Lisa opened her eyes. A teardrop slowly traveled down her cheek.
"Now now, don't be afraid," the paramedic said, squeezing her hand gently. "We got you in time. You're going to be just fine."
The RY drug traveled up her arm and began to circulate throughout her body.
"We’re going to have to put you to sleep now. You'll learn more when you wake up."
The paramedic injected another syringe into the IV. The powerful embrace of the sedative ushered in the darkness.
Chapter 2
The Dark Times: The year 2013
“There you go—a dog with false teeth,” Private Andy Wells said, after giving much thought to the situation.
“What in the name of God are you rambling about now?” Private Steve Rogan asked.
Three members among America’s most honored fallen war heroes shambled down an empty street in Arlington Heights, Washington, DC. The bodies had been reanimated to life by a mutated alien virus that had rained upon the earth several months before.
Two wore the dress blues of a Class A Noncommissioned Officer. Each jacket was adorned with an overseas service bar, a combat service identification badge, and service stripes. The other was naked, resembling a walking skeleton stripped of most of its flesh. Each member of the living dead shared one simple common desire, to feed.
"The one on the right. That’s something I haven’t seen before. Look at it. How in the hell can it even walk?” Wells said, standing behind the cover of a SUV abandoned haphazardly on the street.
Rogan leaned forward for a better view. "The way I understand it, the virus builds on what it finds. If the corpse is in decent shape, it regenerates just what it needs to get the muscles working again. It then has the mobility to hunt for food. With the old and rotted ones, if the DNA is viable, it regenerates the minimum amount of hardware to get it going. That’s the case with skeletor over there. He's mostly bones, tendons, and the barest amount of muscle. It takes more energy for the virus to rebuild a rotted cadaver.
“The virus first transfers all of its energy into the host. The host replenishes that energy by converting human flesh using alien enzymes into food for the virus. The big problem for us, the damn things don’t seem to come with an off switch. These bastards are forever hungry."
"Vi-a-ble. That's a five dollar word. You a college boy, Rogan?"
"No. Just high school. Shut your trap and take out the one on the left. I'll take the one on the right. First kill gets to shoot the one in the middle."
“Wait a minute. There’s another thing I ain’t figured out yet. How is it that these zombies can break out of the wooden coffins and claw their way up from six feet of packed dirt? That's a lot like pussy to me,” Wells said.
"Pussy? How is that like pussy?"
"I don't get it," Wells said with a grin.
Rogan rolled his eyes. “There’s some evidence that the virus working its way down to the dead body strips away nutrients from the soil and casket, using it as energy to reanimate the dead bodies, ‘conditioning’ it to be soft enough to crawl out of.”
"I might have been born at night, but not last night.”
“I don’t really know how they got out. What if the dead buried above ground reanimated first and helped dig out the others in the ground?”
“I’d say yer just pissing in my pocket. That don’t make no sense to me none neither.”
“Maybe it’s a combination of both.”
“Sounds like bullshit to me. You can’t bullshit a bullshitter, and I’m one of the best,” Wells said with a nod.
“How about this: Little men from Mars swooped down in UFOs and shot the graves with a super ray-cannon, disintegrating the dirt, and bringing the dead back to life.”
“Now that could happen. That there theory at least is based in science,” Wells said, pointing a finger at Rogan.
“Andy, they were in the ground, and now they’re out. That’s really all that matters. That and the fact that," Rogan smiled evilly, and lowered the tone in his voice, "they're coming to get you, Andy.”
"Stop that! Yer scaring me. I was just saying . . . ."
“Shut up and shoot,” Rogan said.
Wells slapped a new magazine into his M16 and chambered a round. He leaped to the side of the SUV, and peppered the chest of his undead target in full auto.
Rogan steadied his rifle on the roof of the vehicle, took careful aim, and fired. The top of his target's skull peeled back like a pull-top can. The zombie fell backward onto the asphalt, his mouth no longer chewing empty air.
