Zombie Angst

by Jim Couper

  "Should be one fewer zombie," Vince countered.

  "I think not," Velo replied. "The number of zombies is indeterminate."

  "Just because they haven't been counted ..."

  Vanessa stepped forward and hollered at them to stop. "We are at the apocalypse of vamkind and you argue about grammar, about less versus fewer? One fewer brain and you’d have less thoughts than a worm. No wonder we are mired in such a mess. Does anyone have anything worthwhile to contribute?"

  "We could disguise ourselves as zombies," suggested the vamp sporting a black beret. "The army wouldn't harm us because of the kids held hostage. This is a rare opportunity to get close and do some damage."

  "What kind of damage?"

  "We could incapacitate them with electricity and then bring out our Z-D-Cappers. We’re a lot faster than them so there should be no danger. And, for the first time, we know exactly where they are."

  The cabal jointly nodded and due to a lack of dissention seemed to come to a consensus on the proposal. Vaughn took over and told everyone to line up in front of the bar, facing the door. "The plan depends on us passing for zombies. Everyone come slowly forward. Stoop, hunch, lurch. You have no brains, no thoughts. You just want to eat people. Move!"

  After two steps he shouted, "Stop," and then addressed them one at a time. "Victoria – you look like a kid going for candy. Get rid of that grin and slow down. Velo, quit thinking about your 3D TV. No thoughts allowed. Lower your shoulders. Your posture is too good. Veronica, your cleavage is distracting, you’re falling out. Cover up. Sex doesn’t sell with zombies. And Val, put a stone or something in your shoe so you slow down."

  One by one Vaughn went through the ranks and then backed everyone to the bar and started over. They took six steps before he halted the walk and graded them. "Much better. No Oscars, but definitely some nominations for best supporting roles. Facial expression is a weak point. You look like you're thinking about tax returns. Remember, your brains don't work. Let a tongue hang out. Drool. Eyes unfocused or crossed even. Back to the bar, let's do it again."

  On the third try they didn't even get in a first step. "Too much. Half your tongues dangle like dogs and half drool like taps. Spread it around. Men drool, women look cruel, oldest do tongue, everyone else focus on unfocused eyes. Some of you can mumble, not too loudly, brain. Once more."

  By the sixth try they shambled and stumbled across the wooden floor like demented imbeciles who had lost their way back to the asylum.

  "Great work,” Vaughn announced gleefully. “George Romero would be proud. Acting 101 is over. This afternoon at 2 o’clock we reconvene for costume design and makeup. Create rotting, ragged clothes and wear them under your usual garb. Bring makeup. Bring dirt and dye and filth and anything you can find that will make you look like you just crawled out of a grave. I'll take care of the rest."

  As the clock blinked 2 p.m. a dozen vamps shed their dark outerwear, revealing ripped and filthy clothing. They rubbed muck in their black hair, smeared soot on their faces and shuffled about the bar humming brain. The door opened and a new customer, first of the day, walked in. She screamed and made a U-turn, but Vaughn blocked her and talked to her before she could get out.

  "We're rehearsing a play," he explained and added, "We've also opened a new room downstairs and today we're celebrating by offering free beer." The customer, an out-of-town TV reporter, became part of the stock of blood letters even though they had not screened her and knew nothing about her.

  "So, step one is to go out and commandeer a generator," intoned Vaughn in a raised voice. “Second is to tow, or pull, said generator to the school. Third is to start said generator and plug it into the school's electrical system or into the ground; whatever works for Velo. Fourth is to infiltrate zombies while they are under the electric charge, neutralize them and then free the children and other hostages. Is everyone clear on this?"

  "What if the army de-caps us?" The questioner stood defiantly with hands on hips.

  "They won't touch us. They fear for the kids. If it comes to that you just say, ‘Wait soldier, I'm not a zomb, I'm a good citizen trying to free children so back off’.”

