Zombies & Other Unpleasant Things

by William Bebb

  A few minutes later, as the pups ate, their mother watched a flight of four helicopters heading in nearly the same direction that the SUV had gone. The large letters of CDC were easy to make out on the sides of the flying things, and despite the coyote's inability to read she growled at them until they were gone.

  The valleys and mountains appeared to grow even more beautiful as the sun drifted toward the horizon. Henry slowed down several times to use his digital camera and knew Janet would simply love the pictures when he showed them off later, and probably say, “I should have stayed awake. I'm such a fool. Next time I'll be more understanding and not bitch and whine all day.”

  It was almost an hour after turning onto the south easterly heading road that he snapped the last picture. An outcropping of rock shaped almost like a buffalo, if you squinted your eyes a bit and used a significant amount of imagination, was the subject of the photograph. He thought the combination of late afternoon sun light and shadow looked like something that should be published in National Geographic Magazine and made a mental note to submit it after their vacation was over.

  He knew prowling through the south western United States wasn't his wife's idea of a real vacation, but this year he'd been diplomatic and yet stubborn enough to get his way. How many amusement parks could she expect me to visit without going stark raving insane? With their overpriced drinks, expensive lousy tasting cold stuff they purported to be food, long lines of screaming brats, sweating, and sore feet aside, there was precious little there to be amused by.

  No. By God, not this year; finally we're surrounded by the rich, beautiful, almost magical wonders of nature itself. And how does my family repay me? He glanced in the rear view mirror and saw his son and daughter snoring where they were securely fastened into their booster seats, while listening to the deep cycling breathing of his wife and thought, They sleep through it all. I'd probably have had more fun with coma patients as passengers. I mean, looking off to the right there's a canyon that must be a hundred feet deep and on the left side there's a mountain every bit as beautiful and majestic as... His thoughts were interrupted as he realized the narrow road he'd been following for the last quarter hour was growing steadily more constricted. It was still wide enough for the SUV but appeared to shrink by the minute.

  It will widen out again, it's got to, he hoped while slowing down.

  There was a fairly wide area he found around a corner of some fallen boulders but it still looked iffy. He glanced up at the quickly darkening purple sky and the brightest stars already appearing overhead. There were distant lights moving through the air a few miles away and he took some comfort in knowing that despite their possibly being lost and in a bad situation people weren't too far away. Unrolling the window, he confirmed what he'd already suspected; they were helicopters. The faint sound of their rotors was unmistakable even at such a great distance. He guessed that they were hunting for illegal immigrants or possibly drug smugglers.

  Looking over at Janet, he thought, Oh man, she's going to be pissed off big time. Please don't wake up. Taking his foot off the gas pedal entirely the SUV dropped to a barely idling speed and he flipped on the headlights. They rolled slowly forward another hundred yards before the road finally became little more than the width of a walking path and he stopped the SUV thinking, almost praying, Please, oh please, don't wake up.

  He was putting the transmission in reverse when Janet groggily inquired, “Are we at a hotel yet?”

  “Almost... Um... why don't you get a little more shut eye?”

  “Nope. I can't sleep very good in a car, you know...” Janet stopped speaking when she saw the stars above and turned to glare at her husband.

  She gave him 'The Look'.

  It was the same exact expression she had whenever he'd done any of a billion stupid things before: Didn't turn down the heat on the stove, like she told him to, and cremated a fifteen dollar roast that even the dog wouldn't eat, tried saving a few bucks by fixing the leaky toilet himself and ended up having to spend close to four thousand dollars replacing the bathroom floor because he hadn't done it right and caused a leak that rotted out the joists and left a foul mess of human excrement in the crawlspace, bought medicated powder instead of baby powder and gave their oldest child a horrible rash that didn't clear up completely for almost a month.

  In short, it was a 'YOU DONE FUCKED UP' look.

  It chilled his blood and he found it hard to smile but somehow managed it before saying, “At least it's not raining.”

