Infected, Zombi The City of the Zol

by Hernández, Claudio

  ‘Hins A-Akila kept his best secrets down here, out of the hands of the Turks and the Berbers. It was here that he gave life to his first greatest army captain, Mohand…

  XCVII

  The pensioners watched the crowd march in a row towards the supermarket, which was clearly visible from their terraces.

  ‘Is this some sort of procession?’ Peter asked.

  ‘Perhaps it’s part of the carnival?’ John replied back.

  ‘But the carnival isn’t until tonight,’ Peter said, furrowing his now reddened forehead. ‘And look how they walk, like they have no balance.

  John gasped.

  ‘Could it be a group of drunkards?’

  ‘Possibly.’

  Then they finally saw these people, like ants without balance, beginning to attack people in the supermarket car park, as the rest ran inside for cover.

  XCVIII

  Father Martín, again, spread his hands outwards under the relentless summer sun, staring at his followers with a watery gaze and that same, stupid grin that was on his face. He, again, had his bloodied Bible in one hand and the large, golden cross in his right, which shined in the sun as well as lit the great, gaping hole in his chest. There was nothing left inside, except for the carnage of dark, rotting meat and a few broken ribs. There was also the left side of his lung, but it stood there motionless. Father Martín did not need to breathe anymore.

  Neither did Father Guillermo, Father Isidoro, the acolytes, nor the nurses. All of them had been injected with the serum of life. The new life that that violet serum gave them paralysed all of their organs. They didn’t react as they did before. It was like a spell. Although they were rational, they still continued rotting. Though, depending on the serum created by Hins A-Akila, some could remain mummified for centuries, with skin dry as a husk and watery eyes that showed rage. They were still opaque, but with a different sort of shine.

  Hin A-Akila could have been hidden under the city of Águilas since the 11th century, but that didn’t seem all that possible. Father Martín already reeked of rot, and the others began to putrefy as well, though they continued digging up the bodies. Some of them, only bare skeletons, could not be revived, as they have no veins nor circulatory system in which to carry the serum throughout the body.

  Father Martín wanted to be eternal. He managed to find the first book of Hins A-Akila, but not the second one, which would give him eternal life. Regardless, he and his entourage had at least a year before their joints began to detach, beginning from the jaw. As was the case for the irrational zombies, they would walk around until they completely rotted away. Though, if so much as a finger was left on the ground, it would still move like a worm.

  It was now four in the afternoon, and between them they had already dug up and pulled out ten corpses from their graves. A few dozen corpses now hobbled around in both the new and the old cemetery, separated by a high wall and small passage.

  The date of death was important, as the most recently deceased were apt to walk as they still had their kneecap. The older corpses were full of worms and dried blood that settled at the back of their limbs after having laid down in their coffins for such an extended period of time.

  In spite of their condition, however, they received the serum of life. Their eyes convulsed and vibrated under their eyelids, until they opened them in the ephemeral sunlight of that August sun.

  And then, they found her. Her name was Akira Hins, and she was special. With a large hammer, they broke open the stone that shattered into three pieces in a thunderous clap, and the coffin was opened. There she was.

  Akira Hins descended from the family of Hins A-Akila, but she had only discovered it weeks before her death. But there she lay, dressed in white mink and her hair messy around the coffin pad. Her lips and eyelids were painted black, as well as her nails, all requested prior to her death from cancer. It was a strange request, but she had always enjoyed life. She accepted her illness with courage and optimistic, until one day she saw what she thought was a medieval monk. It was then that she realised that she was on the brink of death. She put on the black makeup the night before she died and refused to have it removed after she passed.

  Father Martín’s eyes could not apart from her. He raised up his right hand, with the syringe dripping with the serum of life, and plunged it into her neck gently. The blueish liquid entered her veins and it took less than three seconds for her to begin to convulse and open her eyes again. Though her eyes seemed to be brighter, greyer, and shinier. Her skin turned pale, almost as white as flour, and the first traces of decomposition turned blue.

