by Jack Wallen
That single thought was all I needed to plow forward with this insane plan. I made a promise to Jacob that our little girl would be saved and I wasn’t about to go back on that promise, even if it meant the end of my own life.
“We’re ready.” Gunther gave the go signal. Time to rock and roll.
This was crazy.
“Come on motherfucker! Fresh brain-meat for the picking!” I screamed as loud as I could. “I’m hot, sexy, and my IQ is over 150, so you know my head cheese is sweet and meaty!”
Did I mention this was crazy?
There was no way the screamers had a sense of humor. I was wasting prime material and nothing was happening. Other than my outcry, the halls were silent.
“Fuck! Here I am, you know you want me!” My voice was starting to crack from abuse.
All of a sudden, a distant roar was heard. The roar echoed down the hall and was followed by a closer, louder roar.
“Bethany, it’s coming!” Gunther whispered to me urgently.
My skin crawled, my hands were trembling. I took in one deep breath and released my own roar.
“Come on you piece of shit! I’m right here!”
The next screech was obviously on our floor and very close.
“Gunther, are you ready? Oh shit, Gunther!”
The screech of the zombie was echoing in my skull. I heard a woman scream. The zombie was barreling down the hall, right toward me.
“Oh fuck. Gunther! Help me!”
It seemed like time stood still for a precious moment, long enough for the screamer to get up close and personal, its gaping maw open wide, ready to bite through my forehead. The zombie stood inches away from me, preparing to chomp down and swallow my soul. But before that could happen, a gun was fired and gore splashed my face. I stood, frozen, my legs refusing to even buckle.
“Bethany! Are you okay?” It was Gunther’s voice calling me out of my gore-stained trance.
My eyes blinked three times. My hand reached up and wiped the zombie-grease from my eyes and mouth.
I wanted to retch, run, and repeat.
“Bethany, are you okay?” Gunther repeated his earlier question.
“I’m fine. I’m fine. What happened?” The fog was finally leaving my brain.
“The trigger locked. The zombie reached you. I am very sorry, Bethany.” Gunther’s apology was sincere.
“It’s okay, I’m okay. We have to try this again.” I couldn’t believe the words left my mouth.
“No way. You could have died. That thing had its mouth inches from your face!” Michelle cried out.
“Don’t you think I know that, Michelle? I could smell the thing’s hot, sour breath. But I don’t care. We have to try again. Help me drag this thing out of the hall so we can have another go at this.” I gestured for Gunther for help.
“Bethany, are you sure?” Gunther questioned as he stooped down to pick up the zombie by the arms.
“Yes, Gunther, I’m positive.”
I wasn’t positive.
We picked up the monster and carried it into a room off the hall.
“At least let me figure out what happened with the trigger first. I promise you I will not let this fail again.” Gunther spoke with the assurance of a father.
I didn’t want anyone to know that I couldn’t have possibly been any more frightened. I wanted to hide and cry. I wanted to curl up into such a tiny ball that no one would ever see me again. I wanted to be in another place, another time. And most of all, I wanted to be safe.
If there is a single human on this planet to yet encounter these monsters, that person is the luckiest human being alive. That person, no matter who they are, should take their own life before the hell-storm descends upon them and ruins whatever remains of their world. Once the beast has been encountered, nothing is the same, something turns sour, rotten. The undead have a way of turning everything upside down. The strong become weak, the mild capable of killing, and we all learn that fear is the only constant.
I hate this. I hate what my life has become. I want this all to end – now.
Gunther returned from examining his piece of work. “I think I’ve solved our little problem. The trap will work this time, I promise you.” Gunther looked at me, again, with those big, round, ice-blue eyes that had Ed Harris written all over them. How could you not trust a man that reminds you of Ed Harris? You have to trust that man. And so I did. I took in a deep breath and nodded my approval.
“Would you like a gun?” Gunther added through a whispered voice.
