My Zombie My (I Zombie)

by Jack Wallen

  Blog Entry 12/12/2015 9:11 a.m

  Sleep was a commodity I couldn’t seem to purchase last night. I wasn’t one hundred percent positive, but it seems there was something not to trust about the moment shared with Zander. Yes, he gave me a reasonable explanation…but something about it didn’t feel right. Can the man be trusted? Is it possible his story was a lie and there is some other motive for getting us out of the hospital?

  Yes, it is possible. However, as in every scenario, there are always multiple angles from which to view the same situation. And ultimately, the single most important angle is the safety of the group for which fate (or happenstance, I really can’t be sure) has deemed me leader.

  And with that in mind, I woke knowing, with ninety or so percent assurance, that we have to abandon the hospital. The thought makes me want to race to the nearest bathroom, stick my head in an empty toilet, and vomit up every last ounce of hope I have. After all, this hospital was the first safe haven I’ve had since the installation in Munich. Unfortunately it seems this story is playing out in a similar fashion.

  That is, of course, superfluous at the moment. What is immediate (and somewhat overwhelming) is the necessity to prepare everyone for travel. That necessity has a further question – Where will we go? What is safe? If Zander’s story is true (and we currently have no reason to believe otherwise) the city should now be swarming with zombies, so the streets are no longer an option. That leaves but one other route – the sewers.

  Our immediate evacuation is further complicated by one small issue…we have two patients, neither of which are in the best shape for travel. We can get a gurney down into the sewers, but at what cost? Silence? Mobility?

  I had to let everyone know and get a full assessment of our ability to bug the fuck out.

  “Jean, may I speak with you?” My voice was as silent as I could manage and yet still be heard by the doctor. I did not want to bring any attention to our conversation, especially the attention of Zander.

  “Yes, Bethany? What is it?”

  I glanced over in Zander’s direction and saw he was still sound asleep, his rumbling snore a dead giveaway. I motioned for the doctor to follow me into the hall. Jean’s eyes bore a look of concern as he silently nodded. Secrecy wasn’t the norm among our little group of weary travellers.

  The door whispered shut behind us.

  “What is it, Bethany?” Jean’s voice rose just above barely audible.

  “We have to leave the hospital and I need to know if both Susan and Mikka can be moved.” I knew a full explanation was forthcoming, but I wanted the most important question out in the open right away.

  “What’s going on? Why do we have to leave? You know we wouldn’t stand a chance on the street…it practically beckons for our deaths. We would –”

  “Jean, I have reason to believe the group that set this virus loose knows we may have found a cure and wants to stop us.” I hated to interrupt Jean, but our situation called for efficiency and a swift change of plans. Judging by the look on Jean’s face he understood full well the gravity of the situation.

  “If we can make it into the sewers we can travel through the city and locate a safe location where they can’t find us.” I cradled Jean’s face in my hands to make sure he was still with me and receiving my instructions.

  “Sewers? How are we to travel the sewers?” I wasn’t sure if Jean was perplexed or disgusted with the idea.

  “That’s how Michelle, Gunther, and I returned. It’s our only chance of traveling safely. The zombies have yet to figure out there is an entire grid of tunnels underground that traverse the city. It stinks of shit, it’s damp, and it’s cold, but it’s free of moaners and screamers. The big question is, can Susan and Mikka travel?”

  Jean gave himself a moment to think. “As long as I could seal up Mikka’s wounds we’d be fine. We might have to carry them a bit, or take a couple of wheel chairs with us, but as long as we can pack them, my notes, and all of the supplies, we’ll be fine.” Finally a breath of relief was blown out of Jean’s airway, allowing his shoulders to relax. A smile almost crept across his face.

  “Start preparing Susan and Mikka, I have to go let everyone else know. Oh, and Jean, watch out for Zander. I’m not so sure we can trust him.”

