Merlin came back with a sheet of rolled paper and smoothed it out on the table. "Alright. We're here. They're there. Looks like only about fifteen feet of duct work lies between us and them, with no barrier between. Looking at it now, there should be something in between, at least a switch off valve or some sort of panel to keep the rooms secluded, if it ever became necessary…” His voice faded as he talked it through to himself. “Have to fix that later. Doesn’t matter right now. Worked out good, in fact.” And he was mentally back with us. “Okay. If you go up right," we all looked up at the vent in the wall, "there. It's a straight shot. What do you think?"
"Not like I'm afraid of small spaces or anything," I mumbled under my breath. Guy code rule, never let them see your weakness. "Let's do this," I said loudly enough for them to hear. I hoped I was convincing.
While Merlin went to find a ladder, Todd and I dumped the grocery bags on the table and gathered together a few different varieties of Spam cans. By the time he came back, we'd made a makeshift hobo pack from a jacket left on the back of a chair and I was ready to go.
"Okay, here." The ladder touched the wall a foot and a half under the vent. Merlin handed me a screwdriver to remove the vent cover, and up I went. A quick minute later, I handed the vent cover down to the guys and climbed up in, reaching out for the hobo pack. The fit wasn't as tight as I'd thought, and there was a surprising amount of light filtering in through the different vent openings along the length of the duct.
Scooching myself along, I made good time getting to the next vent. The screws took a little longer to remove from the inside. One popped out after the other, and the vent cover dropped to the floor with a clang.
All attention was on me. Untying the pack, I dropped one can in and watched for a reaction from the crowd below. "Go ahead, it's got brains in it," I told them. One of the guy zombies opened his eyes wide and I nodded. "Yeah. Promise." He shambled over toward the can and though he was able to pick it up, he couldn't open it. Oh. Right. Lack of dexterity.
Opening another can, I dumped the glop into the room. The same zombie looked up at me. "Arrghbuh."
"You're welcome." Apparently I still spoke zombie. Either that or I knew 'thanks man' in every language.
He sniffed the can. The look on his face was pure disgust.
"What's wrong? It's got brains in it. Go on, eat it."
The can flew with unerring accuracy back into the vent, barely missing my head. "Whoa, talk about lack of gratitude..."
Shimmying backwards, I slid to where I could see Todd and Merlin. "You guys saw that, right?"
"Yeah. I'm not sure what to make of it. Spam worked when we were turned," Merlin paced the room in front of the window. "What's different about this time? Has the virus mutated? Did Spam change their formula? What the hell..."
"Nothing has changed that much in a week or two. All we have to do is get them to eat it. Oscar, remember last time? It didn't take much prodding to get everyone to chow down once we heated it up."
"Yeah. Cold it was nasty, but warm it wasn't so bad."
Merlin snapped his fingers. "Bunsen burner. No problem. Be back in a flash, sit tight," he said as the two grabbed the cans and headed through the doorway to another room.
"Can I get a deck of cards? A book, maybe?" I called after them. No response. Not surprising. I cooled my jets and tapped out the beat to a song that had been circling my brain for the last hour. A thought occurred to me, one I couldn't deny. It was too good. Scooting toward the zombies again, I pulled up to the open vent hole.
"Hey, they're working on the cure now. It won't be long. But I need you guys to do something for me." After explaining what I wanted, there were several clumsy high-fives among the group and nods. They set their stage while I set mine.
Pulling my phone out of my pocket, I googled and found the song I needed, and readied the video camera function. "Ready?"
*~*~*~*~*
By the time Todd and Merlin returned with the hot Spam, I was scooted back to position and waiting.
"Here, take this." A heat resistant glove was handed up, followed by a cookie sheet and several beakers of bubbling goo.
"Oh, ugh," the smell was rancid.
"We know," Todd said. "We thought the metal sheet would be the easiest way to move all of them at once."
"Where'd you get it?"
"Upstairs. Tofu chick was still glued to the television, flipping channels like crazy. I don't think she even remembered we came in."
