Infected, Zombi The City of the Zol

by Hernández, Claudio

  ‘Blimey! This castle has so much history and many, many curiosities!’ Álvaro exclaimed with an unusual gleam in his eyes. ‘But now, it is our stronghold that protects us from the creatures out there.’

  Diego stretched his legs and briefly yawned.

  ‘I could tell you more, but my memory fails as, as I have read all of this in a book written exclusively to tell the tale of this castle.’ His knuckles touched the burning ground again, and now there was no sound at all. It was as if the solid rock were swallowing up every single hit.

  ‘Well what you have told me has surprised me greatly,’ Álvaro said, stretching his legs.

  ‘And now I am trying to determine a way for us to escape from those creatures without going out the front door,’ Diego explained.

  Suddenly, there was a clap. A dry one, but rhythmically perfect. It was Juan, who had been listening to Diego the entire time. His hands finally stopped and he approached them, sitting down while complaining about his back and knee.

  ‘Correct, we have to find a way to escape from those beasts down below,’ he stated.

  LIV

  The plump man, two women, the little boy, and the 5-year old girl left their hiding place in the warehouse, where they had been for a day and a half, and began walking down the high street towards the city centre via Jiménez Ruano Avenue.

  ‘Come on then! Hurry!’ The man cried out, moving with such haste that would have been seen as unfit for someone like him. Hand in hand, the women and the children began to quicken their pace with every explosion and gunshot they heard. Calafria Street and, more specifically, the central plaza, otherwise known as La Aguilica Plaza, was only three metres away. They kept their distance since leaving the warehouse and were heading towards “Green Floors”, another marginalised area occupied by Moroccans, Romanians, Senegalese, and other immigrants.

  After leaving the warehouse, at twenty metres away, and after crossing the train tracks, two more shots were heard, but they did not stop. They already knew what would be happening a few streets further. The same thing was happening in Green Floors, with neighbours biting each other and falling to the ground, only to rise up again with a dreadful slowness in their gait and a change in their gaze.

  The woman in the red panties had been left in the warehouse, on the damp floor.

  They knew what was going on, and they had figured that things would probably be fine in Barcelona Street, but it wouldn’t be for long. There was still much more to see, so much.

  ‘Come on! Quicken the pace!’ The plump man exclaimed again.

  LV

  In La Aguilica Plaza, in the centre of Calafria Street, things were becoming increasingly ugly, and the sun was already threatening to set. Time was passing way to quickly for everyone, well, except for the undead.

  Alberto, another one of Ángel’s children, punched a zombie in the face. Its gaze only turned slightly. A blow to the face meant nothing. It was necessary to crush its head, though Alberto felt a certain sense of compassion for the creature. It was his childhood friend, with whom he had been playing card the previous day. Though, he noticed that this was no longer his friend. His eyes were not the same, and the blood on his body did not bode well. It was also full of deep wounds that did not stop bleeding, and the creature emitted a stench that Alberto could not identify. Still feeling that his friend was there, Alberto gave the creature another punch, but with the same results.

  ‘No, not with your hand! With a club, stupid!’ His brother Jesús cried out, watching from the doorway, spotting his neighbours who were no longer his neighbours. ‘The police warned everyone to shoot in the head!’

  But Alberto had no club nor knife with him, let alone a gun. His family had considered getting a gun, because of the violence and robberies in the One Hundred Houses district, but he always had his children there to defend him, without the need for a firearm, yet now he felt the unsettling need to have one. Both he and his father, Ángel.

  The zombie who was once Alberto’s friend opened its mouth, now full of blood a broken set of black teeth and a lack of tongue, began to growl at Alberto. His real friend would never do such a thing. Running out of ideas, Alberto hit it again. This was no longer his friend, but rather something else. It was a zombie, even if Alberto didn’t recognise such a word.

  With his fists closed tightly, forming a mallet, he dropped his fist, with relentless fury, on the zombie’s skull. There was a loud crack and he noticed that, upon withdrawing his fist, something was happening. Perhaps the skull had been fractured, or perhaps the neck bones or clavicles had responded to the hit, but in any case, the zombie stopped and staggered backwards.

  ‘Sorry, mate,’ Alberto said, with his voice cracking and his eyes watering.

  At the other end of the centre, Father Martín was still smiling at the young officer who was now becoming paler while still holding his weapon in his now very shaky hand. His feet were also trembling, and his vision began to blur, seeing figures, like a freshly painted portrait that had become doused in water. He began to feel a burning in his oesophagus, which ended in a bitter and rough taste that had settled on his tongue.

  The other officer glanced at Father Martín as he shot at the zombie’s foot. The bullet had gone erratic thanks to the priest’s distractions, seeing the bullet go right through Father Martín’s chest. He had seen it directly, the shot, followed by a line of smoke in the barrel of the gun and the priest’s cassock, directly in the chest. He hadn’t seen too much blood, though, but it was an obviously deadly wound. Though, the bloody priest was still standing, he thought to himself. He already knew this. He had heard something on the intercom a day prior, from his work mates that had died in Spanish Plaza, but he had never seen the priest. Faith and belief were now being crossed in his feverish mind. He was laying witness to many things that he had not seen before.

