by T. W. Brown
She was young. No older than in her early twenties. Her blonde hair splayed out in greasy clumps around her head as she lay there, strapped to the gurney. Her eyes might be hazel, or brown, or green. They were too flat and listless for Dr. Reginald Cox to be absolutely sure. She was emaciated, and her skin was taut on her face, giving it a ghoulish appearance. Her skin was so translucent that he swore he could actually see the skull itself. Blue veins were visible on her face, arms, and legs. She was a poster child for meth.
He’d done all the testing on her, surprised to discover she didn’t test positive for hepatitis, AIDS, or a list of other venereal diseases. She was very anemic, even with the drip he’d had her on. Of course that drip was only designed to keep her from dying. No actual concern was given to having any of the subjects actually healthy. After all, they would end up one of those anomalies eventually.
Reginald laughed. Anomalies. Perhaps he should call them what the public and mainstream media had called them—zombies.
“Fiction,” he mumbled, then he glanced over his shoulder towards those containment rooms. The one that had been submerged these past days unnerved him considerably.
He returned his attention to the woman strapped down before him. Her breasts were little more than deflated flaps of skin. Further down, past each clearly visible rib, between the knobs of jutting pelvic bone was an abundantly bushy triangle. His thorough exam revealed that she had signs consistent with multiple abortions. He doubted her womb could support carrying a fetus full-term at this point, the damage was too extensive. Her uterine scar-tissue reminded him of the forehead of a wrestler he’d been a fan of as a child.
A muffled and very weak sound brought his eyes back up to that face. He looked into those cloudy—and possibly hazel—eyes. There was such despondency in them. This thing strapped to the gurney could barely be classified as human, much less female.
“Shh,” he laid one hand on Jane Doe’s shoulder, “I’m going to take excellent care of you. Starting with a hot shower. Would you like that?”
Jane nodded very slightly, but those eyes spoke much more clearly. There was a mixture of fear, suspicion, and… craving. Yes, Reginald thought, she would want her toxic poison. Her meth. Well, there wasn’t to be any of that.
“And after that,” he knelt beside the head of the gurney, “how about some food.”
This time the nod was more apparent. It had been quite some time since Jane had ingested any sort of solid food. Some delicious blueberry yogurt would be just the ticket.
“You’re very special, Jane.” He stood again and looked down into those eyes. “You may not yet realize just how special, but I will show you.”
He turned and walked over to the bank of four monitors mounted just above the doorway. One by one he turned them on. The picture was the same on all four, it seemed only one camera remained operational. He thought it must be mounted on top of the bunker-style structure that the hatch opened up into.
“You see,” he dimmed the lights so the picture was easier to make out, “the world has been through some changes since you were last conscious.”
He turned and looked at Jane. Her eyes were blinking and her eyebrows kept rising then falling as she tried to make sense of what she was seeing. The disbelief was etched clearly on her face as she viewed the horror on those screens. Glancing up, he saw them. There were hundreds—perhaps thousands—massed out there. The fences had fallen. The view was from over the heads of a sea of them: zombies. Somehow they knew that there was life inside the concrete tomb.
“You see, Jane?” He was Dr. Reginald Cox now, explaining something to a person in the most basic, clinical terms. “You will notice the high degree of visible wounds that should, by themselves, be fatal. That man on the left missing his right arm, or, here’s one that really demonstrates the point, see that adolescent girl with the lower abdominal cavity completely torn open with a good majority of the contents missing? There is no logical, scientific reason that she should be standing.”
He returned to Jane’s side and laid a hand on her shoulder, “You and I may be the last two truly living people on this earth.”
Her listless expression didn’t seem to register the importance of what he was telling her. He’d expected her to be…less than bright was the kindest way he could put it…but Jane did not seem to even comprehend the words coming out of his mouth. Perhaps if he took the mouth-guard out.
A long strand of thick saliva stretched from Jane’s mouth to the plastic, horseshoe-shaped device as he withdrew it. A noxious smell accompanied this action, a fetid stench that emanated from her mouth, the guard, and the mucousy spit strand.
