Zombie - A Love Story

by Patricia Lee Macomber

  Linda. It was her ringtone. He tapped the screen and pressed the phone to his ear.

  "Hello?"

  "Paul? Is that you?" Her voice sounded concerned. Had someone called her to tell her of his plight?

  "Good morning, baby," he said and waited.

  There was a long silence and then, "Are you okay? Why are you making that noise?"

  "What noise?"

  "Are you sick or something? Did you lose your voice? Do you have a sore throat?" She sounded nearly panicked now.

  "No, I'm fine. Listen…"

  "Okay. I guess you're sick somehow. Cough once for laryngitis, twice for strep."

  Paul made a face and then decided to err on the side of safety. He coughed once.

  "Poor baby! I'm so sorry you're sick. Anyway, this is just my usual morning call to tell you I love you."

  "I love you, too, honey."

  "Huh? I'm sorry, baby. I don't understand anything you say." There was a little titter of laughter and she continued. "I know you can't talk, but I love you anyway. I just wish I was there to take care of you."

  Why oh why couldn't she understand him? He was speaking clearly enough. He could hear it. "I'm coming your way, Linda. I couldn't wait any…"

  "I know it must hurt to talk. So, you get some rest, do what the doctor says….you have been to a doctor, haven't you? Of course you have. Anyway, get some sleep, take your meds and rest your voice. And if you get bored, just think of you…and me…and that cozy little inn we went to that summer…" She broke off in a squeal of erotic self-pleasure. "And remember, I love you times infinity. Email me." She made kissing noises and ended the call.

  Thoughts of that inn always got Paul heated up, too.

  He looked down at his crotch.

  Nothing.

  Damn!

  He put the car back into drive and pulled onto the freeway again. Linda had called him every morning since she'd been gone. And every day on her lunch break. And every night to say goodnight. Sometimes, she called him with good news and sometimes he called her when things weren't going so well for him. All in all, they probably spoke more now than when they lived together. The sound of her voice, he always told her, was like a visit to Heaven.

  Another hour of driving found the gas gauge almost to "E". There was a sign up ahead listing the gas stations and food stops at the next exit and Paul turned on his blinkers. The sun was low in the sky and a soft pink glow illuminated his field of vision as the sun in the east reflected off the buildings coming up in the west. He guided the car into a large gas mall, one of those places that try to satisfy the traveler's every need. There was gas, a convenience store, and two chain restaurants, all neatly tucked into one smallish building.

  Paul eased up to the pump and turned off the engine. It was still daytime, and that allowed people to more easily see his affliction…whatever it was. He glanced in the mirror and was pleased that there were no new spots and the old spots had gotten no larger. It's not like he could do anything about them, but at least it didn't seem to be worse. Short of putting on a ski mask and being arrested for attempted robbery, he had no options.

  He slipped out of the car, keeping his head down and hurrying to fill the tank. He swiped his card and removed the nozzle, then held down the handle as the gas flowed into the tank.

  Most people, when confronted with someone who has a disease or deformity, will politely look away out of a sense of guilt. This was not the case with the large man at the other side of the pump. He had food stains on his t-shirt and a day's growth on his face, so he was no prize himself. On catching sight of Paul's face, he leaned forward, squinted, and tried to get a closer look. Paul turned, placed his back to the man and willed the tank to fill faster.

  The man moved again, peering at him from the other side of the pump and taking a step closer. Again, Paul moved so that the pump was between the two of them and again the rude man shifted his position to get a better look.

  "Back off, okay!" He growled and suddenly a film clip played in his brain. The Elephant Man, starring Paul Tremblay. He shook off the image and tried to ignore the man.

  Finally, the pump shut off and Paul replaced both the nozzle and the gas cap. Then he got into the car and pulled it around to the little parking area behind the building. Countless family road trips had taught him to take care of business when you had the chance. His father's lectures to that effect were so ingrained in him that it was almost a habit. Get gas, take a leak. To that end, he ducked his head and trotted toward the rest room on the side of the building at a rapid pace.

  Once inside, he felt more at ease. There were no prying eyes here, no accusing stares. He thought once more of The Elephant Man and a shudder raced up his spine. He unzipped, sidled up to the urinal and prepared himself mentally.

  Nothing.

  He tilted his head to one side and tried to remember the last time he had urinated. Yesterday. Before they had left for the sewers, both Paul and Matt had taken a bathroom break. So that would have been the last time he had relieved himself. Even accounting for the fact that your body…

  Wait just one little minute here! he thought. If your body completely evacuates when you die, how come my pants are clean?

  That simple thought froze him where he stood. Your body pushed everything out of it at the moment of death. He knew that to be true because of when Matt's mom had died…another of those memories that made him want to gouge his eyes out. So if he had died, how come there were no stains on his pants or his underwear.

  "Okay, okay!" he grumbled at himself.

  He cleared his mind, shut his eyes.

  Nothing.

  One hand reached out and turned on the water. Hey, it had worked when he was little.

  Nothing.

  "Really?!" He offered open hands and looked to the ceiling. "My pecker doesn't work? It makes my pecker not work? Whatever it is!" First he couldn't get wood when he was thinking about Linda and the inn, now he couldn't take a leak. "Oh come on!" he yelled and slammed his hand against the cheaply tiled wall.