I just shook my head. The gun was much better off in his capable hands. Knowing my luck with weapons, I’d wind up shooting the hell out of one of us. Since we needed each and every member of our little gang, I happily passed.
Gunther got the clue and went back to his overhead cubbyhole. After making one last check on his feat of engineering, he looked at me and smiled – at least I think it was a smile. If it was a smile, it was fueled by raw nerve. That smile defined us all – it painted a perfect picture of who we were and what we were all about. This group, this gathering of lost souls and hearts, scrambling every second to remain alive while we searched for the key to the kingdom. As we raked, scratched, fought, screamed, and cried, we did so with, at the very least, an attempted civility. We could have so easily disintegrated into a vile cesspool of bitterness and anger. That would have been the easy way out of this mess. Just let it all get the best of us and slowly, one by one, turn on one another until there remained only one standing.
We were all still struggling along together – ready to make one more attempt at trapping a zombie. Ridiculous, but that’s our situation.
Once we were all in place, Gunther gave the thumbs up again.
The second I heard the buzzer announce the door had been unlocked, I unleashed a frenzy of vitriol to shame the most bitter, angry, cynic alive.
“Is that the best you’ve got?” I yelled. “We took your friend down with one shot! Come on you son of a bitch! I want to watch your milky white eyes roll into the back of your head! Come on pus bag, let’s see your best fuck face!”
It didn’t take nearly as long this time before the horrid screeching was heard bounding off the walls.
“Here it comes, Bethany!” Michelle warned.
I stopped in the spot Gunther had marked out on the floor. The monster came within sniffing distance and, to my great surprise, stopped. The sour-milk eyes stared nearly uselessly at me as the screamer took in a lengthy whiff of my scent.
Gunther jabbed out with the device and managed to sink the needle to the hilt on the first try. The plunger depressed and the sedative flowed into the meat of the beast.
I couldn’t believe my eyes. Gunther’s device worked. The zombie released its best ‘What the hell?’ roar and then its ruined eyes rolled back into his thoughtless head. Before I could move out of the way I had the pleasure of dancing the dead weight to the ground.
As I squirmed out from under the beast, a mouth-full of zombie drool dropped from the thing’s maw and landed on my right cheek. Why I didn’t toss chunks I have no idea.
“Grab the ropes! We have to get that thing tied up!” Gunther barked out the orders as he climbed down from the ceiling.
*****
By the time we managed to get the zombie completely encased in bedsheets (keeping it secure for Jean, in case it were to wake up mid-operation), we were all mentally and physically exhausted. After getting the zombie onto a gurney, Gunther wheeled it into the room Jean set up to work his magic. A part of me wanted to watch the procedure, but I wasn’t sure if my stomach could take it at this point. Besides, I finally realized how late it was and how exhausted we were. But what a campfire story we had to tell. That’s right, the urban legend had been usurped by a truth for more frightening and far uglier than anything dreamed up to scare young teens and children into submissive behavior. The world’s new reality was a true suckfest of fear that could not possibly be improved upon by the very masters of horror themselve
s.
I managed to steal a moment of peace, in order to try to bring myself down from the fear-induced high that had my pulse and my blood pressure skyrocketing. What I really needed was a good read. I need to download a book or two onto the laptop so I can read myself off into a different world – disappear from this Hell on earth. That simple, pedestrian thought made me realize how many things there were to miss.
My bed. Movies. Hot tea. Hot baths. Indian food. Bike rides. My cat.
How many nights had I gone to bed with the sound of my cat, Wookie, purring in my ear? My little, adorable runt calico terror. She knew she owned the house and made a point to show me she knew every chance she had. There were times that sweet disaster would look up at me with her huge, green eyes as if to say I’ll let you stay here as long as you continue to put food in that bowl.
And with that precious thought, I shall cry myself to sleep.
Blog Entry 12/10/2015 7:53 a.m.