  The doctor left with a very French ‘Mon dieu!’, leaving me out in the hall to plot how we could get away with this plan without allowing Zander back into that room. I wanted to make sure he couldn’t contact anyone in the event there was some sort of mole for those chasing us.

  The answer to that problem was actually quite simple. All I had to do was disable the equipment, which would prevent any communication between Zander and…whomever. With that idea under my feet, I sped off. My target? The mystery room.

  The floor below was far creepier when walked alone. Every sound seemed louder, every shadow seemed deadlier. Luckily I knew exactly where I was going. Even luckier was the straight-shot hallway I was in. No corners to house surprise bogeymen ready to crack open my skull and dig their fingers into a bowl of human brain pudding.

  No matter how often I see it, hear it, dream about it, or think about it, the thought of dining on thought-meat makes a shot of bile jump up my esophagus and splash the roof of my mouth. I had to stop and wonder if anyone had already grown numb to the sights and sounds of the newly ordained food chain. If anyone has reached that point already, I pity them. I would hate to the think that fear and horror were no longer a part of the human palate. Anyone that wouldn’t wince at the sight of a zombie making a meal out of a fellow human is beyond me. That is, after all, where we are heading. Year after year, generation after generation, the human condition was growing ever-more desensitized.

  We need fear. Fear is the very thing that helped us remain alive. Without fear, we are on a collision course with disaster.

  When I reached the door, I found it locked. Why? What purpose did it serve, other than adding to my already heightened suspicion of guilt? What was Zander hiding?

  This was one of those times I would have liked to have the convenient skill of lock picking. I do have a gun, but I don’t dare shoot it, for fear of drawing the attention of either Zander or the zombie nation.

  There is, however, another option. There is one skill that any hacker worth their weight in code knows a thing or two about – electricity and the wiring thereof. I’ve had to wire and rewire my fair share of server closets in my time. With that skill at my fingertips, I heaved a table over to the door of the room so I could reach the ceiling. I needed to cut the power to the room and, without power charging up the massive batteries running the equipment, everything would slowly die. No power, no communication. All I had to do was locate the main AC drop for the room and cut it.

  This brings up two very obvious problems. One: how am I supposed to cut fairly thick, copper wire? Two: how will I do so without shocking myself into a state of mind-abortion? The second issue was actually simple to overcome. With enough pairs of latex gloves between me and the wires, the electricity wouldn’t be able to pass through to my system. It was the first item that was the real problem. But even that issue was not insurmountable…not when a bone saw was readily available. It didn’t take much time to locate a closet full of serious surgical hardware that included rib spreaders, mallets, and one regulation bone saw. After a bit of searching, I found an extension cord long enough to reach the correct electrical plug.

  With my gloves and saw in hand, I climbed the table in search of the AC feed to the room. Thankfully the drop was very easy to locate. After snapping on four pairs of surgical gloves, I was ready to disable Zander’s communication room. I fired up the saw and plowed through the wire as if it were clippers cutting hair. Yes, sparks did fly, but as soon as the cable was cut, the room lost its power. I knew this from the familiar beeping of battery backups. Soon the computer would fail, followed by anything else with a backup battery system. It was only a matter of time before the equipment was incapable of communication. No communic
ation means no one will be able to locate us. And now I won’t be publishing our location in my blog. So, if you are stalking me with the words I write – the trail will end here.

  After cleaning up my mess, it hit me how much of a shame it was to not pack some of Zander’s equipment along for the trip. Within that room were probably satellite phones, air cards, night vision specs, and mics that would pick up a mosquito buzzing from a hundred yards. It was all government issue, so it would withstand a special flavor of beat down before it would give up to the ghost in the machine. But that was all beside the point at the moment. I had a mélange of misfits to protect – one of which was, more than likely, a government mole.

  That mole is a problem. I have to keep Zander from returning to this room. With what we are about to attempt, that task should be fairly simple. There is much packing to be done before we roll out as quickly and quietly as possible. I imagine Zander will do everything in his power to stall, so I have to make sure to avoid any attempts at procrastination on his part.

