Infected, Zombi The City of the Zol

by Hernández, Claudio

  Diego, meanwhile, approached with a torch to the roof. Given the size of the corridor, he thought that it was a guarantee that they were now below sea level, in the bowels of the castle. What other secrets could this castle be hiding?

  Sebastián moved inwards, showing them the shelter.

  CXXVIII

  The pensioners had decided earlier that the carnival was not for them. They remained on their terrace, under the influence of the bright moon, with high cheekbones like soldiers ready to go to war, when they spotted a silhouette climb the slope that ended at their feet on the terrace.

  ‘Who is that?’ Peter asked, wrinkling his forehead which was now dripping sweat.

  John stretched out his head and his eyes seemed to leave their sockets, trying to make out the shape in the dark shadows of the night. With his hand on his eyebrows, he saw something moving, though heard nothing in particular.

  ‘Well whatever it is, it moves very slowly,’ he finally said.

  But by this point, a horde of zombies was starting to prey upon the residential area, with Akira Hins in the group, showing off her blackened teeth and odious eyes in the cold light of the moon.

  Her hands dangled with painted nails.

  CXXIX

  It was now nine o’ clock and Antonio, along with his brothers, opened the front door. Music exploded into the house, like old rockers practising their guitars.

  ‘Bloody Hell, that damned carnival music is loud!’ Antonio complained, moving his head back instinctively.

  ‘Better, there will be more people on the streets to pass,’ José noted.

  ‘But where there are people there will be more zombies,’ Antonio explained to José dryly, releasing his tirade.

  The group of men grabbed their blunt objects and locked the door from the outside. David, one of the brothers, but the smallest of the group, noted the sound of the lock.

  The street appeared completely deserted, with the pools of blood having dried, leaving visibly dark stains under the dim light of the moon. All of the brothers avoided the stains, fearing an infection.

  They crossed Anguilica Plaza and headed towards Vicente de Ruano Avenue. Right in front of the street there was a white wall that shined in the vain of night. Behind it was a tomato warehouse, closed to the public several years prior. Behind the wall, two cats meowed loudly, attempting to procreate in the night.

  Antonio stopped on the corner, perpendicular to J. Jiménez Ruano Avenue, which led up to the commuter train to the side of the abandoned Tápena warehouse. A bit further down the road was the Del Barrio Pharmacy. It was closed and a large fence concealed the glass doors. There was a drug addict collapsed in front of the door, and didn’t appear to be seizing. Antonio deduced that it wouldn’t have survived very long with him, with his bunt object in his right fist, which was now white at the knuckles contrasting with his burnt skin.

  To the left were a bunch of giant trees with large branches, as well as the various “mob” buildings in the neighbourhood. There was a buzz among the carnival music, what sounded like a shot. The sudden flash of light gave it away. Perhaps someone, or something, had just received a bullet in the head.

  Could it have been a zombie?

  Antonio beckoned to his brothers with his free hand. He walked cautiously and they followed him in a line without breaking the silence. They passed in front of the drug addict, but he didn’t move. Antonio wondered if maybe his heart had stopped.

  ‘Look,’ Antonio whispered without looking away. ‘I think that he is dead.’

  ‘It’s Balls I think,’ Jesús replied back. ‘I recognise that bald head, this drug addict lives on Green Steps.’

  ‘Is this Baller’s son?’ José asked, in front of him.

  ‘Yeah, that’s right… ’

  ‘What a strange nickname,’ Antonio joked. ‘With reason he has had such a hard life.’

  ‘There is also Pockmark,’ Mario added. ‘Yet he doesn’t have a singly blemish on his skin.

  ‘They seem to be all here,’ he said, continuing along, but noticing that something was missing. ‘Bloody Hell, I forgot my fags at home.’

  ‘I have one if you want?’ José said, stopping to dig around in his pockets. ‘It’s Winston though, I know that you only smoke Marlboros, but take it or leave it.’

