Permanent Ink: Deadwalkers (Zombie Outbreak)

by RWK Clark

  The nurse ran out of the room and Dr. Hilliard resumed his examination. He finished listening to her chest and began to take her pulse. “When did all this start?” he asked.

  For what felt like the hundredth time, Michelle recounted all she knew to the doctor as he continued to examine the patient. While she spoke, Nurse Yates returned with two co-workers, and together they set about administering an IV for Melanie. Dr. Hilliard took the opportunity to speak with her quietly at that point, concern filling his dark eyes.

  “What has she eaten?” he asked, and Michelle told him.

  “Are any of her friends ill?” The answer was no.

  He asked the same questions of Megan, who repeated the same. At last he took a deep breath. He was obviously contemplative.

  “Well, I have ordered complete blood work,” he began. “I am going to also order IV antibiotics; is she allergic to anything?” Michelle shook her head, and he continued. “Well, I’m afraid I can’t tell you much until her blood work comes back, except that you have a very sick girl. We are going to move her up to ICU, so if you need to go home and take care of anything, say, put on regular clothing, now would be the time, okay?”

  “What if she wakes up and I’m gone?” she asked.

  Dr. Hilliard put a comforting hand on her shoulder. “She’ll be fine, but chances are she will take a bit. I’d go now if I were you. Oh, and who is your family doctor or pediatrician?”

  “Moss,” she replied. “Diana Moss.”

  “Fine,” he said. “Nurse Yates, these two are going to run home real fast. Please get Melanie up to ICU as soon as possible before their return.”

  The woman nodded and went back to work. Michelle approached her youngest, who was surrounded by medical staff. Tears filled her eyes as she kissed her palm and touched the girl’s leg with it.

  “I’ll be right back,” she said. “I promise.”

  ∞

  Within the hour Michelle and Megan were back at home. Both showered, changed, and grabbed a quick bite to eat. Michelle called Mitch in Chicago and told him what was going on, and he told her he would catch the next flight back home that he could get on, which made her feel much better. Finally, both of them grabbed their cell phones and a tablet to keep Megan busy, and they left for the hospital once again.

  “I just wish I had some idea where she could have contracted this craziness,” Michelle mumbled as she drove.

  Megan stared out the window into the early morning darkness. “Me too,” she said. “One minute we were at the table, writing and drawing with our new pens. I remembered that she got tired fast, it seemed, but other than that she seemed fine. She just said she wanted to go to bed.”

  “She didn’t say anything else? Nothing about feeling sick?”

  Megan shook her head. “No. Just that she was done, and wanted to go to bed.”

  They fell into silence for the rest of the drive. Michelle shot a couple of prayers toward heaven, and Megan turned on her tablet and started playing a game. It was going to be a long night, and both of them knew it.

  Chapter 5

  Brian Olson lay in the darkness of his room watching the shadows being cast by the moonlight coming through his window. The box fan his mother bought for him five years ago blew cool air at his face, and normally it helped him sleep soundly. Tonight, however, it was lacking in its effectiveness. It was nearly one in the morning and he hadn’t slept a wink.

  His stomach felt a bit queasy, and his joints were achy and sore. Brian was also sweating like a madman, and the fan did nothing to relieve it whatsoever. But it was the burning finger that was distracting him so.

  The finger with the papercut that was the one. He had tested the wet holographic ink with it, and it had burned like crazy ever since. As a matter of fact, he looked at it right before bed and it had turned a weird, pussy-looking gray-green. Brain had put triple antibiotic ointment on it and lain down, but the finger with the papercut was driving him mad.

  He sat up on his elbow and grabbed the bottle of tropical flavored sport drink that he brought with him to bed. Breaking the cap, he put it to his lips and tilted his head back; even to his own surprise, he drained the twenty-four-ounce bottle of fluid in a single drink. Brian squinted at it in the darkness, tried to get one more sip, and then threw the bottle on the floor in frustration.

