to kill you. Your relationship with the infected no longer matters to them. They will kill without remorse.” The scientist took a deep breath in and pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose. “I have witnessed this behavior first hand.”
He paused for a moment. Damon was hanging onto every word the man in the lab coat was saying. His mind went wild thinking about his son. Could he be infected? No…no…no…that...that’s impossible. It was just some kid on the playground…not-not…a zombie for Christ’s sake…Damon had seen his fair share of horror flicks to know that they were talking about zombies. His thought process was interrupted when the scientist continued.
“The situation will get worse before it gets better. We are doing everything within our power to contain the situation and research possible vaccines or treatments.”
A woman dressed in a black and blue pin-striped suit jumped out of her chair “How long will that take?” Her hand trembled as she brushed her red hair behind her ear.
The man looked down at the reporter, “A vaccine can take months to create and manufacture. This infection is our top priority, and we are working closely with the WHO to find a solution. This is all the information I have at this time.”
The reporter was at a loss for words. There was a frenzy of questions being shouted as the scientist left but went unanswered. Everybody in that room knew what kind of trouble they were in. They did not have to understand anything about viruses to understand the danger. Somebody in the audience shouted, “May God be with us!” Damon sat staring at the TV in disbelief. Everything was so normal when he woke up that morning. He was about to pinch himself to see if he was dreaming when he heard his wife shriek from upstairs. Damon leapt from his arm chair and ran to the staircase.
Amy appeared at the top holding her neck. Blood was smeared down her fluffy white bathrobe. With every heart beat blood oozed from between her fingers. Damon was up the steps in two bounds. He laid Amy on the blood covered carpet and ran into the bathroom. He emerged with a towel. On his way back to his wife he snatched the phone from the wall jack in the hallway, and he dialed 9-1-1 as he pressed the towel against the gaping wound on Amy’s neck. What he heard on the other end of the phone shocked and terrified him…the busy signal rang in his ear.
Damon knelt beside his wife, “Baby, what happened?” He asked franticly trying to hold back the tears. His thick thumb left a bloody smear when he touched her cheek.
“I was lying next to Michael. He started to get very cold…then…He bit me.” She managed to sputter. Her blue eyes were wide with fear.
This was not happening. He told himself. “Don’t worry baby. You’ll be okay.” He tried 911 again. Busy. How could this be?
“Damon…” Amy whispered. She was getting so cold. “Please…I don’t know what to do.” He was sobbing now. “I don’t know what to
do.” He tried the phone again. Beep…Beep…Beep. “Fuck!” He threw the phone, and it hit the wall with a crack breaking into pieces. Damon gathered Amy up in his strong arms to take her to the hospital.
Damon was at a loss. His brain was moving in too many different directions. His wife was dying, his son was infected, and his only help was busy. The world was going to hell in a hand basket, and there was nothing he could do to stop it. His thoughts were interrupted by a low gurgling growl. He looked up from Amy’s now icy body to see his son, Michael, standing at the end of the hall with his John Deere pajamas covered with dark blood. There was something wrong with the way he looked. He stood awkwardly like his joints were stiff with arthritis, his head was cocked to one side lolling back and forth, but it was his eyes. They were the worst. They were clouded by a white and yellowish film. He could no longer see his son’s blue eyes. He shivered. “Michael…” He whispered…praying his eyes were deceiving him. Damon laid Amy down on the soft carpet.
The thing in front of him was no longer his son. It was…it was a zombie. Damon sobbed as the thing that once was Michael staggered towards him with his mouth hanging open. It groaned as it drew closer. Damon was completely sickened by the sight and threw up in the hallway. He had to figure out what to do. Why wouldn’t his brain think? It was too late. Michael was on him, his jaws snapping at Damon’s flesh. Damon was a strong man, so physically it was easy to hold him off, but the emotional weight of the situation was almost too much to bear. Quickly Damon decided he would lead him to the garage until he figured out what to do. Reluctantly he left Amy’s body and went down the stairs with Michael trailing slowly behind. The stiffness of Michael’s body made it nearly impossible for him to get down the stairs. The thing made no attempt to maneuver down them properly like he had no recollection of what stairs were. His body fell, but that did not stop him. Once at the bottom he awkwardly picked himself back up and continued to follow him. Damon opened the door from the kitchen to the garage. He led Michael around the truck, and then went back inside the house closing the door to the garage behind him. He put his back to the door and sobbed for almost an hour. His body went numb. He could not be sure how long he was there.
He heard… Thunk...Thunk…Thunk coming from the living room. Damon’s heart was in his throat. “Amy.” He knew his wife had risen from the dead. His heart screamed in agony, and his eyes burned with tears. He knew he had to get Amy in the garage, but this time it was going to be harder because there already was a zombie in there. What use to be Amy appeared in the doorway to the living room. Her shoulders were slouched over, and she was dragging her right leg. The ankle was broken causing the foot to stick out unnaturally. Her once creamy skin was gray like death and those eyes…Damon could not hold back the tears. They flowed freely down his face. She was getting closer. With every step her snapping jaws were closer. Dark blood oozed from her mouth down her chin and dripped onto the shining white tile. As much as Damon wanted to reach out and hold his wife he forced his body to resist. His stomach felt like it hung to his knees. Damon grabbed a chair from the kitchen table and used it as a barrier between them. He threw the garage door open, which pushed Michael against the wall pinning him for the time being. He hurled Amy in, and then shut the door behind. Their hands clawed against the steel door relentlessly. They moaned for his blood. He saw small fingers reach from under the door; the bloody fingertips slid across the tile towards Damon’s hip, but he ignored them physically. Damon sobbed until he sank into the black oblivion of sleep.
