The Romero Strain

by Alan, TS

  “Suck ju lei go see fut long,” I yelled at her. She was taken aback. She gave me a bewildered look. “Yes, I understand Cantonese,” I told her.

  “Enough of the bullshit,” Jack demanded. “And enough of the zombie crap.” He was clearly trying to irritate me, even more than he had all ready. “There are no zombies, there are no dead people walking around. It’s a couple of––”

  “Of what…? Well?”

  Jack refused to believe what he had seen, and was rebuking my explanation. He had witnessed something beyond his comprehension. What was he to make of a reality where seeing wasn’t believing? After all, if he could not trust his own eyes, what could he trust?

  Having a discipline in martial arts and having embraced Chinese philosophy and spiritualism, I truly believed, without trepidation, that the impossible was possible, the unbelievable believable, and the absurd reasonable.

  “They’re terrorists. And security will take care of them.”

  “They’re terrorists and security will take care of them,” I repeated, in a mocking tone, as I shook out the remaining water from Max’s bowl, folded it, and repacked it into his carrier harness. “You’re such a complete fuckwit. Terrorists! Terrorists that look all fucked up and are going around killing and eating people. And how do you explain that?” I pointed at the strange looking torso, which still spun in circles.

  “Explain what… that? It’s a nerve reaction, like a chicken with its head cut off.”

  “A chicken! Oh, you know what? I’m done talking to you because it’s obvious you are the biggest moron I’ve ever met… and what about you?” I asked David. “Does that look like a nervous reaction to you?”

  “No,” he responded.

  “Thank the Creator,” I praised. “A man of intelligence.”

  “That doesn’t mean I believe that Tarman has risen from the grave.”

  Torso boy let out a screech that startled us all. We looked; the thing was facedown on the ground, twitching. It stopped. It had finally bled out.

  “Yeah,” I said softly. “A fuckin’ chicken.” I took Max’s leash and Marisol hand, leading them away.

  David asked, “Dude, where you going?”

  “Out the next exit I find. And the name is J.D.,” I informed him.

  “You want to convince me you’re telling the truth?” David asked, following with his co-workers in tow.

  “You must believe me if you’re coming with us.”

  “Yeah, sure. But humor us, anyways.”

  I answered him with an Inigo Montoya line from one of my favorite movies, The Princess Bride. It was the line about too much to ’splain, so he had to sum up.

  David gave me a knowing look.

  I gave them the CliffsNotes version. David and Julie seemed to accept the fact that I was telling them what I thought was the truth, though they weren’t ready to believe that the world was being taken over by the living dead, even though they had witnessed their co-workers being ripped apart.

  Jack on the other hand… well, he adamantly denounced everything I said, including what he had seen.

  “That proves nothing. A few murders and the flu doesn’t mean the world is ending. You have to be stupid to listen to this crap. I say we get out at 20th Street, turn these two over to the police, and have them sent to Bellevue,” Jack said, trying to take charge.

  Instead of getting into another verbal altercation with the idiot, I ignored him, as did everyone. I asked David, “How much farther?”

  “A couple hundred more yards,” he replied.

  “Then lead on, Macduff,” I said, waving my arm in front of me, giving him the go-ahead.

  “Did you know that is a common misquote of Macbeth’s final lines? It should be, ‘Lay on Macduff, and damn’d be him that first cries, ‘Hold, enough!’”

  “Really,” I said, astonished. “That’s the college degree at work?”

  “I minored in literature.”

  “Far cry from… what are you?” I asked, not knowing exactly what his job was.

  “Engineer.”

  “Engineer,” I repeated. “You know without that beard and short hair you almost look like DD Dominion.”

  “Careful. I resemble that remark.”

  “No fuckin’ way.” I looked at him with astonishment. He was being sincere. “Really?”

  “Really.”

  “Who’s DD Dominion?” Marisol asked.

  “Who’s DD Dominion!?” I was astounded that she didn’t know. “I take it you don’t listen to Rock.”

