by Tristan Vick
Directly behind Rachael stood the pastor’s wife, Sister Mary Campbell, looking half crazed and trembling as she held the smoking gun. Realizing what she had done, she promptly dropped the weapon. It landed on the floor with a solid clunk and she stepped away from it as if it were a venomous snake. She looked over at her husband with big, sensationalist, watery eyes that were about to burst forth in a flood of fictional tears.
“I-I don’t know what came over me. She threatened you and I just … I reacted.” her words cut out and were quickly replaced by large wet sobs. Her husband took that as his cue and ran up and caught his dear wife in his arms just as she conveniently began to faint. The audience ate up the dramatic presentation as if it was their favorite reality television show—and they simply couldn't be bothered to peel their eyes away—no matter how absurd it got.
Opening her eyes, Rachael gasped, and sat up. As her eyes focused she saw the entire congregation with ghostly looks of shock plastered across their faces. Then, slowly, the corners of their mouths all curled upward. It didn’t fill her with joy to see so many smiling faces. Rather, she felt utter and complete dread.
“Hallelujah! It’s a miracle!” Reverend Campbell announced, and everybody cheered with a rapturous joy so obnoxiously loud that Rachael couldn’t imagine how they hadn’t been discovered by the zombie horde lurking outside.
Reverend Campbell and his sociopath of a wife both smiled at Rachael with their psychotic Cheshire grins. “Be reborn as one of us, my child.”
Suddenly Rachael felt a plastic bag, courtesy of Mrs. Mary Campbell, pulled over her head followed by the chokingly taut duct tape she used to seal it with. The reverend grabbed Rachael violently and drug her to the other side of the alter and up to where the baptismal pool was.
As he pulled her along she kicked furiously perchance to wriggle free, but it only caused her to gasp for air—air which would not come.
Without warning, the reverend shoved Rachael backward and she violently crashed down into the water, making a big splash. The audience watched with bated breath as Rachael slowly sank down to the large viewing window of the pool. Suffocating under the weight of water, sucking in the plastic bag taped around her face, but still unable to breathe. Without any air she was unable to get the energy she needed to swim back up to the surface. Instead panic filled her chest as she knew what would happen next. Rachael felt herself begin to convulse. Then everything went black.
18
Blood Market
DAWN’S FIRST RAYS OF SUNLIGHT peeked through the shades and warmed the room with a soft amber glow. Alyssa watched drearily as dust motes danced from sunbeam to sunbeam which spread out across the room in an even pattern like the ridges on a golden oriental fan.
Next to Alyssa’s chair was a fold out table meant for TV-dinners. On it sat a tall glass of milky white something-or-other. It was as thick as yogurt with white tapioca-like chunks floating in it. Next to that was an energy bar. The kind fitness junkies would munch on in the place of a proper meal. That was it. That was her breakfast.
Looking down she noticed one of her wrists had been unbound. Lethargically, she reached over and took the power bar. In her weakened state it felt like it was made of lead. She knew her body was milked of its blood supply and zapped of all energy. She set the power bar in her lap and struggled to peel off the wrapper with one hand. Finally getting a corner torn open, she held it up to her mouth and used her teeth to tear the wrapper away and then greedily ate the whole thing down. It tasted like cardboard and cocoa but she didn’t care. She was too famished to care.
Getting up some nerve Alyssa tried to free up her other hand, but her fingers felt numb. Whatever they were doping her up with, it was powerful. Maybe morphine? She was about to try again when the door opened and a nurse briskly stepped into the room. Thank god, Alyssa thought. Someone who can help me. In a feeble voice, still a little groggy from the morphine slumber she’d just awoken from, she asked, “Where am I? What’s going on?”
The nurse came over and checked her chart, and then informed, “You were sick. We had to do a blood withdrawal.”
“Withdrawal?” Alyssa asked. She knew bloodletting hadn’t been a valid medical procedure for over a hundred years, so what on earth could call for such a thing? “What was I sick with?”
“You wouldn’t have heard of it,” replied the nurse with a clinical dryness void of emotion.