  ‘Sure,’ he said with a rough voice that contained phlegm in his throat. ‘Hand it over.’

  José took out a cigarette from a wrinkled box in his pocket and extended a cigarette to Antonio. He took it and put it to his mouth with some nervousness.

  ‘Do you have a light?’ Antonio asked. Mario pulled out his F.C. Barcelona lighter and immediately let out a flame to light his cigarette.

  Antonio came in close to the flowing flame and contemplated the hellish colour emanating from the lighter. A second later, the smoke from his cigarette winded up into the sky in a tight coil, barely visible, but well perceived by smell.

  They continued walking towards the train tracks. There was an ominous silence that reigned throughout the area, except for the hum of music that reverberated off the buildings’ walls from the Parra Pass, very far from there.

  Their feet treaded lightly on the train rails leading to El Labradorcico Station. The bars were high and the lights were off. The train would be arriving at about nine thirty or so. Or at least, it would have the previous day as they crossed. At this point, it was as if Águilas were split in two: the ignorant and the ready.

  On the corner of Valencia Street, a zombie finally emerged from the shadows, formerly a fat man sans shirt. Its arms were flailing in the air as if looking for something to hold on to in order to avoid falling. In any case, it didn’t matter. It had a target. It had already smelled their blood and was guided by that scent.

  ‘Wait! There’s one right there!’ Antonio said, his cigarette lit in his dark mouth.

  All stopped, with their weapons at the ready, one after the other, as if they were playing some sort of game. The moonbeams lit the zombies disgusting gestures.

  Suddenly, the zombie began sprinting. It was something new that they had not seen the past two days. It was running and snapping its jaw with alarming speed. At one point, it seemed that its eyes glowed in the dark.

  ‘Bloody Hell! What is happening here?!’ Antonio stammered, flashing his cigarette in his lips. ‘Prepare yourselves, it’s moving quickly!’

  The infected ran towards them with its arms extended and its bulging belly dancing like a bag of water attached to the waist. They listened to its steps and the guttural noises it emitted from its dry throat.

  José wielded his blunt object with both hands, while his cigarette fell to the ground in silence. Mario did the same. In a matter of seconds, four fists waited with blunt objects in them, waiting for the zombie to approach. Though, to them, this was a different sort of zombie.

  A guttural roar was heard, something like a furious cat, with a strong stench that stung the nostrils of all of the brothers. When it finally came close, its fat body collided with the group like a bowling ball to bowling pins.

  The infected was still standing, and began looking at them with a strangeness in its eyes. It had a spasmodic twitch in its neck. What was it doing? Trying to decide? Thinking? It couldn’t be one or the other. It threw itself onto Jesús, trying to bite at his jugular. Both were now on the ground, with the blunt object having fallen out of his hands.

  ‘Antonio!’ Jesús cried out in despair, reaching over the noise of the carnival.

  Mario had also fallen to the ground, but still clutched his blunt object.

  Jesús could only protect himself with his elbows blocking the fat zombie’s mouth from his face. A disgusting mixture of blood and saliva brushed against his chin.

  Antonio, sans cigarette now, leapt into action and grabbed his blunt object. He raised his arms towards the heavens.

  Half a second later, he heard the first cracks of the fat zombie’s skull. The blood came out thi
ck like a honey. From there, grey matter also emerged from the zombie’s cracked skull. The zombie was beaten several times and, in each case, there was a crunch of bones. The zombie finally fell to the pavement, completely limp. The zombie’s belly was as full as a balloon of water. It was no longer alive, its mouth no longer snapping. But its eyes were still open, watching the cold light of the moon.

  Jesús got up, full of blood, grey matter, and fetid pus. He vibrated his hands rapidly as if there where thousands of insects crawling around on his body. Then he crouched over and vomited, his hand pressed against his chest.

  ‘They’re dead now!’ He shouted, spitting out saliva.

