Our Undead

by Theo Vigo

  Brent: Dorian! Hey, Dorian! We got a big problem, brother.

  Dorian: You're telling me. There's a mouse in the dining hall.

  Brent: What?!

  Dorian: Yea. It must've been hungry too. The little fucker already nipped like seven people on the ankle. Don't worry, though. We caught and killed the ugly little bastard. I'm just gonna grab the first-aid kit, and get the people some Band-Aids.

  Brent's manager Dorian continues down the hall past him and enters the kitchen. Brent lets the hurried man go unwittingly and in disbelief. His mind is still trying to figure things out, or maybe it already has and is just having trouble digesting this unwelcome news. The mouse was the cause of Heather's symptoms, and now at least seven other people were about to go through the same things. Dorian pokes his head out of the kitchen.

  Dorian: Brent, have you seen the first-aid kit? It's not on top of the fridge where it's supposed to be. I don't know how many times I have to tell you people to put things back where they be-

  Brent: It's in the women's washroom.

  Dorian: Well, what the hell is it doing in there?

  <><><>

  Dorian: Jesus Christ…

  Brent: Yea.

  Dorian: Is she still alive?

  Paula: Her breathing was really shallow when I was here by myself, but I'm not even sure if she is breathing anymore.

  Dorian joins Brent and Paula in the washroom where Heather still sits with her back against the wall. Her body is totally sagged like an empty sack of potatoes, her head hanging loosely in front of her. To someone just walking in on them, it might look like Heather has had too much to drink. Her three coworkers stand a good distance away from her, afraid of getting too close and possibly catching what she had caught. They can see enough from where they are; Heather's black apron is still on and covered mostly in puke and drool, and what they think might even be blood, but it is too black to tell against her black apron. The area around her ankle has turned just as black as the pants she is wearing.

  Dorian: And you say a mouse bite did this?

  Brent: Yea, I heard her screaming in the bakery, and when I got there she told me a mouse bit her. She said she kicked it, and it ran away. I never actually saw it, myself. I swear, she wasn't nearly this bad when I first saw her. Fifteen minutes go by and… this.

  Dorian: Those people out there…

  Brent: Forget them! What about us?! If these people are infected, where else can all of us healthy people escape to?! This compound will become a death trap!

  Dorian: Maybe if we get to them in time, we can have them quarantined. Uh, you guys stay here, and make sure Heather-

  Paula: Oh, no. No way. I'm not staying here again. Forget that.

  Brent: Yea, dude. Make sure Heather what? Look at her. She's as good as dead.

  Dorian: Well, we can't leave her here. She might…

  Brent: Come back to life, and kill the fuck out of us?! Yea, I know. That's why we're not staying here. Right, Paula?!…. Paula?

  Dorian isn't listening to Brent anymore, and neither is Paula. Their attention has been shifted from discussing what to do next, to the movement coming from the far wall where Heather has been sitting. Brent turns to see what they're looking at and his jaw undergoes a progressive drop.

  Heather's head is no longer hanging loosely in front of her. She is wide awake, and staring intensely at her associates. "Glaring", would be a better word. She looks at them with a very placid expression, her head swaying from left to right, studying them like she has never seen them before.

  Dorian: Heather… Are you feeling okay?

  Brent: Hell no, she's not feeling okay, man! Look at her eyes!

  Paula: He's right. She has.. los ojos de los muertos…

  Brent: You hear that, man?! The eyes of the fucking dead. Let's get out of here!

  Dorian: We can't just leave. We have to deal with her here and now. Give me that.

  Dorian snatches the mop out of Paula's shivering hands and tries to break its wooden handle off with his knee. His first attempt fails, and he lets out an aggravated growl, frustrated and most likely bruised. To the now undead Heather, his cry of pain is like a reminder of her purpose. It rings in the altered brain like a siren song, calling her to fulfill her true function. Her face morphs from placid and curious to wrinkled and ferocious.

  Brent: Dude!

  Dorian looks up at Brent's warning and sees Heather getting to her feet.

  Dorian: Oh, shit…

  Now, standing on both feet, and ready for her first taste of flesh, the undead version of Heather roars at her former coworkers, making her plans for them very clear, then even more so when she begins her zombie trot toward them. Paula takes shelter behind Brent, and Dorian tries again and again to break the mop's handle in half.

  Brent: HURRY UP, MAN!!

  Dorian: It's harder than it looks, all right?!

  Dorian fails to break the handle before Heather makes it across the bathroom floor, coming within reach of Brent and Paula. Brent has to shrug Paula off of his back and deliver a heavy front kick to Heather's chest to keep her infected hands away from him. She is sent tumbling backwards and trips over her own clumsy feet, falling into and slamming her head on the tiles of the wall she was resting on moments ago. Her skull takes a good hit, but she shakes it off and gets back up to her feet right away, relentless for her first official feeding.

  Paula: Dorian, she's coming back!!

  Dorian: Yea, I can see that.

