Dead Aware

by Eleanor Merry

  He nodded in acknowledgement after a few silent moments. Before Clara could nod back, they all whipped their heads towards the loud slam of a door coming from the front of the van. Footsteps crunched on gravel, and the three without bags followed the sound until it led them to the closed doors.

  In a flurry, the van doors opened, and angry shouting began as all six were unceremoniously pulled out and thrown onto the rocks. In front of them was a large building with a door covered in strange symbols that Clara knew meant something.

  She growled as she looked up at two people she recognized from earlier in the day. One of them, a woman, laughed and kicked at her side while pulling something out of her pocket and putting it to her mouth.

  “Look at the dumb zombie, thinks she’s gonna get free,” the woman laughed as she lit her cigarette. Clara couldn’t quite understand the words, but even in her current form she felt the mockery and glared at the woman. The man beside her scowled and leaned down and picked her up by her bound hands. He held her steady at arm's length.

  Several other people came running out and began picking up the others, leading them all towards the double doors in front of them.

  For the first time since her death, Clara felt a twinge of fear as she was led through the heavy doors with her new companions.

  They emerged at the start of a long hallway, fluorescent lights glaring off the white walls. Several men stood at the inside of the doors with black metal in their hands. She immediately recognized them as a threat and growled at them. Then she felt a prick of pressure on her neck and everything went dark again.

  Clara woke up no longer bound or gagged. Noises of aggression and, strangely, laughter, fluttered through the air. Opening her eyes, she found herself in a large metal cage, the fluorescent lights replaced with dim flickering bulbs. She sat up to take in more of her surroundings.

  There were maybe two dozen others inside the cage with her, most of whom were mulling around aimlessly or sitting. On the opposite wall from the fence were a few rows of boxes, piled almost to the ceiling. There were no windows in the entire room and the area felt cool and slightly damp.

  A few people inside the cage aggressively shook the metal links, howling and screaming at the men on the other side who sat laughing with their guns in hand. Although she didn’t know the others, she felt upset at the blatant mockery. Ignoring that for now, she looked around again and noticed the woman she had been bound in the van with sitting a few feet away from her, leaning against a wall. The woman gave Clara a small nod and patted the area on the floor next to her. For lack of a better option, Clara went and joined her, and they sat in silence.

  She must have dozed off for a while, and awoke suddenly to someone gently shaking her.

  “Pssfftt.”

  Clara groaned as she opened her eyes to see who had shaken her. She immediately noticed that the cage was almost silent and the only man on the other side appeared to be asleep.

  “Pssffft,” the woman said again, and Clara finally met her eyes.

  “You understand me?” the woman whispered.

  Clara looked at her blankly for a moment as the words registered. She felt slow, sluggish, but a vague comprehension was there. She nodded at the woman.

  “Not all us remember,” the woman continued whispering. “Some take longer than others, some don’t think ever will…. But can’t let Them know that we do.” She indicated the snoring man outside the cage.

  Clara frowned at this, frustrated by the time it was taking her brain to process. “The words will come back,” the woman kept on, keeping her voice low. “Give time and you see.”

  Clara sighed and nodded again.

  “The word for this,” the woman whispered, showing a nod, “is yes.”

  The word stuck, and Clara smiled. “Yass,” she replied, happy to have at least one word. The woman shushed her again but smiled back at her and Clara was struck by how white and shiny her teeth were. They seemed to glow against the light mocha colour of her skin, and her smile gave Clara a feeling of comfort.

  The woman pointed to the other end of the cage where the grey-haired man from the van sat. He leaned casually, arms over his knees, as he looked around, taking in everything around him. When he met Clara’s eyes he nodded again and continued his watch.

  “He remembers too,” the woman said quietly, leaning back and closing her eyes. They sat together in silence for the rest of the night.

  Chapter 8

  Max stood only two feet in front of the door, excited yet nervous as he realized that the boy was in fact coming out. Though he could still sense The Smell coming from under the door, he felt a level of control that had come back with the words. He was still anxious but felt confident he wouldn’t harm Jay.

