Zombie Queen

by Mary Martel

  This man had murdered my sister and then attacked me. I hit him again.

  He howls in rage and tries to rip the lamp out of my hand. I slap his hands away with my free hand as I bring the lamp back down on top of his head another time, grunting with the effort it takes out of me. My arm is no longer numb but now aches more and more with every swing.

  What he doesn’t try to do is pull the glass out of his eye, and it really bugs me. Not enough to have me stop hitting him. Not even my bruised, cut up arms stop me from that.

  I rain blow after blow down on top of his head. Finally, his arms flop down to the floor, and he stops moving, his body not so much as twitching.

  Grunting, I hit him again. The lamp makes a sloppy, squishing sound as it connects with what has come out of his crushed-in skull. My entire body shakes with silent sobs as I avoid looking at the mess I’ve made of his face and the top of his head as I struggle to pull the lamp free. Broken bits of glass stick out in random places besides the one eye. The lamp comes loose with a swift tug.

  The sound it makes when it comes free reminds me of when I was a little girl and I had stepped into a rain puddle, and my shoes had soaked all the way through. They had made a wet, squishing noise with every step I had taken away from that puddle until I made it home and was able to change into dry shoes. I had cried the entire way home, thinking I had ruined my favorite pair of shoes.

  I had forgotten about that particular memory until just then. I’d forgotten about it until pulling a lamp out of a dead man’s head made the same noise as my wet shoes had when I walked in them.

  Dark hair from his scalp clings to the lamp in places. Unbelievably, because I didn’t think I had anything left inside my stomach, I lean forward and throw up again. Nothing more than clear liquid comes out, but it lands in his lap, mixing with darker things.

  I think I should be embarrassed about throwing up on another person, but I am too far into shock to care. Maybe later, if I escape this, I can find a time to care.

  Something bumps into my shoulder and, thoughtless of the consequences, I whirl around and swing my makeshift weapon. Glass from the broken shade sinks into Old Man Mr. Thompson’s throat. I pull back and swing again as blood spurts out of his wound. I raise my free arm, covering my face with it before being sprayed with his blood. I don't know how he’s gotten this way, but I’ve seen movies, and I’ve read books, and I’m not willing to risk it.

  Mr. Thompson gurgles and flails his arms at me. I swing my lamp like a bat, and catch him in the shoulder. The glass sticks and this time when I pull back, the lamp doesn’t budge. It stays stuck in his thin shoulder.

  He throws himself at me as I let go of the base of the lamp and roll to the side, away from the man I’d thrown up on. I roll twice more, front over back as I hear Mr. Thompson crash into the table.

  I stop rolling, put my hands in the carpet and push myself to my feet.

  I run for the sliding glass door on the side of the kitchen that leads to the backyard. My lungs burn as my shoes slide gracelessly across the hardwood floor in the kitchen.

  My reflection in the sliding glass door scares me, I hardly recognize myself. I look like I’ve aged ten years, and I don’t imagine the emptiness in my eyes will be leaving anytime soon.

  My pale face looks thinner and is streaked with blood and covered with scrapes and cuts. My blue jeans are stained dark in several places. My arms are covered in cuts and bruises. My hands stained red.

  It’s my eyes that are changed the most, though. They are the eyes of a stranger. I’ve always been a lot like Amy, only my emotions couldn’t be read on my face like hers. My eyes, on the other hand, have always been an open book. Now they’re empty and cold, and it frightens me.

  My body rattles as I slam into the sliding glass door. I will my shaking, numb hands to work. I unhook the latch on the door and give a mighty shove. I stumble forward along with the door as it slides open.

  I draw in a breath of fresh, nighttime air as I let go of the door and slip a foot out onto the wooden deck.

  A high-pitched wailing from behind me makes my heart skip a beat and my foot stops sliding forward. Unable to stop myself, I turn and look back into the house. On the floor in the living room, Amy is sitting up. Her torso has turned with her head to watch me. She opens her mouth and lets out another wail that raises the hair on the back of my neck.