“I’m a veterinarian, why don’t you try me?” Alyssa said getting a little frustrated at being given the run around. The nurse shot her a sharp look and then, without so much as saying a word, walked out of the room. A few moments later she came back in with a couple of burley men decked in dreadlocks and clad in Ethiopian colors. They looked Rastafarian to her.
The nurse pointed at Alyssa and said, “That one,” in a rather unsympathetic way. Following their orders, the two men came over and undid her restraints, unfastened her tubes, and helped her up. The nurse went to the corner of the room and grabbed a nearby wheelchair and wheeled it over, and said, “Please, get in.” She gestured for Alyssa to take a seat.
Alyssa did as she was told. It wasn’t as if she had any other choice. She was zapped of strength and escape wasn’t an option right now. All she could do was go along with them and see what they had in store for her.
The nurse wheeled her out of the room and down a long corridor. They were definitely in an old hospital of some sort. It had the standard hospital lime-green walls with chipped paint and tall rickety windows that stretched the length of the empty corridors. The windows were even that old single-pane glass that let in a terrible draft. Rolling past several rooms, which had been converted to residential suites for survivors, Alyssa could see the curious eyes of entire families staring out at her as she wheeled by.
At the end of the hall they turned a corner and came into the main cafeteria. It had a glass ceiling and was well lit by the sun. There were a variety of plants filling the entire room giving it a fresh airy scent. It invigorated Alyssa. Most of the tables were empty, except for a single one 0ff to the corner of the room. At that solitary table sat a large black man with a closely trimmed beard who leaned back in a chair next to a round glass table reading a newspaper. He picked up a mug of coffee and sipped it as he read the sports section.
Alyssa’s eyes locked onto the crispy strips of bacon and eggs sitting on the plate next to the man’s coffee and her mouth began to water. The nurse parked Alyssa next to the table, curtseyed for the man, and then took her leave.
Without looking up from the newspaper the man said, “I do apologize for your treatment. It’s not my intention to scare you, but I must ask you something rather important.”
Alyssa continued eyeing the bacon and eggs with an overwhelming hunger. But she fought it back. “Pardon my asking, but who are you?” Alyssa asked.
Wiping the corners of his mouth with a napkin, he answered, “Forgive me. My name is Dr. Jamal Treslan. I dabble in what you might call international commerce.”
“You mean the black market?”
“Among other things. But that’s not what is important. What is important is what I can provide. And what I can provide is protection from the monsters. All I ask is for in return is a small donation and your loyalty.”
“Donation?” Alyssa asked.
“Nothing special, just a small price to pay for protection, some food, and a roof over your head. But before I get to that, I need to have an answer.”
“Just one question first.”
“Sure. You can ask anything at all.”
“If I agree to stay do I get to choose when to leave?”
“Of course,” Treslan chuckled. “You are not a prisoner here. But resources are limited, so I need to know whether or not you intend to stay with us so I can accommodate you.”
Alyssa bit her lip. What alternative was there? “Yes.”
“Good, that settles it then.” Putting down the paper he looked over at Alyssa who once again was eyeing his crispy s
lices of bacon on his plate. “Oh, where are my manners? Would you like some?”
“Yes,” Alyssa said, her eyes filling with tears. She was starving. The man slid the plate over to her and she quickly helped herself to the bacon.
Jamal smiled. Folding up his newspaper, he tucked it under his arm, and stood up. His six-foot three frame towered over her petite five-foot seven one. “By choosing to stay here I must inform you that there are certain … duties required of you.”
“You mean like chores?” Alyssa asked between bites.
“That and everyone here must give a weekly donation of blood.”
“What? Why? What do you need my blood for?”
“I’m afraid that is privileged information.” Authority filled his baritone voice. “But perhaps you will learn the reason soon enough. I have need of your expertise.”
“My expertise?” Alyssa asked, chewing with her mouth full.
“I hear you were an animal vet. Is that right?”
“Yes. Why? Is that important?”
“I have something I need you to take a look at.”
“A pet?”