“Somebody needs to brush.” Dr. Cox smiled down at his patient and newest project.
“W-w-w—” her voice was raspy and strained, barely above a whisper .
“Yes, water,” Dr. Cox finished for her and went to the nearby stainless steel sink, pulling down a disposable paper cup. He pressed the button for potable water and filled the cup. “Drink slowly, my dear. You must only take small sips at first. I’ll go see if I can find you some juice. Apple? Or orange?”
“A-apple.”
Dr. Cox felt giddy. He felt a tingle of excitement in his ample belly. Certainly Jane was no beauty, but she was equipped with all the right parts and there would be no competition. He’d never been comfortable dealing with women. He knew he was no prize in the looks—and certainly not in the physique—department. He was pudgy and suffered from an overabundance in the chest, or, to put it simply, Reginald Cox had man boobs. His black hair looked greasy, even freshly washed. His face showed the ravages of a lost battle with acne, the pockmarks were numerous and deep. He’d worn contacts, but in this bunker all he had were his BCGs—Birth Control Glasses, named for the blocky frames and coke-bottle-thick lenses.
He opened the cabinet and found a small, green juice-box with the children’s book quality drawing of an apple. His breathing was already labored after the short jog down the corridor. He fumbled in his pocket and pulled out his inhaler, damned asthma, and took a deep puff. He checked his reflection and sighed. Well, he thought, it’s not like she has a lot of choices.
He returned to Jane’s cubicle and noticed that she’d squeezed her eyes shut. He puzzled for a second then realized his mistake.
“Uh, Jane,” he floundered, “I’m so sorry! How clumsy of me!”
He set the juice-box down and hustled to the monitors, switching each one off. He turned, a sheepish look on his face, “I got your apple juice.”
He forced the straw into the foil hole after six attempts and badly bending the annoying piece of plastic. Tilting her head up, he guided the straw to her lips. He watched as she drew the liquid into her mouth. She made a slight moan of pleasure that had the added side-effect of causing a rather embarrassing stirring sensation in Dr. Reginald Cox’s lower regions. ”I’m going to unfasten your straps after I remove these wires and such,” he said, pulling the juice away.
An hour later, Jane was cleaned up and wearing a set of scrubs. Dr. Cox had to hold her up and help clean her, dress her, and now sat at a table feeding her bits of bread with a very thin layer of peanut butter and tomato soup.
When the meal was finished, he took her to his quarters and tucked her into his bed. Taking a seat at his desk, he watched her sleep. Perhaps the end of the world wasn’t going to be so bad after all.
Jenifer-zombie walked. Day. Night. It made no difference. Sometimes she walked surrounded by others just like her, although she paid them no attention. They were no different than a tree or a rock that she might pass.
This very moment, Jenifer-zombie walked alone. A vast, open field stretched out before her. Large creatures moved out of the way, they felt the wrongness as it approached, but she did not notice. While Jenifer-zombie sensed their warmth, their warmth did not “call” to her anymore than the light of the sun.
As darkness gave way to light, a sound caused her to stop. She did not hear it so much as feel
it. Turning, she felt the vibration strengthen. This was the way. Slow awkward steps brought her closer. She walked, for several minutes the vibrations grew stronger. Twice, sudden changes in the ground caused Jenifer-zombie to stumble. Once, teeth struck curb. The mouth tore and several teeth broke, but there was no pain, no recognition of the damage done.
The sound grew louder until she reached a mass of others just like her. Plowing through the crowd took days, but that did not matter. Eventually, she navigated the continuously expanding crowd. A tall, flat surface halted her progress. Like those around her, she brought her hands up and slapped them on the surface. There was no thought as to why.
The sun rose and set, rose and set. This went unnoticed by Jenifer-zombie—or any of the others surrounding her, banging on the flat, cold metal surface. One night, like all the others, there was a commotion. The others jostled harder. Pushed sideways, a flash of warmth drew her. Ducking, pushing, shoving, Jenifer-zombie reached the source. It was fading, the warmth was going away. Before it could vanish completely, she grabbed it, biting into it, seeking its warmth. Another tooth broke and she let a small gold band fall from her mouth.
