Zombies! (Episode 3): Love Bites

by Ivan Turner

  It was not the missing super. This zombie was a male anywhere from forty five to sixty years old. It wore a gray suit with an understated striped tie. The shirt and jacket were stained with blood and there was a gash through one leg of the pants. Some of its hair had fallen out, literally fallen out. There were tufts of it scattered on the floor. The exposed portions of its scalp were red and blistered. The remaining hair was almost entirely white but was, or had been, thick and soft. A black and white mustache, thick with dried gore, was plastered to its upper lip. The arm it was chewing on had probably belonged to the super.

  "I've got it, Al," Culph said into the mike. "Call it in and see if Dr. Luco wants it alive."

  "Roger," came the reply.

  Culph watched it with fascination, his rifle leveled at its head. It took one jerking motion toward him but was held fast by the collapsed shelf. It must have somehow understood that it couldn't get to him because it ignored him after the failed attempt and went back to gnawing on the severed arm.

  "Al?"

  "Yeah, Frank?"

  "I want to get some video of this thing."

  "What?"

  Culph chuckled into the mike. "Yeah, I think Dr. Luco might like to observe their behavior."

  Al thought that Culph had a little bit of a crush on Dr. Luco. She was a pathologist. Her interest began and ended with the bacteria that caused the infection. Zombie behavior was a different science altogether. There were other doctors that might be interested, though. So he complied, comfortable in the knowledge that the zombie had been found and all was safe.

  There was a portable video camera on Culph's belt. Al came up behind him and removed it, flipping open the digital lens and taking some footage. Culph watched as the thing continued its gnawing motion. When Al walked up, it tried to free itself again, just once. Then it went back to its bone. It was as if the prospect of the new victim changed the state of its own situation. It didn't make any rational sense but it did allude to a sort of rationale behind the hunger.

  "Is that the super's arm?" Al asked as he watched the thing through the lense. His voice quavered a bit. Unlike Culph, Henry was not enamored with his job. He'd been there at Sisters of Charity when the ER there had been invaded by the undead. At Heron's order, he'd come into the hospital hefting a giant sledge hammer as if he was going to bash through the walls with it. When he'd been offered a place on the squad, he'd initially declined. Later he'd changed his mind. Al Henry had a very inflated perception of what his duty as a police officer was. But inside he was a sensitive man without the real guts for this kind of work.

  "I guess," Culph answered, not really caring too much about the arm.

  "Where's the super's body?"

  Culph froze, suddenly chilled even through his gear. He cursed once. Looking over at Al, he realized the kind of danger that his partner was in. Without saying anything, he turned him around and began marching him back toward the stairs. Al must have also realized that there was a missing body and a missing body meant a missing zombie. He didn't say anything either.

  It was perhaps a fifteen second march from their position to the staircase when moving directly. Culph moved behind Al, keeping his gun trained forward and his eyes everywhere. Everywhere, that is, except behind himself. He didn't even think to look out for himself.

  The zombie launched itself from out of the shadows and grabbed Culph around the waist. Al stumbled forward, away from the fray, while Culph tried in vain to recover. Off balance, the zombie had all of the advantage. It sank its teeth into his arm, tearing viciously at the woven material of his sleeve.

  His sleeve held.

  This infuriated the zombie no end. When its teeth came back with only fibers, it bit him again. And again. Al moved forward to help, but Culph called him off angrily. The last thing he wanted to see was a friend and partner bitten by a zombie. That's what had happened to Heron.

  Twisting his body so that the zombie was forced to begin work on a fresh part of his arm, he managed to wrest his pistol from the holster. He'd dropped the rifle when he'd realized that he'd never be able to bring it to bear. Tugging his arm free, he grabbed the thing by its own one arm and pushed it forward into a shelving unit. Boxes tumbled forward as the unit moved. Still holding his adversary's arm, Culph thrust the gun forward and fired twice into its eye. It crumpled to the floor.

  Trying to get his breathing under control, Culph looked down at it. He was still holding it by the wrist but tossed it away as he suddenly realized that, though it only had one arm, it was the wrong arm.

  "Al…" he turned to see Al beating off a third zombie with a broom. If it hadn't been so terrifying, it would have been comical. There stood this six foot plus black guy with muscles on his muscles and he was poking a broom handle at a frail undead thing. Tears streamed down the poor cop's face and he was whimpering as he fought.

  Whipping a taser from his belt, Culph stepped in and gave the zombie a jolt. It may not have reacted to the pain of a beating or a gunshot wound, but it definitely did not like electricity. The thing jumped and shuddered, trying in vain to get control of itself. Culph kicked it clear and then shot it in the head.

