Timothy

by Mark Tufo

  “How do you explain this?” Scarlett thumped her chest. “I’m here; I’m talking to you. How do you explain that?”

  “That’s troublesome, I’ll give you that. We’ve been watching the zombies get smarter almost on a daily basis, and now it would appear we have one that can mimic a human. That does not bode well for my kind.”

  “I AM your kind!”

  The doctor stepped back from the force of the words.

  “Listen, I don’t know how Tim did it, how he still does it. I hate to admit this, but without him and his help, I would have indeed been wiped clean from my own body. You are right, there are no people left in those shells. But I can assure you I am here. I am in here, and I want my body back! I am continually getting mind fucked, and you just stand there with your judgmental self. Do something!”

  “And again, what do you propose?”

  “I don’t know, but Tim seems to think antib—”

  Holy shit, that got intense real quick. I slammed a brake on her controls. Had she gone too far? I held my breath.

  “Anti what?” the doctor prodded.

  “Nothing, nothing,” I said

  “NOOOOO!” Scarlet was going ape-shit crazy in the background.

  “She was going to say antibiotics.” Chance was looking at me with some intensity.

  “Well then, why doesn’t she?”

  “Because it ain’t her at the helm anymore.”

  I was not liking the way he was peering at me.

  “What are you talking about, Chance?”

  “This one here is different. I’m thinking this is that Tim fellow she was talking about. There were subtle changes in her face, the moment she stopped talking about the medication. Her lips pulled down, a deeper furrow in her eyebrows—look at her eyes—they were panicked when Scarlett was talking, but now they just look angry, I’d say murderous.”

  “I think you are seeing what you want to see, Chance. I know she looks a lot like Michelle; I’ve seen the pictures on your shelf, but this isn’t her. This is a monster that would kill you in a second if it had the opportunity.”

  “This one would, doc, that’s for sure. The other one, not so much.”

  “Nevertheless, it doesn’t appear this Scarlett has any measure of true control, and we certainly couldn’t let her out.”

  “No, but we could load her up with antibiotics like she asked. See what happens.”

  “Chance, you know we’ve tried that. Right? In every available spectrum of medication in every dose. It does nothing.”

  “I get that doc, but we’ve never had a zombie like this before.”

  The doctor looked from me to Chance. “All right, tomorrow we’ll give it a go. If it doesn’t work, then we move forward with some tests and ultimately the vivisection. Get some sleep, Chance. Tomorrow is going to be a long day.”

  The doctor left the room without saying another word. Chance just kept staring at us. I wanted to break his inquisitive little fucking nose.

  “We’re going to get them out of there, Scarlett, I promise you. And you, Tim, I’m going to kill you.”

  “Not if I kill you first, Chance,” I told him. That seemed to pluck a chord in him. He got ready to leave.

  “We’ll see.” And with that, he left.

  “Thank you, Chance,” Scarlett sobbed.

  “Thank you, Chance,” I mocked. “That fucking idiot isn’t going to save you.” I needed her to be as convinced as possible that was the case, but I’m not going to lie; I was petrified at the moment. Was I really just riding Manny’s coattails? Would the antibiotics affect me as much as they had him? What was the difference from when I was in Clarence’s body to now? I had a shit load of questions but no way and, more importantly, no time to answer them. We needed out of here before they started. I’d been brooding long and hard about what to do. My only real choice was to rush them when they came. I’d kill them all and make good my escape. Not likely, but wishful thinking was all I had right now.

  I finally sat down. Standing at the bars wasn’t doing anything. Anybody less than the Hulk wasn’t breaking through them, and sure, I could squeeze more muscle use out of Scarlett, but she was still a hundred and ten-pound female. If I’d thought about it, I should have used her mouth; lord knows it never stops moving. Would have had more than enough strength. I was sourly smiling at my feeble joke when the power flickered for a second or two. I didn’t think much about it. The place had to be on a generator, probably had variations and fluctuations all the time. A few seconds later, the door burst open and three people came through. I stood up to watch them. They looked nervous.

