All Things Zombie: Chronology of the Apocalypse

by Various Authors

  Pushing the book cart a bit faster into a gloomy, badly lit, area she thought of as the Perverts Playground, another rumbling of thunder drifted through the library. The row of computers that made up the Pervert's Playground were not yet being used by any of the deviant patrons that frequently explored Al Gore's dream come true: a virtually limitless array of sick and depraved pornographic offerings. Many times she couldn't stand to even glimpse at what was on the screens. There was a time when program filters were in place so naughty stuff couldn't be reached using the library computers. But a demented group of possibly well-meaning litigious legal advocates threatened to sue the town for violating the first amendment unless patrons could visit every filthy dark corner of Al Gore's creation. Brianna hated the idea that children and other visitors might wander by the Pervert's Playground and possibly glimpse degeneracies that made her stomach feel queasy.

  The last computer monitor on the row of desks was not dark like the others. The screen was on and filled with a news website. Three video boxes were open and she paused to read the captions. One video was an extremely wide shot with miles of burning buildings stretching toward the horizon with superimposed words sliding across the screen's bottom edge:

  ‘The city of Chicagtroit's mayor and most of her staff have been rescued via National Guard helicopters. Downtown Chicagtroit is nearly all in flames at this hour. The rioting, looting, and mass murders that have been growing over the last few days are believed to have fueled countless arson events throughout the city. Fire Department personnel refuse to do battle against the growing inferno due to multiple reported cases where they were attacked by seemingly insane people. The mayor's decision to have the city's law enforcement officer’s retreat to their stations, in order to allow the rioting to burn itself out, has been universally criticized. But even as she was evacuated from city hall the mayor again called for police to be restrained, by force, if necessary to prevent more violence.’

  ‘Other government officials refuse to estimate the number killed in and around Chicagotroit, but it's obviously in the tens of thousands range. Although there are concerns that the actual number could be significantly higher. Chicagtroit is not alone, over the last forty-eight hours inexplicable violent rioting, murder, and arson incidents have broken out across the nation... And, indeed, most of the world itself.’

  The librarian moaned and felt her stomach toss and turn at the thought of so much pointless death and destruction. Brianna turned to another video on the computer screen and was relieved to see nothing was burning.

  A frustrated looking older woman, wearing an expensive, dark blue business style outfit, topped off with a necklace of pearls, was standing behind a podium and speaking. The woman's hair was unkempt and sticking out of place in many spots. Her slightly perspiring face was flushed pink as she slapped the podium's top so forcefully that the emblem mounted to its front wobbled a bit. The emblem was roughly the size and shape of a regular dinner plate with only three large letters on its surface. The letters were made of a shiny chrome material and read ‘CDC’.

  The video feed switched back and forth from the visibly upset woman to a wider shot that showed she was in a large room, facing several dozen reporters and what appeared to be hundreds of video cameras. The closed captioning at the bottom of the screen allowed the librarian to follow along without bothering to turn on the computer's speakers.

  CDC Spokeswoman Marsha Holder: “You're supposed to be professional journalists. You people need to quit acting like amateur conspiracy nuts blogging on the internet about every insane idea that comes along. There are indications that some rioters might have been poisoned or drugged. Another possibility is that a viral or bacterial element may have affected them. A preliminary study is underway by the Environmental Protection Agency, as was reported yesterday, and we are working closely with them to discover the cause. The Centers for Disease Control is working diligently with not just the EPA but a host of other agencies to determine precisely what drugs or pois-“

  The closed captioning stopped for several moments when the woman appeared shocked then furious.

  When the captions started again, Brianna shook her head and laughed while reading:

  Multiple voices from reporters ask: “What about the zombies!?”

  The CDC spokesperson was clearly pissed off as her now visibly sweating face transformed into a bright pink, ugly snarl. She was shouting and beating her clenched fist against the podium. The CDC emblem wobbled violently before falling to the floor and rolled into the crowd of reporters.

