Zombie Ever After

by Carl S. Plumer

  Donovan glanced over at Cathren. “Time to abandon ship,” he said.

  The two jumped out the middle side door, the exit of least resistance and smallest zombie clustering, and ran for their lives. Their only hope was that this Rose Bowl Parade of zombies represented most, if not all, of the local zombie population. If that wasn’t the case, then they were effectively running out of the undead frying pan and into the zombie fire.

  “You any closer to morphing, babe? Even a teeny, tiny bit?” Donovan asked Cathren as they ran away.

  “Nope. Sorry,” she said, scrunching up her face as a kind of visual apology.

  “Well, I hope you do soon.”

  “You and me both.”

  They took the first possible left, onto 6th Street and up to Avenue B where they stopped to catch their breath.

  Which was when the zombies—the damned, swift, evolving zombies—showed up.

  “For such slow-moving mothers, they sure can cover a lot of ground when they want to.”

  “Stick-to-it-ive-ness. Admirable,” Cathren said.

  “So, anything yet, in the morphing department?” Donovan asked as the two picked up speed again.

  “Nope, still me. A hundred percent human.”

  “We could sure use some of that anti-zombie power right about now,” Donovan said, trying to sound encouraging and supportive, not nagging and desperate.

  “Don’t I know it,” Cathren agreed.

  They pushed themselves harder to gain extra speed and a little more distance from their pursuers. They ran through a small retail block that appeared to have recently hosted a full-scale riot with doors barely hanging on by a broken hinge, or missing altogether. Windows shattered. Merchandise stomped and scattered. Drug stores. Shoe stores. Candy stores. Dry cleaners. Diners. Extreme sports rental companies.

  “What? Wait!” Donovan said, coming to an abrupt and ill-advised stop. “Look.”

  Among the broken shards of the display windows at the Sky High Fly storefront, color pamphlets showed happy people in the heavens hanging from paragliders and parasails. Inside, charts gave the schedules and prices.

  “A Flying Fox!” Donovan shouted. “Just sitting here!” He picked up the famous Flying Fox’s basic black backpack, swiftly and securely strapping it on.

  “Um, what are you doing?” Cathren asked, calmly.

  “Check it out. Fits like I’m carrying sandwiches in the pack, instead of the primo tandem paragliding kit.”

  “Are you stealing? Really?” Cathren put her hands on her hips and stared at Donovan.

  Donovan gazed past her at the encroaching zombie hordes. “First of all, we need to get going, no if, ands, or buts about it. Second, no, I’m not stealing,” he said, adjusting the pack’s shoulder straps. “No such thing as robbery when it’s the end of the world.”

  Cathren rolled her eyes. “When are you ever going to use that thing, anyway? You planning on going on vacation in the middle of a zombie apocalypse?”

  “Hey, what better time for a holiday, right?” Donovan started jogging along with Cathren. “By the way, you never know,” he continued. “Maybe we’ll fly away together one day into the sunset.”

  “You’re a dreamer,” Cathren laughed, as they started running again. “Especially considering there ain’t no such things as real sunsets anymore.”

  “Hey, over here,” Donovan said, changing both topic and course on the spur of the moment. They sprinted toward two connected asterisk-shaped buildings, roughly ten stories high.

  With caution, the couple stepped through the main entrance and into the building.

  Chapter 68

  Once inside, they walked past massive, Soviet-looking statues built right into the façade of the building. These consisted of, for the most part, topless and muscular women. Cathren and Donovan trotted along, side-by-side, around a partial rotunda covered in marble and large murals. Art deco at its finest.

  They stopped in front of a pair of tall double doors. Donovan glanced back outside to where they had just been. Zombies—moaning, drooling, shuffling—limped their way closer by the minute.

  “Damn those little shits,” Donovan said. “Don’t they ever take a break? Don’t they ever get tired?”

  “Type A, I’m guessing,” Cathren said, grinning.

  Together, they pushed open one of the heavy doors and stepped through to the inner sanctum.