"Good thinking," my voice filtered back to them. I was already halfway to the zombie room.
As quickly as I could, I lifted the beakers and held them by the hot part, handing them down so the necks were free to grab by the people below. No sooner than I'd handed them down, the empties were coming back up. The process was repeated several times until everyone had eaten their fill.
One of the zombies bent over to pick up the vent cover for me and let out a green cloud of gas. Always a quick thinker, I didn't wait for the vent cover. Instead, I slapped the cookie sheet in place to cover the hole. Laying the beakers down carefully, end to end, I propped the makeshift cover in place and scooted backwards and out fast.
"Guys, get ready. It's already starting."
"That was good thinking, covering the hole."
"You don't know the half of it. The beakers are holding it in place."
"Right on, MacGyver," Todd slapped me on the back.
We watched the activity in the hive as one after another let out a cloud. Pretty soon the room was permeated with a greenish tint, and zombies began to drop. When the last one fell, we were finally able to look away from the window. Even Axle and the girls were passed out. I felt kind of sorry for them, but it really was their own fault they were in there, so...
"How long do you think it'll take before medics can get in there?" Merlin questioned.
"No idea. I was one of the passed out ones last time." Considering we'd survived the first round, I couldn't see that there was any hurry. "Let's let the Spam do its job until the air in there stops being green, at least. Here, let me show you what I did while you guys were playing Betty Crocker."
Pulling out my phone, we laughed until we cried while we played and replayed the video of actual zombies dancing to Thriller.
Once we'd laughed ourselves out, Merlin went topside to check on the progress of the medics. While we waited, Todd pulled up a stool and got comfortable playing a game on his phone. My thoughts returned to Asia and, by extension, Brian.
Moving into the next room for some privacy, I dialed her number. It rang three times before going to voicemail. As I was listening to her recorded message, my phone beeped. I had a text message waiting. It would hold.
"Hi, Asia, it's Oscar. Wanted to check on your brother, make sure he's alright. You're probably not able to pick up, so, now you've got my number too. Give me a call when you get a chance, let me know how he's doing." I didn't know what else to say, especially on a recording. There was so much I wanted to say, but face-to-face would be better. So I finished with, "I'm looking forward to hearing from you." With that, I ended the call.
Checking the text, it was from Asia.
Oscar?
Yes. I figured you're still at work and couldn't talk. How's your brother?
He's not awake yet.
Okay. Call or text me when he is?
I will. :)
Thanks. :)
My mind drifted through several scenarios in which I asked her out and we had fun on our dates. Dinner, a movie, hell, in my mind we even went to play miniature golf. We'd made it to imaginary date number three, the magic date, when Todd's impeccable timing interrupted my daydream.
He stood in the doorway, a shadow. "Dude, there you are. What are you doing sitting in the dark?"
"Making a quick call to Asia. Brian's not awake yet."
"Oh. Well, these guys," pointing over his shoulder in the general direction of the window, "won't be waking up any time soon, then, either."
; "Probably not." I followed him back out into the main room. "You want to go back to the library, get a few more hours in studying while we can?"
A gigantic yawn split his face almost in half. "Nah, man, I’m gonna go back to the dorm and crash. If I haven't memorized that stuff by now, I'd just be wasting my time."
"Yeah, you're probably right. Want to drop me at mine? I could use a few solid hours, myself."
"No problem. We can tell Merlin on our way out. "
*~*~*~*~*
Epilogue:
Three weeks later, all but one of the outbreak individuals had shaken the virus and was back to almost normal. The poor unlucky guy who hadn't gotten better was in a coma. They thought it was a result of some sort of anomaly in his brain that was set into motion by the virus and zombie-like effects. Nobody, including the doctors, had anything but speculation. Twenty-eight days later, he passed away. None of the circle of friends I ran with really knew Danny; it didn't matter, though. If there was anyone who didn't attend the funeral, I don't know who they were. Seemed everyone I'd ever seen on campus was there. Asia and Brian insisted on going with me, as well. The service overflowed into two additional churches, three outbuildings with video feeds, and the funeral procession to the graveyard was the longest in Aspen Grove history. His mother, even in her grief, thanked each one of us individually for coming as we left the graveside service.
