Parasite; The True Story of the Zombie Apocalypse

by Doug Ward

I was driving as fast as I could.  The heavily armored vehicle wasn't built for speed.  It took turns wide and leaned dangerously as we sped through them.

  On a straightaway, I looked in the rear view mirror.  Drew had fallen further behind.  They were now out of sight.

  Through the beginning of the journey, Dean had remained silent, letting Melissa and I speak without interrupting.  We each expressed our feelings.  It must have been hard listening to our exchange.

  Now, an hour later, he was still silent.  Mel had fallen asleep, the half empty whiskey bottle slipping to the floor.  I chanced another gaze in the mirror and saw my friend holding his pistol in one hand while intently watching my wife.

  "How does she look?" I asked, concern in my tone.

  "She's ok," he answered.  "A little gray, but the alcohol seems to be doing the trick.  Where are we going?"

  "Presque Isle," I said as we pulled off Route 79 and headed down a double lane road lined with stores.  "She always loved it there.  Even better than the ocean."

  Undead wandered about, but I was able to avoid them for the most part.  Using all four lanes, I swerved around most of the walking corpses, suddenly afraid of getting one stuck in a wheel well or anything else that might slow us down.

  Dean got on the walkie-talkie and informed Drew of our destination.  He said that Amber knew how to get there so I should continue on ahead.  They would meet us there.

  After turning, we drove down the hill toward the park.  The zombie population had dropped dramatically.  Ahead, we saw why.  Two police cars blocked the road.  Their drivers, standing behind the vehicles, brought their weapons to bear on us.  I didn't know what to do, so I continued forward.

  "Do you think these guys are ok?" Dean said, making quick glances at the pair of officers pointing their shotguns at us as we approached.

  "I'll find out," I said, slowing the Humvee.  I brought it to a halt about thirty feet from the blockade.

  Exiting the vehicle, I raised both hands and walked toward their position.  I could see by their uniforms that they both were policemen, sunlight winking off of their badges and sunglasses.

  "It sure is good to see other living humans," I called as I moved closer.  "Especially policemen.  This is great!"

  From behind the cars, one called back, "Drop the gun and lay face down on the ground.  Spread your hands and legs out wide!"

  "I don't see-"

  "Just do it!" the other demanded, agitated.

  I did as instructed.  The pavement was warm. Stray bits of gravel made lying there uncomfortable.  I could hear, rather than see, them approach.  Sand grinding under their rubber soles marked their arrival.

  "Have you been bitten by any of the Z's?"

  I quickly deduced their inference of the term Z's.  "No," I responded curtly.

  "Are there any others in the vehicle?" the same voice interrogated.

  “Yes," I said, quickly understanding my folly.  Dean was fine, but Melissa was dying.  I worried about what they might do if they found that out.  My worry turned into full-blown fear as one scooped up my revolver while the other searched me for hidden weapons.

  "Call back to the vehicle and have the others dismount," they said as we started back to the Humvee.

  "My wife is drunk and passed out in the back seat," I informed them, trying to cover for her condition.

  "Fine. Have the other get out!" the other officer said roughly.

  I, once again, did as told.  Dean reluctantly slid from the military vehicle and they instructed him to drop his weapon and lay spread eagle on the ground.

  "What's going on?" my friend asked as he complied.

  "This area is under the protection of Congressman John R. Noble!" he explained, keeping his shotgun trained on both myself, and the prone man.  "We're a forward unit.  It's our job to keep watch over the park’s entrance."

  I made a mental note that they at no time had mentioned anything about helping.  Weren't they supposed to help people like us?  What if they discovered Melissa's condition?

  I edged closer to the officer at my side.  He seemed more relaxed, passing us off as mere survivors and not a threat.

  "He's clean," confirmed the other, rising to his feet and brushing dirt from the pavement off of his lower pant legs.

  "Check on this man's wife."

