by Brown, TW
He forced the straw into the foil hole after six attempts and badly bending the annoying piece of plastic. Tilting her head up, he guided the straw to her lips. He watched as she drew the liquid into her mouth. She made a slight moan of pleasure that had the added side effect of causing a rather embarrassing stirring sensation in Dr. Reginald Cox’s lower regions. “I’m going to unfasten your straps after I remove these wires and such,” he said, pulling the juice away.
An hour later, Jane was cleaned up and wearing a set of scrubs. Dr. Cox had to hold her up and help clean her, dress her, and now sat at a table feeding her bits of bread with a very thin layer of peanut butter and tomato soup.
When the meal was finished, he took her to his quarters and tucked her into his bed. Taking a seat at his desk, he watched her sleep. Perhaps the end of the world wasn’t going to be so bad after all.
***
Dani Flannigan slumped down in the big, overstuffed recliner. Tipping the glass she held, the dark liquid filled her mouth. The last of the Jägermeister slid down her throat, warming her from within.
Out her window she saw the reflection of the moon shimmering on the ocean’s surface. Her eighteenth-floor penthouse gave a spectacular view of the Atlantic. If she walked out onto the balcony, she could gaze down at the white sands of the beach. She’d loved the view. It had been worth every penny she paid. And really, money wasn’t that much of a problem. Not when your face was on the cover of every fashion magazine. Not when your posters hung on hundreds of thousands of teenaged boys’ walls.
Dani was a brand name. And it didn’t hurt that her best friend was a Wall Street whiz. He’d turned her unthinkable fortune into something bordering on obscene. At least that’s how the small-town Nebraska girl inside her saw it. Growing up in a modest home, Dani had mucked horse stalls, picked berries, and shucked corn, just like every other boy and girl she knew.
A family vacation to New York changed everything. A woman had come to the table at an expensive Italian place where she and her family were dining and introduced herself. Dani hardly remembered the next seven months. She’d been seventeen. Now, at twenty-two, she was in her prime as a model—she refused to use the term “super.”
Dani avoided the drugs, the partying, and most of the snares known to trip up so many others. Heck, she’d just started drinking a couple months ago. But then who wouldn’t when the dead began walking.
There had been an attempt to evacuate the city of Jacksonville, Florida. The whole darn city for Chrissakes! That had not worked well at all. Many of those cars still clogged Interstates 95, 10, and 295. She’d watched a lot of it from her balcony. Dani had stayed behind because it was the only place her family would know to find her. And it was where Joseph would come. And he would.
Dani waited. Others had waited, too. Then, a bunch of them decided it was time to go. The power had been out for many days, as had the water. Food was running low, so they left. She’d watched from her balcony after locking the storm and security roll-down doors behind them. Ten blocks. That’s how far they got before those things had them surrounded. She’d gone inside so as not to hear the screams.
Dani waited. Nobody came. Sometimes she heard things. Sometimes she saw other survivors. A couple of the people who’d left had tried to get back into the building. They’d failed, but they’d brought those things by the hundreds. She’d gone three days without sleep because of the constant pounding. Then, one day, she’d simply fallen asleep from exhaustion. After that, she’d been able to block out the sound.
Dani went to every single condo and brought all the food and water she could find. It would last until Joseph, or maybe her family, came for her.
Eventually, she’d realized nobody was likely to come. Slowly, the food dwindled. The water disappeared faster, even with putting out everything she could find to catch it.
Dani showered only when it rained. Anytime a good downpour arrived, she would hurry to the roof with soap, shampoo, and razor. Still, when she looked in the mirror, she didn’t see that girl on the magazine covers. All she saw with total clarity was the fear in her own eyes. Sometimes she didn’t even recognize the eyes staring back. Sometimes the dark circles and the sunkeness made the eyes staring back look like those of a stranger. It was those emerald green eyes (she refused to give up her favorite contacts) and her curly, long auburn hair that made people stop and stare.
