Slow Burn: A Zombie Novel

by Mike Fosen

  The monitors that were hooked up to Sherman began beeping at a crazy fast rate. The nurse ordered her out of the room and slammed her fist onto the emergency button, which signaled to all workers in the ER that a patient was in distress. Stumbling backward, Mattie got out of the way of responding personnel. She did not believe that Sherman could be in mortal danger. She had witnessed the minor bite wound when it happened and had decided that it had to be an allergic reaction to the meds or something. She walked back to the prisoner’s room, and when she neared the door, it burst open with. The tech that had come to collect the blood sample was leaving the room, holding one hand in the other, swearing loudly. “Officer, you need to handcuff him to the bed. He broke a leather wrist restraint and grabbed me as I was drawing his blood. Then the smelly fucker bit my hand!” she cried, showing Mattie her bleeding palm.

  “I’ll document it in my report. It’ll just be another in a long line of charges he’ll have,” Mattie replied. “You had better clean that wound. My partner was bitten by this dirt bag and he is sicker than a dog now, and that was within a couple hours.”

  “Oh, that’s just great to hear,” she snapped as she stalked away.

  Inside the room, Mattie could see that her prisoner indeed had broken a restraint and was trying to free himself. Pulling out her cuffs, she slapped one onto his free wrist and with considerable effort, secured it to the bed rail while taking care to stay clear from his gnashing teeth. In a fit of rage, she whipped the pillow out from under his head, glanced over her shoulder to make sure no one was looking and whispered to the prisoner, “This is for Sherman.”

  She placed the pillow over his head and rapidly punched him hard three times in the face through the pillow. Feeling better, she tossed the pillow onto the floor and took satisfaction seeing the man’s nose was now bent across his face.

  It served him right! If you were going to act like an asshole, you shouldn’t be surprised when you got hurt.

  As focused as Mattie was, she neither noticed nor heard the shouts of alarm. Outside the room, hospital staff were scurrying to several rooms where patients had simultaneously begun to convulse with unexplained seizures. In the reception area, a few people waiting to be seen began to fall to the ground as well, shaking with full blown convulsions – at least a dozen people in all. Mattie's prisoner began his annoying moaning again and grinding his teeth. She was a bit worried how she was going to explain the obvious broken nose, but was also wondering why he was not bleeding one bit from it. Faint screams pierced the room, finally grabbing her attention. Looking out the inset window in the door through the blinds, she observed a nurse who had been treating Sherman run past her room drenched in blood.

  “What the hell?”

  Opening the door, she saw the curtain to Sherman’s room blast backwards as two hospital staff fell out of the room onto the hospital hallway floor. The man on the bottom futilely fighting back was the doctor. The man on top was Sherman, who was still in his hospital gown with his jaws locked onto the doctor’s throat.

  “Sherman! What the fuck are you doing?!?” Mattie screamed.

  Sherman’s head whipped up and with a face drenched in blood, eyes wild with rage, let out an unholy scream. Sherman jumped to his feet and ran at her. Not prepared for that reaction, Mattie jumped back into the prisoner’s room and slammed the door shut just as Sherman reached it. She watched from the inside as he bashed into the door, just inches away from her. Praying fervently that the window did not break as her blood drenched coworker screamed and howled on the other side, she struggled mightily to hold the door shut. She met his eyes and could not see one bit of humanity in his baleful glare. Sherman’s head snapped around when a nurse ran past. His hand whipped out and latched onto the terrified woman, dragging her to the ground, tearing at her arms and face as she tried to shield herself.

  Mattie gradually became aware that Sherman was not the only one going crazy in the ER. Several people were running or stumbling around and into random rooms, attacking whoever they found. She tried in vain to reach dispatch from her radio, but the thick hospital walls prevented any transmissions from getting through. Picking up the room’s telephone, she tried to dial 911, but could not get anything but a continual busy signal.

  Mattie was screaming now.

  “What the hell is going on?”

