I Zombie I [Omnibus Edition]

by Jack Wallen

  The Zombie Response Team retreated…the mission a success. Heavy footsteps greeted me from below. I stepped away from the gun and hopped back into the bus. I expected Jamal to nearly take me down into a crushing hug.

  Horror took me down instead.

  One of the ZRT members stood over Jamal, a military-grade first aid kit in hand.

  I raced to the front of the bus. “What happened? Jamal, you okay?”

  He groaned.

  The soldier looked to me and shook his head.

  Jamal’s leg was propped up—a gaping bite wound stripped away the joy at seeing his beautiful face.

  “No!” I shouted. The singular word was followed by a mind-bending wail that dropped me to my knees. My body convulsed under sorrow’s weight. It wasn’t until Rondo had me by the shoulders that the sobs gave way to a brief silence.

  “Fry,” Rondo shouted.

  The word, or rather its meaning, failed to register.

  Rondo gave me a shake. “Gerrand,” he shouted.

  Understanding finally caressed my consciousness. I scrambled for my phone and immediately dialed Morgan’s number. She answered quickly…I offered nothing in the way of pleasantries. “Is Fry ready?”

  Silence.

  “Morgan, is Fry ready?”

  It was Gerrand’s voice that answered. “Yes, Bethany. Why?”

  “What’s the grace period between salvation and sin?”

  Somehow, Gerrand fully understood my question. “I have no empirical evidence to prove this, but my best estimate is between one and two hours, tops.”

  “We’re on our way to your location. I need you to be ready for us…immediately.”

  “Understood.”

  The call disconnected. I stood and turned to Rondo. “Go.” My voice was laced with the threat of violence. “University of Utah. Now.”

  Rondo turned to the driver and nodded. The bus retreated from the square and turned back onto the main road.

  The driver glanced into his rear view mirror. “Anyone know how to get to there from here?”

  I didn’t bother waiting on the myriad responses that would inevitably rise from the crowd. With phone in hand, I opened Google Maps and offered a quick prayer to the tech gods that it still worked. Slowly, the local map appeared and the campus came quickly into view. We were within twenty minutes of our destination. Give or take ten minutes leaving the war zone, we still had thirty minutes to spare—given worst case scenario.

  It was time. Time for Gerrand to prove his worth and his loyalty.

  Time to save Jamal.

  I slowly made my way to the bus seat that held my darling love. When my gaze fell upon him, sweating profusely and panting hard, I could feel the process of my heart, once again, breaking.

  “B-dizzel.” Jamal faked a smile.

  “J-dub,” I returned.

  An awkward silence drifted into and out of the moment.

  “This fucking sucks,” Jamal said through a grimace of pain. “I read I Zombie I, I know what happens now. The confusion, the rage, the noise. I already have enough noise in my head as it is.”

  I leaned in and placed the palm of my hand against his cheek. “What happens now is you get dosed with Fry and that goddamn virus is burned away.”

  “That doesn’t sound even the slightest bit pleasant.”

  “Beats the alternative.”

  Jamal closed his eyes and moaned…long and loud.

  “Oh, shit, Jamal.”

  He snapped his eyes open and smiled. “I’m just fucking with you, B. I’m still very much here and very much in love with you.” He sighed deeply. “I believe that would be the biggest tragedy of all.”

  “What?” I asked.

  “Never knowing your love again. I can’t imagine that Moaners and Screamers enjoy such frontal-lobe pleasures.” Jamal sucked in a deep breath. When he exhaled, his brow furrowed and his eyes closed against a completely different pain. “Bethany, I want to ask a favor of you.”

  “Anything, Jamal.”

  “If I turn…I don’t want you pulling the trigger. Your heart wouldn’t stand up to that a second time.”

  “Jamal,” I started.

  “Promise me, Bethany. I don’t want to take that burden into the pale. Let Rondo or Josh do it. Please.”

  I swallowed against the grapefruit-sized lump in my throat and nodded slowly. “Promise.”

  “Thank you. Now, if you don’t mind, I’m beat.”

  Rondo leaned in and handed me a green wool blanket. I spread the itchy fabric over Jamal, hoping it would ease his trauma-induced chills.

