Infected, Zombi The City of the Zol

by Hernández, Claudio

  CIV

  ‘They’re all over the place,’ Sebastián repeated in his nonplussed voice. ‘It sounds like they may already be shambling in the sewers and they may have already found the entrance at the top of the castle. Luckily, here we should be safe.’

  ‘Blimey!’ Javier complained, looking back to the ceiling. He was tired of crouching.

  ‘How do you know that we will be safe here?’ Diego asked him, visibly pale, even from within the shadows.

  ‘Because Hins A-Akila specifically ordered for this refuge to be built under the castle. The towers upstairs are just the top of the iceberg. Later, the reconstructions fortified these corridors and refuges during the civil war.’

  ‘That’s an interesting subject!’ Javier said, opening his eyes wider. With the tip of his burnt thumb, he lit the lighter again. The spark ignited the butane and the flame blew sideways, drawn by the faint stream of air in the corridor. Their faces brightened, like those of children sat around a campfire on a dark night.

  ‘Do you know if the priest has a book?’ Sebastián asked, lighting a match.

  ‘Yes, he did. It was a little black book that looks like a Bible. Why do you ask?’ Diego replied back, his voice sounding hoarse and tired at the same time.

  ‘Because if he had the other book, a brown book with a red place marker, the book that is bound in human skin, then that would be our undoing.’ He answered back, reaching the small flame to light one of the torches that was fastened to the corridor wall, beginning to burn furiously.

  ‘Where did you get that?’ Javier asked, perplexed by the torch that had just been lit. Here I am, burning my fingers with the bloody lighter, and the old man has matches and a torch the entire time, he thought to himself.

  ‘Show the man a bit of respect,’ Juan scolded.

  ‘It’s fine, it was my fault for not lighting it before.’

  ‘Returning back to the subject, what does this book have to do with anything?’ Diego asked, his voice now becoming harsher.

  ‘Well, as I had mentioned, there is a formula to the serum of life. However, there is a second formula…’

  ‘Of course! I had forgotten that there was the book formula and the King Hin A-Akila formula,’ Diego replied, smiling in the dim light of the torch.

  Sebastián raised an eyebrow.

  ‘Sorry for my ignorance, I can’t concentrate will with this hunger and thirst that I have, plus with the chaos happening outside.’

  ‘Well I am here now, to think for you,’ Sebastián replied back, blowing the match out that was now reaching his fingers. The red light of the torch managed to show off the very fine line of smoke that rose from the match.

  ‘Well the peacekeepers also said the same thing. They said that we would be in quarantine until further notice and that reinforcements would come soon. That was four days ago, and things appear to have got worse,’ Javier explained in a deep yet plaintive voice.

  ‘Well I do not know about that, son,’ Sebastián replied back, lifting his hand without touching the corridor ceiling, where they had been traversing for a long time. The moans appeared to sound louder, even over the ocean waves crashing against the castle wall.

  ‘I do not know about the peacekeepers, but water and food will no longer be a problem,’ Sebastián said, lowering his hands and turning around to face them.

  ‘This old man seems to be full of surprises!’ Javier exclaimed, licking his lips.

  Diego looked to him from the side, with his eyes falling on Sebastián’s wrinkled visage.

  ‘Sebastián? How long have you been down here?’

  Sebastián’s eyes widened like some snow-white marble eyes, his wrinkled cheeks swelling like balloons.

  ‘Several years,’ he replied back.

  CV

  Fátima all of the sudden had the urge to piddle, and made it known. Tomás said that all of the floors had come prepared with toilets, however, he didn’t believe that there was running water. The Moroccan woman said that she would descend to the ground floor to urinate outside, with Tomás making a morbid joke about the woman with the red panties who left the warehouse to piddle.

  Fátima has a straight line drawn to her lips, her eyes closed incomprehensibly. Sara offered to accompany her, as she also needed to urinate, even though it has been about two days since she had a drink of water.