  “Hurry up, Carl,” the female said as a tall man I presume was Carl stepped over to the camera and placed a sticky note over the lens. Well, what do we have here? Certainly not professional bank thieves, but they were up to no good. And I certainly like “no good.”

  “All set,” Carl said. The third person was half in and half out of the door, looking back and forth for any sign of trouble.

  “Scarlett, my name is Rita, and that’s Carl.” The idiot waved. “The one watching the door is Petrov. We’re here to save you.”

  I was too astonished to say anything. What the fuck was going on here?

  “Are you sure about this?” Petrov asked. He looked back. “It’s not saying anything!”

  “She’s all anybody is talking about, Petrov. She’s the key. She validates all the research, all the time we’ve spent trying to get people back, to get our loved ones back. We can’t just let Doctor Rosamilia cut her up.”

  “Rita, we have less than two minutes before the security system reboots and they send a team up here to see why they can’t see anything.” Carl was getting mighty fidgety.

  I wanted to do a fucking jig. I couldn’t believe this was happening. I was convinced it was more likely a mirage my fractured mind had come up with as a way to deal with our inevitable and unstoppable death.

  “Are you sure it is what they say it is?” Petrov wanted to bolt. I as of yet had not given him a reason to stay.

  “I’m…” I had to clear my throat to try and sound more feminine, more like a woman. “I’m here. My name is Scarlett. Please help me.”

  “You bastard,” Scarlett said.

  “Yeah, no shit,” I told her right back.

  Rita’s hand flew up to her mouth as she gasped, “It’s true!” She started crying. “I can get my child back.” She was sobbing. I’m pretty sure she had not heard my shit reference.

  Ah, so this one had her kid penned up somewhere and thought I was the key to unlock little Tommy Zombie. Fat fucking chance, but who was I to crush her dreams?

  “I’ll help you any way I can,” I told her as tenderly as I could. I think I could have said those words while I was shooting her with pellets in the face, and she still would have opened that door.

  “Rita, what are you doing?” Petrov headed for us. I was up by the door, waiting, not very patiently, for that thing to unbolt. She swung her keycard over the lock. There was a very long second when the red locking light did not yield, and then it turned to green. I shoved hard enough on that door that it crashed into Rita’s face, cracking the cartilage in her nose, making it much wider and flatter than it already was.

  “Thanks, sister.” I ripped through the cordage of her neck. “Did I tell you that you’re a fucking idiot? Because I sure meant to.” Carl was in shock. A sticky note floated past his frozen features. Of the trio, only Petrov seemed capable of keeping his shit together. He was coming at me with that damn electric stick. Luckily, he was about as wieldy with that thing as I’m sure he was with his virginal dick. I sidestepped his thrust, he had all his momentum coming forward he stumbled, I bit right into and through the side of his head like someone might a jawbreaker. Rita was desperately trying to get out of the room while also covering the massively leaking wound in her neck. Petrov was doing the funky chicken, I guess I had bit into the part of his brain that either controlled motor skills or he really liked to da
nce. Clueless Carl was still watching the events, maybe thinking if he didn’t move he wouldn’t become an active participant in the mayhem.

  I absolutely loved to burst his bubble. I nailed him in the groin with the stick I’d just taken from Petrov. He chattered his teeth so violently he severed his tongue; it fell to the ground in a bloody lump. It wriggled around a bit like a worm cut in two and then, before it could go completely still, he covered it in a thick layer of vomit.

  “You look miserable,” I said to a hunched over Carl. I kneed him in his nose. He fell over backward, his head smacking the edge of a desk with a dull thwack. Rita had made it to the door, a hoarse cry for help escaping her lips.

  “Hate to dine and dash,” I said to Petrov as I ripped three quick pieces off his face. “But…” I was chewing, “I’d hate to be that guest that overstays their welcome.”

  I grabbed Rita’s hand and pulled it away from her throat. “With a little medical attention, you might just make it, honey. And then you’ll get to find out for yourself if there’s any part of you left once the zombie virus takes hold.” My laugh was drowned out by a warning alarm.