“Something like that.”
Alyssa felt uncomfortable by his answer. What could be like a pet but wasn’t a pet? She decided not to press the matter any further. Better to see what he needed than to jump to unfounded conclusions. Finishing the last bit of the bacon she licked her fingers clean.
Jamal smiled at her and took control of the wheelchair and rolled her back down the hallway. At the end were giant glass doors leading into the ER. Two large guards stood on either side of the entrance like centurions. All Jamal had to do was nod and they opened the heavy doors for him to let him pass.
A little further down the fluorescent lit corridor they came to the OR entrance, and went through. There were two more guards inside the room. Both were facing a large semi-transparent curtain in the back of the room. Alyssa felt herself suddenly grow anxious wondering what was behind the curtain.
Lime green tints bathed the room in the gaseous glow of incandescent lighting. Standard medical equipment from tongs and scalpels, gauze, anti-bacterial soap, and other medical supplies, were strewn about. As Treslan pushed her closer to the curtain, Alyssa though she could hear muffled noises coming from behind it. A bad feeling grew in the pit of her stomach. A feeling of dread. Dread for whatever was behind that curtain.
Parking the wheelchair, Treslan walked over and pulled back the curtain to reveal a little black girl strapped to the cold metal operating table. But she wasn’t a normal little girl, she was turned. She was a monster. But that wasn’t the worst of it. What was really spooky were the girl’s eyes. They weren’t that standard foggy white like most of the living dead—they were pitch-black. Demonic in appearance.
The small girl growled and hissed when she saw Alyssa sitting before her, but then seemed to become distracted momentarily. She looked around as if lost in thought then snapped her head back growling and hissing some more. Her body jerked against the restraints.
“This is my daughter, Dahlia. I have been treating her with blood transfusions. It seems to be working. She was infected five days ago. Initially she was like a wild animal. Rabid. Mad. But now, she is tamer, more docile,” Jamal said as he walked up to the bedside.
He placed the back of his hand on her forehead, as if he was checking for a fever. Alyssa was amazed that Dahlia didn’t try to snap at him. She just growled quietly. “She seems to respond to my voice and rarely ever nips at me unless someone else is in the room.”
“What do you need from me?” Alyssa asked, nervous as to what the answer might be.
“You know animal behavior. I want your opinion as to whether or not she is showing signs of cognition or whether she is merely exhibiting the behavior of any other beast of burden. I want to know if the treatments are working.”
His voice cracked, and Alyssa realized here was a father barely holding it together. It was clear to her that Treslan believe he could save his beloved Dahlia. Alyssa had a bad feeling about this man—about Treslan. He was driven to the brink of madness by the loss of his daughter. He even went as far as to abduct people and harvest their blood against their will. Thinking about those ghostly eyes she passed in the hallway, she realized they weren’t the eyes of curious onlookers, they were the eyes of frightened captives.
“So you basically want to get a second opinion from someone who has a little bit of medical knowledge, is that it?”
“Can you blame me? How can I stay objective when I am her father?” Jamal rubbed his thumb lovingly on the creature’s forehead. She stared back with those haunting black eyes.
“I can run some tests, but I’ll need some things first.”
“I’ll have my men bring you whatever you need.” With that Jamal Treslan turned and left the room. Alyssa sat, uncomfortable, in her wheelchair staring at the creepy black eyed zombie girl strapped to the operating table.
Clacking her fingernails on the counter top, Alyssa looked up at the clock on the hospital wall. The hands seemed to tick by at a snail’s pace. She knew she couldn’t stall forever, but the problem was that she wasn’t so sure that Jamal Treslan would like her verdict. Her results had been less than satisfactory. His daughter no longer existed. That was for certain. Proof of it was in the fact that the little black eyed child sat up in the bed growling at Alyssa like a wild beast.
“What’s the verdict?” Treslan’s deep voice boomed as he stepped up behind her. Alyssa startled in fright. She hadn’t heard Treslan come into the room and now he was standing directly over her shoulder, like a looming old schoolmarm. But she knew if she told him the truth he’d either put her back in the blood bank or worse. All she could think to do was stall. “I need to run just one more test, and I should have real answers for you then.”
