Zombie Dust: An Extreme Horror Novel

by Jubilee Savage

  He moved into the bathroom where he discovered all the blood on the towels, the washcloths, the floors and the bottom of the bathtub were now streaks and smudges of black ash.

  He used the soiled towels to clean up the blackness from the floor and the walls of the tub, peeled off his sweat-soaked running shorts and climbed beneath the shower spray.

  As Father Matthew shampooed his hair, he felt a multitude of warring emotions and thoughts well up inside him. He had grown quite fond of the young woman who lay asleep in the next room, but he couldn't deny what was happening to her.

  She was rapidly deteriorating physically, and she had already shown the ability of great feats of strength and violence. She was oozing black dust and ebony pus. She couldn't speak. She had a penchant for eating human organs with her bare hands. Things looked bleak.

  "I should put her out of her misery," the priest said to himself. Yet he knew that wasn't really an option. He believed in the sanctity of human life, and he believed that's what she still was, human life.

  She had come to him as human life, and that's what she would remain in his eyes even as her body turned to blackness and dust.

  Unlike some of the other people whom he'd seen, Audrey was still capable of rational thought and following instructions. She could hear him. She could see him. She could have destroyed him by now a hundred times, but she had chosen not to.

  Father Matthew believed that she could still be saved, if only he could find the way to save her. He was saddened by the realization that he had no idea how to make it happen. Prayer didn't seem to have any effect on her. Was there anything a doctor could do?

  Going back to the hospital was the last thing on his mind, but subconsciously a little voice inside his head told him that it was the only place where he could bring Audrey if he wanted her to get medical attention.

  He had no idea whether something as simple as a round of antibiotics or a shot of penicillin might have an effect. Was he willing to take that chance? He didn't think so. He would never forgive himself if he didn't try everything he could to return her back to normal.

  "We have to go back to the hospital." When he said the words out loud, he realized that there really wasn't any other choice.

  Not only did he want to find medical care for Audrey, he also wanted to check on that woman and her children whom he'd seen pull into the parking lot in their van.

  The image of their faces in his rearview mirror as he drove away still haunted him. He knew they had no inkling of what awaited them behind the sliding automatic doors of the hospital entrance.

  Father Matthew washed his body with handfuls of lavender soap. There were no more clean washcloths. It felt good to stand under the spray of warm water.

  He never wanted to get out of the shower. He thought he might be happy to stay there forever until the problems of the outside world resolved themselves on their own.

  Unfortunately, he knew that wasn't an option. He had to bring Audrey back to the hospital, but first he had to have something to eat. He didn't want another episode like the last one.

  It wouldn't benefit anyone for him to lapse into a diabetic coma in the middle of … don’t say it. It's not a zombie apocalypse. He refused to say those words out loud, half hoping his refusal to acknowledge the situation verbally might somehow make it less true.

  The priest turned off the water and listened for any sound or movement coming from the rest of his living space. When he didn't hear anything, he grabbed for the last dry towel and blotted the water from his hair before toweling off his muscular body.

  He felt bad about walking naked into the bedroom where Audrey lay sleeping, but he didn't have any clean towels or clothing in the bathroom.

  When he got into the bedroom, Audrey was already awake. She was dressed in the t-shirt and sweatpants that he had left for her. The cup of water was empty and the cap was off the bottle of aspirin.

  To Father Matthew's eyes, she looked a little better. "It's good to see you up and dressed," he said. "I apologize for my … nakedness. I'll grab something as fast as I can."

  He pulled a pair of boxer briefs from the dresser and nearly jumped into them with both feet, feeling much more comfortable once he did.

  It didn't matter that he knew he wasn't the first man she'd ever seen naked. He was a priest, and he wasn't supposed to be walking around au naturel in front of a young woman, regardless of her occupation as of late.

