Zombie Waltz (Bool 1)

by Main, Lynn

  “What?” Nick says a little disoriented by her sudden outburst. She takes another drag off her cigarette and starts talking before she even exhales, “Don’t call these people survivors. Maybe you don’t want to call them people because that makes them harder to execute if they get bitten, but don’t call them…us…survivors…call us victims if you want. No one has survived anything yet.” Smoke trickles out of her mouth while she talks, then she takes another drag and turns and flicks the cigarette over the rail. “Has your fearless leader sent any expeditions to the hospital yet?”

  “Yes he has. In fact I have gone myself twice, but…the place is overrun. We haven’t been able to get inside.” “Well then he should send one out again, and I am going with them.” Faith says to Nick with her fists resting on her hips and a toe tapping as if she is daring him to refuse her.

  “I will…um I will ask Mr. Petrova when we are going to try for the hospital again.” Nick turns as if he has been dismissed, drops his cigarette, and smashes it under his boot heel before marching away.

  “Well that should go over well.” I say to Faith. “There is no point in them even going to the hospital unless they know what to get and where to get it.” She says, absently looking out over the balcony. “Look.”

  I follow her gaze and just up 1st Street I see them. About a hundred zombies move slowly but certainly towards us. “We are safe here for now.”

  “I don’t know what to think anymore.” Faith shrugs and turns away from the balcony. “Come on. Let’s find some place to rest.”

  Dinner Faith and I wander back in off of the terrace and find our way downstairs to a room that looks like it was a guest office or something. There are pillows on the couch so we lie there lounging until a knock on the door interrupts the quiet. I get up and walk to the door and open it.

  “We have some food ready up stairs.” Chris says smiling awkwardly. I would judge this kid at about 16. He was probably very shy in high school. He seems very bright. I like the kid. He seems to be authentically good, even if he’s completely petrified with fear.

  “Thanks, we will be right up.” I say.

  “Cool. Better hurry though…it always goes super-fast, and if Mr. Petrova thinks you’re taking too long, he will start without you.” “We got it.” Faith says appearing out of the darkened room. “We will be right behind you.” She nods to me. When we walk into the light I see that she has removed the tee shirt she was wearing over her brown spotted dress. She leaves her shotgun behind. I can barely see the corner of the green suitcase as I pull the door to our little room shut. It isn’t a bad little space with a chair at a desk and a couch. I doubt anyone will go in and bother our stuff. That is probably against Mr. Petrova’s rules.

  There are several other doors along the hall between the two staircases. Most of these have taken up habitation. Odd groups of people file out with us. An elderly woman, maybe in her sixties comes out of the room across the way accompanied by the blond haired man with a dark red beard in his forties. He might be her son, but it could just as easily be that he is some stranger thrown into hell with her the same way as Faith and I.

  From the next room, Nick emerges with the Asian girl. She is young with long dark hair and smooth delicate features. Nick puts his arm behind her and she holds hands with the two little boys. The boys look completely identical.

  “Hello doctor…and um...” Nick says in a friendly enough manner.

  “It’s Dead Boy, call him Dead Boy…” Faith says.

  “I’m Kim.” The Asian girl says. “I don’t want to call you that…” “It’s Leslie, but everyone just calls me Les…well did anyway.” I say. Kim smiles at me and both the little boys holding her hands grin up at me. “And who are these guys?” I ask her, indicating the boys.

  “They were alone. Nick found them. Jason and Kevin. Boys, can you say hi?” Kim says.

  “Hi.” Both little boys say, smiling up at me. Then one asks, “Does your face hurt?”

  Kim says, “Jason that is not a polite thing to ask.”

  I laugh and touch the scar on my cheek. “Not anymore. Well unless I look in the mirror.”

  “What happened to you?” The other asks. “That is not a polite thing to ask either, Kevin.” She says turning to the other one, and then both giggle and smile up at me. I smile back. We ascend the stairs and walk back into the viewing room. It has been totally rearranged again. The pews are all moved up against the walls and a long line of cafeteria tables have been sat up in the middle of the room.