  She again looked out the window and watched a flood of blood-covered patients pour into the ER, dropping to the ground to feast on fallen victims. Knowing for the moment she was safe but vastly outnumbered, and that it would be suicide to try to leave the island of safety in the closed isolation room, Mattie snapped closed the blinds. Stepping back away from the door, she was so focused on it that she was not prepared when the prisoner grabbed her leg, nearly knocking her backwards into him.

  "That’s enough of this," she finally said with determination. “Say your prayers asshole!”

  Picking up the pillow she used previously to rough up the prisoner, she placed it over his head again and drew her city issued Glock 9mm pistol from her holster. Fear making her a bit reckless, she put the pistol onto the pillow where she could feel the man’s head and pulled the trigger. Bits of pillow stuffing flew up, and Mattie hoped that the pillow mixed in with the soundproofing of the room was enough to disguise the sound over the screams and growls that were outside the room.

  It still stunk in the room, and it was probably only going to get worse, but at least the man was no longer trying to eat her. Mattie quietly pushed every bit of loose furniture and equipment up against the door. It should be good against someone like Sherman but she seriously doubted it will hold against two or more. Next turning the lights off so as not to garner attention, she crouched in the corner with tears in her eyes.

  After sitting in the dark staring at the faint light coming from under the door for a while, Mattie tried to call 911 again. At one point she actually got through enough to hear it ring, but now there wasn’t even a dial tone. Tossing the phone’s receiver onto the floor, she carefully peeked through the small cracks in the blinds without touching them. Her heart beat rapidly in her chest at the sight of scores of people wandering the halls outside the room. Most of them had terrible injuries, ranging from bloody bite wounds to missing limbs, and everything in between. The flurry of activity that set everything off had passed, and everyone was now walking or dragging themselves around, not one of them screaming in pain. Not talking either for that matter, just that bone chilling moaning.

  They should be dead! Mattie thought, looking back at her roommate, the lifeless prisoner on the bed. She wondered if he would get back up too.

  Looking back out into the hall in morbid amazement, Mattie watched the hospital staff, who a short time ago were racing around treating patients, now stumbling amongst those they once treated. Even the on-duty ER doctor was now shambling around missing a large part of his throat. Mattie saw the young tech that was bitten by her prisoner. She had blood dripping from her jaw, and Mattie assumed that she had since bitten someone herself, quite viciously from the looks of it. And it was also quite apparent to Mattie that although things had quieted down, they were all still very aggressive. They were searching, and Mattie was quite sure what they were searching for.

  There wasn’t any medical explanation that she could think of that should allow any of these people to continue to function. Judging by the massive wounds many displayed, she doubted a bullet wound would stop any of them or she would be tempted to make a run for it. She had a small bag of trail mix in her cargo pocket and a sink to drink from in the room, so she could last for a while if needed. Hopefully someone could rescue her or cause a diversion big enough for her to escape. She’d heard the siren of an ambulance approaching a while back, but nothing came of it. She checked her service pistol yet again and settled in for a long nervous wait

  .

  10

  August 26

  Day 1

  My squad screeched around the corner onto Henderson Street heading sout
hbound. I weaved the car in and around several accidents along the way. It seemed everyone had wanted to get the hell out of town and was disregarding all traffic laws in the process. Without law and order, it appeared that the traffic laws were near the first to be broken. Some of the accidents were pretty bad, and the cars were on fire. Other cars were just seemingly abandoned for no reason, the doors open without the occupants around. I kept my foot on the gas, moving around the accidents in an attempt to reach the hospital as quickly as possible.

  Approaching Jackson Street, I observed a very fat woman attempting to flag me down, waving her arms above her head to get my attention. When I came to a stop at the intersection, the woman ran up to my window. She was covered in tattoos signifying that she was a Latin Queen, which means that basically she was a whore for some of the local shitheads. I hit my door locks because, besides the stupid tattoos, she was also sporting several bite wounds on her arms and hands, and was bleeding heavily.

