by David Moody
Emily followed them around like a lost puppy, trying to explain the whole time. ‘My husband was sick. He had the virus that has got loose on the mainland. I heard the reports on the radio. When he lost his mind and attacked me, there was an accident.’
The whole time the two crewmen said nothing. They examined Ross’s decapitated body beneath the blanket with some concern, and gave her several glances of suspicion. When they then found Alex’s body, they raised their weapons at her.
‘I didn’t do any of this,’ she said, whipping her hands up above her head. ‘They were both sick. I was just trying to defend myself.’
Of the two, the crewman with darker features lowered his weapon and nodded. Speaking in fluent English, he said, ‘Okay, ma’am. We understand. Just come with us, please.’
‘What about the virus? Is it bad? How many people are infected?’
‘Please, ma’am. We will talk about it more once we are onboard the ship.’
Reluctantly, but seeing no other option, Emily went with the two sailors and allowed herself to be corralled onto the Coast Guard ship. The assembled crew watched her intently as she was led into the wheelhouse. There they sat her down at a metal desk. Outside she heard the sound of winches being fastened and tightened to the EMILY-DIVINE. They were going to tow the other vessels to land. She was finally going to get off the water and out of this nightmare.
‘Which man is Mr Alex Draper?’ asked the dark-eyed man sitting opposite her.
‘Alex is the one on the sailboat,’ she explained.
‘The one who was stabbed in the neck?’
She flustered for a moment, realising how insane it sounded when spoken aloud. ‘Yes, I had to defend myself when he attacked me.’
‘Why did he attack you? It was he who contacted the Coast Guard to come and help you. He told us you and your husband had some sort of fight, and that your husband got injured.’
She shook her head. ‘No, no, he was sick. My husband was sick. Alex told me he informed you of all this. He spoke to you before he even reached me, right?’
The dark man nodded. ‘Yes, and he spoke to us again after he arrived to help you. He informed us that you thought your husband was a zombie. He said you shot him with a flare and would have hit Mr Draper too if he hadn’t ducked.’
‘What? When did he…? I was trying to save Alex. My husband was attacking him.’
The man nodded as if he understood. ‘Mr Draper said you were upset.’
‘Of course I was upset. My husband had just died!’
‘Lost his head, correct?’
She folded her arms tightly around herself. These callous Spaniards had not even got a blanket for her yet. ‘Yes! He was badly hurt, but he wouldn’t stop attacking me. The anchor tore him up badly, but he was trying to murder Alex, so I shot him with a flare gun, and that’s when his head fell off.’
‘Okay, ma’am, I understand.’
‘Do you?’
The man turned to one of his colleagues standing in the doorway. The two men chatted briefly in Spanish, and then the one in the doorway left. The dark man turned back to her. ‘We will leave now and talk more about this back on land.’
‘But what about the virus? What if I have it?’
The man stood up. ‘We will talk more later. For now, my men will find you something warm and get you something to eat.’
Emily flopped back in her chair. The thought of food and warmth was too much to resist. Things would be okay, she was sure of it. She’d told her story, and no one had accused her of lying, which was a good sign, right? She just hoped things were over with now. It would be impossible to withstand any more without losing her mind.
***
They were back on land in just under two hours. From inside the small cabin, Emily couldn’t tell how fast they had been travelling, but the straining sound of the engines suggested ambling. The Coast Guard ship had needed to tow the EMILY-DEVINE and Alex’s sailboat at the same time.
During the trip, the Spanish sailors had brought her a steaming mug of hot coffee and a cheese sandwich. It was Spanish cheese, tarter than the cheddar she was used to. When they finally pulled into dock, she was upset to see that they were on the continent and not back home in England. She had expected their destination to be Spain, but a small part of her had hoped they would drop her home and have everything conducted there. It was now firmly the middle of the night, and she had to watch her footing every step as they led her from the darkness of the dock into the brightness of a large terminal. She wondered if they had taken her to Bilbao or some other coastal city, and it made her think of all the good times she had spent with Ross on the fringes of Spain and Portugal. They had so many memories, and it was heart breaking knowing that there would be no more.