  At least I hoped it was nothing more than trauma. His jaws clacked together and a cold sweat bubbled to the surface of his flesh.

  Rondo looked back to me. “Almost there.”

  I dialed Morgan’s number again. She answered quickly.

  “We’re almost at your front door. Where are we going…specifically?”

  Morgan gave us detailed directions. I relayed them to the driver and, within five minutes, we arrived.

  Josh and Morgan met us at the front door, a wheelchair at the ready. Rusty scooped up Jamal and swiftly carried him to the chair. Josh turned Jamal and started wheeling him to the entrance.

  Not a single word was shared. The moment was far too important for small talk. Knowing how it had happened seemed so trivial in this particular now. We rushed to the end of the hall and came to a halt before a bank of elevators.

  “Fuck,” I whispered.

  Morgan turned to me. “What, Bethany?”

  “I hate elevators. I have ever since Munich.”

  The color washed out of Morgan’s cheeks. “Oh, crap, B, I forgot. If you want, I’ll take the stairs with you.”

  I held up a hand and nodded. “It’s okay. This negates whatever neurosis has decided to rear its ugly head at me. I’m okay. I promise.”

  We boarded the car. The walls didn’t close in on me and zombies didn’t pour from the ceiling. Josh pushed the button for the correct floor and the car started the ascent. For whatever reason, I expected some disastrously ironic muzak version of Anti Flag’s “This is the End” to pump out of tinny speakers.

  The elevator came to a stop and the doors opened. I quickly spilled onto the floor, thankful to have made it without a single flashback to a completely different tragedy.

  Josh wheeled Jamal out of the elevator.

  I glanced at my watch…twenty minutes remained until our chances fell into the who the fuck knows category.

  I fell into lock-step with Morgan. She pushed Jamal quickly through the maze of halls. We finally arrived out our destination…a surgical theater.

  Gerrand burst through the stainless double doors.

  “We’ve taken every possible precaution into consideration.” Gerrand nodded for Josh to wheel Jamal through the doors. I started to follow; Gerrand blocked my attempt.

  “What the fuck, doc?” I demanded.

  “I’m sorry, Bethany. We have to maintain a certain level of control. What Jamal is about to go through…well…no one should ever witness.”

  I clutched Gerrand’s arm in the tightest grip I could muster. “You never mentioned anything about him suffering.”

  Gerrand jerked his arm away. “You never asked.”

  I pushed my way past Gerrand and turned before stepping through the doors. “If you think you can stop me from being by Jamal’s side, you clearly have no idea who you’re dealing with.”

  The door closed behind me. I caught up with Josh and snatched up Jamal’s hand. When he looked up at me, my heart threatened to nose dive into my vagina and onto the floor. His eyes were dark and shallow. Life and joy seemed to have seeped out his pores.

  We went through another set of double doors and stopped in a room.

  A room without a view.

  A room that brought back a round of very vivid and hateful memories for me.

  A word broke free from memory and lodged itself into my frontal lobe.

  Die.

>   Jamal squeezed my hand. The touching gesture was all I needed to be brought back into the present—away from the makeshift hospital room in New York.

  Gerrand stormed into the room. “Help him onto the table and strap him in tight.”

  I stepped up to the doctor, close and maybe a bit too personal. “That won’t be necessary.”

  Gerrand brushed me aside. “Oh, but it will. Otherwise, he very well might hurt himself.”

  “What do you mean by that?”

  Once again, he addressed me with an offhanded tone. “We don’t have time for this. Either step out of the way, or understand you might well be the difference between your friend living or dying.”

  I complied.

  Josh turned to Gerrand and nodded.

  Gerrand stretched a pair of blue nitrile gloves over his smallish hands. “Jamal, are you with us?”

  Jamal nodded.

  “I must warn you, young man, this is going to be quite unpleasant. You will first feel a prick and then your body will be flooded with agony. It won’t last long, but while it does, you’ll probably rather be dead.”

  “Your bedside manner blows,” Jamal whispered.

