APOCALYCIOUS: Satire of the Dead

by K Helms

  Nan ran to Foster and threw her arms around his waist and he wrapped his long thin arms around her shoulders “It’s alright now, darlin’,” he whispered soothingly.

  With Nan gone, Mia ran to Mick and he gently rocked her trying to comfort her as she cried. He ran his hand over her long smooth black hair and kissed her forehead.

  They stayed that way for some time before, eventually, leading the girls out to Foster’s old flatbed Ford. Mick saw that Foster had loaded all of his camping gear along with weapons and tools. He instantly realized just how fortunate he was that the rugged handy man was his dad.

  They slid into the truck, Mia sitting on Mick’s lap and Nan sitting in the middle and leaning on Mick and Mia for reassurance. They drove deeper and deeper into the wooded hills of West Virginia’s mine country.

  It looked like it was going to be a white Christmas with more snow on its way but Foster thought that it would be forever stained in crimson.

  Chapter 13 - Attrition

  Parkersburg, West Virginia

  Drew Finley arrived at work just like he had every day for the past five years. His short cropped hair that was held immoveable by massive amounts of gel was black and looked wet as if he had just stepped out of the shower. His forehead shined in the fluorescent lighting with a thin film of grease that he could never keep from reappearing. He immediately headed to the Supervisor’s break room where he would meet one of his female coworkers.

  Amanda Currington was another boss, and like Finley, she was also on the fat and sloppy side. Her moon-pie face was dotted with acne and then coated with a thick layer of makeup that made her face a different color than her pale neck. Drew knew she wasn’t an attractive woman, but what she lacked in looks she made up for in her inventiveness in the bedroom. Desperation had compelled her to participate in every deviant act he wanted to try. She didn’t mind getting slapped around or choked or tied up, in fact, she actually kind of liked the whole rape scenario that he most loved to play with her. When Amanda was at work though, she was notorious on the floor for treating her employees like they were a sub-species. She talked down to them as if they were children in an orphanage that had to be dealt with firmly, and Drew marveled at how different she was when it was just the two of them.

  As he entered the plush break room he immediately knew that something was wrong; Amanda was there waiting for him like she was every morning, but her makeup wasn’t and without it she looked like she had the measles. Her normally neat appearance in the finest designer clothes had also taken the day off; in place of the latest fashions were old flannel pajamas and expensive running shoes; which she clearly had never worn to a track or upon a treadmill. Her eyes were wet and had a haunted quality to them. Drew felt his penis begin to swell at this sight and locked the door behind him. He walked over to where she sat and unzipped his fly. Normally, she would have attacked his manhood like Kobayashi at the Nathan’s hotdog eating contest, but today she just looked up at him. He liked that look. Scared, weak and vulnerable was his bread and butter.

  “Hey,” he said expectantly.

  She slowly looked down at his throbbing manhood. “I don’t want to…”

  Drew smacked her in the face cutting off her negative response. “I’m not asking you.”

  She looked at it again and he smiled as she obeyed.

  It didn’t take him long to finish, that being the hottest thing he had witnessed in a long, long time. As he stuffed the still slightly swollen member back into his pants he looked at her appreciatively. “Thanks, Baby, that was spectacular.” He noticed that she hadn’t taken the time to tidy herself up after he had finished and a frown crossed his brow. His tone softened and he gently picked up her chin with the hand he had just used and left a slick of her own spit on her face. “Are you alright, Mandy?”

  She shook her head.

  “So what’s the problem?” he asked her.

  “My mom….” Her voice trailed off and he waited a moment, leaning forward expectantly for her to finish her sentence.

  “What about your mom?” he asked, raising an eyebrow impatiently.

  She faltered for a moment then continued, “She attacked me.”

  “What? Attacked you?” he asked in surprise. “That old bag must be ninety.”