  There they stood, dwarfed within a vast room as big as a small stadium. Ceilings grew to at least twenty feet high. The chilly air smelled of antediluvian dust and dungy, dirty animals.

  When their eyes adjusted to the dark, Donovan and Cathren realized the odor came from the lifelike stuffed critters cramming the room. A grizzly bear roared from just a few feet away. A tiger was posed to pounce just beyond the bear. A wolverine, teeth exposed and gums drawn back, hid behind an artificial bush. A boa constrictor coiled, poised to strike the wolverine. A bald eagle flew, suspended from wires about fifteen feet above their heads, as if circling for the kill.

  Straight ahead, a massive desk dominated that side of the room. It was constructed of solid mahogany. It was easily twelve feet, possibly longer, from bow to stern (so to speak). Above the desk, a huge tapestry hung on the wall. The embroidery depicted a heroic scene of horses on their hind legs, men brandishing swords, and women waving flags. Woven into the tapestry was a Latin phrase and the name of a company Donovan and Cathren had grown to loathe: ATELIC.

  The couple stood in horrified silence for a brief moment. Then Donovan spoke.

  “What a crock o’ shit.”

  “I must respectfully disagree,” a voice echoed in the darkness behind them. “I think it captures the spirit of the company remarkably well, yes? Valoris. Vigor. Virtus. ‘Valor. Vigor. Virtue.’ Although I grant you that, yes, atelic is an old Anglo Saxon word meaning ‘horrible.’ Of course, we didn’t know that at the time, when we named the company thus inadvertently creating the acronym.”

  Donovan and Cathren did an about-face to find out who was doing the talking.

  Yes, of course: Dr. Burkhart Egesa, with a pistol in his hand.

  “You are surprised to see me, yes?” Egesa twisted his mouth into something resembling a smile.

  Both Donovan and Cathren rolled their eyes.

  “Happy to see you again, too,” Egesa said. “In case you’re wondering, I have allowed you in. You didn’t just walk in.” He gestured toward the entrance. “Those doors lock with electronics, yes? They have the solid metal core. You would not have gotten in even with a bulldozer and dynamite.”

  “Impressive,” said Donovan, unimpressed.

  “Well, enough small talk,” Egesa said. “Please, follow me.” Egesa gestured like a bullfighter and allowed Donovan and Cathren to pass him and take the lead.

  They walked across the wide room to a bank of elevators on the west side. When they reached the elevators, two goons appeared as if by magic from a small door adjacent to the lift. Egesa pushed the UP button and the rest of the party stepped in.

  As the doors whooshed shut and the elevator began its ascent, the so-called impenetrable front doors caved in with a squeal, a shudder, and a mighty crash. Dozens of hungry, stinking, moaning zombies rushed in, like pumped-up rock fans at a free concert.

  Chapter 69

  The elevator pinged on the top floor, and Donovan, Cathren, and their host disembarked. Egesa led them to a room down the hall, a laboratory. A variety of purpose-built scientific equipment filled the space. On one side sat a rack of test tubes, bottles of chemicals, vials of powders, Bunsen burners, a lunch bucket, and other various and sundry items. On the other side, geological and archaeological instruments sat on worktables: scales, hammers, rocks, bones, a computer. Other tables were held weather balloons, thermometers, pressure meters, and wind meters.

  All of these instruments were mostly unfamiliar to Donovan and Cathren. That is, except for one or two they remembered from high school, such as the microscopes. Egesa led them though to another, l
arger room next. Here, the instruments were far too recognizable.

  Along these walls, the eggquariums that Donovan and Cathren had learned to fear glowered down at them like malevolent robots. Bright silver gadgets that they knew too well dangled from the ceiling above the operating tables like tiny evil monkeys on electric vines. Small and deadly power saws, needles, and drills.

  “Oh, jeez, not this again,” Donovan said, his voice filled with exasperation. “What’s with you, man?” he said to Egesa. “Why don’t you give it up already?”

