Surviving When the Dead Have Risen

by Jeffrey Littorno

  Kelly paused for a few seconds as if trying to remember exactly what the shed contained. “Near as I can remember, there’s an old floor polisher, cans of paint, and just some junk that the owner never got around to throwing away.”

  “Nothing we can use?” I asked.

  “Not that I remember, but we can take a look,” Kelly answered. However, even after his words, none of us moved from where we stood.

  Finally, Lawrence asked, “So is there any access to the street from here?”

  Kelly gestured to his left and said, “There’s a ten foot cyclone fence at that end and a locked gate at the other end. I never saw anybody back here, but I guess if those things really wanted to get in they could.”

  He walked over and untwisted the wire that was holding the shed door closed. He lopped the wire into the hole in metal wall and pulled the door open. The high-pitched squeak of the hinges echoed down the alley, making all of us freeze. We waited for any sound in response. A few seconds later, there was a soft shuffling from the far end of the alley. It was the sort of swoosh sound that would come from dragging feet. The noise was not loud but only seemed that way from the focus we gave it. It was also this concentration that caused us all to jump when the first slaps hit the gate.

  We stayed where we were and watched the gate shake. The rattling and slapping of the gate lasted for about a minute and then stopped abruptly as if interest had been lost.

  “Is there any other way back here?” Lawrence whispered.

  “No,” Kelly whispered back.

  After another minute of listening for shells, I stepped inside the shed. It was darker than expected, and my eyes took a bit to adjust. In the shadowy darkness, my imagination turned every blurry shape into a threat. I tried to catch any sign of movement. Suddenly, there was a click behind me, and the shed exploded with light.

  “That might make it a little easier to get around,” Kelly said. “I’m kinda surprised this place still has power. Hasn’t been used for so long.”

  Two long fluorescent tubes overhead hummed and flickered. Several cabinets, brooms, mops, plastic garbage cans, doors, and a red utility wagon lined the walls. In one corner, an old silver floor polisher slouched nonchalantly. Nearby, I spotted something that we could use. There were three or four big canvass tarps piled on top each other.

  “This oughta work, right?” Kelly asked.

  “I don’t see why not,” Lawrence answered. “I mean all we need is some room to stack the bodies.”

  With that we were off for a full day of body moving and storage. The first ones were the most difficult. Well, actually first one was the most difficult.

  We started on the third floor with the logic that those would take the most effort to get to the storage shed. The first apartment just to the right of the stairs held two corpses. One of them was in the bedroom. The blood-soaked nightgown was nearly dry but still stuck to her body.

  As I stood in the bedroom doorway, I made the mistake of looking at her blood-stained, decomposing face with the gaping gunshot wound in the forehead and was immediately doubled over. The contents of my stomach surged from my mouth and onto the floor around my feet.

  “Ah, shit! Lawrence yelled. “Turner, this is gonna be a helluva long day without you tossin’ your cookies every time we come across a body.”

  “Grody, dude!” Kelly contributed as he pushed by me into the bedroom. “So I wonder what happened to this chick. Wait! I think it’s Miss Carlson.”

  I glanced up at the body and muttered, “I shot her a couple of weeks ago.”

  “Yeah, I remember,” Lawrence said. “Her significant other is in the other room with his head nearly torn off.”

  My eyes would not stay away from the body on the bed. My damned imagination would not let me see just a dead body. Instead, I was treated to a full picture of what had occurred prior to her ending up in the bed.

  “You’ve just got that dang cold or whatever it is.” A young man in a light blue t-shirt and dark blue sweatpants standing next to the bed handed her two yellow tablets and waited for her to swallow them before offering her a glass of water.

  The woman smiled weakly and said, “Thanks for being such a good nurse.”

  “Just get some sleep. I have some papers to grade, so I’ll be in the extra room. Call me if you need anything.” He kissed her on the forehead and said, “You’re so cold! Let’s pull these covers up.” He lifted the blankets until they were just under her chin and left the bedroom.