  Father Matthew chose a pair of jeans and a t-shirt from the closet and put them on. He handed Audrey a pair of sweat socks and took a pair for himself. "I don't know what we're going to do for shoes," he said. "I have big feet, and yours are so small."

  She smiled and shrugged.

  He was floored. "You have no idea how much that smile means to me," he said. "I've been so worried about you. Maybe there's hope after all."

  She smiled again, but she didn't speak.

  It didn't escape his notice that she was mute, but the smile on her face told him that she could be saved. If God wouldn't save her, then maybe a doctor at the hospital would. They hadn't even gotten past the emergency room. Maybe they had given up too soon.

  He put on his socks and a pair of old but clean running shoes. Then he knelt at her feet and took the other pair of sweat socks from her lap where she'd left them. "Here. Let me help you with that," he said.

  The priest lifted one foot and gently rolled the sock up over her calf. "It's an almost perfect fit," he joked. The crew socks nearly reached her knees, but they would have to do. He repeated the process with the other foot.

  "Let me see what I have in the closet." He opened the closet and rummaged around on the floor in the back of the small space. "You're not going to believe your luck," he said, emerging from the closet with a pair of pink women's running shoes. "As long as they aren't too tight, they're better than trying to wear a pair of my shoes."

  He brought them back to where she sat on the unmade bed and got on his knees before her again.

  "Not bad," he said, measuring the sole of one of the shoes against the bottom of her foot. "These are a size seven. It looks like you're about a size six. You might not be able to win a road race, but I don't think they will fall off your feet or slow you down too much."

  "I used to be a clerk in a shoe store when I was in college. Believe it or not." He slid the sneakers onto her feet and tied them securely.

  "Audrey, there's something that I need to talk to you about. I don't know how you're going to feel about this, but we have to go back to the hospital. Do you understand?"

  She nodded her head, but her expression didn't change. The smile had already faded from her face.

  "You might need medical attention. Now I know you were against that from the start, but we have to face the reality that you might need something a little more … advanced than a bandage and some tape." He cleared his throat. "I also wanted to check on that family who pulled into the hospital parking lot just before we left. It's the right thing to do."

  Audrey stood up as soon as the priest finished tying her shoes. His baggy t-shirt was way too large on her, and his sweatpants dragged on the floor.

  "Hold still," he said. "I'm going to try to make this a little more comfortable." He grabbed the hem of the t-shirt and twisted it on one side before tying it into a knot. Then he rolled up the elasticized cuffs of the sweatpants so they sat higher than the tops of her sneakers.

  "You're probably not going to make it onto any best-dressed lists, but I think you'll be fine. I need to check my blood glucose level and have something to eat before we go. If you need to use the bathroom or anything, please feel free." He walked toward the bedroom door before stopping and turning around. "Let me know if you're still hungry," he said. "We'll find something in the refrigerator for you to eat."

  While he was in the kitchen, he tested his blood sugar level, gave himself his prescribed insulin injection and made a sandwich. Every time he thought about Audrey sitting on the floor in a pool of blood eating b
loody chunks of a dead man's entrails, the bile rose in his throat.

  The thought made his meal unappetizing, but he knew what it would do to his body if he failed to eat, especially after his insulin dosage. So he ate his sandwich, drank a glass of milk and tried to push the thought of Audrey's feeding frenzy out of his mind.

  Although he was disgusted at the thought of her hunkered down on the floor with a fistful of entrails in each hand, he was glad she'd had something to eat.

  Chapter Ten

  Officer Fitzpatrick and his unwilling companion crept down the hospital corridors, following the twists and turns of the indoor landscape without comment or conversation. Robin led the way, trying to be quiet.

  Every now and then, she emitted a burst of sobs that made the cop want to put a bullet in the back of her head, just to shut her up.

  She picked up the pace as they moved along, letting her nerves carry her past empty hospital rooms and the detritus that had accumulated in the halls as the people who'd once inhabited those rooms made their sloppy exit.