We'd cured the virus twice now. What bothered me was that we were no closer now to finding out what the real cause was than we were at the beginning of either outbreak. Who knew if, or more likely when, it would recur.
Looked like The Pharmacy had a new focus, and I wanted to be a part of it.
The End, for now.
Lindy Spencer
Lindy Spencer has been killing people legally since 2012, and doesn't see it stopping any time soon. When she's not writing, she's probably reading, riding motorcycles, or shooting things with a Canon.
A complete list of her works can be found at www.LindySpencer.com
Red and yellow eyes:An Irish Zombie Journal
By Christopher Mahood
Date recovered: October 12
Item: Journal entry.
Details: Found on reverse of a selection of cardboard boxes that once contained cheap brand Lagers.
Location: Block E Scrabo flats, Newtownards, County Down, Northern Ireland
Feb 14
It’s been a week since I last saw someone. Well, I’ve seen people but not People if you know what I mean? Yea, I know you do! If you’re reading this then someone made it, well done. I should’ve attached a medal to the back of this or something? I don’t know; consider this a certificate then if you will. Something to add to your C.V…Whatever. The shit talking has begun.
My name is Garry; (with two rs) I can be pernickety if I want. It’s the bloody apocalypse for God’s sake! I haven’t eaten or had a proper drink in over 4 days so forgive me if I’m a bit pissed off! Anyway, as I was saying, my name is Garry George O’Huit, but only my Da called me that. My mates called me Rolls. It’s stupid like, have to have a wee chuckle about it. Aye, I know I hate “in jokes” too. Stupid. Let me explain. I have always had to explain the RR in my name. Everyone has always thought I spelt my own flippin name wrong. Blame my Da; Garry is the Ulster Scott way to spell it. He was so proud of that. Being an orange man and all, I suppose he had to be. But then again there aren’t many orange men with the surname O’Huit (which is Irish, but don’t tell any of the lads at the lodge).
Where was I? Oh aye, so I’ve always said “the names Garry, with two Rs” It just kind of rolled off the tongue as I got older. So much so that I don’t even realise I’m saying it any more. My buck ejjitt mates picked up on the two r thing and called me “RR” which turned into Rolls Royce, which in turn just ended up as Rolls. Either that or it’s a sly wee dig at my gut! I used to be a fat bastard but the `Zombie Diet’ seems to be working for me! Print that in women’s own, you heard it here first. Basically starve yourself because there is feck all to get your hands on, and when you do the smell of rotting corpses tends to put you off your oxtail soup! So aye, this is me, Big Rolls, sitting on my fat arse in the front room of my shitty flat for weeks, in beautiful Newtownards! Centre of the universe didn’t you know? Like hell, and, the view is shit.
Let me start from the beginning. Well not the very beginning, I’m sure you are aware of what happened? Unless you’re a super recluse with a passion for golf once a year. Let me sum it up. It started off as a virus, headaches, sickness, the shits and then that escalated quickly to people collapsing, heart attacks and dying on the spot. Finally corpses awoke in the morgues, hospitals and even a few during cremation services. I always found that funny, but then again, I’m a sick bastard so I find most things funny.
Feb 16
After a few days the country ground to a halt. Stormont shut up shop. The rich gits up on the hill, who don’t have much of a clue at the best of times, decided to reach out to Westminster for advice and aid. They got neither. What they got was a ban on transport, trade and contact. The country was surrounded by British and American warships. No one was leaving the emerald isle. People then took to the skies! Have you ever seen 3 people in a microliter? No? I have, it didn’t make it very far. Left the ground for 3 minutes before it made an emergency water `landing’ in Strangford lough. You know the log flume at amusement parks? Yea, it looked a lot like that. Only they didn’t get the photo in the cardboard folder after. Just a face full of seaweed, stones and each other. Stupid bastards. Even the lucky ones who took off in private 4 or 12 man planes didn’t make it too far. The RAF used those ones as target practice. They lit the sky up!