  Ignoring his words and the infuriating smile on his stupid face, she pulled her seat into an upright position and stared out into the darkness.

  There was a long awkward silence that followed until a small tired sounding voice from the backseat announced, “I need to use the bathroom.”

  Janet spared her husband one last remnant of 'The Look' before pasting a counterfeit smile on her face and turned saying, “Hiya, tough guy. You're gonna have to hold it for a while, your daddy got us lost.”

  “Are we really lost, daddy?” The little boy's voice sounded more excited by the prospect than worried.

  “No way, buddy. We are definitely not lost. I just made a wrong turn, somewhere. But don't worry we've got more than half a tank of gas and your daddy will get you to a bathroom in two shakes of a lamb's tail,” he said lifting his foot off the brake and staring intently at the little monitor mounted on the dashboard that showed what a camera mounted to the rear of the SUV saw.

  “Just how fast does it take for a lamb to shake its tail? Because I really need to go to the bathroom.”

  “Maybe twenty minutes,” he answered.

  “Think you can hold it or do you wanna find a place outside to go?” Janet asked.

  The boy looked as if he were considering the question carefully before saying, “I can hold it, momma. I'm a big boy. Besides, it’s a number two bathroom emergency, not a number one.”

  “What's going on?” The boy's older sister asked groggily, while rubbing her eyes with her fists.

  “Daddy got us lost,” the boy said then giggled.

  “Edwin, you and your big sister Megan both know your daddy's not a great driver. Now, you two hush up back there and let him concentrate,” Janet said and almost laughed as she saw her husband biting his lip while concentrating on the rear view monitor.

  Megan reached into the cooler with its mostly melted ice and fished out a bottle of diet soda.

  “I want one, too,” Edwin whined, reaching his shorter arms down but unable to reach the cooler.

  “Here, take this one,” Megan said, handing him the bottle. She watched as Edwin struggled to open the twist off cap and chuckled.

  “Make it do,” Edwin said holding out the bottle.

  His sister retrieved the bottle and asked for the magic word.

  “Please, make it do.”

  Their father was tempted to tell them to be quiet as they began chattering excitedly. He wasn't exactly scared, but driving in reverse along narrow canyon roads in the dark was definitely not the easiest thing to do.

  Janet took pity on him when she saw the vein in his neck starting to swell and throb in time with his heartbeat. “All right you two, be quiet until daddy gets us turned around.” She was tempted to add, “If he doesn't run us into a ditch first,” but thought saying something like that wasn't just cruel but also tempting bad luck.

  It took almost five minutes before they reached the wide part of the road he'd thought of trying to turn around the SUV at earlier. In the dark he thought it looked a bit smaller than he'd remembered. He turned the steering wheel all the way to the right and kept his foot lightly on top of the brake pedal as they rolled toward the edge of the road.

  Janet was watching the little monitor too but didn't seem very concerned or worried. He then realized she didn't know there was a drop off into a canyon. She'd been asleep when they'd driven past and probably thought it was just a ditch. He quickly mentally debated telling her about the drop off but decided not
to. The news might scare her and worry the kids needlessly.

  The rear of the vehicle was still a few feet from the edge and he thought there would be no problem finishing the turn right up until the moment the roadway crumbled away and the rear tires sank down with a sudden jarring sensation. There was a fairly loud crunch of metal as the SUV's undercarriage hit the dirt road.

  Erosion caused by decades of nearly constant wind and infrequent rain had undermined the edge of the road. From up top it looked solid, and yet from the bottom of the valley it looked much like a scene from the cartoons featuring the Roadrunner and Coyote. The overhanging section of road probably would have been strong enough to hold up under the weight of a real coyote and roadrunner (maybe even a dozen of them), but a several ton SUV broke through quite easily.

  The kids and their mother fell silent as Henry quickly slid the transmission into drive and swore several words that neither of his young offspring had ever heard before. The spinning rear tires quickly chewed through what little roadway remained as the front wheels spun and smoked but did nothing to move the vehicle forward.

