Zombies! (Episode 3): Love Bites

by Ivan Turner

  "You're living here?"

  "Saving the world," she answered, never taking her eye from the lens.

  "I don't think the world needs that kind of saving. If there weren't zombies involved, I'd say that this is less scary than swine flu."

  She looked up at him again. What was he doing there? "Swine flu didn't kill young healthy people. This thing is aggressive and gets stronger the closer you get to death. Once you're dead, it's at its strongest. The bacteria from a bite can take over a victim in a matter of hours. If you contract it from a living person, there's an incubation period. It might take a week or more before the victim becomes symptomatic. Then it's like a freight train."

  "But the hospitals aren't overflowing with zombies or people who think they have the zombie plague," Naughton argued. "In fact, people are starting to go back to work and back to school."

  "I'm very happy for them. But when you're dealing with an incubation period, especially one that may vary based on the strength of the victim, then you never know when there will suddenly be a million sick people. This also might be a slow starter. The winter will help because the cold weather will keep people indoors and limit spreading, but this thing is not weak and it's not going away and we can't fool ourselves into thinking we're safe."

  The captain chewed this over a bit. "Who's going to save us when you die of fatigue and sugar poisoning?"

  This time her laughter was a bit more genuine.

  "Let me buy you dinner," he said. "We'll have a proper dinner at a proper restaurant."

  This was an invitation that took her totally by surprise. Up until that moment, he'd been very subtle. She was flattered, though. Naughton had always struck her as the type who surrounded himself with vapid and buxom twenty year olds. Her boyfriend, now ex -boyfriend, had been sure that she and Naughton had been screwing around. He'd been wrong, of course, but he hadn't bought into the whole saving the world bit. Now she wondered if he hadn't been just a bit on cue. Looking back at the microscope she considered her desires versus her obligations. For the past two hours, she'd been studying cells and comparing the results of tests. She had gone over the same data again and again with no revelations. Maybe she could spare a couple of hours of selfishness. Then she could return to work with a fresh perspective.

  She smiled and it was genuine. She couldn't remember the last time one of those had surfaced. Naughton took her by the hand and led her out of the lab.

  ***

  DINNER was nice, but had the feel of being rushed. It was as if they were both just trying like hell to get through the meal and see what comes next. They made some small talk, starting of course with their common ground. The zombie plague. But the truth was that neither of them was really interested in exploring that topic very far. It was what had brought them together but not what drew them together. Denise found that Naughton was able to bring out her underlying personality. He made her feel as if she didn't have to defend her lifestyle or her choices. HE made her feel as if she could finally let her guard down. Even the restaurant he'd picked was understated just enough to make her comfortable. It was nice enough to be impressive without giving the idea that he was trying to impress her.

  When the waitress put the dessert menus down in front of them, she didn't touch hers.

  "I don't really want dessert, Lance."

  He looked up from his menu, grinning. "Too many donuts?"

  She shook her head.

  "Oh," he said, showing some disappointment. But, like a good sport, he put down the menu and looked around for the waitress. "Eager to get back to the lab then. I understand."

  But Denise shook her head again. "No. I don't think I want to go back there tonight."

  Now he was confused. She could see it in his eyes and took a kind of guilty pride at having made him feel that way. The indomitable Lance Naughton, confused and cowed by some coy flirting.

  After a healthy pause, she added. "I thought I might stay by your place tonight."

  "Hmm?" he asked. Then it dawned on him. "Oh!" He got the check in a hurry after that.

  They stopped at a drug store on the way home. It's not what you think. Denise wanted to buy a tooth brush because she was fanatical about her teeth and Naughton would have neither the brush nor the toothpaste that she would want to use. She also liked a special kind of floss. They separated, he going to pick out a few things himself while she grabbed her items. With an armload of dental supplies, she wandered up the medication aisle on the way to find him and noticed the display of Head Shot.

  It claimed to be the perfect defense against the zombie virus. Except there was no zombie virus. There was a zombie infection and this cold and flu remedy would do just about as much good as chicken soup or a nice cup of tea.

  "Lance," she called out.

  He came quickly. A voice carries in an empty drug store on a Saturday night. Indicating the bottle of medicine, she puffed up her cheeks and waited. It's a funny thing when the relationship between a man and a woman changes from business to social. Even though he knew he'd done nothing wrong, he could tell she was upset and he knew it was about Head Shot, but he didn't know why. And a man's brain is always wondering which of his next moves will make matters worse.

  "They can't possibly have run any tests on actual zombies," he muttered, taking a general stab at the problem.

  "It's worse than that, Lance," she answered, completely unaware of his discomfort. "This plague is not a virus. If people think this stuff will help them, they'll be less likely to get real medical help until it's too late. That means more dead people, more zombies, and a quicker spread of the infection."

