Ominous Ordeal (Jane Zombie Chronicles Book 5)

by Gayle Katz

  Opening my eyes again, I stare at the screen. Forget it. I can’t binge-watch Jack living our life without me anymore. I turn off the monitor. Hoping the truth comes out soon and Jack is en route to rescue me, I lean my head against the bars.

  Chapter 7

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  The door flings open. I look up. Brie points to me and her two lackeys come over, unlock my cell, and grab me again.

  “Where are you taking me?”

  “We have to continue with our experiment.”

  They drag me out of my cell and down a hallway until we reach a dead end with two reinforced metal doors. Frightened about what’s behind these doors, I try to squirm out of their grasp.

  “Stop fighting. You’re only making this worse than it has to be. Listen carefully. Here’s what’s going to happen. We’re gonna put you into this room. Just do your best to survive. Don’t let them crack your head open and don’t let them kill you outright.”

  “Huh?”

  “Are you listening? If you’re going to help us find the cure and eventually get out of here, we need you alive. Infected, but alive. Got it?”

  “Wait! What? What are you doing?”

  “You heard me. We’ll be watching you the entire time. After they bite you, we’ll pull you out.”

  “No. No. No. Please don’t do this,” I’m flailing around, trying to break free from their grip and beginning to cry. “There has to be another way!”

  “This is the only way. I’m sorry,” she says as she opens the door for her two lab coat lackeys. “Throw her in,” she instructs the thugs.

  As they toss me into the room, I lose my balance, stumble, and fall to the floor. I get to my feet as quickly as possible and look around with suspicious eyes. My heart is beating so fast that I can feel it in my chest. There’s no one else in here. With only a dilapidated wooden table and four chairs, this room gives me serious horror movie creeps. It’s got slightly off-white walls that are stained from… I don’t want to know what. As I keep turning, cold shivers run up my spine and the hairs on my arm stand up. The unnatural yellow light of the fluorescent bulbs illuminate the room as a musty, earthy, metallic smell invades my nose.

  Knowing that they’re setting me up as bait, I turn around and run back to the door to escape. I try the doorknob, but it’s no use. It’s locked. I’m stuck. I pound my fists onto the door. It’s solid metal. There’s no way I’m getting through it. I bang on the door again and scream, “Let me out of here!” No one comes to rescue me. There’s no way I’m getting out of here the way I came, but I can’t stop myself from trying to beat down the door. My hands become red and raw. I’m panicked and afraid of what’s going to happen next.

  I’m alone. I close my eyes and lean my head against the unmovable door in front of me. As I take a moment to calm down and think about what to do next, I turn around and inspect the room a little more closely. I see what looks like a mirror, probably a two-way mirror to see what’s happening in here. They’re watching me. I know it. I can feel it. They’re on the other side right now. I pound on the mirror, trying to break it. While it vibrates, nothing else happens. I run to the table and drag one of the chairs toward the mirror. They’re heavy, but I manage to pick it up and smash it against the mirror. The mirror sustains no damage, but the chair is completely destroyed. It’s then that I hear loud groaning noises. I freeze in place and listen more intently. Something is getting louder, closer. I whirl around and look in the direction of the noises.

  As I’m trying to prepare myself for the crap storm that’s about to start, my neck and head start to hurt. Pound, really. I touch my neck and I can feel it throbbing. And it’s getting worse. These aren’t normal headaches. I have to get the tracker thing out of my body somehow. I start to claw at my neck, when the pain gets more excruciating. I close my eyes and try to focus on the task at hand. I have to be ready. It’s only pain. Just think about something else and fight through it. I inhale deeply and close my eyes. Rising above the pain, my eyes pop back open and the sterile room is gone, leaving me staring at our old kitchen back at home, complete with our pinkish linoleum floor and scratches from our dog, Rocky, on our stainless steel refrigerator. H-How? How is this possible? This can’t be real. It isn’t real.