I woke this morning to our newest members standing in a corner in the heat of what looks like a lover’s spat. They were at least trying to be civil by keeping their angered French voices to a whisper. It never ceased to amaze me how, no matter the language, you can always tell when two lovers are having an argument. It’s a very different tone and rhythm than two friends or two enemies fighting. Between the words you can hear the implied I love you, but… The words dancing between Michelle and Mikka were definitely of that flavor. I remained in my sleeping position longer than I would have normally – if only just to hear the language of love bent and twisted around affection into some other thing, some inbred cousin. It was amazing. I could almost tell what they were arguing about; Mikka didn’t satisfy Michelle last night and he was defending himself saying how he couldn’t perform in a room with strangers, a wanna-be zombie-girl, and a hand full of misbegotten refuges.
The waft and lilt of the language bounced and flung off the walls like a child with severe ADHD who hadn’t been medicated for weeks. And what started out as a romantic notion, quickly became an annoyance forcing me out of bed.
When Michelle and Mikka realized they had an audience they shut up. It was as if no words had even been exchanged. Mikka looked at me and offered a nervous smile. Guilty! But of what?
Around the room everyone else was still asleep. For the first time since we all gathered, I was awake before Jean. I had half a mind to wake him, but the sensible half of said brain insisted I leave the man to sleep. Yesterday was a long day and I know today is going to be full of working with rabies and one guinea-zombie.
I need breakfast. We will all need to refill our empty stomachs as soon as possible. The rations we have are growing less than paltry and the amount of physical exertion is demanding more than the scraps we are able to dish out. We need a trip outside – and I am in a mood.
The idea that is beginning to hatch in my mind is insane, but since everything has reached critical mass on the stark-raving scale, I figure ‘What the hell?’. At least at this point, if I die I die with a purpose.
After filling Michelle and Mikka in on my little plan to go out alone, three things found their way into my possession: gun, backpack, and obliterator. Yes, the device failed on the last outing, but a few minor adjustments made it possible to easily change the pitch and modulation on the fly. The fact that the adjustments could be made on the fly will hold little comfort if the exact settings cannot be found, but no matter how slim the chances, I feel safer with the Obliterator at my side.
A quick glance at the map to memorize the most direct route to the nearest stock of foodstuffs and it was time to fly. Without a sound I slipped out of the room and made my way to the elevator. The stairs were still off limits due to the remaining screamers.
At the elevator it was surprising not to hear the insane cries of the zombies. The only sound spilling out from underneath the stairwell door was that of an empty wind. When the elevator sprang to life, the Hell hounds did not roar a single note of discord, making me wonder if they require sleep. For the moment I was safe. I said a silent prayer to the Great God Binary that this moment of safety would last…… and last.
As the elevator hit the ground floor I pulled out the Obliterator and prepared to fire it up. Fortunately the operating system was embedded, which made the device as ‘instant on’ as you could get in a semi-complex operating environment. Two easy-to-access dials allowed me to change both pitch and oscillation with my thumb. The modification gave me about as much confidence as I would ever have, given the circumstances.
I stood staring at the front door to the hospital. The outside world was calling me, beckoning me to join in the chaos. After three deep breaths, I pushed the door open and slowly stepped out into the bitter cold. My breath coalesced in front of me in a thick fog. The ash from the fallout was still on the ground. Crashing sounds swam in the air around me. My feet began pounding the pavement beneath me, picking up speed to a running pace. My heart was threatening to call a moratorium on this craziness.
A moan surprised me from behind. When I turned, my eyes caught sight of exactly what was to be expected. The dirty fucker was standing in the street, swaying side by side, his eyes directed at me. The Obliterator began a low, slow oscillating war cry I knew would have no effect. Happily, my thumb started rotating the pitch control until I felt the pitch was close to the target range. My thumb slid over to the other dial and began turning it slowly until the oscillations were racing at about two hundred-twenty beats per minute. The moaner now knew my precise location and showed no signs the Obliterator was having any effect. My thumb returned to the pitch and cranked it up another octave or so until, bingo!, the moaner’s eyes nearly doubled in size, and then he dropped to his knees. I had him and I wasn’t about to let up until the full effects of the Obliterator were known.
