DeadBorn

by C. M. Stunich

  “It's a Sunday. Nobody was here today except for Doug. We already found him, so I doubt we'll run into anything else today. If we do, we'll fight it together. We're all going.” Dawson sighs but doesn't protest.

  “Be right back,” I say as I approach the boys' bathroom and pause. Inside, I can hear a quiet sobbing. I knock gently and wait for Martin to get a hold of himself.

  “Come in,” he says. When I push open the heavy door, I find Martin sitting on the floor next to a wall mounted trash can. He's got a pile of tissues in one hand and is dabbing at his still bleeding cat scratches.

  “Are you okay?” I ask and I know that it's a shallow, stupid question. None of us are okay, not really, but Martin knows what I mean and nods.

  “Yeah, I am.” He stands up and tosses the tissues into the garbage. In the harsh, white light of the bathroom, his face looks paler and blotchier than usual and his eyes seem a bit distant. “Sometimes your thoughts can be your own worst enemy, you know?” I nod and move over to the urinal.

  “Yeah, I do,” I say as I pause and wait for Martin to leave or at the very least look away. He does neither, just comes up to the sink and leans his hip against it.

  “Do you think there will be other survivors because I've never had a girlfriend and I really, really don't want to die as a virgin. Dawson is cool and all, but I don't think I'm gay and I'm pretty sure he doesn't like me anyway.”

  “Martin,” I say and he nods eagerly, like he thinks I'm about to give him a bit of advice. “Go away.”

  ***

  Thirteen Hours and Twenty-Five Minutes After …

  The barn has a heavy door that's padlocked in three places. Holly says that none of the keys work, so we split into two groups and start searching around the outside for an alternative way in.

  “Maybe I could shoot the locks off?” she wonders aloud. “Do you think that sort of thing really works?” I have no idea, so I shrug and keep walking, turning the corner and stepping into a cold rectangle of shadow. The barn is so massive that when the sun hits it just right, it makes a dark little patch in the rear. I don't see any entrances back here either, but I keep looking, just in case. Holly follows behind, but takes a different approach by moving down the hill and gazing up at the building with critical eyes. If there's any way in, any secret passages or hidden doors, she'll find them.

  I keep moving and end up tripping over something that's hidden in the grass. At first, I don't panic, assuming it's a rock or a piece of wood, anything but what it really is. When I turn around and find two, dull baby blues staring back at me, I scream.

  “Holly, Olly, Olly,” it says and black and silver sparkles light the ground around it for a brief moment, highlighting its misshapen face and crooked jaw. It reaches its hands out for my boots and wriggles tiny fingers. “Holly, Olly, Olly.” I stumble back, fumbling for the baseball bat that I dropped when I hit the ground. It's buried in the long grasses and wrapped in shadow, and I'm having trouble finding it.

  “Galen?” Holly's shouting as she runs up the hill towards me. I don't think she can see the monster from where she is, so I must look like a crazy person scrambling around on the ground for my weapon. When the zombie giggles and flashes me a single tooth wrapped in decaying gums, I forget all about the baseball bat, draw my pistol and shoot it point blank between the eyes. Brain matter splatters against my face as the DeadBorn begins to howl. It looks so sad, sitting there in a pair of blue footie pajamas that I immediately feel guilty, like I've done something wrong.

  When Holly finally reaches me and sees what's happening, she takes her own baseball bat and raises it over her head.

  “Stop!” I shout because I know if she kills this thing that it will scar her in some irreparable way. She pauses just long enough for me to pry the bat from her fingers.

  “What are you doing?” she asks me, voice tinged with disgust and confusion. I admit that I'm right there with her. This thing, this undead baby or whatever it is, is terrifying to look at. It doesn't seem dangerous, but it's probably one of the most grotesque things I've ever seen. And it said Holly's name. I'm sure of it this time.

  “Let me do it,” I say, putting my hand on her chest and forcing her to take a step back. She does what I ask, but she isn't happy about it. She's frowning and I think her hands are shaking, but she stuffs them in her pockets and says nothing. “Turn around.” Holly rolls her eyes at me.

