by Mark Clodi
Of course there was nothing in the swamp to use as a weapon. All of the sticks and tree limbs he could see were either alive and healthy, and therefore would be as difficult as all hell to break loose and make into a weapon, or they were rotted from being soaked in swamp water. Rich knew he was screwed.
“Help!” he called out, knowing there was no one around. He heard splashes of other inmates making their way through the swamp, but no one turned back to help him. The others who broke through behind him were avoiding the trio of zombies on his tail too. “Help! Just kill those ones behind me! Or get me a weapon! I lost mine! Help!” Rich screamed to some of the prisoners as they splashed by thirty or forty yards to either side. He saw some of them pause at his pleas, but in the end they all left him on his own.
Behind him, a flurry of gunfire erupted at the road and the guards were screaming, bullets flew through the wooded swamp hitting trees above Rich. One of the zombies was hit and went down, giving Rich hope. It stood up again a few moments later, a ragged hole in its chest, and then came after Rich again.
Rich struggled on for an hour or more. By the time the zombies were reaching for his ankles, he hadn't seen any other living humans for twenty minutes. Up ahead, floating in the water was an orange jumpsuit. A body, Rich thought. He altered course for it, hoping the zombies would stop and feed. Putting on a burst of crawling speed that outpaced the zombies, he reached the corpse just as it started to reanimate.
Too late he realized it was a zombie too. It grappled with Rich, turning on him and pulling at his right arm, sending a wave of nausea through Rich's body. He pulled back and blacked out again.
He came to as he started to drown. The prison zombie was biting his arm, tearing chunks out of it. Rich pulled away from it but could not get his arm free. His original three pursuers caught up. The first two grabbed his legs and pulled them in separate directions. They had no real strength, but their body mass was sufficient to cause a new surge of agony to wrack Rich's body. As soon as they had a leg each they started to feed. The fresh bites surged the last of Rich's adrenaline into his system, causing him to spasm in the zombie’s arms. However, the zombies kept their grip on him as a mother might a petulant child.
By the time the fourth zombie arrived Rich was hardly moving at all, it clamped onto his free arm and Rich could only turn his head and watch as it bit off finger after finger then worked its way up to his wrist.
Fuck, he thought as his consciousness faded.
Rich passed out from blood loss and soon after five zombies were trudging through the swamps, making their way towards the distant sounds of gunfire and screaming.
Five in Billions
Just when things can’t get any worse for Mike Keller—Z-day happens!
Part I
Mike Keller was groggy. He was aware of some light, then darkness, then just pain, pain, pain. During one infrequent visit to the realm of consciousness he saw his wife, Tiffany, standing by his bedside, a grim, dark doctor stood behind her with a nurse wearing a werewolf mask standing to one side. He fearfully glanced at the werewolf and asked his wife, "Honey, where am I? What happened?"
Her voice came through to him as if she were under water, "You were in an accident and you rolled the car over. You are going to be okay."
"Anyone else? Was I alone? Did anyone get hurt?"
"You fell asleep coming home, hit the ditch. It’s a miracle you lived. The car caught on fire and burned your legs. You are going to be alright okay?" said Tiffany.
"It really hurts. Was I burned?"
"Just your legs. Your legs got burned, but they saved them. You've been out for a week. I love you!"
Mike lost consciousness, but not before the wolf growled at him, the last thing he heard was the Doctor saying, "He is fading again, don't worry Mrs. Keller, everything will be alright."
When he woke up again only the werewolf was there, she had a needle and she was poking it into a clear tube that seemed to connect to his arm. The clear tube was a fleshy tentacle that writhed as the nurse tried to stab it. The pain was intense. Mike shrank back from the nurse in fear and pain, "What's wrong sweetheart? In pain? Don't worry. This will do the trick again."
"Wolf! Wolf! You are a wolf!" Mike said.
The nurse-wolf got a very unwolf like look of concern on her face then bent forward to whisper in his ear, "How can you know that? What do you see?"
