by Richard Lee
Jon saw me as food and he streaked across the hall, slammed into me, taking me to the ground, smashing through a shut door. His teeth were on me instantly. He bit into my shoulder, sucked in the blood. A moment later, he pulled away from me. The black veins lining his face stopped pulsing. He sucked in a deep breath.
"Oh God, Gary. I'm sorry." He wiped at the blood on his mouth. "I don't know what came over me."
I was weary of him.
"Gary?"
I turned to the voice. Councillor Warwick crawled out from under the bed. He was no worse for wear and didn't look like he had been attacked.
He looked at us both closely. Studying my face and then Jon. He probed the skin around our bites. To me he asked, "Why didn't you turn?" Before I could answer, he turned to Jon and said, "It's a miracle you were saved." Back to me: "You're immune." I shook my head. He held up a finger. "You are immune," he repeated. "An enzyme in your blood is blocking the transfer of the virus. It’s the only answer." His face lit up. "It's like you're one of them. Jon was attacked. You weren’t."
It was hard to get my head around the idea. I was the cure and a sub-type of zombie. Thinking about the last fifteen minutes or so, out of the street with Jon, no attacks were directed at me since the child bit me. Zombies went for Jon, never me.
"They think I'm one of them," I said.
"You are one of them. Only you kept your humanity."
"Jon attacked me."
Councillor Warwick nodded. "Yes," he said. "But the moment he bit you, he backed off."
"A new step in human evolution?" Jon joked.
"You may not be far from the truth." Councillor Warwick went to the window and looked down. "It's chaos down there." He turned to me. "I would like you to go down and get bitten or bite someone."
What the fuck? "Are you nuts? What if this was a fluke?"
His face was sombre. "What if it wasn't?" He looked at us both and although Jon wasn't part of our community, it seemed like he was. "A few bites gentlemen and if I am correct, the virus will be halted. Like viral marketing, the un-infection will spread." He placed his hand on my shoulder. "You are the cure."
THERE WERE NO SCREAMS from outside. Those not infected were hiding and wondering what to do. Councillor Warwick had cut his hand and wiped the blood across our faces. He thought the zombies hunted by sight and smell. I and Jon didn't smell like humans anymore, that's why I wasn't attacked.
With the blood on us, they came and they came fast.
The pain was short lived. Councillor Warwick had been right. The cure spread at a rapid pace. The pulsing of veins stopped.
A few days later, I was back at home. Councillor Warwick was doing a lot of explaining and ensuring that I was safe. No harm would come to the community. His speech worked here. He was well respected. Jon wasn't so lucky. He was shot at the gates to his community. We were warned away.
Within hours I was beaten and chained like a fucking dog. Syringes shoved into my arms and neck, blood samples taken, skin grafts, saliva tests. Locked in a small windowless room, while they tried to harness the power of whatever it was that stopped me from losing my humanity. They found it. They improved on it. They kept me under lock and chain. Keeping me alive meant they would have an unlimited source, until they discovered how to synthesis it.
You may not like my report and however much you decide to teach the children is up to you. I have no say in the matter. But the events I described happened.
GARY LOOKED AT WHAT he'd written. He deleted the last two paragraphs and told of the taking of his blood for testing.
Finished, he hit save and printed out the account. He made five copies.
Getting up, he stretched his back. Outside he heard the kids playing, training was over. He peeked out the crack of the curtain and watched them for a few minutes. Their black veined faces filled with joy. He was the only one with mottled grey skin.
Gary went to the thick and heavy door and banged on it. Then he stepped away, dragging his chains with him. A moment later Susan entered.
"All done," he said, pointing to the stack of paper. Susan smiled. "I knew you could do it." She picked up the papers. "See?"
She was still so beautiful, even with the black veins and the lacklustre hair. Her eyes were alive and they showed her passion for life. A passion Gary had lost. Three men entered the room, they had syringes, several syringes.
"Gary, how are you?" Councillor Warwick said. He wore a friendly, disarming smile. The same smile he used when Gary was chained up and experimented on. "We need more samples." As an afterthought, he added, "If you don't mind."
But Gary did mind. He minded a lot.
Councillor Warwick pulled a syringe out of his pocket. "This will take the edge off."
"Edge?" Susan asked.
"This doesn't concern you, woman. Leave."
"That is my husband. Without him, you would be dead."
Susan looked sexy when she got angry. Gary smiled at her and said, "It's okay." He knew what Councillor Warwick meant. Apparently, Susan did as well. In a way he had been waiting for this day to arrive and did not fight it. The last sound he heard was that of Susan crying. Even chained up, they feared him. He was surprised it had taken this long for them to make this decision. Perhaps they had finally synthesised the blood; but if that were the case why did they need more?
It was a question he took to the grave. Peace at last, he was happy as his last breath wheezed out of him.
GARY OPENED HIS EYES in darkness. Something was wrapped around him and he pushed at it. It was a sheet. Breaking through, a pile of soil fell onto his face. Panicked, he scrambled upward, clawing at the soft ground. His movements grew faster and faster until at last, his hand powered out of the earth.
Fresh air and rain pummelled it. He gripped what he could and heaved upward.
He spat soil out of his mouth. And took a large gulp of air.
In his head he heard a guttural growl.
Fuck he was hungry.
END.
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Richard Lee
Bio: Richard Lee is a displaced New Zealand writer of the weird, wonderful and grotesque.
Since 2001 he has made an impact on the genre world and thrives within its limitless boundaries. Over seventy short stories have slammed his name on anthologies and magazines across the globe. Five novels impacted humanity and two novellas were the icing on the cake.
He still sends his books out to independent and legacy publishers, looking for that elusive million dollar cheque.
Richard Lee
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/threeand10/
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Website: http://richardleewrites.com
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