  She opened her fingers and leaned against the edge of the coffin, standing erect as if she had been pushed up by a spring. She did not drool, but neither did she speak. She seemed different from the others. She seemed to be more compulsive, and reacted quicker. Her neck creaked like a box full of bones and her mouth opened. At first, it seemed as though she were inhaling air, but only to articulate a few groans and nothing else.

  That’s when she saw it. She watched as all the walkers wandered through the cemetery, and saw Father Martín’s penetrating eyes, and his stupid grin that seemed to be decomposing. Pieces of peeling flesh were beginning to hang from his face and forehead.

  Akira Hins, who was originally known as Rosa López, her real name, had awakened with an unexpected frenzy. Her body began to move exactly like that of a contortionist moving fast, with a terrifying scowl on her face.

  They were all ready now.

  The slow and irrational zombies that only pursued the scent of blood, and infected, who were rational yet decomposed at the same rate as the others. Then there was Akira, who, uniquely being infected prior to death, have faster movements and a brighter look.

  XCIX

  Antonio dropped his hand, which was now like a mallet, holding that brick that splintered Santiago’s skull. Blood spurted from the breach, splashing the ground. After the blood came a thicker, grey puss. Antonio raided his hand and dropped it again, this time a bit stronger. Then, after hearing the sound of a cracked nut, Santiago’s eyes turned upwards into their sockets, showing two opaque balloons that shined in the sun, with an intact mouth. Without a single grunt or moan, Santiago fell limp to the ground, in his own puddle of blood and puss, like an old tree crushed by a storm.

  ‘Rest in peace,’ Antonio whispered, throwing the brick to the side of the pavement. His father, from a distance, waved his hand. Despite everything, even after having turned around to avoid the scene, he managed to catch a glimpse of the entire scene.

  José and Mario moved their bricks around in their hands, ready to strike Kickass. He moved around, drooling, fuelled by pure instinct. His mouth opened and closed, making a rhythmic noise under the hot, August sun.

  ‘What had happened to Kickass?’ But Mario’s question faded in the air. Kickass was still convulsing, but his movements were slower.

  ‘Haven’t you ever seen in the movies about zombies? I thought that zombies were faster,’ José said, with his back to the sun.

  ‘Kickass has already been infected,’ Antonio explained. ‘Plus, they are not very fast, the movies suck…’

  ‘Well then…’ José said, glancing to his side towards him.

  ‘You’re right, bro,’ Mario replied back.

  Then, Kickass got up, with his hands twisted like deformed claws, rushing against them, wearily and slowly, yet erratically. Mario’s brick crashed into his skull.

  C

  Sebastián led them down the dark, dank corridor that led down the hill. As they advanced, with their heads down, except for Sebastián, who was a hunched old man. The air was cooler and there was a small stream of air flowing through. This kept everyone cool.

  ‘How can you even see here?’ Javier joked from behind Juan. ‘Does anyone even have a lighter?’

  Juan rummaged through his pockets and found his inseparable lighter. He didn’t know why he carried it around, but it was alway
s there. Maybe it was because his nephew had given it to him. When he remembered it, he was hit by a heavy wave of nostalgia and sadness. In the dark, his face went serious and almost began to cry. He wondered what had become of his sister and nephew now. Where they now one of those creatures?

  ‘Here,’ Juan barked, moving his arm back and forth with the lighter in hand.

  Javier took the lighter anxiously and lit it.

  ‘The roof is damp,’ Javier said. ‘It is dripping and everything.’

  ‘No surprise there, we’re at sea level now,’ Diego explained, following behind Sebastián.

  ‘At the end of this labyrinth there are a few exits that lead to the old sewers of Águilas,’ Sebastián explained in his weary voice that barely echoed in the passage.