  “You don't have to try and protect me, Galen,” she says, obviously irritated. She thinks I'm babying her, but I'm not. I know in my heart that she can't do all the dirty work. It would kill her.

  “I'm not,” I protest, trying to block out the gurgling noises of the baby zombie. That strange light is flaring up again and Holly's watching it passively, like it doesn't bother her in the least. “I need someone to guard my back.” She sighs heavily and does what I ask, removing the revolver from her pocket and scanning the horizon with angry eyes.

  I look down at the DeadBorn and try not to sympathize with it. It obviously doesn't feel pain, so there's no reason for me to be guilty about what I have to do. I pull the bat back, tense my arms and swing.

  After the first hit, I have to close my eyes, I just have to. Blood and bits are flying everywhere and it's gruesome enough that my stomach is turning and threatening me with nausea. The DeadBorn has stopped making noises, but it's still moving, so I wail on it until my arms are aching with fatigue and I'm short of breath. The creature has finally stilled and the weird silver light is gone. I don't look too carefully at it and turn away.

  “Martin and Dawson,” Holly says and then she starts walking as if that explains everything. Holly is like that sometimes. She doesn't always think you need to say everything aloud, just bits of it. I understand her because we've been dating for awhile. Actually, our two year anniversary is just days away. I'm kind of pissed that we don't get to celebrate it. I bought Holly this awesome pair of earrings from a local artist who claimed that they were full of fairy spirits. I didn't believe it when she told me, but after everything I've seen, who's to say she wasn't telling the truth? With all the commotion, I forgot them at home, so I guess I'll never get to give them to her. Holly glances over at me and I know that she knows that I'm lost in random thoughts. “They had to hear you screaming,” she supplies and I can tell that she's a little worried. I take her hand and immediately trip over the second baseball bat. Satisfied that at the very least it isn't another zombie, I pick it up and am just glad to have it back.

  “Maybe they found an entrance?” I supply, hoping for good news instead of bad. It would be a nice change of pace. Holly says nothing as we come around the side of the barn and find an open door. It's not a big one like the one on the front, just a normal door, bright white against the red paint of the barn and it's flanked by two windows, neither of which I can see inside of because they're so grimy.

  Holly puts a finger to her lips and inches forward, feet nearly silent against the hard packed dirt. I stay put because I know there's no way I can move like that and wait until she tells me the coast is clear. The barn is ridiculously dark, but Holly pats around near the door and manages to find a switch. Lights come on above us and wash the room in fluorescent white.

  “We thought you guys were done for,” Martin says, sighing in relief. He's standing inside the bed of a white truck that's parked in a row with two others. They all have decals on the side and small sirens on the roof. “We heard all these … sounds and we thought they might be ripping you apart … ” He laughs nervously, but nobody else joins in. Dawson is sitting next to him with an angry scowl plastered across his pale face. He's trying to show us his tough side, but I can tell that he was nervous as hell.

  “Maybe next time,” Holly says as she examines the cement floor, the stacks of boxes and the row of doors that line the back. “You'll remember to close the door.” Martin blushes furiously and wipes his still bleeding hand across his shirt. I wonder how long cat scratches are supposed to bleed for and think maybe the li
ttle tabby nicked an artery or something. There's nothing I can do about it now, but I tell myself that I'll remember later and see if I can find a first aid kit or something.

  Holly closes the door, locks it and then walks forward purposely, pulling the ring of keys out of her pocket as she goes. She tests them on the doors to one of the trucks and sighs when none of them fit.

  “Was the door locked?” Holly asks and Dawson shakes his head.

  “No, and it was already open.” Holly pauses and we exchange a frightened glance. Suddenly the barn – which actually looks more like a garage on the inside – seems like less of a safe haven and more like a death trap. “Did you check for DeadBorn?” she asks and Dawson spits on the floor like he's pissed that she would even ask that.

  “We found the door, heard Galen scream and came in here. What else do you want from me? There was no time to check.” Holly gestures for me to follow her and moves immediately to the back of the room where she checks the other doors. There are four of them, all locked, none of which we have the keys to.