  She nodded slowly and began crying again. “She bit me,” she said and pushed up her sleeve to show him her arm. He felt himself recoil; the wound had already scabbed over and didn’t, itself, look that bad, but the red lines that ran from its point of origin did. They ran through her vascular system and where they should have been that typical light blue and barely visible, they stood out in a shade of deep maroon against her orange, spray-tanned flesh.

  “When did this happen?” he asked, and removed his hand from her face.

  “This morning, about three hours ago.” she replied almost vacantly now. It seemed that as the seconds ticked by she was becoming more composed and he vainly attributed it to the supernatural healing qualities of his seed. Amanda probably would have disagreed.

  He thought back on how light traffic had been this morning and there had been a lot more wrecks and emergency vehicles than normal, but he was too busy to be stopping to see if anyone needed help. He seemed to have a faint recollection of the morning news about some new flu virus or something. He had the television programed to turn on as his alarm clock, but its purpose was to wake him for work not for actual viewing. He grabbed the remote from the long, mahogany meeting table and thumbed the ‘on’ button to activate the large flat screen that hung on the wall. When it came to life he switched the channel button to the local news.

  On the screen, Police Chief, Tom Harmon, was being in front of City Hall. Finley thought he saw that there was blood on his pressed blue uniform. He glanced back at Mandy for a moment and noticed that she was lost in her own little world; he returned his attention back to the tube.

  “Martial Law is being enforced at this time until further notice. The public is ordered to remain in doors at all times. Securing all doors and windows is of utmost importance,” said the chief as he wiped a white handkerchief across his forehead. He continued, “The National Guard has been alerted and will work to contain this threat. If someone you know has been bitten, they are to be presumed as infected. If you encounter one of the infected do not engage unless it is necessary. If this is the case, you are to dispatch the victim by ‘decapitation’. You have to cut off their head,” the chief reiterated.

  The camera shifted to an equally disheveled reporter. Claire Fontaine had been a staple in the Parkersburg local news for the past few years and Drew remembered her well from their earlier interview and he was sure that she remembered him too. He had seen the way she had looked at him and he was sure that she wanted him. Most women did, he thought.

  “So to be clear, chief, these are zombies, correct?” she said, swinging the mike back under his chin.

  The Police Chief frowned and replied “Miss Fontaine, we are not making any speculations as to what exactly this incident is, or about how widespread this phenomenon might be. I’m simply giving your viewers necessary information and nothing else.”

  She swung the mike back to herself and asked, “Is there any other information you can give to the public?”

  He looked at her sternly as she swung the mike back to him. “Yeah, go home, lady, before I arrest you.” he said to her for about the fifth time today, then turned and stormed back into the Municipal Building, flanked by two uniformed cops carrying shotguns and wearing riot gear.

  Mitch filmed the Chief’s retreat then panned the camera back to center on Claire. “Well you heard Chief Harmon; stay off the streets and stay inside your homes; this is Claire Fontaine for Action 7 news…back to you, Chip.”

  Finley clicked the ‘off’ button and thought in silence for a while. He put a firm hand on Amanda’s shoulder. “Come with me, baby,” he said, and roughly helped her to her feet.

  “Where are we going?” she asked groggily.

/>   “I have to quarantine you for a little while, but I’ll be back,” he assured her, leading her from the office, down the stairs and into a walk-in freezer. She didn’t resist him.

  “Where are you going?” she asked.

  “I’m going home for a few things, and then I’ll be back.”

  “What if someone else shows up for work?” she asked

  “I’m going to shut the gates behind me; they won’t get in.” he said, then shut the freezer door behind him and left the factory to go find an axe.

  Chapter 14 - Claire Fontaine, Signing Off

  Parkersburg, West Virginia

  “I hate cops,” Claire Fontaine said, more to herself than to Mitch Rodriguez, her camera man; or Mitch the bitch as she liked to refer to him. She was still fuming about how the Chief had treated her. He had no idea who he was dealing with. She stared into a mirrored compact as she applied a fresh coat of red lipstick.

