My Zombie My (I Zombie)

by Jack Wallen

  “You cannot keep her under sedation too long, it’s far too risky,” Jean said as he released the Stop Elevator button and the car began the journey upwards once again.

  “Not sedating her runs the risk of her taking the final plunge into Lake Zombie.” I didn’t want to come off as making light of such a serious situation, but sometimes it’s the only way I can manage to remain upright and not crumble under the weight of the truth of it all.

  “There are better ways. Take me to her so I may assess the situation.” The doors to the elevator opened and Jean marched out.

  In light of my desperation for a doctor, I had no intention of questioning Jean’s sudden change of heart. All I cared about was that he was moving toward Susan with the intent on examining her. I was fairly confident that, once he laid eyes on my little zombie, he’d never leave.

  We walked down the hall of the floor toward Susan’s room. Jean’s stride was serious. I may have pissed the Frenchman off, but I believe his anger toward my folly made him overlook Susan being caught in limbo between human and zombie. I wish I could lay claim to that tactic, but it was a complete accident.

  “Can you tell me how she became infected?”

  A pause hung between us, like a billowing sheet used in a game of parachute. How far back did I want to go in the telling of the story? Ultimately I decided to give the doctor the whole truth and nothing but. When I was finished, Jean knew of Jacob and how he had used Susan as a ploy to get me to take his life. Jean looked at me as if I were fractions of a second away from lunacy. He wasn’t far off.

  When we finally arrived at the door to Susan’s room, Sally stood and introduced herself to Jean. After a few simple pleasantries it was time for the doctor to get down to work. He began by taking the usual vitals. He found a chart to begin what would probably be a lengthy documentation process. Things were starting to have some strange air of normalcy about them. Was it a dream? And if it was only but a dream, how long would it last? In this hateful new world dreams were so easily shattered and morphed into nightmares.

  “Can I rely on either of you for help?” the doctor said, looking at both Sally and myself over the top of his expensive looking, tortoiseshell glasses.

  No sooner had I reassured Dr. Chavenel that he could count on me, than he was handing me gloves and instructing me to get sterile. Like a sad little forty-hour a week drone, I complied. I wasn’t used to taking orders. This might take some time to sink in.

  “What are we doing?” I asked, placing a surgical mask over my face.

  “We have to take a few samples so we know exactly what we’re dealing with,” the doctor said from behind his surgical mask, and then set about instructing me in the finer arts of phlebotomy.

  The samples we took went far beyond blood and urine. The doctor wanted to take a peek at our dear little Susan from the inside out and from every hidden corner of her body. I was hoping the man wasn’t going to take scalpel to flesh and reveal Susan’s innermost secrets. Jean needed to get a solid cross-section of what we were dealing with, which meant taking samples from almost every organ he could safely probe. Liver, lung, spinal fluid, bone marrow…it was a marathon of jabbing, slicing, and sucking. All the while we were rolling Susan about on the table as if she weren’t even alive.

  I wanted to cry. I wanted to say I was sorry to the little girl who probably just wanted to have the same life every little girl wanted to have; birthday parties, crushes, a first kiss, a wedding, children…

  But she will most likely never see those things. She will probably last another week or so before we are putting a bullet between her precious, innocent eyes. And I am almost certain the finger that will pull that hateful trigger will be mine.

  Life can really suck at times.

  That thought made me want to smash atoms between my ears, hopefully causing a vacuum, destroying every living molecule on the planet. The very idea that anything can make life suck any more than it does seems preposterous.

  At this moment…

  Every.

  Single.

  Thing.

  Sucks.

  So, one more additional level of suckage isn’t going to change one goddamn thing.

  “I want to induce a coma,” the doctor’s voice dragged me out of my own personal version of Hell.

  “What? Why? Coma? Seriously?” I had just asked four, one-word sentences. I was starting to feel like I was the one that belonged in a coma.