  Somewhere in my mind a fast forward button got pushed, because the woman in the bed began changing rapidly. She twisted back and forth in the bed, sat up quickly and fell back down. She was still with her eyed closed for a few seconds. Her lids flew open revealing glassy eyes beneath. She sat up slowly and moved off of the bed. With the accelerated speed, her movements appeared jumpy and mechanical. The woman spun around towards the head of the bed and then back the other way. In a sort of goosestep, she moved out of the room.

  “Thanks for being such a good nurse,” she said as she marched down the hallway and through an open door.

  The room was obviously an extra bedroom that served as store room as evidenced by a number of boxes stacked around. In addition, it had taken on the role of office as evidenced by the large oak desk where the man was sitting.

  “Thanks for being such a good nurse.”

  The words clearly startled him, and he turned to say, “You should be in--”

  The rest of his sentence was cut off as the woman lunged into him. Obviously taken by complete surprise, the man never even made any real attempt to defend himself. A few seconds later, blood was spurting from his neck. He was on the floor with the woman atop him. Her face was still pressed into him. Her cheeks covered in blood, and a sort of combined slurping and splashing sound could be heard. The picture continued like this for several seconds. When the woman finally pulled back, it appeared as though the man’s head was only attached by the knobby-looking spine.

  She stood up a moved aimlessly around the room. Finally, seemingly by chance, she found the doorway and marched into the hall. First, she turned left and smashed into a closet door where she left a bloody handprint. From there, she moved into the bathroom, turned on the hot water in the basin, and pulled down a towel rack from the wall before returning to the hallway.

  “Thanks for being such a good nurse,” she mumbled.

  She moved into the living room where she sat down on the couch for a minute. It was a minute in which she simply stared straight ahead. Suddenly, she stood straight up, turned, and walked into the kitchen.

  The woman stood directly in front of the refrigerator for a few seconds before reaching up to pull open the door. She stared inside and then raked the contents of one shelf onto the floor. Completely oblivious to the bowls and jars breaking around her feet, she held her hands together in front of her as if she was carrying a bowl. From the refrigerator, she trudged through the food and glass on the floor to the oven. She set her imaginary bowl on top of the stove and bent down to open the door of the oven. She peered inside as if checking for something and then retrieved the imaginary bowl from the stove. The pantomime continued as she slid the bowl into the oven, closed the door, and turned a knob at the back of stove top. She paused a moment as if considering any other necessary tasks.

  All at once, she spun around and walked determinedly out of the kitchen. The woman moved straight into the bedroom and got back into bed. She lay there on her back completely still, staring up at the ceiling until I walked into the room and shot her in the head.

  The sound of the remembered gunshot brought me back to the present and the dead body in the bed.

  My companions were staring at me as I returned to reality.

  As soon as we made eye contact, Lawrence asked, “Can we get this done?”

  “Uh… yeah, sorry for making you wait,” I mumbled in reply.

  “You okay, man?” Kelly asked.

  “Yes,” I said. “Just not looking f
orward to a day of dealing with bodies.”

  “Dude, just do what I do. You gotta tell your brain they’re not real. I mean your brain can really do a trip on you if you let it. So what you gotta do is trick it.”

  I chuckled. “Okay, I’m listening. How do I trick my brain?”

  “Haven’t you ever been some place that you totally didn’t wanna be?”

  “You mean kinda like here?” Lawrence spoke my thoughts.

  “Most definitely like here,” Kelly said and grinned at him. “So the thing to do is imagine the most unreal shit you can think of and put those thoughts into your brain. Like with these bodies, you gotta think of ‘em as some sorta mannequins out of a store window or maybe from a wax museum, anything crazy like that. It totally takes your brain outta of it, you know?”

  “So is that how you made it through Afghanistan?” I asked.

  “That and a shitload of good drugs,” he answered matter-of-factly.