Repositioning slightly, Rogan shot the one in the middle dead center of its left eye. The head exploded, sending fragments of bone and black putrid goo in all directions. Dead meat fireworks, he thought.
Wells continued to spray his target in the chest. The bullets shot straight through, ripping chunks of meat out of the zombie's backside. Despite all the gunfire it was taking, the dead walker remained standing, shaking violently as each bullet tore through it, until the rifle spit out the last cartridge.
"Wells, what are you doing? You wasted a whole clip of ammo and it's still standing. You know the quickest way to bring it down is to blow the head off, not shoot it until there's nothing left." Rogan took aim and eliminated the zombie with a headshot.
Wells grinned. "I know. I was only having a little fun. Just think if it was wearing a grass skirt. It would’ve looked like it was doing the hula dance. That gives me an idea. Let's put a grass skirt on a zombie woman. You can get a video camera and film while I shoot her up, making her dance. Then, we can upload the video on the internet. We can put a music track on and everything."
Rogan shook his head. "Wells, you can come up with the craziest shit."
“Are we’s going to do it or ain't we?"
"We's, need to concentrate on our mission. Search and rescue, remember? Not everyone obeys the evacuation warnings. Some people are probably holed up in their houses, scared out of their minds, wishing they would have left at the first call," Rogan said.
"I doubt that they's had much chance of surviving. Arlington National Cemetery is so close that this neighborhood would have been the first course on the menu," Wells said.
From around the corner, a half block away, an old woman with a nasty limp ran screaming for help.
"Good Lord," Rogan said, seeing the host of undead in hot pursuit. "There must be forty of them after that woman. Call for back-up, now!"
Wells radioed their position and briefly described the situation. He ejected the empty magazine in his rifle and stabbed in a full one.
"Run, lady, run!" Rogan sped off first, shooting as he ran, carefully avoiding the woman. The randomly fired bullets hit the crowd of pursuing zombies, doing little to slow their advance.
The leg injury was too great for the adrenaline surge to overcome, allowing the nearest carnivore to overtake the old woman.
As the two crashed to the street, withered hands from all sides arrived, digging filth-encrusted fingers into her soft flesh, ripping her apart. Blood splattered into the air, flying in all directions.
Rogan stopped, took aim, and shot the zombies where it counted as they feasted on the kill. As soon as one fell to his bullet, another fought its way in to share the prize.
Wells arrived at his side, with the dash of heels pounding the ground from the other members of his platoon following.
In between firing shots, Wells gloated, "Got one . . . and another. Got that one . . . it too. Missed that one. Wait . . . got it. That one's head exploded like a frog sucking on a cherry bomb. I'm up to about eight points. How many d’you get?"
"Wells, this isn't a video game. This is serious stuff, man," Rogan said, squeezing off a carefully aimed shot.
With six more members of the platoon in position and firing, the mass of the undead fell like corn chopped in the field. The smell of the fresh kill was too alluring for the group of zombies to notice the soldiers in the distance.
After a few minutes of combined
gunfire, the last of the zombies fell to the street. It took a bullet to the head as it climbed over a pile of its companions, reaching out for a half-eaten piece of thigh. It didn't get the satisfaction of a last meal before returning to the grave.
"I'm glad that's over," Rogan said.
"If this had been the carnival, I would have won one of them stuffed gorillas. You know, big and puffy, with that bright blue fur and a goofy look on its face,” Wells bugged out his eyes and poked his tongue to the corner of his mouth.
Rogan looked at Wells in disgust.
Wells rubbed his chin and scratched his head. “At least we found the best way to kill a whole bunch at once."
"Overwhelming fire power wins every time it's tried. Nothing really special about the way we killed them," Rogan said.
"That ain't it. You and I could've took out these goobers by ourselves."
"How on Earth do you figure that?" Rogan asked.
"Well, Mister I'm so smart, it's as plain as the nose on yer face. You saw how they acted. They had only one thing on their mind. Dinner. They's didn't even know we was here as long as they had something close by to eat. The way to take out a pile of zombies is to keep their attention away from you." Wells grinned from ear to ear. "All you gotta do is use the right bait."