After keeping her locked inside an empty staff lounge for almost an hour, they then led her to a small office where a doctor came and checked on her. He took her blood pressure and temperature, and checked her joints and limbs for pain. Emily was happy to oblige.
‘What are the first symptoms?’ she asked. ‘When will I know if I have it?’
The doctor was Spanish and seemed to have a hard time understanding her. When it looked like he was about to try and have a conversation with him, the Coast Guard captain entered and ushered him out of the room, before sitting down opposite her.
‘Hello again,’ said Emily.
‘Hello, Mrs Tyler. I have contacted the British embassy for you and someone is on their way. You do not have to speak to me until then, if you do not wish.’
‘I have nothing to hide. I just want to help.’
The man smiled at her, and she wondered why he wasn’t more wary. She could be sick with the disease. Wasn’t it contagious?
‘I have some questions for you, if you don’t mind, Mrs Tyler.’
‘Of course.’
‘You take medication, yes?’
She was surprised by the question. ‘Well, yes. I take an anti-depressant for my nerves.’
‘Your nerves?’
‘Yes, I have problems coping some time.’
‘I understand. Because of your first husband, yes?’
She shifted in her seat. ‘It started with him, I suppose. He abused me.’
‘That is a terrible thing. I am sorry that you went through that. You killed him, yes?’
‘In self-defence.’
‘Of course. What happened after?’
‘What do you mean?’
The captain leaned forward across the desk and all of a sudden seemed less kind. ‘You went to hospital, yes?’
‘Yes. I had a nervous breakdown.’
‘I understand.’
‘No, you don’t,’ she snapped. ‘Unless you’ve ever had a nervous breakdown, you do not understand.’
The captain was unapologetic. ‘What happened with your present husband, Mrs Tyler? He was a rich man, yes? A big man in England? We checked the registration of your yacht. We know all about your husband.’
‘He was a big man everywhere,’ she corrected him, ‘but I don’t see what that has to do with anything.’
‘Did you kill him?’
‘No! It was an accident.’
‘You shot him with a flare gun by accident?’
‘Well, no, but I had no choice.’
‘I understand. What happened between you and Mr Draper? How did he die?’
‘He caught the virus after my husband bit him. It took a while, but he got sick too. He attacked me and I had to defend myself.’
‘You had to stab him in the neck?’
‘Well, no, but in the heat of the moment…’
‘I understand.’
‘You do?’
He nodded. ‘I think you have had a hard time with men.’
‘That’s an understatement.’
‘I believe that your first husband did some bad things. Things that left you a very sad lady.’
She felt the tears come and nodded. ‘Yes.’
‘I understan
d why you snapped, Mrs Tyler. You probably did not even know what you were doing?’
‘What?’ She leapt up out of her chair, but the captain barked at her to sit back down. True to form, she did what the man told her.
‘No one is blaming you here, Mrs Tyler. We just want to understand what happened.’
‘I told you. My husband was sick. He had the virus.’
‘When did you last take your pills?’
‘I don’t remember. Last night, probably. None of this matters. Do I have the virus? What did the doctor say?’
The captain tilted his head and looked at her curiously. ‘What virus, Mrs Tyler?’
‘The… the virus that has broken out. I heard it on the radio, on the news.’
‘Mrs Tyler, there is no virus. I do not know what news you think you have heard. Your husband was gutted and beheaded like a mackerel. No virus did that. Mr Draper had his throat torn open. No virus did that. There is no virus, Mrs Tyler. Not here, not anywhere.’
‘What? The… It’s like flu, they said, but then it makes you bleed out and you get all crazy before you die. I heard it on the radio. There’s a virus.’
The captain shook his head sadly. ‘No, Mrs Tyler. There are only two dead men. Before he died, Mr Draper used your radio to tell us you were delusional, afraid of some deadly virus that made your husband attack you – turned him into a zombie.’
Emily swallowed, trying to make sense of it. ‘But… but Alex was attacked by my husband too. He bit his neck.’