Mike, completely afraid, wet himself and babbled incoherently.
"Don't worry, love. You won't remember this when you finally wake up. And I won't eat you."
Consciousness faded.
"Mike. Mike Keller. Mike?" he heard a voice calling him, "He should be coming around now. I don't want to cut back too much more on the pain medicine. Mike? Can you hear me?"
The room was dark, the shades were drawn closed and Mike's body ached with a dull pain. He nodded to the doctor.
"Good! Good Mike, try to stay with me, okay?" the doctor said.
The wolf nurse was not there today, just a normal woman in a nurse’s outfit Mike didn't recognize.
"You had a setback there. Your burns were infected. We think we have it sorted out now and you are going to be fine. Okay?"
Another woman in street clothing came into the room. Mike didn't recognize her.
"Hi, Mike!" she said. Something about her seemed familiar, her brown hair, those eyes... "Mike? How are you?"
"I am fine. Do I know you?"
The woman pulled back, "You don't know me? I’m Tiffany. I’m your wife."
"I am married?"
"Is it the medication?" asked the woman of the doctor.
To Tiffany the doctor said, "I don't know. He could be confused. He has been out two weeks. Give him a few minutes to catch up to us again."
Turning back to Mike, Tiffany said, "It’s okay, Mike. You were in a bad car accident. You got burned and it was infected. You are going to be okay."
"I got burned?" Mike asked.
"You won't have to worry about shaving your legs anymore, but you still have legs to walk on. You’re going to be okay."
"You are very pretty. I think I know you."
"Good baby, good! You just rest now and know that I love you and that everything is going to be okay."
"I got burned?" Mike said one last time, before fading out of reality.
Part II
Slowly Mike came around. He raised his head and took stock of his surroundings. Looking at the window he could see the shades were drawn and that there was bright light filtering past the edges. It was daytime. The lights to his room were off, adding to the gloom. The door to his room was about halfway open and he saw a white clad nurse sweep by on some errand or another. A buzzer attached to a long cord was attached to one side of his bed, and there was a table tray with a vase of flowers on it close by. There was also a remote on the table as well. Mike still had an IV in his right arm, pumping a steady drip of clear fluid into his arm.
Thinking about his body, he started taking stock. He felt numb, almost giddy, and like he was on the verge of having a really good laugh. He raised his right arm; it looked okay, a little pale, almost gray in the dim light. He wiggled his toes. The sharp jolt of pain as he did so made him whimper. Looking closer he could see where his legs were under the blankets. They looked like bloated sausages, as if someone had transplanted a fat man's ham-sized, lardy legs onto his body. Casts, those had to be casts!
This gave him some relief. If he felt the pain, and his legs were in casts, that meant he still had legs and they still worked. Continuing around to his left arm he raised it to grab for the remote. His arm writhed out from under the sheet, where his hand used to be were only tentacles, fat, white worms wriggling in the air, each with a sharp mouth questing for food. Mike gasped and brought the tentacles away from his face, they moved away, still under his control. Shaking his head he whispered "No" and closed his eyes tightly.
He reopened them, one eye at a time and peered at his arm. It was an arm, in a white ca
st. His littlest finger was still a questing tendril. He squeezed his eyes closed again, then reopened them. Just an arm. In a cast. No tentacles. The fingers sticking out from the cast were thin and frail looking, but they wiggled when he told them to. He managed to grasp the remote and slide it onto his stomach, where he picked it up with his right hand, ignoring the waving fingers that seemed to be moving in directions that were not normally associated with human articulation.