  ‘God! We can escape from just about anything!’ Javier said with a gasp, holding the lighter in the air. From the small flame came strange shadows that danced on the ceiling of the corridor, very dilute and diffuse. His face was now a round globe on which shadows danced.

  Álvaro, who was behind him, shook his head.

  As they advanced, they listened to the ocean waves growing stronger, the snarling of the rats, and something else. There was a panting and grunting.

  ‘What could that sound be?’ Javier said, stopping and letting all of the light from the flame lick his eyes, which were now as wide as saucers.

  ‘Apparently, they have found the entrance,’ Sebastián said, pausing for a moment to turn around. The hump on his back was now much more prominent, making him unable to stand up straight. He stooped low from old age.

  ‘Bloody Hell!’ Javier shouted, the air he exhaled blowing the lighter’s flame about.

  ‘But we are safe in here. There are more tunnels and corridors that will take us out of here. Specifically, to Hins A-Akila’s shelter.’

  ‘Blimey!’ Javier shouted, cutting him off again and blowing about the light. His thumb began to feel warm on the lighter. ‘Well, it’s logical, it’s Águilas’ history.’

  The women and the rest of the tourists stayed at the entrance of the new tunnel. It was brighter there and they weren’t sure to continue or not. Álvaro told his wife, Carmen, to wait behind until they returned back.

  Suddenly, there were groans and moans coming from the top of the tunnels, certainly from the highest parts of the castle. The zombies must have followed the scent of blood from the entrance and crawled through the castle labyrinths.

  Right now, they were all surrounded on both sides, and could only hope that no surprises awaited them.

  Javier was missing his rifle. He had left it behind with his wife, Susana, and thought that squeezing the trigger there would leave such a loud echo that even the seagulls outside would be frightened off.

  They stopped suddenly, and Javier had burnt the tip of his thumb on the lighter. The little yellow light faded like a stream of fresh air.

  ‘They’re all over the place,’ Sebastián said, quietly. Diego began to sweat and Juan became nervous. Álvaro’s guts began to grumble like a chainsaw.

  They all looked at each other in the dark and listened carefully. But most importantly, listened.

  CI

  The creatures shambled under the auspicious sun of that Saturday afternoon. The weekly market was still packed with people and the supermarket, which was about a hundred metres away, was where all the chaos started.

  A thin-looking woman with short, blond hair and sunglasses wearing a black power suit slipped one euro into the car park toll. Her ticket was released and she could leave. On her right shoulder, there hung an inert white bag with a golden buckle that sparkled in the sun. Suddenly, she felt a jerk to her back.

  The woman clung to her bag and squeezed it tightly. She thought that perhaps someone was trying to steal her bag, but when she turned around and removed her sunglasses, she saw the little girl there.

  The little girl couldn’t have been more than seven years old. Her arm was extended to the woman with the palm up, flat and pink, like a freshly washed hand. The woman looked at her closely and felt a twinge of compassion for the child.

  ‘Is everything okay, little girl?’ The woman asked in an English accent. ‘Are you hungry?’

  The little girl followed her with watery eyes, and that was when the woman saw them. It hit her like a hammer to the chest, she thought that she might have been experiencing a heart attack.

  ‘What is wrong with your eyes? Are you blind?’

  The little girl did not respond, her hand still outstretched, palm up, like an open flower.

  The woman put her hand to her breast, trying to relieve the sudden pain that she felt upon looking into that little girl’s eyes. She did not look human. Suddenly, the girl, taking hold of the bag, opened her mouth and showed off her tiny yet perfectly spaced teeth. From her mouth began to pour the saliva and her eyes suddenly became furious, with an unreal hate for such a young child.

  The woman’s heart, after that sudden shock, began to beat wildly. At first, she thought that the little girl was blind, but she seemed for epileptic than anything. Despite the heat of the day, the woman felt a chill run down her spine.

  ‘What is the matter, little girl?’

