VI
But, of course, it couldn’t have been Herbert West. Though, it was his magic potion, diluted by different liquids of varying colours, that had been injected into a dead body that caused its muscles to spasm and the body to move. Father Martín was so obsessed with death that he dedicated himself to finding a way to summon the deceased, bringing back loved-ones. In reality, it was never done with bad intentions. He didn’t like seeing people suffer by giving their loved ones their final goodbyes. He wanted to be the one to utilise the miracle of God, gifted to him, to make the dead rise back up.
It was also a mere coincidence that the policeman and his fatigued partner discovered him in the right place at the right time, hunched over a dead man, with a syringe in one hand, while the other arms was rigidly outstretched. They had arrived to inquire about some complaints about a broken window in the church, lodged by some concerned people a few days prior, something that had nothing to do with the case they had stumbled upon.
‘Oh, merciful God! Make this work!’ Father Martín shouted, ignoring the sudden presence of the policemen. He injected the contents of the syringe into the cadaver’s vein and waited a millisecond for any type of reaction, which then began to move and spasm sporadically.
‘What the Devil are you doing?!’ the policeman screamed, running quickly to the father.
But Father Martín, noticing their presence, turned furtively towards them. The sun shined through the broken window and directly to where they were standing.
‘No! Don’t come closer! It could be dangerous!’ the priest had shouted, his eyes as large as plates, clearly anguished.
‘Leave it there on the ground, Father Martín!’ one of the policemen said. He had his gun taken out, in his two arms, well aimed. ‘I don’t want to have to do anything brazen!’
‘Such steps won’t be necessary,’ his partner said. ‘Everything happening here right now can be cleared up by talking, no doubt,’ he added, looking towards his partner. ‘Isn’t that correct, Father Martín?’
They had been coming ever closer, and the priest let his syringe fall onto the cadaver. He was terrified, and behind him, the body continued convulsing, as if it were in a fit of rage.
‘I just wanted to help my parishioners,’ he said, before being grabbed by the dead body.
It was now infected and, what had once been simple spasms, had now converted into a virus that infected at an alarming rate. A virus that turned its victims into zombies. It was at that moment that a new era had been born.
VII
But Father Martín was more than just a zombie, but a carrier of the virus. Given that he had previously injected himself with a certain combination of the liquids, the virus wouldn’t spread through his body normally, he was a simple incubator. However, he could infect anyone he came into contact with, via scratch or bite, but his consciousness remained intact in his huge head. He left the church running, after having revealed himself. At the end of the day, he still had a plan.
‘Yes! Finally, you all realise who had been behind these incidents. The truth is that they were all products of my overall bigger project. A bit of a dirty project. I had to leave the pieces somewhere, it’s true. And I do apologise for that. They were small tests, and they made me so cross that I tossed them aside in any assorted place,’ the priest, far from confessing, boasted of what he believed were his exploits, ‘But I was later pleased to see that it worked, and now look at what I can do,’ he said, turning around to show off the corpse that was now seizing in the coffin.
‘Get away from there, Father!’ One of the policemen shouted, the one closest to him, grasping his gun so tightly that his knuckles went white.
But Father Martín ignored his order.
‘What the Devil are you doing to this poor man? Trying to kill him?’ the policeman asked.
‘It is apparent that you do not understand what has happened,’ she said laughing, leaving the church.
They continued aiming towards him with their guns, but none fired a shot. Instead, they drew closer to the coffin, thinking that the man was still alive.
“But of course, it was, in the technical sense. It was undead.”
‘Sir, can we help you?’ One of the officers asked. He peered into the coffin and, immediately, was grabbed by the body. The cadaver gave his neck a deep bite, deep enough to rip the jugular. The officer’s blood spackled the infected body with streams of blood as well as the other officer’s chest.
The other officer, completely immobilised by panic and uncertainty, shot his gun without first assuring that, given his state of nervousness, he wasn’t pointing at any bystander. The coffin fell to the ground and the zombie stood up rapidly and mounted his partner. This called for two more shots, but this time with much more clarity, that landed in the body’s chest and shoulder. The bullets entered and left through it’s back, but the zombie continued, senseless to the bullets. The officer fell back, slipping and falling to the ground. It was in that very instant that, in the corner of his eye, he could see the zombie shambling towards him with its mouth open and its eyes red with ire. A strong pain shot through his shoulder, with blood streaming out of it like a fountain. He fainted, and later, nothing. From here to the general cataclysm there was only one small step. It was only a question of days before the entire city was thrown into darkness. The zombie era had finally begun.