  Mr. Thompson stumbles into the kitchen as I take one last lingering look back at my dead sister who’s somehow been reanimated.

  Stepping out on the deck fully, I slide the door shut with a quiet woosh.

  As I turn my back on my dead sister and the house we’ve grown up in, I have no idea where I’m going, but I know I can’t stay here.

  Emerald

  16 Months Later

  My boots kick up dust as I stroll down what used to be the main street in town. There wasn't a time back in the day when anyone would be able to casually walk in the middle of this road like I am. If you didn't get hit by a car, horns would've blown nonstop to get your ignorant ass out of the way. Considering I haven't seen a moving vehicle in over a year, I'd say that it's more than safe. Plus, this way I can see anything that comes at me. Whereas if I stick to the shadows, anything could be hiding there. I'm not a fan of getting jumped in daylight, let alone creepy dark corners.

  I don't think there will ever be a time that I won't be wary of the dark now. Coming to a halt in the middle of a four way stop, I listen carefully for any out of place sounds. A creaking noise travels the distance from the other intersection. It's easy enough to place since I've been down this route for what feels like a thousand times since I started building up my little camp. Another small burst of wind hits and causes another rusty squeak. One of these days, I really need to find a way to get up there and fix that red light. I haven't figured out a smart way to go about it yet, but I will eventually. The damn thing makes too much racket and draws in undead fuck faces.

  As if the mere thought summons them, one steps out from behind the building to my left. He, and I use that term loosely, starts toward the intersection but quickly changes directions when he spots me. My hand settles confidently on the hilt of my sword over my shoulder. I didn't sleep well last night, plagued with the same reoccurring nightmare of my mom and sister dying, so I am DTFSU, also known as down to fuck shit up.

  As per usual, I let him get close. Every single last one of them gets to pay for my guilt at hiding while my sister fought for her life. Each one is the monster that ripped my family apart. The closer they are, the more justice I've reaped for the day. He's within touching distance when I whip my sword out and send his head ear over ear across the pavement. I've already moved on by the time the disgusting body has hit the ground.

  Must be my lucky day,

  I think to myself as another one ambles out from behind the same building. This time, I close the distance between us. Who knows how many more of those fuckers are back there? Of course, this one has to be the clumsy one. They can shred the stomach of a human being with nothing other than their hands and blunt teeth, yet they can't navigate a goddamn curb. At the last second, he stumbles and almost crashes into me. I can swear that over the low moan coming from the fuck face I hear a gasp. The hand grasping my sword makes a hard slash motion just as I push the rotting meat sack away from me. His head doesn't detach immediately like his friend’s, so I give it another good whack. That does it. The good times are really rolling now.

  I take a second to laugh at my internal monologue as I snag the piece of cloth from my belt and wipe down my blade. Then I remember the sound that I heard. Surely it was just the wind. There haven’t been live people around here for a while, and I would've noticed if there was. Still, I keep my head down as not to draw attention to myself as I shift plans for the day just in case. I don't like doing it because there's a routine and I never stray. It's almost a compulsion at this point. If I don't, though, if there is someone following me, I'll be leading them straight to my largest
food supply source.

  Maybe it's my paranoia, but I take the long way around some of the buildings trying to lose my tail if I have one.

  I slip into the trees at the edge of town and follow my normal path towards the old water tower. The once great mayor of this town had his face plastered across the side. With no one to take care of it, his old face is starting to deteriorate as fast as he likely did when shit hit the fan.

  Taking the rungs one step at a time, I stop occasionally to turn my focus towards the woods. Can't have anything sneaking up on me. Halfway up, I don't bother anymore. Nothing could reach me at this height and if they could, I'd be a goner anyways.