Power. The television sprang to life. By design or because someone had been watching it while he had been asleep, the volume was low. A news channel came on. The reporters were talking about the latest Israeli crisis. As the newscaster spoke, the images in the background showed some street fighting between uniformed soldiers and irregular militants. The soldiers fired and fired at one militant, hitting him with dozens of bullets before stepping over his body and continuing to fire at something beyond the video's range. The body behind the soldiers slowly got to its feet, then turned and jumped on one of the soldiers from behind. All the while the newscaster spoke of the continuing problems of governing the region, and how with no central government, there could be no cease fire or lasting peace. The militant, meanwhile had pulled the soldier's helmet off and was biting the soldier's skull, each bite coming up with chunks of hair, startling white shards of bone, and finally spongy gray matter that looked almost fibrous. The soldier turned his gun around and fired through his body, hitting himself and the militant. Both whet down in a heap. His fellow fighters did not even notice or stop firing at the off-screen threat.
"Hey, now! This isn’t the kind of thing you should be watching Mister Keller!"
The voice startled Mike. He remembered, remembered....the wolf. The nurse looked perfectly normal, a tan skinned woman with long black hair and oddly yellow eyes. She placed her hands on her hips and admonished him some more. "The news is distressing! Not good for recovery at all." she growled, some of the wolf was back and her eyes became narrow slits.
"I remember.." Mike started.
"Good! That is good! Then we will have less problems, you and I. How are you feeling?"
"Numb."
"Hungry?" she asked.
"Not really."
She frowned.
"Well, maybe I could eat something."
The nurse smiled, "Good. That is what I wanted to hear. Let me check a few things and get some food up here for you. Okay?"
Mike nodded, although he knew if he had protested she would have done her job anyway. He watched as she checked his pulse, adjusted his IV drip and then changed what was for all purposes an adult diaper. Noticing his look of embarrassment she said, "Now, now, none of that! You've been hurt and this is my job. I take care of my pack." She leaned forward and looked into Mike's eyes for a long, uncomfortable moment.
The nurse finished up her tasks, putting a new diaper on Mike and covering him up.
"N-nurse?" Mike asked.
"Yes?"
"My legs? How are my legs?"
"Burned. Broken. You are lucky to have them. The surgeons did a wonderful job. The worst part is over, but you will still have months of therapy. I won't sugar-coat any answers you want to hear, unlike your wife or the doctors. So ask away and I will tell you no lies."
Mike noticed the numbness was going away. "What happened to me?"
"What is the last thing you remember?"
Another nurse brought in a tray. She moved around to the left side of the bed and slid it onto the serving table. The smell coming from the covered containers awoke a hunger in Mike that he didn't know he had. He moved his hand up to uncover the food, but the wolf nurse gently moved it away. "Hold on big boy. Let’s get you sitting up before we deal with anything hot. You've had enough burns for one lifetime, right?"
The nurse slowly moved the bed into a sitting position, helping Mike lever himself up, which became more and more painful as he approached a ninety degree angle. Finally it was done and he was looking over the tray, mouthwatering.
"So, your first real food for almost three weeks. And what do you imagine they brought you?"
"A cheeseburger? A steak?"
The nurse laughed-growled, "A wolf after my own heart. Well, there is beef there, in bouillon form, I'm afraid."
She removed the lids and Mike was dismayed to see only two bowls, one with clear hot water and the other filled with a brown, oily-looking substance.
The nurse, seeing his face, laughed again, "There, there, poor cub! It won't be so bad. We gotta make sure the plumbing works at a hundred percent before we give you steaks and cheeseburgers. You are on Jello and broth for at least a couple of days until we get a more robust urine flow. Then we start with crackers and bread. Then we wait another day to see how your bowel movements are. You had internal injuries, you know."
Mike didn't know and he didn't care. The broth took on glowing proportions as he watched. He wanted it. He needed it. Soon he was lifting a shaky spoonful into his mouth and all too soon after that it was gone, followed by some weak tea. Mike immediately felt nauseous. The nurse must have noticed something because she had a bowl at his mouth before the first of his meal came back up. "Nothing to be concerned about. I think more stayed down than came back up. Do you hurt hurt at all?"
Mike nodded. Something felt like it had torn when he vomited. He also had sharp pains running down his legs and the numbness was completely gone.