  Janet saw the kids were ready to start crying as they realized something was wrong; very wrong. As her husband continued to try and drive back onto the remaining road, she unsnapped her seat belt and began climbing into the back to comfort the kids.

  Henry felt the SUV tilting back more and it was at that moment he saw his wife going into the backseat. He screamed, “NO!” and tried to pull her back into the front section, but the vehicle was already in motion; it was too late. They were going over the edge.

  The wolves that made this remote desert valley their home had just begun to emerge from their cave for the night's hunt when the sound of the SUV's roaring engine caught the leader's attention. It nimbly climbed up on an outcrop of rocks within seconds and watched as the vehicle began tipping with its headlights shining up into the sky momentarily. Then there was a series of loud echoing metallic crunching and breaking glass sounds that followed. It only ended after several seconds when the vehicle hit the canyon floor.

  The pack leader tilted its head but in spite of the unusual occurrence it was about to return to the other wolves below and go in search of food. The crunching echoes were still bouncing off the canyon walls, but it stopped and looked back again. Its ears twitched as the sounds of Edwin and Megan screaming from inside the vehicle reached them.

  Sometimes the wolf pack would have to travel a great many miles in a typical night of hunting before finding something to kill and eat. Tonight however, dinner seemed to have been delivered less than a hundred yards from their den.

  The leader howled. Its mate and two pups answering howls quickly followed and within seconds the pack was heading warily toward the source of those delicious sounding young screams.

  *****

  Three miles distant, in the Albuquerque Springs Trailer Park the last of the sheriff department personnel as well as New Mexican state troopers we're being sent back to their regular duties. But only after all of them had been warned not to speak of what they had seen there that afternoon. They also had to sign a no disclosure form from a representative with the Federal Bureau of Investigation that was coordinating with the Centers for Disease Control.

  The federal agent was happy with the last task of his assignment. Carrying his briefcase of signed forms over to a Mercedes, he actually smiled a bit while running his fingertips over the beautiful luxury car. It had belonged to Mr. Stephen Keck until he had somehow died by falling into a well filled with monstrosities that had once been human. The agent understood the vehicle was strictly a very short time loaner, but grinned as he climbed behind the steering wheel.

  Two CDC personnel wearing bio hazard suits carried Keck's corpse that had been stuffed inside a body bag over to the car. The agent popped open the trunk release and felt the car shift slightly as Keck's body was placed inside. When the lid was slammed shut he started the engine and drove toward a predetermined site near the factory Keck had managed. It was a secluded spot where Mr. Keck's car was to be torched after his corpse was placed behind the steering wheel.

  As he drove, the federal agent snooped through the glove compartment and center console for anything that might be worth taking along before burning the car. He discovered several interesting items including a frequent user’s discount card for a whore house in Albuquerque, a nearly full bottle of pills inside an unlabeled prescription bottle, a collection of Barbara Streisand CDs, and several Cuban cigars.

  He chose to only take the cigars before torching the Mercedes.

  Back at the trailer park, a helicopter with CDC markings landed near the National Guard's operations tent. A tired looking young man wearing a business suit got out and hurried over to the tent. The helicopter then lifted off.

  Two soldiers were guarding the entrance. One pointed his rifle in the vicinity of the young man dressed in a business suit while the other looked at his identification card.

  “You are David Peter? Pathogens and... what does the rest mean?” The guard with a confused look on his face asked while staring at the ID card.

  “My name is Dr. David Peters, not Peter. And the words giving you difficulty are communicable virology. I was sent here by the CDC to coordinate with a man named Fuller; Tommy Fuller.”

  “General Fuller is overseeing something really important just now. Maybe you should wait.” The guard holding the rifle suggested.

