Play Dead: How to care for your Zombie

by landau, marc

  ***

  In the woods, the infected woman screams. Blood curdling.

  ***

  They put Trevor "to bed." Sam finishes tucking him in, then whispers something in his ear.

  “What'd you say to him?" Charlie asks.

  “I told him I'd always be here when he wakes up. I know he doesn't sleep. I just like the routine.” Sam exhales a relaxed breath. “When he's in bed like that, it's almost like there's nothing wrong with him”

  Charlie tries to hold a tear at bay.

  ***

  Next to a tree, the Brute folds the woman’s dead limbs into the fetal position.

  ***

  Charlie and Sam sleep on each other while the TV plays on in the background.

  ***

  The Brute sleeps comfortably with his head on the dead woman's body, using her corpse for a pillow.

  ***

  Trevor sits at the kitchen table poking at his plate of smiley faced eggs.

  “He hasn't been aggressive at all lately. I think he’s starting to trust me,” Charlie says, then finishes buttering her toast.

  Trevor grunts.

  “Looks like you're worthy.”

  “I hope so.”

  She lifts the toast to take a bite — Her phone bleeps. A video has arrived. She drops the bread, frustrated.

  “It’s a freaking curse. Every time I try to eat something the phone rings.”

  “God must want you skinny,” Sam says.

  “You think I’m fat?”

  Sam grabs his coffee and scoots out of the room.

  “Yeah, you better run.”

  She checks the video and her body stiffens. On the screen is the mangled, bloody body of the attractive woman from the woods. Charlie’s body stiffens. She shuts off the video and immediately dials a number.

  “Sorry to bother you. It’s Charlie Patterson. I don’t want to be alarmist but with everything that’s been going on I think it would be a good idea to move Betsy. Just for a couple of days. As a precaution. Is there somewhere you can take her?” She listens for a moment. “Okay. Good…Thank you.”

  Charlie hangs up and dials another number.

  “What are you doing?" Sam asks with palpable concern.

  “Calling everyone I've worked with and letting them know they're not safe right now.”

  “I think they know already,” he answers.

  Charlie doesn’t listen. She doesn’t know what else to do. The video posts aren’t working. The website warnings aren’t working. Nothing’s working. Someone out there is murdering the infected. Murdering her clients and any of the infected she’s been in contact with. In a panic she dials another number. Immediately, the woman on the other end of the line starts talking frantically.

  “Hello. Mary? What's wrong? Calm down and tell me what happened.”

  Charlie listens for a few moments. “I think I know where Jackson is. Don’t do anything until I call you.” She hangs up and heads for the front door.

  “What is it?" Sam asks.

  “One of my clients has been kidnapped.”

  “Kidnapped? I thought our guy was a murderer.”

  “This isn’t him.”

  “Are you kidding?”

  “I wish I was, but he’s not the only psycho out there hating on the sick.” Charlie says.

  “What do they want? Ransom?”

  “Worse.”

  “What's worse?”

  “It doesn’t matter. Stay here with Trevor. I’ll be back as soon as I can.” She grabs for the door, but Sam stops her.

  “I’m going with you.” His eyes tell her there’s no point in arguing.

  ***

  In a warehouse section of Queens, a building that once made things now stands abandoned. Whoever worked there is long gone. Their jobs shipped overseas. The only chance this, or any of the buildings around has, is if entrepreneurs decide to make it hip. Unfortunately, up until now Queens has been very resistant. Long Island City and Astoria is as close as it gets, and both still pale in comparison to the almighty King Tut of hip, Williamsburg. The mecca of the Artisan.

  A weathered, graffiti layered, steel door is emblazoned with the words, Come in and Die.

  Charlie hands her stun gun to Sam.“Just in case.”

  “That’s reassuring,” he says.

  “You don’t have to do this.”

  Sam takes the gun and nods them forward.

  “Stay close and watch my back,” she says.

  “What am I watching for?”

  “You’ll know it if you see it.”

  “I’ll know it when I see it…Great.”

  Charlie uses two hands to peel open the heavy door. It opens up to a long dark stairwell. In the distance they hear sounds of people.

  Sam grips the stun gun. “This just keeps getting better and better.”

  They move quietly down the stairs towards the basement where all the action is going on. The house is packed. People are yelling, booing, laughing, and cheering. Some of the crowd wear surgical masks. Many are placing bets.

  “What’s going on here?" Sam asks.

  He’s quickly shushed with Charlie’s index finger. They watch as two men enter from different sides of the room and walk towards the middle. The crowd erupts in cheers.

  The men sit at a table. Both are infected. One of the men is Jackson. Money is being thrown everywhere. Bets are being taken. Is it a fight club?

  A sweaty obese man’s smile shows his big pink gums, and giant super white capped teeth. He reaches into a coat that’s probably the biggest size made, but it fits like a skin suit against the rolls of his fat. He takes a revolver, puts one bullet in the chamber and spins it. This isn’t a fight club. It’s a Russian roulette club.

  He puts the gun to one of the infected's head, and the crowd goes silent. The obese sweaty man smiles huge, then pulls the trigger.