Damon’s brain seemed to replay the memory every moment of every day. He could swear he heard Amy’s screams every night right before he would pass out in the chair. Weeks passed without any word from the CDC or the military. He wasn’t exactly surprised when the National Guard didn’t show up.
The smell coming from the garage became more rancid as the days passed. Damon could hear them shuffling around inside, occasionally groaning. When they caught Damon’s scent by the door they would slam their dead bodies against it and try to claw their way through. It took him a few days to come to terms with what he had to do. He tried for days to take care of them but always stopped at the door. His body would freeze, his knees refusing to obey their master. He found his pistol on the nightstand and made his way to the garage. Finally, the day came when he was able to put a shaking hand on the doorknob. What if they were only sick? He pushed the question out of his brain and turned the knob. They had to die. For good. There was no cure. They were already dead. Their souls were in Heaven, and their bodies remained. He ended them and buried them in the backyard while he still had a chance. It was before other zombies were aware that there was fresh meat still on the block. That was difficult. He had to keep one eye on what he was doing and one eye behind his back making sure that nothing snuck up on him.
Chapter 5
He was back in his truck. Damon shoved the memory to the darkest corner of his brain as he drove. It had been a long time since he thought about that night. His heart was in his throat, and the tears stung his eyes. He tried not to think about anything, but where he was going. His truck hummed down the center of the dead streets. Damon thought that “dead” was a good term to use because nothing but dead things filled them. Any zombies that were caught in the street fell victim to the Chevy’s after-market steel bumper. Chunks of flesh hung entangled in the metal grating. It was like a warning to the other zombies…Stay the hell out of my way.
As Damon continued down the road he passed the local Harps Food. Cars smeared with blood were parked with doors hanging open. Bodies lay scattered throughout the parking lot. Most had their vital body parts eaten away leaving lumps of unrecognizable flesh. He remembered one of the last news clips he had seen before the TV went off. A reporter from Channel 8 news was standing near the parking lot up on an embankment showing viewers the chaos that was unfolding in their little town. Of course she did not know that the people were actually zombies, they were really eating people, and she needed to get out of there. Damon saw a white van with Channel 8 plastered on the side in big blue letters and a large satellite on the top parked across the lot by the embankment. Damon sighed. He wished someone else would have made it, but no one did. He was the last living person in Dalville, Arkansas…maybe the last person in the United States. Hell even the world…Damon did not want to think about that.
Harps passed as Damon continued on the main drag out of town. Homes and businesses disappeared into fields of immature cotton. The pearl capped greens extended farther than Damon could see. He saw the ‘Now Leaving Dalville Come Back Soon!’ sign. Damon grunted…He would never come back. The next sign he passed was Hwy 30 west next left. The black truck slowed. Damon flipped on his signal. It was just a habit. Even if the world had gone to shit he still knew how to drive. Like it makes a damn bit of difference.
Damon was surprised to see the way was pretty clear. He supposed that nobody had a chance to make it to the highway. It was not long before he found the cars. The highway turned into a parking lot of wrecked and dirt covered cars and trucks. He shook his head. People always forgot how to drive and get stupid when something unexpected crossed their path: construction, snow, ice and apparently…zombies. What he would give to share the road with a stupid driver again. Panicked by what was happening, the driver of a blue Honda Civic had crossed the grassy median and got stuck trying to get around the trail of fleeing vehicles. A silver Impala was wedged between a rusty old Ford truck and the smashed guardrail.
He slowed the truck to a halt and studied the mess of metal in front of him. He shuddered at the thought of being stuck out in the open with no means to protect yourself or your family. As he scanned the area for any openings he could fit his truck through something caught his gaze. He noticed movement through the back window of a Dodge Caravan. Damon’s eyes squinted as he tried to make out what it was. At that moment he wished he had not stopped at all. A teenage girl with a gaping hole in her neck stared through the dingy glass at him. The zombi
e’s matted hair clung to her skull in black clumps. Her head seemed to loosely hover over her body, lolling from side to side until her dead eyes locked onto Damon. He could feel his skin prickle. Suddenly the zombie girl threw herself against the glass, nearly breaking the window with the force of her body. Her face thudded against the pane, leaving bloody marks each time as she tried over and over to smash her way through the window. Damon saw the glass crack. The hunger for flesh drove her. He supposed it had been a long time since most of the zombies had anything to eat. He shuddered again. The zombie girl was almost through the window now. Broken glass dug deep into her chest as she clawed her way through. Her mouth was open, flashing black teeth ready to tear into him. The window shattered into more pieces, and the zombie disappeared behind the small cab of a dark green pickup truck with a thud.
Zombie Revolution Page 2