The warmth was gone. That it ever existed vanished from memory. Jenifer-zombie began to walk. It took two days to extricate herself from the mass of others.
By nightfall Jenifer-zombie was alone once more, it paid no attention to the sign welcoming it to Georgia.
Dani Flannigan slumped down in the big, overstuffed recliner. Tipping the glass she held, the dark liquid filled her mouth. The last of the Jagermeister slid down her throat, warming her from within.
Out her window she saw the reflection of the moon shimmering on the ocean’s surface. Her eighteenth-floor penthouse gave a spectacular view of the Atlantic. If she walked out onto the balcony, she could gaze down at the white sands of the beach. She’d loved the view. It had been worth every penny she paid. And really, money wasn’t that much of a problem. Not when your face was on the cover of every fashion magazine. Not when your posters hung on hundreds of thousands of teenaged boys’ walls.
Dani was a brand name. And it didn’t hurt that her best friend was a Wall Street whiz. He’d turned her unthinkable fortune into something bordering on obscene. At least that’s how the small-town Nebraska girl inside her saw it. Growing up in a modest home, Dani had mucked horse stalls, picked berries, and shucked corn, just like every other boy and girl she knew.
A family vacation to New York changed everything. A woman had come to the table she and her family were dining at in an expensive Italian place and introduced herself. Dani hardly remembered the next seven months. She’d been seventeen. Now, at twenty-two, she was in her prime as a model—she refused to use the term “super.”
Dani avoided the drugs, the partying, and most of the snares known to trip up so many others. Heck, she’d just started drinking a couple months ago. But then who wouldn’t when the dead began walking.
There had been an attempt to evacuate the city of Jacksonville, Florida. The whole city for Chrissakes! That hadn’t worked well at all. Many of those cars still clogged Interstates 95, 10, and 295. She’d watched a lot of it from her balcony. Dani had stayed behind because it was the only place her family would know to find her. And it was where Joseph would come. And he would.
Dani waited. Others had waited, too. Then, a bunch of them decided it was time to go. The power had been out for many days, as had the water. Food was running low. So they left. She’d watched from her balcony after locking the storm and security roll-down doors behind them. Ten blocks. That’s how far they got before those things had them surrounded. She’d gone inside so as not to hear the screams.
Dani waited. Nobody came. Sometimes she heard things. Sometimes she saw other survivors. A couple of the people who’d left had tried to get back into the building. They’d failed, but they’d brought those things by the hundreds. She’d gone three days without sleep because of the constant pounding. Then, one day, she’d simply fallen asleep from exhaustion. After that, she’d been able to block out the sound.
Dani went to every single condo and brought all the food and water she could find. It would last until Joseph, or maybe her family, came for her. Eventually, she’d realized nobody was likely to come. Slowly, the food dwindled. The water simply disappeared faster, even with putting out everything she could find to catch it.
Dani showered only when it rained. Anytime a good downpour arrived, she would hurry to the roof with soap, shampoo, and razor. Still, when she looked in the mirror, she didn’t see that girl on the magazine covers. All she saw with total clarity was the fear in her own eyes. Sometimes she didn’t even recognize the eyes staring back. Sometimes the dark circles and the sunkeness made the eyes staring back look like those of a stranger. It was those green eyes and her curly, long auburn hair that made people stop and stare.
Dani set the empty bottle down and unconsciously toyed with the ring on her finger. The ring was all that remained of the life she’d lost. Her thumb toyed with the diamond that rose up on prongs for everybody to see. A tear welled up, then cascaded down Dani’s cheek as she remembered looking down into Joseph’s eyes. His perfect smile flinched just a little as if he were uncertain what her answer would be. That uncertainty was what had sealed her answer: yes. He hadn’t taken her for granted. There was still that possibility in his mind that she would refuse; and for that, she loved him all the more.