  No one interrupted so Vaughn continued, “We wear regular clothing underneath and keep it handy in case we have to change. Children act as our security net. Let's go get a generator."

  As the first vampire soldier in the new army of lightness walked out the doorway Vaughn ladled a scoop of light brown liquid from a pail and anointed her. "What the hell is that shit?" Victoria demanded, "It stinks to high heaven. I'm gonna be sick."

  "You have to smell like a zombie," Vaughn explained.

  "But what is it?" Victoria demanded. "Hold on, I know that bucket. That's the toilet from downstairs."

  After walking 200 feet they reached a generator chained to a lamp post. No one brought bolt cutters. The next generator, an equal distance away, had a similar large chain securing it. They huddled to come up with ideas to overcome their first obstacle. Victoria recalled a generator had recently been placed behind their bar to light the alley. As they backtracked a small crowd watched and followed them from a secure distance. The generator, behind their bar also had a chain and a lock securing it to a lamp post.

  "Bloody hell," Victoria exclaimed. “Whose going to steal a generator in a time like this?" She pulled keys from the pocket of her black overcoat and jumped into her black Hummer in the bar’s parking spot. Without a moment's hesitation she backed up at full speed and knocked the base of the wooden lamp post from its cement mooring. The tall post pivoted on six electrical wires about two-thirds of the way up and swayed back and forth, top-heavy with insulators and a light fixture. A breath of wind tipped the delicate balance and the upper end dipped forward and smashed onto the roof of Vladimir's Bar. Sparks jumped, a swirl of smoke rose and a flicker of fire ignited the old shingles. Twelve hands took out 12 phones and several got through to 911. When army fire trucks reached the bar its roof crackled under a cloak of smoke and flames.

  Eight hoses from two trucks spewed tons of water and it took 20 minutes to quell the blaze. Another 10 minutes of hosing eliminated the last wisp of smoke. In the commotion the gaggle of vampires, or vambies as they now called themselves, heard someone in the crowd crow, "I got one." When they looked around a teenage boy stood smiling beside his bloody Z-D-Capper. In his hand a head dangled by the hair and a foot perched atop Velo’s bloody chest.

  "You're next," the boy snarled. He had a demented look in his eyes and pointed his giant scissors towards Victoria. Her zombie make-up was inferior to Velo’s and dribbled down her face with mist from firefighters’ hoses.

  34

  For five minutes Jesse studied the school gym and came up with one escape plan per minute. The most facile involved using athletic climbing ropes that dangled from the ceiling. Anyone with strong arms could climb to the high windows, unscrew the screens that protected glass from wayward balls, toss the ropes out, slide down and land outside the school. This plan was based on the assumption zombies could not climb ropes and teachers could, although some looked a bit rotund and out of shape.

  Escape of staff, however did not help the children, rather it put them in greater danger of being eaten or disfigured. Exiting by the windows on the inside walls of the gym meant landing in a hallway that most likely had a gaggle of hungry zombs wandering about. Another escape plan involved distracting zombie guards and then barging through the doors. Jesse also thought about surrounding them with volleyball nets and tangling them together. Or challenging them to a game of basketball, winner take all.

  School staff had freedom to mill about the big gymnasium as much as they liked since reanimates guarded each exit. Jesse kicked open a locked cupboard, filled his pockets with screwdriver, hammer, pliers and assorted tools then used coat hooks to make a grappling device that he attached to the end of a thin rope found in the cupboard. Zombies ignored him until he threw the rope and its grapples caught the screen that protected a window. Two cann
ibals waddled over and their snapping teeth just missed his feet as he hoisted himself aloft. Quickly he shinnied: the creatures from hell stared vacantly.

  Jesse found it unwise and difficult to undo the screening while clinging to it so after removing a couple of screws he swung over to the next screen and leaned across to finish the first one. When the last screw came out he dropped it so it landed on the head of a zombie who hardly noticed. After cranking open the window Jesse leaned out and sure enough, three zombies waited in the hall below to tear into him if he descended.