  Once I make it to the top, I do a lap around the ledge that sticks out around the belly of the tower. As many times as I've been up here, it still surprises me how beautiful this town and the layout of the land is. The people around here weren’t terribly awful either. It’s a place I could’ve seen myself sticking around after high school. Maybe even getting married to the son of Farmer Ted, who lived just on the outskirts of town. That was legit his name. Or it might have been Ted Farmer. Who knows, we just all used to call him Farmer Ted, because he was an actual farmer. Either way, he used to have a son that was a few years older than me in school. He was pretty cute but super shy and never talked to anyone. Steven…Simon…Something with a ‘S’ I’m sure. Too bad this whole place went to shit.

  I shrug to myself as I take a seat on the warm metal grate beneath me. It’s not like it matters what his name was. He likely died with the other ninety-nine-point nine percent of this town’s population. Though, they should have fared a little better considering most farms are armed to the teeth for animal intruders that kill off livestock.

  Taking a small Tupperware container out of my side bag, I shovel the contents of corned beef hash down in several bites. I used to carry cans of food around when I found them and the can opener of course. Since I found and laid claim to my base, however, I don’t tote as much shit around with me. Seems counterproductive if I have to run and I’ve got a seventy-five-pound bag of canned goods on my shoulders. This way, if I must take off, I can, then always loop around back to my place to grab my go bag.

  Sometimes I really wonder how the hell I survived out of all the people here. Or maybe everyone simply took off, leaving this town far behind in search of greener pastures. It was complete chaos when the undead fuckers started running amok through the streets. There was so much blood, and death, and screaming. Not just from the undead either. People were shooting each other to steal their cars and other supplies. Food was more of a gradual thing when folks realized there wouldn’t be any more deliveries. Like I said, it was complete fucking pandemonium at first. People were more worried about what was and wasn’t happening. I remember sitting at the police station in my blood-covered clothes, trying to explain what happened with my mom and our neighbor Mr. Thompson. The detective told me not to worry and that it would all be ok. Me and my naïve self, believed him. Until his buddy, who’d been scratching at a gauze-wrapped arm all morning, ambled up behind him and took a chunk out of his neck. In my shock, I had taken in all the smaller details like the arm scratcher. As soon as shots started ringing out, I took off like a demon out of hell.

  I ran until I couldn’t breathe. The streets were already littered with the moaning undead and panicked people at this point. If it hadn’t been for one of my teachers from school grabbing my hand and pulling me into the local bookstore, I doubt I’d be alive today.

  Mrs. Johnson yanked me inside before quickly throwing the locks and lowering a metal gate from the ceiling. She asked me if I had been bitten or scratched and said it was very important that I answer honestly. As I recall the events from earlier, she tows me to the back of the store to the employees only section. She moves swiftly removing my clothes to toss in the sink and giving me an oversized hoodie from the lost and found box sitting beside a desk. Never diverting her attention, she sets about washing my clothes.

  Only once I’ve completed my story for a second time that day and am completely spent do I think to ask the important questions. “What’s going on, Mrs. Johnson?”

  I expect her to give me round-about child answers, so the steel in her voice surprises me. “It’s a virus. Transmitted through blood or saliva. At least that’s what the experts are guessing. It spread too fast for anyone to report findings on it. All they know is once you’ve been infected, it somehow shuts down or kills all of the parts of the brain that make you human. Almost rebooting itself to nothing but baser needs.”

  Later, I would learn that was exactly the truth as I watched an undead eat a dead carcass until he literally popped. It ranks up there with the nastiest shit I’ve ever seen…and trust me, I’ve seen some shit. They just want to feed.

  “What about the people?” I had asked her. “If they die…” I get choked up thinking about the sound that had clearly come from my sister before I tucked tail and ran out of my house. “How are they coming back to life?”

  She shrugs as she turns around to hang my now cleaner clothes on the office chair. “I’m not sure, Emerald. Whatever the government does know, they aren’t telling us. Probably don't want to cause more of a panic than there already is.”

  “So, it’s everywhere then?” I ask quietly.