"Well I can fix that." The nurse adjusted the feed on his IV and Mike's world went black again in moments.
Part III
Mike came back to himself. He had a piece of bread in one hand, the television was on, and he was alone in his room. The drapes were opened and daylight poured in. His blankets were pulled back and he could see the top of one cast on his left leg. It started above the knee and continued under the covers. He groin was uncovered. His penis looked like a withered sausage, curled in a nest of straw. He moved his right hand, still burdened with an IV, to cover himself. Modesty restored, he looked at the television and tried to remember when he had woken up.
The wheat bread in his hand was buttered thinly on one side. On the tray in front of him was a plate which had the remains of some mashed potatoes on it, plus some lime green Jello that jiggled when he moved the table. A news story caught his ear and he looked up.
Riots in Africa. A UN convoy was attacked, and blue helmets were being passed out and raised above a black crowd of people who seemed to be chanting and happy. One of the people in the crowed caught Mike's eye. The man was dressed in olive green rags, he had on camouflage pants cut off above the knees and blue flip-flops. His eyes reminded Mike of those of his dog, who had been hit by a car when Mike was nine.
The eyes had a blue-gray film over them and stared sightlessly out past whoever was filming the crowd. The black man's mouth opened in the crack of a smile, and Mike saw that his teeth were red. The man raised something above his head. It was an arm, a white arm, with part of a sleeve on it. The man waved it above his head and chanted with the others. As the camera panned left Mike saw the man put the stump to his mouth...
"You with us, ducky?" asked the wolf nurse. Her head was furry and silver today.
Mike nodded mutely.
"About ready to go home then?"
"Home?"
"Yes, Mike, with your wife. She just left a few minutes ago, don't you remember? The doctors were here. Come on, dear let’s get you up."
Mike groaned.
"Now it won't be so bad. The Doctor wants you moving; you've spent too much time in bed. A trip to the bathroom and then a wheel about the floor will do you good."
The nurse rolled his tray away from him, taking the uneaten and forgotten piece of bread from his hand and setting it on his plate. She threw the covers off of his legs and Mike noticed only one leg had a cast on it. His right leg was scarred and criss-crossed with lines from surgery long since healed.
"How long? How long have I been here?"
"Oh dear, you're having a bad day again, aren't you. You've
been here seven weeks, ducky. Long enough for your leg and arm cast to come off. You had to have surgery on your poor old left leg again, but it’s on the mend now, don't you worry." The Wolf nurse's voice was full of optimism at Mike's rate of recovery.
"When...I do I go home?" Mike muttered.
"Two days, that is what we hope. How is the pain today?"
"Feel nothing. I am numb."
"I told them they were giving you too much. A body needs a little pain to motivate it sometimes. You've been all drugged up for almost two months."
"Addic-..addicted?"
The nurse paused, then nodded slowly, "That is a problem. They wanted you out. Pain medicine is good, but you've been on it a long time. The stuff we use can cause physical addiction. Opioids, great for short term use. Really great for pain management, but usually not given to non-cancer patients anymore. You, however, were in a world of hurt. Now you might have another fight to recover from the physical ailments with a slight addiction on top of it. You aren't the first to go through this kind of trauma and we will get through this and have you back and on your feet again soon." The nurse laughed. "We will have on your feet now." She pulled Mike up onto his cast, balancing him for a moment before spinning him ninety degrees and lowering him into a wheelchair. "There! That wasn't so bad was it?"
The nurse wheeled him over to the toilet and propped him up so he could urinate on his own. To Mike the ability to pee on his own was liberating. Despite shaking, he felt a sense of accomplishment. "I never thought peeing would be so liberating. How long since I peed on my own?"
The nurse's muzzle rose at one corner, "About two hours ducky. Don't you remember?"
"No." Mike admitted, crushed, "Did I have a head injury?"
"No. Not per se. Your head, neck and back were all fine, no spinal injury, but you had some down time on the table. The Neurologist didn't think there would be any damage, the time was short."