  Click. The chamber’s empty. The crowd erupts in cheers. Money changes hands. The man spins the chamber again. This time he puts the gun to the other infected man’s head. It’s Jackson. The crowd goes silent again, and the man pulls the trigger.

  Click. It’s another empty round. More cheers and money flow across the room. He puts the gun to the forehead of Jackson’s opponent and lets the silence fill the room for dramatic effect.

  Then he pulls the trigger.

  The infected man’s skull explodes.

  The crowd erupts. The sweaty man dabs his face with his fat forearm, then spins the chamber and presses the barrel to Jackson's head. He puts his finger on the trigger and smiles big.

  Blam! Blam! Blam!

  Charlie unloads rounds into the air. Silences the crowd. Everyone freezes. Everyone except for the obese, capped tooth man pressing the gun into Jackson’s temple. He grins revealing hot pink gums. “What are you going to do girly?" he says, tightening his finger on the trigger.

  Charlie doesn’t hesitate. She shoots him in the leg.

  He screams and drops to the floor. “Crazy bitch,” he yelps, holding his leg tight, trying to slow the flow of blood.

  She swings the gun wildly at the crowd.

  “Anyone else want to test this crazy bitch?”

  The crowd backs off. She turns to Sam. “Get Jackson.”

  A big man steps in front of Sam blocking his path. Sam presses the stun gun into his stomach and watches with awe as the man wriggles like a fish on the hook, then collapses to the ground.

  “Knew it when I saw it,” he says to Charlie, then grabs Jackson and hauls him away.

  Charlie walks to the sweaty, obese, bleeding man. He’s not smiling anymore. Standing over him, she puts a single bullet in the revolver. Then spins the chamber and hands it to him. No way he wants to take play this game.

  Charlie presses the gun to his eyeball and feels the soft tissue squish against the hard metal. She wants to push it through his eye. Right into his brain.

  The man pleads with his eyes, but Charlie doesn’t even blink.

 
“Take it,” she says.

  He relents, takes the gun.

  “Charlie don’t,” Sam says.

  “Please,” the man with the gun to his head begs.

  She presses the gun harder into his eye. “If I pull this trigger your odds are zero. Your choice.”

  Beads of sweat roll down the man’s head. He puts the gun to his temple.

  “Do it!” she yells.

  He pulls the trigger.

  Click. The chamber’s empty. It's his lucky day.

  But it didn't stop him from pissing himself.

  ***

  Charlie drives silently as Sam’s neck bulges with angry veins.

  “I can't believe you would've let that guy shoot himself,” he says.

  Charlie grins and tosses him a bullet. The revolver was never loaded.

  ***

  Next stop, Jackson’s house. Mary rushes out and hugs him harder than she ever has. She turns to Charlie with tears in her eyes and squeezes the air out of her as well.

  Back in the van Charlie tries to start the engine, but can’t seem to bring herself to move her fingers. Then the tears begin pouring down. She loses control. Sobbing. Shaking. Sam wraps his arms around her. “It’s okay. You did good.”

  ***

  Documentary video plays. A man from Kansas, or somewhere like it, confidently wears purple Crocs, brown socks, and extra large carpenter jeans. Beneath a yellow fleece there’s a tee shirt with a picture of a zombie with a red X through it.

  “Why do you do it?" he asks. “They’re a bunch of animals. A danger to everyone.”

  Charlie clenches her fists as she forces her patented TV smile.

  “I know it’s scary, but the truth is they’re just sick. We have a history of sending the sick away to die alone. I don’t believe that’s the best version of ourselves. I think we can do better.”

  “Whatever.”The tourist rolls his eyes and walks away.

  ***

  The cameraman leaves his bazzilionth message for Charlie. He should leave her alone. She did fire him after all. But he never did know when to stop pushing.

  When he reaches the front door of her apartment building he hesitates before pressing the buzzer. He knows he should just walk away, but at least she should have to tell him to his face. He pressed the buzzer. No reply. He tries a few more times and still there’s no response. At least he tried. He turns to leave, and standing in front of him is a huge man with dead eyes, wearing a surgical mask.

  ***

  Sam prepares dinner while Trevor slowly turns pages in the photo book of people. He’s turned them a lot. The pages are beginning to fray.

  Charlie yells on the phone, tosses it across the room. The commotion agitates Trevor, and he starts tearing pages out of the book.

  “You’re upsetting Trev,” Sam says.

  He takes the book away, ushers his brother into the bedroom, and comes back a few moments later.

  “Sorry about that. I’m just so frustrated,” Charlie says. “The police don't want to be bothered. They don’t care about people playing Russian roulette with the infected. Or some lunatic murdering my clients. Even that poor woman who got bit by Randy doesn’t matter. The minute you have the virus you’re less than an insect. What a crock of bullshit.”

  Charlie can see her rant has had the unintended consequence of poking the hornet’s nest. She watches as Sam’s face goes dark.

  “You’re right. And if it comes to it I’ll do whatever it takes to protect Trevor.”

