Resurrection X

by Dane Hatchell

  “And tonight, tonight has been unbelievable. You did all of this for me. You’ve opened your heart and are willing to share the greatest gift between a man and a woman with me. I’m overwhelmed. Overwhelmed to the point I don’t even feel worthy enough to be here.

  “Can you forgive me for what I’ve done? For what my actions have done to others in the past? I could have made things so much better for the Non-Dead. I thought of them . . . treated them like animals. Even when the Democrats made valid points I ignored them. I ignored them so big business could continue making huge profits. I became nothing but a willing slave master.” Rick cleared his throat. “Can you forgive me, Lisa, for everything I’ve done to make your life so difficult?”

  Lisa sighed. “Rick, shut up, and fuck me.”

  Chapter 33

  A flatbed truck idled in front of the closed gates of the North Dallas Non-Dead Institution. Normie Cantrell tapped his fingernails on the steering wheel and checked the time on his watch. It was a quarter until midnight. “Got here earlier than I expected,” he said aloud.

  Darkness shrouded the area beyond the gate. Nearly half the overhead lights around the main building were out. Normie waited with the headlights off. A red warning light atop the empty guard shack provided faint illumination of the gate.

  After he checked his watch again, Normie’s contact stepped out the shadows, pulling a lanyard from underneath his shirt. Warden Samuel Cain fumbled with the attached cardkey and ran it through the scanner two times before the red light above the guard shack switched to green. The clink of gears and chains rubbing together chimed over the warm hum of the electric motor as the two gates pulled apart.

  The truck slowly moved forward. Cain waived it in and ambled out of the way. Directly behind the flatbed, a lone rider followed on a motorcycle. Cain waited for him to pass and started to close the gate, then reopened it. “Better leave them a way out if things go to hell,” he muttered under his breath. Using a flashlight, Cain led the vehicles to the ATP tanks tucked away behind the main building.

  Once on the scene, both the truck and motorcycle shut down, leaving only the drone of two large air-conditioning units to fill the night air.

  Normie, wearing a navy blue Non-Dead working class jumpsuit, climbed out the flatbed cab, adjusted his cap, and scanned the area.

  The rider, Rex, dismounted his motorcycle, and walked toward Warden Cain.

  Cain turned off the flashlight and met him.

  “Good evening, Warden—or should I say, good morning?” Rex said, after lifting his visor.

  “I don’t know how good it is. I have a reputation I’m proud of, and I have a feeling this thing is going to backfire on me before it’s over,” Cain said.

  Normie followed and joined Rex. Rex reached inside his leather jacket, pulled out a stainless steel flask, and pointed it in the direction of the other two men. Both shook their heads in refusal.

  “Don’t get all Goody-Two-Shoes on us now, Cain.” Rex opened the flask, lifted his helmet above his mouth, and turned it upside down. He gulped from the flask like a parched man chugging water.

  “Maybe you ought to take it easy with that stuff. It’s dark, and you’re on your bike.”

  “You might have a point. This is my third.” Rex lowered the helmet and spread his arms to the sky. “If I were just an ordinary man you’d have a right to be concerned. But I am no ordinary man.” Rex brought his arms back to his side. “I am part of a great plan of grand design. There’s nothing I can do, nothing you can do, nothing anyone can do, to stop it.”

  Cain looked over at Normie, who mocked Rex behind his back. He gestured toward his mouth imitating knocking back a drink, and then stuck his tongue out to the side as if he were out of his mind.

  Rex continued, “I could stand on the highway and no cars would crash into me. I could leap off the top of a skyscraper and the angels would return me safely to the ground.”

  “All that’s dandy, but we need to get back to the business at hand. Tell me again what this stuff’s going to do,” Cain said.

  “Sure, sure, business is business, right? Bidness is bidness.” Rex howled at his own joke, alcohol fumes rolling from his open mouth.

  “Keep it quiet, will ya?” Cain said.

  Rex chuckled. “You don’t get it. None of you really get it. No matter, you weren’t meant to. All of you, pawns on a chessboard thinking your free will guides you in life. How simple-minded.”

