War of the Undead (Day One): The Apocalypse Crusade (A Zombie Tale)

by Meredith, Peter

  “Maybe an hour,” Jenny lied. The last she’d heard was that two officers were being rushed to Saint Francis hospital, while the other two would be sorting the details of the fight for half the night. “Just find somewhere safe.”

  “An hour? Wait, just hold on, now. You don’t seem to under…” The phone went dead in Bailey’s hand. “Oh my God,” she whispered, suddenly more frightened than she’d ever been in her life. No one was coming to her or Danni’s rescue, not for an hour and she knew that an hour would be far too late. It was quiet in the other room, but she could feel the presence of people; she could feel their heated breath stirring the air. They seemed to be listening for her just as she was listening for them.

  Her feet were moving before she even realized it, heading for the back door where the cooks would smoke and play craps in the alley when business was slow. She opened the door and came face to face with Bob Jenkins.

  “I knew you’d come this way,” he said. His breath was foul; it was akin to an open sewer. Bailey leaned back from it, trying to shut the door, only Bob stuck his foot inside.

  He came closer, his face pressing into the crack of the door. She saw that there was a thin line of black fluid creeping from his tear ducts. “I always thought you were smart for a waitress. Smart and pretty and so tasty. Wait…why did I say that?”

  His strength, for such an old guy, was prodigious and without even trying he opened the door halfway. But his own question so confused him that he straightened and looked about him. “I shouldn’t have said…but you are so clean looking that I couldn’t help…”

  Bailey threw her full weight into the door, catching Bob by surprise, and knocking him back into the alley. She then pulled the door shut and rammed the bolt home. Half a second later, he tried to tear down the door with his bare hands, screeching in raw anger.

  On the other side Bailey turned in slow circles hoping to see something that would trigger an idea or a plan to get out of there alive. She guessed that whatever was wrong with Bob Jenkins had also affected most everyone in the main room, which meant going out there was crazy, yet staying in the kitchen didn’t seem much better. There was exactly one hiding place: the walk-in freezer, a six by ten metal box that was kept fifteen degrees below freezing. How long would it be before she ended up like the stacks of frozen hamburger patties? She guessed twenty minutes, give or take.

  Without a hiding place she was a sitting duck. Any minute, Roger would come back to find out who was trying to break down his door; he would catch her and…she pictured the way he had mercilessly punched Danni in the face. It made her want to cry in fear. She held the tears back, barely, as a plan began to form. If Roger was going to come storming back, why not have him vent his rage on Bob Jenkins?

  Before she could chicken out, she went to the swinging door between the kitchen and the bar, cracked it open and yelled, “Roger! Someone's trying to break in through the back door.” The floor trembled as he came rushing down the short hall. Bailey ducked away from the door and knelt against the wall. The kitchen was in a semi-state of gloom and she hoped that in his blind fury he would miss her small form crouched out of the way.

  The door banged open and he came rushing by, walking in an odd manner as if he wasn’t certain where to put his feet. He went to the back door and screamed at it to shut up. When Bob kept up his attack, Roger grabbed his head in both hands and screamed again, before trying to open the door. His hands fumbled over the bolt, uselessly. He tried yanking it up and down. When that didn’t work he yanked it left—unlocking it—and then right just as fast, locking it again.

  “Fuck!” he cried and then began beating on the door with his fists.

  Bailey watched this with her guts churning. Roger was out of his mind and if he caught her just sitting there, she knew precisely what he would do: beat her to death like he had Danni. She left Roger fumbling at the door and went through the kitchen door in a crouch and stopped in surprise. Someone had turned off the lights. To her right the bar was dark with strange shadows roving over it. She could hear breathing and the sound of glass clinking glass. Suddenly the small fridge under the bar opened and in the glow she could see there were people behind the bar, grabbing bottles and drinking straight from the lip. Others were on the customer side or draped across the sticky surface stretching out long arms to get what they needed.

  The rest of the room was a pure black surprise.