  Max watched as the door swung open, and he didn’t move or speak for a moment, trying to get a better look at his new young friend. He could tell Jay was afraid, but even sick as he was, Max was sure he was doing his best to stand tall and meet his own steady gaze. He felt a strange surge of pride for the youth before taking in the rest of his appearance.

  Jay does not look good, Max thought as he looked over his flushed but pale skin, and then the angry red bite on his arm. The smell emanating from Jay was slightly stronger now with the door open, but incredibly faint compared to when he had first entered the room. Max wondered what that meant.

  Smiling in what he hoped was a non-threatening way, Max held out his hand in offering, hoping for Jay’s sake that he would take it. After only a couple second delay Jay took his hand and let himself be led out of the bathroom. Max could feel Jay begin to stumble and quickly helped him over to the bed. Although it was stained and filthy, not to mention ripped into pieces, Jay seemed to hardly notice as he sat down. He put his head into his hands.

  “Daryl…did you go through this too?” Jay asked quietly.

  Max hesitated for a moment. What happened to him was a question he had obsessed over in the first few days of his imprisonment.

  Flashes of pain, heat, loneliness. Black voids between now and before. Worry. A sense of loss. Max shuttered slightly at the recollection, willing those memories to stay gone.

  “I do remember bits. It strange…Like there is fog in my brain that clears up some parts but stays dark others,” Max finally replied, proud at being able to articulate himself better than before.

  “I feel like there is something I need to know. That I’m forgetting. I just don’t know. I don’t remember before here and it's driving me crazy. Couldn’t talk until heard you. I just feel…slow.” Max finished lamely.

  Jay sat for a moment, lost in thought about these revelations.

  “It fits with what I was thinking earlier,” Jay finally replied. “When I first came in here you were more…zombie. You’re actually not too bad now that I’ve gotten to know you.”

  Max smiled a bit sadly.

  “It was your smell too,” Max admitted reluctantly. “That what made me so…angry. You still smell a little but it is a lot less…. Before it just made me so…hungry.”

  Max turned away, ashamed to admit he wanted to eat his new friend.

  Jay startled a bit at Max’s realization, but it wasn’t really shocking. He supposed that zombies smelling people wasn’t the weirdest revelation of the day. It was then that Jay looked down at the bite and realized it had stopped throbbing at some point, though it was still an angry red. He didn’t think that was a good sign.

  “Well, I should open the door now. Come on, let me show you,” Jay said, avoiding thoughts of his injury. He slowly shambled towards the door, holding his hurt arm close to his chest. Turning the knob, he slowly pulled the door open, listening for any sounds in the corridor. Silence greeted him and he opened it the rest of the way before turning to Max, who was staring intently at his hand and the doorknob.

  “Stupid…fucking thing,” Max muttered as he glared at it, causing Jay to laugh.

  “Why don’t you try it,” Jay said, still laughing lightly as he quietly
shut the door.

  Max inhaled and looked at his hand, willing it to do what Jay’s had done. Slowly, his body complied, and he reached towards the lever and twisted before letting go. It sprang back into place. The door remained closed. Max gnashed his teeth as he tried again, this time leaning his hand into the door more so he wouldn’t let go.

  He was rewarded with a click as the door cracked open, and he grinned.

  “Did it!” he declared happily.

  Jay smiled wearily and started shuffling back towards the bed. Finally looking down at the state of the sheets, Jay sighed, but was so tired he was prepared to lie down regardless. He wondered if Daryl would leave him now that he could get out.

  Max quickly figured out the reason behind Jay’s sigh. “Wait!” he cried just before Jay could lay down.

  “Let me…” Max yanked off the remaining shreds of fabric, exposed the relatively clean mattress. Jay smiled and laid down directly, not caring about the lack of sheets or pillows, appreciating the effort and the idea of being horizontal.