VIII
Infection to conversion was a process that only took seconds, possibly minutes, depending on the person and their constitution. The initial zombie took to the streets, outside the church, leaving the two officers convulsing on the ground, in the process of transformation. The church was located in the city centre, with the city hall directly in front. All corners of this plaza were flanked by decorative trees. People passed by, behind the trees, with a police car in the corner, empty. Everyone on the streets continued as normal, unaware of what was happening in the church. They hadn’t even heard the shots coming from the church, as it was sound-proofed and, at that moment, the church bells were ringing. Nor did they realise that Father Martín had left the church running at full-speed. The zombie was greeted by blinding sunlight upon opening the front door. The first officer bitten had already risen to his feet in an erratic way. His partner was still on the floor, in the throes of transformation.
A parishioner tried entering the church and, without noticing the zombie, was immediately bitten in the jugular, leaving only a hunk of her neck and a stream of blood erupting from the wound. The zombie did not want to eat, so much as raze, destroy, and kill to the point of satiety. At that moment, another passerby took notice the situation, but did not blame it on a zombie attack, but rather a robbery or an act of aggression. He turned to the zombie and he bit off the fingers of one hand, ripping them out. The boy screamed in a frenzy, but soon became infected, fainted, and fell to the ground. Then the policeman came out, with a look of hatred in his reddening retinas and a pale and bruised complexion at the same time. An old man approached the church steps and received another zombie scratch. Another man approached the place to ask for explanations from the policeman, he rushed to his neck, while the other policeman stood as well. In a matter of seconds, half a dozen people were bitten, harmed, and infected in what would soon become an endless chain.
The rest of the crown ran in a panic upon seeing the copious amount of blood that had been spilt. While many had run away in a panic, there were still others who fell into the deadly trap for a lapse of judgement. Who would have believed, after all, that a zombie attack was underway and that these figures were the undead?
In a corner of the plaza was Andrés, a man of thirty years, just like any other who had been walking around that hot, July morning, quickly grabbed a mobile and nervously dialled the number to the police.
‘Police, what is your emergency?’
‘He… hello?! Police?!’
‘Yes, what is your emergency?’
‘I’m here in the plaza, and so
mething very strange is happening. Two officers are murdering people.’
‘What is that?’
‘Two officers are participating in a macabre spectacle by murdering random citizens!’
‘And where exactly is this happening, to send backup to the scene?’
‘This is Spanish Plaza!’ he then hanged up the phone.
The man stashed away the mobile and continued observing the infernal scene that was taking place. A woman that was passing by was grabbed by one of the officers, whose shirt was now bathed in blood. It did away with the woman, grabbing her by her blouse and biting at her neck, letting her fall to the ground, dead. The most shocking thing that Andrés had seen was how, after a small seizure, all of those that had fallen down, dead, had got back up, and continued grabbing others and biting their necks or arms. He thought that maybe he had been mistaken, that he wasn’t actually seeing what he thought that he saw, that such a thing doesn’t occur in nature. But, without a reasonable doubt, that was exactly what was happening. In an instant, he found himself completely absorbed in the commotion, falling back from the chaos, when he heard the sirens of the police cars coming closer. Only three minutes had passed and there were now over a dozen infected in the Spanish Plaza. Doubt and nerves took over everyone. Two police motorcycles arrived, blaring their sirens at one side of the plaza.
‘Officer! Everyone is fighting!’ An elderly man shouted, waving his arms frantically and nervously.
One of local police officers dismounted his motorcycle and turned towards the shouting, witnessing all of the people lying on the ground, blood, and the erratic creatures attacking innocent civilians.
‘Stop! Or I’ll shoot!’ the officer shouted, brandishing his weapon.
But one of his partners, now a zombie, began to shamble towards him. He did not that his partner was a zombie, of course.
Clearly, he had seen his partner kill or knock down two people, but he could not figure out why, much less why two other officers were doing the same thing: biting the bottom part of the jugular of their victims. Had they all gone mad? Why were others also doing this same, irrational action? Why was everyone else, one by one, scratching and biting upon reaching a victim?
The zombified officer shambled ever closer and finally grabbed his arm. How could he shoot his own workmate? Furthermore, he was too confused to fully gage the situation. The spectre of his former workmate shambled towards him closer, with a mouth full of blood, a blood-stained shirt, and a peculiar gait. The officer had no other choice than to shoot his leg, but the zombie continued slowly shambling toward the officer, with the bullet entering and exiting his leg. It arrived close enough, and took a big bite out of the officer’s forearm, with such force that it ripped out a big hunk of muscle. The officer felt a stringing pain, which was quickly tranquilised with the effect of the zombification. He let his gun fall to the ground. A burning sensation and rise of bodily temperature was all that was left before a spectre of what he once was laid on the ground. The zombification process was finally culminating. He was losing a lot of blood, his human life now ending. In a matter of minutes, while the chaos continued and more police forces arrived, the infected officer began to convulse on the ground and swiftly crouched upwards. He had died, and had returned back to life. He was now one of the infected, a spectre or zombie, however you wish to call it. He had converted rapidly, it couldn’t be helped. Everything was utter confusion.