  “You guys like rearranging this room or something?” I say to no one in particular. “It gives the people something to do, and besides our space would be very limited if we had to set up separate eating and gathering places.” Mr. Petrova says. He’s leaning up against the wall next to the door and walks up to our group when we enter. He smiles at me. It doesn’t look real on him.

  He clasps my shoulder gently and nudges me toward the far end of the table. Faith follows but the others take seats closer to the doors we came in through. “I want you to have the place of honor.” Mr. Petrova says when we arrive at the foot of the connected tables. He lets go of my shoulder and pulls out the chair on the end, gesturing for me to sit in it. It reminds me vaguely of a strange dream. I sit.

  He pulls out a chair next to mine and offers it to Faith. She skirts beside him, throwing her hair, circles behind us and pulls her own chair out on the other side of the table. She sits and glares up at him. Mr. Petrova just smiles thinly in reply. I had expected him to sit by me, but maybe Faith offended him. He bows slightly and then retreats down 5 rectangular tables to the other end and sits at the other place of honor.

  The food looks a feast –at least in quantity. On the middle table, which has no chairs sat around it, three huge bowls of mashed potatoes steam. I can’t help but grin. Hot food’s something that was only a dream on 13th street. Also on the table with the three huge bowls of potatoes is an assortment of dishes piled on one side and a large platter with cans sitting next to it on the other. Levi and the middle aged woman with wild hair are standing opposite each other, both portioning out the potatoes, some potted meat and canned vegetables into bowls, large coffee cups and plates. As they fill each dish they pass it down the tables. Each dish is then solemnly and quickly passed one way or the other to the ends of the tables so that Mr. Petrova and I have our plates first.

  M ine’s an oversized soup bowl with a large handle on the side. I almost take a bite, but then remember my manners. If growing up in Belleview did anything, it instilled in me a deep almost disturbing sense of etiquette.

  I am somewhat dismayed, if not at all surprised, that all of the cans have been emptied and all three bowls scraped completely clean by the time Levi finishes serving. There is talk. It is nervous chatter mostly. Full of agreement about how wonderful the fake potatoes with fake butter flavored additive smell. I dive in once everyone has food.

  Until I am finished, I am lost in the fake potatoes and cheap potted meat. Every bite is ecstasy. I have never appreciated food like this. I had become so hungry that I had totally forgotten my hunger. Once finished, I regret eating so fast. It feels like the food punctured a thin membrane in my stomach and opened up a deep black hole.

  I look around when I am done. Mostly everyone eats in roughly the same manner. There is no great waste of time before all of the plates are clean and everyone looks up and across the connected tables. Others wear the same disconnected ravenous animal look that I probably have. Mr. Petrova considers me from all the way at the other end of the tables with a crooked smile. When most of us have finished licking our plates and cups and spoons, talking resumes in hushed voices.

  Cowards Faith eats slower than everyone else. She ’s learned etiquette somewhere. I admire how controlled she is while eating when she must be at least as hungry as I am. She looks up at me a few times and smiles.

  She turns her head only slightly, and never looks down the tables towards Mr. Petrova. She should be here with
these people. As much as I hate to admit it, Mr. Petrova is right about one thing. Cautious people are the only ones who have a chance of surviving this. I don’t know if that’s me. Mr. Petrova is the kind of person who will survive. I just don’t know if I can be like him. If I have what it takes to be a coward…

  In the end, I really do hope that Faith survives. If only so that it will mean that my life had a real purpose. I clear my throat and ask the woman who sits across from Faith, “So are you originally from Florida?” She just stares back at me with a strange look on her face. Her eyes dart between the scars on my face to my arm, then with a slight and very strange nod and a whispered hello she turns the other way and pretends to be listening to another conversation.

  Some of the other people are looking at me. There is a mixture of expressions on their faces. Everything from fearful to angry. Not everyone stares and then avoids eye contact with me. Every time I look up at Mr. Petrova he smiles. He stares in a totally undisguised way and has no trouble making and holding eye contact.