  Spokesperson Marsha Holder:” Listen to me, you pack of muck-raking morons. I hate to tell you this but there ain't no Santa Claus, Easter Bunny, vampires, werewolves, fairies, bigfoots, or Smurfs...let alone corpses wandering around eating jack-(BLEEP)! You guys spreading stupid rumors will only make matters worse.”

  The visibly angry assemblage of reporters began shouting, but Brianna had lost interest. It always seemed to her that no matter how bad things could ever be, regardless of the situation, someone from the government and/or the media always came along to pour gasoline on the 'bonfires'. She avoided television and even most websites because it felt like all the important issues were purposely being ignored. Usually skepticism ran strong in Brianna, especially on issues where everyone in the media and the government were apparently in total agreement. But the rumors of something more unusual going on, other than run-of-the mill senseless murders, rioting, and destruction made her shudder. Then she shook her head and grunted.

  Zombies!? Come on, Brianna, you're a realist not a conspiracy freak. But zombies? Sweet Jesus, it's bad enough cities are even more than usual filled with rampaging idiots killing and destroying their own homes, now there are nuts in the media trying to make matters worse by scaring folks with rumors of late night movie monsters, she thought in disgust.

  She was prepared to shut off the computer's power button, had her finger poised over the glowing green circle button in fact, but the third video feed made her pause. Watching cities burn and people running around killing each other seemed like such a common occurrence, though disturbing, she'd only been saddened by the footage from Chicagotroit...not worried or scared. Both reporters and government officials spouting off all manner of nonsense were so commonplace that even the CDC news conference degenerating into name calling was more amusing than troubling. But the last video feed caused her to once more consider the silly possibility. Zombies? Oh, please, that's the kind of thing only morons could even jokingly consider.

  The third video feed was lopsided and apparently being transmitted at ground level. It was as if whoever had been recording had dropped the camera and it was resting on its side. Tiny flecks of crimson covered parts of the camera lens and the disturbing possibility it might be blood caused her to feel the fine hairs on her neck and arms stand up on end. Something else seemed wrong and after another moment she noted it was the lack of graphics or closed captioning. Maybe it's something like a web-cam feed, she theorized.

  Subconsciously, Brianna was slipping into thinking like one of her childhood heroes; Nancy Drew, Young Master Detective.

  She leaned down and took a closer look at the oddly angled video. At the top, which she realized would have been the left side had the camera been upright; there was an enormous white Ferris-wheel. It appeared familiar and felt like something from movies or one of the rare television programs she bothered to watch. It wasn't until she noticed a red colored double decker bus on the bottom of the screen, which would have been to the right if the camera was upright, that things became clear. “Elementary, my dear, Brianna. It is beyond any doubt indeed a feed from jolly old London,” she imagined hearing another of her childhood detective heroes intone with his heavy British accent.

  She shook her head and tried to focus. An angry whisper escaped her lips, “Sherlock, why don't you and Nancy go make out or snog, while Detective Brianna investigates?”

  Neither fictional character spoke up to voice thei
r objections, if indeed they had any to give.

  The bus appeared to have crashed into the side of a tall brick building, but the number of cracked and broken windows in the double decker didn't seem right. Nearly all of them were smashed out completely. Inside the bus there were people moving about, but it was impossible to tell much about them. A moment later the Ferris-wheel was blocked from view and then the bus as well when a blurry mob of folks ran past the camera. After they'd passed by she noted many other people running in different directions off in the distance... again in mobs that appeared to be chasing smaller groups or individuals.

  A bright flash of yellow light burst into existence inside the bus’s lower level. Within seconds thick inky black smoke tentacles erupted from the smashed and missing windows. Several figures on the top level of the bus started climbing outside through their windows. The billowing black smoke increased and within seconds the bus looked as if it were disappearing in a cloud of darkness. More bizarre lopsided images of mobs running and tackling the people they'd been chasing followed, for a while, and then close up shots of people's shoes filled the computer screen. She leaned closer and tried to spot the bus, but it was impossible to discern with only a huge dark plume of smoke to mark its location.