  From the gym voices shouted warnings and, to Jesse’s dismay, a zombie clinched his hands on the rope and pulled itself upward without difficulty. Tremendous strength allowed it to use only arms, but co-ordination seemed to be a problem as sometimes it missed the rope and grasped air with one hand while hanging on with the other. Jesse waited for it to grasp air with both hands but that didn't happen so his Swiss Army knife started to slice the thick rope. The climbing zombie grabbed for Jesse’s ankle as the last sisal strands parted and the thing plummeted towards the hardwood floor. Teachers pulled away a trampoline that might have facilitated a soft landing and stood back to enjoy an appropriate thud and snapping of bones in the zomb's leg and hip. Unperturbed, the anthropophagi pushed itself up and ambled off, with a port-side list. Since the lame ogre didn’t start up another rope Jesse assumed it had some capacity to learn from its errors.

  Clinging to the mesh, Jesse moved around the perimeter of the gym, grasping one protective screen after another and exploring options. Above him a child-size vent pumped out warm air. No doubt it led to a place he didn't want to go – the furnace. He moved on and came to a woman-size vent that returned cooler air to the furnace room. Eight screws came out and again a heavy screen fell onto the head of a dim thing that hardly noticed.

  Jesse plunged his feet into a tin tunnel that barely accommodated him. With arms stretched out and pointing to where he had been, he slowly pushed himself along, feet first, face down, a few inches at a time.

  Not as easy as in the movies, he thought, as he placed his palms flat against tin to get purchase to push. He knew he should have discarded his rubber-soled shoes that created unwanted friction. Of even more concern was creaking and swaying of the duct that, for the most part, was held together with duct tape and a few screws. As he inched along he could see through cracks and every time he glanced down yellow, watery eyes stared up.

  After 15 minutes of padding to places unknown his feet got hot. By crooking his neck and twisting his shoulders Jesse could see, reflected in the tin, blue flames from natural gas burners. The fresh air intake fed the burners. A few more pushes and cremation would be his end. At least that would eliminate worries about returning as a child-eating ogre. Through a crack more puss-leaking eyes gazed up. The tin creaked, the crack opened wider and his legs fell through, dangling within leaping distance of grasping hands. The zombies tried to leap, but couldn’t get off the ground. His fingernails dug into a seam in the tin and he reeled himself in.

  During the crawl back to the gym he looked for other passages and worked his mind in an attempt to come up with a better plan to free the children. Teachers looked up when Jesse’s head popped out of the vent and he could see disappointment on their forlorn faces. They expected him to burst through the gym door, announce that the kids were free and disable the zombies like Bruce Lee on amphetamines.

  Jesse could do little but again swing like a lost monkey from one window screen to another and peer through the glass, scanning for children. He saw empty offices, empty classrooms and halls filled with mumbling, stumbling undead. At the last corner he glimpsed a short fat one who appeared to be talking to a taller, younger one – the one who had ushered Jesse into the school. Jesse slipped his fingers through the grate and silently pushed the wooden window frame so it opened a few inches. He heard the short zombie say, "Sooon I share plan with yoou."

  “Yeth," the thin one responded.

  "Yoou sooon get help. Now fill poool."

  Between them stood a child's wading pool. Mort turned on the water as bid and filled the pool from a hose.

  "Don't wanth to swim," he said. “Afraid of wather."

  "Just twoo fooot deep. Sink twoo schoool temps. Electricity charge water. Morning they rise, like us, droowned, undead and talking." With that Doogie waddled away leaving Mort holding the hose.

  Jesse faced the gym and shouted to the teachers below what he heard. He told them to arm themselves as best they could and prepare to fight for their lives as the zombies would soon be looking for two subjects for a drowning experiment.

  “What are you doing?” Jesse shouted down to Mort. Slowly the dead teacher raised his head in the direction of the voice and said, “Donth know.”