  Chapter 5: Blue Cadillac Seville Prisoners The rest of dinner doesn’t go well. Everything starts out civil enough. Talking resumes after we eat and there’s even sparse laughter. Then Nick raises his voice, looking down the table towards Mr. Petrova and asks, “Patrick, how’d the last supply run go?” The room hushes. We all stare at the bald man.

  “Oh, about normal. Albertson’s down on Fruitville looked hopeful, but once we got inside, we were swarmed. We cut through maybe a couple dozen of them and after an hour or so the store was clear.”

  “Did you get anything good?” A lady sitting on his side asks.

  Patrick laughs. “Well, we got some bread with no mold somehow. Everything else…it was all garbage.” Faith leans forward and turns to Mr. Petrova at the other end of the tables, “I would like to go with Patrick on his next run. I want to go to the hospital for medical supplies.”

  She asked politely enough but one would think it was a terrible insult to Mr. Petrova, the way he sits staring at her. Patrick answers for him, “Now ma’am I don’t think you realize how dangerous it is out there. We need ya’ here. We haven’t been able to get near Sarasota Memorial yet. And who knows how long until we can.”

  “All the same I want to go with you. I will be able to get the exact medical supplies we need…and…” Faith now directs her comments at Patrick, but it is Mr. Petrova who clears his throat to interrupt her. She stops and looks at him.

  “That is not going to be possible, doctor.” Mr. Petrova says, considering his finger nails instead of looking back to her as he speaks. A look of anger mixed with disbelief grows across her face. “How am I supposed to be an effective physician without medical supplies, antibiotics, tools that I need for surgery, and sterilized instruments? What am I supposed to do here? Take everyone’s temperatures and put BandAids on cuts?” Her nostrils flare as she speaks and her jaw clicks slightly as if her words come out between clenched and grinding teeth.

  Patrick laughs, “We don’t have any more Band -Aids” and to be completely honest I have to hold in a chuckle myself. Mr. Petrova leans forward and smiles across the table. “Doctor…I believe you misunderstand…we will infiltrate the hospital when the time is right and take everything that is useful. We will certainly keep a close watch for a lull in activity there, but we have other concerns right now.” He looks at me and grins in an odd way.

  “Then I will go with them anyway, even in a sup ermarket there is a lot of medicine and other supplies that will be useful to me.” Faith starts and Mr. Petrova raises his voice cutting her off.

  “No!” There is a slight crease between his eyebrows and a twinge in his thin mouth but then he relaxes and continues in a normal monotone, “As it has already been stated and should have never needed to be, you, being our only doctor are far too important to put in that kind of jeopardy.” He smiles in his thin and twisted way.

  “Then I can’t leave?”

  “Not right now, no.”

  “You can’t keep me here.”

  Mr. Petrova’s twisted little smile broadens, “Doctor, we are not keeping you here as a prisoner. You want to be safe don’t you?” “Yes…” She says quietly looking down at her empty plate that has a cartoon dog on it, licking its chops with “Mmmm Good!” written in bubble letters above his head.

  “Then there is no reason to accuse anyone of keeping anyone here prisoner. We are all trying to survive the best way we can. For now that means making do with what we can get, what we have, and above all else staying cautious.” He concludes and folds his hands, entwining his fingers in front of his face as if mocking pleading with her.

  Faith does n’t say anything else. She scoots her chair back and stands, stomping across the room to the door. She grabs it and pulls it open with so much force that it hits the wall and swings back and slams shut behind her.

  The room goes silent after that. I remember staying at a party once when Jill got mad at the guys throwing the party and left. That was a big mistake and I don’t intend to repeat it. I push my chair back. Trying to be quiet, but in the big room it sounds almost as loud as hers did.

  I look down the table to Mr. Petrova and sa y, “Thank you” with an awkward bow, and then jog to the door. I look back at the room. All of them are staring at me. I turn to Mr. Petrova again and say, “Thanks…uh…thank you for dinner” before exiting. I could have kicked myself in the ass for how stupid I and awkward I looked in that getaway.