Chapter 3
Modern times:
The sky above was the brightest blue that Lisa had ever seen. A wisp of a single cloud rolled through the winds like a tumbling wave. She wished it had a hand she could take and dance alongside.
Birds adorned the branches of towering pine trees, singing a multitude of songs of life's delight. A family of ducks led by the mother waddled past and into the calm waters of the crystal clear lake. She heard the splish-splish-splish of each duckling as its bottom hit the water.
"It's good to be alive, isn't it?" A mellow voice spoke from behind her.
"Yes." Lisa felt the warm breeze against her cheeks, ferrying the spicy-sweet scent of gardenias past her nose. "It is so good to be alive." She turned around. "Oh, Bob, it's you."
Bob wore his best black suit and his signature purple tie. Lisa never understood his obsession with the color purple. He bent over and snapped a single emerald rose from a medium-sized bush, and brought it over to her.
"For you, my dear. It matches your eyes, and the envy that all other men have for me when they see us together," Bob said.
"Aw, that's nice for you to say." Lisa reached out and wrapped her arms around him.
"I am your knight in shining armor," he whispered in her ear.
"I know, I know." Lisa smiled, feeling so happy that she thought she was going to burst.
Something felt wet under her hand on Bob's back. She pulled it away and found it smeared with deep red blood.
"Bob, are you hurt?"
He said nothing. Lisa felt her insides plunge as if riding down on a fast elevator.
Then, she remembered. The convenience store—the parking lot—the attack of the Non-Dead. The blood . . . the blood.
Bob dissolved into empty air. Lisa was left isolated in a world of beauty, alone, with no one left to share.
*
"Miss Goudard, are you awake?" the nurse asked, as Lisa's eyes fluttered open.
Lisa heard the voice of a woman, but couldn't comprehend a word of it. Her mind was a swirl of discordant thoughts. Some still trying to hold on to parts of the dream, others forcing her back to reality.
Draped in a weave of shadows, the ceiling loomed above as a closed lid of a funeral casket. The only glow of light came from a floor lamp shoved in the corner of the windowless room. The air felt cold and stung the back of Lisa's throat as she took a deep breath. A soft electronic beep sounded from behind in slow rhythm, confusing her further.
A warm hand touched Lisa's arm. "Miss Goudard? I'm Jennifer, your nurse. How are you feeling?"
Lisa propped herself on her elbows and gazed around the room. Hopelessness washed over her. Her left shoulder itched, and when she went to scratch, her nails scraped against a large adhesive patch.
"Careful, that's your ATP patch," the nurse said, pushing a red button on the intercom hanging on the wall.
"ATP patch? Did I get cut or something?"
"No, nothing like that. The ATP patch provides the energy source your body needs in order to function. It's a lot less invasive than a feeding tube, like we have to give most patients in a coma."
"I was in a coma?"
"A chemically induced coma," the nurse said.
"Why am I here?" Lisa closed her eyes. "My God! Bob! I remember!" She ripped the sheet away from her legs and sat sideways on the bed. The room started spinning. She jutted both hands to her side to steady herself from keeling over.
The nurse placed her hands on Lisa's shoulders. "Just a minute, hon. It's too soon for you get up."
Lisa lowered her head to keep from passing out. The flimsy hospital gown covered only to her upper thighs, exposing the full length of her legs. A few days of hair growth told her how long it had been since she last shaved. Both legs were ghastly pale, as if they had never been exposed to sunlight, and worse. She turned her palms up to her face and then turned her hands around, feeling as if she were wearing someone else's skin. Her ruby red nails were a startling contrast to her lifeless looking skin. "Oh my God, this can't be happening to me."
The door opened, flooding the room with bright fluorescent light from the hall. A thin woman wearing matching pants and jacket entered, closing the door softly behind.
"You can go now," she said to the nurse, as she took the position standing in front of Lisa, who sat on the side of the bed with her bare legs and feet dangling.