  Discarded hospital gowns, used latex gloves, dirty syringes and tangled bed sheets littered the floor. The scent of disinfectant and decay hung heavy in the air.

  The cop still carried his makeshift bag filled with drugs from the hospital dispensary. His companion remained topless except for the cotton bra she'd been wearing underneath her blouse.

  Now and then, he glanced at the creamy skin that was no longer hidden from his sight, but he knew better than to allow himself to become distracted by the curves of her body.

  There were more important things to do.

  "How much farther?" Officer Fitzpatrick finally asked her. "I don't want to walk around in circles all day long." His patience had reached its breaking point, and he didn't know how long he could pretend he wasn't losing it. "Do you even know what the fuck you're doing?"

  "Not- not much further," Robin said through her tears. "We're almost there." She used the top of her bra to wipe away the wetness from her cheeks, leaving black mascara smears and pink traces of rouge on the fabric. "We're not walking in circles."

  The unlikely duo didn't see anyone on their travels through the hospital maze, which was a good thing considering what so many of the patients and staff of the hospital were becoming.

  However, the cop wasn't naïve enough to think a lack of living, dead or undead in the hallways meant that everything was okay.

  Everything was definitely not okay.

  He was trained to be suspicious, and the lack of activity in the halls was making him very, very suspicious indeed.

  There should have been doctors, nurses, certified nursing aides, personal care attendants, dietary specialists, visitors, X-ray techs and the occasional patient roaming the halls. Instead, there was silence at every turn.

  The medical waste flotsam and jetsam beneath their feet was the only sign that anyone had ever been there, and it appeared that they had left in a hurry.

  Now and then, the sound of someone screaming reached their ears, but it came from far away. Neither of them mentioned it, even though they both heard it.

  "Where is everyone?" Robin asked, wondering the same thing as the cop. "This is weird. These halls are filled with people on an average day." She shook her head.

  "Well, that's your answer," the cop replied. "Today is not an average day."

  Robin nodded her head. "You can say that again."

  "I don’t have to say it again. I just said it now. Are we motherfucking there yet?"

  "Yes." Robin pointed at a large set of double doors that were operated by a button on the opposite wall. "Push the button. The doors open and you're in a corridor that leads to another set of doors and then the operating suites."

  "Push the button," the cop ordered. "What are you waiting for?"

  "No. I don't want to. Why don't you push the button?" Robin stood with her back against the wall. "What if there are sick people inside?"

  "You shouldn't work at a hospital if you’re afraid of sick people, Robin," the cop said. "Push the motherfucking button. Open the door. I've got you covered." He stood with his weight evenly distributed on both legs and aimed his gun at the closed doors.

  "That's not what I meant by sick people," she said. "I meant sick people."

  "Thanks for the clarification," he said. "Push the fucking button."

  Robin took a long, deep breath, reached out and pushed the button.

  Nothing happened.

  She pushed the button again, harder this time.

  They both heard the soft whirring of the motor that should have swung the doors inward, but the doors remained shut.

  "What's wrong?" Officer Fitzpatrick asked Robin. "Why didn't the doors open?"

  "Dunno." She shrugged. "It's supposed to open the doors automatically."

  "Is there any way to get inside if the doors aren't working?" He bit the inside of his cheek in frustration.

  She shrugged again. "You can just push the doors open, but that isn't good for the mechanism."

  "This isn't really one of those times when I'm worried about what's good for the mechanism," Officer Fitzpatrick said. "Fuck this shit."

  He lowered his gun and approached the double doors, listening for any movement on the other side. "I don't hear anything," he said.

  The cop pushed the door against some type of resistance on the other side. He pushed harder.

  The door moved slowly with the sound of metal scraping on metal. He pressed his shoulder to the door and threw his weight against it.

  With a final squeal of protest, the door swung open. Officer Fitzpatrick stepped through the opening, gun first.

