The Diary of Jill Woodbine: A Novel of Love, Lies, and the Zombie Apocalypse

by Jay Smith

  Behind the big shiny desk overlooking a lot of shiny tabletops and fluffy chairs sat Paul Hansome.

  Fate was cruel to Mr. Hansome, because his smooth, wedding DJ voice did not match the patchwork stitching of grafted skin and scar tissue. He had wild, sandy surfer hair and a big blue left eye next to its squinty right partner that gave him a slightly crazed look. His position under the track lighting informed me that he wanted me to see and react to his appearance. Having seen what the dead look like after days or weeks, this was nothing new or terrifying. He tried to make up for his face with a bright, obnoxious Hawaiian shirt. If he was actually wearing pants, I couldn’t tell. He greeted me with an expression I later came to identify as “a smile.”

  "What's new, Nancy Drew?"

  "Same shit, Brad Pitt. How are you and your merry band of Morlocks this morning?"

  "It's actually late afternoon. I know, it gets weird not knowing the time...the day...the season. Plays with your head a bit."

  There was an awkward silence where I studied the bookshelves and he stared at me like some self-important shift manager at a Wendy’s conducting a job interview.

  I tried to move things along with a not-so-obvious question. "Whose office is this?"

  "Sorry?"

  "You told me you set me up in your office. You either have two offices or this is the office of someone far more important. There are a lot more books that probably no one has read. From the flags and the Staples catalog furnishings, I imagine this was a FEMA director's office. You can stop trying; I already think you’re am impressive person."

  "Did you read Encyclopedia Brown as a kid, too? I always wanted Bugs Meany to beat the crap out of that little, pretentious little bastard."

  "I take it you’re upset that I crashed your mad science club?"

  "Hardly. You passed our test. Congrats."

  "Oh, nice. You set a pretty low bar if the test required turning knobs and walking stairs."

  "What if I told you that you'd been recruited?"

  "I'd sit here quietly while you explained that to me."

  "Let me ask you something first: Do you think that the trained chimps upstairs in HG World are even capable of running a hardware store, much less a society at the end of the civilization?"

  I laughed. "No."

  "Of course you don't. That's why you started your little newspaper and started asking questions. Part of it was to find Molly, of course, but you needed that little push to get you started. Once you started pulling on that thread, you didn't stop when the answers got uncomfortable."

  "Who are you people?"

  "Well, we used to be FEMA. Some of us are National Guard and Homeland Security…others we pulled from the lines outside the warehouse and even the warehouse itself. We even have a former state Senator down here with us. He's an idiot, so we have him working the kitchen. He made your breakfast this morning. When our regular command fell apart we decided to follow our last orders as best we could. We're here to protect the people upstairs until either the food runs out, help arrives or this all blows over."

  That seemed to me to be a slightly optimistic assessment of our situation, so I pressed him: "What’s the best option right now?"

  "Well, local money's on starvation, contamination, disease or - my favorite - internal uprising. Your Mayor is cracked. That Jack guy is pretty much shattered. And Jebediah? Holy crap, if you knew the kind of stuff he does upstairs on his private time...whoo-ee."

  "What kind of stuff?"

  "You remember that guy who tried to break out of HG World? Garrison I think his name was. He broke out through a fire door and two really stupid constables chased him out."

  I remembered that man clearly. He was separated from his family when the doors closed. He was the last one inside.

  "I personally would have just let the poor guy go, but they got him back inside kicking and screaming. Problem was that one of the constables got jumped by an eater. I'd say that's a win for Darwin, but turns out that it was The Mayor's son. So the Mayor gave Garrison over to Jebediah for 'punishment'"

  "I assume that means they tortured him."

  "At first, that's exactly what they did. But then they broke him. Now he's something of a...I dunno…I hear Jeb calls him a whiny little meat puppet."

  Jebediah: Warrior Poet. Prison rapist. "I didn't know any of that. I guess I'm not all that good a snoop."

  "I don't know. You got onto the roof. You got the constables talking. You hacked into Ruby’s computer and managed to get past our firewall into MILNET…pretty sneaky stuff. You’re lucky we let you down here. Jack and Jeb were getting ready to shut you up permanently. Oh yes. Why do you think they took you out of a quad dorm and put you in a private dollhouse outside and away from the main group? Their love of journalism?”

  I let that one process a moment and Paul sat back in his chair. His big eye narrowed briefly and, after a pause he said, "You really didn't know, do you? Hmm. On the plus side, I think if Jeb didn't get his sweet release one way or another, I suspect the showroom floor upstairs would just be a gallery of corpses and tractor supplies by now."

  “Is Molly part of your “sweet release” service, too?”

  His crooked smiled opened to perfect white teeth. “Oh, your sweet ‘Red Molly’. Romance is not dead. No, dear-heart: Molly works for us, but sex is not one of her essential functions. You know about her little Bible. So whatever she did to get it back…leotards, ice skates, pigtails...whatever… She’s off the clock for that stuff. I told her that I’d bring ole Jack down here for a chat about it, but she asked me not to. So please don’t paint me the dirty misogynist. That’s Hank. And you should be proud of your Miss Molly. She played Hank and Jack like one of the The Harlem Globetrotters. Or is that too old a reference?”