  To get out she had to go one way or the other; she chose to risk the dark. Inside her was an urgent desire to run out of there at full speed, trusting to luck that she wouldn’t trip over a chair, or run smack dab into one of them—mouth breathers as she had classified them. The sound of their breath was loud, the smell revolting. They were near in the dark, she could hear them all around. Cocking her head to the side, she tried to pinpoint where they were by listening. In this way she managed to dodge four of them, but one came up behind and grabbed her hair.

  “Smell that. It’s pure, so pure.”

  Hot breath on her neck told her he was inches away. In terror she spun away from him and heard rather than felt her hair tear from her head. It was like the sound of soft fabric ripping. Straight into the dark she pelted, knocking into something hard, a table, and then something soft, a person, one of the mouth breathers. She pushed him away and charged to the one light in the main room, a little orange glow that read: exit.

  Between her and it stood Danni Sparks. The waitress wasn’t a mouth breather yet and with her dark hair she wasn’t easy to spot. They went down together and Bailey knew it was Danni by her small size and the smell of her perfume.

  “Danni, it’s me. Let’s get out of here.” Bailey jumped to her feet, pulling Danni up with her. She made to run out of there, but unexpectedly, Danni held her back. Her fingers were like claws digging into Bailey’s arms.

  “What makes you think you’re so good? So fucking perfect?” Danni demanded.

  “I’m not,” Bailey said in a whisper, afraid to speak any louder in case she was overheard by a mouth breather. “But something’s wrong. We have to get out of here before it’s too late.”

  “It’s already too late for you,” Danni replied. “You and all your perfect friends are going to pay. Lording it over us, acting so superior, making us feel stupid because we never went to college or because we never had your money.”

  What money? Bailey wanted to ask. Everyone knew Bailey didn't have two nickels to rub together. “Danni, please,” she pleaded. She was on the verge of blubbering which would be disastrous. The whispers were bad enough for it had already attracted some of the mouth breathers. “Please…I think they’re going to eat me.” It sounded incredible in her ears and yet very real.

  “Afraid for your perfect skin?” Danni asked. “You should be, but I won’t eat you. I am…hungry. It’s odd to feel this want to eat a person, but I won’t do it...I won't...not yet.”

  “Then you’ll let me go?” Bailey asked.

  “No. You’re a fucking bitch and you’re going to pay.”

  The pair grappled and with the dark, it was impossible to tell exactly what each took a hold of. Bailey felt hair and cloth and grabbed a handful of each. She was larger than Danni and figured she would be able to break the smaller woman’s grip; she was mistaken. Danni threw her to the floor with ease, taking a position on top of her, straddling her chest, pinning her.

  “Don’t eat me, please. Danni, I’m begging you, please.”

  “I already told you I wouldn’t. Do you feel that?”

  Bailey felt it. Something sharp slid through her shirt and into the first layer of her skin. She guessed it was a knife and Bailey pictured one of the gigantic carving knives the cooks sometimes used. Whatever it was, it was sharp and the pain was immediate. The knife kept sliding in at her and she was unable to do anything but suck in her stomach; the metal seemed to follow her retreating flesh until she hardly dared to breathe.

  “Please, don’t,” she hissed, high in her throat.

  “
Why not? You did this to me. You made me dirty. You and your kind did it.”

  Bailey tried to grab Danni’s hands in the dark; it was too late. Danni slid the blade in very slowly and Bailey was paralyzed by the pain. She could do nothing as the knife entered an inch above her belly button at a shallow angle; it slid through the lower third of her stomach, spilling its contents into her peritoneum, sliced just the lower edge of her left ventricle before grinding to a halt against her fourth thoracic vertebrae.

  The pain was excruciating. She could only fling her hands out and gasp. Danni bent lower, gloating. “I’m going to open you up like a lobster, pull out your heart and shit in your chest cavity.” She wasn’t lying.