  “Let me in!" she screamed. “You have to help me.”

  I cracked the window open a few inches as she attempted to open the rear driver’s side door without success.

  “Were you bitten at all, and is that your blood?” I asked her coldly.

  “Yes it’s my blood you fucking idiot!” she cried. “Open the fucking door!”

  I leaned forward in the seat slightly and looked around her. From behind her I watched a small group of infected persons come out from behind some nearby houses, closing in on my location.

  “I don’t think so,” I replied. “Looks like you’re fucked, fatty.”

  I give her the finger, stomped on the gas pedal and left the rude fat bitch screaming insults in my wake.

  Damn if that didn’t feel good! I chuckled. Let her go make a complaint!

  Laughing my ass off, I turned east onto Jackson Street and began to drive over the train yard bridge overpass. Reaching the top of the bridge, I slammed on the brakes and slid to a halt. Below me near a large vagrant hangout was a group of infected tearing into several male and female victims at the foot of the bridge. Vagrants were always hanging out under the bridge.

  How in the hell was this happening so fast? I punched my steering wheel in frustration.

  Some of the infected began to straggle up the bridge towards me. I turned and looked back the way I just came, and saw yet another group of infected from a large nearby Mexican bar spill out onto the road behind me and begin the trek up the bridge as well. Now effectively blocked in, I might as well continue on my way to the hospital, which was less than a half mile away.

  “Fuck it!” I decided. “I’m almost there.”

  I slammed the squad into gear and hit the gas. Swerving the car around the first zombie, I sped towards the large group milling near a stalled van.

  * * * * * * * *

  Shaking from exhaustion, Stephen could not believe he was still alive. He was crouching on top of a train car trying to catch his breath and plan his next move. He’d climbed up the car in sheer desperation after the horde had caught up to him. It appeared that his pursuers could not climb the ladder on the end of the car, and he shot them easily with his pistol from the top of it. He swiped the spent 9mm brass casings off the roof of the train car and watched them bounce as they hit the ground, tinkling like a wind chime. Now with the view from above, he guessed he was about two hundred yards from the elevated overpass that spanned the length of the train yard. He could also make out a group of infected milling around at the base of the overpass on the east side. It appeared they were feasting on someone and pulling yet more victims from a stalled full-sized van. There was nothing he could do about it from here, and he took a minute to eat an energy bar and take a few mouthfuls of water from the bottle in his Go-Bag. Sighing, Stephen then used extreme caution climbing down from the train car, testing his bad knee by putting his weight on it.

  It was still a bit tender, but the pain had lessened. And he was glad for it; it was just now starting to get stiff. At least he could still walk and possibly jog for short bursts, if necessary.

  Crossing the last few train lines, Stephen hunkered down next to a tanker car and considered his options on how to reach the road without attracting the attention of the group of infected near the base of the bridge. Without his rifle, his combat range was limited. Looking ahead, Stephen saw a large cement drainage culvert in the weeds up ahead that followed the direction of the road, and he made his way towards it. The opening of the drainage tube grew larger as he approached. The terrain to the east of the bridge was slightly higher in elevation than that to the west, and the drainage sewer had been constructed to divert rainwater into a small nearby stream. It would provide a perfect observation point to figure his way out of this mess. He reached the culvert and cautiously lifted his sore and bug bitten body into the tunnel. Lying inside, Stephen swung his legs around and into a sitting position, leaning with his back on the side of the tunnel. Massaging his knee, he brushed off dirt that was now embedded in his clothing and gear.

  As the cool darkness of the culvert enveloped him, he thought back on all that had happened in the last few hours.

  Fucking zombies! Can you believe it? He had to laugh. It was kind of like a morbid fantasy come true.