  He planted a seed of doubt to see what might take root. If she was playing them, naturally I should think she's playing me. I didn't take the bait.

  “So what did you recruit me for?”

  “To business, then! Frankly, you're smart, resourceful, young and once you get over your sentimentality about how we handle the dead I think you'll come to understand our mission and want to help us. Molly gets it. Most of us get it. Frankly, the ones who don't just don't care.”

  “What is your mission? What do I need to 'get'?”

  “Mainly, we sit on a pile of food, supplies, guns and ammo. It's not something we want the general public upstairs to know about. It's best if everyone involved thinks we have just enough crazy rednecks with freedom sticks to defend a pillbox rated to withstand a Michael Bay disaster movie. The management knows and we supply them with enough resources to keep the people sheeplike and in line, plus a little extra as a bonus for not being complete screw ups and causing a riot. Mainly that's catering to their desires a little. Ruby gets make-up or a new dress, Jack gets pornography or steak... it's all about customer relations down here. “

  “But I'm dead, you said. How can I help with that?”

  “You can't, obviously, but we do need help with keeping this shop running down here. We take care of the really sick and the infected down here. We bury the dead. We ration supplies. We even talk to folks on the outside form time to time. So yeah, you make a fine point about us being the Morlocks to their Eloi. Yeah. Got the reference. I went to college, too."

  "What about Diana Rubell?"

  "Who?"

  He delighted in the sight of my reddening cheeks. It hit him suddenly and he tilted back in his chair, snapping his fingers. "Right. The test subject with the baby. Sorry. I'm not on the medical staff. I don't know from names. What about her?"

  "Why do you keep them in there?"

  "For science, of course. Why else would I keep two highly contagious killing machines so close to my staff? I understand we're studying them in the increasingly futile attempt to find a cure...or maybe some easier way to turn them off than cracking open their skulls. We're studying the rate of decomposition and decreasing viability. I understand your position being the ide
alistic young college student who thinks everyone can and should be saved, but when they arrived here Mommy and Baby were already infected."

  "You couldn't have done something more than watch them die?"

  "We did do more than watch them die. You had the reports with you and you took your time reading them, so you know all the tests we performed, all the samples we took." He waited for that to sink in and added. "Yes, we've been watching you for a while, Jill."

  “So you let them suffer,” I pressed on.

  “I'm not going to be pulled into a moral debate with you, Jill. I'm not the Dean of Liberal Asshole University and you're not in a position to push your first-world butthurt agenda.” He pulled a stack of brown folders out of a side drawer of his desk and tossed them over to my side. “Here's some light reading for you. Every HG World built since 2005 has the same set-up. They were designed to respond to a global catastrophic event. We didn't pick this particular crisis as the most likely, but here we are. In the event of a global pandemic, we were set up to research and continue trying to defeat the disease by any means necessary. If that means living human test subjects, then that's what we do. I have never infected a healthy subject and I have always made sure that we remain, above all, human beings. If you disagree, call your Congressman or try to organize a flash mob. But if you want to join us in the world that exists now and try to do something about it, I recommend looking into the work we've done. Those folders contain a half dozen test cases we pulled form right outside the main doors of HG World. These are people who came to us in varying degrees of infection. We shared our research with the other sites and with the United Nations research team in Makwe (MAHk-weh) New York. If not for them, we would have no idea about the rate of infection, if you could be a carrier... little things that point us toward a new way to fight back.”

  “Good speech.”

  “You like that? I used a variation on it for Krantz and Molly. Worked for them. How about you?”

  “SO all that research...what did their sacrifice tell you?”

  “Essentially? ‘Burn it with fire.’ There is no cure. It's not really a disease. It's more a parasite that's very intelligent. Over generations, it is trying to learn how to be us...like some kind of body snatcher. Killing us is only necessary because it doesn't know how to overcome the human will. Some think that whatever gets into our head cannot conceive of our memories or sensations and has to shut it all off in order to focus on working our bodies correctly.”

  “A body snatcher. Like in the movies.”

  “Well, or like a voodoo zombie, but controlled from inside.”

  We liked what we saw, realized that you could do some damage up there and though it best to bring you in to help us. That's why we sent Molly after you."

  "Wait...you sent her after me?"

  "Look. It's not all cloak and dagger spooky ass spy stuff, kid. We hang out, smoke weed, play Xbox...one of the guys brews his own beer. It's really not bad. So long as we can keep those idiots upstairs from turning the sheep into rams we have a good time...”

  “Until we all starve or freeze or...”

  “Change is coming, my dear Miss Woodbine. Like I said, we talk to the outside world and things aren't as bleak as you were lead to believe.”

  “I've seen the outside, remember? It's a mob of eaters out into the valley.”