  Dr. Peters grunted in disgust and took back his ID card. He saw the bonfire of bodies in what appeared to be a dilapidated building of some kind about fifty feet away. Peters was confused as he wandered closer toward the flames. What the hell is going on around here? First, they told me it was some kind of rabies variation outbreak and now I see they're burning dozens of corpses. None of this makes any sense.

  His thoughts were interrupted when he spotted a CDC medical technician carrying a first aid kit into a mobile infirmary tractor trailer. He followed and upon entering wondered what precisely had been going on in this remote valley.

  Strapped down on a gurney beyond a decontamination chamber there was a nearly naked fat man wearing a pair of dirty neon pink underwear. He saw the man in the underwear struggling against the restraints, but what struck him as more odd than everything else was the mesh spit mask covering his head. He'd seen the mask used by police before, when they had to deal with prisoners who tended to bite or spit, but the man's head appeared distorted inside the hood. It seemed much too large. It looks almost like a pumpkin, Dr Peters realized.

  The medic was exiting the far side of the decontamination chamber and opening the first aid kit near the man in pink underwear.

  Dr Peter's shrugged and took down one of the hazardous materials suits from a row of pegs on the wall. In less than thirty seconds he was secured inside and went through the decontamination chamber.

  The medic glanced over as Peters entered the room then went back to trying to take the man's temperature with a digital thermometer designed to be used by simply placing the probe against a patient's skin. The medic grunted in disgust and adjusted the thermometer and tried again to get a reading. Peters saw the medic start to remove his heavy thick gloves and said, “Excuse me, but I don't think that's a very good idea.”

  The medic turned and said, “I was told to check the survivors, but these damn suits are too bulky and a pain in the butt.”

  “Let me lend a hand. What seems to be the problem?”

  “Okay, but we need to hurry. Some big dick hot shot from Atlanta is supposed to be here soon. If I don't have the vital signs recorded by the time he gets here, he's going to chew me a new asshole.”

  Peters nodded and looked over the digital skin thermometer. It was one of the newest and most advanced on the market. He watched as the medic placed it under my subject's armpit. The patient grunted and struggled against the straps. After a few seconds the medic grumbled in disgust, “Dumb fancy piece of shit is busted. Reach in the kit and hand me the other one.”
<
br />   After handing him an identical device, Peter's asked, “What's your name?”

  “Sheldon Fredericks,” he answered placing the probe under the man's armpit again. He stared at the small digital screen and waited for the results.

  Peters leaned over and tried to see through the mesh spit hood. The man's face was a mass of torn skin and a pair of slits where his eyes should be. He looked at the rolls of filthy flabby flesh and noted a wound just above his belly button. Swinging over a ceiling mounted light he took a metal probe off a tray and gently poked the hole. A writhing piece of rice popped out. It took Peters a moment to realize it was a maggot.

  “Damn it, this thermometer's busted too,” Fredericks said and began sliding off his gloves once again.

  Peters said, “Keep the gloves on. Let me guess. The readings are indicating he's at room temperature.”

  “Yeah. How did you know that and who are you, anyway?” Fredericks asked while shaking his head in confusion and staring at the thermometer.

  “I'm Dr. David Peters. I'm the big dick hot shot from Atlanta. And I think the reason you can't get a normal temperature reading is simple. This guy is dead.” As he spoke, Peters pulled at the edge of the belly wound with the probe and a stream of maggots poured out.

  “You can't be serious. Yeah, he's fucked up but... but a zombie? Like brain hungry freaks from those dumb movies? That's just bullshit. Sounds like something from a stupid badly written book; probably created by a deranged psychotic.”

  Dr. Peters moved over to the patient's head and pulled off the mesh hood.

  The man's bloody and greasy filthy hair was the only thing that appeared even marginally normal. Nearly all the facial skin was bloated and torn or missing entirely in several spots. His dull gray glazed over eyes opened wide after the hood was removed. He lifted his head and made a muffled growling noise while staring at Peters. As he opened his mouth thick black fluid, which looked like dirty motor oil, mixed with even more maggots spilled out.