"Good. You're OK," he breathed, while he watched her hoist herself onto the horse's back, its flanks stained with splattered blood.
"The same could be said about you," she returned once she got comfortable.
"Well that was unexpected. I gotta find my machete, and then figure out how we are going to make it back."
He still could hear the sounds of gunfire from the compound while he scanned the ground for his weapon, finally spying it sticking out from the bush he and the zombie had romped through. When he looked back, he realized a few zombies from the main gate had taken notice of the commotion and were making their way toward them. Damon figured there was about ten of them, spread out in a bowling pin pattern.
"Let's take care of them before they make it to the trees. It will be easier to fight them in the open."
Chloe nodded her head, making sure to brush aside the blonde hair that had fallen out of her pony tail. "Cool, grab me those arrows first. I forgot," she prompted Damon. She stuck out her tiny bottom lip to help her case.
Damon sighed but yanked out the three arrows and handed them over. "You good up there kid?"
"Yeah, let's do this."
"If it gets bad, just get outta here with her," Damon ordered and gestured toward Buckey.
She tilted her head awkwardly at him and made a face. "It'll be fine."
Damon figured it would be better to fight the zombies out in the open-no surprises that way. The crowd of zombies at the gate was now a pile, with only a few left standing, waiting to be put out of their misery or wandered their way.
Damon heard hoof beats behind him, and an occasional snort from the horse, but he paid it no mind, he focused on the undead in front of him. They had full view of their meal and shambled faster than before. Mouths opened wide anticipating the taste of warm flesh, not knowing true death awaited them. The machete danced in his hand when he flexed his muscled bicep, readying his swing for the first zombie. He heard Chloe draw her bow, an arrow whizzed past his ear and hit the reanimated teenager to his right. It was a little close for his comfort; he filed the memory away so he could scold her later. The murky grass and thick mud squished under his boots. Two more steps, and he would swing. Two-one-THUK. The machete caught the first zombie between the eyes. He moved almost effortlessly to the next, dancing among the dropping corpses to finish off another.
Chloe urged Buckey forward and around the thinning group of zombies drawing their attention away from Damon so he could finish the job.
Damon stood in the middle of a field of rotting, stinking corpses, his shirt stained with coagulated blood, his boots heavy with wet mud. He nodded to Chloe to head to the gate where only a handful of zombies remained. His previous judgement that they were all dead was wrong.
"Do you want a ride?"
His thighs still ached from his previous ride.
"No thanks. I'll walk," he said and strapped the machete to his side.
When Damon completed the short distance back to the compound he picked up noise of an argument between Dr. Dellinger and Harper. He ignored it for a second since there was one zombie left pawing at the metal. He raised his machete to dispatch it.
"WAIT!"
Damon snapped his head to the gate, and back to the zombie. He saw that the scientist, with his face pressed against the gate, had something wedged under his arm. The zombie no longer cared for the men behind the fence-its focus was now purely on Damon.
"What the hell is wrong with you?" Damon yelled, keeping a close eye on the zombie. It was currently trying to get up after tripping over the mass of dead brethren under its feet.
"I need one alive, as it were," Dr. Dellinger announced, now back to his calm and awkward self.
"Alive? You can't possibly be serious?" Harper snarled from behind him. "Damon we can't--"
"It is the only way I can further my research," the old man interrupted.
Harper's face looked like a bull ready to charge, and for a second Damon worried about the old man's safety.
"I can't let you have a zombie in the safe zone," Damon said.
Harper took a deep breath even though it still looked like he was going to wring the good doctor's neck.
The zombie had made its way to its feet, but Damon gave it a mighty push, and it was back to the ground floundering like a fish out of water.
"How can I possibly get any research accomplished?"
"How do you plan on catching it?"
Harper's brow frowned even more.
"Not to worry, I have perfected just the device for one such occasion." He raised the contraption that he had brought with him.
"A mop bucket?" Damon asked with his eyebrow arced high on his forehead. He was hoping the scientist wasn’t about to lose his credibility.
"It is no bucket," the scientist seemed offended. He looked at Harper, "Open the door you buffoon."
"Watch it old man," Harper snarled.
"Harper, open the gate," Damon ordered, his voice was stern
His eyes flared and met Damon's, his rage was obvious. “That thing isn't coming in here!" his voice boomed.
"I know. I already said that. We'll find a spot outside the safe zone where he can keep it."
"You mean, you will Damon. I want nothing to do with this Frankenstein bullshit," Harper growled, hit the level to open the gate and stalked off.
Damon watched the hulking marine stomp off for only a second then returned his attention to the zombie and Dr. Dellinger.
"Don't worry Dr. Dellinger, I'll find you somewhere."
"Perfect, now to deploy the device."
The slinky man approached the zombie cautiously holding the bucket like object in both hands, just like he was going to blind someone with a bucket. The zombie was already reaching for the scientist, and Damon readied his weapon. In a swift movement the bucket was over the zombie's head; the old man reached into his lab coat and pulled out a remote. Once his skeletal finger pressed the green button, the zombie's arms dropped to its sides, and it didn't take another step.