  "Okay," he said, putting the bottle back on the shelf. "I'll make some calls tomorrow morning and get the ball rolling on forcing a recall. I know enough people in the right places to make that happen. We can also make a statement to the press exposing the fraud. We'll have this buried by Monday night."

  Luco fingered the bottle on the shelf, mulling over his plan. "You can do all of that? You're sure?"

  He shrugged. "I'll do what I can. I'm not a lawyer but I think we'll get some special latitude on this because they had the nerve to mention zombies on their label."

  "All right," she said, sounding very much like a little girl who's putting her trust into someone about which she's not entirely sure. Then, with more finality. "Okay."

  "Do you want me to take you back to the lab?" he asked her.

  Denise looked up at him and smiled. "Not on your life."

  ***

  MARCUS spent most of Saturday with Shawn and enjoyed himself. They covered the city from uptown to downtown, hitting every autumn street fair and eating and laughing. It wasn't only the best date they'd had, it was the best date Marcus had ever had. He desperately wanted Shawn to stay with him that night and he was sure Shawn wanted to stay but neither of them could manage it. Shawn's mother became increasingly hostile after each phone call and ultimately demanded to speak with "this Marcus person". That was no problem for Marcus, who was charming and could talk to anyone. He put her at ease with no difficulty. Still, when evening fell, they grabbed a quick bite and Marcus saw Shawn to the train. He advised him to steer clear of any zombies on the way home. Shawn laughed because he knew it was what Marcus wanted him to do but the laugh was empty. He could still taste the life inside the jail. He could still feel the soft resistance of Larry Koplowitz's body as he'd pushed in the pipe. The vibrations of that very same pipe caving in the skull of Allison Ciccio still echoed up his arms and through his back and shoulders. He wondered if it would ever be less vivid.

  Marcus worried over him. They said goodbye with what looked like a handshake but held more affection. Then Marcus went off to conduct his own business.

  The first thing he did was go back to his apartment. Stripping off his expensive clothing, the clothing that made him look good, he pulled out a pair of baggy jeans and a dark blue hoodie. The T-shirt he put on was big and thick and all white. He had dark blue sneakers that matched the swea
tshirt exactly. These he slipped on over his feet and left the laces wide open. He could never stand loose shoes so he'd jury rigged a clip under the tongues so that the loose laces really were just for show. Finally, he went to his closet and dug into some debris for a locked metal strongbox. Inside was a Remington, which he pulled out, checked the magazine, and secured to a velcro sealed holster inside his sweatshirt. He put two extra magazines into his pockets.

  With the disguise complete, he slipped quietly out of his apartment and down the back stairs. He didn't go out the front of the building, didn't want to be seen on the security camera. Instead, he went to the basement and used a service entrance. He'd use the same entrance when coming back. One night, after getting the super piss drunk, he'd lifted the key to the entrance and had a copy made. Marcus remembered just how nervous he'd been that night. It was something he'd done for absolutely no rational reason. It just made him feel good to have the power to come and go unnoticed. Now it was paying off.

  Down the street and into the train station. It was ten minutes to Grand Central where he transferred to the Lexington Avenue express and rode it out to the Bronx. It was really dark when he got off the train and the streets weren't exactly safe. He was always careful not to wear gang colors but that didn't necessarily mean they would leave him alone. Even with the gun, he wasn't totally safe so he needed to be on his guard. He had a twelve block walk that would take him into a very abandoned warehouse district. Most of the buildings were falling apart and their ownership was up for grabs. The whole area suited him perfectly.

  Waiting for him on a street corner were the three men he'd come to meet. They were dressed in grey hoodies and dark denim. One of them wore sunglasses. When he reached them, they exchanged greetings, both verbal and physical.

  "How'd it go?" Marcus asked.

  The man with the glasses took them off showing dark sparkling eyes. "We lost it."

  Marcus' tone remained neutral. "How did that happen?"

  "We cornered some bitch in an alley but some guy came to rescue her."

  "Some guy?"

  "He had a gun. He just shot the thing in the head, like he knew what it was."

  Marcus thought about that for a minute. "Was he a cop?"

  The man nodded. "Pretty sure. I think he knew the girl, too. I think they live in the building."

  "Is there any way he can trace the thing back to you?"

  "Nah, man. How's he gonna do that?"

  Now Marcus' eyes glowed and he showed some anger. "You'd better be sure." He addressed the three of them. "So there's no mistake. If any one of us gets tagged, he's on his own."

  They all nodded. They'd had this conversation before.

