Parasite; The True Story of the Zombie Apocalypse

by Doug Ward

We were heading down the wooded lane, which lead to Xanthco as a zombie lurched into view ahead of us.  The road was twisty and we weren't going fast.

  "Just go around it," I suggested, but Drew just continued straight ahead.

  The undead man reached both hands up in front, reaching for us as we barreled towards his embrace.

  "We don't want to hurt the truck!" I stated more forcefully, remembering how the cars reacted to striking zombies I was just being realistic.

  "Alright." he acquiesced.  "I'll take him on the side."

  At the last moment, Drew turned the big truck and drove into the walking dead man near the fender.

  "Happy?" he asked sarcastically.

  "Happy," I answered.  It had taken most of the ride, but I had finally gotten my driver to understand that vehicles weren't made for the kind of abuse plowing through zombies produced.  Over time, they damaged the car, or, in this instance, fire truck, to the point of breaking down. As the beautiful wooded road gave way to the building and parking lot we were both startled to see that someone was trying to climb down a blue rope.  Drew swung the truck to a stop just past the spot where the rope dangled.

  "Frank, get the ladder into position!" Drew barked in command.  "Ben, grab Dean and meet me at the one climbing down the rope!"

  Doors flew open and we scattered to our various positions.  I was about to hurry to the rope, but Frank grabbed my arm, spinning me around.  "Give me a hand!" he stated firmly.

  I climbed to the top of the vehicle while Frank stood at the controls for the ladder.  He swung the telescoping device up and around, then extended it toward the top of the building.

  Meanwhile, the others gathered at the bottom of the rope.  It was a woman slowly making her way down, a large bandage wrapped around one of her legs.  She screamed as she slid down about five feet, losing her grip on the plastic surface.

  "Ben!  Give me a hand," the burly man in the Batman shirt and cape demanded as he sprinted toward the side of the truck.  Dean looked helpless as he shifted position below the swaying makeshift rope.

  A scream erupted from the roof.  My heart leapt.  It sounded like Melissa. I looked up and saw my wife waving her arms over the edge of the roof.

  "They're almost through!" she screamed over and over.  I didn't know who they were, but I had a good idea.  The ladder extended past the edge of the roof and Melissa nearly jumped on to the rungs.  She no sooner had started down the escape route when Mel was joined by a shirtless man.

  Relief flooded my being as I watched my wife climb down the ladder.  I waited at its base for her to arrive.  When she reached the bottom rung, she spun and I enveloped her in as big a hug and kiss as I have ever given her.  She melted in my arms.

  "You came!" she cried out in joy.  "My hero!"  She kissed me again, more forcefully this time.

  I broke our embrace and stepped back from the ladder to allow her coworker to step onto the vehicle.  "I'm no hero," I said in all modesty.

  She traced a finger across the emblem on my shirt.  "You could have fooled me," she said, grinning.

  A scream erupted behind us. Snapping our heads around, we saw a person fall into a large tarp held by my three friends.  They braced, leaning backward, then jerked forward as the person hit the canvas surface.  The tarp broke the unfortunate person's downward momentum enough to survive with no injury.  As the person emerged from the cloth, I could see she was a woman.

  The guys went to check on her as she stepped on the pavement. Even after her ordeal, you could tell that she was a real looker.  The men were smitten, but it was Drew she wrapped her arms around, sobbing.  His eyes were wide, like he didn't know what to do.  Melissa and I climbed to the ground along with the shirtless guy.  We began trotting toward Drew and the woman.  Something made me look toward the building.  It was probably the muffled pounding noise.

  Melissa slowed and then joined me in looking at the dark tinted windows.  Countless shadowy forms clawed viciously at the glass.  This repeated on the second floor. The third floor, being out of my field of vision, probably was the same.

  "Dean!" I called out.

  "We got to get out of here!" he answered.  I looked in his direction and he was noticing the same thing I did.

  "Watch out!" Frank sounded from behind the truck, the ladder almost back in its resting place.

  A wet smack sounded to my right.  I spun and saw a zombie plastered against the ground.  Another smack heralded another one splattering to the pavement.