  The officer opened the door Dean had just exited from and leaned in.  "Crap!" he said in disgust.  "I think she's a Z!"

  The man at my side reflexively raised his shotgun and looked over his shoulder at me.  "Are you sure?" he asked.

  The other tentatively leaned back in.  "She could be drunk, but it sure smells like one of them zombies," he explained.  "And her skin’s all gray."

  Still looking at me over his shoulder, the policeman offhandedly said, "Shoot her!"

  I inhaled slowly as the man at the door raised his weapon.  Dean had gotten to his feet and was quite casually brushing cinders from his knee.

  The loud roar of the second Humvee made us all snap around with a start.  I lunged the short span between us and grabbed the gun’s stock and barrel.  The other man was younger and stronger, but I was full of fury.  The gun fired into the air once as I twisted the lawman to the ground.

  Dean feigned disinterest.  When the patrolman nearest him swung toward the approaching vehicle, Dean launched himself at the gunman, pulling the barrel away from Mel and dragging him out of the doorway.

  The shotgun blasted again as I rolled onto my back, bits of debris poking at me through my clothes.  I ignored the discomfort and tried to regain the top position.

  Dean kneed his opponent in the groin.  His assailant went slack from the blow.  Ripping the weapon out of his weakened enemy’s grip, my friend brought it back across his face.

  I kicked and twisted as hard as I could; but it was no use, my opponent was too strong.  His stamina was going to win out.  I was growing too weak.

  There was a dull thud as Dean brought the butt of the shotgun down on the back of the policeman's head.  I swung the slack form away from me as he dropped, unconscious.  My friend offered me a hand, and I gladly accepted his help getting to my feet.

  "Thanks!" I said sincerely.  "I guess I owe you one!"

  "One?" he shot back smartly.

  "Hey," I said, feigning anger.  "Ok, two."

  The others were piling out of the other Humvee and rushing to our side.  I pushed past to check on Melissa.  The commotion had brought her back around.  "Are you ok?"

  "You should have let them shoot me," she said weakly.

  "I didn't bring you all this way for them to rob you of my surprise," I stated.

  Dean drove us to the shore.  The others stayed with the unconscious policemen.  I hadn't noticed the smell in the car before, but having been outside for a while, I now understood the officer’s reaction.  We must have gotten used to it.  I didn't care, though.

  We drove over the sand and up to the shore.  Dean remained in the vehicle as Melissa and I went to the water's edge.  We sat for a short while, letting the water wash over our bare feet.  I held her and softly repeated much of what I told her in the car.  She was burning up with fever, sweat running down her brow.

  "I feel cold," she whispered, her head on my shoulder.

  "Do you want to dry off?" I said, sliding my feet back from the latest wave.

  "No," she said mournfully.  "You need to go."

  "Just a little longer."

  "I can feel it inside me," she said absently.  "Trying to get me to do things I don't want to do."

  "A little longer."

  "Please don't let me become one of them," she said, crying gentle tears.

  I felt myself crying now, knowing the time was upon us.  "I won't let that happen! 

  Let's just stay a little while longer."

  "No!" she said firmly.  "I will not put our friends in danger another moment.  Thank you for this gift; for saving me!  But, most of all, for loving me so
very much."

  I was speechless.  The time had come, and I didn't know if I could do it.

  "There may be more of them.  If someone comes to check on those policemen…  You have to go now!"

  I kissed her on the forehead, feeling cheated at not being able to kiss her lips.

  I rose behind her and pulled my revolver.

  "I love you," she said.

  "I love you more," I answered, covering the click of the hammer drawing back with my words.

  My hand shook; the gun’s sight waving all about, uncontrollable.  Tears ran anew over my cheeks.  I tried to pull the trigger, but my finger wouldn't respond.

  It wasn't right.  There should be a way for her to live.  This wasn't fair!

  "Please don't let me become one of them," she whispered, urging me on.

  Bang.

  Chapter 39

  Dean