  "Jesus," Al breathed, heading up the stairs backwards. He still held the broom out ahead of him like a talisman. "Jesus…jesus…jesus…"

  Culph followed him up the stairs and out of the basement, closing the door behind him. Once clear of the danger area, he pulled off his head gear and gloves. Gritting his teeth, he dialed on his cell phone and ordered what he termed a sweep team.

  "How many of them do you think are down there?" Al asked, breathing heavily. As if in response to his question, there was a thump against, the door, followed by another and then another.

  Lips as thin as paper, Culph stared at the door. Something inside of him desperately wanted to rip it open and let it or them out. He didn't know how many were down there but he wanted to find out.

  "Hey, man. What are you doing?"

  Culph looked back at Henry, confused. Then he noticed that his hand was on the door handle. He removed it and shook his head. "I don't know," he said. Then he repeated it.

  ***

  THE building, while being a regular Manhattan apartment building, seemed to also be the site of a high level drug organization. The man in the suit, identified as Goran Yuniefskiey, was the client. Two other men ran the organization and then there were two others that provided muscle. Whenever a high paying client wanted to meet for merchandise, the super of the building would lock them all in the basement storeroom and disappear. When the sale was done, he would let them out and collect his cut. Apparently, someone involved in the sale had been infected and must have turned during the meeting. There were five bodies in all, none of which was the super himself. The arm had belonged to Luis Cartega, one of the muscle men. With the super, a man named Jeremiah Nelson, still missing, Heron ordered a search. Until it could be determined whether or not he'd been infected, finding him was a priority.

  For his part, Culph's day ended unsatisfactorily. He was not made part of the sweep team. Even though his gear had held, he'd technically been bitten. The skin of his arm was red and irritated, although unbroken. He was ordered to the hospital for a blood test. Sitting for two and a half hours awaiting results did nothing to ease his tension and by the time he was cleared to go home, he was in a foul mood.

  Rosie was waiting for him as they had arranged. She'd made dinner and was all smiles as he walked through the door. She gave him a hug and a kiss, told him how happy she was that he'd be off the next day and they'd be able to spend it together. She was the perfect girlfriend and he was the perfect bastard. Nothing she said penetrated his gloom and he was snapping at her before they even sat down.

  "You had a call today, didn't you?" she asked, turning serious. "A real call?"

  Culph nodded. Rosie had grown up in the worst part of the Bronx. She'd failed her way through public school, dropping out at sixteen and not even bothering to get a GED. No one worth a damn had
ever paid her even the slightest bit of attention and this smart, beautiful girl had wound up a gang man's toy. She'd wound up getting involved in an arrest but was cleared of charges pretty quickly. Still very young himself, Culph hadn't had the resources or contacts to pull her completely out of that life. He didn't know anyone who could give her a job or even a chance. So he just kept showing up wherever she was. He wasn't obtrusive at first. He would just wander by and say hello. Her boyfriend at the time did not like the attention. At first, he'd issued Culph a veiled threat. No one ever got away with that. Culph dismissed him. Badge or no badge, he was more than a match for some gangland punk.

  So the boyfriend had tried a different tactic. This dumb punk who thought he was tough because he carried a gun and a bunch of other dumb punks were willing to listen to him thought that he could get rid of Culph by beating on Rose. Culph used his badge well. But he used his fists better. They'd come after him once. Just once. He'd known they would. Those stupid kids. There was a time when Culph had thought it would be hard to take a life. That time was long gone. But so was the feeling of elation that went with being a hero. Or maybe the fine line between heroism and villainy had been smudged. Maybe he just didn't know who he was anymore.

  Rose pressed. He hated it when she did that. Later, when he was more lucid, he'd realize that it was a measure of her courage. But in the evening, after work, after fighting zombies, he just wasn't in the mood. He screamed at her. He stood up with his hands balled into fists and he got close to her. There was fear in her eyes. She didn't want him to hit her again. For that, she could have stayed with the gang.

  "You didn't used to be like this, Frank," she whispered to him, her voice both strong and weak at the same time. "You used to know where to put your fists."

  He grimaced, squeezing his hands tighter. But he held them in check.

  Rose backed away from him, her eyes on his as if she could hold him in place like a wild dog. Her purse was on the front table. He'd thrown his keys onto it when he'd come in. If she'd just grabbed at her purse, the keys would have fallen and the spell would have been broken. She was too smart for that. Pushing the keys gently to the table surface, she grabbed up her bag and hugged it close.

  "I'm going now, Frank. I don't want to be with you like this. You get help, okay?" And then she was out the door and heading down the stairs.