  CXXX

  The undead had finally arrived just as the party was getting started. The sound technicians positioned the computers close to the floats in order to have the music blast from the speakers. The first car, with heavy speakers on top began its journey; slow and tiresome, just like the zombies. Behind the vehicle were dozens of beautiful women that began to dance to the beat of the music, wearing their luxurious and creative costumes.

  All of the spectators at both ends of the Parra Pass, now concentrated near the auditorium, that is to say, the beginning of the parade, began to clap with eyes reddened by drunkenness. Everyone had been drinking traditional cuervas prior to the event.

  But they were among them.

  The old woman with white hair began to move slowly through the groups of people and parade floats. The other zombie was also shambling along, walking amongst the crowd that was preparing the finishing touches on costumes, the music already sounding like a string of explosions.

  ‘What has happened to María?’ One of the old woman’s companions asked.

  Her other companion of eighty years shrugged, holding a glass of cuerva.

  ‘She must already be drunk,’ she said, laughing. Both began to laugh under their white bonnets with blue edges.

  But the old woman did not survive the zombification process. Her heart had stopped, so she became a slow zombie that dragged her feet and adopted strange postures. The zombie opened its mouth, releasing streams of saliva and inhaling the sea breeze.

  Her companions danced with dreadful slowness to the rhythm of the carnival music, moving their hips plaintively and their swollen legs. They were quite rigid from the neck down, with the ladies taking a drink of cuerva from time to time, their old, grotesque faces laughing from time to time. They were all near eighty years old, all with a foot already in the grave, but this night they would dance, shying away from those morbid thoughts of death. However, death was waiting for them tonight. Well, as Father Martín would put it, life.

  María extended her hand under the broken brightness of the moon. She grabbed one of her companion’s hands. It was just that subtle. That was when it all started.

  The rickety Susana’s view was suddenly clouded, and she believed for a moment that she had perhaps drunk too much. She looked deep into the glass and found it empty. Plus she had naturally bad vision. Though, she suddenly felt a chill, and afterwards, a savage thumping in her gaunt and bony chest. Her face became pale, like a body in a coffin, almost resembling a skull. She became dizzy and her heart continued beating heavily. Her tongue began to hand from her mouth and the heart began to slow down. Her fingers began to contort and, in the darkness, she saw flashes of light. Her whole body began to convulse. She had converted into an infected.

  ‘What’s wrong with María?’ the same woman from before asked.

  ‘Don’t know,’ replied the other, again taking a drink of cuerva from her plastic cup.

  María continued to shamble amongst the crowd and grabbed another one of her companion’s arm. This was that of an elderly woman of nearly ninety years who could barely move. She believed that María would help her up to dance, but instead took her arm and bit her with force.

  The sudden pain rose from her toes to her shoulders and she quickly took way her hand with the speed of a spring that had been stretched for a long time.

  ‘María has bitten me!’ Those that were up above had seen the entire thing. There was a halo of fear amongst one of the float workers who looked into María’s eyes, realising that they were not the same eyes as before. Without having time to think, the ninety-year-old woman began to seize.

  Susana, the other infected woman, jumped from the top of the car just in front of the enormous speakers that buzzed like the engine of a plane. Several of her companions saw the event and were astonished to see an eighty-year-old woman jump such a height.

  What the Hell is Susana doing? She must be really pissed!’ One of her companions gasped out, picking up her own glass and taking a sip, touching her operated hip, probably made of titanium.

  Susana gave another jump, and this time to the ground. With frightening speed, she launched herself onto another one of her companions, a fat woman with breasts that hung down to her prominent belly, and bit her jugular. This led to a loud cry that rose above the music and a spurt of warm, red liquid. Susana licked the blood that spurted from her jugular while the other woman began to seize. She looked to the sky while her scream stifled.

  ‘This will show up in the papers!’ One of their companions commented, drinking her cuerva drink.

  All continued dancing and drinking, while the infected continued their mission.