  Cain took a step toward Rex. “Okay, smart guy. Let’s get this thing going before the sun comes up. You can explain the meaning of life to us later.”

  Normie ran his hand over his forehead, rubbing off a layer of grease, and wiped it on his leg.

  “What’s the big deal? Normie here unloads the truck into the ATP tank. In the morning the zombies get their morning spray-on breakfast, and then start work as usual,” Rex said. “Normie, hop to it.”

  Normie’s upper lip rose toward his nose. He didn’t care if Rex was drunk, he didn’t like being disrespected. He restrained a harsh rebuff, thinking it best to get this mission over without any further delay.

  “And then what happens?” Cain asked.

  “And then special enzymes go to work dulling what little cognitive reasoning the zombies have. They’ll stop taking orders and begin to wander off in confusion. People will be shocked to see their poor, precious hard-working slaves can’t be relied on.”

  “Won’t it look strange that it’ll only be guests of my Institution who come down with this disorder?” Cain asked.

  “No, because if everything goes as we expect, we’ll do the same at three other facilities in Dallas the next day. In fact, we have operatives in the trucking industry who are rallying together to create a network so all ATP deliveries in the South will contain the enzyme. All we need is to sneak a load of concentrate in the tank at the distribution terminal. From there, the trucks will take it to the whole Southeast. If we can make this happen a week or two before election day, I win. I mean, we win,” Rex said.

  Normie started the truck after connecting the hose and opened the valve to the Institution’s ATP storage tank, then began pumping out the tainted contents.

  Rex reached inside his jacket, pulled out a new flask, and lifted his helmet. He chugged two mouthfuls.

  “Hey, Rexie, don’t you think you should—” Normie began.

  “Fuck off, Normie, I’m about to sing.” His right hand came out of his jacket pocket holding the container with a roach trapped inside. He held it eye level, gazing through it into the night sky.

  Cain looked at Normie again, who raised his hands in confusion.

  Rex opened his mouth, and softly sang, “Roll out. Roll out with your American dreams and its recruits, I’ve been ready. Roll out. Roll out with your circus freaks and hula hoops I’ve been ready.”

  “He’s singing to a fucking roach? You really should put that sauce down, son. You’ve got me worried about you,” Cain said.

  “I’ve seen many different sides of him before, but he’s never acted like this. He doesn’t even know we’re here. He’s singing some ancient Alice Cooper song,” Normie said, waving his hand in front of Rex’s face.

  Rex sang louder, “God I feel so stroooong. I feel so strong. I’m so strong. I feel so strong. So strong. God I feel so strong. I am so stroooong!”

  Cain grabbed Rex by the arms. “That’s enough. You need to screw your head back on straight. I don’t care who you are. We may be on the same side, but that doesn’t mean I take all my orders from you.”

  Rex broke out of his trance. “Okay, okay, it doesn’t matter anyway. Merrily, merrily, verily, verily, life is but a dream.” The container and its captive went back into his pocket.

  “What?” Cain said rhetorically, letting go of Rex’s arms.

  The truck’s pump shut down on low suction pressure as it went empty. Cain helped Normie block the valves and roll up the hose, placing it back on the truck.

  Rex watched with arms crossed—still
as a statue until the work was complete.

  Cain walked up to Rex. “It’s late. I’m an old man, and I’m tired. I need to get some rest before the shit hits the fan tomorrow. If you want my advice, go straight home, and be careful. Better yet, let your friend take you home. I can hide your bike until you’re ready to come back and get it.”

  “I’m taking my bike with me,” Rex said.

  “Suit yourself. You two boys saddle up, and get out of here.” Cain returned to the gate and waited for Rex and Normie to leave.

  Normie put his hand on Rex’s shoulder. “How about it, big guy? I could take you back to the club. There’s still a few hours before sunup. You still have time for a little of the bump and grind.”

  “Thanks, Normie. I have to admit I’d love to line your girls in a row and bang the dead out of them one by one. But I have things to attend to tomorrow. How about pointing me in the direction of my bike? It’s time to leave.”