  Culph stood there, not saying anything, just staring at the closed door. Was she gone? Could he relax now? Slowly, he opened his hands. They'd gone completely white and his fingers were stiff. There were red lines where his nails had bitten into his palms. Truth to tell, he didn't even really remember what she'd said. The roar of the blood in his ears had been deafening. The important thing was that he hadn't hit her. Somehow, he'd managed to shut down completely. It almost didn't matter that he was sure she was gone forever. That was probably for the best.

  It was only a couple of minutes later when he was breathing more regularly and reaching into his jacket to take out his gun and put it away. There came a pounding on the door. For just a moment, Culph was afraid it was Rose. His adrenaline was still high. He still couldn't trust himself. If she wanted to reconcile, it would be better to wait a day.

  "Cop, you in there?" a man's voice called.

  He went quickly and opened the door. Once of his neighbors stood just outside. He didn't know the man's name, wasn't even sure which apartment he lived in. But he had this overwhelmed look on his face and exhaled fiercely when Culph opened the door.

  "You're a cop, right? There's some girl getting mugged in the alley."

  Damn! "Call 911."

  Then he was out the door and down the stairs. He couldn't even hope that it was some nameless, faceless fifty year old victim. When he got to the alley, he knew he would see Rose.

  And he did. But the rest of the scene was a nice surprise. She was pressed up against the building, cowering between two dumpsters. Four men were approaching her, moving in slowly. Three of them could have been the same person for what they wore and the way they acted. They were dressed in dark denim and grey hoodies. The hoods were up and the draw strings drawn. One of them wore sunglasses even though it was nighttime. The fourth man, however, was what drew Culph's attention. He was a big guy, dressed in a dark green overcoat. He had his head down but Culph could see a fat face and a bushy beard. He also wore dark glasses but they couldn't hide the truth.

  One of the other three men held the zombie on a leash. It was made of a long strip of leather, a third of which was stapled along a run of pipe. Culph wasn't sure how long the pipe was but it was long enough to keep the zombie away from its keeper. He was so astounded at first to see these three men taking a zombie for a walk like some pet that he missed a step. Fortunately, they were just as surprised by him.

  The keeper nudged the zombie toward Culph.

  "Is he the only weapon you've got?" Culph asked looking straight through the dark glasses.

  The three men laughed. "Why don't you give him a kiss?"

  Culph chuckled a bit, too, then pulled out his gun and fired. The zombie dropped like a stone. For a moment, everything was frozen in place as the three men tried to make sense of what had just happened. Then, even before Culph could tell them they were under arrest, they bolted down the alley and disappeared into the city.

  Rose stood looking at the zombie on the ground, a look of pure disgust on her face.

  Culph came to her and put his arms around her. "Are you all right?"

  She pushed him away, not even afraid of him anymore. "All right? What are you, a god damned hero now?"

  He crossed his brows but he dared not hit her here out in the street. The sirens were already wailing in the distance.

  Smacking him in the shoulder, she cried, "Do you think this was some romantic gesture, paying a bunch of guys to attack me with that…that thing just so you could rescue me?"

  "Rose…"

  "No way, Frank. You're too sick for me." And she stalked off down the alley, right in the same direction as her would-be muggers.

  He wanted to follow her but he couldn't leave the zombie. Frustrated, he pulled his phone out and dialed a number. "Hey, it's Culph. You're never going to believe this."

  ***

  LIKE John Arrick, Shawn Rudd also had a date. At least, he hoped he had a date. He'd been out of jail for two days (three if you counted the afternoon of his release) and hadn't had the opportunity to go and see Marcus. In fact, he hadn't even spoken with Marcus since encountering the zombie three weeks before. For all Marcus knew, Shawn had just abandoned him. But it was Friday. Shawn could stay out a little late and get away with it. Marcus would be leaving a little early and their times should coincide nicely.

  He wasn't able to bolt out of class, though. It was his first day back and he needed to see each teacher about the missing work. So far, the load had been light. Apparently it hadn't taken too long for word of the zombie attacks to get around the city and people had started barricading themselves in their homes. That all worked out for Shawn. It had all worked out for Shawn.

  Two weeks before, that detective had come to see him again. He'd told Shawn that he thought he'd done the right thing. He could see that now. Of course, Shawn had to play up the act. Like I needed you to tell me that. But he had needed to hear it and it had lifted a tremendous weight off of his chest. Shawn was not a fighter. He was not in a gang despite the fact that two of the guys he'd grown up with had joined. He still saw one of them on occasion. The other one was dead. The day he'd seen that zombie, something inside of him had just sort of switched on. He didn't know whether it was righteousness or self preservation. What he didn't tell anyone, not even the detective, was that killing the zombie had been automatic. He'd done it without thought. But killing the victim…the woman…that had been a conscious decision. He'd actually taken three seconds to think through the consequences of smashing her head in with the pipe. And he'd done it anyway.