  “Thanks Dary—” he started to say before he erupted in a coughing fit so strong he vomited all over one side of the bed. So much for that, Jay thought as his head spun and he shifted over a few inches away from the mess.

  Max looked on helplessly, unsure of what to do to help. Suddenly he was struck by a vague memory; more of a feeling, really. A feeling of being helpless, of wanting to make something better but not being able to. The feeling of a failure.

  Shaking the melancholy thoughts away, he focused on the now.

  “Jay-man, what can I do?” Max asked quietly now that the boy had finished retching. Breathing heavily but still lying on his side, he twisted around to look up at Max. “Well…I don’t know if I can keep it down, but can you try to find me some food? I’ve been drinking water in the bathroom, but I am mighty hungry.”

  Max visibly brightened at the idea that he could do something to help. “Sure. Yes. Okay. Umm…what does food look like? I mean…only thing that smells like ‘to eat’ I don’t think you want and I already ate what I could find in here,” Max joked. Jay smiled a bit at that.

  “Yeah, don’t think I’m quite up for that…Just…maybe check that fridge for a start,” Jay responded, pointing to the small mini fridge under the desk opposite the bed.

  Max immediately stood up and went over it, staring blankly for a moment. Jay quickly realized the problem.

  “On the side of it. No, the other side. Just pull it up a bit towards you, kind of like the door.”

  He managed to pull it open and found a few small packages and bottles which he brought over to the bed. Jay lifted his head enough to look through the findings.

  “Well, I think I’ll pass on the whiskey for now, but these nuts and chips will do,” he said picking through the items.

  “Whiskey?” Max questioned.

  “Well, I’m only like fourteen, man…. I mean, I’ve stolen a few beers from my parents’ fridge before….” Jay stopped, gulping a bit as he thought of his parents again. He had just left them there….

  Max noticed the change in mood but couldn’t quite grasp why. He frowned, about to ask, but was interrupted by Jay’s outpouring of words.

  “My parents…they…died. I left them. Just ran as fast and as far as I could,” Jay sputtered, tears welling in his eyes.

  “I should have helped them. Done more. But they were so sick. Like I am now.” The tears began to fall in earnest.

  “After I left I was by myself for a few days, I think. It’s funny that a few weeks ago I would have loved to have the freedom to do what I wanted. I always hated rules and having a curfew, going to school. But now, I just miss them,” he finished sadly.

  Max didn’t quite know what to say. Even as a zombie, he did understand the feeling of loss, even if he still wasn’t sure what it was that he had lost. He looked down at the band on his finger once again, absently rubbing it while he watched Jay eat.

  It was getting late, and for the last few hours Jay had progressively gotten worse. With no sheets and excrement and vomit coming out of both ends of him, Jay now sat on saturated bed. Since Max didn’t register the smell as being bad, he didn’t even think to do anything about it this time. Jay was essentially beyond noticing at this point, and certainly beyond caring.

  “Hey Daryl,” Jay finally said in a quiet voice.

  “Yeah, Jay-Man?”

  “I have an idea.... Do you have a bag around here or something?”

  Max looked around the dim room and found the item he thought Jay was talking about, proud at himself for recognizing the word. He held it up to confirm it was what the boy meant. Jay nodded.

  “Look for a little folded thing. It’s called a wallet. You could have some ID or something in there. I didn’t think of this before, but at least before I die we can figure out your real name.”

  Max frowned at this. “Jay-man, it not for sure that you’re gonna….”

  The boy erupted into another coughing fit. When he finally finished he held his hand out, staring into Max’s eyes firmly. Max stared back sadly, noting a glazed look under the determination that hadn’t been there before. He dug through the bag until he found the item. Since he didn’t know what to do with it, he held it out to Jay for direction.

  With a bit of difficulty, Jay sat up on the bed and took the wallet. He flipped through for a moment, stopping on something before looking up at Max and hesitating. After a moment, he flipped again and pulled out a small piece of plastic.