  “I wish I could, but I can’t,” Egesa said. “She’s the reason. Your Cathren holds the answer to everything inside her little body. I must unearth it. I must.” He licked his lips. “Once I have the answer, the world is cured, yes? Perhaps I uncover the secret to immortality at the same time, as well. Then the Nobel Prize is mine!”

  He balled his right hand into a tight fist and clenched it firmly, then he pounded it into his left palm. He stared straight ahead as if peering into the future at the Nobel Prize ceremony in Stockholm. As if he stood there on the podium, the audience wildly applauding as he humbly accepted his much-deserved recognition.

  After a moment, Egesa got a grip and shook it off. He gestured for the couple to move on and one of the goons gave Donovan a small shove for encouragement. A woman stood at the far end of the laboratory, wearing a green lab coat and a rainbow-colored scrub cap that hid her hair. She kept her back to the door as the group approached. Then, she slowly turned to face Donovan and Cathren. She smiled, carefully placing the scientific instrument in her hand onto the stainless steel table beside her.

  “Hello, and welcome,” she said.

  The voice and the smile belonged to Alena Portanova.

  Chapter 70

  “Yes, yes,” Egesa said. “We are back together. The happy couple. All sins forgiven.”

  He took a deep breath and a few strides forward and then kissed an unmoving Alena on the cheek. Egesa turned again to his audience. “We shall begin immediately.”

  One of the thugs relieved Donovan of his Flying Fox backpack, thus putting an end to Donovan’s dream almost before it began. The goon tossed the package into the adjacent lab like a flattened basketball. The pack bounced and skidded across the stained and pitted linoleum floor, resting about ten feet from the entrance. The man closed and locked the steel doors separating the two rooms and stood there like a sentry.

  Donovan whispered to Cathren, “Here we go again.” He felt torn between self-pity for the loss of his beloved Flying Fox and horror at what was now about to befall them.

  “No, no, no,” Egesa said, having overheard Donovan’s comment. “No mistakes this time. This time, we will tie you down and only then will we begin the operation. The scientific man does not aim at immediate results, yes? He does not expect his advanced ideas will be readily taken up. No, his work is like that of the planner for the future. So, immediately to work, as I always say, but long to achieve.”

  Outside, thunder cracked in the distance. A line of lightening scratched across the dark skies, followed right away by a thunderous boom. Egesa snapped on the various controls on the panels in front of him. The devices had so many switches, dials, and sliders it was like a musician’s mixing board. Thunder shuddered through the room again as Egesa pointed over his head.

  “Today, we will triumph over Nature—over God himself!” He twisted his face into a half-smile, half-sneer. Behind him, the Tesla coils crackled and sparked, casting flickering shadows against the walls like in a vintage black-and-white movie. “Strap them down!” he cried over the crashing thunder. As the heavies moved in on Donovan and Cathren, Egesa added, “When you’re done, give me a hand over here.” He turned around and continued to yank without success at some cords and plugs.

  The brutes grabbed the couple. Donovan attempted a counter-attack but he was far out of his weight class. After a brief but valiant struggle, with Cathren unfortunately remaining quite human, Donovan and Cathren resignedly laid down on separate tables, having finally given up the fight, given up all hope. The two goons secured them to the table without further incident and then strutted over to join Egesa. They helped him to pop apart various gadgets, gizmos, and thingamabobs as if they were playing with Legos. When finished, the hoodlums returned to their primary task: guarding the doors.

  * * *

  Meanwhile, Alena Portanova easily disengaged the eggquarium she had selected from its dock. She rolled the device toward the center of the room. Then she approached Donovan and Cathren and whispered, “I am here to help you. Things they are not what they seem. Do you know the American expression, ‘keep your enemies closer—?’”

  “Yes,” Cathren said. “We’re familiar with that one.”