  He tries a few more times to break the mop handle over his knee, while Heather starts her trot back up. She gets too close again, and Brent readies himself to deliver another sturdy kick. Fortunately, it isn't needed. Dorian springs in front of him, just in time with the broken mop handle and plunges its jagged end into Heather's right eye. Heather reels her head back and bellows causing Dorian to release his grip on the handle. Zombie Heather dances frantically around the washroom, arms flailing and screaming in agony.

  Brent: You have to finish the job!!

  Dorian: Sorry! She… went nuts!

  Having had enough, Brent steps forward, lifting his hands in guard. He attempts to get a hold of the stick so he can take it out and give her a proper shot to the brain, but Heather throws herself every which way, ramming her hips into the sink and crashing into the stall doors. With her constant jerky movements he is unable to catch the stick, so he chooses to go for another straight kick, this time not timed but placed just as well.

  His foot lands in the middle of Heather's back, and again, she is run into the bathroom wall, after which she falls to the floor, still squirming around like a lunatic. He walks over to her carefully. Because of the stick in her eye, she isn't paying much attention to her terrified friends anymore, but Brent doesn't want to take the chance of getting scratched accidentally by her swinging hands. When he gets close enough, he stomps one foot down on her chest to still her, then as quickly as he can, takes the stick out of her eye and stabs it down into her head two more times.

  Heather falls silent, and her body relaxes. Brent releases his grip around the makeshift weapon and wipes the few driblets of blood caused by the splash back, off of his face. He looks down at Heather. Her right eye, which had been poked through by Dorian, is replaced by a dark red pool of blood. Another large puncture is in her face, not too far from the one caused by Dorian, this one made by Brent's first attack, a handle sized hole on her forehead just a tad above her right eye. Her last wound is filled by the still standing mop handle. It juts straight up and out from the dead center of her forehead.

  Dorian and Paula are still standing on the opposite side of the washroom. Both of them have no words. Even living through an outbreak once before is not enough to prepare them for seeing such horrific things again. An eerie peacefulness fills the air in the washroom. The only sound that can be heard is that of Brent's heaving breaths trying to regulate themselves. Dorian's thoughts float around the air, focusing on different subjects, most of which had just happen
ed to him personally. Suddenly, his managerial trait of having to take responsibility for others kicks back in.

  Dorian: The dining hall!

  Brent, Paula and Dorian push through the main kitchen's exit and enter the dining hall. It is just as crowded as it had been when Dorian left it to get the first-aid kit, but now, the many people inside are clustered into several concentrated groups. The din is alive and kicking, but with the amount of people going on and on, it is impossible to make out what anyone is saying. Even so, the energy in the room has changed from slightly concerned to moderately hysteric. Brent, Paula and Dorian look from group to group.

  Paula: It's happening. It's happening again. I have to find my family.

  Paula darts away from Brent and Dorian, for the cafeteria's exit. The young men watch her leave, and then bring their attention back to the bustling dining hall. Dorian makes the first move. He makes a beeline for the closest collection of people, and Brent follows behind him. The people are so tightly packed together around the spectacle that Dorian and Brent have quite the hard time pushing through to the center.

  When they get there, they are met with a very familiar sight. A woman sits on the floor by one of the long dining tables. She is holding what looks to be her husband in her arms and is whimpering profusely. The man looks to be in a bad way. His eyes fight to stay open, and his breathing is unsteady and jerky. He hasn't gotten any on himself, as Heather did, but a large pile of blackened vomit sits beside the couple, making an inconsiderate gap in the crowd.

  Brent: Shit. What happens now?

  Dorian looks at his subordinate. There is no answer he can think to give.

  FREE-FOR-SOME

  The whole room is at a stand still when the doors open and Holden is the one who appears in the entryway. General Feleider may have been expecting him, but his three teammates are not sure what to make of Holden being the General's possible personal middleman. Billy isn't as surprised as the rest of them. He remembers being sent to the ground by Holden's brick wall of a chest in the hall and how menacing the whole event had been. He already had his suspicions about the scary man. Margaret recognizes him too, but is too anxious to care or think beyond what is in front of her eyes. They shoot back and forth from Holden and what is happening with the group, to Abe, still trapped on the elevated examination bed. Even though all eyes are on him, Holden holds a sturdy poker face and walks into the room, heading toward Feleider and the rest.

  Feleider: Kush Holden, you have something for me?

  Holden pushes his way through into the circle and reaches into his inside vest pocket as he passes Margaret and closes in on Feleider, who stands at the circle's end. He stops in front of the General and hands over what was in his vest's pocket.

  Feleider: Thank you, very much.

  Sharp: Kush, what's going on?

  Feleider: If you don't feel the need to respond, that's fine, Holden. Just let me take care of this, and we'll be on our way. I have a man and truck waiting to take us to the nearest lift.

  Feleider takes the communicator back out of his pocket and inserts the thumb drive into its side. He pushes a few of the buttons and the communicator chimes in alert. Feleider lowers his hands back down to his sides, keeping hold of the communicator that is in mid-transfer.