  The doctor explained that he could safely induce a coma so that her brain activity would lessen, which would buy us more time to try and find the cure. This way we wouldn’t be constantly pumping Susan full of drugs that could kill her. Of course, there was a wee spot of irony in that the coma would be chemically induced. Six of one, a half-dozen of the other.

  But coma? That sounds so…I don’t know, final. Truthfully, though, how could I object? It’s not like I have a PhD in medical science. I get numbers, I get computer languages and system security, but the art of medicine may as well be Greek…or Latin (as medicine’s foundation is deeply rooted in the Latin language – which I also do not speak.)

  Tangential much?

  I agreed to the coma. I really had no choice. We needed time to get into that file containing the cure. That beautiful, elegant file tucked safely under a layer of encryption that would stump even the top security minds on the planet – one of which I was considered, and this encryption certainly had me stumped. For the moment.

  Being tripped up by encryption or a riddle is like crack to a security geek like me. I live for the challenge and will break this; I have to. If I am unable to crack this…well, there would be no point in reading any further. Everything may as well stop. If I fail, we can just put a gun barrel in our mouths and pull the trigger.

  Blog Entry: 12/5/2015 6:05 a.m.

  I woke in the middle of the night with a horrible stomach cramp. In light of the circumstances I naturally assumed I had been somehow infected. It didn’t take much time to realize it had been far too long since I had eaten. I needed sustenance and I needed it right then. But even more than that, it was, quite literally, a painful reminder that I am carrying the child of Jacob Plummer. At the moment, however, food is taking priority over pregnancy. I must survive.

  I thought I was being smart when I packed very lightly leaving the train for the hospital, so food was not a part of my immediate contingency. That was obviously a big mistake. I am reminded of the age-old hacker credo “less is more”. Jacob was fond of hitting that home, constantly reminding us that the fewer we had in our group, the better our chances of survival.

  Jacob.

  The very thought of him makes my heart hurt and reminds me how lonely I am. His touch, his face, his laugh…the way he made me laugh at all the wrong times in all the right ways. The more my mind revisits the memory of him the more I retreat inward. There are times I feel like curling into a tight enough ball that not so much as a molecule of air could make its way into my lungs.

  The room was still dark. I searched around my little makeshift bed for my MagLite, clicked it on, and light-sabered its beam around the room. We all decided to sleep in the same room – Susan’s room. It is small but easy enough to barricade. Keeping the outside world from reaching us is the only way we will survive this nightmare at the moment.

  My brain drifts off beyond the walls of Val de-Grace, seeing city streets filled with the walking damned, walking death, Hell on earth, whatever…it’s all the same. I want to will my brain to reach beyond the land of the undead and search out a new home that could sustain the second coming of the human race. When my imagination had me and a handful of others living in a farming community on Mars, I realized how futile the exercise was.

  Sally pulled a second bed up against Susan’s, so she can lay side-by-side with the young girl. For some odd reason, Sally has developed a strong bond with Susan. It is odd and, yes, a bit creepy. Why did this bond even happen? Sally hardly knew the girl and seemed, at first, to want nothing to
do with her. But here she is, glued to Susan’s side as if she were her mother. It reminds me of a girl I knew when I was young. The girl came from a poor family and had a very unusual attachment to a doll with a broken face. Not even the bullies in the neighborhood could pull that doll away from her. That doll seemed to be her only connection to love and affection. The thought of the girl made my heart shrink a bit. I want to reach back into the past, wrap my arms around her, and let her know life didn’t have to be so full of dread and fear.

  Unfortunately those sentiments are for the past, not the present.

  Jean looked right at home, snoozing away on the hospital-grade recliner. The man was probably accustomed to drifting off in strange positions on odd furniture. He was very lightly snoring. I had to admit there was a handsome man hiding behind the standard-issue, somewhat-pompous French doctor. I can’t help but also admit it was nice to have a second male in the group. Yes, I am still feeling like the whole Milla Jovovich, Resident Evil kind of heroine, but knowing there is a just-in-case cavalry in the wings did a lot to bolster my confidence. It is a hell of a lot easier to crush a skull with a metal pipe knowing there is a strong backup at the ready (even if said backup is either a delicate-fingered doctor or an aging German train conductor.)