  Holly doesn't look in the windows until we walk the entire room, check under the trucks and behind the stacks of boxes, tools, and power equipment.

  “Are you going to tell us what happened out there?” Dawson asks as he helps with the search. Martin leans against a support beam and I notice that he's sweating pretty profusely. It is hot in here and I wonder maybe if all of the excitement is getting to be too much for him. He doesn't look so good.

  “There was a DeadBorn,” Holly says as she grabs a flashlight from an open box of tools, turns it on, and shines it at the shadowy parts of the room. There aren't many; the fluorescent lights pierce the barn with brightness and emphasize the headache that's been building behind my eyes for the last several hours. “Galen took care of it. It's over.” Dawson kicks over a cardboard box and tools spill out across the floor: screw drivers, hammers, pliers, small saws. They look old and they're kind of rusty, but if we don't find anything else they should work just fine.

  “Well was it one of those lava spewing things or one of the rotten corpses? You have to tell us this stuff. We need to know, Holly.” I don't like the way Dawson says my girlfriend's name and bristle. I keep quiet though, convinced that she can defend herself and probably prefers to. If he hits her again though …

  “It was another baby,” she says and her voice reflects a horror that I now carry in my heart, too. We're united in the deaths of those weird unborn monsters. She beat one to death on my front lawn; I beat one to death here. It doesn't seem like something that could bind two people together, but it does. Guilt is a powerful emotion.

  “Did it float this time?” Dawson asks, sounding tired. No, not just tired, weary. Dawson sounds like a person who's lived a hard life and is ready to die. He's only a year older than me, so it's actually pretty sad. He should be starting college in the fall, but instead Holly and I have killed his parents. I turn away and move back towards the offices, cupping my hands over my eyes and peering in. The first two look like storage rooms and are filled with uniforms, boots, backpacks, and other equipment that I can't quite make out. The third room is a bare bones office with a desk, a chair, and some metal filing cabinets. Then I get to the last window, look in, and find a dead body.

  CHAPTER 10

  Ardent

  Fourteen Hours and Nine Minutes After …

  “Holly,” I say as calmly as I'm able. “You might want to come look at this.” She strides across the room without hesitation and despite her pink shorts and her baggy sweatshirt, she looks like a general in charge of the world's greatest army.

  “What is it?” she asks as I step back and let her look for herself. She doesn't gasp or startle or even blink, just steps away, points the revolver at the glass and shoots.

  “What the fuck?” Dawson yells as he kicks yet another box. “You have to warn us before you do shit like that!” Holly ignores him, reaches in and unlocks the door.

  “Wait,” I beg, reaching out for her shoulder. “She could be a DeadBorn.” Holly pauses and we both stare at the mess of red together. The woman is lying on her side in a pool of sticky, crimson blood. Her brown hair is arranged carefully around her head like a question mark and her green tank top is torn and hangs from her body like rags. She has on a lacy, black bra that's come unhooked and is twisted around so that one of the cups is sitting across her shoulder blade. It's hard for me to tell from this distance, but it doesn't look as if she's breathing.

  Dawson comes storming across the warehouse at full speed, looking like he wants to rip Holly's head off for firing the gun. When he gets close enough to see what we're looking at, he stops and levels a horrified stare on both of us.

  “Is she dead?” he asks as if we know any better than he does. Dawson then begins to curse and pace in a circle and I have to wonder yet again if the stress is going to make him snap and put a bullet in all our heads. He runs his hand down his bare belly like he's trying to pet himself. Maybe he's trying to comfort himself, I don't know, but honestly, I just wish he would put on a shirt.

  “Is there any real way to know without going in there?” Holly asks as she squints her eyes and examines the scene carefully. Dawson stops petting himself and takes three massive breaths. They actually look like they're calming him, and when he speaks next, his voice is much lighter.

  “How do you want to do this then?” he asks as Martin comes huffing and puffing up behind us. Then he spots the woman and immediately vomits onto Holly's shoes. She purses her lips, but doesn't say a thing. I love her for that.