Just as it looked like the moaner was going to pop, the familiar screeching was heard echoing off the brick and wood buildings, so I wouldn’t be able to complete my plan to shred the moaner from the inside out. I had to hide. Thankfully there were plenty of open buildings surrounding the area. I silently slipped behind one of the doors into the safety of a building, and perched myself behind a second story window, to watch the nightmare unfold.
What happened on the street didn’t seem real. The moaner continued swaying back and forth in the middle of the street as the screamer quite literally ripped the thing apart. As the screamer tore at the placid zombie’s clothing I awaited the retaliation. It never came. When the clothing was in tatters on the ground, the screamer began flaying its victim. Bits and pieces of skin flew into the air like wet cardboard, landing on the street with a splash of blood. The violence, of course, didn’t stop with the outer layer. As soon as the rotten outer covering was mostly removed, the screamer dove into the inner workings of the zombie. The moaner simply stood by as he was ripped asunder, his sour-milk eyes staring blankly into the space in front of him.
Eventually there wasn’t enough of the zombie to keep its body upright and it collapsed to the ground, nothing more than a heap of scrap meat. The screamer wasn’t content with the moaner’s demise and focused on bashing the head onto the hard street until useless ooze spilled from the cracks. The screamer took one sniff of the rotten meat and roared its disapproval.
In a very odd way it was sad – like a group of senior citizens being mauled by a single, Hell-born thing. The dismantling of relative innocence. But even beyond witnessing the atrocity, what I hated the most was that the sight had become so pedestrian as to not even evoke a gag reflex.
After the screamer announced his anger to the world he froze as if something had snatched his attention from his task. His head jerked from left to right. The zombies’ eyesight is especially poor, so they rely primarily on sound and smell. When the screamer began sniffing the air my heart jumped. Surely the thing hadn’t detected my scent? When the monster jerked its head so its ruined eyes were doing their best to look my way, I knew my assumption to be wrong.
The zombie let out an ho
rrific roar that echoed off the walls of the room I was hiding in. The zombie knew I was here and it was trying to frighten me out of hiding. I don’t know what to say. The screamer knew I was up here and it was using the higher functions of its brain to solve the problem it faced. This is not good. Thinking zombies. Fuck.
I have to grab food and haul ass back to the hospital, but there is one problem. In the act of hiding I managed to get myself lost. Each window on the second floor of the building brought my paranoia no relief. I was lost. And then, as if things couldn’t possibly get worse, I heard a sound that nearly brought my heart to a stand-still. Somewhere near, a baby was crying and it was obvious the screamer heard the cry. I didn’t even want to think of what was about to happen. But it did. One second the cry was raising the hairs on my arm, the next minute silence jerked them back to their natural position. The silence was followed by another massive screech and then I saw the screamer run off. The baby was on the ground. Moving. It was still alive. The zombie didn’t kill it. Without so much as a hesitation, I ran to the infant.
And then, what little contents my stomach held decided to make a fast exit onto the floor.
I thought there was no horror left for the world. Once the virus hit and monsters become real, I was sure that no new Hell could be presented to make everything else pale in comparison.
I was terribly wrong.
It might, at first, sound crazy, or fodder for nothing more than B-grade horror, but I just had to kill a baby zombie. The undead tyke was lying on the ground, its dead eyes staring uselessly up at the sky. When I reached to pick the thing up it sensed my presence and issued a scream I really never needed to hear.
This was make or break time for my heart and soul. The idea of leveling a gun at a baby’s face is not something anyone should ever have to experience, but what choice did I have? The baby was destined to join the zombie rank and file and I wasn’t okay with that. This ordeal had me on my knees crying over the infant life I had just taken. At the moment I didn’t care who or what heard me. Let the monsters come, let them rend me asunder, let them devour me until I am no more. I don’t care.