  “Oops, looks like the cat is out of the bag—or more like the monster has come crawling out from under the bed. Gonna need this.” I ripped Rita’s badge from around her neck. The lanyard was soaked in blood. I didn’t mind.

  “We eat more!” Manny demanded.

  “Shut the fuck up. The first thing we gotta do is get the hell out of here.”

  “Those poor people,” Scarlett sobbed.

  “Those poor people? They were going to kill us!” I raged at her while I was on the move, looking for avenues of escape. This place was going to be flooded with armed personnel, and after they saw what I’d done in that holding room, they were going to shoot me no matter how much the good doctor wanted to keep me alive for her tests. Even over the sound of the alarm, I could hear running boots hitting the hard tile floor. They were coming. I slid into one of the rooms that lined the corridor.

  “What the hell is this place?” It looked like a cross between a Nazi concentration camp laboratory and a deranged madman’s dungeon. There were a dozen tables, and on each one of them a zombie was strapped down to it. Most were cut open and had various probes and medical equipment hanging out of them. A few had the tops of their skulls completely removed, their grayish black brains exposed for all the world. I cared not a lick for any of them as I removed their straps; they were just a means to an end. Nothing like a dozen zombies to screw up even the best laid plans, I thought as I released the hounds.

  “Fetch.” I showed them to the door. “Well, not really fetch, but you get the idea,” I said as I pushed the last one out. I giggled, yeah I giggled like a schoolgirl, as I heard cries of alarm, screams of pain, and then gunshots—many, many gunshots. Seems we had a decent sized distraction going on. Part of me wanted to go to the conflict and get one of those rifles. I was sure the original owner no longer needed it as it sounded like his spleen was being removed. Probably not the best idea. I had my stick, and that was going to have to be it. I had to get moving. Twelve pissed off zombies was going to cause some pain and discomfort, that was a given, but any military base worth its shit would be able to quell that reasonably fast, even if the z’s did have the element of surprise.

  I poked my head out the door and was going to make a run for it when something in the way back, unchartered parts of my head began to wriggle about. I focused my attention on it; it was Scarlett trying to bury something, looked like a dog trying to hide the family roast beef before it had got busted for ripping it off the table.

  “Whacha doing?” I sidled up to her.

  She screamed and jumped up, backing away from the freshly patted down mind matter.

  I kicked it over with my feet. “A door? You’re hiding a door? But why?” I took a closer look at it. A large white, sealed, laboratory door, had caution stickers all over it. “Live test subjects” in traditional block letters, and some scientist’s idea of a joke scrawled underneath it said “Not so much.” I spun my head around, spreading my mouth incredibly wide with a smile that threatened to tear my cheeks. With the make-up on, it must have been a sight.

  “How the hell did I miss that? Glad you’re paying attention,” I said to Scarlett as I pulled the door open. “This is like winning the fucking lottery while getting a blow job by a porn star!” Easily, somewhere north of fifty zombies were piled in a cell designed for ten people.

  “You guys hungry?” I asked them. I waved Rita’s badge over the lock; if this didn’t work, I was in a bit of trouble. By now, my original twelve would be surrounded, dead, or dying. You know how there’s always those people that talk about miraculous things happening in their lives, as if the hand of God came down and guided events or people to do wondrous things? Well, I’ll let you in on a little secret, He’s not the only one that can manipulate events for His amusement. There are dark forces—you feel free to call them whatever the fuck you want—but they are also in this to win it. Come on. Really, what are the odds a scientist with access to all the projects in this facility would want to free me right before I was to become a slide show?

  Then I stumble into a room that has the potential to set me free? It’s almost too deus ex machina, don’t you think? When good pulls, evil pushes. It’s a huge fucking chess match, and one side can’t make a move until the other has, because otherwise the planet stops spinning or something. Let some little shithole in Italy have their blood-tear-weeping statue because this bad boy was getting out of this place and I was going to bring it down with me. Nobody said the moves had to be equal and corresponding; let “good” move their little fucking pawns around because I was a knight. Yeah, a knight of destruction!

