I stood there for a few more minutes and studied everything about myself. Nothing changed. My hair remained dark brown, my eyes remained blue, and my sweating started to subside, as did my fear.
I was still scared. I still believed I was going to become a zombie. I just didn’t think it was going to happen instantly.
I turned off the light and left the bathroom. I went through the entire house to make sure there were no easy entry points for zombies or other people. I not only remembered the zombies from movies, but the survivors; most of them were not nice people.
As I lay down in bed, I chuckled. I’d been bitten by a zombie and I was concerned with my security. I guess I was in denial… I wanted to believe things would get better and that I really wasn’t doomed. I realized that might have been what my parents had been doing in regards to their marriage; they knew it was doomed, but they were doing what they thought needed to be done to keep things safe and normal.
My eyes grew heavy and I let sleep take me. I was exhausted and there was nothing else I could do tonight to help anyone, especially myself.
<+>
Fire. Everything around me was on fire. Every inch of my skin burned. I screamed…and woke myself up. I realized the fire was a dream, but that it translated into reality as a fever. I was burning up. Everything around me was a blur and my body ached all over like I’d been beaten.
I groaned and tried to sit up.
It was a bad idea, I realized as what was left in my stomach – which wasn’t much – came up and splattered all over the carpet of my bedroom.
I groaned again and flopped back down on the bed.
Everything went dark.
When I woke up again, I felt like I’d been laying in an ice bath. My body convulsed in shivers that I couldn’t control. I peed myself as every muscle in my body twitched. I shook so violently that I fell on the floor, right into my vomit.
The last thought I had before I passed out was: Fuck…this is the end. I hope my family doesn’t come home after I’ve become a zombie.
Chapter 5
Sunlight was pouring into my bedroom when I opened my eyes. I hissed as the brightness stabbed through my eyeballs all the way to my brain like a lightning bolt. My head throbbed with pain.
“Fucking hell,” I growled as I tried to block my eyes with my hands.
I sat up and memories of my sickness came back to me. I smelled the vomit and the urine on myself, and I was lying on my bedroom floor, so I knew I hadn’t imagined it all.
I felt fine…other than I was hungry and thirsty. My shoulder wound ached, and I reached up to rub it; the injury was still tender. I expected to be a zombie when I woke up, and I didn’t expect to be coherent as a zombie.
I got slowly to my feet, with the help of my bedroom furniture, and made my way to the bathroom down the hall. I was exhausted and it took longer than I would have liked, but I made it. I was scared and excited to look at myself in the mirror. I had to take a couple of deep breaths to prepare myself for what I might see before I turned the lights on and faced the truth of myself.
I blinked rapidly as I stared at myself.
I didn’t look any different. I looked like normal, old me. I couldn’t believe it. I was in shock. I didn’t understand how I could be bitten by a zombie and not turn into one.
I took off my t-shirt and ripped off the bandage over my wound. The bite marks were still there, but the holes in my flesh were closed and three inches around the injury was a multicolored bruise.
“What the hell?” I asked my reflection. “This can’t be possible… I’m supposed to be dead, a zombie.”
I stripped away the rest of my clothes and continued to examine myself. I was still the same. Maybe a little skinnier since I hadn’t eaten since before I got sick, but otherwise fine.
I turned on the shower and climbed in to clean off the urine and vomit; the hot water felt fantastic. While I was washed myself, I started to wonder how long I’d been ill and incoherent. It could have been hours or days – I had no idea. I knew what date it was when I’d gotten bit, so I planned to check the date on my cell phone to see how long I’d been out of it.
Once I was clean, I shut off the water, climbed out, and toweled myself dry. I wrapped the towel around my waist and headed back to my room to get dressed again. I left my dirty clothes on the bathroom floor. I didn’t figure it would matter where they were. I didn’t think anything mattered anymore. And I didn’t know if I was happy or upset that I was still alive and human. If the world was what I thought it now was, there wasn’t much of a point to trying too hard for anything. But, then again, if I’d survived a bite, maybe somebody else did too and there could be hope. Hope for what, I didn’t know.