  It wasn't a scream that escaped her lips when she jerked backward as a body fell and blocked everything but the shirt it was wearing. No, it wasn't a scream that she made. It was more of an embarrassingly loud burping squeal as Brianna's stomach felt close to sending its breakfast contents hurtling back up through her esophagus and mouth. She saw the camera's view wobbling as more running shoes passed by the fallen body. The shaking on the camera made her feel even queasier so she shut her eyes. There was a foul bile and soap taste in her mouth, but within a few moments she regained her composure and soon felt moderately confident she wouldn't throw up.

  Throughout her life she only rarely screamed or ran away when scared or startled. Instead, she'd developed an involuntary gag reflex that more often than not resulted in vomiting. This was just one of the reasons Brianna rarely watched horror films, especially in movie theaters. Even as a young girl, just mildly scary scenes from films like the Wizard of Oz would sometimes result in a highly embarrassing vomit spewing mess. As a result Brianna definitely preferred her scary experiences to be safely contained within paperbacks or e-books rather than in the cinema.

  “What did the words on the shirt mean? You like to perceive yourself as possessing a detective's mind and yet shut your eyes to obvious clues when they present themselves. That makes me sad. There were white printed words on the garment. Perhaps if you'd quit being an infuriating, silly, overly emotional girl, and opened your eyes, even you could deduce the words and their meaning,” Sherlock suggested patronizingly from Brianna's imagination.

  “Shut your face, Shirley,” Brianna said aloud as she cautiously opened her eyes. Because the camera was still lopsided she tilted her head and spoke the words printed on the shirt. “STAY CALM and Carry On.”

  The body remained motionless as out of focus figures continued running in the background. It's all some weird fake prank or... maybe someone's making a movie or television show. That's got to be what's going on, she thought hopefully. The camera shook briefly then spun a bit (as if someone kicked it) which caused the view of the Ferris-wheel to be almost perfectly centered albeit still cockeyed. The message on the shirt, the red the double decker bus, and the enormous Ferris wheel all seemed much too conveniently within camera range to be by mere chance. It's got to be some clever movie or television show. It's just got to be, Brianna adamantly hoped. She almost expected to see a tall, antique, dark blue painted, wooden, police box materialize and some clever alien that appeared human, accompanied by a pretty girl in a very short skirt, to come outside.

  But the truth of the mysterious video feed would not be her's to discover. Because even as she tilted her head more to the side the third screen flashed bright static then went dark.

  Brianna glanced back to the other two feeds but was momentarily confused why they appeared wonky then realized her head was still tilted sideways. Sitting up straight, she saw the city of Chicagtroit was nothing more than a depressing landscape of orange flames and towers of smoke. The CDC news conference feed was still going on as well, though things appeared even more chaotic than before. The spokeswoman was squatting down behind the podium, using it as a makeshift shield, as frustrated reporters threw pens, notebooks, and plastic water bottles at her.

  So, in short, it's just another typical day right here in the good old USA, she thought and turned back toward the book cart.

  Brianna placed her hands on the cart's handle but felt something decidedly unsettling. She lifted her hands up and noticed a sticky dark substance covering several of her fingers. Her first thought was that someone had spilled coffee or something similar on the computer tabletops in the Perverts Playground, but that was a short-lived theory. She lifted the sticky fingers up near her nose and sniffed. The scent of copper was subtle but very noticeable.

  “I suspect murder most foul, young lady. If I were you, I would withdraw from this crime scene at once and summon the constables forthwith,” Sherlock's calm, logical, and almost condescending voice suggested from somewhere deep inside her head.