  2

  On the fourth floor of the Walton facility, the scientists worked furiously, gathering everything for their coming rescue. As they worked they kept one ear cocked, hoping to hear more gunfire. They were sure that any minute they would hear the clatter of machine guns and assault rifles and, maybe, grenades. It would begin low and then creep closer and closer to the top floor as the infected people were “cleared” out. The scientists waited and waited and eventually the pace of their work slowed and then stopped altogether when they realized there wasn’t going to be a rescue.

  There was no more gunfire; there was only the steady banging as the infected people kept hammering on the doors. It felt endless. The sound vibrated the walls and rattled their nerves.

  “Will the doors last?” Stephanie asked. Chuck glanced once to John Burke, who shrugged.

  “I reckon they won’t,” Chuck said. “Especially that middle door, seeing as it’s all bent and gnarly. It might last a few more hours, maybe a day, but it’ll come down if them zombies keep at it.”

  “Yeah, but we gots fire, still,” Burke put in. “Iffin’ she’ll use it.”

  “Y’all mean, Dr. Lee?” Chuck asked. “She’ll use it. She’s got some stones is what she has. Hell, she practically dropped that traitor bitch down an elevator shaft. She’s not squeamish.” They had stopped listening at the elevator shaft ten minutes before. It had remained deathly quiet the entire time and none of them really liked the idea of sitting over a corpse. They had shut the elevator doors and were now sitting across the hall from them with their legs stretched out.

  Stephanie felt an odd and surprising twitch of jealousy at Chuck’s words. She thought that with her death so close she’d be beyond such things. It just means you’re still human, she thought. Still alive. That was good at least. She squinched over closer to Chuck so that the edges of their hips touched. “I’m hungry,” she said, hoping to change the subject. “Do you think there’s anything to eat around here? I could go for some Cheetos.”

  “I doubt it,” Chuck said. Casually he put his wide hand on her slim leg. “Before the quarantine this place was sterile, you know, like perfect. I can’t imagine Dr. Lee letting anyone get orange fingerprints all over the place.”

  “And don’t forget them germs,” Burke said. “This is where they be a makin’ them. Who wants to eat in a germ place? Not me.”

  Stephanie was all set to be jealous again over Chuck's description of Dr. Lee, when a thought struck her. “Why not you?” she asked John. “The Com-cells germs didn’t do anything to you. That’s what I find so strange. You look normal when all the rest of them are so crazy.”

  Burke, who had zero practical knowledge of microbiology, said, “It’s prolly gots sumptin’ to do with my immune system, is all. Ain’t no reason to go looking on me like that.”

  It was a second before Stephanie realized her lips had been twisted and her eyes heavy and suspicious, like a toads. “I guess not,” she said, making an attempt to hide the sudden nervousness she was feeling about being so near to Burke.

  Chuck felt the way she’d gone stiff. “Hey, it’s probably nothing. Maybe he got a bad batch. Or, hell, maybe he got the only good batch. Mayhap ole John here is what they were all supposed to look like.” He slapped John on the shoulder and gave him a shake.

  “Maybe, but…”Stephanie paused, not wanting to rain on the man’s parade. “ But how do we know? Maybe he’s on a delay. Maybe the Com-cells just multiply slower with him. Maybe he’s sick and we just don’t know it yet.”

  Burke cast a nervous eye at Stephanie. He didn’t know what was true when it came to all the science. For him, one theory was as possible as the next. Chuck caught the look and the chill between the two people on either side of him. He stood, unfolding himself to his full height and then reached a hand down to Stephanie to help her up. “We might as well go to the expert on this if we want some answers.”

  “We don’t have to involve Dr. Lee.” Steph said, feeling the jealousy like a splinter, needling its way closer and closer to her heart.

  Chuck shook his head. “I got your piece of mind to consider and John’s as well. He looks suddenly a might bit green. Sides, we all are just sitting around waiting on the next attack; might as well fill the time.”

  John was touching his face as if trying to feel the green. “Y’all really think I could still get it?”