  “Maybe he told us to get off the street for a reason, Claire,” said Mitch as he maneuvered through the wreckage of the Parkersburg disaster area. He swerved to miss a burning mini-van and Claire shot him an irritated look.

  “I am trying to put on my makeup, you idiot.” She rolled her eyes then continued on her previous rant. “Why don’t you two just go ahead and make out the next time we see him?”

  Mitch maintained his cool like he had for the past eight months of working for the camera-loving egomaniac and continued, “Seriously Claire, look around, there are dead people walking around and eating living people.”

  “I am aware of that, Mitch, it’s called the News. That’s my job, to report it. Your job is to do what I tell you to do and I am telling you to go to Jefferson High School.”

  “I’m not sure that I am comfortable filming a bunch of kids being slaughtered by homicidal corpses. It seems a bit unethical,” said Mitch sarcastically.

  “Would it be ethical to keep the public in the dark about the dangers of venturing outside?” said Claire spinning her angle.

  “Claire, you don’t give a damn about the public. You only care about getting that contract with Action 7’s sister station in LA,” he said in exasperation.

  A small evil grin crept onto her lips. “If you don’t like your job, Mitch, I can get another piss boy for half the pay.”

  Mitch knew that it was true and he also knew that his wife and two daughters counted on his pay check to pay the bills. He wanted nothing more than to be home with them tonight and to make sure they were alright, but he had called them earlier to make sure they stayed inside and locked the doors. He told them to stay in the basement and cover the windows too. He would be home as soon as possible. Sooner, if Claire didn’t shut her big mouth.

  “Look Mitch, the sooner we get this over with the sooner you can go home and protect your girls,” said Claire softening her tone.

  Mitch knew exactly what she was doing; she was working him. He had seen it a hundred times before. Claire Fontaine knew how to get her own way whether it was by complaining or complimenting; psychological games or simply unbuttoning a couple extra buttons on her blouse. She used the gifts that God and plastic surgeons had given her regardless of if it was for un-Godly reasons or not.

  Mitch wheeled into the high school parking lot and slid to a stop. The snow and slush was refreezing and covering the plowed roads and parking lots with a thin layer of ice. He slammed the gear selector into Park and viewed the scene through the windshield.

  Cops ran after pedestrians barking orders but there seemed to be a lot fewer of them now. Mitch heard gunshots in the distance and from, perhaps, as close as the next block over. He watched as parents frantically screamed their children’s names in desperate searches and he felt his heart go out to them. He saw children running in helter-skelter patterns screaming in panic and pain, and then there were the disquieting guttural groans of the dead as they called to their comrades, alerting them to where the food was. Fires burned sporadically from overturned vehicles and leapt from windows of working class homes. If there had ever been a glimpse into hell, then this must surely be one and Mitch was stepping into the pit of his own accord.

  “How’s my hair?” asked Claire, gracing him with her most dazzling smile. He wondered how someone as beautiful as her could be so damn ugly at the same time.

  “Shut up, Claire,” he said, exiting the Action 7 news van.

  She smiled and muttered under her breath, “You’re such a fag.”

  Mitch slid open the side cargo door and retrieved his camera then slammed it shut, while Claire grabbed her wireless microphone and inserted her earpiece. She scanned the perimeter like a general plotting her next maneuver then stood with her back to the area with the most carnage to the left of her shoulder. “Make sure you get a panorama of this mess. Focus two to three seconds on the cop screaming, then cut to the kids; zoom in on their faces so the audience can see the fear and make sure you get plenty of the dead, then slowly pan to me and hold until I tell you.”

  Mitch swung the heavy camera onto his shoulder, adjusted the zoom and did as he was told. “Fifteen minutes, just fifteen minutes,” he muttered to himself. He followed her instructions to the letter; flinching even as the camera didn’t and then panned to Claire and held.

  “Good evening, this is Claire Fontaine reporting to you from Leland Avenue in Parkesburg, West Virginia. The destruction is clearly evident tonight as local law enforcement and emergency personnel are working diligently to ensure public safety.