  The door to the room unlocked and slowly, quietly slid open. My blade of light cut through the dark hallway, casting a brief, bluish glow across everything it touched. One extremity at a time, I eased out of the room and tried to get my bearings enough to know exactly where I was going; the food service court. I had to get my grub on, breakfast style.

  Val de-Grace didn’t have your standard issue cafeteria. This lush escape from reality had, within its bowels, a full-on food court with just about every type of cuisine you can imagine, so long as it met the stringent standards of everyday French foo-foo-ary.

  Being the farthest thing from a chef, I opted to forage for something simple. A good old PB&J would suffice. Besides, the less time I spend out in the open, the better.

  There is something about darkness that amplifies sound. I know it’s not theoretically possible, but the added silence brought about by nightfall makes it very easy to point out extracurricular sounds.

  As I was heading for what looked very much like a child’s menu sure thing, I began to get the feeling that only comes when you know, beyond all certainty, that you’re being watched. I stopped in place and stood motionless, silent. I waited for the inevitable moaning or shuffling, but heard nothing. Yet I still waited in silence. I flipped the switch on my light, so as not to give away my position. My nerves tightened like a tightly wound guitar string, certain that my speed-beating heart or the sound of me dry-swallowing the lump back down my throat would surely give me away.

  Everything came down to a slow motion game of cat and mouse, but who was the cat and who the mouse? Better yet, could this just be my mind fucking with me? The latter wouldn’t surprise me in the least.

  I stood in the silence and darkness, and the whoosh of a door opening accosted my ears. The realization hit me like an anvil – there is someone else in this hospital, someone very much alive and very much in hiding. I wanted to think it was Jean, Sally, or Gunther, but the noise was coming from a direction other than our room. I have no idea why this comes as such a shock to me, since the hospital is such a perfect refuge from the unending undead. Some local had to have thought of escaping into the confines of Val de-Grace before we even made it into town.

  This whole situation just became infinitely spookier. Other people were here, which only complicated an already highly dangerous situation.

  I just wanted a fucking sandwich. Goddamn zombies have managed to somehow complicate the otherwise perfect peanut butter and jelly sandwich I craved.

  Goddamn it!

  The hallway returned to its normal state of quiet. My stomach lurched again, only this time with a side effect of cramping. I had to eat soon or pain was going to start being a debilitating factor. After what seemed like eons of continual silence, I flipped my light back on and quickly made my way to a kitchen. When I arrived I had all the validation I needed that someone else was, in fact, here. The kitchen had already been cleaned out. Shelves were bare, storage cabinets emptied, walk-in refrigerators held nothing but cold air.

  The kitchen of the next eatery offered up the same barren fate. Not a scrap was to be had. It wasn’t until I reached the third kitchen that I managed to find something edible. Tucked away in a storage bin was an unopened bag of pretzels. I tore into the bag and devoured the salty treats like a starved dog on a tenderloin.

  After I finished the last crunchy morsel, I downed two large cups of lukewarm water and stepped out of the diner. I turned to the left to head back and to my shock, the silhouette of a body was standing at the end of the hall. Before I could get my flashlight up and on, the body took off running.

  “Wait! Stop!” I took off after the stranger, but whoever it was was fast, very fast. The phantom slammed a door behind them and, in my clumsy attempt at getting the door open, the stranger lost me.

  “Shit. Hello? Where are you?” The answer to that question was simple, not anywhere near me.

  At least now I know I’m not being stalked by a zombie. Whoever else is in this building is very much alive. This is not good. It is one thing to be alone in this building. There is, at least, some comfort in knowing as long as the doors are locked that nothing can harm us. But now? Now there’s an element of complexity I hadn’t anticipated. Is this “other” alone? How far is this person willing to go to stay alive? And, far worse, are we dealing with an infected human who will, at some point, go full-on moaner and take us all down the vortex with him?