  Looking up I saw that it looked like it was raining undead as they simply stepped off of the roof in pursuit of us.

  Dodging the falling zombies, we made for the truck.  We all piled into the cab areas.  Drew took the driver's seat, while Melissa sat squished in beside me.  The doors slammed shut.

  "Where's Frank?" Ben screamed.  He leaned up into our seat area as if to find him there.

  I could hear a muffled voice from outside screaming "Drive, drive!"

  "Ned!  Where's Ned?" The woman cried out, leaning forward and searching frantically.

  I opened my door and leaned out.  The shirtless guy, Ned, was on his back as a zombie devoured his midsection.  It looked up and I could see that it was the undead man we had hit just before we pulled into the parking lot.  A long string of intestines hung from its chewing mouth.  He must have survived in the wheel well or something.

  I hazarded a look above and saw Frank perched up there, staring wide-eyed.

  "Drive!" he yelled, and I slammed the door.

  "Frank is up with the ladder," I informed everyone.  "He wants us to drive!"

  "What about Ned?" the woman in the back seat asked in a high voice.

  "He didn't make it."

  Both women broke down in tears.  I slid an arm around my wife's shoulder and guided her face to my neck. Melissa's shoulders shook in rhythm with her sobs.

  The mood in the truck brightened a bit when we stopped and let Frank get off of the roof and into the truck.  His hair was wild from the wind, but he seemed fine, otherwise.

  "Where to now?" Drew asked, looking in my direction.

  "Let's go where the zombies aren't!" I replied.

  "No, seriously.  We don't have much gas, so we need to figure out where we're going."

  I leaned forward, Mel rolling free of our embrace, and looked at him, "Are you trying to tell me that the tank wasn't full?"

  "We're a volunteer fire department.  We barely take in enough money to stay open and you think we're going to sell a ladder truck with a full tank?" he shot back.

  It made sense.  No one buying a used fire truck would check out how much fuel was in the tank.  They would be more interested in how serviceable the equipment was and how well the engine and transmission were maintained.  This rig probably took a lot of gas, so it would be a waste of money to top it off for the next owner.

  "I hadn't thought of that," I conceded.  "We need a place to regroup.  A safe place!  Any ideas?"

  "Let's get out of town and head north," Melissa suggested, whipping her eyes.  "There are some farms that might be good.  They're pretty remote, so maybe there won't be any infected."

  "Infected?" Drew asked, starting the vehicle forward once again.  "Those aren't people anymore.  They're zombies."

  She slowly looked up, mouth agape.

  "I prefer undead," I added.  "It seems that even though they're missing vital organs, they can still function as living beings."

  "It can't be," she said softly.  Her voice was hollow with disbelief.

  "No, it's unlikely.  But since we're in the midst of this catastrophe, it seems like it is," I corrected, immediately wishing I hadn't.

  Melissa snuggled closer.  I could feel her trembling against my side.  Even though she pressed tightly against me, she seemed so far away.

  "There's a farm ahead," Drew informed us, drawing my attention back to the road.  It looked like an Amish dwelling.  A buggy with a red triangle on the back sat i
n front of a big barn, while traditional garments hung on a clothesline, billowing in the breeze.

  "Let's go a little further," I encouraged.  "They probably have a barn full of undead friends and relatives."

  "Ah, so you're a Walking Dead fan?" he said through a toothy grin.

  "A what?"

  Our driver leaned forward.  "The TV show?  The Walking Dead?"

  "They have a television show about this?" I asked incredulously.

  "Only one of the hottest shows today!  Where have you been, living under a rock?"

  "No, but I study the things living under rocks," I defended myself.  "It's my life's work."

  We drove in silence for a while.  The rural scenery of sun-dappled trees slid by, leaving us feeling calm once again.  Mel seemed to have regained her composure.  I was about to ask Drew to turn around when we spotted a factory.  It had cinder block walls with no windows on the first floor.

  "Pull in there," I suggested, pointing at the building.

  "Do you think it's safe?" Melissa asked.