  I lost my train of thought for a second, letting my diatribe go to the wayside, as a behemoth of a zombie thundered past me. “What the fuck are you?” I asked, looking at a zombie that weighed in excess of five hundred pounds. This wasn’t some normal, bedridden obese person that liked to snack on pallets of Fritos; this thing appeared to have been engineered to be this big. A head as large as a summer watermelon sat atop the beast. Now, normally that would be a bad thing having your weak spot be so large and vulnerable, but its eyes were deep set, a good four inches, leading me to believe that its skull was abnormally thick. I’m not sure if anything less than a rocket launcher could take that thing out. Was this some science geek’s experiment, or were the zombies evolving to be hardier? Again, didn’t give a shit. I smacked his ass like we were on a football gridiron.

  “Go get ’em, tank! Another one for the bad guys! I could do this shit all day!”

  “These people are trying to help!” Scarlett screamed out.

  “These people are trying to help,” I mocked. “Fuck, I hate liberals. Don’t you have a tree to hug or a whale to save? Besides, if it wasn’t for you, I wouldn’t have found this room. We’d probably be dead by now, the memories of your children scattered all over the floor.”

  I don’t know if I realized it then or if it would have mattered. No, I’ll be honest with myself, it wouldn’t have. I was running the show, no doubt about it. The controls were mine, all the actions, thoughts, all mine. I’m not sure I know or knew what that meant. For someone that up until recently had been the master of his own fate, Manny really wasn’t protesting the fact that he was now playing second fiddle to my lead guitar. What the fuck did that mean? I know it’s important, and I should have maybe spent more than a fleeting thought on it, but I was under a little bit of pressure to get my hide out of that place.

  The gunfire, which had gone from chaotic to controlled bursts, immediately started back up to a frenetic pace. Seems my minions had found a food source. The shooting, which hadn’t been too far away, was now thankfully retreating as the new zombies pressed the attack.

  “My God, this is fantastic, exhilarating even. I haven’t had my blood pumping like this since I ate my father.”

  “You ate your father?”

>   “He deserved it, the abusive alcoholic asshole. Look what I did there! He was Triple A prime! Although he would have never helped anyone broken down on the side of the road. Throw a beer bottle at their head as he drove on by is more like it. I don’t generally like my food stewed in booze, but it seemed to bring out the mellow notes within his meat.”

  “Your mother never thought to throw a pillow over your face in the crib?”

  I had to pause. “Wow, I’m kind of proud of you, Scarlett. Those are some righteously mean words. We might just get along, you and me! I’ve got a question,” I said as I once again poked my head through the door. The hallway couldn’t have been any emptier if it was high school during a snow day, except for all the dead bodies. Well, I guess it did look like just about any high school these last few years. She said nothing. “Do you want to hear my fucking question?!” I thundered.

  Calmly, she replied, “If it will make you shut up quicker, then by all means.”

  “That’s better.” I was now heading down the hallway, the opposite way that the zombies had gone. “Hypothetically, if you were Hitler’s mother and you knew what he was going to grow up to be, would you have killed him in his crib?”

  “You’re equating yourself to Hitler now? Could that be considered delusions of grandeur? Illusions of posterity more like it. Hitler a personal hero of yours? Did you have posters of him in your bedroom? Did you dream about that little moustache tickling your ass?”

  “Look at you. I think I feel a tear of pride welling up in my eye. And no, he wasn’t a hero of mine. I’ve personally got nothing against Jews, Gypsies, Polacks or any other race he was trying to get rid of. I hate them all, white, black, yellow, red, don’t fucking matter, they’re all assholes. He should have thought bigger would have been my only qualm.”

  “Oh shut up, you myopic prick. Yes, if I knew my baby was Hitler, I would have drove a knife straight through his heart and spun it around like I was trying to make cotton candy. Happy now?”