  I waited in the hall. Until the beam of my flashlight started doing a dance in the hallway, I hadn’t realized how much I was shaking. I didn’t want to make the slightest move until I knew for sure the ghost roaming the halls was long gone, but fear had turned me into its puppet. When no echo of footsteps was heard, when no shadow was cast, when the hair on my arms finally decided to descend back to its original position, I allowed my feet to begin carrying me forward.

  One silent step at a time.

  Very slowly I made my way back up to our floor and quietly entered the small fortress holding our little gang. After shutting the door behind me, I shoved a chair underneath the handle to keep out the specter of Val de-Grace. I’d seen the move used in plenty of films, surely it would work. Everything on TV is true…right?

  Once I felt some semblance of comfort in our impromptu security, I quietly curled up in my make-shift bed to catch up on today’s blog entry and finally get some rest. Tomorrow is going to be a long, challenging day.

  Blog Entry: 12/6/2015 9:05 a.m.

  Last night I dreamed of Jacob. He was in some transitive state of half zombie, half human and was reaching out to me, weeping tears of blood. Angels appeared, lifted him by his arms, and flew him away from me. As they glided away on feathered wings of blood, Jacob’s weeping turned into screams of agony.

  I was awakened by Sally who said I had been crying in my sleep. When I finally remembered the dream, I grabbed her, pulled her to me, and cried harder than I had ever remembered crying. Sally held me tight, comforting me. Being a woman, Sally had to know exactly why my tears were flowing so freely…it was an unspoken bond of communication I would never truly understand, but was always thankful for experiencing. It was the warm touch of a mother’s hand when she knew pain was tearing through her child’s heart. I have tried like hell to suppress the pain of loss, but it wanted out and I knew there would be moments when I couldn’t hold it back.

  When I finally managed to force back down the collective pain brought about by the end of nearly everything I knew, Jean informed us he was ready to induce Susan’s coma. We just stared at one another, unsure of what to say. So, in lieu of saying anything, we stood in silence while the doctor moved to her bedside. Sally and I watched Jean as he injected the necessary barbiturates into Susan’s IV. Maybe it was
the remnants of my dream, but the moment bore yet another river of tears streaming down my face. Seeing this innocent little girl forced into a semi-permanent pause hit me in the gut and the heart simultaneously.

  Jean turned to us and took a deep, reassuring breath. I wasn’t exactly sure who that reassuring inhalation was for, but when the words ‘she’s going to be fine’ slipped from his lips, I knew he was at least attempting to ease our concern. The man knew Susan was infected, so he had to know her chances of survival were slim. Maybe he knew, without question, that the coma would buy us enough time to find the cure.

  But with the very thought came the realization that I had allowed my primary duty to slip between the cracks. I had been so busy trying to be a leader, my single most important task had been all but forgotten. The Mengele file had to be decrypted or everything we have worked for to this point was pointless. That file is why we are here. That file is our Obi Wan.

  “So, Doc, what do we do now?” Sally was the first to chime in, her voice a bit too perky, too flirty.

  A hookup in the making? I had my doubts a stuffy Frenchman would answer the booty call of a brassy American woman, but it is Armageddon, after all, so anything is possible.

  “We wait. I will continue running as many tests as I can, to learn as much as possible, while Bethany attempts to break into her file to find the miracle cure.” There was a bit too much cynicism in the depths of the doctor’s voice for my taste.

  “We should probably think about taking a trip outside to forage for food,” I said, deciding to only tell them a portion of last night’s little goings-on. No one needed to know about the ghost of Val de-Grace just yet.

  It was decided that Gunther and Sally would venture out in search of something for us to eat. Jean and I have obvious reasons to remain in the building for as long as possible. Besides, both Sally and Gunther need to feel useful. Sending the two of them together made the most sense. I checked Sally’s mobile to make sure it had plenty of charge, and to make sure she had my mobile number at the ready. Constant contact would be crucial for remaining alive in this hell of a race.