  He could feel heat coming from his eyes, and his head began to spin, so he lay back down on his pillow hard. Suddenly his bowels felt very loose and hot, and he thought he might heave right there in the bed. Leaning over toward his desk, Brian grabbed his wastepaper basket and leaned over it. He dry heaved a number of times before finally stopping to catch his breath. He was afraid he was going to crap his pants, but he didn’t want to wake his mother; she would take him to the hospital or something.

  Embarrassed, even in the privacy of his room, Brian flipped on his bedside lamp and swung his feet around to the floor. He glanced at the window and made sure there were no gaps in the blinds before he dropped his pajama pants and sat down on the garbage can as best he could.

  The sound which came from the boy’s bowels when he let go was horrid and unearthly, a guttural growl that reeked of death. Brian gagged and clasped his hand over his mouth as he filled the can with feces. It was nearly all water, but it smelled like the local water treatment plant, and once again he wanted to be sick.

  It took him twenty minutes to finally be finished, and even then he didn’t feel safe getting up just yet. His eyes shifted to the clothes hamper next to his nightstand; there, draped across the top, was his towel from his shower earlier that night. Brian leaned forward and strained, his fingers only brushing the terrycloth material at first, but finally he grasped it and pulled it toward him with relief.

  Once he was cleaned up he stood, his knees and hips hurting. Brian looked down into the garbage at what appeared to be red and yellow mucous. Was that blood mixed in with what could only be his diarrhea?

  Suddenly, Brian was overcome with vertigo. He broke out in a profuse sweat, and his body began to sway back and forth. After a moment he collapsed, falling back onto his mattress without a care in the world.

  Brain Olson was passed out cold, half-naked, in his own feverish sweat.

  ∞

  Kathy Olson woke with a start to the incessant sound of the beeping alarm next to her head. What day was it? Friday? No, Saturday. Why the heck had she turned the damn thing on, anyway? Then she remembered: she and Brian were supposed to visit her brother Rich and his wife Deanne. It would be a chance for Brian to play with his cousins, Micki and Mandy, before school started on Monday.

  She sat up on the edge of her bed and put her head in her hands, waiting for the tired cobwebs to clear from her brain. Would Brian be up? She glanced at the clock once more: seven-thirty-two. Of course not; what was she thinking.

  After several minutes Kathy stood and staggered to her bathroom. There, she brushed her teeth and combed her hair. She returned to her bedroom and put on a pair of her favorite jeans and an old Denver Broncos sweatshirt, as well as a pair of bootie socks, before heading to the kitchen. She desperately needed coffee, and she knew it.

  As soon as she opened her bedroom door the stink hit her: a vile odor reeking of rotten bowels, as far as she was concerned. Her hand went right to her nose and mouth in an effort to protect them, and she even had to squint her eyes because the stench was causing them to burn.

  “Holy heck?” She mumbled through her fingers. Kathy looked down the hall and saw nothing but stillness and peace. “Brian!”

  There was no response.

  She crossed the hall, her hand still over her mouth, and knocked hard on her son’s bedroom door. “Brian!” She listened only for a second, then quickly took her hand off her mouth to yell once again. She replaced it just as fast; the smell was simply disgusting.

  With a quick turn of the knob she opened Brian’s bedroom door. It took her only a second of looking, but she knew almost immediately that her son was not in his r
oom. The smell was really strong in there, so she proceeded forward.

  Next to his bed was his trash bin. She stooped and looked inside, and immediately her gag reflex took over. His wastebasket was filled with what looked like bloody puke, but it smelled like rotten crap. Kathy fell back off her feet and landed hard on her backside before flipping over and trying to crawl out of the room with her hand still over her face.

  Once in the hall she got to her feet and ran for the front door. Grabbing the key off of the hook and undoing the double deadbolt in a flash, Kathy flung it open and ran outside, where she promptly got sick in the bushes, throwing up a bit of mucous and water before dry heaving for a bit. Afterward, she put her hands on her knees and stood, bent over, just trying to catch her breath.