  *****

  When I arrived back to the room, Jean was busy with Mikka. Susan was actually sitting up in her bed. It nearly dropped me to the floor when she spotted me and greeted me with a smile as big as Christmas morning.

  “Bethany!” Susan’s voice squealed over the chaos of packing. Obviously Jean had informed everyone of the plan. At the moment, that was all very much irrelevant as I wrapped my arms around my little almost-zombie and hugged her as if both our lives depended on constant connection.

  “How do you feel?” My lips grazed her forehead and then her nose.

  “Like I slept too much.” She laughed lightly, probably oblivious to the infection coursing through her veins.

  “The doctor says you can go now. Do you think you’re up for it?” Even though the plan was already decided upon, I felt it necessary to make Susan feel like she had some part in deciding her own fate.

  Susan nodded and smiled right before we both heard her stomach make itself known with a roar. We shared another laugh as I opened up one of the boxes of food and handed the hungry girl a package of peanut butter crackers. When she opened the package the universal smell of kids’ lunchbox caressed my nose. For a brief moment I was back in elementary school, a lunchroom filled with giggling voices chit-chatting about whatever relatively insignificant issue was important to children. Kickball, icky girls and stinky boys, it was all there inside of me, tucked deep within the bowels of memory – unleashed by a simple smell and sound.

  After Susan had her little snack, she was told to wait in the bed. We didn’t need her overzealous body wearing itself down or getting in the way. And just as I turned away from the now cuddled-up girl, I noticed Zander heading for the door. I had to think fast.

  “Zander! Could you help me get the doctor’s medical kits boxed and ready to go?” It was a job anyone could have done, but it was the only job I could think of on the spot. Luckily, Zander didn’t think the job below his station.

  “Whatever it takes,” the scruffy man said, and broke into a smile that seemed like a ploy to sidetrack me. It should have been obvious to anyone with an agenda that I had stopped the man with good reason.

  When our eyes met, I looked deeply into his hollow irises to see if there were any signs Zander saw through my plot. All I noticed were tired, sad eyeballs with crow’s feet from too much sun and too much life. Not so much as a hint of subterfuge or suspicion flickered in his orbs. The man was good.

  Together we managed to get the medical kits packed in short shrift. To keep Zander within eyesight, I had him pack as much on the food dolly as he could without it losing mobility.

  With my primary suspect busy, it was time to focus my attention on the most important task at hand – locating a safe destination. There were a few requirements that had to be met: The location had to be accessible from the sewers, there had to be useable facilities (bathroom, kitchen, electricity, heat), and there had to be network connectivity. I wasn’t about to abandon my duty, not when our vaccine was showing signs of success. Susan was up and about without fever or delirium, she could communicate, and had yet to give any indication her zombie switch would flip. Time, of course, would be the most telling indicator. And during that time, the public must be made aware of our progress. Hopefully, very soon, we’ll release the details of the vaccine and help to begin the process of repairing the damage the Mengele Virus has inflicted on the planet.

  It didn’t take me long to locate a blueprint of the city’s sewage system. The plans I found were quite detailed, so I was able to pinpoint the perfect location. That location will remain undisclosed in order to protect our safety.

  Sorry about your luck.

  Blog Entry 12/12/2015 4:30 p.m.

  Before we left the hospital, I wanted to check the stats on the server and check my email. Why I put myself through this torture I will never know. Susan’s mother, Senator Slaton, might have sent me a reply warning me there was no cure and no hope. There may be a deeper, more circuitous conspiracy than I thought. There may also be people out there in desperate need of help, or maybe even someone out there who has already found the cure and is trying to find the means with which to distribute their miracle.