  Suddenly, she looked up and saw a crowd of people running towards the supermarket. Some of them seemed clumsier than the others, like they were walking on legs made of rubber.

  Then, the girl’s hand reversed and made the form of a claw, letting out a moan through her trachea.

  The woman, looking back to the girl, who could barely reach her waist, leaned back with her hip against her car. She thumped against it, and the car, after a moment’s hesitation, began to slide back a metre or two. While the woman watched her car, she suddenly felt a sharp pain in her right wrist, and felt a hot fluid surge from it.

  Now her heart fell down below her guts and began to beat in her abdomen. The watery-eyed little girl had just bitten her and had a piece of her flesh in her teeth, with fresh blood dribbling down her chin, trickling like droplets to the ground, where it finally coagulated.

  The woman began to experience the pangs of death. Suddenly, everything went black, light became unfocused, and all images in front of her turned into a blur. Now, the girl was just a silhouette in the silent sun. The people around them began to scream and, with the shouts, she heard grunts and rhythmic gasps.

  The woman’s heart began to slow down when she had been infected by the girl, until it came to a full stop. But she continued seizing on the ground, and she suddenly was overcome with the smell of blood.

  The woman had now turned into a zombie.

  The little girl spat out the hunk of meat that she had bitten out from the woman’s wrist and joined the ranks of the other zombies who were now arriving to the supermarket. The woman, now with narrow, opaque white eyes, began to get up and shamble towards the supermarket entrance.

  There was another handful of undead droolers and walkers outside that made their way to the Águilas weekly flea market.

  The first one infected was an old woman, who was flung several metres in the air like a rag doll when she was flung from the terrace of her block of flats. The zombie landed on the asphalt in a sonorous crunching of bones, landing on the road in front of a BMW, which drove off the road and into a tree on the lawn of an abandoned house.

  The airbag exploded in the driver’s face, giving him a sharp pain that stretch from his face to the collarbone. He couldn’t move, however. He began cursing from inside his vehicle.

  The old woman who was flung from her terrace began to rise, making strange bodily gestures with her arms now contorted backwards. She began to wobble with every step she took. The old woman’s head was laying on her left shoulder and she was missing an eye that had been left on the pavement.

  The driver of the white BMW opened his eyes like saucers, thinking that he was hallucinating.

  ‘This isn’t possible!’

  The old woman began shamblin
g towards him, dragging her feet slowly, as if all of her joints were rigid and sealed. All around her there were new undead walkers that were crossing towards the flea market, some shambling slowly, some sprinting. They were some of the first infected, who hadn’t died during the zombification process, making them more furious and faster.

  But no one knew of this, except for Sebastián, the old man who had been hiding the secrets of the castle.

  CII

  ‘Did you see that?!’ Peter asked excitedly, pointing his index finger towards the white BMW that shined in the sun.

  ‘I did!’ John replied, opening his hand and bringing it to his forehead to shield his eyes from the sun, trying to increase his visibility. A stupid custom, nonetheless.

  ‘That vehicle just crashed into the tree!’

  ‘I know!’

  ‘We could hear the accident all the way from here!’

  ‘But where are the police?!’

  ‘True! It has been awhile since I have seen a single patrol car or security guard here or there!’

  ‘The civil guard? What of them?’

  ‘There seem to be a lot of people crossing the road.’

  ‘But why are they walking so peculiarly?’

  They could see the chaos from Geraneos, meaning that it was only a few hundred metres away.

  They would also be besieged by the undead army.

  Soon enough.

  CIII

  ‘Pity that you are so slow,’ Father Martín lamented, watching the dead rise from their coffins. Those who became infected and survived through to the zombification process were much more agile, but they were few. ‘This is why I will need you all to help.’

  ‘Amen!’ Father Guillermo exclaimed, folding his hands, palm to palm, like a monk.

  The cemetery was about a hundred and fifty metres from the flea market.

  Akira Hins had already taken off.