  When it was settled, the man replaced his glasses and led Marcus and the other three up the street. They moved through a rusty chain link fence and up to one of the warehouses. It was a giant structure, three stories high and thousands of square feet. Inside, it had a huge empty space in the center with prefab corridors built into the sides. There was an upper level, but only running along the back. Marcus assumed that there were offices up there; he would have one.

  "It's good," he said. "When can we have it?"

  "Deed's up for grabs," said the man in the glasses. "We just need the cash."

  "Not a problem. What about the builders?"

  "That's harder. I know a contractor who can do most of the work for a decent price but it ain't gonna go unnoticed. People are gonna want to know what's going on down here where everything's supposed to be shut down."

  Marcus waved him away. "That's not a problem. We're starting a business, right? We need some exposure."

  The other man shrugged.

  "What's our stock like?"

  "Those things ain't easy to find. We got four right now."

  "Any women?"

  The man with the glasses nodded. "Just one but she ain't pretty."

  "Let's have a look."

  The man led them outside and around the back. There was an old aluminum shed there. The doors were rusty but the handles were new and the padlocks were the best that money could buy. The man with the glasses had the key and he unlocked them. The other two men pulled out flashlights. One was handed over to Marcus. As he stepped forward, the first thing to hit him was the smell. It was the most repulsive thing he'd ever experienced but he couldn't show that kind of weakness in front of these characters. So he choked down his revulsion and stepped inside. The floor was dusty and the walls were dirty. There was a musty wet quality to the air. He shined the light around the room and caught each of them one at a time. There were three men and one woman, all chained to the walls. Two of the men were older. They'd been homeless men. They wore faded pants, one brown and one green with the remnants of button down shirts. One man was unmarked, as if the plague had come to him through the air. The other had a deep leg wound. His pants were ripped and stained black. In the torchlight, Marcus could just see the ragged flesh hanging from the wound. The third man was a business man. He was missing three fingers on his right hand. The suit he wore was grimy and stained with blood. There was also some dried blood around his mouth. This zombie had fed. And finally there was the woman. When the man in the glasses had said she wasn't pretty, he hadn't been kidding. It didn't matter that she was, or had been, grossly overweight. It didn't matter that her black and grey hair was a tattered mess. Some other zombie had made lunch of her. Although the blood had dried and the wounds had crusted over, the dress she wore was torn apart at her midsection and there were not one but three gaping cavities where the attackers had torn into her.

  Marcus made a show of looking at them, shining his light on them one at a time and giving ample pause. As they struggled against their chains, he stood stock still, practicing meditation techniques and focusing on the walls behind them rather than the zombies themselves. When he felt he'd shown enough strength, he turned and left the shed. The others followed.

  "Anyone looking for them?" he asked.

  "I'm sure there will be. Not the street guys, though."

  "We need more, at least a dozen before we start."

  "Probably more than that," the man in the glasses said.

  Marcus nodded. Getting more wouldn't be a problem, though. Some people will do anything for money.

  ***

  ARRICK dozed more than slept through the course of the night. He sat in the chair, which was uncomfortable, even with his feet propped up on the bed. Exhausted, he thought several times that he should leave. Really, what was he staying for? Suzanna was either going to get better or she was going to die. He was afraid to take her to the hospital and she refused to go anyway. So she lay sweating in bed, moaning out her sufferings, and he listened for a while, then dozed, then listened some more.

  A sudden change in her breathing brought him fully awake. He was disoriented, unsure of the time. Sitting in the dark, he peered around the room. All he could see was shadows.

  "Suzanna?" he whispered, looking over at the lump of blanket and sheet on the bed. He reached over to her, put his hand where he thought her leg should be, and wound up with a handful of empty blanket. Startled, he leaned forward and probed for her but the bed was empty.

  "Suzanna?" he called out a little louder. He looked around the room but couldn't see anything. He listened but he couldn't hear anything.

  Standing up, Arrick called out her name once more and received the same response. He was frightened. Carefully, he made his way into the hallway. Desperately, he wanted to run from that apartment. He wanted nothing more than to be safe in his own home. But still something held him back. Perhaps it was the same misguided loyalty that had prevented him from leaving her in the first place.

  "Suzanna?"

  Then he heard it. The sound of air moving through a tunnel, a horrible macabre moaning. Until that moment, he had doubted. Any sane person would doubt the existence of zombies. Suzanna had doubted also. She had just been sick. But all disbelief disappeared entirely in that moment. He couldn't see her. She
was in front of him but it was too dark to see. She was just a silhouette in the hallway. For a moment, a brief moment in which he hated himself, he was attracted to her all the more. The shape of her shadow and the helplessness of her condition appealed to him in a way that he would hopefully forever bury from that moment on. For then he switched on the light in the hallway and saw her face. Her dead face with empty eyes.