Damon was amazed by the zombie’s atypical behavior. The zombie just swayed side to side like it was staring into the clouds. He watched in awe as the scientist handled the zombie without a fight.
"Now point me in the right direction."
Damon snapped away from the sight. Not only did he have to figure out where he was going to take the doctor and stash his latest experiment, but also what he was going to tell Victoria. He hoped he would have a little time to think returning to in the safe zone.
The silvery moon had risen over the compound, illuminating the pile of decomposing bodies at the gate. Damon and the grounds crew decided to move them the following morning. The night guard had fallen asleep with his head resting awkwardly on the back of his chair. He snorted and brushed a buzzing fly from his nose. In his dreamy state, he thought he’d seen a cloaked man pushing a creaking cart slip past his view. He had been talking with another guard about how the long, dark nights could play tricks on the mind. He laughed to himself thinking about the story. It sounded like a stupid ghost story, he thought as he gave his thick beard a scratch. A second after resting his head back on the chair he was asleep once more.
The figure pushed on into the darkness. A decomposing arm slipped from under the tarp that covered the old, creaking cart, but the figure payed it no mind. The rhythmic squeak dissipated as the cart and figure disappeared in the darkness.
chapter 8
Blue skies wavered over Vail as the morning sun warmed the abandoned streets outside the safe zone. There was silence, the zombies had long been cleared from the area along with any useful supplies. When it came time for the grass to grow again, it would take over, pushing up through the pavement. Without the skilled hands of landscapers, vines would scale the tallest buildings, saplings would burst through foundations and sidewalks.
The frosted bay window of Vail Bank and Trust reflected the lonesome sunlight; a long time ago the bank was bustling with customers. That was no lon
ger the case. Blood stained the glass in dried crusty chunks. The sunlight streaked past the bank, over the clock tower and the hotel. It touched the chain link of Damon’s safe zone, and then the world changed.
When Damon and the others were cast out from the cabin the fire station had become their home for its advantageous defensives. Since the completion of the chain link wall, each of them moved to a row of homes at the west end of the compound. Victoria had selected a quaint two story home sided in sage green vinyl with cranberry trim. The once neatly trimmed bushes had grown out of control the previous summer and now lay dead in brown piles along the front exterior. Next door was Harper and Liz’s spilt level. During the winters they were able to keep their homes warm with fireplaces and those without fireplaces had wood burning stoves installed with Damon’s handy work. Thankfully for him most of the homes had the fireplaces. Once the last frost has passed, the homes stay warm enough without the use of fire.
Damon sat across from Victoria at the kitchen table made of a honey stained oak, but looked more like an oversized butcher block. Chloe was working her way down the open staircase, lingering on each step, trying to wake up. When she finally made it to the table both Victoria and Damon had finished the pancakes Victoria had prepared.
“Morning sunshine,” Victoria greeted with a smile on her face.
If it were Damon, Chloe would have growled, but she had become attached to Victoria.
“Morning V,” the teen replied and plopped herself down in the chair to Damon’s right, the early sun stinging in her tired eyes.
“You know I’m here too right?” Damon smirked.
“Good morning, Damon,” Chloe greeted partially sarcastically as she stuffed a fork full pancake in her mouth. Chloe’s jaw froze mid chew. “These are cold.”
“Well they would have been hot had you been down here forty five minutes ago,” Damon said as he pushed back his empty plate and gave his bloated stomach a pat.
The teen swallowed her mouthful of pancake. “Yeah, yeah. You know I don’t like mornings.”
“Yeah I remember. You told me not to wake you up.”
Chloe took another bite, wincing slightly then took another bite.
“Chloe you don’t have to eat that if you don’t want to,” Victoria said sweetly. It was amazing how fast Victoria could transform from a housewife and mother to a badass sword-wielding, zombie killing machine.
“Thanks V.”
Damon sighed, but didn’t comment even though he came from a household where you ate everything on your plate, otherwise you felt the sting of a leather belt on your ass. “So what’s on your agenda today?”
Chloe put down her fork and wiped her mouth with the back of her arm. “Oh I don’t know, probably gonna hang out with Makayla, Allison and Jason?”
“Jason?” Damon nearly hissed the name.
“Oh please Damon,” Chloe started.
Victoria rose from the table, circled and came to stand by Damon. “Leave her be.” She laid a slender arm across Damon’s thick shoulder and pressed a kiss to his earlobe. “Just let her go.”
Damon grumbled but didn’t push the situation. At least they couldn’t go very far.
Chloe didn’t waste any time getting up from the table, saying a quick thanks to Victoria for cooking, then quickly jogged up the wide staircase and disappeared to her room.
“You are so hard on her,” Victoria scolded gently.
Damon tilted his chin up and smiled, quickly pulling her into his lap. “Well someone’s gotta be.”
After breakfast Damon found himself walking down the sidewalk, taking a left passed Harper’s to the end of the block, then cutting left to Willow Street. The beige ranch home assigned to the scientist was in the rear corner of the compound, set back from the street about fifty feet. The rusty old truck was still parked on the street where Damon had unloaded it.
