by C. M. Fick
Awkwardly, Cliff struggled to his feet, irritated by his lack of coordination. He shuffled to the closed door of the quarantine unit and was about to open the door when he heard voices in the hall, making him hesitate.
"Dude," a muffled male voice said, "the information on the virus has to be here somewhere. Make sure to check those rooms as well." Cliff could hear the people opening and closing the lab doors in the hall; he shuffled behind his room's door just before it swung open, hiding him from the intruders.
A flashlight shone into the room as a female voice spoke excitedly, "Hey! I found something," she called down the hall to her companions, "This is a quarantine unit that was in use until recently." The sound of running feet echoed in the hall and slid to a stop outside Cliff's room. "See?" Two more flashlight beams joined the first, sweeping every inch of the room. Cliff remained unmoving; he was terrified of being discovered but wasn't sure why.
The people moved into the room cautiously, checking behind the equipment and under the bed. "Whatever was in here is long gone," one of the guys, now searching the cupboards, said to his companions. He moved closer to Cliff's hiding place, almost within reach.
A sudden, gnawing hunger consumed Cliff and he leapt from his concealment, onto the unsuspecting man who shrieked in panic. Cliff's arms tightened around the man with unnatural strength, and before he knew what he was doing, he bit into the man's shoulder. His teeth broke the skin and blood filled Cliff's mouth. The skin tore with a satisfying snap. The warmth of the flesh surprised Cliff as he began to chew. The woman screamed.
"Get out Trina," the second man ordered.
Trina's voice was panicked, "But Andy, we can't just leave Paul here."
Cliff couldn't pull his attention away from the warm flesh in his arms and bit down again. The one they'd called Paul stopped screaming and now only twitched in Cliff's arms.
"He's gone Trina. Go!" Andy ordered again.
"Come with me Andy. Paul is that thing's first kill. He won't leave it until the body's cold or Paul's risen." Trina and Andy ran down the hallway, the sound of their pounding feet fading until all Cliff heard was the whine of the alarm.
Cliff didn't understand what she'd meant. First kill? Cold body? It didn't matter - nothing mattered other than getting more of the warmth inside him. His iron grip on the warm flesh loosened, allowing it to slip to the floor. Cliff fell on the exposed belly and continued to gorge: more warmth - he needed more... somehow, it made him feel alive.
Soon, Cliff felt he'd gotten enough of the warmth inside of him and starred down at his meal. With a sudden jolt, Cliff realized what he'd done... what he was covered with... what was causing the satisfying heat in his belly. He wanted to retch, but couldn't. To his horror, Cliff watched as Paul's body twitched just before the now empty eyes popped open.
Cliff tried to speak to Paul; to apologize for killing and consuming the young man, but all that came out was a pitiful moan. Paul got to his feet and returned Cliff's moan before shuffling from the room. Cliff followed, trying to figure out how a man with a gaping wound in his neck and torso could be up and moving around. It didn't make sense to him, but the irresistible urge to eat human flesh hadn't been sensible either.
Needing to understand what was happening, Cliff made his way to the emergency exit where the door was propped open. Overhead the alarm sounded and behind him, he sensed the presence of the man he'd killed and eaten. Laboriously, Cliff began the three-story ascent with the shambling Paul close behind him. I need to get away from that thing, he thought with every step.
Upon reaching the main level, Cliff stopped, not believing the destruction in the building's lobby. The large picture windows running the lobby's length were shattered. Bodies lay strewn haphazardly about; many with gaping holes in their heads. Papers fluttered in the breeze. Beside Cliff, Paul moaned a long mournful sound that triggered a moan from Cliff. He hadn't meant to respond to the call, surprised when another muffled moan sounded outside. Paul shuffled through the lobby just as another person appeared on the street in front of Synergy's main entrance.
Cliff was about to warn the person away, when he saw the missing arm and bite marks trailing up the leg. The person in the street wasn't a person, Cliff realized, he was a zombie - just like Paul... just like Cliff. The realization hit him like a ton of bricks, grief overwhelming him, driving him to his hands and knees. The once warm flesh in his gut felt heavy and no longer gave him that 'alive' feeling he craved.