  I look at the clock on the wall. 8:15 AM. Jack is at work and I’m finishing up breakfast, getting ready for work myself. Continuing to eat my eggs, I hear shouting and screaming from outside. Putting down my fork and walking over to the kitchen sink, I try to look out the window, but I don’t see anything. Suddenly, I hear a pounding on the door and turn around to investigate. “This isn’t real,” I mumble to myself. “Open your eyes, Jane.”

  Blinking and hoping to see what’s really in front of me instead of this fantasy, I walk to the backdoor of the kitchen and try to open it. It’s impossible. It won’t turn. It won’t budge. And then, as if I’m hallucinating, the doorknob vanishes. In its place there’s a flat surface where the doorknob should be. Our old kitchen backdoor is gone and replaced with a drab door, like something you’d find in a government building or an insane asylum. Frightened, I step back when the door vibrates from whatever is angrily thumping on the other side.

  I hear more noises and my attention is drawn to another door on the far wall. I run over to it, hoping for a way out. No knob on this one, either. I feel the door and push against it, but it doesn’t budge. Moments later, the door slides open to reveal a horde of zombies on the other side. With this horrific scene exposed, my adrenaline kicks in. I step back and run for the other door I just left. As soon as I approach it, I have to back away when it slides open to uncover even more fugly zombies. Damn.

  Why did I think I was back at home? And how am I supposed to survive these two deliberate attacks? There are at least twenty of them against one of me. It’s not even close to a fair fight. I back away, continuing to keep my eyes on the ones at the front of the pack, and quickly assess my situation. No weapons to fight back. No duct tape to protect my arms and legs. Nowhere to go, but… up! I hustle over to the rustic furniture I spotted in the middle of the room, stepping onto the seat of the wobbly chair to get myself onto the tabletop. Next, I grab the chair. Maybe I can use it as a weapon? As the zombies stumble forward and surround me on all sides, I swing the chair with as much force as I can muster, trying to hit them in the head and knock them down. It works in a few cases, but the chair is oddly-shaped, making it difficult for my hands to hold on to it. On top of that, the sheer weight of the heavy wooden chair zaps my strength and makes me tired fast.

  Still standing on the table, I throw the chair into the growing zombie mob forming all around me. I need to conserve my energy. I won’t last long if my stamina is gone, and they’re swarming the entire table. Some of them are leaning on the table, trying to take a swipe at me. I back away from one edge, but then I’m too close to the other. Getting off of the table and going down to their level isn’t an option if I want to live, so I look up and see if there’s anything on the ceiling I can grab onto. Nothing. Spotting the chair I threw, I see it’s still in one piece, very sturdy. What if I take the other chair, place it on the table, and try to grab ahold of a ceiling tile to pull myself out of this mess? It’s worth a shot. Still standing on the table, I’m only inches, maybe a foot, away from touching the ceiling. With the chair, I’ll be in a better position.

  Before I can grab the other chair, I kick a few of the closest zombies in the face to stun them temporarily. I summon all of the strength I can muster to pick up the chair. Then, I place the chair on top of the table, hoping it doesn’t collapse under the increase in weight. I step on the seat of the chair and now I can touch the ceiling. Here’s my chance!

  As the horde continues its assault on the table, it gets wobbly. I do my best to kick back the attacking zombies in the head with as much force as I can muster, and I carefully move one of the ceiling tiles. Grabbing ahold of the metal air duct, I can feel my endorphins surging. I can do this!
As I’m hanging there, trying to pull myself up, my muscles start to burn. Beneath me, zombies are climbing on top of each other to get at me. Desperate to stay out of their grasp, I reach further into the duct to pull myself up, but the duct starts to move. Crap! Within a split second, the air duct and the ceiling start to give way from my weight. I try to pull myself up further into the ceiling, but I’m losing my grip. I do my best to climb up and pull my entire body into the ceiling crawlspace. Maybe I can stabilize the ceiling by not having half of my body sticking out of it? As I try to disappear into the ceiling, I can hear the metal air duct begin to creak and move erratically. My hope of escaping through the drop ceiling is crushed immediately.