  “Gee, are you sure you’re okay to ride?”

  “I’m kidding, Normie. I’ll be fine. Remember the angels and everything.”

  Normie turned and walked with Rex to his cycle.

  “You know, you’ve been a loyal friend. Look at us, water and oil, and yet we can work side by side,” Rex said, sounding even more drunk, much to Normie’s chagrin. “I’m not going to forget you Normie. You’ll see, soon your life is going to change. It’s going to change, and I’ll be there to help bring you into the change. The world will be such a better place. The world will be full of love. Everyone will love everyone. I’ll love you, and you’ll love me. Did I tell you that you’ve been such a loyal friend?”

  “Yes Rex, you told me,” Normie said, as the two arrived at the motorcycle.

  “Hey, Normie,” Rex giggled. “Hey, Normie, do you know what the true definition of a friend is?”

  “No.”

  “A friend is someone who goes out and gets two blowjobs and brings one back for you.”

  “That’s funny, Rex.”

  “Well, since I can’t wait for you to go and get two blowjobs and bring one back, can you just give me one now and get two later?”

  “What the fuck?” Normie said, contemplating punching Rex in the stomach.

  Rex laughed. “It was just a joke. Don’t take it so personally.”

  “Yeah, funny. Good night, Rex,” Normie said, and headed for the truck before he lost control.

  Rex straddled his motorcycle and cranked up the engine. “Yeah, funny,” he said under the sound of the loping engine.

  Chapter 34

  Byron woke from the muffled beep of his watch’s electronic alarm under his pillow. He turned off the alarm, sat up in bed, and then buckled the watch around his wrist. It would be another fifteen minutes before reveille sounded, waking his fellow mates for another hard day’s work under the sun.

  After stripping his bed of the linens, he removed a gym bag from underneath, and headed to the bathroom.

  Byron turned on the faucet and let the water run while he searched through his bag for toothpaste and a toothbrush. Now that he was interacting with the Living, it was important to keep up his personal hygiene—for reasons more than just blending into society. He wanted to be as presentable as possible for Rebecca. She came to visit him every day at the church.

  At first he believed her interest in him was for nothing other than to advance the cause of the N double AND. Not now. Not the way she openly flirted with him. He never missed an opportunity to flirt back either. Byron became more human every day. He could feel it throughout his whole body.

  After brushing his teeth, he put the dental care products back in the bag and removed a jar of pigmented ATP cream, applying it to his face and arms. As he looked at himself in the mirror, he thought back to the first time Rebecca put makeup on him and the flood of memories that filled his mind after. There was only one dark spot remaining.

  Byron remembered volunteering for Dr. Fenton’s research. The goal of the research, he was told, was to find a vaccine that would immunize against infection by any strain of the alien virus. The objective was to end the issue of the Non-Dead once and for all. Such a vaccine would start the countdown for the Non-Dead’s total elimination.

  As a loyal member of Streets of Gold Church, and a right-hand man of Reverend Hatfield, Byron was willing to do anything to help fulfill the vision God set before them. His last memory at Fenton’s medical facility was checking in on a Saturday morning. Something must have gone drastically wrong during the testing. It had killed him, and the alien virus in his body turned him into a flesh eating monster.

  Why Fenton had kept him in that condition without administering the Z treatment, or how he escaped to attack Bob Sanders and Lisa Goudard, he had no clue. After overhearing part of Hatfield’s phone conversation, he was no longer sure of anything concerning his relationship with the two men whom he had once trusted with his life and soul.

  He assumed Hatfield was talking to Fenton that day because he spoke of taking blood. Why was Hatfield worried that his memories might return? Byron had been aware there were risks with the research. Death hadn’t been a possibility he’d seriously considered, though. What did Hatfield mean when he said, ‘We can’t afford to let him get in our way before the big day arrives’?