A Familiar Face...
Cliff's mind returned to awareness and he was surprised to find that, not only was it now the middle of the night, but that he was in a suburb far from Synergy's laboratory. He wasn't sure how he'd gotten there or where his consciousness had gone during the lapse. There were car accidents blocking the street, some of them with wisps of smoke still rising from blackened cars. The chatter of automatic gunfire sounded the next block over, almost swallowed by a chorus of moans. Cliff heard shattering glass, screaming, several blasts from a rifle and then silence - he instinctually knew whomever had been defending their position, had lost the battle against the horde.
An instinct Cliff hadn't realized he possessed, told him there were living humans close by and the hunger flared with a vengeance in his gut. He craved the warmth the flesh had given him even as his mind revolted at the thought of killing and consuming another living person. A dog barked, pulling Cliff's attention away from the hungry moans the next block over and the desperate cravings he didn't understand. He turned and studied the mangy black and white dog, snarling at him from the sidewalk, surprised to realize he recognized it as his neighbours.
Cliff ignored the dog and stumbled down the street searching for his home. How could he have forgotten about his wife and their baby? Silently, he prayed they were both alive and safe. When he found his house, Cliff was relieved to see the house's main floor windows had been boarded up and all looked secured. He wandered closer, hoping to catch just a glimpse of his wife and was making his way around the side of the house, when he heard a man's voice at the front door.
"I'm going to make sure everything's clear out here; then we can head out. Make sure we have everything packed Helena."
At the sound of his wife's name, Cliff turned back to the corner of the house, pausing there until he heard the shuffle of feet in front of the houses two-car garage. The barrel of a shotgun appeared from around the corner first, and then a hand followed by an arm. Cliff couldn't hold himself back as he lunged, sinking his teeth into the exposed flesh. The man howled in pain, swinging the barrel of the gun towards Cliff's head; he flung up an arm, awkwardly blocking the blow.
The man tore his arm away, leaving behind a warm chunk of bloody flesh in Cliff's mouth. The man stumbled back, trying to aim with his shotgun but Cliff was faster. Grabbing the man by the shoulders, Cliff pulled him close, eagerly waiting for the moment he could eat more flesh to warm his insides - the first bite had only intensified the need. He bit down hard on the man's neck, cutting off the scream of pain and Cliff followed the man to the ground as he tumbled backwards, viciously tearing at the exposed flesh.
He felt the warmth inside him growing with each bite. He didn't want to stop or maybe it was that he couldn't stop, until a muffled gasp drew Cliff's attention up from his feast. Standing on their small front porch was Helena with a shaking hand clasped over her mouth; her eyes wide in horror.
She was safe and healthy, as was her swollen belly. Relieved, Cliff staggered to his feet and stumbled towards her wanting to gather her in his arms and comfort her.
"Stay back Cliff." Helena, eyes filled with tears, began backing towards the open door. "Oh God; stay back!"
He tried to reassure her he wasn't going to do anything to hurt her, but it only came out as a hideous moan. He reached for her, wanting her to see he was still inside himself, trapped in his mind, but with a sob, she turned to flee into the house.
Cliff's hand snaked out, faster than he realized he could move, encircling Helena's
wrist before she made it up the two steps and into the safety of their home. She cried out in pain as he pulled her back towards him and cringed away from him, trying to free her arm with little success. Cliff stared down at her pale skin and thought about how wonderful she'd taste and how warm she'd make him feel. Shocked by his thoughts, Cliff relaxed his grip just long enough for Helena to pull free. As she fled into the house, relief and horror washed through him. The door slammed and to his relief, Cliff heard the snick of a lock. Grief filled him as he stood, staring at the closed door. He'd been ready to kill his wife and his unborn child. What was happening to him?
Movement beside Cliff drew his attention away from the door of the house. The man he'd just attacked struggled to his feet and once gaining his footing, shuffled to the door. He moaned and began beating on the boards of the home he'd used as a refuge only minutes before.