  “No. I listen to R&B.”

  “The engineer here was in one of New York’s biggest bands about twelve years back. I used to see them play when they were called Sister Awake. That was before they got huge. When they got signed to Sony they became The Dominion. Their last album went double platinum. When they came from their tour of Europe and Japan, they did a free fan appreciation show at Roseland, before they kicked off their sold-out North American tour. The show was amazing. Unfortunately it was their last.”

  “Why?” Julie interjected.

  Apparently everyone had been listening to my rave review. I looked at David.

  “It’s okay,” he said. “It was a long time ago.”

  I finished. “His brother, CC, OD’d that night after the show. And that was the end of the band.”

  “Dead?” Marisol asked.

  “Dead,” David said.

  “Sorry.”

  “It’s okay,” he told Marisol. “Like I said, it was a long time ago.”

  “So, Julie,” I said, “What are you?”

  She was still a bit miffed. Her response was slightly unpleasant and defensive. “What do you mean, ‘What are you?’”

  “A little hostile are we? Caught you off guard with the Cantonese? Just wanted to know what your title was. If you don’t want to talk to me, then… whatever.”

  She hesitated for a moment, deciding if she really wanted to converse with the man who told her to shut her ass.

  “I’m an Associate Engineer,” she finally said. “Just started… and how do you know Cantonese?”

  “Paramedic. I work for Saint Vincent’s. Chinatown is part of my coverage area. My first partner was Chinese. She taught me enough to communicate with patients, and of course, some great profanity. She could swear like a drunken sailor on shore-leave, but she was a damn fine EMT.”

  We arrived at an exit point.

  We stood before the egress. I expected to find something out of Das Boot––grey in color, water tight with a big wheel. But it was just a plain stainless steel door with a handle.

  “This is 20th Street,” David said. “We can try here.”

  There were three doors where the passage ended. One was marked Exit – 20th Street. Jack opened the door to reveal a metal staircase that ascended a long way up.

  “No lock?” I asked.

  “It locks on the outside. It’s meant to keep people out, not to keep them in.”

  “Yeah, I got it, Jack. I don’t need a soliloquy,” I retorted.

  “I’ll go first,” Jack called out, eagerly volunteering.

  “Lay on, McGruff.” He hadn’t a clue to what I was referring.

  The shaft up was six feet wide by ten feet tall, slightly smaller than the tunnel we were about to exit. The stairs were in sections, each about twenty feet up with a landing. It appeared to be constructed of heavy duty, high-grade aluminum with a slip resistant stair surface.

  “Gee, David, couldn’t conEd afford better stairs?” I commented sarcastically.

  “They’re maintenance free and durable for a long life-cycle. Plus it was easier to install than galvanized steel,” he replied, matter-of-factly.

  We ascended the stairs. Jack led the way, in a hurry to get to the top so he could have Marisol and I arrested. David followed, then Max, Julie, me, and finally Marisol. As we approached the midway mark, I could see Jack trying to use his cell phone, to no avail.

  We climbed what seemed to be an endless numbe
r of stairs before getting to the top platform. Though the exit tunnel remained the same dimension, the top platform was a bit wider. The final set of steps was narrower and steeper, perhaps eight feet high, more ladder than stairs.

  As Max and I stepped onto the last landing, Max stopped and growled.

  “David,” I said, “Max is warning us not to exit.”

  “Fuck you and your dog,” Jack said, reaching for the hatch release.

  “Jack, don’t!” David warned, but it was too late.

  Jack pushed up on the galvanized steel grating that led to the sidewalk. He turned around and looked at us as the exit grate fully opened.

  “See,” he said, as he bent down to look at us from the top step. “Where are your zombies now? I told you he was full of sh—”

  A multitude of hands reached down and grabbed him by his hair and clothing. We heard his screams as his kicking feet disappeared through the opening into the late morning sky. His cries of terror turned to shrieks of agony, and abruptly stopped.