  “Well, that is why I am here with Egesa,” Alena went on. “Like him, I believe the answer is in you, Cathren,” she continued. “The cure.” She paused. “Unlike Egesa, I don’t think we should destroy you to get it. That is not good. Anyways, besides, Cathren, I am surprised to be seeing you here. How many times am I to rescue you now? Even by the side of the road I find you, your car destroyed in the gulch below and you unconscious. I nurse you back to health only to have you run away into a city filled with zombies!”

  “And your point?” Cathren asked. This woman had saved her in the past, true. Even so, Cathren found it hard to trust the partner of her worst enemy.

  “So,” Portanova said, exhaling. “I want to suggest an alternate solution. Egesa wants blood samples for his own experiments. He is misguided, and only interested in fame and immortality. I will take your blood, as requested by Egesa. However, I will take the vials away, out of here, to a safe place. There, I will conduct my own experiments to find the cure to this undead disease.”

  Cathren thought this over for a moment as Egesa finally puttered by with the second eggquarium, guiding the machine over to the one Alena had already parked next to Donovan and Cathren. The head within splashed, snarled, and snapped as the contraption was rolled into place.

  “Dr. Portanova. What is the delay? Where are the blood samples? Chop chop. Soon we shall begin!”

  “Almost done, doctor,” she said as he strolled back to the control panels across the room and then out the side door. To Cathren she said, “Now, you must hold quite still.”

  Alena prepped Catherine’s arm with an alcohol swab. She inserted a needle into Catherine’s vein and filled one vial with the blood. And then another, and another, and another.

  “Why so many?” Cathren whispered.

  “Many tests. I don’t want to run out of your blood before I can find what I’m looking for.” She smiled. “Besides, you may well outlive us all. Do you want to be here all alone?”

  “I don’t understand,” Cathren said. “What are you talking about?”

  “Donovan. He is mortal. He is not like you. However, he is your lover, am I correct? Forgive me my intrusions, but we have so little time. Your Donovan, he might die. Today, tomorrow, a year from now. His moment will come, we can be certain of that.”

  “Why are you telling me this?” Cathren said, her breath catching on a sob.

  “Because,” Alena whispered, “I think I might be able to help. I can’t give you any guarantees, but I have a theory about you. Let me put it to the test with your Donovan. Let me put your blood in his body. A transfusion of whatever it is that makes you you.”

  “No!” Cathren whispered loudly. “We don’t know what that would do. It could kill him.”

  The metal door slammed as Egesa returned. “Are you done yet?” he called out from across the room.

  “Doing it now, doctor. Only one more minute is needed.”

  “Good, good. Time is of the essence. Tonight we make history!” Egesa theatrically shot his right arm skyward, palm up.

  “This way, at least he—and you—can hold on to one small strand of hope in the coming future,” Alena continued, “that maybe he might survive a little longer than the average man.”

  Cathren lay
silent, tears running down her cheeks and onto the sheet covering the operating table she laid on. “I just don’t know,” she said.

  “Do it,” Donovan said, joining the conversation between Alena and Cathren. Both women looked over at him.

  “Don—” Cathren said. She tried to stretch her arm to reach over to him, but she was restricted by the straps that held her to the table.

  “The procedure might kill you, you know,” Alena said to Donovan, “as easily as fix you. Are you sure you’re sure?”

  “I’m dead sure.”

  Chapter 71

  Egesa still had his back to the three of them, the electric panel at his side humming. Sparks danced along electrodes, filling the room with an eerie glow and a slight burning odor. Egesa continued his project of connecting hoses, wires, and cables, and screwing in bulbs and transmitters. The slow process was made more cumbersome and tedious by all of the interconnected electrical, ventilation, and irrigation systems attached to the eggquariums.

  Alena worked at a frantic pace now, setting up a field transfusion system to pump some of Cathren’s blood into Donovan’s body. While the transfusion was underway, she grabbed the dozen and a half vials of blood she had taken from Cathren and sealed them. She then inserted each into a slot in a foam-filled metal briefcase, the exterior of which was bulletproof titanium filled with liquid nitrogen.

  She turned to Donovan. “How do you feel?”

  “A little queasy, but otherwise fine, I guess,” he said.