  She lowered her hands and nodded as if the suggestion were understood and agreed with but made no move to do anything else. Brianna stood motionless and listened intently for several seconds. The ticking of rain striking the windows and pattering against the library's roof was the only sound, other than her own rapid breathing. There's no one here. Nobody has come in today except me, she thought before turning and looking across the library to the entry lobby. It remained deserted.

  Brianna paused to think back over the last few of hours. I never left the circulation desk since I arrived. I even ate my breakfast there. No one could have come inside the building, even if they'd tried to sneak in, without my noticing them. But... even if someone did manage to sneak inside there would have been wet footprints on the tiled floor but it was dry.

  Her breathing slowed back to a normal rate upon realizing that Mr. Holmes and his premature murder theory was bogus. Although it had been kind of exciting for her to, even briefly, entertain the disturbing possibility of murder on a boring rainy day. She crossed over to the wall where the light switches were (The Perverts Playground patrons preferred to web surf in the shadows) and flipped on the overhead florescent lights. The row of computers was brightly lit up. As she walked back to the cart Brianna was considering doing some housekeeping. There was a layer of dust on the monitors that she'd never noticed in the gloom. They've probably been covered in dust since last year when the city did away with the custodian's position, she realized.

  It was unfair that Brianna was responsible for cleaning the library, but she didn't really mind doing it. She was trying to remember if there was a bottle of Briteway Window Cleaner inside the storage closet when she noticed the desk and monitor she'd been looking at earlier were covered in multiple spots of dark colored goo. It was the same color as the substance on her fingers.

  “For once in your life, don't be a typical emotional ninny-headed female! Something most foul has happened here; even you should be able to intuit that. Stop denying the facts! Use the telephone and summon the constables. It would be a prudent and most reasonable thing to do,” Sherlock intoned.

  Brianna felt the fine hairs on the back of her neck and arms tingling as they not only stood up on end but seemed to be quivering. But even as an explosive clap of thunder sounded and the electricity momentarily failed, which caused the lights to flicker uncertainly, she adamantly whispered, “I am not afraid. So, there's some blood... or stuff that just looks like blood. That doesn't mean anything by itself. People have nosebleeds occasionally; even old Mr. Schwartz has them sometimes. The stuff on the desk is sticky and mostly dried from the look and feel of it. I won't run away like a scared little girl and call the cops. At least, I won't until I investiga
te further. What do you think of that, Shirley?”

  No voices in her head answered, but in spite of her words to the contrary Brianna was growing a bit scared. She attributed the fear to the storm, the news media rambling on about rioters and murderers actually being zombies, and her being all alone in a big building. After a few more moments she squared her shoulders, stood upright, and said, “I don't need anyone else to help me investigate this... unusual scene.”

  She slid the chair back away from the computer desk and inspected the area. With the overhead lights turned on the dark spots of goo certainly appeared dry. If indeed it was blood, she guessed it was much less than would result from anything but a nosebleed. The tiles under the desk had a few spots and she noted a trail of much smaller dribbles on the floor going in the direction of the restrooms.

  “Mystery solved, someone got overly excited looking at some naughty stuff on the internet and... they had... a nosebleed,” she was speaking confidently at first, as if everything made sense, then considered the situation again. One reason she was less sure was caused by her spotting the familiar looking compact umbrella and canvas tote bag that were stuffed far underneath the bloody computer desk. The other troubling consideration was when she closed and locked up the building the day before, Mr. Schwartz hadn't said goodbye before leaving. The elderly man nearly always said goodbye to her and often times waited for her to close up the library then acted as an escort to her Honda.

  She reached down under the desk and slid out the umbrella and bag, both were bone dry. The canvas bag was something he was extremely proud of and told her many times it was a valuable collectible in the world of classic television memorabilia. There was a large somewhat faded color image on one side of the bag featuring six children standing on a staircase with a woman wearing a maid's uniform and a man and woman. They were all smiling at whoever took the photograph. At the bottom of the image there were the printed words, Watch ABC with your family and enjoy a night of fun with the Brady Bunch, IN COLOR.