  Faith leans up against the wall right outside in the hall scowling but when she sees me, her scowl melts into a look of satisfaction. Note: When the girl you came with leaves the party mad…go with her. She pushes off the wall and hooks my elbow with her arm as we traverse the staircase and return to our little room.

  Right Out the Front Door

  “We leave tonight.” Faith says when we get back to our room.

  “You may be right, we should leave. I don’t like the vibes from that guy, but I don’t know if we should leave at night.”

  “When the hell do you want to leave…after breakfast?” She asks loudly.

  “Shhh…just listen…I know. Look…I know that Petrova guy is a dick but most of these people are okay.”

  “It doesn’t matter. If he won’t let us leave, even on runs for supplies, then we are his prisoners, plain and simple.” She frowns.

  “Well…maybe he would let me go.” I say.

  “You would leave without me?” Her face suddenly loses all of its color.

  “No…just to the hospital to get what you need.”

  “I need to get away from that psychopath. You promised me that we were not going to separate. You promised.”

  “I know. I did. I will…I mean I won’t. Listen these guys are pretty smart and I just thought…”

  “That I would be safe here…while you were out there…and then what would happen when they get us apart?”

  “I just thought you wanted to be safe.” “I do…I want to be safe… with you. I am not scared to go out there with you.” She says and stares into my eyes. Her mouth is thin. It looks like she is trying to smile but it keeps shifting uncontrollably to a frown. “I’m frightened of staying here with him. That man, he is not right. He is going to kill more people before this is over.”

  We turn on the desk lamp in our little room. There is a painting on the wall with a vase and flowers in it. The painting looks cheap but the frame is gold and curls into regal looking florets all around the simple still-life art. The desk that the lamp sits on is a dark red wood with a very formal look about it. It is plain and small, even though it was certainly expensive. There is not a bed in here, only a small loveseat style couch that is tan with gold pin stripes on it and a plush cushioned arm chair with wooden legs, the same rich color as the desk. Also a small plain black wooden chair with no cushion or arm-rests sits pushed up to the desk.

  The room is small and square and windowless. It is a richly dressed cell, but a cell all the same. I can’t deny Faith’s l
ogic. We are his prisoners. The question is: Would I really rather go back out to fight those monsters and possibly die to avoid being held against my will? The other problem is that I can see logic in his desire to keep the doctor safe. It is practical thinking.

  “What is the harm in staying for a few more days and resting here? Let these other guys go out and scout and take all of our risks for us?” I ask, thinking both are innocent and legitimate questions.

  “Please tell me you do not actually agree with that asshole. He shot Gary right in front of us. He killed him for nothing…” She starts to weep and sits in the soft arm-chair and hugs a small rectangular gold and burgundy throw pillow to her chest.

  It wasn’t for nothing and she knows it, I think. I actually almost say that to her, but as it dances on the tip of my tongue I remember my desire to shoot Mr. Petrova with that gun in the suitcase after he shot Gary. “I don’t agree with his methods but Mr. Petrova will keep everyone safe, if only to keep himself safe.” I try instead.

  “Unless he thinks they are a threat and then he will kill them. Come on Les…Dead Boy…let’s leave. He has no right to keep us here. And we are better off on our own than with these people.” She says.

  I nod my head. As she looks into my eyes with her stunning electric blue ones, I say, “Okay Faith. We leave tonight. How, do you think we should do it?”

  “Walk right out the front doors.”

  “I’m pretty sure they will be locked. And…they will probably notice.”

  “Somebody has to have the key. Anyway, that’s why we leave tonight.” She sighs as she kneels, repacking the green suitcase.

  “Maybe Levi…”

  “Who?”

  “The old man…that let us in.”

  “The guy who pulled the gun on you.” “Yeah, he doesn’t trust Petrova. We talked. I even showed him…” I jerk my thumb at the now very old nappy looking bandages on my arm. Faith frown’s at it and reopens the green suitcase.

  “I need to rewrap that.” She says pulling out a roll of gauze.