Dani set the empty bottle down and unconsciously toyed with the ring on her finger. The ring was all that remained of the life she’d lost. Her thumb toyed with the diamond that rose up on prongs for everybody to see. A tear welled up, hung suspended in the corner of her eye for a second, and cascaded down Dani’s cheek as she remembered looking into Joseph’s eyes that day. His perfect smile flinched just a little as if he were uncertain what her answer would be. That uncertainty was what had sealed her response: yes. He hadn’t taken her for granted. There was still that possibility in his mind that she would refuse; and for that, she loved him all the more.
Still crying, Dani’s head slumped down, and she dozed off.
The dazzling light of the rising sun woke her from a dream-filled sleep. She’d dreamed of her parents who she’d just sent on a cruise around the world, of her brother that she’d surprised with college tuition, and of Joseph.
Waking had been painful in so many ways. Those images burst and flew to the recesses of her mind, her neck ached from the uncomfortable way she’d slept, and her head throbbed from last night’s alcohol consumption. Seeing the condo now as nothing more than a shrine filled with images of people long gone and echoes of happiness that would never be repeated, Dani walked out onto the balcony. Climbing up onto the ledge, she couldn’t bring herself to look down at the sea of dead faces below. Instead, she kissed her ring and, keeping her eyes on the beauty of the blue-green Atlantic Ocean, she stepped off.
***
Jenifer-zombie walked. Day. Night. It made no difference. Sometimes she walked surrounded by others just like her, but she paid them no attention. They were no different than a tree or a rock that she might pass.
This very moment, Jenifer-zombie walked alone. A vast, open field stretched out before her. Large creatures moved out of the way, they felt the wrongness as it approached, but she did not notice. While Jenifer-zombie sensed their warmth, their warmth did not “call” to her any more than the light of the sun.
As darkness gave way to light, a sound caused her to stop. She did not hear it so much as feel it. Turning, she felt the vibration strengthen. This was the way. Slow awkward steps brought her closer. She walked, for several minutes the vibrations grew stronger. Twice, sudden changes in the ground caused Jenifer-zombie to stumble. Once, teeth struck curb. The mouth tore and several teeth broke, but there was no pain, no recognition of the damage done.
The sound grew louder until she reached a mass of others just like her. Plowing through the crowd took days, but that did not matter. Eventually, she navigated the continuously expanding crowd. A tall, flat surface halted her progress. Like those around her, she brought her hands up and slapped them on the surface. There was no thought as to why.
The sun rose and set, rose and set. This went unnoticed by Jenifer-zombie—or any of the others surrounding her, banging on the flat, cold metal surface. One night, like all the others, there was a commotion. The others jostled harder. Pushed sideways, a flash of warmth drew her. Ducking, pushing, shoving, Jenifer-zombie reached the source. It was fading, the warmth was going away. Before it could vanish completely, she grabbed it, biting into it, seeking its warmth. Another tooth broke and she let a small gold band fall from her mouth.
The warmth was gone. That it ever existed vanished from memory. Jenifer-zombie began to walk. It took two days to extricate herself from the mass of others.
By nightfall Jenifer-zombie was alone once more, it paid no attention to the sign welcoming it to Georgia.
***
Mackenzie kept her eyes down. She knew he was watching. Worse, she kne
w the big oaf had one of his lazy smiles plastered on his face. She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of seeing just how completely grossed out she was.
What the hell does he do, she thought, stomp around in zombie guts in just his stocking feet? The last pair were almost done, and today was the final day of her two-week payment of services. Wringing out the socks one final time, she plunged them into the rinse bucket a few times, wrung, plunged, and wrung. Finally. She took the last pair to the clothesline and threw them across to dry in the sun like the others.
“Coulda been worse,” a voice chuckled in her ear. How in the hell did somebody so big move so damned quiet?
“What could possibly have made this worse?” Mackenzie spun and stared up at the giant oaf. She flipped a lock of her brown hair out of her eyes and fastened the best glare she could muster.
“Coulda been underwear,” Juan said with a smile.