  ‘There is running water in this building,’ Tomás announced after returning from an initial on-site inspection of the floors. ‘I tried turning the key to the faucets and water came out. Great!’ He exclaimed with a wet beard.

  Sara stood up quickly, taking the two children with her for a drink of water. The loo was in the centre of the aisle to the right. Until now, running water didn’t seem like a possibility. Now, they only had to worry about food.

  ‘Rosa, are you thirsty?’ Sara said, holding her hand gently.

  The child made a gesture with her head, her nose full of mucus, and her hair a frizzy mess.

  ‘I am also thirsty!’ Daniel said with a gasp, raising his small index finger while sitting on the floor.

  ‘Then come along,’ Sara said, smiling towards him. It had been two days since she had smiled. Ever since she pulled the child away from her biting mother, with the foaming mouth and strange convulsions. And that gaze…

  Daniel rose up like he was spring loaded and extended his slender arm. Sara took him by the hand.

  ‘It’s not very far. Two metres maximum,’ Tomás said, remembering that he still had the gun in his back pocket.

  Sara smiled once more and they had forgotten about Fátima, who had left the room without a sign of noise. She simply left and would soon regret it.

  CVI

  ‘So, dada, what do we do?’

  ‘We’re getting the Hell out of here, the sooner the better. Your mother, brothers, and sisters are still at home, alone.’

  ‘Yes, at this point I think that we need to return.’

  The gypsies began to trek back to their neighbourhood in the One Hundred Houses district. Santiago and Kickass’ women, who were both about seven months pregnant, departed with their father-in-law. They left the drooling corpses of their husbands behind, consoling one another. That would be the last time that they would be seen.

  ‘Now, Santiago and Kickass were both on the floor, with their head wounds oozing grey matter, blood, and puss. Their eyes were still open, under the auspicious August sun that was now in the centre of the sky.

  Mario was watching the entire thing with some compassion at the bottom of his heart. Suddenly, he heard a moan that snapped him out of his stupor. It was a zombie that was approaching from the corner, with inert arms that hung to its hips and a frothy mouth, open and baring its teeth like Santiago and Kickass had done.

  ‘Come on,’ Mario whispered.

  ‘Let’s go, now!’ Antonio announced, taking his father’s arm. ‘Come now, dada.’

  CVII

  Another car put on the brakes abruptly and, after a screech from the tyres, left a long residue of rubber behind. The skinny yet tall man had crashed against the windshield and flipped over the car. Through the rear-view mirror, the driver, a balding man with a scraggly beard, could see the man that he had hit, who was now rising from the ground.

  ‘Blimey!’

  He also saw the BMW driving getting out of his crashed car. He then realised that he must not have been the only one to crash upon seeing all of those elderly gents, children, men, and women shambling across the road. Some seemed to be moving faster than others, and a vast majority of them were dragging their feet on the asphalt, with their gaze lost somewhere else and not in the cars currently crossing the road.

  The balding driver came out of his blue Ford, breathing in the smell of burnt rubber and something that looked like rot. He moved towards the tall man that had approached him, moving its hip in a strange way.

  ‘What is this?’ The driver asked, as the tall and skinny man got up and be
gan to approach him.

  He received no response.

  He watched as others crossed the road, like a pack of uncontrolled livestock, something that greatly confused him.

  ‘Sir, do you need any help,’ he asked, turning back to the tall and skinny man.

  The man continued ceaselessly moving towards him, with no response.

  Suddenly, a young man of no more than seventeen years ran in front of the balding man, with jerky movements as if being prodded by a poker. He had his hands open, in the form of claws, and opaque, white eyes.

  ‘Blimey! Be careful little bugger!’

  As he turned around to see the other side of the road, the tall and skinny man had already reached him.

  ‘Sir, is everything alright?’ He repeated, when he finally saw the man up close. His gaze was disturbingly strange. He gave the man an in-depth look but was lost at the same time in the man’s look of ire. He was drooling from the corners of his lips. His upper body was naked and full of bleeding wounds. The impact against the windshield only left bruises, despite the fact that the windshield had been completely left shattered. Perhaps it was the fall and landing on the asphalt that changed his eyes.