  “This is like Zombie Apocalypse 101, guys,” he says as he wipes his face with the end of his Daryl T-shirt. “If she's lying in that much blood and isn't moving, she's dead. We should just leave her where she is.”

  “And if she's alive?” Dawson says, voice rising an octave. I step up between him and Martin and reach for the door knob. There is no debating this. There's only one thing that can be done. I have to go in there and check the woman. I just have to, for my own sanity if nothing else.

  “We're wasting time. I'll go in. Just cover me, okay?” I say. Holly leans forward suddenly, grabs the back of my head and kisses me.

  “No.” And then she's shoving me out of the way with her hip and stepping into the room. I reach out for her, but she sidesteps my hand and practically closes the door on my thumb.

  “Holly!” I hiss under my breath as quietly as I'm able. I feel as if the sound of my voice could wake the dead. And maybe it could, what do I know?

  Holly ignores me and gives the body a wide berth. When she gets a look at the face, her own scrunches up painfully.

  “Oh yeah,” she says as she lifts her baseball bat. “She's dead.”

  “Check her pulse first,” Dawson pleads, stumbling forward as if this is the most important thing in the world. “Please, just do it.” Holly hesitates for a brief moment. “If you killed an innocent person because you didn't check, how would you feel?” This does the trick and Holly pauses, bending down, her fingers stretching out for the woman's neck.

  “Oh my god, she's gonna get bit,” Martin moans and I flash him my most evil look.

  “Be quiet,” I growl, turning my attention immediately back to the situation. If something were to happen to Holly, I don't know what I'd do. I watch carefully as her fingers press into the bloody flesh. We all wait with hushed breath, but nothing exciting happens. Holly stands back up and shakes her head. Dawson breathes out heavily and turns away. He doesn't want to watch and I don't either, but I know it has to be done. If we don't destroy this body, there's no telling if it will get back up again. I don't know all the details about how this DeadBorn thing works, but it isn't something we can take chances on. “Do you want help?” I ask and Holly shakes her head again.

  “Just start gathering stuff we could use to board up the windows or defend ourselves with.”

  “Why not just stay in here?” Dawson offers as he looks around. “There are only two windows, and it seems pret
ty secure.”

  “No,” Holly says and then her bat comes down and blood splatters the white walls. She raises it again and again and again. Dawson looks like he wants to argue, but I can see that he doesn't want to bother Holly while she's swinging that bat. Instead, he turns his attention to me and starts bitching.

  “It makes perfect sense to stay in here.” I stare him straight in the face but say nothing. Holly has her reasons. I don't know what they all are, but I know that there's nobody I'd trust more. She'll get us through this, I know she will. “Why go through all that trouble to make the other place half as good as this?” Dawson asks as he starts to pace the floor.

  Martin moves away from the wet, splashing sounds that are emanating from the office and vomits again. Nothing comes up this time, not like it did on Holly's shoes. It's all just saliva and stomach bile. I ignore them both and am left to gather the supplies by myself, stuffing them in boxes and dragging them over to the door.

  When Holly comes out of that room, her eyes are empty and her body is red with the blood of a woman we've never met. I drop the tools in my hand and rush over to her, folding her shaking body into my arms and pressing my chin into the crown of her head.

  “Why can't we stay in here?” Dawson demands and although I'm holding Holly, I feel my fists clench with anger. I want to punch him again. Holly pushes away from me and takes off her sweatshirt, tossing it to the floor in a bloody heap. The camisole underneath hasn't fared much better and now looks pink instead of white. I reach for her again, but she steps away and I can see that she doesn't much feel like being touched. It hurts me a little, but I pretend that it doesn't, telling myself that I'm being selfish and that her feelings come first.

  “Because this is a hot spot.” She doesn't elaborate on this and moves over to the door to see what I've gathered up.

  “A what?” Martin asks as he looks up at Holly and pales even further. I could never find her repulsive or frightening or threatening, but I can see why someone else might. Right now, she looks like Bloody Mary.