Still crying, Dani’s head slumped down, and she dozed off.
The dazzling light of the rising sun woke her from a dream-filled sleep. She’d dreamed of her parents who she’d just sent on a cruise around the world, of her brother that she’d surprised with college tuition, and of Joseph.
Waking had been painful in so many ways. Those images burst and flew to the recesses of her mind, her neck ached from the uncomfortable way she’d slept, and her head throbbed from last night’s alcohol consumption. Seeing the condo now as nothing more than a shrine filled with images of people long gone and echoes of happiness that would never be repeated, Dani walked out onto the balcony. Climbing up onto the ledge, she couldn’t bring herself to look down at the sea of dead faces below. Instead, she kissed her ring and, keeping her eyes on the beauty of the blue-green Atlantic Ocean, she stepped off.
Mackenzie kept her eyes down. She knew he was watching. Worse, she knew the big oaf had one of his lazy smiles plastered on his face. She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of seeing just how completely grossed out she was.
What the hell does he do, she thought, stomp around in zombie guts in just his stocking feet? The last pair were almost done and today was the last day of her two week payment of services. Wringing out the socks one final time, she plunged them into the rinse bucket a few times, wrung, plunged, and wrung. Finally. She took the last pair to the clothesline and threw them across to dry in the sun like the others.
“Coulda been worse,” a voice chuckled in her ear. How in the hell did somebody so big move so damned quiet?
“What could possibly have made this worse?” Mackenzie spun and stared up at the giant oaf. She flipped a lock of her brown hair out of her eyes and fastened the best glare she could muster.
“Coulda been underwear,” Juan said with a smile.
“Like I would do anything that might let your pervy little fingers touch my—” she stopped. “What in the hell?” She stepped away from Juan, looking past him, down the slope of the field of neat rows of cantaloupe that were ready to be picked.
Juan turned, his hand going for the 9mm on instinct. Two deaders were standing at the fence, both reaching out towards the two living, warm-bodied people in the front yard of the farmhouse. His eyes scanned, trying to see into the tree line that was across the two-lane road that ran parallel along the length of this farm and others, separating them from the riverfront beaches.
“Get your mom and the two of you bring the bicycles down to the end of the driveway,” Juan said. He took
his hand off the pistol and picked up the baseball bat with sixteen-penny nails sticking out from all sides. “Strap on a couple blades, but bring some firepower just in case.”
Mackenzie turned and bolted for the house. She only briefly considered the idea that, before all this, she’d never let any man tell her what to do except her dad. She found her mom in the kitchen, canning tomatoes and mixing brine for her special homemade pickles. They’d been putting away food nonstop for a few weeks. Three of the five bedrooms had been converted to pantries and the basement was already packed full of boxes, every inch of floor and shelf space taken.
“Got a couple down at the fence,” Mackenzie said, realizing that her heart was racing just a bit. “Juan wants us to take the bikes, I think he wants to go check the area around the bridge.”
“I…” Margaret sighed, “I can’t just leave all this now. Can’t you two take care of it?”
“Probably,” Mackenzie nodded, “but you know the rule. We don’t leave anybody alone. That’s—”
“—how people die,” Margaret sing-songed. “Fine, tell the emperor that I will do as he bids, just give me five minutes to shut things off.”
Ten minutes later, the trio were biking down the road to the ruins of the bridge. Rounding an easy bow in the road, they saw another deader stumbling along. A tell-tale trail of water lay in its wake.
“Don’t tell me they can swim,” Margaret whimpered as she pulled up beside Juan who had come to a stop.
“I wouldn’t think so,” Juan said. He set the kickstand and walked towards the lone intruder, stopping several feet short and giving it a good once-over.
It wasn’t as nasty smelling, that was a plus. This one was missing its left arm and had been ripped open where the belly-button used to be. Bits and pieces hung from the hole along with some slimy green stuff that looked like seaweed or something. It was definitely some kind of plant. Looking at the feet, he noticed fine gray mud that caked on the skin in places to about mid-shin.