  “Close the hatch!” I screamed, as I pulled my pistol from my waistband. Dead pale faces peered down, hungry with a thirst for blood. It was too late; our only escape was to go back.

  There had been no screams from Marisol or Julie when Jack had been plucked from the stairs by the flesh-devouring horde. Max had not barked until the undead appeared at the access panel, looking down at us. He stopped when I silenced him and ordered him to retreat.

  As the undead tried to descend the ladder, they fell, one after another, landing on the platform on top of each other. It appeared that the undead couldn’t descend steep steps. This bought us time, a minute. We were three quarters of the way down, but the door we had come through was closed, which meant it was locked. Had we condemned ourselves to the proverbial corner to await the slaughter?

  “David,” I yelled. “Tell me Jack wasn’t the one with the key to that door.”

  A resounding “No” came from him. “I have it.”

  David fumbled the set of keys from his pocket, and spent a moment finding the master for the lock.

  The undead were descending the last set of steps. I turned around to fire.

  “Anytime, David!”

  I shot, missed. Again, chest shot. The door opened. Gut shot, gut shot. Luck was no longer on my side. Throat shot. They were near the bottom. Finally, head shot. It fell. A few others tripped over him and they fell. Everyone was through the door except Max and me.

  I ordered Max through and backed into the archway as they were upon me. One grabbed my right arm, which held the gun. It sunk its teeth into me. I struggled not to release the pistol from my grip. I pulled my body across the threshold, pulling the undead thing with me. A shot rang out; its grip released and it flew back into his allies. David and I slammed the door closed, snapping off a few of its fingers.

  I looked at Marisol; my ears were ringing. She had her pistol in hand. “I figured it out,” she said, and smiled. She didn’t know I had been bitten.

  I had abraded my hand as I pulled myself free, but that was the least of my problems. Blood trickled down my arm. David saw and asked if I was all right. But the answer was no. A bite from a cat, a dog, or even a human, could cause a severe bacterial infection if not treated promptly. In extreme cases it could cause death. This was one of those extreme cases.

  “Can we get to a safe place?” I asked him. “I should wrap this. And we should stay away from the door. They can probably smell blood.”

  “Yeah,” David said.

  “Up the tunnel—”

  “Blood!” Julie interrupted. “Whose blood?”

  “—a ways.” I finished, without acknowledging Julie’s question.

  Julie saw my arm and screamed.

  “Jesus Christ Superstar!” I yelled. “Shut the fuck up.”

  She wouldn’t.

  David grabbed her and covered her mouth. She kicked and swatted at David as he dragged her up the tunnel.

  I turned to her once we were safely up the tunnel. “You gonna shut your trap, missy, or does David need to strangle you?”

  She nodded her head up and down.

  “Is that yes, David should strangle you?”

  She mumbled, “No.”

  “Christ,” I said. “Just shut up. You act as if you’re the one that got bit.”

  David released Julie. Marisol had not yet seen the blood.

  “What’s going on?” Marisol asked, sounding slightly panicked.

  “He’s bit. That thing bit him and he’s gonna be one of them!” Julie informed her, a sense of fear in her voice.

  “What!?” Marisol exclaimed.

  “Look at his arm,” she told Marisol.

  I walked over to Julie.

  “Don’t get near me,” she warned, as she backed against the wall and cowered.

  I walked to her with an evil look upon my face, looked her dead in the eyes, and yelled, “Boo!”

  She slunk to the floor and cried.

  “That wasn’t very nice,” Marisol scolded.

  “For fuck sake,” I replied, exasperated. “I’m the one who got bit. I should be the one who freaks out.”

  Marisol was disturbed. She tried to examine my arm.

  “No!” I firmly responded to her act of kindness, though I wasn’t trying to be cruel. “You can’t touch it. I’m infected. Remember what I told you? If you want to help, help me take my pack off. I need to clean and wrap it.”

  “I guess you’re pretty fucked,” David said. “How long do you think you have?”