  “Earlier this evening Chief Tom Harmon issued a stern warning for unauthorized personnel to stay off the streets, but I believe that you, the viewer, have the right to know exactly what your community is facing. At roughly ten twenty-five yesterday morning the first reports of the deceased raising from the dead began filtering in. I have personally interviewed several officers and city officials that have told me that the only way to permanently kill these reanimated dead is to shoot them in the head, decapitate them, or to cause massive blunt force trauma to the head and brain. We have witnessed, first hand, the dead eating the living.

  “Officials tell us that while they are working to create a vaccine, thus far there is no known cure for being bitten or scratched. Officials also tell us that they believe it to be a virus of unknown origin and not a terrorist threat. The CDC has not returned our calls for further interviews. According to law enforcement officials, seventeen police officers, twenty-two EMT’s and Paramedics and seventy doctors and nurses have been infected. The National Guard has been mobilized and will arrive within the hour to enforce martial law…”

  Mitch lowered the camera. “Claire…” he said softly.

  “Goddamn it Mitch!” she shouted and stomped one of her fur lined boots on the asphalt surface until she slipped and almost fell on the ice. “Can’t you shut your pie hole for five damn minutes?”

  Mitch began backing up and almost dropped the camera. From behind, Claire heard several loud groans. Three of the dead were closing in on her and more of them followed further behind. Her eyes widened and she spun on her boot heels to look at what she already knew was coming for her.

  Mitch didn’t hesitate any longer; he ran to the van, slid behind the wheel and locked his door behind him. He absently tossed the expensive camera over his shoulder into the cargo area behind him.

  “Mitch!” Claire screamed. He was astounded at how fast the dead were; although some lumbered about like drugged patients at an asylum, others seemed to be regaining their motor functions. Mitch gaped in horror as he watched the jaws of the dead distend, unhinging like a snake’s. Claire’s paralysis broke and she turned back to the van, but her three hundred dollar boots slipped on the icy parking lot, and she fell into a hysterical heap. “Mi…Mi…M...” she whimpered, trying to enunciate Mitch’s name, but to him it sounded like Beaker from the Muppet Show.

  Mitch turned the key on and started the engine. He reached to put the gear selector in reverse then paused. He left it in park and opened the glove box instead. He with
drew his faithful, old backup; his compact digital video camera and flipped it on to peer through the viewfinder through the partially fogged windshield. “It would be unethical not to show the public, right Claire?” he muttered.

  He believed that no one deserved this fate more than Claire did, but then he thought of his girls. Mitch had always tried to be a good role model for them. His wife occasionally, half-jokingly referred to him as a ‘righteous dude’. The dead were now only a few steps from where the reporter cowered, frozen by fear.

  “Damn it,” he muttered and grasped the door handle. He slid out of the van and grabbed a tire tool that he kept beside the driver’s seat. “Hey! HEY!” he yelled at the zombies. They looked toward him, but quickly turned their attention back to the reporter that lay on the pavement, crying and rubbing her twisted ankle. They stepped closer to where the closest prey crouched on the ground. Claire’s paralysis finally broke and she began to crawl, still sobbing uncontrollably, toward the van as she mumbled incoherently in hitching breaths. Mitch realized as he crept forward that the zombies had managed to call for others of their kind. The dead groaned in hunger and rage. Mitch could see that there were now about fifteen more converging on them from all directions. With his left hand her grabbed Claire under her arms and hoisted her to her feet and, with his right he swung the tire iron and hit the closest zombie in the forehead. It went down on the ice, but it wasn’t finished. Mitch began to drag Claire backward to the van. “C’mon, Claire!” he yelled in her ear. She clutched the collar of his coat knocking him off balance, spilling them onto the ground in a heap. “C’mon, c’mon…” he griped impatiently. Claire began screaming in his ear and he snapped his neck around to see what she was screaming about. Four more zombies, including a city worker in reflective vest and one of Santa’s little helpers, complete with green slippers that ended in curling toes and bells were closing quickly.