‘Mr Draper said that you bit him. Said you were delusional and that he tried to restrain you. Once you’d calmed down, he played along to keep you from doing anything dangerous.’
‘He was there when Ross’s head fell off!’ She realised she sounded crazy, but she could think of nothing else to tell him but the truth.
The truth.
The captain’s dark eyes bore into her. ‘Mr Draper told us your husband was hysterical and begging him for help. While Mr Draper tried to calm him down, you shot him with a flare gun. He played along with you after that for his own safety. Why did you kill him too?’
She thought about following Alex down into his bedroom and the fight that ensued. He had attacked her first, hadn’t he? She was sure of it.
Yet she wasn’t sure.
Had he been trying to hide from her?
Emily wasn’t sure of anything anymore. Was she sure Alex had even been bleeding when she’d found him? Had she imagined the blood on his bed?
‘I… I’m sick.’
The captain nodded. ‘I think so, Mrs Tyler, but not with any virus. You killed your second husband when you found out that he was cheating on you.’
‘How do you know that?’
‘We have your husband’s phone, his laptop. We saw his messages. You were angry when you found out, yes?’
‘Yes,’ she almost whispered it.
‘I understand, Mrs Tyler.’
There was a buzz and the office door opened. The captain spun around and exchanged a few words with a man who popped his head through. When the brief conversation was over, he turned back to Emily. ‘The ambassador is here with a lawyer for you. I will leave you now, but things will be better for you if you say what really happened. No more talk about viruses or zombies. Do yourself a favour, Mrs Tyler.’
Emily shook her head, feeling nothing but utter pity for herself. Once again her life was being controlled – and ruined – by men, yet she was powerless to do anything about it. She glared at the captain, trying to get through to him, to make him see. ‘I am telling you what really happened. My husband was sick. He had a virus.’
‘There is no virus, Mrs Tyler.’
‘Yes, there is! I killed Ross in self-defence – Alex too. I am not crazy. They were trying to hurt me. It happened exactly as I am telling you. Please, tell me that you believe me. Do some tests, please. We could all be in danger. I think I have it too. That’s why I’m feeling so confused. It’s the virus. If you don’t help me then I might hurt somebody.’
The captain looked at her and sighed. ‘I understand.’
Then he exited and left her alone. Alone to think about what was real and what was not. The more time that passed, the harder it became to tell the difference. The only thing for sure was that Emily was sick.
But was it her body or her mind?
Z-HUNT
Mark Tufo
ONE
‘Hooo WEEEE!’ Steve yelled as the recoil from the rifle slammed his shoulder back. The girl’s neck snapped backwards as her forehead yielded its spot in space and time to a high-speed lead projectile. The back of her skull blew out in a plume of white, red, and dark grey before she collapsed to the ground in a crumpled heap of outstretched arms, her mouth pulled open in a silent scream. ‘Holy shit they’re so fast!’ Steve was still yelling, though no one was shooting.
‘And smart,’ Chuck, his hunting partner replied, as he scanned the horizon through the scope mounted on his Winchester .308. ‘I told you this shit was worth the five hundred k.’
‘Every fucking penny,’ Steve said. They were sitting on a special hunting rig atop a Land Rover. Steve placed his weapon down on the bottom most rung of the rifle rack and took a large swig of water from his canteen. ‘Who would have thought a podiatrist from Louisiana would turn out to be a great zombie killer?’
‘Who said anything about great?’ Chuck also put his rifle away, as he ribbed his friend. ‘Pass me some of that water.’ After a good long drink he spoke again. ‘This would be perfect if it wasn’t so damned hot.’
‘I’m pretty sure they wouldn’t allow something like this in the States.’ Steve pointed to a spot far off in the distance. ‘Think I saw movement.’ He pulled his wide brimmed hat off and wiped the pool of sweat that had accumulated on his forehead and under his eyes before replacing it on his rapidly balding head. He grabbed his binoculars to scan the horizon; ripples of heat distorted his view out past fifty yards. Saw grass and scrub brush dominated his sight of the savannah. ‘Fucking antelope,’ Steve said disgustedly. ‘Listen Sturgeons, I didn’t pay half a million to hunt fucking antelope. I paid to kill zombies and I haven’t seen more than a handful in the last few hours. You ever seen the movies? They come in hordes. Zombies aren’t solitary animals like tigers, dickwad. When I pay that kind of money, I want fucking zombies. We clear?’