  “The valley isn't the world. The world really hasn't ended. It just changed. A lot. You earned a place in the body that will re-imagine the world. You know what? Look around. Have Molly show you the operation. If you don't like it or it's too much for your sensibilities, we'll figure something out. There are people on the outside “ two kids...Virgil Hicks and Ronni somethin'r other. They can take you out of here.” There’s this great quote by this 17th century Japanese guy called Bunan. I hope you take it to heart. ‘Die while you’re alive and be absolutely dead. Then do whatever you want. It’s all good.’ Do you understand what I’m talking about, Jill Woodbine?”

  “Maybe I’ve had too much crypto-Scooby Doo shit to decode today, but no.”

  “Then go. Be with your Red Molly. Ponder why your old life is so important…then consider the singular chance you have to die. And then do whatever you want.”

  Behind the Patchwork Surfer façade, I knew that was a lie. It was clear to me from his tone and his Snidely Whiplash narrative that if I didn’t agree: I'd never see daylight again. This was my final test.

  CHAPTER TWENTY – RESURRECTION FROM CLEVELAND

  Part 1

  Back in the waiting room, I found Molly sitting on a couch with her feet propped up on one arm, her head propped up on three fat pillows. The two goons were gone and she was reading her Bible under the glow of the table lamp behind her. She looked very peaceful and I didn't want to disturb that moment, but she heard me coming and closed the book. I had her full attention.

  "Did he spank you? Was he naughty?” Her devilish eyes were disarming.

  "It felt more like an interrogation," I replied. "But not sure for what. Sounds like you guys were watching me pretty close."

  Molly stood up from the couch and walked toward me. "I'm sure you handled yourself fine." She wrapped her arms around my shoulders and smiled. The last time she held me that close she had the weight of the world in her eyes. Now, she seemed very much at peace. If it was an act, the lie was so perfect she believed it herself. "Like I said, Paul can be a dick, but he has to be sometimes. If he thought you were lying about things, you wouldn’t be here with me right now.”

  “Where would I be?”

  Instead of answering, she brightened her smile and closed her arms around my shoulders to whisper, “You have two options at this point. I can take you to lunch and introduce you to some of the boys. Or. I can show you where I live."

  I had a big breakfast.

  Molly’s quarters were similar to Paul’s, but smaller. She’d done very little to personalize it, saying “It ain’t my home. I just sleep here.” It was warmly lit by fancy-looking lamps on more of the same glossed pressboard tables, waiting room couches and chairs, with a full-size bed thrown in where the official’s desk would have been. While the office had no real windows, it did offer two large light boxes on one wall, designed to look like office windows shades by blinds. I admit, it provided a refreshing illusion of sunlight. She had her own bathroom alcove off to one side and a nice sound system made up of a quartet of Bose speakers and an laptop.

  Molly and I talked a little while. She offered me a glass of scotch that I turned down. She filled half an orange juice glass from a stainless steel flask she kept in a drawer and filled the rest with cola. “I’m off the rest of the day,” she said proudly. “I’m all yours.”

  I felt like we were squatting in a museum. On one wall, the last democratically elected President stared out at me like everything was still under control. To his left, the Director of FEMA looked like a woman clearly unprepared for the weight of her responsibility. She looked like a grandma preparing for a happy twilight with a litter of grandchildren to keep her company. FEMA manuals gathered dust on the shelves.

  “What do you do here, exactly?”

  It seemed a logical question to ask Molly. From Paul’s description she was something of a go-between, known to the management of HG World and the Down Under. I was curious if there were others with similar double lives. The rest of it – assisting Paul in my orientation to this brave, new world – didn’t seem like a full time job. She kept the Bible in her lap and stared off into nowhere.

  “A lot of things,” she replied. “I used to deliver messages and goods upstairs. I’d go to the managers whenever they did something or were thinking about doing something stupid and let them know Paul’s thoughts on the subject. I played the role of Hank’s little play toy so we could keep the contraband flowing through the warehouse. I…”

  “Hang on,” I interrupted. “Could you explain that role a little better?”

  Her smile was one of amusement, but she kept staring out into the
somewhere world. “I never slept with him. I only slept with people I wanted to sleep with. Before you ask me ‘who’ ask yourself if you really want the answer. And, no, I did not sleep with Jack. I know that’s been bugging you.”

  The idea of “others” bothered me, too, but Jack was clearly my biggest concern after Hank. Was that possessive or insecure of me to ask? I don’t know, but given the opportunity for answers, I took it. “What about the…the ice skates…the torn, bloody costume?”

  “I’m sorry. I really wanted to tip you off somehow about that. Jack had Jebediah deliver that to scare you so you’d stop being such a nosey pain in the butt. I kinda wish you had. But Jack…” she trailed off for a moment and, as her eyes turned back toward me, her smile melted into something between regret and nostalgia. “I thought Jack just wanted to have me, y’know? A lot of older guys seemed to…I mean before all this. Something about a young girl, the chase, the conquering…you know what I’m saying?”