  And, as much as it pains me to do so, I am withholding the latest blog updates for obvious reasons. Had I been posting in real time, whoever is hunting and haunting us would already be knocking down our door. As soon as we are tucked safely in our new location I will post everything…minus the actual location. And, before anyone gets too cocky, I’ll be spoofing my IP address so hard that even Kevin Mitnik wouldn’t be able to track me.

  Back to the task at hand.

  I was surprised to find nothing from the Senator. There were plenty of SOS-type emails, a few stalker missives, and plenty of SPAM. There was one email that immediately had my undivided attention, one purportedly from Mrs. Godwin – the wife of the man who created the wrecking ball that smashed humanity as well as the woman who did her best to warn me of the group hunting me down. The email was short and sweet:

  Bethany,

  I do not have much time. Attached to this message you will find a video my late husband sent me. I was told to save the video onto an encrypted drive and lock it up. Lindsay also begged me not to watch it as the contents could condemn me to the same fate he may be doomed to suffer. To this day, I have kept that promise, but I have a feeling this video is something you should view.

  I wish you the best.

  Just as the woman indicated, there was an MPEG video attached to the email. The file was called, ominously, subject_1.mpeg. With my eyes glued to the filename my heart raced inside of my chest. Heat rose from my cheeks and sweat collected at the base of my throat. With a shaking trigger finger, I double-clicked on the file and let it play.

  The video revealed a face I hadn’t seen in weeks; a face that brought back a flood of memories, both good and bad.

  This is Doctor Lindsay Godwin. I am making my first report on Test Subject Number One. The subject is a Caucasian male, thirty-three years old, and was appropriated from the Munich prison system where he had been condemned to a life sentence. Little persuasion was required to convince the authorities to hand over their prisoner.

  The camera panned to show a rather large man strapped to a table.

  The subject is in peak physical health, approximately 1.87 meters in height, 79.08 kilograms in weight.

  I am going to inject the subject with a pure strain of the virus. This strain should produce the most violent reaction. Because of the anticipated rise in strength and temper, we will immediately move the subject to the holding case behind me.

  The video went black momentarily.

  Silence.

  Day two of Subject One case. I was surprised that the effect of the virus required the full twelve hours to mutate the cells effectively enough to precipitate change.

  Behind the doctor the subject was locked in one of the holding cells that I knew had temporarily caged Jacob and eventua
lly served as Doctor Godwin’s tomb. The man was violently pounding his fist against the thick plexi-plate.

  Roaring sound.

  Pounding.

  As you can see, the subject is now displaying the full effects of the virus. This behavior has only manifested within the last forty minutes. In that time, the subject has lost all rational though and ability to effectively communicate.

  Before my eyes, I witnessed a sight I had seen too many times. The man began pounding his head on the clear walls. I knew what he was trying to do. I knew the outcome would not be good.

  Roaring sound.

  Oh my God. It looks as if the subject is trying to crack open his own skull.

  Vomiting sounds.

  Shockingly enough, the doctor vomited right on camera. I never thought the sight of another human vomiting would elicit not a single reaction from me, but when challenged by a man cracking open his own brainpan, vomit didn’t stand a chance.

  The subject has succeeded in cracking open his skull. He is pulling out chunks of his brain and eating them. How long this behavior will continue, I have no idea.

  Obviously the doctor didn’t want his audience watching a man consume his own brains, regardless of the purpose of the video. He walked toward the camera, placed his hand over the lens, and pulled the plug.

  Static.

  Shockingly enough, Subject One managed to survive. After consuming a small portion of his own brain, the lower motor functions continued. We are keeping the subject alive for further study. All limbs have been restrained to prevent further damage.

  The doctor looked exhausted. He pulled off his glasses to wipe some manner of gore from the lenses.

  We have attempted to feed the subject brain matter from various animals, but he is refusing every specimen. My only conclusion is the slightest hint of necrotic tissue serves as a repellent to the infected.

  Static.

  Again Dr. Godwin’s face popped onto the screen, only this time the man looked as if he was about to break down.