  And while he was confused, thinking, and looking at Father Martín with a frown on his face, he suddenly felt a sharp pain in his back. A zombie has snuck up behind him and bit him in the back of the neck. Blood began to drip down his back, soft and warm. Then, there was another sharp pain in his right leg. He looked down to see another zombie pegged to his leg like a disgusting tick. The officer squeezed the trigger and the bullet whizzed through the air and into the zombie’s skull. He fired again and again, but soon felt something inside of him, changing.

  LVI

  ‘At the very least we’re going to die from disgust up here,’ Javier said, with his rifle resting in his hand, watching as the sun, much larger than before and terribly red, began to set behind the mountains.

  ‘Thank you for being a rock in these hard times,’ his wife, Susana, said, with a look in her face that expressed her dismay. He rose from the floor.

  ‘No one is going to die,’ Juan said, his eyes bright as embers, caused by the reflection of the twilight rays of sunlight.

  Álvaro remained silent. He kept his distance from Javier, and although he had sympathy for Susana, maintained it. Things had always been bad between the two, and given the state of things now, there was no time for reconciliation. Álvaro kept his distance.

  Diego looked, again, towards the sea, now with a much darker tone in the indefinite distance. The water was no longer blue, but a terrible, tenebrous black. The swell continued its rhythm in an indefatigable way, like when a heart beats, except the waves of the sea never stop and hearts eventually do.

  The zombies, however, had no heartbeat, but continued on anyway. They were still down below, waiting, and were now perilously surrounding the castle. The San José and San Felipe strongholds, which were located to the east of the mountains, facing La Colonia Beach, were fairly low to the ground and interior access made them unsafe options, in addition to still being under renovation.

  Things were soon to get worse.

  LVII

  ‘You are now one of us,’ Father Martín said, with the same stupid smile on his face. The sun was now an enormous red
billiard ball, half set and hidden behind the mountains. The sky was also a deep red, spreading outwards into the dark blue night.

  Time, much like the polices’ bullets, was running out. The two officers who were still alive inside their car, could only wait helplessly as they no longer had bullets. Their eyes were as wide as plates, knowing that they would soon be dead. Now there were more zombies that had spread into the neighbouring streets, like La Cabeza del Caballo, Calabardina, and José Largeteau Street.

  ‘Stay here in the house!’ José told his five sisters. ‘We’re in for a long night, a very long night.’

  He was not wrong.

  LVIII

  The pensioners had now settled into their homes. The day was over and their skin was no longer bronzing. Both pensioners said goodbye, with a brief “See you tomorrow,” and disappeared behind their wooden, white painted doors. This was the third day of the infection, though they were still unaware of what was happening in Águilas. The gunshots were still being confused with fireworks. Tomorrow is the carnival, after all, they thought in unison.

  Tomorrow would be eventful, very eventful, naturally.

  Father Guillermo and Father Isidoro, of Carmen Church were arriving.

  Prelude

  Part Three

  Night had arrived in Águilas, but the zombies never rested. They continued shambling without direction, focused in certain parts of the city. Anyone left alive in these focal points were well hidden, with their eyes peering out their closed windows. Those who followed him, those with their entrails dragging behind them like long chains that produced no noise, continued.

  The infection still hadn’t reached the last zone of the city, where the people were still sleeping peacefully, preparing for the carnival the next day. Diego and Juan were still formulating a plan of escape from San Juan Castle, where they, and the rest, were still trapped. Things would become worse very soon, as new zones throughout the city were being overcome by the slow-shambling zombies. Father Martín was no longer alone; at his side were Father Guillermo and Father Isidoro, in addition to his alter boys, to whom he had injected with the serum of life. Diego, in addition for helping formulate a plan of escape, listened attentively to the rest, searching for ideas to survive the maelstrom of zombies.

  Because one thing was certain, they were aware of the zombies now. It was in the 11th century, when the Turks and the Berbers were attacking the castle that protected the Al Ándalus zone that King Hins-A-Akila saw his army being defeated. He united his Templars and he revealed to them the serum of life, which would bring his army back to life. Afterwards, the king had injected himself with his own serum.

  Part Three

  The Serum of Life

  LIX

  The sun rose, as it always does, from behind the mountains, facing the sea, from Geraneos. The pensioners were already stretching out and relaxing for another day. The temperature at dawn was a modest twelve degrees, which would gradually rise to thirty by midday. Águilas had the peculiarity that it possessed a microclimate, something that pensioners love.

  Though today would be quite jubilant for tourists arriving to the Águilas Carnival, the Northern Health Centre was quickly filling with people with purulent wounds, all shuffling into the waiting room. Some of them had the corners of their mouths drooping, with a thick mixture of saliva and snot, and their eyes were showing off a yellowish tone.