  The balding driver grabbed the man’s arm to contemplate the wounds, but the tall man, who was still verbally unresponsive, gave out a growl, while bringing the man’s hand to his mouth.

  The sudden, sharp pain was unbearable, as the man also stuck his nails into his arm. The pain radiated from his shoulder down to his very toes. The blood surfaced from the wound, giving off its characteristic sweet smell, which the tall man began to lick anxiously.

  The balding driver’s eyes went wide like saucers, completely ignoring the chaos that had captivated him before. He began to scream in pain, but this cry soon became cackles of insanity. A cerebral infarction had happened to him in the middle of the zombification process, which could not be overcome. He was now a zombie. His watery gaze came to light and he suddenly had the desire to taste his own blood leaving his hand.

  Behind him, the blue Ford’s engine was still purring under the bonnet of the car. Looking back, there were now many zombies crossing the road and a new stream of cars began honking towards them, breaking the rhythmic moaning of the undead.

  From there, Akira Hins crossed the middle of the road, heading towards Virgencica, as it was known to the citizens of Águilas, only about fifty metres from the flea market.

  CVIII

  Fátima, ignorant to all of the chaos, went down stairs. She needed to piddle, and she wanted to do it away from everyone, and with this building of more than five floors, it wouldn’t be difficult. But she decided to go to the car park in the basement in order to piddle. She found herself in complete darkness, against a concrete wall, until she brushed against a familiar object. It was a light switch. At least, that’s what it appeared to be. Fátima had her quirks, but she wasn’t daft.

  With her finger, she pushed the rubber protector of the switch, which sounded with a click and suddenly dozens of fluorescent lights formed shadows that blurred around her. It was an unusual brightness, as he was not used to fluorescent lighting, but she also noticed that they had electricity in the building. How else would the crane be working, she thought to herself. She had seen it before entering the building, looming majestically over the building.

  After the flickering stopped, her face looked astonished at the floor. It was as black as a starless and moonless night, with many yellow-painted pillars that reached up to the size of a tall car. In the midst of all this blackness, where were also white-painted lines, painted with special phosphorescent paint.

  There was absolute silence, except for the hum of the fuses that powered the fluorescent lights, sounding like the hum of various mosquitos, bussing in unison.

  Fátima glimpsed all corners of this huge car park, though saw nothing strange.

  Slowly, as if someone were watching, she began to take off her shoes, planting her feet in the hard, concrete floow, and a minute later, she was behind one of the car park pillars. She lifted up her dress and bent down, she had not been wearing panties. Her puddle of piss was now very large under the darkness and fluorescent lighting. Fátima noticed that the urine began to slide down her leg, reading one of her slippers. The smell of her urine rose in the empty air of the car park.

  When she had finished piddling, she rose up without cleaning her vagina.

  She felt around a bit with her bare hand, for the wall from where she had hidden was dark. Without a switch to press, she began to put her slippers back on, but this time with normal speed, her arms extended, making use of her memory and coordination.

  One of her hands touched another pillar that hadn’t a light switch. Though, it did have a blood red guiding light.

  They were reference points and, finally, she saw at the end of everything, a white light from where the fluorescent lights were. It was an abandoned torch, with straight lines and dust floating around the beam of light.

  Fátima walked towards the light, this time guided by the red LEDs that had been installed in each pillar of the car park, and finally managed to reach the entrance of the car park, touching the electric light switch and a few bags of cement. From there, she could see the entire Deportes Street, and saw the shambling zombies. There were two zombies that were limping along, walking down the street next to the rubbish bins where they had originally seen them. Fátima thought that they would be safe, with the metal fencing surrounding the property, but she was ignorant of what would really happen.