  He was rewarded by the sound of cracking bones and shifting flesh. He pulled his hand into range and stared at it as if it were some sort of alien being sent to destroy him. The fingers were twisted oddly and his knuckles seemed flattened. There was no pain. He raised his other hand and set about putting things back where they belonged, which also caused him no pain.

  Scared and completely rattled by this new turn of events, he headed for the door. At the last second, he realized that he was still unzipped and flapping in the breeze, as it were. He quickly fixed this little problem and made for the car. It wouldn't do to be arrested as some sort of flasher or something. What would Linda think?

  Paul guided the car through the maze of pedestrians, other cars, and traffic signals and back onto the freeway. Every now and again, he glanced at his hand as though it might fall back into a state of disarray. It stayed in its current condition, however, and Paul felt his spirits lift briefly. Then his phone rang again.

  It was Matt's ringtone and he ignored it. He couldn't seem to make Matt understand him anyway, so what was the point?

  His mind returned to his previous question. If he had died, why, then, were there no stains on his clothes? Surely, the people at the morgue had not taken the time to clean his clothes before putting them in that bag. They hadn't even gotten around to autopsying him. So, perhaps he had never been dead at all.

  And why couldn't anyone understand him? He longed to talk to Linda, to explain exactly what had happened and why he was on his way to her. If he hadn't gone to see Matt, he might have been able to blame poor cell phone service. Still, he had spoken to Matt in person and he couldn't understand a word he said. It all sounded perfectly normal to Paul, but others seemed unable to make out his words.

  Then he hit on a brilliant idea. Without looking in the mirror, he took the next exit and steered the car toward a shopping center parking lot. He parked at the farthest side of it, away from everyone else. Then
he pulled his cell phone out of his pocket.

  His phone had digital voice recording applications, though he had never used them. Smiling, he turned on the radio and was greeted with nothing but static. With a frown, he moved to change stations but when his finger struck the SEEK button, to his horror, the fingernail flew off his index finger.

  Eyes bulging, he stared at his finger, drawing it slowly closer to his eyes as he did so. The nail had flown completely off; not just part of the nail but all of it. There was no blood.

  He recovered from this realization slowly, eyes snapping back to the radio as a religious station blared threats of hell at him. "You have no idea," he chuckled to himself.

  Carefully, so as not to repeat the nail-loss incident, he started the voice recording. He let it run for a count of ten, and then stopped the recording. He lowered the volume and hit the playback on his phone. The regurgitated ramblings of some preacher or other assaulted his ears. Annoying, but exactly the same as he had heard it the first time.

  Next, he hit the record button and cleared his throat. "Testing one, two, three. Testing, testing, and testing some more." He switched it off.

  He took a moment to steel himself against what he might hear next, then shut his eyes and hit the playback.

  "Aaaaarrrr! Garrrrg! Uh-uh-uh-uuuuuhhhhh!"

  Paul dropped the phone and nearly screamed. That was what everyone else heard when he spoke? He placed one hand on his chest and shut his eyes, trying to gather enough courage that he could play the recording again, just to be sure.

  The same. It was just the same. Paul started to cry but no tears would come. He wanted to slam his fist against the dashboard, but he was afraid his hand might fly off or something.

  He began to yell, gesturing wildly as he mocked fate. "So that's it then? I stepped in some goo and then I may or may not have died. My penis doesn't work. Parts of me keep falling off. And people can't even understand me when I talk!"

  Something outside the car window caught his sight and he looked over to see a middle-aged woman staring at him. It dawned on him then how it must have looked: Some crazy guy, sitting alone in the car, ranting and raving at no one in particular. He put the car back into gear and drove off before she could call the cops or something.

  "What am I going to do?" he kept asking himself. "What in the hell am I going to do?"

  He drove on toward California, sitting as still as possible lest he lose any more parts. He had another four hundred miles before he would need gas again and he intended to put that four hundred miles behind him as quickly as he could.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Paul continued to make his way toward California, reasoning with himself all the way. He argued first that he couldn't have died because he hadn't soiled himself. Okay, so his penis didn't work but that could be explained away, too.

  "Maybe I got some sort of infection," he mused. "That sounds reasonable. I got an infection and I can't pee. And maybe that infection is what's causing my hand to break and my fingernail to fall off. Sure! There's a perfectly logical explanation for all of this."

  He chuckled but the sound, even to his ears, was offensive. The only good thing was that the police weren't after him. Apparently, his best friend….his best friend…

  …Matt! His best friend's name was Matt. And Matt hadn't called the police on him.

  How could he possibly forget his best friend's name?

  His phone rang again, singing out with Linda's ring tone. It was about time to get gas again anyway, so he pulled off at the exit and slipped the car into another gas mall lot.

  "Hello, baby," he said, certain that she wouldn't understand him, but wanting to try anyway.

  "Aw, my poor baby!" she cooed. "Still not feeling any better? I'm so sorry." She paused for a moment, in the hopes that he could get some sort of message across, apparently. When he didn't even try, she pressed on. "I just called to see how you were feeling. No better, I hear. Well, you just rest and take your meds. I'll call again in the morning to check in on you. I love you, baby, and I hope you feel better soon."