  “You don’t know what you’ll do. It’s different when you really have to pull that trigger.”

  “So, I should just let someone kill my little brother?" Sam’s face flushes red. “It’s the humane thing to do right?”

  “You know that’s not how —”

  Sam cuts her off. He’s revved up and off on a tangent now. They both need to vent. Too bad it’s at one another. They probably should have sex instead.

  “What if he was your brother Charlie? What would you do?" Sam smashes a glass. “You got us into this. You tried to help but all you’ve done is paint a target on Trevor's back. What the hell are you going to do about it?”

  Sam storms out before she can tell him about her brother. Sometimes she wonders if everyone’s right, that he’s better off dead. She would feel less guilty if it were true. But it’s not. It’s just something people say so they don’t have to do the hard work. It’s easier to forget the sick and dying than to deal with them. She knows there will be a cure and the infected will return to normal. Trevor will come back. Michael never will.

  ***

  “We need to meet. I can't publicly name a place. My viewers might show up and I don't want anyone else to get hurt. Send me a place and time.” Charlie presses a button and posts the video.

  Sam comes up to her. “It’s my turn to apologize. Sorry about before. I just…”

  “We’re all under a lot of stress,” she replies.

  “That’s an understatement.”

  “You were right. We have to do something. We can’t just wait around for him to…” She can’t bring herself to finish the sentence.

  “…kill Trevor,” Sam says.

  He’s right, and she can’t even look him in the eyes.

  “What are we going to do?" he asks.

  “I’m going to give him what he wants.”

  “What’s that?”

  “…Me.”

  It doesn't take long before her phone beeps that a text has come in. It’s a picture of something. She stares at it for a moment then says, “I gotta go.”

  Sam grabs her by the arm. “I’m coming.”

  “It's too dangerous.”

  “I think I've proven myself by now.”

  “You have. But you and Trev are safe here. You need to make sure it stays that way. I

  couldn't handle it if anything happened to you two. Please. I need to do this alone.”

  Reluctantly, Sam gently squeezes her hand and nods in agreement.

  ***

  A simply dressed man walks over to a public sculpture and sits down. He scans the area, checks his wrist for the time, and waits. Charlie watches from across the street. The man checks his wrist a few more times, then decides whoever he’s waiting for has stood him up. He leaves.

  Charlie follows the man. When he turns a corner she strikes.

  Zaps him with the stun gun.

  The man opens his eyes and sees Charlie standing above him. He tries to move but is tied down. He tries to speak but is gagged with duct tape.

  Charlie was sure that when Sam’s parents’ bought their “getaway pad” it never crossed their mind that one day there would be someone being held hostage in the basement.

  “I thought this was a better place for us talk,” she says.

  The man tries to reply but the gag does its job.

  “Sorry. I meant for me to talk.”

  Out of nowhere, Sam rushes the man and punches him hard in the face.

  “You tried to kill my brother.”

  Charlie grabs him, pulls him away.

  “That's enough. You need to get it together.”

  Sam regains control, but barely.

  She turns back to the man. “I thought if I brought you here it would be easier to show you the harm you're doing.”

  “There's no reasoning with this garbage. We should just end this,” Sam says.

  “Sam, stop it. Let me try.” She walks away for a few moments and returns with Trevor. “This is Trevor. He's a good kid.”

  Even infected Trevor does look like a kid. A sick one, but still just a boy. He can't be more than fourteen.

  “He went to school. Played sports. Dated girls. Maybe even got drunk. Then he got sick like a lot of people did. Most died.”

  Charlie brings Trevor closer to the man. “Look at him. He's not some crazed killer zombie. He's just a very sick kid.”

  The man in the gag mumbles frantically.

  Sam is losing his patience.
“Give it up Charlie.”

  Charlie backs away and thinks. She’s tried to change the minds of the prejudiced but it’s never worked. You can’t argue reason with bigots and racists. She’s helped the people that wanted it. The ones that were open minded. She’s never turned an anti zombie nazi into a pacifist and never will. She knows if she lets this man go he will kill again. He will kill as many of the sick as he can.

  “You're right. It was stupid of me to hope,” she says.

  Charlie goes upstairs, and returns gulping from bottle of gin. She goes to the man, takes a deep breath, and pulls out her gun. Put him down like a dog. She hears her dad’s voice whispering in her ear.

  The gagged man tries to yell, but only garbles come out.

  “Take his gag off,” she says.

  “Don’t let him bullshit you,” Sam says.

  “Just take it off.”

  Sam rips off the tape. The man squeals with pain.

  “Please. You've got it all wrong,” he says. “I’ve seen your show. You help people. You’re not this person.” His eyes search hers, pleading for compassion.

  “You made me this person.”

  She takes another serious gulp from the bottle. Put him down, her father whispers again.

  “Take Trevor into another room. I don't want him seeing this,” she says.

  Sam takes Trevor to his room then returns.

  “You don't have to be here,” she says.

  “We’re in this together.”

  Charlie leans into the man’s face. “I'm going to show you more respect than you did to any of the people you murdered. I'm going to let you have last words.”