  “My medical opinion, eight to twelve hours before symptoms manifest. Depending on the virulency I may have another six… maybe twelve hours after that.”

  I poured some Bacitracin over the wound, which I had retrieved from my pack.

  “Sucks for you, man.”

  I spoke to Marisol. “Take out the red pouch. You should find some latex gloves in it. Please put them on.” I turned to David. “23rd Street exit like this one?”

  “Yes.”

  “I have a small radio. We need to know what’s going on up there. I want to climb up to the next exit and see if I can get any news.”

  I turned back to Marisol and handed her the open multi-tool that I had removed from my belt. “Would you cut some long strips of tape for me?”

  Marisol was silent as she helped me.

  A plague or pandemic wouldn’t happen in several hours. I wouldn’t turn into a flesh-eating reanimated corpse immediately after being bitten, like in the movies I loved watching. Even the most virulent pathogenic strain takes at least eight to twelve hours to complete its incubation period. I figured I was fine for a while, but the outside world must have been infected overnight.

  VII. Fear in the City of the Living Dead

  I sat on the platform at the 23rd and Avenue C exit just below the steep set of steps. I thought about what had happened to Jack and it angered me. I felt anger, not because he was dead, for his stupidity and arrogance had caused his demise, but anger toward myself, for I was partly to blame. My hostility had brought upon his contempt of me, which in turn brought upon his lack of judgment in opening the hatch. The longer I dwelled upon it, the angrier I became with myself. As a paramedic, no matter how many precautions I’d take, there was always a possibility of contracting a deadly disease from a patient. What had happened was done and I had to deal with the consequences of my actions. Brooding and self-pity was useless. My imminent undeath would happen, and though there was nothing I could do about it, there was something I could do for my remaining comrades: help them find sanctuary.

  I sat as quiet and motionless as possible as I tried to find a station on my radio, listening through a cheap pair of ear buds.

  … is Barry Champion for WPOD Radio. The New York City Office of Emergency Management has issued a state of emergency for all five boroughs. As of twelve noon, all train and subway services have been suspended. All bridges and tunnels, along with The FDR Drive and the Westside Highway, are closed. A ban on mo
tor vehicle traffic is also in effect; this prohibition does not extend to emergency response and recovery vehicles, public safety vehicles, utility vehicles, and vehicles carrying essential personnel or supplies.

  All Office of Emergency Management personnel, Department of Environmental Protection, Department of Health and Mental Hygiene, law enforcement, fire department, conEdison power station, telecommunications engineers and technicians, and all hospital personnel, should report to work immediately. Anyone not requested to report to work should stay home or at their place of employment. Stay inside. Do not attempt to go out. If you are caught out and are unauthorized, you will be considered contagious and detained.

  In spite of this order and warning, we have reports that streets and highways are packed with frantic people. The safest course of action at this time is to stay where you are.

  The origin of this mass epidemic is unknown at this time. The first symptoms of this undetermined illness are high fever and chills, followed by disorientation, irritability, and the inability to concentrate. If you, or anyone you know, are showing signs of these symptoms, we urge you to call 9-1-1 immediately for medical assistance.

  We here at WPOD have received consistent reports from witnesses to the effect that people are acting as if they are in some kind of frenzy and are on a killing rampage. The injured and sick are eating the flesh of their victims. Authorities at the Office of Emergency Management in Manhattan have repeatedly issued the statement that they cannot comment on these reports. Reaction of police officials at this hour is one of complete exasperation. Law enforcement and emergency ambulances are deluged with calls for help. Do not venture outside for any reason until the nature of this crisis has been determined. Keep listening to WPOD Radio for special instructions as this crisis further develops.

  Once again, the New York City Office of Emergency Management has issued a state of emergency for all five boroughs. All office and factory workers are being instructed to stay at their places of employment. Do not attempt to get home. All train and subway service has been suspended. All bridges and tunnels, along with The FDR Drive and the Westside Highway, are closed. A ban on motor vehicle traffic is—