  Naturally, they were people that had run into the zombies on the beaches, near the port, or in the One Hundred Houses district. The gypsies from the One Hundred Houses district arrived to the health centre in droves, with fear that there was something in their bodies, such as a flu virus or something else strange. They had all witnessed their neighbours biting anyone that crossed their path and saw their opaque white eyes like puss and teeth full of blood. A father said that this was a flu pandemic and that they should make their ways to the Northern Health Centre for vaccinations.

  ‘Let’s go then, we need to be vaccinated!’ The father was panting with this cane held high, his protruding belly concealing a belt with a golden buckle.

  Hidden behind the windows, gypsy men guarded their homes near the windows with long blades while the women and children hid themselves behind their sofas and under tables.

  In the One Hundred Houses district, gypsies and whites lived harmoniously. The Green Floors district, where the Moroccans and Romanians lived, had already been blessed by Father Martín, with the district being taken over by the zombie plague the previous afternoon.

  ‘Let’s go to the centre,’ the father announced, lowering his bronze-handled cane and striking the blood-stained ground of Calafria Street with a clack.

  ‘We’ll be fine, won’t we?’ A young gypsy man asked, with a slight beard and the longest nose that anyone had ever seen.

  ‘We’ll see,’ the father replied back, pursing his dry lips under his immense, grey moustache.

  The young man shrugged his shoulders and continued along with his razor-sharp knife that morning in August, the day of the Águilas Carnival.

  One by one, the men began their trek towards the Norther Health Centre, while keeping an eye out for any strange movement that could happen around them. There was a copious amount of blood spilt on the road. It was dry now, but there were no bodies on the blood stained where they should have been. Only bloody footsteps. The women and the younger ones followed the father throughout the journey in silence, avoiding making eye contact with the ground. The path to the Northern Health Centre, however, was clean. The zombies had not yet passed through here. Though, they were concerned that the zombies could be hiding as they progressed little by little.

  What they did not know, however, was that the nurses at the Northern Health Centre had the serum of life in their possession, and were also carriers of the virus.

  LX

  Javier was stroking his rifle under the first rays of sun that began to hit that morning. Diego and Juan had spent the night snoring, side by side, lying inert on the floor in one of the San Juan Castle’s corridors, along a stone wall. Javier had not slept very well that night and began to count the stars, listening to the interminable moans of the zombies in the lower part of the castle, in addition to those who were already making their way to the tower entrance.

  Álvaro sat in the corner all night, exhausted. It had been three days and now, without food or water, his body was beginning to feel the pain. At one point, while fastening his trousers after peeing, he witnessed his brother-in-law, Javier, caressing his rifle in the darkness of that miserable night, like a man possessed, making it harder for him to fall asleep. He hated him. Susana and Carmen, however, fell asleep holding hands, under the breeze of the sea that hit the wall of the castle rhythmically. The others also slept.

  The only ones who did not sleep were Javier and the zombies.

  LXI

  Father Martín was on his knees before the great image of Christ in the San José Church, with his golden cross held between his fingers, which were now blue and wrinkled. His smile had a malicious air, with his eyes showing in the darkness with a great intensity.

  Father Guillermo, with his dark eyes, stood behind him, with a Bible in his hands, with his violet sash hanging around his neck like a great snake. He was whispering the same words that Father Martín muttered, watching the wooden image of Christ with his white eyes and a look of concern. His head tilted and drops of blood brushed his cheeks, though the drops of blood fell not to the ground.

  Behind him, Father Isidoro sat in one of the pews with his head lowered, his vision blurred as if there were a veil before his eyes, but his gaze was still quite penetrating regardless, just different from that of regular mortals. His cassock dragged against the recently waxed floor of the Church of Carmen. Unlike the others, he was speechless. His lips had been sealed by what appeared to be a dry mucus. His skin was as pale as the candles that had been lit on the rack behind him.

  The three, led by Father Martín, h
ad had an interesting encounter. It was all about catching ignorant people and injecting them with the serum of life that Father Martín kept hidden under his cassock. Father Guillermo began to speak, a bit heated, then paused. Father Isidoro also came to lecture. Though, after a few convulsions, and narrowed eyes that sank into their sockets, they had become his new servants. The altar boys with whom he had started had had their skulls crushed already, though the other priests were helpful looking for other humans, not to eat, but rather to infect.

  ‘Father Martín, I have something to say,’ Father Guillermo stated, receiving Father Martín with open arms, unaware of his now blueish skin.

  ‘What is that?’ Father Martín replied in a grave and solemn voice, as planned.

  ‘I hear that the dead are rising, walking, and spreading a plague.’ Father Guillermo looked towards his hands, then added, ‘What does all of this mean?’

  ‘Oh! Well, nothing that isn’t true,’ Father Martín replied back, so close to him that, behind the sleeve of his cassock, fastened with three fingers, he could insert the syringe into Father Guillermo’s skin. He felt a slight puncture, put a hand to his forearm immediately, and moments later, began to seize and foam at the mouth.