He walked up to the door and held his fist up to knock, but stopped.
Was it too early?
He didn’t know when the old man actually woke up; honestly he didn’t know anything about the guy, really. Just that he knew a lot about zombies, things that Damon didn’t know. He swallowed and knocked anyway then waited. He noticed some birds chirping overhead, but nothing rustling on the inside of the home. Damon knocked again, this time with a little more force, shaking the fake floral wreath stuck to the door.
When Damon didn’t get a response he checked the doorknob, it was unlocked. With a turn of his wrist he was strolling into the scientist’s home.
Is this wrong?
“Hello?” he called, flipping his head from the living room to the dining room. The living room looked like it had before they settled the doctor in. The only difference was a pair of brown slippers under the pale blue arm chair.
At the dining room table was the old man still dressed in his white lab coat. His wiry hair dangled around the microscope, the dark goggles stuck onto the top of his head making way for his eyes to see into the small columns of the microscope. He was muttering. Damon couldn’t make out what he was saying, something about rabies strands and mutations.
“Hey Dr. Dellinger,” he greeted when he reached the dining room. Damon could hear the antique stereo in the living room playing Janis Joplin’s Kozmic Blues.
“Who’s there? Who’s barging into my home? Knocking is the thing of the past I guess,” the old man grumbled when he looked up from the microscope and stuck the goggles over his thick glasses.
“It’s me, Damon, and I did knock loudly. Twice.”
“Yes, yes of course you did. Come in dear boy,” the scientist changed from grumbling to cheery in a flash.
Weird. What’s that smell? As Damon neared the man he noticed a powerful odor, and it wasn’t because the old man didn’t shower. It was different, something chemical. He ignored it for the time being, wanting to know what he had been mumbling about. “So what are you looking at today?” He finally said after feeling somewhat awkward under the skeletal man’s gaze.
He quickly brushed some papers to the side, along with the curious rat, then motioned for Damon to join him at the microscope. “As I told you the virus is a form of rabies, but mutated of course. The virus is made up of chains much like Ebola or influenza. Not only that, if I expose the viral chains to the common rabies vaccine, there is a disruption in the chain.”
“Can I see?” Damon asked carefully, not sure if the scientist would accommodate him or not.
The old man drew back a smile across his wizened face. “Of course.” He stepped back ready to show off his discovery.
“You serious?”
“Why wouldn’t I be serious? I said of course didn’t I?”
Damon caught his tongue on the roof of his mouth, managing to make himself sound like an unintelligent goof when all that came out was, “Uhh…”
“Well don’t doddle.”
“Right, yeah.” Damon awkwardly positioned himself around the professor, missing the ferret that ran around his boots by a centimeter, and hovered over the microscope. The pungent chemical odor infiltrated Damon’s nose as he passed by the old man’s shoulder, forcing him to breathe through an open mouth. He peered into the spectacles of the gray instrument, blinking a few times to help his eyes focus. He went to change the focus on the lens only to have his hand slapped away like a naughty child.
“No touching,” Dr. Dellinger snapped and continued to pat the white rat with his delicate fingers.
Easy. “Oh sorry,” Damon muttered while trying his best to view the virus that changed his life and the entire world. He was able to sneak his hand up and twist the right lens without the scientist noticing and was able to get it to focus. He wouldn’t admit it to Dr. Dellinger, but Damon had no idea what he was looking at. He had skipped most of his tenth grade biology class. Through the circular window he saw what looked like miniature bullets strung together in hair-like fibers.
As if narrating what Damon was looking at the scientist started speaking, “What you are seeing
is a mutated form of normal rabies viral envelope attached end to end with each other. However rabies pathogens do not congregate in that fashion in nature, normally more like a handful of marbles as it were, or in your case a bucket of bolts.”
Did he just insult me? Nevermind. Damon could not take his eyes off the virus. Something so tiny… “That’s amazing.”
“Indeed, what you do not see is the normal glycoproteins on the envelope are changed, mutated in their shape and structure. There are receptors on this particular pathogen that are not present in a normal rabies envelope.”
“You keep saying rabies, but why aren’t the animals affected?”
“Your answer escapes me, but let us be thankful it does not.”
Damon reluctantly pulled away from the microscope, sensing the old man’s anxiety growing with each minute, but not before switching the lens back to where it was. “Hey thanks for showing me.”
“Yes, now please if you would be so kind,” he said while motioning for Damon to move away from the table.
Damon let his quirky attitude slide because if not for him, Damon never would have been able to meet his enemy, the enemy of every living person on Earth. “How do we kill it?”
“Kill it?” he chirped from behind the table, “It simply cannot be killed.”
“What do you mean we can’t kill it?
The old man rubbed the bridge of his nose, making it obvious that Damon was striking some kind of nerve. “Young man, you cannot kill something that is not alive.”
Damon didn’t bother asking for an explanation, he wasn’t good with science, motors yes, but definitely not science. “Can we cure it or stop it somehow?”
The Beginning of the End Page 9