I snickered as I thought about hope. Most humans didn’t have any hope at all in a zombie apocalypse. If they did manage not to get bitten by a zombie, there was always starving or other, meaner humans who would do anything to survive.
I pulled clothes out of my dresser and put them on. While I dressed I couldn’t help but wonder, again, if there were others like me: people who had been bitten that didn’t turn into zombies. I kind of hoped there were. I liked that the world was different and I didn’t have to conform to social bullshit norms any longer, but I didn’t want to be the only one alive forever. That would be lonely and I didn’t know if I could handle it. Even though I never thought I would, I missed my family…even my annoying little sister. There was something comforting in numbers even if you didn’t like the people you were around. There was a strength and peace in knowing other people were on your side. That was completely gone for me.
I chuckled as I hoped if there were any other people immune to the zombie virus, like me, that I would like them and they wouldn’t be the kind of people who wanted everything to go back to “normal.”
Once I was dressed, I checked my phone. I discovered that I’d been sick for three days.
No wonder I’m hungry, I thought and shook my head. It was hard to believe I’d been unconscious that long.
I also checked my phone for messages. I had no missed calls. I had no text messages. I had no voicemail messages. Despite that, I tried to call Mom and Dad again; neither of them answered. I didn’t bother leaving voicemail for either of them. There was no point.
I’d been out of it for days so I decided to do a check of the house to make sure things were okay. I wanted to kick myself as I realized I should have done that before taking a shower, but I’d been half out of my head with exhaustion and fear, and I was filthy.
I was hungry and had to go downstairs no matter what was or wasn’t down there. Before I did, I headed to my parents’ room. I knew Dad had a gun stashed somewhere in their closet, I just didn’t know where. I would have to go through every box and search every corner to try and find it. I wanted to go straight downstairs and eat any food I could find, but I was finally thinking about safety. I mean, I was immune to zombie bites, but I was pretty sure a bullet or other wound could still kill me. Apparently I wasn’t supposed to be dead…yet. If I were, I would have died already. I didn’t believe in God, but I believed in the karma and fate shit. Life wasn’t fair, but it seemed to have its own rhythm that sorted things out.
My parents’ room was eerie in its still, dim silence. Being in there creeped me out. I wanted to say “fuck it” and head downstairs for food. I figured if someone or something were in the house I would have known by now. Three things would have happened: one, the alarm would have gone off; two, they would have found and killed me by now if that was their plan; and/or three, I would have heard them.
I steeled my nerves and forced myself to proceed. I needed to have the gun for protection and for when I went out into the world again. I knew I couldn’t stay in the house forever. I would eventually have to go out. I would eventually have to search for other people. I would eventually have to move on. Obviously, I wouldn’t rush things, but I knew something would have to give sometime and I had to be ready.
I ent
ered my parents’ closet, turned on the light, and sighed. It was a huge area – the size of most peoples’ bedroom. There were a lot of things to go through…drawers, boxes, baskets, etcetera. I hoped he didn’t have a safe in the wall somewhere, because I wouldn’t have any idea how to get into it. And I hoped he kept the bullets with the gun, not stashed separately.
I dug into Dad’s side of the closet with a groan and threw everything I went through onto the floor. I made it a little more than halfway through before I struck gold.
I found a box of bullets in the back of one of Dad’s sock drawers. I found it amusing in a way… I couldn’t believe people still actually hid things in their sock drawers; it was so cliché.
I sat the bullets on a shelf where I could easily grab them after I found the gun and kept searching. I smirked and wondered if I’d find Dad’s gun in his underwear drawer – no luck. I tore through the rest of Dad’s side of the closet and came up empty-handed. I spun in a circle, at a loss, and looked around the entire closet; Mom’s side was still pristine and all Dad’s stuff was now in heaps on the floor.