  Where the heck was Brian? Had he actually defecated in his garbage can? Or had he vomited?

  She stood upright and looked back toward her house, which sat still and peaceful before her. Her mind was spinning; Lord, she hadn’t even had her coffee! Had her son gotten sick and tried to walk to the hospital? He’d better be sick, she thought, or I’m going to kick his butt for making such an awful mess.

  Suddenly, there was a crash from inside the house. Kathy jerked to attention and listened carefully. It was followed by very intentional shuffling, but nothing came into her view through the opened door. She felt confused, and even a bit relieved.

  “Brian?”

  She stepped back into the house taking her time to secure the deadbolt and call her son’s name once again. “Brian? Where are you?”

  More shuffling, then a faint voice, “In the laundry room.”

  She barely recognized his voice, but Kathy wasn’t deterred. Her mother’s instincts kicked in right away and she was off like a shot for the laundry room. He must be trying to wash his clothes, she thought.

  As she rounded the corner where the door to the utility area was she could hear a grunting sound, but the noise didn’t register with her. When she came to the door way she stopped cold, and an icy hand of terror gripped her heart. Brian stood before her, but it really wasn’t Brian.

  His flesh was a deep gray, and it was ragged and bruised at many places. His entire left cheek looked as if it had been literally torn from his face, leaving a gaping hole where Kathy could see his teeth and tongue clearly. But regardless of all this, most terrible of all, Brian was smiling at her, and he looked more than happy to see her at that specific moment in time.

  Kathy’s mouth dropped open and she took a step back, more out of reflex than fear. But it didn’t take long for that old friend, Fear, to take over, and that was the exact moment at which panic set in for her. She went into shock almost immediately.

  Brian, her beloved baby boy, her best friend, and the young man she had been raising so diligently and properly, wanted to eat her. Of that, Kathy Olson was positive. She stumbled and tried to get on all fours so she could get away from the monster before her.

  “Brian!!” Kathy screamed his name with all her might as she flipped herself over and began clawing at the teal hallway carpet. Her feet moved in perfect harmony with her scrambling hands, but neither could seem to get any kind of grip or footing. Brian’s eyes, while dead, were completely alight with excitement of having prey spread out before him.

  He took a single staggering step, and then another, in her direction.

  After what seemed like an hour, the thirty-two-year-old mother finally got both her footing and an unstable grasp on the tacky carpeting. She lurched forward just as her teenaged son’s fingers brushed against her stocking foot, and she was keenly aware of his fingers there. Even as she scrambled to get away from him she was aware of his touch; it was sickening and petrifying, all at the same time.

  Kathy Olson knew that her son Brian was not himself. She couldn’t explain it in her desperate mind, not in the few seconds she had to get away. All she knew was that his eyes had been empty during the split second she looked into them. They were still his eyes, but they were empty, and completely void of all life or consciousness.

  “Brian!” She was able to pull her legs and feet forward at the very last second, and with that movement she willed a burst of energy which enabled her to sprint down the hall. Kathy stumbled at first, almost reminiscent of a horror film, but she quickly gained her footing and darted away from him.

  “Aaargghhh!!”

  His voice was raspy, yet grotesquely wet at the same time. It sounded as though he were trying to scream with a large wad of phlegm in his throat, and regardless of who he had been, she had enough sense and reason to continue to flee. But she could feel him behind her; his presence coming up on her, no matter how lurching and slow, was identical to that of a spirit saturated in mist of a thousand rainstorms.

  She made it, finally, into the hallway, stumbling the entire ten feet. Kathy felt her son’s hands more than once, landing on her, grabbing, then losing their grip. She would kick backward at his hands, inciting angrier and angrier growls from his lips.

  Her mind was racing as she scrambled to make it to the living room, but everything around her seemed to be going in slow motion, especially her own movement. Much like in a dream, it seemed that her limbs were bogged down in tar, and she thought she would never get away. Why was her son doing this? What had happened to him, to his face and body? From what she could see, Brian looked… dead.