"Go away Cliff," Helena cried from inside the house. He tried to warn her, to tell her to flee, but once again, the only sound that came out was the eerie moan.
Cliff shuffled to the man pounding on the door and tried to push him away, distract him from Helena. It was Cliff's fault that she was now on her own, pregnant and scared. Moans rose in chorus behind Cliff and he turned, horrified to realize that the moans from him and the new zombie attracted more of the dead to his wife's position.
The whirr of the garage door opener sounded, drawing both Cliff's and the man's attention back to the driveway. The man shuffled quickly to the rising door and raised his arms, clawing at the barrier between him and living flesh. Cliff understood the need and felt it himself but he wouldn't - no - couldn't hurt his beautiful Helena.
Before the door was fully raised, Helena's burgundy SUV shot out of the garage, cracking the bottom of the door and ploughing into the man who'd been her companion through this nightmare only a short time ago. There was a sickening crunch as the SUV's back tire bounced over the man's skull, effectively ending his suffering. Helena swung the vehicle onto the street, fish-tailing for a moment before speeding away from the house they'd shared together. He'd never see his wife again, Cliff knew. He could only pray that she'd find safety.
Last Meal...
Cliff's consciousness once again returned to his body, just as the sun was beginning to rise over cookie cutter homes. He found himself in a group of zombies, making their way down an abandoned street Cliff didn't recognize. Several zombies on the outskirts of the group wandered in front of the houses lining the streets, pausing momentarily to sense for any movement within. As the horde made their way down the street, Cliff grew more concerned about the lapses in time and wondered what would happen to him once his consciousness was completely suppressed by the instincts growing stronger within him.
He studied the others around him, wondering if they too were trapped within their dead bodies as he was, but all he saw were pale, empty eyes. Cliff grunted in an effort to get a response from one of his horde, but knew after studying those around him that he was alone. He didn't understand what set him apart from the others - perhaps it was because he'd been patient zero. He pondered this for a time and decided he was correct in his assumption; the zombies around him had all been bitten and turned after succumbing to the wounds - he'd suffered through two weeks while the virus ravaged his body, turning him slowly. Being trapped in his rotting body was his punishment for creating such an aberration that would turn humanity into mindless, ravenous monsters. He couldn't blame whatever higher power cursed him to this fate.
A vibration hummed through the horde when they came to a T-intersection, startling Cliff from his musings. To Cliff, it seemed as if they were communicating with each other, determining which way they'd go. The vibration stopped and the group split down the center; the left side moving down the street to the left and the right going in the opposite direction. They'd split up to better search for living flesh, Cliff realized and wondered at the hive mentality of the horde he travelled with.
After several minutes, the lead zombie in Cliff's group let out a low moan, which rippled through the horde alerting all in the area of living flesh close by. The throng around Cliff became frenzied, pushing forward, not caring that some of their group fell and were trampled beneath dead feet. A scream tore through the air and panicked cries echoed throughout the neighbourhood. Cliff struggled through the drove, pushing his way out to the fringes, searching for a glimpse of their prey. He saw a group of the living, shouting as they scrambled for cars and SUV's while others stood on top of the vehicles shooting into the horde.
Cliff watched as one of his fellow zombies took a bullet in the chest, stagger one step back from the force of the gunshot, before regaining his balance and pressing forward once again. A second shot rang out and the zombie who'd taken the chest shot crumpled to the ground. Cliff couldn't help but stare at the gaping hole where his eye should have been. He shuddered. Would his life end in a similar fashion? He prayed that if it did, he wouldn't see the bullet coming.
By the time Cliff reached the small grouping of vehicles, those who'd lived only minutes before had already joined the undead. Hunger gnawed in his gut and the craving for the warmth of living flesh overwhelmed Cliff as he stumbled forward. He thought back to the man in the lab - the first person he'd killed. He remembered the numbness he'd felt when first waking, the feeling of the flesh as he chewed it between his teeth, and the satisfying warmth as it filled his belly.