“Well, I have nothing to lose,” I said, shrugged, and headed over to Mom’s side. It wouldn’t hurt if I went through her stuff too.
Mom’s perfume wafted into the air as I opened and emptied the drawers holding her things and ripped her clothes off the hangers. For the first time since everything had fallen apart it really hit me what I’d lost. The center of my chest started to ache and tears clouded my vision. I’d always given Mom a hard time, but she’d always made sure I felt loved despite my efforts to keep her at arm’s length. She would cook me the meals I loved and make sure my favorite clothes were clean so I could wear them as often as I liked.
I choked down sobs as I forced myself to keep moving forward in tearing apart the closet to find the gun. I was on my knees when I found it behind some fuzzy slipper socks in one of Mom’s bottom drawers. I was glad I was. Otherwise, I’m sure I would have fallen. I clutched the gun to my chest and stopped fighting my grief. I let it take me. Tears streamed down my face to soak my t-shirt, but I didn’t care.
I wanted to die. I wished I’d died. I wished I’d become a zombie. I wished I hadn’t made it.
Chapter 6
I was pulled out of my grief stupor when I heard glass break downstairs. I shot up off the floor and swiped at my face with the back of the hand holding the revolver and the fingers of my other hand.
I stumbled through the clothing strewn across the floor and was halfway out of the closet before I remembered I needed the bullets.
As I turned back for them, I jumped in surprised as I heard more glass break downstairs.
I rushed out into my parents’ bedroom with bullets and gun in hand. I tossed the box of bullets down on the bed and tried to get the cylinder open on the revolver. I’d done it before – Dad took me shooting years ago when he used to still do things with me. I got the damn thing open after some fumbling and more destruction downstairs. I opened the box of bullets, grabbed a couple, and shoved them into place with shaking, numb fingers. I repeated until the gun was full. I snapped the cylinder back into place, laid the gun on the bed, slid the box of bullets shut, and shoved them into my pocket.
By the time I slid my hand under the gun and picked it up, a thump and a moan sounded from the bedroom doorway. I looked up to see the last person, as a zombie, that I’d expected.
Dad…was standing in the doorway. He wheezed though a hole in his neck. He looked like he’d been chewed on in random places all over. Somehow his face had managed to survive the onslaught.
I raised the gun in front of myself and took aim. I told myself the tremors that were taking over my entire body were from lack of food and weakness, not fear.
He spotted me. He headed in my direction, dragging one of his legs slightly as he moved.
My eyes darted down to see why and I saw that most of his one foot was missing, leaving behind chunks of meat on exposed bone.
When I looked up again, Dad was dangerously close.
I freaked out, jerked the gun upward, and fired.
The boom as the gun went off was deafening; I forced myself not to let go of the gun and cover my ears.
A split second later Dad grabbed me, shoved me backwards, and fell on top of me.
I panicked, closed my eyes, and shoved at him, screaming. The gun went off again, shooting him in the chest. It wasn’t until then that I realized he wasn’t moving any longer. That’s when I chanced a peek at him. The first round had shot him in the eye. He wasn’t going to rise from the dead again.
I sighed with relief and went limp, knowing that I was no longer in immediate danger. After I collected myself mentally, I put all the energy I had into pushing Dad’s corpse off of myself.
I stood, took a couple deep breaths, and looked around the room. I found that I was still clutching the revolver and moved my finger off the trigger. I couldn’t believe I’d had such a lucky shot right off. I’d never been a great shot, but I was happy my reflexes had made up for my lack of skill.
Standing there, over Dad’s dead body, made me queasy and uncomfortable. I headed for the door to go downstairs.
I couldn’t believe how weak I was… Being sick and then expending energy in the search and the fight had drained me to the point where it was a struggle just to walk. I became dizzy as I descended the stairs – I clutched the railing to keep myself on my feet. Once I reached the bottom of the staircase, I sat down, closed my eyes, and took a breather. That’s when I heard shuffling and moaning coming from the living room.