  By the time Kathy reached the end of the hallway she was able to glance over her shoulder; Brian was a good five feet behind her. While he was still making his way to her, it appeared that he was struggling terrible to get the job done. He seemed to be walking on the outside of his right foot, and his right leg was turned dramatically inward. Kathy didn’t waste any time in getting to her feet fast.

  Kathy took a sudden right at the end of the hall and headed for the front door. When she reached it she turned the knob, but it would not open; it was locked tight. In her panicked state she had completely forgotten the fact that she used a double deadbolt. Glancing over at the hook, where were the keys to the deadbolt? She recalled just locking the door minutes before.

  Suddenly, Brian was on her, ripping at her shoulders and shirt with unusually strong hands. Kathy turned to the creature who used to be her son and began flailing her arms with all her might. The woman was a realist, and always had been. She knew, without a doubt, that the monster trying to hurt her was not her son, not at all.

  At first she thought she was getting the best of him. After all, he didn’t seem to be able to focus his eyes very well, and all he could manage from his mouth were bizarre, wet noises, grunts, and growls. He also seemed to be having a hard time maneuvering on his legs. But when Kathy tried to push him, as unstable as he was, he simply wouldn’t fall over, and with each shove he seemed to get madder and madder, and his rage added to his strength.

  She gave him one more shove with all of her might, and he staggered backward for a split second. Kathy grabbed a heavy brass lamp from the end table between the sofa and front door, and with both hands swung the lamp at his head as hard as she could. Its base hit Brian in the skull with a sickening ‘crunch!’, and he finally toppled over and fell to the floor on his back, his arms and legs working like those of a stranded turtle.

  Kathy didn’t waste a second. The front door and deadbolt were forgotten, and instead she ran for the garage entrance, grabbing the keys to her car as she ran past the kitchen counter. Taking only a second to look over her shoulder, she saw that Brian had made it to his hands and knees, and her heart began to pound relentlessly.

  “Oh, gosh!” she said in a trembling voice as she flung open the garage door and ran down the trio of wood steps and to her old sedan. Kathy grabbed the door handle and pulled, but it was locked.

  “Damn it?” She screamed. She knew that she had locked it when she last got home, and she was mentally kicking herself, hard. With shaking hands she found the key to the door and tried to put it into the lock, but she dropped them on the cement floor.

  “Aargh!”


  Kathy swung her head around to see Brian in the doorway, his hands on both sides of the jamb. Her blood ran cold with horror as she realized that he was smiling. What the heck was going on?

  She tried to keep her eyes on him, glancing down only to try to put the key in the door lock again. He was trying to take the steps down, but he seemed to be having trouble mastering them. Tears began to run down her face, and a sob escaped her throat.

  “Where do you think you’re going, mother?” he asked her in his wet, guttural voice.

  The key finally went in, and as she turned it she screamed, “No! No Brian! Somebody, please help me!”

  The car door came open right away as she pulled the handle, and Kathy tumbled into her seat. Next, she slammed the door and locked it, then reached over and locked the passenger side. When she sat back Brian was at the car window; he ran his wet tongue up and down the length of it, and Kathy began to cry in earnest.

  As she tried, through her tears, to get the key into the ignition, Brian walked to the back of the car. She couldn’t see what he was doing; the garage was simply too dark. Worst of all, she could barely see to put the key in, due to both the darkness and the tears in her eyes.

  Trembling so hard, she dropped the keys two times. The first time she found them easily, but the second time she couldn’t track them down. She tried to turn on the dome light, then remembered that it had burned out last week. She felt around her feet and under her seat, but she could feel the keys nowhere.

  Suddenly a loud crash came at the driver’s side window. Kathy jerked toward it violently only to see a large, circular chip with small breaks webbing out from the center. On the other side stood Brian with a cinder block held over his head. His grin was sick and toothy, and spittle was running down his chin. A flap of flesh hung off his cheek, which seemed to have ripped worse, and the sight nearly sent Kathy into shock. She tried to scream again, the keys forgotten, but no sound came out.