A small whisper of sound reached Cliff's ears and he spun, trying to find the source of it. The horde continued to move forward, bumping and jostling Cliff as he searched, unwilling to alert the others of the living flesh nearby. He caught sight of movement between the homes, the milkyness of his vision blotting out all color. Excitement filled him and he couldn't control his shuffling feet as he moved silently between the buildings.
Cliff stood scanning the yards, patiently waiting for whatever he'd seen to move again but saw nothing. He was about to return to the zombie parade when the shifting of gravel caught his attention. The building beside him had a large wooden structure protruding from its rear - Cliff couldn't remember what he would have called it when he'd still been alive; he thought hard for a moment but the word escaped him. The noise came again; just a small shift in the stones from beneath the wooden thing. Cliff made his way around, clumsily avoiding the corner, until he spotted a portion of the crisscrossing cover moved aside.
He dropped to his knees, trying to see into the darkness with little luck. He slithered into the dark space knowing he'd eventually find what he was seeking. Then he heard it, the muffled panting of one of the living. He struggled over the hard little things beneath him, no longer concerned with the loss of the word he'd understood moments before - he wanted flesh, he needed flesh; warm flesh that would give him life.
He scrabbled forward, searching for his prey in the darkness until his hand closed around a foot and the person shrieked, kicking him squarely in his face. He heard a crunch of ... but he couldn't remember what the solid structure beneath the skin on his face was called - he didn't care because he finally had his hand around the warmth he'd become desperate for. The foot he held tried to shake free, but he wasn't going to let go so easily. This is what he'd been searching for; this is what he'd needed. There was a crack of the barrier behind the living, followed by a flood of light and the living scrambled out of the new hole, dragging him behind, still attached to the thing that kicked him.
This was his! Excitement grew into frenzy as he clawed at the living, pulling it closer.
It almost shook him free as it struggled to stand upright, but he wasn't going to let it go so quickly. He grabbed the other thing as it tried to kick out, once again towards his head - where he lived. It stumbled and fell. Already, that feeling of being alive began to fill him as he dragged the squirming thing towards him. He bit into the warm flesh just above where he gripped it. A leg maybe? But he no longer cared what the name for the flesh was - it was warm and that's what mattered. There was a howl of pain; a concept
he no longer cared about -something which had been from another life he no longer remembered. He bit in again savouring the snap as the flesh was consumed.
He continued to eat, filling himself with warmth, savouring every bite. The last remnants of the man who'd once had a wife, a home, a job, a life; slipped away leaving only the primal behind. When the zombie rose from his meal his only thoughts were on where he'd find the next living flesh and the hunger which would never be satisfied.
Volume 2: And it All Began with a Bite
A day like any other...
Maggie, her arms full of groceries, tossed the keys on the small table in the entryway and kicked the door closed behind her. She hurried into the kitchen to put the perishables into the fridge and begin preparation of dinner for herself and her boyfriend Tyrone.
Maggie was a nurse at the Methodist Children's Hospital in San Antonio, Texas while Tyrone, also trained as a nurse, worked for Synergy Pharmaceuticals. It irritated her to no end that he wasn't allowed to discuss the details of his position with her, but his weekly paycheck more than made up for the lack of communication in that area. In addition, he never brought home baggage from work, unlike herself. Maggie worked in the terminal care wing of the hospital and what she witnessed on a daily basis left her emotionally drained by the end of her shifts. Today had been an especially hard day for Maggie; she'd lost a seven-year-old boy to leukemia and was looking forward to spending a mind numbing night in front of the television.
As she began to prepare a simple dinner of steamed vegetables and barbecued chicken, Maggie turned on the radio to keep her mind distracted from wandering to thoughts of the boy. Just as she brought the chicken into the house, she heard Tyrone's car pull into the driveway.
After washing off her hands, she stuck her head out the side window and called to Tyrone. "Make sure to leave me enough room to leave in the morning - I need to be in for six-thirty." Without waiting for a reply, Maggie pulled her head back inside and closed the window before returning to dinner preparations. When the front door slammed, she turned to greet Tyrone with a smile, but it quickly faded when she took in his paler than usual complexion and the gauze bandage wrapped around his forearm. "What happened?" She hurried over to him as he sunk into the nearest chair.