  I have to admit that my first thought was to ridicule the idea of tricking your brain. However, I followed Kelly’s advice and made it through what was a decidedly gruesome day.

  We started off by wrapping the body on the bed in the sheets and dragging it to the window which overlooked the alley.

  Kelly opened the window, pushed out the screen, and said, “Guess I don’t have to worry about replacing those things anymore.”

  He picked up one end of the bundle and I picked up the other.

  “You ready to see if this mannequin knows how to fly?” I asked.

  “Let’s do it!” Kelly said as we heaved it out the window.

  We grinned at each other, ignoring the disgusting thud the body made on the ground below.

  What followed throughout the rest of the day was a virtual rain of bodies from various windows onto the alley below. By about five thirty, we had cleared the third floor and about half of the second. Of course, the alley was littered with bodies, but we figured they would stay put until the next day.

  All in all, we finished the day feeling pretty good about things in general. We headed down to the basement and shared a couple of cold ones. In my mind, it was one of those beer ad moments when the hard-working guys get together for a beer at the end of the day. It’s odd to think back on it and realize just how quickly humans can adjust to just about anything, including the disposal of previously-moving corpses.

  Every night as we returned to the apartment, it was clear that Taylor and Christina were relieved to see us. The two of them were growing quite close, and I remember thinking that the support they gave one another was probably the one thing which could help them cope in such a terrifying situation.

  We started early the next morning. Whether it was the energy that comes from having a clear task to accomplish or simply the break from thinking about the state of the world, the mood was upbeat. At least, it was upbeat at the start of the day.

  That mood vanished quickly as we started out by clearing the alleyway. The previous day we had simply tossed the bodies from above without worrying about clearing the ground below. Now it was time to get those bodies into the storage shed.

  “I saw a cart in the basement that could be handy for moving these things into the shed,” I said as we stood at the top of the stairs looking over the scattered bodies.

  Lawrence looked at me with surprise. “Well, if you aren’t the practical one! Good idea! But these things are gonna stink to high heaven no matter where we stack ‘em.”

  “Gotta bag ‘em,” Kelly said. “There’s some heavy duty trash bags in the closet that oughta do the trick.”

  “Yeah, and I tarp to throw over everything might keep the smell down,” I offered.

  Lawrence grinned and said, “Listen to you guys! If I didn’t know better I’d think you’d been doin’ this kinda thing all your lives.”

  Strange to think of the comment as any sort of compliment, but that is precisely how I took it.

  Lawrence stayed in the alleyway looking over the shells as Kelly and I went down to the basement to get the utility cart and bags.

  Once we were out of Lawrence’s earshot, Kelly said, “Never thought I’d say this, but your friend’s not bad for a pig.”

  It had been a very long time since I heard a policeman referred to as a pig, and I chuckled. “Well, I’m not sure were exactly friends, but, yeah, he’s not ‘bad for a pig’.”

  He got a big roll of extra-large black garbage bags out of a cupboard, and we hauled the cart up the stairs. Lawrence was standing over a body near the end of the alley.

  “I don’t think this big gal is gonna fit in a bag,” the detective said almost apologetically.

  Kelly answered, “Well, no need to worry about it right now. I think we can figure out something when the time comes.”

  I wondered what exactly he had in mind, but soon forgot about it when we began bagging the corpses. I did my best to follow Kelly’s advice and picture the bodies as unreal. For the most part, it worked. But every once in a while, I would catch myself looking at face of one of them and wondering about how they wound up on the floor of an alley getting stuffed into an extra-strength trash bag. Most of the time, I tricked my brain, but every once in a while, it tricked me back.

  There was a guy in his early twenties that I imagined to be a college student.

  “All I need is a passing grade in this class so I can keep my scholarship,” he was pleading with a professor.

  “I’m sorry, Mr. Connors, but your work this semester has been less than satisfactory,” a smug-looking older man with curly gray hair and a bushy mustache sitting behind a big oak desk replied. “Had you come to me earlier as suggested, I might have been able to offer some assistance. Now, I am afraid it is too late.”