“Seriously?” I breathed, and opened my eyes to look around the newel post. The giggle-slut was mere feet away. She was facing away from me and looked completely human from my angle, but by the sounds she made and the way she moved, I knew she was a zombie.
I dragged myself up with the help of the banister, forced myself to lift my arm – that felt like it weighed a ton – and took aim at the back of her head.
She spun around just as I slid my finger onto the trigger.
Her face was gone. In its place was nothing but bloody muscle chunks and skull. Her bottom jaw was missing completely, as was half of her tongue. What was left flapped around as she expressed her aggression with a hiss.
Just as I took a shot, she darted toward me.
Once again I was jarred by the muzzle blast and flinched.
The shot didn’t go where I’d wanted it to. The bullet struck her neck and ripped through half of the flesh and tendons that kept her head erect; it fell to the side and gave her an even more deranged look.
I darted up a couple steps, keeping the railing between us.
I fired again now that she was closer and shot her right between the eyes at close quarters. Brain matter painted the wall behind her in an abstract mixture of gray, pink, and red.
I would have thrown up if there was anything in my stomach.
I slid to the steps and sat for a full minute before I headed back down the couple stairs I’d climbed in retreat. I had to get to food no matter how tired or sick I felt. It was either eat or just give up and die. For some reason, no matter how I was hurting, I couldn’t bring myself to stop fighting. I couldn’t just give up and die. It wasn’t in me.
There were no other zombies in the house waiting to accost me, so I finally made it to the kitchen. I didn’t go any farther than the fridge. I yanked the door open and fell to the floor, exhausted. I reached up and grabbed bowls and jugs and consumed everything I could get my hands on – I wasn’t able to eat much before I felt stuffed and extremely drowsy.
I knew I couldn’t fall asleep out in the open with windows broken to the point zombies could get in. I didn’t think I would be immune to being eaten alive.
With a groan and some effort, I managed to get to my feet and close the refrigerator door. I didn’t bother cleaning up the dirty dishes strewn around the kitchen floor…they didn’t matter.
I thought long and hard for a moment and decided to barric
ade myself into the laundry room; I could easily move food in there from the pantry that was close-by, there was a sink for water, a drain in the floor for a bathroom, and it had an escape route through the attached garage if necessary. Now that I was thinking about it, I should have fortified myself in there to begin with instead of going up to my room and expecting the alarm system to protect me. I don’t know why it didn’t go off when the windows were broken… Despite all that, I knew I hadn’t been thinking straight since I’d thought I was as good as dead because I’d been bitten. At that point it didn’t matter if zombies got in. Now, surviving seemed really important. I still couldn’t figure out why. I supposed it all boiled down to instinct. It was human nature to stay alive…and I was still human.
I dragged some food and bottles of water from the pantry into the laundry room with my last bit of energy. I headed out to the living room to grab a couple throw pillows and blankets off the furniture. I went back to the laundry room threw the load down on the floor, closed and locked the door, and lay down and passed out.
Chapter 7
When I woke up it was completely dark in the laundry room. I had to go to the bathroom and I was hungry again. I groaned as I sat up; I ached all over.
I sat and listened for a while before I did anything else. I didn’t hear anything beyond the door of the laundry room, so I decided I’d be safe to go to the actual bathroom. I would have to go out the door, through the kitchen, and the little hallway that was on the other side of the dining room. I could easily get there without having to see the giggle-slut’s zombie corpse just outside the living room. I didn’t want to have to see the mess.
The evening air was cool and clean blowing through the windows in the living room that Dad and giggle-slut had broken through; it was refreshing. As I trudged through the house to take care of my bathroom needs, it almost felt like a lazy summer evening when Mom would open the windows and lay on the couch to read.
Zpoc Exception Series (Book 1): Re-Civilize (Chad) Page 2