‘I told you before, Mr Cooper, my name is Zurgens, and this is a wild animal preserve. Therefore, it contains wild animals. On a preserve of this size, one would not expect all the animals to be within our general proximity. We could pen them up for you, but how sporting would that be?’
‘Sporting?’ Steve pahed. ‘I’m being driven around on the back of a truck. I’m holding a rifle that can reach out and kill something from half a mile away. Does that sound very fucking sporting? I’ll let you in on a little secret, Zurgs, I don’t give a rat’s fuck about ‘sporting.’ I’m out here to kill shit, plain and simple. And if the little liberal bastards back home weren’t such panty twisters, I’d get these heads stuffed and mounted and hang them on my dining room wall.’
‘I’m sure your wife would appreciate that.’ Chuck was smiling. ‘Nothing says ‘fine southern living’ like a mounted zombie head.’
‘She’d get used to it.’ Steve had calmed a bit, but not completely. He wondered idly how much Jack’s Taxidermy in Shreveport would charge for a job like that. ‘Now, Fetch me some zombies, Zurgs.’
Zurgens started the truck. He hated the rich American hunters. They were arrogant pricks who believed they owned the entire world. He daydreamed about grabbing the .50 cal pistol from his holster and putting two rounds in each man before rolling their bodies out of the truck to feed said zombies. He stifled the small grin that crept onto his weathered face.
‘We’ve got an hour before we need to turn back,’ Zurgens informed them. Neither man said anything in return. He looked directly into the camera mounted above the radio and furrowed his eyebrows.
TWO
‘The only thing that makes these men palatable is their money. Don’t these idiots know that we do this for their safety? They see fifty zombies coming at them, they’ll be pissing all over themselves in an attempt to get away.’ Jan Reynolds was monitoring the hunt. As co-owner of Z-Hunt, she felt it was her duty to do so. Her husband, Dietrich, usually sat with her but this time he was at Parliament, arguing for their very livelihood. They were under increasing pressure from civil advocacy groups around the world to cease their activities.
‘They are somewhat correct though. We do need more zombies.’ Kinzer, her lead scientist, and the man behind the original zombie plague had come into the room and sat two seats from her. They watched the bank of monitors.
‘These creatures don’t just grow on trees, Kinzer,’ Jan said. ‘We have to be careful. Yes, there’re spending half a million. That doesn’t give them the right to hunt more than a couple at a time. I don’t care how much they complain. We’re the only place in the world that offers sportsmen an opportunity to hunt zombies. They start to bag fifty or sixty kills on each safari and we’ll have the UN here in a matter of days. What happens then? How’s it going to look when they discover that these people aren’t really sick?’
The doctor scoffed. The world knew him as Dr. Hans Kinzer, renowned scientist and the man that discovered zf-24, the virus that caused humans to become ill before finally succumbing to a form of zombieism. What the world didn’t know was that the good doctor had been deliberately working on creating that virus for the better part of his adult life.
What Kinzer had not been prepared for was how little he would be paid for his discovery. He was nearly thrown out of his apartment for not paying rent. Sure, the military had started sniffing around, wondering how they might weaponise the virus. On a moral level, the doctor had no problem with this. If he made financial gains and was still able to pursue his discoveries, he was fine with whatever the outcome. The practical problem was that the zf-24 virus had to be introduced into his subjects intravenously. That, and it was a volatile, unstable compound that did not so much as take root in its host as it did disrupt the nervous system’s normal operations. The body’s internal temperature steadily elevated to a stifling 106.5 degrees, slow-roasting the brain in its own juices. Cognitive, rational thought within the cerebrum was severely hindered. Primal survival urges came to the forefront as everything that made the subject a ‘person’ was mired under a sea of hallucinations and... suggested imagery.