  It was a cold thought, Stephen knew, but he couldn’t help thinking it. A lot of people had already died, many of them friends of his, but he was still in the fight and now was his chance to show everyone how it was done. He looked at the zombie horde on the road, shocked at what came into view. A Joliet squad car appeared out of nowhere and began racing down the bridge towards the group of twenty plus infected that was now starting to move up the bridge straight at the rocketing car.

  “This should be good,” Stephen chuckled as he climbed down from the culvert and made his way towards the road.

  * * * * * * * *

  I sped down the bridge, bracing myself for impact. The noise of my engine had gathered the attention of all the infected below, and they started their shambling walk towards me. I was too busy to check my speedometer, but I figured that I was going at least 50mph when I hit the mob. They showed no fear as I plowed into them full force. The first few infected disintegrated upon contact with my bumper. Another crashed into my squad’s push bumpers and was folded in half, slamming his skull into my hood. Another was launched directly into and through the windshield, almost landing in my lap as I got covered with glass shards. Impact after impact rocked my poor squad. Steam erupted from under the hood from a busted radiator hose through the shattered grill. I kept my foot planted firmly on the gas and the engine screamed in protest.

  I bet the engineers at GM never had a crash test designed for this shit.

  The car shuddered, and I felt the momentum and power diminish as the infected piled onto the car and in my path. Just as I was thinking maybe this wasn’t such a great idea, the squad burst through the rear of the pack, and I broke free. I knew I was not going to get too far in this busted up rig, but it should get me to the hospital that was less than a half mile away. Clouds of steam geysered from under the hood, obscuring my vision. The temperature gauge was in the red. I looked in the mirror to check on my pursuers because I might be hoofing it sooner than planned. Looking back to the road in front of me, the wind whipped the steam away, and from the tall grass alongside the road, a man stepped out in front of me waving his arms. He was also limping badly.

  Fuck it. My squad was already beyond fixing, so what was one more?

  I lined up my front passenger side headlight to peg the infected bastard when at the last moment I recognized that the person was wearing a police uniform, albeit dirty and ragged as hell, but was still a cop. I jerked the wheel to the left hard and slammed on the brakes. My squad screeched to a halt. I looked back to see the officer hobble up to my car, and when he jerked the passenger door open, he stopped in surprise when he realized he was looking down the barrel of my pistol.

  “Stephen? Where the hell did you come from? Are you infected?” I asked, my pi
stol never leaving his face.

  “No I’m not infected, and holster that fucking gun, asshole," he said. "We’ve got to get to the hospital now!”

  “Where’s Roy?” I asked as Stephen climbed inside. “Wasn’t he riding with you?”

  “Dead,” was Stephen’s only response. “Now let’s go!”

  My squad acted like it didn’t want to move anymore, and both of us started yelling words of encouragement as it shook and shuddered in protest, yet continued up the road towards the hospital looming in front of us. I checked my mirror; the surviving zombies behind us had given up pursuit to continue feeding on the van occupants.

  Glancing over at Stephen, who was covered in dirt, scrapes and what looked like burnt chunks of flesh in his hair, I couldn’t stop myself from busting his balls.

  “By the way, let me thank you for waking me up for the easy overtime working the street,” I said sarcastically.

  “Hey, go pound sand,” Stephen growled. “I’ve been running and gunning from the housing projects nonstop for what feels like forever. I am almost out of ammo, my knee is twisted badly, and now our only transportation is about to go belly up because you decided to use it like a battering ram.”

  “Relax, Sally,” I replied. “By the way...zombies are real.”

  Stephen turned his head and stared at me for a few seconds. “No shit.”

  I started to chuckle as we pulled into the hospital’s ambulance entrance. The chuckling, however, died in my throat at what we saw.

  We didn’t have any high hopes of locating survivors after the ambulance that I sent up there with the bite victims came into view. It had crashed into a bay door of the hospital, rear doors open and empty. A crimson trail of blood led from the ambulance to the double doors leading into the ER.

  “Damn! Looks like the infected have struck here as well,” Stephen said. “I should have guessed. This is where people come when they get sick.”