Rich bastards with their private planes, they probably deserved it! So to put it lightly Ireland was fucked! As they say however, every cloud has a silver lining! The Provos and Shinners had finally got the independence they had been longing for! Bitter sweet.
That’s when the rioting began. If you know the people of Ulster you will know that we don’t need much of an excuse for a good old riot. It started as usual. Bottles, bricks and stones all hurled at the police. But after a few days of shouting and the odd water cannon the PSNI had no orders, no plan and no purpose. So they started fighting back. All those marked men, and `community leaders’ that had left the paramilitary days behind them in favour of dealing drugs to kids under the table and collecting the big fat government check and lottery funding. They were fair game now. No red tape to hide behind. They were known and the people they had hurt were no longer scared. That kicked off pretty large.
Feb 17
I’m not some know it all who has his fingers in all the gossip! No, UTV still worked for a few weeks so I stayed up to date with local politics while there was money in the metre. I will be honest with you, it all seemed distant to me all the way down in Newtownards. That was until the boys that usually collected money every week for cleaning the windows decided to accept payment in petrol. I saw them one afternoon, just saunter on up to my car, open the cap and start siphoning it into a jerry can! Wee shits, gave the both of them a right hiding!
They didn’t try my car again but I’m sure they worked the way down the street seeing what they could get away with! That was only the beginning. As days went on, the raiding began, first was the shops in the town, then a few spars then big time when they hit Tesco! I’m not going to lie to you! I was in too! Trollies full of tinned food, batteries , camping stuff, sheets, candles, matches, dog food, bags full of Aspirin, Paracetamol, ibuprofen and as many drugs as I could fit, you name it.
I even hit the wine mark on the way home. Got myself 8 bottles of Jameson 21 years for the low low price of one broken window! I was amazed at how many numptys were stealing TVs, Xbox games, phones, iPad! I even saw a total legend driving a sit-on lawnmower with a 52” flat screen on the back, down the jewel carriageway. Even now I laugh at the big shit-eating grin on that man’s face! It was fun for a while. I even went to B&Q got myself an axe. Wireless Na
il gun and shit load of nails. Shame there are no guns to be found by the everyday man in Northern Ireland! Nail guns did the trick.
My hands are getting really cold. Going to try and start a new game as an Ork mage. Skyrim you beautiful game!
Feb 18
As the days went on I saw less and less people from my flat in the Scrabo estate. After the first few days everyone had tried to leave. Everyone had packed cars, caravan and driven off to the “safe zones” I knew that would be a pile of balls! So I stayed put. Played some Xbox, smoked some weed, drank my Bushmills 16 year whiskey until I passed out most nights. My phone had smashed after a run-in with a crazy, 5 foot tall, bitch in Tesco who was trying to steer 3 trollies full of WKD, pizza and cigarettes. It didn’t bother me too much. I had no family after the old man passed away.
My mother had died when I was very young and I had no brothers or sisters or cousins or anyone really. No girlfriend or wife. I couldn’t be bothered with the hassle! I had a few over the years but it’s just not for me. All that sharing and feelings and crap. Nah, no thanks. A wee quick shag every now and then was all I needed. My Xbox, beer, porn, pam and her 5 friends were all I really needed. You know what I mean!
Feb 20
Can’t be arsed with the Xbox any more. Boring piece of shit, where was I? Oh yes, I was happy enough here in the flat for a while until the streets were empty. That was weird I have to say. No cars or busses. No sound really; just the occasional distant dog barking, bins falling, and doors slamming. Even that stopped after a while. It’s hard to explain the feeling of silence when you live in the middle of a tight, busy council estate.
All Things Zombie: Chronology of the Apocalypse Page 22