  Suddenly, the weak meow of a kitten caught her attention. She turned her head and saw four small kittens with what appeared to be their mother. She saw the mother cat jump behind the cement bags, noticing the big pair of balls. Then it must have been the father of the kittens.

  Fátima turned her gaze to the street again, but now there were no zombies outside. The street was now free of those contorting undead. With a wide smile on her dark face, she bent down to play with the kittens, saying nothing. They had sharp little claws that dug into her hand. She particularly liked the cinnamon coloured kitten, and thought of bringing them up to the fifth floor with the children.

  When suddenly, she felt a different scratch on her fingers. Was that the cat? No. She turned to her right and saw it. It was a zombie in the form of a woman with a very pale complexion and a drooling mouth. It had reached its hand through the window of the basement and scratched her with its nails.

  Fátima dreadfully opened her eyes and wanted to scream, but she didn’t. Instead, she took another look at the zombie and realised that it was missing an arm and was bleeding profusely. Fátima began to feel tiny pinpricks from the scratch leading to her heart. Upon reaching her heart, it began to beat rapidly, finally slowing down. She was transforming into something, with her fingers beginning to twitch and take strange, contorted forms. Her fingers became claws and her face shook looking through to the sun.

  Her neck twisted and her vertebrae cracked. She began to quickly walk back towards the entrance of the building without looking back. She was transforming, but tried to remain resistant to the infection, though could suddenly smell blood. Without holding onto the railings, she rushed up the stairs without fatiguing, each time with more urgency. She removed her hijab, throwing it to the ground, revealing her dark, greasy hair.

  Up above, Tomás was waiting, who had been sat next to the door, listening to the convulsions and moans that increased in volume, and the jumps which came even closer, like the pendulum of a clock that hits midnight.

  Fátima rose much quicker every time, and her groans turned into screams. She came to the door with, with an outstretched hand that resembled a claw, pushed it with force.

  Tomás was already waiting there, with his finger on the trigger of his gun.

  CIX

  ‘Yet, there are many more things to be said on the subject,’ Sebastián said, turning to the longer corridor lit bu the fire flowing from his torch that he h
ad lit. He walked a bit further inside and scratched the head of the match against the ceiling, lighting the phosphorus flame.

  ‘But first we must protect ourselves,’ Sebastián interrupted himself with a tired voice.

  ‘Sebastián, allow me to light the torches,’ Diego offered from behind.

  Sebastián held out the box of matches while his lit match burnt to the middle.

  ‘Hurry up then, take one,’ the old man pressured.

  And then, without lifting an arm, he lit the torch which bursti into flame like a bonfire soaked in petrol.

  ‘Did you soak these torches in petrol?’ He asked the old man, with a reddish face from which the shadows danced off.

  ‘Do you smell it?’

  ‘No, these torches are impregnated with citronella oil. It is also good for repelling mosquitos.’

  Juan looked at Diego, and Diego at Juan.

  Javier was staring at the ceiling, his forehead nearly stuck to it.

  ‘It seems that none of you have ever heard of this oil,’ Sebastián complained.

  ‘No, it seems that we are not as smart as you are,’ Javier said sarcastically.

  ‘Enough!’ Diego shouted for a moment, the moaning from outside filtering in through from some place.

  ‘You should probably go looking for the rest,’ Sebastián said, turning his head to the group with a straight line on his lips.

  Álvaro turned around and went back to retrieve the others. He hesitated upon hearing the moans that seemed to be closing in from the top of the castle, with a heavy heart.

  As he walked back down the long, wet corridor, he stopped hearing the waves as the moans from up above became stronger, thinking that the clumsy undead had finally found a way into the corridors. They wouldn’t be hunched over like they were, though he throught that it would be funny to see that. But no, they would most likely begin crawling on the grown. Though, if they did find the entrance, how long would it take for them to find the group? A day? Two days? A few minutes? Álvaro recalled how complicated the labyrinth was to navigate, so it would be difficult for the undead to find them. He also began to think about food and water, when he was struck with a spell of dizziness.