By the time he got up, three more officers and a dozen civilians had been killed. Everything was very complex and diffused. No one could believe what they were seeing, the principle of belief was an attack of violence, but why? Nobody knew exactly.
The Spanish Plaza was now filled with corpses that later rose one at a time, and on the other side were onlookers who were following everything that was happening. And then there was Father Martín, who was hiding in the corner of the church, entering from the rear through the back entrance. He entered and began to pray.
‘Oh Lord in Heaven, blessed be Thee for returning the weak of heart back to life, and showing the non-believers Thy power. Oh Lord, thank you!’
Father Martín was now diabolically content with the events that were currently unfolding outside. After various experiments, he had finally succeeded in bringing the dead back to life. At first, his experiments had failed, perhaps because he worked with bodies that were too far decomposed. Though now, that had changed, and he saw not only how it functioned, but also how it spread, making him even happier. This was the only way to purge the world of sin, making everyone equal in the eyes of God. The shambling zombies didn’t harbour any petty thoughts. They were guided by the pure instinct to eat any who crossed their path. Truth be told, Father Martín began to act like a true madman with this line of thought. Though best of all, he truly believed that what was currently happening was a work of God. Outside, the battle between humans and the infected raged on, with the authorities being drawn into the commotion.
IX
The higher divisions of the local police had begun to arrive, in addition to ambulances and peacekeepers. Father Martín rewired the speakers of the church, opened its doors, and began to give the speech of the year.
‘Oh, my brothers and sisters, don’t be afraid of what life has to offer you. Do you not see how the dead are currently rising?’ His eyes had now become like glass in the darkness of the church, with a smile that stretched from ear to ear, showing off his perverted nature. Every instant that passed, he transformed more and more. He was not the same as he had once been.
The uninfected began to scream and howl like wolves at the sight of the gunshots and police sirens in the Spanish Plaza. The main doors of the city call were all swiftly closed for those taking refuge. Everyone within a radius of three hundred metres had been zombified. In one of the uninfected corners of the plaza, a gang of boys laughed at how cool the situation was, just like it always unfolds in the movies. But what was happening was real, though one of the boys believed that it was all an elaborate prank.
The zombies now began to shamble around the centre of the plaza, arriving to the La Pava de la Balsa Fountain, very popular in the city. The bullets were flying through the air, penetrating all of the infected but being ineffective. Nor did it even hurt, they were already dead. Some had abandoned the plaza and began to overtake the city, with some shambling down Conde de Aranda Avenue and others down Rey Carlos III Street, while a third group shambled towards the port, where the children’s park was located.
The elderly, police, children, women; the group of zombies was well varied. None of the armed police thought of shooting them in the head. The dead continued advancing and gaining terrain. Only one of the civil guards thought to shoot one of them in the head, and laid witness to how it fell and didn’t get back up. He observed it for a long moment, it was completely dead.
‘The head! Shoot the head!’ The civil guard shouted to his mates.
But at this point, there were just too many undead shambling the various streets of the city and attacking all of those who unwittingly crossed their path, with their arms extended as if reaching for something. Meanwhile, Father Martín continued praying and crying through his speakers. HALLELUJAH!
‘We need more reinforcements,’ one officer told to the officer at the other end of his radio. ‘All reinforcements here, we need to forma circle, expanding the circumference to various streets to contain the area.’
‘Many of them are escaping,’ the other officer at the other end of the radio replied.
‘That’s why, these are undead.’ The officer and his partner looked at each other, and though they believed that it was mad, they couldn’t ignore what was happening in front of their very eyes.
One of the doctors from the ambulance was caught by a walker and the zombification was almost instant. There was a seizure, the skin went pale, a strong, burning sensation from within, and finally peace. Another soldier of the dead with a yearning to bite someone’s jugular. Loo
king into their eyes one could only see darkness. It mattered not, however, for their prime senses were their sense of hearing and smell.
‘Michael, what is wrong?’ His partner asked him upon turning around and seeing this macabre image. However, he didn’t answer back. Only a bite to the neck.
But the worst tragedy took place in the children’s park.
‘I need all units to the Spanish Plaza district and all bordering streets. Be extremely careful, if you see anyone shambling, do not trust them, they are the undead.’
On the other end of the line, all he heard was laughter.
‘I repeat, I know that it sounds absurd, but it’s completely true. Shoot the head, the rest of the body is ineffective.’ For a long moment, there was only an ominous silence.
‘Very well, we’re on our way.’
‘Approach with extreme caution, and don’t let them get too close to you all. If they attack, shoot to kill. In the head, I repeat, shoot the head.’ Once again, silence took over, and he continued, ‘This is getting out of hand.’
At the children’s park three zombies began approaching, with open mouths and a dark liquid flowing from them; blood from recent bites that they had inflicted. Various officers, mounted on their motorcycles, had arrived just in the nick of time to the gates of the park, which was now full of playing children being minded by their mothers.
Infected, Zombi The City of the Zol Page 2