  “Maxwell Alan Jacobs of Vancouver, British Columbia,” Jay read with surprise. “Wow, Daryl…I mean, Max…That’s like, on the other side of the country. What are you doing in Toronto?”

  Max smiled at hearing his given name.

  Max.

  That sounded right. And while he didn’t know where Vancouver or Toronto were, both words rang bells in his head.

  “Don’t know,” he admitted. “But thank you…for finding out name. It feels good to know.”

  Jay smiled a bit warily. He debated for a moment whether to show Max the other thing he had found in the wallet. Finally, he flipped it back and pulled out a photo and handed it to Max.

  Unsure, Max reached out to take it from his hand. It was a photo of him! But not as pale looking, and he was with...he was with…All of a sudden, Max’s memories began flooding back.

  “Clara….”

  chapter 9

  Rachel Samborski was one of the few people in the world still alive who had been studying the virus since the start, trying to find a cure. Before air traffic stopped, she had been transported to a medical facility just outside of Seattle to continue her work and was allowed a small team. From there, they kept analyzing the virus until it stopped being considered just a particularly bad infectious virus and the focus of their research was forced to change. Now, the word on everyone’s mind was simply “Zombies.”

  North America was hit hard and fast with the virus, as was the rest of the world. Speculation was that it originated in India; however, that was up for debate. It happened so quickly that it was difficult to pinpoint any true starting point. By the time the first death in Delhi was reported, the first infections were being noticed in New York.

  Both the US and Canadian governments were no longer functioning, or at least no longer able to do anything to help their citizens. Borders meant nothing, and there were few places that were safe.

  When things started getting crazier, Rachel and her team were escorted north into Canada along with several “live specimens” they had obtained to continue her research. Just outside of Vancouver, Rachel performed her research in a military facility that, while basic, suited their needs for a rudimentary lab and containment area.

  During the ride up, almost half of the soldiers that had come along had been killed, as well as several of the scientists. By the time they arrived, the highest-ranking person alive was Jeffrey Wolfe, a captain with a reputation for cruelty that surpassed even his predecessor, which was a feat i
n itself.

  The remaining scientists, led by Rachel, had been tasked with finding out more about the infected—what their weaknesses were as well as how to fight the virus. When Wolfe had given her the instructions, she got the feeling the cure was less important to him than finding out better ways to fight them. She also had suspicions about the other experiments that were not happening under her supervision, but hadn’t had the time or resources to prove anything.

  The specimens who had gotten up again after death were typically incredibly aggressive, and careful handling was required. Some seemed far more sedated though, but it was difficult to determine on sight alone.

  Their research so far was nothing short of astounding, and it was Rachel’s job as head of the small team to deliver the information to Captain Wolfe, as well as several other high-ranking officials who remained. Despite the lack of government, these men were very much in charge. It was a meeting she was not looking forward to.

  “At this point we have confirmed that the virus, dubbed FIRE, is highly infectious and airborne. We can only assume people like ourselves are immune as we have obviously been exposed. About 95% of those exposed do contract a form of the virus, and of those infected about 75% die, usually due to encephalitis and incredible high fever. The real curiosity here is that approximately 30% of those who have died have apparently risen from the dead.” Rachel paused for a moment, confirming she had her audience’s attention.

  “The subjects who die and get up again are, in fact, alive once more, but altered. This phenomenon is sometimes known as the Lazarus effect or syndrome. To clarify, when these patients wake up, they are alive once more. These are not ‘walking dead.’ We believe it is a combination of total organ failure, the hypoxic ischemic encephalopathy, and the high fever that causes the subjects to lose so much brain function. We have also found that several specific areas of the brain are damaged when the virus is contracted, including the ventromedial frontal cortex. This is a part of the brain associated with reactive aggression, such as the behavior we have seen in the subjects. The periaqueductal gray area is also affected, which, in a way, turns off pain sensors, meaning that those infected will have reduced response to pain and physical stimuli.” Another pause, noticing a few faces that had glazed over at some of the words used. Clearing her throat, she tried to summarize.