  "We're about to find out," Drew stated, pulling the fire truck into the lot.  As we circled the building, we found a loading dock and stopped the truck in front of the first bay.  There were no cars in the lot and it seemed quiet enough.

  We all climbed out of the vehicle, Frank and Ben needed encouragement to exit the safety of the cab.  The two were looking everywhere at once, not trusting being out in the open, exposed to danger.

  Dean and I checked our weapons while Drew gave the girls axes from one of the compartments.  Seeing the look on Amber's face as she eyed the chopping tool, he offered her his shotgun.  She looked at the single barrel pump and shook her head, signaling no. Hefting the heavy weapon, she gave him a small smile.

  Melissa nudged me with an elbow and gave a knowing nod toward the two.

  "No," I mouthed in disbelief, but her eager nod made her thoughts clear.

  We checked each door in the bay area, Dean taking the lead while I backed him up with my revolver.  They were all locked.  Circling the building, we found two more exits, each of the metal doors secured from the inside.  Finally, we tried the front entrance.  Those double doors, mostly glass, were also locked.  I tapped at the glass, friends holding a collective breath, but there was no answer from inside.  Nothing.

  We decided that breaking the glass would be a bad idea, so I suggested we force open the main door in the loading dock area.  Frank and Ben were arguing that we should get back into the truck, but after explaining the fuel situation and the peril of being trapped inside a vehicle, they nervously came around to our way of thinking.

  Drew produced a crowbar from one of the side compartments and, as gently as he could, pried the barrier open with a loud thump.  I leapt into the void, swinging my gun from side to side looking for any attacker drawn by the noise.  The way was clear.  Nothing stirred.

  We entered the bay, our weapons pointing in all directions.  Huge windows on the upper level flooded light into the large receiving area.  Boxes were neatly stacked in long rows, each sitting on a pallet.

  "So far, so good," Dean intoned.

  We secured the opening as best we could.  The locking mechanism was ruined but we stacked the heaviest boxes we could find to offer resistance against intrusion.  Satisfied, we explored the immediate area.

  The warehouse was very utilitarian, so there wasn't much to see.  Forklifts were parked in orderly rows to one side.

  "Talk about obsessive behavior!" I heard Drew say to Amber.  "Whoever ran this place was a real neatnik."

  Drew was right.  The place was immaculate.  Carefully laid out yellow caution tape marked the road-like routes the various vehicles used while loading and unloading.  Painted lines provided boundaries for the various crates and boxes while unloaded.  The place was neat as a pin.

  At the end of the bay, we found double doors leading into a work area and a small office.  Hanging on a hook inside the office door was a set of keys with a tag reading Pump Keys.

  I turned to the group and handed the keys to Drew, who was being closely shadowed by Amber.  "Drew, why don't you take your boys and check out the gas pumps.  Maybe you can fill up the truck."

  He nodded and the three filed back the way we had come.  Amber followed behind them, her ax at the ready.  Frank and Ben spoke rapidly in low tones and gesturing wildly, probably trying to make a case for them to leave us behind or some such nonsense.

  They used one of the garage doors leading out of the loading dock.  The door made a huge racket, but it seemed no one was around, so it was probably ok.  The place seemed abandoned.

  We went through the double doors like a tactical team.  Dean pulled one open as I rapidly entered, revolver outstretched and tracking with my eyes.

  This place was the diametric opposite of the loading area.  Well lit from high windows, we could see small bits of plastic everywhere.  Large industrial lathes and grinders were at workstations strategically scattered across the floor.  The factory was a place where they processed plastic.  Large rods of the stuff stuck out of bins to one side of the room.  The smell of formaldehyde hung heavily in the air.

  "What do you make of this?" I asked Dean.

  "Looks like some kind of machine shop." he answered.

  I rolled my eyes in frustration.  "Really?" I asked sarcastically, "What gave that away?"

  "Ummm, the machines," he shot back, picking up on my tone.

  After we made sure the floor was clear, we checked the offices on the upper floor.  Nothing.  We returned to the loading bay to search the boxes for anything useful.  I was hoping some of them contained food, but they all contained plastic.  Some was in its raw form and needed processed, while others held the finished material.    Melissa produced a cargo manifest from the office.  It was neatly compiled on a clipboard.  She read the contents to each numbered area.  There was nothing here of use.