  “Professor Michaels, there must be some--” He was interrupted as I pulled the trash bag over his head. His knees were locked into place, but I was eventually able to make them bend and tied the bag closed.

  I bagged a few more bodies and moved them away from the others. As I moved to the next one, I noticed a chubby woman with dark curly hair that reminded me a great deal of my fourth-grade teacher Miss Randall. Immediately, I was back in her classroom.

  “Class, we have a treat today. Kevin has written a new story,” she told the class in the special tone that fourth-grade teachers have. “Kevin, please come up and read it to the class.”

  “Way to go, Kevin!” My friend Terry called as I walked to the front of the room.

  Miss Randall handed me the few sheets of paper joined by a staple in the upper left corner. My hands shook as I took them. I had always been a good writer, but reading in front of an audience petrified me. I tried to keep my eyes down so as not to see the people watching me, but they shot up just enough to catch a glimpse of Kim Roberts. She had long golden brown hair with butterfly clips in it and was absolutely beautiful, the hottest girl in all of the fourth grade classes and maybe the whole school. There I was standing in front of the class, shaking like an idiot and feeling like I was going to puke. Then something totally unexpected happened. Kim Roberts looked right at me and smiled. At that moment, I felt like the most powerful superhero ever imagined, like I could do anything. I read my story, and they laughed at the right times, and they were quiet at the right times, and they clapped at the end.

  “Turner, are you gonna bag her or take her out on a date?” Lawrence yelled.

  I heard Kelly laugh and felt embarrassed.

  I shoved the body into the bag, tied it closed, and moved onto the next one. Thankfully, my embarrassment quickly turned to determination, and it kept me focused on the job at hand. When I finally ran out of bags and looked around after about an hour, the filled black bags were scattered around the alley with only seven or eight bodies left uncovered.

  “Got any more bags?” I asked.

  “That’s it for the bags,” Kelly announced. “But we got a couple of trash cans.”

  Lawrence looked a bit doubtful and said, “I don’t know about getting these thing
s to fit into cans. It was hard enough gettin’ them into bags.”

  “Dude, leave it to me,” he said and headed back down into the basement.

  “Yeah, dude, leave it to him,” I said.

  The big cop looked at me and shook his head. “Well, seems like he’s got some plan, so I guess both us dudes have to just wait and see.”

  We did not have to wait for long as Kelly trotted up the stairs with a stack of three dark green plastic garbage cans. He set the cans at the top of the stairs, smiled at us, and scurried back down to the basement. A moment later, a dark green plastic lid flew up the stairs like a Frisbee and landed on the ground near the cans. A few seconds later, another one flew up and another lid followed.

  Both us simply watched the flying disks without saying anything.

  The next sound did bring comments. It was the distinct sound of an engine being pull started.

  “What the fuck!” Lawrence yelled.

  “Is that a…” My words were drowned out by the roar of the engine.

  A moment later, Kelly emerged at the top of the stairs holding the smoking chains saw and wearing a dirty white and green canvas apron and an old pair of safety goggles. He grinned at us before walking over to one of the bodies and sawing it in half.

  The body had very little blood spray and cut pretty easily. Funny the things you notice when someone starts cutting up a body with a chainsaw.

  Kelly was already working on the third body when I heard the gate rattling. I walked over to see more than twenty shells banging on the gate, trying to get into the alley. I could not believe we had not realized that the sound of the chainsaw would attract every shell within a mile.

  I looked through the gate at them. It had been a while since I really looked at them. None of them was talking now. I suppose the scientists on television had been right. The shells lose the ability to speak soon after changing. Also noticeable was the fact that most of them were just sort of trudging along almost aimlessly. It was only when one of them shook the gate or made some other noise that they seemed to have any real focus.

  The gate looked strong enough to keep them out, so I returned to the others.