“Like I would do anything that might let your pervy little fingers touch my—” she stopped. “What the hell?” She stepped away from Juan, looking past him, down the slope of the field of neat rows of cantaloupe that were ready to be picked.
Juan turned, his hand going for the nine-millimeter on instinct. Two deaders were standing at the fence, both reaching out towards the two living, warm-bodied people in the front yard of the farmhouse. His eyes scanned, trying to see into the tree line that was across the two-lane road that ran parallel along the length of this farm and others, separating them from the riverfront beaches.
“Get your mom and the two of you bring the bicycles down to the end of the driveway,” Juan said. He took his hand off the pistol and picked up the baseball bat with sixteen-penny nails sticking out from all sides. “Strap on a couple blades, but bring some firepower just in case.”
Mackenzie turned and bolted for the house. She only briefly considered the idea that, before all this, she’d never let any man tell her what to do except her dad. She found her mom in the kitchen, canning tomatoes and mixing brine for her special homemade pickles. They’d been putting away food nonstop for a few weeks. Three of the five bedrooms had been converted to pantries and the basement was already packed full of boxes, every inch of floor and shelf space taken.
“Got a couple down at the fence,” Mackenzie said, realizing that her heart was racing just a bit. “Juan wants us to take the bikes. I think he wants to go check the area around the bridge.”
“I…” Margaret sighed, “I can’t just leave all this now. Can’t you two take care of it?”
“Probably,” Mackenzie nodded, “but you know the rule. We don’t leave anybody alone. That’s—”
“—how people die,” Margaret sing-songed. “Fine, tell the emperor that I will do as he bids, just give me five minutes to shut things off.”
Ten minutes later, the trio was biking down the road to the ruins of the bridge. Rounding an easy bow in the road, they saw another deader stumbling along. A tell-tale trail of water lay in its wake.
“Don’t tell me they can swim,” Margaret whimpered as she pulled up beside Juan who had come to a stop.
“I wouldn’t think so,” Juan said. He set the kickstand and walked towards the lone intruder, stopping several feet short and giving it a good once-over.
It wasn’t as nasty smelling, that was a plus. This one was missing its left arm and had been ripped open where the belly-button used to be. Bits and pieces hung from the hole along with some slimy green stuff that looked like seaweed or something. It was definitely some kind of plant. Looking at the feet, he noticed fine gray mud that caked on the skin in places to about mid-shin.
“Huh,” he huffed. Then, taking the bat, he swung, burying three of the spikes into the top of its head. He walked back to the two women and his bike. “They’re walking across.”
“What?” Mackenzie exploded. “That bridge is gone. I saw it. You saw it. We all saw it.”
“They aren’t using the bridge.” Juan climbed back on his bike.
“Then how—” Margaret began, then stopped, her mouth still hanging open as it dawned on her.
“They’re simply walking on the bottom of the river,” Juan said.
“Then there is no place safe,” Margaret whispered.
“Those things don’t normally go into the water.” Juan looked back at Margaret and Mackenzie, who were both staring at the ground, heads hung in resignation. “I’ve seen them come to the edge, but they don’t usually go in unless they’re pushed by others behind them.”
“But that still means we aren’t safe.” Mackenzie looked up with those big, brown eyes that made Juan feel just a little bit awkward.
“You can’t ever just think we’re safe.” Juan climbed back off the bike and went to her. “And these deaders are the least of our problems. We need to be on the lookout for people like I told you about.”
“Like Travis?” Margaret spat.
“Yeah,” Juan nodded, “but at the same time, we need to think about others like ourselves. We have to try and bring folks here and build our numbers. Three ain’t gonna hold out long if a serious gang rolls up on us.”
“So what do we do about those things getting across?” Mackenzie asked.
“Make a couple patrols every day.” Juan patted her shoulder and went back to his bicycle. “If we see any groups building, we thin them out. Also, it wouldn’t hurt to build a fence.”
“Around the entire island?” Margaret asked skeptically as they began to pedal once more.
“You got someplace to be?” Juan asked over his shoulder.