  Feleider: Well, that's it, everyone. The formula is being sent as we speak. In just a few seconds the transfer will be complete. I might as well take this time to tell you something important. When I told you before that Doctor Alyster was dead, that was a lie… He's dying, inside of his lab right now, holding on to his life as long as he can before triggering this compound to self-destruct.

  Rohan: Why would he do this!?

  Feleider: Rohan, that question has two answers. First, he waits to ensure that the formula has been safely delivered. The second reason is that, well, there was a mishap during testing. It seems the formula still isn't perfect after all. I've been informed that the men he was testing on have turned into… like him, only much more vicious. Which would account for the old doctor's current state.

  He nods his head in Abe's direction.

  Gwen: You injected your own men with the parasite?! You monster.

  Feleider: No need for compliments, Gavine.

  Keung: So, you're saying that there are infected men somewhere in this compound? We should tell the people!

  Feleider: The imperfections were subdued thanks to my large accomplice here, although, I have heard rumors of the parasite breeching the quarantine of the lab. No matter, though. You know, self-destruction and all.

  Keung: I have to go and find my family.

  Rohan: I, as well.

  Both doctors, Rohan and Keung, leave Laboratory D-9 in a hurry to go and find their families.

  Feleider: That was a good idea. If you all have family and friends here, I would suggest you do the same thing.

  Suddenly, the little communicator's alert goes off again.

  Feleider: Ah, it has been sent. Looks like it's about time for Holden and I to be on our way, as well. Shall we?

  General Feleider detaches the thumb drive from his communicator and gives it back to Holden, who slips it back into his vest's inside pocket. They both start for the door, but their path is obstructed almost immediately by an unsatisfied aggressor. Sharp stands in their way, physically placing his hand on Holden's chest.

  Sharp: You two aren't going anywhere yet. Holden, I always knew that you were your own man, even though part of a team, but I never figured you for a traitor.

  Holden stands firm, unbothered by Sharp's words. Looking down on his questioning teammate, he remains expressionless and unflinching. To the rest of his fellow Mav-Elite, it's as if Holden had turned into a robot or something.

  Feleider: We have no time for this. Remove him so we can be on our way.

  With one beastly arm, Holden pushes Sharp aside. Even with his strength and preparedness, Sharp stumbles over himself, but he bolts right back and gives Holden a great double-armed shove to the chest. He only gets knocked back a couple of short steps… The man is big.

  Kerrick: Now, guys, I don't think we should be getting into a…

  But it's too late. Holden grabs Sharp by his shirt and thrusts him forward. Sharp tries to swing at Holden's gorilla mug but finds himself flying through the air. He slams into the floor, sliding past Margaret and skids to a stop near the base of Abe's ensnarement. Abe tries to look down, but can't see directly under him because of his neck being locked in place. Holden stomps his way over to Sharp but gets interrupted by Kerrick's stepping in between.

  Kerrick: Guys, c'mon! This is neither the time, nor the place.

  Sharp: Matthew, get out of his way!

  Erika: He's right. This place could be going up at any minute. We'll settle this when we get out of here.

  Sharp: No, I think we'll settle this now.

  Sharp charges for Holden, but Kerrick holds true. Sharp ends up running into Kerrick's welcoming bear hug. The hotheaded super soldier struggles for a brief moment with a man he isn't even supposed to be fighting with, but eventually manages to escape Kerrick's grasp and get to Holden. He swings for Holden's face again, once with the right, then with the left, but misses both attempts. Holden throws a heavy right punch of his own, but Sharp ducks under it and counters with a left hook to the gorilla man's midsection. It hardly affects Holden, and he brings around his own heavy left, but Sharp is able to dodge that one, too.

  They continue throwing punches, dodging and countering each other, while everyone else watches from the sides. Kerrick chooses to back off, knowing that once those two get started, there is no way to stop them. Their scuffles usually persist until one of them gets too tired. Most of the time, it's Sharp who exhausts himself first, but he has also seen the scrapper lay Holden out a few times. He would have to intervene if they get too crazy, but for now, Kerrick stands beside Erika and Billy. Margaret maneuvers herself away from the melee, going closer to where Bernard and Gwen stand by the control panel. Feleider st
ands near them as well, entertained by the show going on in front of him.

  Sharp: You snitch prick!

  A flurry of punches carry the boxing match forward. Holden blocks each one and returns some of his own, but Sharp's defensive skills are just as finely tuned. He dodges Holden's last punch by falling over onto his side and counters with a scissor trip. He has to hack into the back of Holden's tree trunk like legs to bring the giant falling forward, and when he hits the ground, Sharp scrimmages around to deliver a lethal knee to Holden's side. He follows that up by straddling Holden's back and throwing punch after punch to the side and back of his head.

  Sharp: Backstab your own men, Kush? I'm gonna make you eat shit when we get out of here!