  "I love you, too, Linda. You have no idea." But all that came out was a series of groans and growls, he knew.

  The call ended and Paul sat staring straight ahead. The sun had begun to set and this time it was the west's turn to put on a coat of many colors.

  Someone knocked on the window so suddenly that Paul jumped and momentarily juggled the phone. "Hey buddy! You gonna gas that thing or what?" The guy bent low to peer in through the window, and then his face fell. The man suddenly paled, held out both hands, and backed away. "I'm so sorry. I didn't know. Sorry."

  Paul watched as the man got into his car and peeled out. "What the hell – ?" Paul looked in the visor mirror and hollered. There were blotches all over his face now and the left side of his lip had dropped to the point where several teeth showed through the gap. He choked back a scream and looked around frantically, trying to find some way of concealing his face. Several ideas – such as wearing an overly large hoody – occurred to him but every idea he had required him to get out of the car.

  With no other avenue open to him, he got quickly out of the car and swiped his card. Several people seemed to notice him, but looked away of their own accord. For now, he would depend on the fact that most people would fear some kind of infection and would stay away from him. That would work for a while, or so he hoped.

  There were several things he had to take care of while he was stopped, but he would have to wait for total darkness to get out of the car. A sudden pain gripped his stomach, doubling him over and radiating to his head where it settle in as a dull throb.

  "Of course! I'm hungry." Paul laughed, a genuinely good-natured sound. "I can't even remember the last time I ate. Or slept. Christ! And no wonder I haven't peed. I haven't had anything to drink in days."

  He almost pushed open the car door and got out, but thought better of it before his hand even hit the handle. He would get food and drink later. He had waited this long; a little longer wouldn't matter. Besides, there was something he had to do right now.

  He pulled out his cell phone again and clicked in to his email. He addressed the email to Linda and began to type on the tiny keyboard:

  My darling Linda:

  No, this isn't what you think. LOL It's not a dear Linda letter. But I have something important to tell you and I wanted to tell you before I got there. Right now, I'm really on my way to you. The last two times you've called me, I was in the car, driving to you. From the moment I laid eyes on you, I've loved you with all my heart. I know we agreed that I wouldn't join you until my ten years with the city were up and I could quit and still get my pension. I know I have only two weeks left to go. But something happened at work the other day and it changed me forever. I can't talk about it right now and I won't bore you with it. But I had to come to you right away.

  I hate to be cryptic about it all. Fact is, I might not make it there at all. Strike that. I WILL make it there if it kills me. I love you more than life itself and nothing on this earth is going to keep me from you. I'll be there in five days and I have something important to ask you when I get there. Please, don't ever lose faith in me.

  All my love always,

  Your Paul

  He sat back and read over the email, wishing for all the world that he were some sort of poet. Linda was the English major and her words flowed like sweet nectar from a flower….

  "Hey! That was downright poetic, wasn't it?" He chuckled then, and began to re-read the email.

  He had no other choice. He had to let her know what was going on. Even though his own sin had been one of omission, he still felt like he was lying to her. He hated to lie to Linda. It caused him physical pain. Or, it would if he still felt pain.

  The sun was nearly set. Paul clicked SEND and sat back against the seat. Again, his stomach roiled, though it really wasn't in just his stomach but sort of all through his torso. It doubled him over and made him groan, then a dull ache settled into his
head and took up permanent residence.

  Paul waited. He waited for the sun to set, he waited for the pain in his stomach and head to subside, and he waited for an answer from Linda. An hour later, the sun was completely down and he decided to make his way into the convenience store. The light blazed out through the glass front, illuminating a large portion of the parking lot in front but the eaves cast a long, thin shadow directly in front of the store. He kept to that shadow and tried to avoid other people whenever possible without seeming suspicious.

  Is that the right term for me anymore? he wondered. Am I really even human anymore? What am I? What's happened to me?

  He slipped in through the glass door and was greeted with the BING BONG! of the door alarm. It startled him for a moment but he slipped behind the first row of shelves he saw, trying to avoid anyone's gaze without acting completely squirrelly. He grabbed a Ding Dong, a soda, one of the XXL hoodies that hung on a make-shift rack near the beer cooler. He would have to pay and when he did, he would have to face the guy at the counter.

  He saw now that the guy at the counter was watching him, tracking his movements in the convex mirrors that littered the store's ceiling line. Paul straightened and tried to act a little less like a thief and more like a human being. There were no other customers in the store at the moment. That much was in his favor. Screwing up his confidence, he approached the counter, head down, and placed his items next to the register. Best to face it head-on.

  "I apologize for my appearance," he muttered, not quite meeting the young man's gaze.

  The young man looked confused at the garbled noises issuing from Paul's mouth, but he offered a smile anyway. To Paul's delight, the guy chuckled. "It's all right. I've seen worse. Every morning." The man dropped his own arm onto the counter with a hard thump. It was a muscular arm right down to the elbow, where it terminated in a mangled lump of flesh. "Explosion in Velusia."