  While we were looking over the goods stored in the bay, Drew and his group had unloaded some of our supplies.  His haphazard pile looked out-of-place in this highly organized holding area.  It made me think of his shop and how it contrasted the place we occupied now.

  "Did you find anything?" the former comic book store owner asked.

  "Unless zombies are afraid of plastic, I don't think so," I told him.  "How's the truck?"

  "Fueled up and ready to go."

  Dean scratched his head. "There's no power? How did you get the pump to work?"

  A grinned and answered, "During hurricane Katrina, the emergency workers in the disaster areas ran out of fuel. They were forced to use small generators to hotwire gas pumps at local filling stations. After our company found that out, we equipped ourselves with hand pumps. We didn't have the funds for generators, so we went the cheaper route."

  "Good thinking!" I replied.  "The factory seems empty.  The workers probably left when they heard the news.  My guess is they went to be with their families."

  We searched the darkened offices, this time for anything of use.  Many of the drawers in the desks and file cabinets were locked.  Once again, we found nothing of use.

  The break room was probably the best find.  It was somewhat dark, the light coming through the door being its only illumination, but it had some comforts.  A candy and two pop machines were off to one side. Chairs, tables, and a few small couches filled the center.  It seemed like a good place to plan our next move.

  We slumped into the various mismatched seats, Drew and Ben lying on two of the couches.

  Amber walked up to one of the soda machines and, setting her ax on the floor, pressed repeatedly on one of the buttons.  Nothing happened.

  "Shoot!" she responded.  "I wish there was some power."

  Dean roughly kicked the side of the vending machine in a macho attempt to make it drop the intended soft drink.  The only thing it produced was a yelping man who hopped around holding his injured toe.

  Drew appeared, brandishing his
crowbar.  He shoved it roughly into the area near the lock and easily popped the door open.  With a grand gesture, he offered Amber her pick of the contents there in.

  She positively beamed as she pulled a diet soda free and held it to her chest like a cherished prize.

  Frank snatched the bar from Dean, who was openly staring at the young woman, and used it to open the two remaining vending machines.  Ben and Frank immediately started grabbing armloads of pop and candy.

  Frank offered a snack cake to Drew, but with a quick look at Amber, he declined the treat.  It was Frank’s turn to look astonished.

  We spent the remainder of the day and much of the evening sharing ideas about what we should do next.  Wild ideas about where to go were the main topic of discussion.

  "I think we should make for Alaska," mused Dean.

  "No way," Amber spoke up, rubbing her arms in a sympathetic gesture of warming them.  "It's way too cold up there."

  "Exactly!" he said.  "The zombies will freeze solid and won't be able to bother us ever again."

  I couldn't substantiate his hypothesis, but I couldn't argue his line of thinking, either.

  "It's pretty far. We would have to stop for gas a lot."

  "What about an island?" Mel said, sounding hopeful.

  "We'd have to find a boat and then an island.  Then we'd have to hope that there are no zombies walking around on the ocean floor," Ben answered.  "I don't think they have to breathe."

  The room was getting dark.  I watched Frank's head slowly slump forward to his chest.  His eyes shot open, then the process would repeat itself.  We were all exhausted.

  Not trusting that the factory was completely safe, we set a watch order.  Each of us would take an hour shift while the others slept.  I took the first hour and watched as the others settled into various positions to rest.

  The night was quiet.  I made a circuit, checking the doors in each area. Nothing stirred inside or out.  I was just getting drowsy when a sound brought me back around. It was Ben.

  "Anything happening?" he asked, yawning.

  "Nothing," I replied through my own sympathetic yawn.

  I made my way by flashlight to my makeshift bed. It was more a blanket wadded up on the floor, but at least it was beside my wife. I would sleep so much better being next to her.

  It seemed like I had just fallen asleep when I was hastily awakened. Light filtered into the break room through the open door, silhouetting Amber's form.

  "There's a man outside!"

  Chapter 25

  Melissa