The woman sitting at the dark oak desk appeared to be in her late twenties or so. Let me tell you: she is a beauty. Golden blonde hair, a little on the short side, and just the right amount of curves to make any man forget what he was doing. She introduced herself to us as Dr. Hillman with an open hand. Both Taylor and I shook with Bella and introduced ourselves in return. Thomson did not have anything to say beyond telling us that his name was Bill and that he didn’t mind being called by his last name. Thomson seemed more like a personal bodyguard than one that was to watch the entire perimeter. The way that Thomson watched both Taylor and my own movements made him appear very protective of Bella.
“How can I help?” Bella asked in honeyed tones.
Taylor told the doctor his story about how he had been subjected to the infected. Bella listened eagerly until Taylor said, “But I haven’t changed, or lost my mind.” He paused, examining the doctor’s expression.
I said, “Dr. Hillman—”
“Please,” she said, cutting me off. “You can call me Bella.”
I smiled and nodded. “Bella. What we want to ask is if you think that Taylor has some kind of immunity or resistance.”
Bella sighed and began rolling a pen back and forth across her desk as she spoke, her tone indicating we weren’t going to hear what we’d secretly been hoping for. “Based on what we know so far and to the obvious eye, the sick show no sign of any cognitive skills. They are living, breathing, and feeding. Some of us here believe that they are the equivalent of a raccoon infected with rabies. We have confirmed that they are, in fact, alive. If you ever get close to one, safely, put your ear to its chest and you can hear a heartbeat. They aren’t the walking dead; you don’t see them shambling around town with intestines dragging on the ground. They wander about and never stay in one area for too long because they are constantly searching for food, just like us. I’ve even seen a few pick a body clean that had been dead for three days. There is no instinct in them that tells them to leave enough of the body to reanimate it. So, there is no ‘hocus pocus’ or magical voodoo to them. It’s a new disease, pure and simple. We don’t have the full picture in view, but we intend to keep trying.”
I stopped her speech for a moment, “How do you know all of this for sure? Like really, what solid evidence is there?”
“Well,” she continued, “we have tested multiple times to try to confirm how the virus spreads. The first time was by accident.” Bella pulled up her sleeves to reveal a scar on her forearm. “But the rest were in good control, I assure you. The disease doesn’t spread by biting or fluid exchange. Odd, yes, but we’ve been planning on running a few tests to see exactly how the regular body reacts to the blood of someone who has been infected.” Bella looked us over and sighed. She knew that this wasn’t the answer we were expecting.
“Many people have come here with bites looking for help,” she continued. “Have you ever killed an infected?” She looked at us both, and Taylor and I looked at each other.
I spoke honestly, “Taylor hasn’t, but I have.”
She nodded. “Did you keep the body around long enough, or have you ever seen any bodies that seemed to expand unreasonably or unnaturally?”
“Yes, I’ve seen a few bodies that seemed to…fill up. But uh…” I sighed, knowing that she was going to think of us as fools when I told her the details. “The body of one of the zombies we killed is kinda putting us in a predicament.” I told her how, without telling her exactly where we were staying, we had killed the infected and moved it into a far corner and pinned its body down under a forklift, and how its corpse had become swollen with large lumps.
I was surprised when she didn’t seem affected by our stupidity. She didn’t have a condescending look, nor did she scold us. She simply moved on, saying, “A few doctors here think that the virus may spread through the dead because the lengthened amount of time the corpses are bloated is unusual. But we have yet to collect any samples. I personally think that trying to understand why this happens is the next step we must take.”
I had forgotten that Thomson was still in the room, listening the whole time. Thomson turned to me and asked in a gruff tone, “Where is the body at?”
He seemed confused after I mentioned a forklift. He must have thought we lived in a house, but was probably now questioning that.
“If you want, you could do your research on our dead body,” Taylor said, trying to seem like we would be doing them a favor, not the other way around.
Bella squinted her eyes and didn’t say anything, so I said, “I’ll be honest. It’s a little too close to where we sleep. We can, maybe, return the favor in some way?”
“Well,” she looked to Thomson, “as long as you understand that we would consider it an IOU, I don’t see a problem with it. What about you, Thomson? I’ll probably go, so you would have to accompany me.”
Thomson grumbled, “Sure, I guess. S’pose we could do some good more directly.”
Taylor and I grinned to one another; it sounded like we had another problem taken care of.
“We have some equipment we’d like to take with us to your house. It will take a few days of preparation and finishing up some current tasks to get ready. I hope you don’t mind.” She smiled, and I smiled back, shaking my head.
For the next half hour, we spoke of how the removal of the body was to be done. I also told them where the body was. When I said “Warehouse,” Thomson’s eyes grew wide. He seemed immensely interested in what was stored inside the Warehouse. Interested enough to make it uncomfortable telling him.