  “I’m sure it was all just speculation,” Chuck said. “But to be on the safe side we should at least ask.” He helped Stephanie to her feet and John, as well, as he hadn’t made a move to stand up; he’d just sat there thinking about all the ramifications involved if Stephanie turned out to be right.

  They went to Dr. Lee’s office, finding her, at least in Stephanie’s eyes, perfect as always. Her black slacks still had a sharp crease running up the front, her hair shined as if it had been very recently washed, her face was composed, her skin soft, her large doe eyes, calm. The only blemish on Thuy’s appearance that Stephanie could see was a smudge of ash on her shoe from the fire she had set.

  “I don’t have any information concerning the rescue,” Thuy said, preemptively. “The authorities are giving Dr. Milner the runaround, however I’m sure it won’t be that much longer.”

  “That’s not what we’re here about, ma’am,” Chuck said. “We wanted to know about John. Why he didn’t get sick like the rest?”

  “And iffin I’ll get it in the future,” John put in. “I don’t wanna wake up some morn wantin' to be eatin' my baby girl.”

  Thuy grimaced slightly, and answered, “After what happened today, I can’t say, unequivocally what will happen to you in regards to the Com-cells. I simply don’t have enough information. What we know is that your body’s immune system destroyed them so thoroughly that it is rather amazing.” She paused for a deep breath and added, “I believe that there is a strong genetic component at play.”

  “Playin’ how?” John demanded. He wasn’t the smartest of men, but he was shrewd enough to see when someone was hedging. Amy Lynn’s doctors used to act the same way whenever they had bad news to impart. They’d get all cagey with their words, hiding behind science when they didn’t want to speak plain.

  Thuy took another deep breath, confirming John’s suspicion. “We should speak in private,” she said.

  The air seemed to up and leave John’s body. It was just like when he’d heard Amy Lynn’s terminal diagnosis—he felt like he’d been hit over the head with a two-by-four. “Naw, I’d ruther y’all jes tell me plain.”

  “It’s about your daughter.”

  Suddenly, John lost all sensation in his extremities. It felt like his body was a loosely held cloud which was in the process of dissolving around him and that a stiff wind would finish the job. “What ‘bout Jaimee? She get bit?”

  “No, however she did come in contact with the Com-cells. She’s stable at the moment, with her…”

  John’s legs gave out. Chuck said, “Whoa, big fella,” and grabbed him on the way down. He helped John down to the soft carpet.

  “Not my baby, not my baby,” John said, over and over again. Tears leaked out of both eyes, dribbling into his thin hair.

  Stephanie took his hand and squeezed, but she might as well have been holding her own hand for all the comfort it did for John. She looked
up at Thuy. “Is his daughter like him, immune? You said there was a strong genetic component at play.”

  “Jaimee Burke is not completely immune to the effects of the Com-cells,” Thuy replied. “It’s been four hours and so far she is remarkably healthy in…”

  John was well behind in the conversation. He heard the words as if they were coming through in Morse code. Each word seemed separate from the others; sentences had to be pieced together. “Four hours!” John raged. “It’s been four hours and y'all didn’t tell me?” he tried to get up; Chuck thought it prudent that he didn’t and so held him down.

  “If you don’t recall,” Thuy said, “you had run off, so you can hardly blame me for not telling you right off the bat. Then there were the attacks to deal with and Anna and…I’m sorry, I had a lot on my plate.”

  “Right, right, but how is she now?”

  Thuy glanced at her notes on Jaimee Burke. “Stable. Temperature, blood pressure, pulse are all within normal parameters for a child of her age. Her eyesight has been dimming with the advancement of the spore production…”

  “And her mind?” John asked, interrupting.

  “Again, she’s remarkably whole. She has suffered a slight impairment, mostly memory loss and certain higher functions. Math seems beyond her ability, all except simple counting, and reading comprehension is lower than her grade level. We don’t know if this is going to be a permanent loss. These things she’s lost might just come back on their own or she might be able to be re-taught. ”