  "Someone tried blocking the door with gurneys and shit," he said. He looked over his shoulder at Robin. "Don't just stand there. Move your fat ass."

  "My ass isn't fat," she said.

  "I don't really have time to argue about that right now. Just get your fucking ass in here." He aimed the gun at her. "Do we have to keep going through this? I say, 'Jump,' and you ask, 'How high?' It's not that complicated. I've got the power, and you've got nothing. Please make a note of it."

  "Okay." She followed him through the open door. "Fucking prick," she muttered under her breath.

  He turned around without lowering his gun. "If you have something you want to say to me, please, by all means, say it loud and proud so I can hear you."

  She shook her head and lowered her eyes. "No- no, I didn't say anything. I don't have anything to say to you."

  As soon as Robin was on the other side of the doors, Officer Fitzpatrick began pushing gurneys and desks back against the closed doors. "Feel free to help me," he said. "I'm not the only one whose life is on the line here."

  She moved one upturned wheelchair against the pile and looked at him for approval. "Is that- is that okay?" she asked.

  "That'll do, Pig. That'll do," he said.

  "Don't call me a pig," Robin replied.

  "Ugh. It's from a movie. Forget it. Why am I even explaining myself to you? Shut up, and follow me. I'm looking for a bone saw, something we can use to help that nurse I told you about."

  "What nurse?" Robin asked.

  "Do you seriously work in human resources? Because you don't seem too bright to me. I thought you had to be halfway intelligent to work in a job like that," he said.

  Robin didn't answer. She followed the cop, silent except for her sniffles and occasional gasping sobs, which she tried her best to muffle with the palm of her hand against her mouth.

  Officer Fitzpatrick pushed the button for the second set of automatic double doors. This time, the mechanism worked perfectly, and the doors swung inward with only a soft whooshing sound.

  They passed through the opening and then stopped in tandem.

  "Do you hear that?" Officer Fitzpatrick asked. "Listen."

  "Yes," Robin hissed. "What is it?"

  "I don’t know," he answered, "but we're about to find out." He led her to the right side of the hallway to a closed door with
a sign beside it. The sign read, "Operating Suite A," and the noise was coming from within.

  That door, too, had a push button to open it. Officer Fitzpatrick pushed the button with his elbow. His weapon was at the ready, but he wasn't prepared for the scene within.

  There was a patient on the operating table. He had been strapped to the table by arms and legs. Tubes and wires stuck out from his body, but that wasn't the worst of it.

  The officer couldn't tell what type of surgery was being performed prior to his … transformation. … He could only use his imagination.

  There on a tray near the operating table, there was a metal pan containing a human heart. The man on the table had his chest sliced open from beneath his neck to his abdomen. Within the gaping orifice, there was no heart.

  As the man writhed and wriggled from side to side, trying to free himself from his bonds, the numerous vascular clamps connected to his arteries clattered against each other.

  The cop kept his back to the door of the operating suite. His instinct kicked in, and he kept his body between Robin and the horror show strapped to the table in the center of the room.

  The bright overhead lights were blazing over the patient, but the air in the room was dead. An odor of rotting flesh permeated the air.

  "Watch out!" Robin shouted from behind Officer Fitzpatrick.

  From the opposite side of the operating table, hidden from view, something was emerging. It was dressed in blue scrubs that were streaked and stained red.

  "Kill it," Robin shrieked. "Kill it. Kill it. Kill it. Please kill it."

  The figure raised one hand toward them. "No. Don't shoot. It's me, Sandra."

  "Well, look what we have here," the cop said. "I was just about to scour this place looking for you." He looked past her at the thing straining on the operating table. "Hang on. There's something I have to take care of."

  He strode to the operating table and aimed his gun at the thrashing man's temple.

  "I wish this motherfucker would hold still," he said. "I don't suppose someone would want to … Never mind." He pulled the trigger, and a spray of blood, brain matter and black ichor exploded from the opposite side of the man's head.