  Nodding, she replies, “It started in the bigger cities first and spread before it could be contained. Which makes no sense when you think about it. Our military should have been able to stop this. I think the decision to not warn the country was the biggest mistake that will ever be made. They’ve doomed us all.”

  Mrs. Johnson then collapses to the chair, not caring that she’s sitting on the wet clothes and puts her face into her hands. I start over to comfort her as much as I can, but I freeze as there’s a bang on the backdoor.

  “Help! Please!” someone shouts through the door.

  Stepping closer to my old teacher, I hide behind her as she stands before turning to face me and says, “We can’t let anyone else in. They could already be infected, or they could let those things inside. Do you understand, Emerald? Never open that door.”

  I nod and start to answer her, but my words are cut off with a shrill scream followed by low moans. Tears make tracks down my face. I know that whoever was out there won’t be much longer.

  When the noise dies down, I whisper, “Why me, Mrs. Johnson? Why did you choose to save me?”

  She pinches the bridge of her nose and sighs. “Del. There’s no need for formalities in light of our circumstances. Just call me Del. I saved you because it’s what my brother would’ve done. This is…was his store.”

  “Did he…” I trail off, not wanting to finish my question.

  I get a quick nod in return and she wipes a tear from her eye. “One of them got him right before we arrived here earlier.”

  “Why were you coming back here?” I prod.

  “We’ve got a semi-reclusive cabin at a lake a couple towns over. We threw a few things in our suitcases, filled the car with gas and as much food as we could. This was our last stop before leaving. There are books here on farming and living off the land. He said we’d lose the internet and be grateful for them eventually. Just as we pulled up outside, and he stepped out, Mrs. Bishop attacked him. Can you imagine a little old lady attacking a full-grown man? She just caught us off guard. I tried to fend her off, but it was no use. By the time she was immobile my brother had bled out onto the parking lot,” she tells me.

  This time I do touch her arm in comfort. “I’m sorry.”

  With a nod, her eyes turn cold. “Thanks, but there’s nothing we can do to bring him nor your family back. We’ve got to worry about us now. I’m going to need your help with a few things before it gets dark.”

  Sitting here on the water tower, feeling on top of the world, I wish that things could’ve turned out differently for the woman who saved my life. The memory makes me sad. She deserved better. At least I didn’t let her walk around as one of the undead fuckers.
We made each other a promise, and I upheld my end.

  A tear sneaks out of the corner of my eye. It’s not every day that the memories hit me hard enough to bring me to tears, but some days they do. As I go to wipe my face clear, a flash of something shiny on the roof of one of the buildings catches my eye. Careful not to make any sudden moves, I reach into my bag and pull out my monocular scope. Lifting it to my eye, I search the rooftop. I don’t see anyone, but there are several places they could be hiding. I’m more worried about seeing the barrel end of a sniper rifle than I am another person. The last of the reports that came through before the power went out said that the entire country was threat level red. People had lost their minds and were looting and even murdering. To me that was unfathomable since we had so few to spare with the dead now being the majority. Reason numero uno that I trust no one.

  Another flicker of light, and my heart feels like it falls straight from the grate to the ground. I hold my breath until I find the source. When I finally do, a relieved laugh almost falls from my lips before I can stop it. Part of an air vent on top of the old clothing store has come loose and flaps in the wind, ever so often catching the light from the sun and reflecting it. Damn, that clumsy undead from earlier today has obviously put me on edge, and I don’t like it.

  While I’ve got the monocular already out, I do a quick scan in search of anything that moves. They tend to group faster than PTA moms around a new hot teacher. One limps down Main Street, heading back out of town. The only problem is that where there’s one, there are more. Their weird grunts and moans call others in like a beacon. I don’t know if it’s just the noise itself or some kind of actual communication. I’m going to go with the former, because the second is too scary to contemplate.

  I sit on my perch for hours. Occasionally checking the streets and rooftops while munching on a pack of saltine crackers, running through a mental checklist of things I’ll have to do tomorrow to make up for today. An hour before sunset, I start my descent.