  Gerrand pulled a syringe from a rolling cart and plunged it into a vial. Slowly, he drew the amber liquid in. The tension in the room thickened to a pasty fog with each passing CC. Once the needle was sufficiently filled with Fry, Gerrand tossed a glance my way. I nodded. He turned to Jamal.

  “Here we go,” Gerrand said with kindness as he inserted the needle into the crook of Jamal’s arm. The plunger depressed so slowly, it seemed not to budge. Time must have opted out of the moment.

  I couldn’t stop staring at Gerrand’s thumb as it barely moved.

  Gerrand finally completed the motion and withdrew the needle.

  Jamal looked up and smiled. “That wasn’t so…”

  Before he could complete the sentence, his body snapped upwards, into an arch. His hands and feet strained against their bonds. The muscles in Jamal’s neck threatened to rip free from their structure.

  A gurgling buzz spilled from Jamal’s mouth.

  “What’s happening?” I shouted, and started for Jamal’s side. Gerrand stopped me from moving forward.

  “I warned you, Bethany. Fry is burning away the infection. His body temperature is spiking higher than it’s probably ever been. The only concern is to ensure the fever doesn’t last; otherwise we risk brain damage.”

  The buzzing sound deepened and morphed into a frothy moan. His body jerked against the restraints once, twice, and then he froze—stuck in a time-stopped arch. The room fell completely silent. Not a breath was heard, not a word was uttered. The three of us stared on as Jamal represented the St. Louis Arch painted in pain and suffering.

  The silence was broken by a hiss. From Jamal’s mouth, a rush of steam rose. As the teakettle symphony continued, Jamal’s body slowly lowered back to the table. Once returned to a more normal physical state, his breathing smoothed out and the nightmarish soundscape faded away.

  Gerrand held up his hands as if to say Aren’t I amazing?

  “What now?” I asked in soft reverence.

  “We let him rest. He’ll make it.”

  I turned to face Gerrand. “How can you be so sure?”

  “Because he didn’t die. Anyone able to survive that should survive anything.”

  I stepped in close enough to place a loving hand on Jamal’s chest. The only thing that mattered in the moment was feeling his heartbeat.

  And there it was…just below the surface, beating an arrhythmia that was simultaneously comforting and disconcerting. A percussive two-four jazz thumping softly within the cage of his ribs. Above all else, he was alive.

  I turned to Gerrand, my eyes wet with tears and wide with wonder. “You did it. Fry really works.”

  He offered a simple, humble nod.

  Without warning, I wrapped my arms around Gerrand’s neck and planted a kiss on his cheek. “Thank you, Doctor. Thank you from the bottom of my…”

  “Bethany?” Jamal’s weak voice called out. I pulled away from Gerrand and stared into his steely gray eyes. He nodded his approval and I turned my attention to the man of the hour.

  “I’m here, baby.” I grabbed Jamal’s hand and gave it a squeeze.

  “Am I awake? Or am I dreaming? I don’t think I’m dreaming because I don’t smell cotton candy and you’re still wearing clothes. So yeah…I suppose by simple deductive reasoning, I’m awake. If I’m awake, I must be…”

  I leaned in and kissed Jamal’s lips. “Alive.”

  He smiled. The expression that launched a thousand ships in my heart.

  “Hell yeah.” Josh’s deep voice surprised me from behind. When he dropped his beefy hand on my shoulder, I reached up and gave it a squeeze.

  “What next?” Gerrand asked.

  I turned to face the doctor. “When can he be moved?”

  He raised his eyebrows and nodded. “Immediately. Fry defeats Mengele by effectively switching it off—it’s almost binary in nature. The second the serum burns up the virus, the process is complete. He’ll be weak, but that’s it.”

  I faced Josh. He offered a curt nod. “Round everyone up. We’re going to head out as soon as we can load Jamal into the bus.”

  In a graceful silence, Josh spun and exited the room. I stepped in close to the bed and undid the restraints.

  “Maybe we could take those with us and use them for…you know.” Jamal attempted a smile but failed.

  “Save your strength.” I winked. “You might need it for later.”