“Another test?” Treslan said with a less than enthusiastic smile.
“It’s the final one. I promise.”
Waving his hand, he barked, “You have one hour!” Clasping his wrists behind his back, he spun around and stormed off.
Alyssa sighed with relief. The only problem was, she had already tried everything she could think of. The simple truth of the matter was: this girl was a mindless zombie. End of discussion.
Fighting the restraints and squirming on the table, the little black-eyed beast growled at Alyssa like a mad dog. Whatever humanity she once had, whatever innocence there once was, it was all lost now. But Treslan was haunted by the ghost of the memory of his daughter. The memory of a laughing, happy, little girl. It was her spirit that he wanted to put back inside this hollow, mindless, creature. For the life of him, he could not let his Dahlia go.
Alyssa paced the floor. Feeling a chill, she put on a white medical coat she found hanging on the back of a nearby chair. The nametag read: Boyles, M.D. Whoever that may have been. Alyssa knew that couldn’t stay in this place any longer. It was too dangerous. She had to escape. Reaching over she grabbed a surgeon’s scalpel off the table and tucked it into the sleeve of the white medical coat she found lying over the back of one of the chairs.
Before she knew it, the hour had crawled by, and the doors swung opened and Treslan marched in with two guards following close behind him. They were armed with Uzis. It was probably the only gun Alyssa knew by name.
“What are your results? Will my daughter get better?”
Alyssa didn’t much care for the way he phrased the question. Apparently not getting better wasn’t an option. Looking at him with sad eyes, she spoke in a comforting tone. The kind one uses when consoling a dear friend after a loved one passes. “I’m afraid there’s nothing more we can do for her.”
“What do you mean we?” Treslan said with a laugh. “I haven’t given up on my daughter even if you have.” Jamal Treslan clapped his hands and the two big guards picked Alyssa up by her armpits and dragged her out of the room.
“Wait, where you taking me?”
Instead of answering her Treslan simply sat down next to h
is zombified daughter’s bed and began singing the lullaby ‘Hush Little Baby’ to her.
A shiver shot down Alyssa’s spine. The eerie sound of his singing flooded out into the halls.
“Dahlia’s gone,” Alyssa shouted as the guards carried her away. “She’s gone!”
Treslan ignored her. He’d deal with her later. Now he would sing to his beloved Dahlia. Gently, Treslan brushed the hair from his daughter’s face with his fingers and sang.
“Hush, little baby, don’t say a word. Papa’s going to buy you a mockingbird. If that mockingbird doesn’t sing, papa’s going to buy you a diamond ring.”
Treslan’s eyes filled with tears as he sang. Nobody knew his agony. No father should have to suffer the agony of having to watch his beloved child endure such a horrible illness. Unable to hold or comfort her, Treslan swore he’d do anything it took, go to the ends of the earth if he had to, but he’d find a cure and restore his dear, beloved, Dahlia.
His voice catching in his throat, Treslan paused, wiped his eyes, and then began singing the next verse.
“And if that diamond ring turns to brass, papa’s going to buy you a looking glass.”
19
Mirror Mirror
MORNING CAME AND JENNIFER HURLEY got dressed. She had grown tired of wearing the same clothes day in and day out. Although, she couldn’t really tell how many days it had been. Three? Four maybe? All she knew was they had enough supplies till the end of the week. Still, she wanted to get upstairs, get some fresh air, and so at first light she snuck upstairs and rummaged around the sportswear section of the store. Luckily enough she found some fitness clothes and exchanged her business attire for something a little more comfortable.
Grabbing some things she threw together a makeshift outfit which involved a skimpy blue two-piece bikini, the closest thing to lingerie they had, and an off-white colored track suit with an aqua green stripe down the side. She slipped it on but made sure to only zip it up part way. She wanted her ample cleavage to hang out some, as she felt it would prove to be a good distraction for the boys. Well, whenever they get back that is.