"Hi, Lisa, my name is Anne Watson. I'm a social worker for the hospital. My job is to help transition trauma victims back into normal life," she said, extending her right hand.
Lisa reached and took her hand; again, it felt strangely warm. "Please tell me what's going on. I know something bad has happened to my boyfriend, Robert Sanders. He's . . . he's dead isn't he?"
Anne gently squeezed Lisa's hand. "I'm afraid so, dear. He was attacked by one of the Non-Dead. He suffered physical trauma beyond what the RY treatment can do to save him."
Tears welled in Lisa's eyes and slid down her cheeks. She wiped them away with her free hand, becoming aware of the bite mark on her forearm. "It bit me too."
"Yes it did. The entry point of the alien virus won't ever heal. Fortunately, the medics gave you the treatment in time. The virus's effects on you are minimized. Don't worry, there are plenty of beauty aids available to help hide imperfections on the Non-Dead."
Lisa frowned. "Non-Dead? I thought you said the medics got to me in time?"
"In time to keep you from a physical death. They were able to give you the Resurrection Y medicine. Had they not arrived in time, and you had died from the infection, Resurrection Z would have been used. That is, if you were registered with the state as a willing donor.
"You are a Sub class Y Non-Dead, the least affected by the alien virus. You have more rights and privileges than Sub class Z. Still, according to the current laws, you must now be classified as Non-Dead," Anne said.
"I don't understand. I didn’t die. I didn’t attack anyone. How can I be stripped of my status as a Living citizen of the United States? So what if it's an alien virus? Other people have AIDS. It's a virus, it kills, but their citizenship isn't affected." Lisa's voice became stronger.
"It's for national security primarily. At least, that's what the laws are based on. You must appreciate that your physiology excludes you from being equal to the Living. You can no longer donate blood or organs, or give birth. Your body has changed in more ways than you can see on the outside. The politicians have set a standard of laws to separate the Living from the Non-Dead. The Living have rights that need to be protected too, you know."
Lisa slapped the top of her bed. "But I didn't choose to become a Sub Y like the others. I didn't have a choice."
"Some of the Sub Y class d
id have a choice, as you imply. Those that elected to take the treatment and be cured of their paralysis. That was a onetime special act of congress. But there are a number such as you, who received treatment after becoming infected with the virus. The laws apply to all treated with the RY drug the same. I'm sorry."
"But why should laws apply differently to Sub Ys? Sub Ys are nothing like Sub Zs. Sub Zs are so far gone that most are nothing more than simple-minded work machines. There is nothing that the Living can do that the Y class can't do. The only difference between a Living and a RY is the presence of the virus." Lisa realized she just had used one of Bob's arguments he had used against her, and felt small for not seeing his side.
She shook the feeling away. "Hell, I'll be back at my job tomorrow, behind my desk, like I never left. Don't tell me that I'm a member of the Non-Dead," Lisa said, snatching her hand back.
Anne looked to the floor. "I'm sorry dear. You will no longer be able to continue your job as a state health inspector. New laws would have to be passed, and you would have to fight the National Union of the Living before that could happen."
"Sounds exactly like how we treated slaves from our past," Lisa said softly. "It was wrong then. It's wrong now."
"The stark reality of your situation is that you carry the virus. You are now a member of the Non-Dead. Lisa, try to overcome your fear. The country still needs you. You can still contribute to society and in turn lead a rewarding life."
Lisa put her fingers to her lips. "I've lost Bob. I'm losing my job. I'm not even considered equal to other humans now." She raised her eyes to meet Anne's. "Put the pompoms down and go fuck yourself."
Anne shook her head. "Lisa, I understand how you feel. You are not alone. Time will heal you. You’ll learn to adjust and find your way back into society. It won’t take you long to start feeling better about your life. Trust me. I've seen others as upset as you. Today, they live content, fulfilled lives."
Lisa glanced down at her pale feet. The ruby red polish made her toes look even deader.
Love Prevails: A Zombie Nightmare Page 5