  As gravity reasserts itself, I fall down from the ceiling onto the pile of zombies forming beneath me. I knock them over and we all come crashing back down to the table. The weight of our bodies is too much and the table collapses under the pressure. Not only that, but a pair of the table legs snap in two. With the partially broken table underneath me, I slip and fall down, my body twisted like a broken pretzel on top of the rubble of the table. With the zombies somewhat breaking my fall, my feet hit the floor while my back and head clonk against the mangled tabletop. Dazed, I shake my head and get up as quickly as possible. I’m as good as dead if I stay there.

  Not accepting this as failure, my last and only other option is to beat the crap out of them, point-blank. Using my hands wouldn’t be smart – that’s just asking for them to bite me. Instead, I grab one of the broken table legs. I start swinging at anything that gets close. I know I’m doomed. There’s nowhere to run and I’m not going to be able to decapitate them with this lame weapon, but they’re not going to take me down without a fight. No way!

  As the horde stumbles closer toward me, I start to freak out and my hands begin to ache from holding onto the bulky weapon. How am I going to do this? I decide to use my hands to fight. However, the zombies are infected. And even if I only have so much as a small scratch on my skin, there’s a chance I could be infected too, if these monsters have a different strain or mutation. Or even worse, they could straight out bite or eat me, but I guess that’s the point of this sick experiment.

  I try the leg. I smash one of them in the face with the table leg, but it’s so large and unwieldy that it slips out of my sweaty, clammy hands. That leaves my feet. I lean over and use my foot to kick one of them square in the throat. It knocks the wind out of him and he falls to the floor, toppling over a few others in the process, stalling them for a moment. The problem is that his “friends” are relentless and, after a few moments, he gets back up and continues to lurch forward, getting closer and closer.

  I back away to keep a safe distance, trying to kick those that get too close. After a couple of times of backing up, though, I feel the cold wall press against my back. There’s nowhere else to go! Crap! As they close in, I make a fist, pull my arm back as far as it’ll go, and throw a punch to a zombie’s neck. Gasping, the zombie falls to the floor. As it starts to get up again, I grab his chin and give it a good yank. I hear what sounds like bone crack. Hoping that I killed at least one of them, I watch as the zombie continues to get back up. On a positive note, his head is flopping around like one of those blow-up tube men. If he can’t control his limp neck, maybe he can’t bite me. Success. I think. One down. About a dozen more to go. This isn’t going to turn out well for me.

  It takes much too long to put one of them down and, unfortunately, I’m too slow. The rest of them surround me. I try to kick and punch and keep them at a safe distance, but it’s no use. Their repulsive mugs invade my personal space, pushing me to the ground. Inches from my face, I can smell their odious breath violate me, suffocating me with their stench. I can hear their jaws click clacking in my ears, deafening me. On my knees, trying to protect myself, they’re to my right, to my left, and on top of me. They huddle together, blocking out the light of the room. Pack mentality. Closing in on their prey. It’s then I feel the first bite slice into my neck. And then it feels like a million of them are biting me all at once. The pain is relentless and intense. I maneuver my head to look down at my body and see that I’m bleeding from multiple bite wounds on my neck, arms, torso, and legs. With each diseased bite, my energy is quickly slipping away.

  I slump to the floor, limp, unable to move, tears falling from the corners of my eyes. I can’t fight them anymore. They’re all I see. Zombie after zombie covers me, preventing me from seeing anything beyond their revolting and sickly corpses. I’m frightened, crying, and praying that the pain stabbing every inch of my body goes away fast. As they continue feeding on my flesh, I see stripes of light from the room cut through the darkness. I can’t move. My savior, Sleep, is calling my name.

  As I begin to succumb to my weariness, I hear what sounds like a gunshot. I hear it again and again. It’s in the room. I float in and out of consciousness, but my eyes are still open for now. I see the same guys who thoughtlessly threw me into this nightmare shooting the zombies in the head. I can feel burning hot shrapnel and body parts pepper me as I lie on the floor. I still can’t move. I can’t think. I can’t do anything.