“Smartass.”
“So how do we go about finding people?” Mackenzie asked. “And once we do, how do we know if they are good guys or bad guys?”
Juan pedaled in silence for a moment, considering the question. Then, an idea came; it seemed logical and simple. Those were really the only type of ideas he came up with.
“Children,” he said simply.
“We look for children?” Mackenzie scoffed.
“No,” Juan shook his head, “we look for people with children.”
They biked on the rest of the way in silence, each of them considering the possibilities. When they reached the undeveloped area just before the bridge, it was easy to see why they’d had company. A couple hundred of those things were packed onto the far end of the ruined bridge.
“The explosion brought them,” Juan said.
“So,” Mackenzie unslung her .22 rifle, “let’s get busy.”
***
Backing up, but moving away from the doorway that would lead to the gymnasium, Chad fished out more shells and began feeding them into the shotgun. Holding the weapon away from his body with his right hand, he jerked his arm once, pumping a round into the chamber.
“C’mon, you bastards!” he taunted the five undead that moved towards him with slow, unsteady steps. They moaned and groaned, making noises that sounded inhuman. The closest had most of its chest cavity torn open and Chad was fairly certain he could see shriveled, pinkish-grey flaps of meat that looked like lungs hanging uselessly from strands of gristle. They didn’t inflate, or so much as twitch. He found himself puzzling over how zombies produced sound.
Shaking his head to clear it of such useless garbage, he brought the stock of the weapon to his shoulder and fired. One head vanished in a chunky mist, another seemed to break open like a melon dropped from a roof.
“And he scores a double!” Brett crowed from off to the left.
Chad smiled, pumped the shotgun again and considered his next shot. One was closing a bit faster than the others and at the last minute, he lowered the shotgun and drew a heavy-duty Philips-head screwdriver from his belt. The handle itself was about five inches long, the thick metal shaft was over a foot and had been filed to a point. The boy had been about the age of his daughter, somehow that made it a little easier to drive the point into the temple. He let go as the body fell, making a mental note to return for his weapon later.
The other two remaining looked like a pair of Mex
ican gang bangers. He’d had a couple run-ins with those types during his time in prison. Deciding against wasting any more shells, he brought the butt of the shotgun around and slammed it into the face of the first one, its blood-caked goatee dripping with fresh wetness. That meant somebody he knew was either dead, or infected. Its head snapped back and it fell awkwardly. Stepping in, he brought the butt of the shotgun down on the side of its head. The third stroke was the one that broke open the skull.
The second was just reaching out for him. It was short and pudgy with a tattoo of a rosary around its neck, the cross sitting between hairless, sagging pectorals. A nasty bite on the back of its arm was the only mark; however, it was covered in old, dried up blood as well as some fresh splatters. Both hands were crimson and slick. It opened its mouth wide in anticipation of the bite it thought it would be taking out of him.
Chad stepped back, pulled a small hatchet from his utility belt and buried it in the thing’s forehead, “Fuck you, Chico!” he spat and turned searching for the next target.
There were plenty to choose from, and he worked methodically to put them down. Sometimes one of his fellow FEMA camp members fought at his side. On other occasions, he looked into those hideous eyes and whispered an apology as he put down one of those fellow FEMA camp members. He lost track of time, all that mattered was pushing those things back.
At some point, he reached the section of the fence that had fallen. A dozen of them fought off zombies while protecting the handful trying desperately to repair the breach. At last, it was done, now all they had were those still inside to deal with.
There were yells, calls of warning, and screams of agony. A hand clutched his shoulder at one point and he spun, staring into the dead eyes of Vanessa Henson. Pushing her back, he’d used one of his precious shells. He was reloading when he heard a scream that froze him. It was Ronni!
Fighting past a small cluster, not wasting the time to put any of them down, he ran for the gymnasium. Somehow the door had been opened. It was one of those kinds that, if you opened it far enough, would lock in place. The trail of blood leading in told the story. Somebody had been injured and ran inside to safety. They’d probably thrown the door open carelessly.