  Byron had no intention of telling Rick or anyone else about his memory of the events that led up to his death. He had pledged loyalty to Hatfield and intended to keep it. Something in Hatfield’s voice, the way he had spoken about Byron confused him. It was callous, selfish, as if Byron were an object and not one of his beloved sheep. Why would the Reverend think of him that way?

  Byron realized the answer was staring back at him in the mirror as he rubbed clear ATP cream on the rest of his body. He wasn’t a beloved sheep cherished by the watchful Shepherd any longer. He was a cast out, a goat, a member of the Non-Dead. Worthy only to pick up the refuse of the Living, to sit in the back of the bus, and at the left hand of God.

  Morning reveille blared over the Institution’s speaker system. Byron gathered his belongings and headed for the dressing room. He planned to get dressed, walk down to the corner, and wait at the public bus stop for his daily ride to the church.

  *

  Andy Wells assigned his team of Non-Dead to their various duties and returned to the bus for a bottle of water. It hadn’t rained for over a week, and the cloudless sky foretold it was going to be another scorcher. He found himself missing his best hand, Tooty. The Non-Dead who replaced him, Sparky, was still green from basic training, and held the crew back from a normal day’s performance.

  After getting his water, Andy returned to the front of the bus with his mind lost in thought.

  From across the street, Larry Fillmore signaled for Andy to meet him on the median.

  Andy waited for a wave of cars to pass by and trotted over.

  “What’s up, Larry?”

  “I’m not sure, but something not right. Did you notice anything unusual with your crew today?”

  “I don’t think so. What do you mean?”

  Larry scratched the back of his neck. “Mine were a little slow getting their shit together before we left the Institution. I didn’t think much of it then. But I can’t get them jumpstarted like usual. They’ve been sluggish ever since they went to work.”

  “Hell, mine have been slow ever since Tooty left. That boy was an inspiration to the whole crew. Can’t say for sure today is different from yesterday.”

  The piercing blast of a car’s horn broke the conversation. The two men turned in time to see one of Andy’s crewmembers step in front of a speeding vehicle.

  The car flipped him into the air, his head crashed into the windshield, and his body flew over the top like a ragdoll tumbling in the wind.

  The car slammed on its brakes and spun out of control, rolling over three times before coming to rest upside down. The driver, a young woman, lay half outside the driver’s side window. Blood flowed from a gaping wound on her head. Her right elbow
bent in the opposite direction from normal.

  “Butterbean! Somebody hit Butterbean!” Andy cried.

  The Non-Dead had landed sprawled in front of a 4X4 Chevy truck, which further mangled the body by running over it at excessive speed. The Non-Dead’s body rolled in a crumpled mess as other cars swerved to avoid it, forcing some of the vehicles to crash into each other.

  Andy and Larry anxiously waited for the pandemonium to stop. The smell of burning rubber and gasoline carried in the air to the unnerving blaring of horns, the squeals of brakes, shattering of glass, and crunching of metal.

  “Oh, my Lord, look at what he did went and done,” Andy said, shifting side to side, trying to determine which way he needed to run first.

  Every sort of vehicle crowded the interstate highway. More horns, more brake squeals, and a few metal on metal crashes reverberated down the road.

  A young man dressed in a sports jacket jumped out of his shiny new red Corvette. Somehow he had maneuvered around the other cars before he fishtailed to a stop. He lifted his sunglass and walked in circles around the vehicle—giving it a quick inspection for damage.

  Other drivers emerged from their vehicles. One woman had two black eyes from her sudden face-plant into an airbag. Another frantically checked on her child strapped in the back seat.

  Andy and Larry darted out and searched the nearest vehicle to see if anyone was seriously hurt.

  More of Andy’s crew wandered away from their duties and onto the roadway. Some bumped into the stationary vehicles, seemingly dazed and unaware of any of the surroundings.

  Booger, one of Andy’s favorites, remained at his post manning a concrete saw. With the saw buzzing, throwing water and dust into the air, Chester lumbered over right in the line of fire of the saw’s blade. Booger was oblivious to his companion’s presence and continued sawing. The saw cut through Chester’s left foot first and then his right. Chester fell face down to the ground like a fallen tree.