  Not even guns are enough to stop the zombie onslaught. I manage to turn my head slightly and see a crowd of zombies overwhelm one of the guys in the white coats. They knock him down to the floor and start feasting on him. He shoots one more time, but the bullets hit the ceiling, not their intended targets. They surround him like they surrounded me. It reminds me of how a pack of wild animals surrounds newly-caught prey. I hear his screams. I hear the sounds of zombie lips smacking and chewing on his juicy flesh. It makes me sick. More gunshots explode into the room. Zombies fall to the ground. Heads bust open all around. Brains splatter on every surface. I glance over and see the dead lab coat guy. His lifeless body is lying contorted on the floor, his neck almost completely eaten away, a pool of blood surrounding him.

  After the zombie massacre is thwarted, the attack is over. Nothing in the room is left standing or moving, except the one remaining lab coat guy. He’s holding his gun and breathing heavily. After making sure nothing will attack him, he leaves for a moment and returns with a gurney. Another lab coat guy joins him and fills in for the one who didn’t make it. They roll the gurney over and lower it down next to me on the floor. With protective gloves on, one of them grabs my shoulders and the other one grabs my legs. Together, they lift me up off of the floor and carefully place me onto the stretcher. Staring up at the ceiling, I see their protective gloves and clothing are stained red. From the corner of my eye, Brie walks into the room and looks down at me.

  “Jane? Are you still with us? Can you hear me?”

  Disoriented and still in shock from the attack, I can’t answer or move, but my eyeballs eventually roll around to meet hers.

  “Good news! She’s still responsive. Very, very impressive. The others were already dead by now. She’s even stronger than I thought. Get her into the lab. Take care of her. Get more blood samples. Treat her wounds to stop the bleeding. Then hook her up to the blood transfusion machine. We need some time to analyze what’s going on inside of her and quickly concoct an antidote before she turns.”

  Flat on my back, they wheel me down the hallway. To where, I don’t know. I’m still staring up at the ceiling. Every part of me feels dirty, bloody, and diseased. My mind is in chaos. I hear something. People talking. Chattering. White noise. I move my head slowly and look all around me, but no one seems to be talking. I see Brie separate herself from her colleagues and go into another room. I don’t understand what’s happening. I try to stay awake. I need to know what’s happening, but sleep is calling for me and I can’t resist any longer. Is this it? Am I dying?

  Am I turning?

  Chapter 8

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  Jack and I are walking in the park. It’s down the street from our place. It’s a nice day. The sun is shining bright, but it’s not too hot outside. The sky is a bright blue and there isn’t a cloud in
the sky. A breeze blows through our hair as we continue walking, hand in hand, on the designated walkway through the lush, flowering park.

  “I don’t remember a day that’s been this perfect,” I marvel.

  “Yeah, it’s a beautiful one,” Jack agrees. “Almost as beautiful as you.”

  I blush upon hearing the compliment and smile. “You’re pretty amazing yourself,” I tell him.

  “Let’s go explore more of the park,” he suggests, pointing to where there’s no pavement.

  “You mean go off of the walking path?”

  “Yes, of course. Don’t be a stick-in-the-mud. It’ll be something different, exciting. We’ll get to see parts of the park others haven’t. C’mon!” He grabs my hand.

  “OK,” I reluctantly give in. He’s so excited that I begin to get excited. Our lives have been so turbulent these past few years, and so much has been taken away from us that a nice stroll through the park by ourselves may be just what the doctor ordered.

  As we step off of the concrete path, our feet sink into the bright green grass and we begin to explore, still holding hands. Jack isn’t talking anymore and he just looks around, taking in the scenery, I guess. I try to relax and enjoy the bucolic landscape. We pass by so many beautiful flowering plants. Being with Jack, holding his hand, and enjoying a regular day together makes me smile. It’s been a while since we’ve just enjoyed being with one another.

  He leads me to a secluded area and looks around.

  “Is everything OK?” I ask.

  “Yeah. Yeah. Sure. I just wanted to double-check and make sure we’re alone.”

  “Why? It doesn’t matter if we’re alone or not. Today has been wonderful.”