  “That’s my B-dizz.”

  twenty-six | it comes to this

  The bus ride away from the university held a certain celebratory ambiance I hadn’t expected to hear for a very long time. The sound was deliciously welcome. Cheers, shouts, and hoorahs. Most importantly…Jamal’s laughter. Gerrand was right─he was a bit worse for wear, but alive and kicking the ass of the undead simple minds.

  His head leaned onto my shoulder. “Thank you, Bethany.”

  “For what?”

  “The shootout at the not-so-okay corral. Those were some serious mad bastards back there. They had this Rob Zombie meets Tony Todd as realized by George Miller shtick going on, and it was one step away from Jamal being the main course at the Jumbo Cannibal Buffet.”

  “Seriously? Cannibalism? Goddamn it.”

  Jamal jerked up. “Wait, maybe that part was in my head. There was blood, and a serious lust for death.” He shook his head as if trying to free a trapped memory. “It’s a bit foggy. I’m sorry, B.”

  Frustration raced across his eyes and down to his lips. Gerrand hadn’t mentioned anything about keeping Jamal calm. Nevertheless, the last thing he needed was to get worked up after nearly joining the graveyard ghouls.

  The bus downshifted and slowed.

  “What the fuck?” Rondo asked. “Did we leave some of those degenerates behind and alive?”

  Jamal stood and leaned forward, his right hand hovering over his eyes to block the glare. “No. They don’t look the part.”

  Standing a block away from the bus, a small crowd of men and women stood, motionless. Various weapons were brandished—guns, bats, machetes.

  Rondo stood. “Why aren’t they moving?”

  Rusty stepped forward. “You want me to light a fire under their asses?”

  “Good idea. Lock and load.” Rondo stepped aside.

  The driver swung the exit door open. Rusty snapped his fingers and five of his best men fell in line.

  Rondo grabbed Rusty by the arm and spoke with a quiet severity. “We don’t know these people. Only use force if it is an absolute necessity.”

  Rusty nodded. “Yes, sir.”

  Without a sound, the men disembarked, weapons held in a submissive position. There was nothing threatening to be garnered from the slow, steady march forward.

  The whole of the bus crowded the front quarter, pressing flesh against flesh to get a front row seat to the show
of shows. Jamal laced his fingers into mine and squeezed…hard. I returned the gesture until he squealed like a little girl.

  As Rusty approached, the crowd of strangers didn’t budge.

  Red motherfucking rover.

  Rusty gesticulated calmly at first, but gradually grew more animated until he finally confronted the stranger nearest him.

  And then…hell came out to play.

  Bats rained down in a fury of chaos. The sharp rattle of gunfire thumped against the otherwise silent landscape.

  One by one, the strangers dropped. Before Rusty’s crew could take them all down, the tide of war shifted and the team was forced to retreat.

  “Son of a bitch,” Rondo shouted. “They’re drawing them to us.”

  The driver grabbed the handle for the door. Rondo quickly wrapped his fingers around the driver’s wrist and shook his head. “We leave no one behind.”

  “Fuck!” the driver shouted. “What if those bastards get on the bus?”

  “Then they’ll die.”

  Out of the corner of my eye, I spotted Gerrand opening up a small box. I was about to protest when Rusty crashed through the entrance, shouting an endless stream of profanity at the top of his lungs. The next three men entered unleashing similar fear-fueled cries.

  Before the driver could manage to close the bus door, the first stranger entered.

  I stood.

  We locked eyes.

  My mind swam back to Rip Vanity’s Arise concert and the zombie clone of Jacob Plummer. I could see the same vacant stare in this stranger’s eyes. A spark of recognition flashed across the thing’s face.

  He mouthed my name and then walked forward…toward me.

  In some odd transfixed state, everyone watched as the thing stepped further into the bus, not moaning, not screaming…just walking, as if the moment was another day in another park with another guy named George.

  Before anyone had a chance to react, the remaining ghouls boarded the bus. As if a switch was flipped, the strangers raged out and attacked. Growls and Screamer-like screeches bounced off the metal walls of the bus. Blood and shouts flew across the cramped battle field. Because of the close quarters, no one dared draw a gun. Friendly fire was the last thing we needed.