  “What are you doing with a pool full of water?”

  “Donth know.”

  “I can’t believe I’m talking to a zombie. What’s your name, where did you live? Do you have family?”

  “I Morthimer Smithers.”

  “And ...”

  “I forgeth quethions.”

  “How long were you dead? What was it like?”

  “Very dark.”

  Before Jesse could repeat another question the sounds of a commotion rose from below. Teachers shouted to warn him about a drooling revenant climbing a rope. Jesse moved to the next window and the next, clawing his way around the gym. The creature followed, refusing to fall. In frustration Jesse shouted, "Throw me a rope."

  Mort entered the big room and told everyone to remove their clothes and put them in a hamper that he kicked towards them. Three women shouted they wouldn't do it and Mort replied that children’s lives depended on obeying. After a minute of undressing the staff members stood in their underwear.

  "Thath's enouth," Mort muttered and dragged away the hamper. He returned wearing a blue suit jacket and dangling tie that had belonged to a teacher.

  "Put theeth on," he ordered and pushed a reeking hamper of rotting vestments towards the teachers.

  Clinging to the window mesh, near the ceiling, Jesse realized that descending the rope thrown to him was useless: action had to be swift as the enemy seemed to have some sort of plan and he didn’t. The hot air vent looked big enough for a thin child that had expelled its breath. He entered head first thrusting his arms ahead of him and turning diagonally with shoulders stuffed in the duct’s corners. A stifling stench filled the tin tunnel and the head of the monster that pursued him blocked the light. Jesse’s two feet shot out, smashed onto the mushy face and the familiar sound of bones breaking on the floor below induced a smirk.

  The stream of hot air had him instantly sweating within the passage that pressed against his body. Writhing, snake-like he moved slowly forward, holding knife and hammer in left hand and screwdriver and pliers in right. After halting to punch an air hole in the metal to cool off, he heard distant children's voices. Inspired by their yells, their cries and their laughter Jesse oozed ahead like a worm in a straw and followed a branch duct that went right, in the general direction of noises that slightly increased in volume. The sounds became clearer, then, after two turns in the ductwork, they began to diminish. He had to push himself back. Worms have no reverse gear. A different duct coming from the furnace, he reasoned, must feed the room full of helpless hostages. Dehydration would result if he went closer to the furnace in search of such a duct. Laboriously Jesse pushed himself backwards, sliding on the trail of sweat he had deposited the first time along. The jagged ends of the screws − the ones that scratched him as he moved − had been inserted from the other side and could not be undone. His screwdriver pried open a crack between metal sections and he used pliers to bend back a thin flap of metal. A waft of cool air splashed his face and four zombies looked up. He spat hot saliva on them. They were beyond humiliation, beyond understanding his gesture. The air duct paralleled a room partition that looked like it had potential. Two tin sections of duct parted when he kicked them and fresh air refueled his determinati
on as he left the tin tunnel and clambered onto the top of the wall between rooms. No children came into sight, but young voices, whose laughter contradicted their situation, emerged from the next room. The enemy guarded the floor and two drooling sacks of puss looked up from below.

  A fragile false ceiling, similar to a drop-ceiling Jesse had installed in the attic of his now burned-to-the-ground home, hung below an older, original ceiling. He doubted that the thin metal rails that supported 2 by 4-foot tiles could bear his weight. Frail wires joined the corner junctions of each metal rail to the original ceiling and he also wondered about their strength. It looked to be a union job as each four foot rail section had an optional wire half way along, also secured to the original ceiling. At home his new ceiling stayed up perfectly well without the additional wires. Jesse wondered about the durability of twists in the wire ends that acted as knots and he speculated on the strength of screws that attached them. When he installed his tiled ceiling he never thought about hanging from the wires or standing on the rails to test their ability to hold weight. Bats, cats and rats had all crossed over them and nothing failed, but he had a few pounds on the small mammals.