  CXXXI

  A large portion of the zombies coming from the cemetery had already began their invasion of Calistros Pass, known as the cemetery passage. Slowly, but firmly, they began arriving to Juan Carlos I Avenue, which was the street parallel to the Parra Pass, longer than the entire city of Águilas. This was the main road that connected the entrance, known as Lorca Port, with La Colonia Beach, and the city centre that connects to the Spanish Plaza, city hall, the main port, and the children’s park, in addition of the San Juan de las Águilas Castle.

  Though, they stopped their march near the San Francisco Retirement Home; a grandiose, white building that was reinforced with bars on the windows and specialised security doors. Though, that night, it was open for any resident, accompanied by a nurse, to go out into the street to hear the music better coming from the other end of the city.

  Adriano was one of those who decided to leave to the streets, illuminated by the high street torches like palm trees, in his wheelchair, accompanied by Sebastiana, a nurse that was working on the night shift. The woman, rather short and stubby, had a serious grin on her face. Caring for the elderly was not her thing, especially the grouchy elderly.

  ‘Sebastiana, please take me to the pavement under that street torch. You know that I don’t like the darkness,’ Adriano said without hesitation.

  Sebastiana, without answering back, pushed the wheelchair to the specified area with a darkened gaze.

  ‘Is this place fine, Adriano?’ The nurse asked, with a firm voice that was both dry and hoarse at the same time. It was a pleasant voice, however, to Adriano, like a whisper that he was excited to hear.

  There were others that were draped in shrouds that looked yellow under the glow of the street torches focused to the ground. Others were dressed in strange suits sans crotches. Nothing could be seen there, as if the worms had already got to them and eaten them.

  Adriano lifted his hands and clapped, which insinuated a sort of joy and gladness that his aged and pale face, yellowed under the street torches, couldn’t be seen.

  One of the zombies, walking erratically and fast, looked at him with its empty sockets, and smelled blood. The zombie’s jaw began snapping, showing off a dark cavity towards its throat. It didn’t speak, only expressed itself with teeth. Its lips had disappeared in addition to what it should have had in its crotch, but it continued walking.

  Sebastiana looked hesitant, but didn’t blink. She thought that it was some sort of sick joke, as part of the carnival, and considered that maybe it was just some man in a dark coloured mesh that simulated a naked body. But this, naturally, was not the case.

  When it ca
me too close, to where the street torches focused, they saw with surprise that it really was naked with disgusting looking skin. It was violet in colour and had no belly. Only a large hole in place, and guts that hung from the interior. It walked towards Adriano, extending its scratching fingers, almost skeletal, scratching at the air. Sebastiana realised quickly that this was no costume. Her eyes went wide like two helium filled balloons.

  She let go of the handles of the wheelchair and Adriano, who was still smiling, was another of the thousands of victims of the past week.

  The zombie grabbed his face and opened its mouth, taking a large bite of Adriano’s tongue. The pain was pulsing and there was a shriek that pierced the music. Sebastiana, backing away from the event, showed off an air of fear under the cold light of the moon and yellowish glow of the street torches.

  Adriano couldn’t help but release a single cry that was muffled by the mouth of the zombie sans eyes. Blood splattered to the ground, but the zombie continued licking and eagerly drinking from Adriano’s bloodied chin. This same blood went down the zombie’s throat and spread to its non-existent stomach, spilling out from the ripped intestines.

  Adriano, now with eyes the size of saucers, opened his mouth full of blood and threw back his head in the wheelchair. He fell from the wheelchair and began to convulse, starting from his head to his hands, and finally his back. His bloody back that he could barely move anyway for the last ten years, but now he was arching it like a bow.

  The eyeless zombie began to move towards Sebastiana, where she was cowering in fear, too stupid to react. She began to whimper before realising that she should probably run away without looking back. She began, but stopped when she noticed Adriano getting up on his own accord.

  ‘But Adriano is paraplegic!’

  She began to run and run, moving into the shadows of the night and the rumble of the music.