Don’t misunderstand me; I am very grateful for Bella and Thomson’s willingness to help us strangers, but part of me is now worried. What if, by opening our door to anyone and seeing how horribly feeble our attempts at self-defense are, word will get out? Someone could come and try to take our current home from us, or worse.
“So,” I said, “before we go, can I ask you another question?”
“Ask away,” Bella replied.
“How has the hospital become what it is now? Like, how do you get all these supplies and then enough to hand out to people who help you like your posters say?”
“Well, since the initial outbreak, roughly a week ago, we ourselves have pulled together two groups to try to gather sick people and bring them here.”
“I’m pretty sure the C.V.P.M. got a few just recently, not to interrupt,” Thomson said.
“C.V.P.M? What’s that?” Taylor asked.
“Cedar Valley Peoples’ Militia. You know about the National Guard base just north of Waterloo, right?”
Taylor and I both nodded.
“It’s gone through some reforms.” Bella paused and motioned to the air around her. “Just like we have, and let me tell you it was a bumpy start.” She laughed. “Sometimes we still don’t know what we are doing. But if it weren’t for the C.V.P.M.,” she said, motioning toward Thomson, “this hospital would not be operating the way it is. They provide us with armed security, ammunition, and even a few M.R.E.’s. In return we try to find out more about the disease out there. Now keep in mind,” she raised a finger, “we aren’t biological scientists; we’re doctors. But with common sense and trial and error, I imagine that the work here will reveal at least some information on the sickness. If we can find just one thing that would be good for the public to know, then we’ve done our job well. How long it takes for them to starve, contamination, and so forth are all in our wide spectrum of things to try to learn.”
“Those are lofty goals,” I said, and Bella nodded.
“But we have to try. If we don’t, then nobody will,” Thomson said.
Before we left, Taylor and I thanked both Thomson and Dr. Hillman once more. Bella told us that in two days she would be arriving at the Warehouse to help. I wonder if this is too long before an accident of some kind happens. I know it was foolish to leave the body in the building, and I should have been more assertive to have it completely removed from the building right after we killed it.
Day Seven
It has been an entire week since my family died, and I have only cried once. I’m not sure if this is normal or not. I could ask Branden how he has fared in the moments he is alone, but I don’t think that would be appropriate. I believe that I have mourned Miranda more than I have my family. So if I am only moved by the loss of those I love, do I not love my own blood? In my own defense, I may not know my own heart; my feelings always come to me unexpectedly. I would normally expect to feel sad for all of my losses, but I don’t.
I don’t sit and look blankly at a wall during the day, wondering if they made it to heaven. It’s not that I don’t miss them, because I do. I seem to wonder more if there was anything that I could have done differently to change what happened. I can either sit here in a depressive slump, or I can act like it never happened. I’ve chosen the latter option. I’d rather block out every pang of grief that strikes my heart and lose the connections and emotions I had for those people than feel sadness.
Well, let’s move on to today. When we all got up in the morning to eat and prepare for the day, we found that some kinds of food were beginning to spoil. We weren’t surprised, but it is still disheartening. There is no feasible way that the six of us, Lisa and Joey included, could eat the food fast enough so as none of it goes bad. It’s something I hope that we fix soon because it is a shame to waste such a large amount of food.
One thing I nearly forgot to tell you is that we left Will unbound last night. He ate with us and helped Branden and me board up a few more windows, but he still doesn’t talk much. Branden, Taylor, and I still feel a slight general distrust with him. We all know that the episode at the hospital was just a spook, but goddamn we got spooked good. I could have sworn we were about to get rocked. But I suppose that until we have a solid reason to tie him back up, he deserves to be free. I have realized that we do need his help, even though Branden will never admit to it.
In the morning, we set out to look for more weapons, unfortunately. If we were going to try to outlast this, and try to gather more people to help us all survive, what good are we doing those people if we can’t help them defend themselves? We looked in a few general stores, only to find a hatchet and a couple more baseball bats. It seemed as though guns were completely missing, and I’m not surprised one bit by that. I suppose the best way to get a gun so late in ‘season’ would be to take it off somebody else.
Speaking of firearms, my rifle isn’t operating too well. Almost every time after I pull the trigger, the bolt will lock up. I can’t get it to cycle with it up to my shoulder; I have to physically lower the gun and pop it up with the palm of my right hand. This is a serious problem for me, as it is drastically slowing me down. I feel like I might as well use a muzzleloader.
Unfortunately, on the third-to-last stop of the day, we got careless. Without checking in the back and in a few side rooms, Branden and I fired upon an unsuspecting infected, without knowing exactly what we were up against. Within seconds of firing, we were surrounded by the infected. The building we were in was a smaller sized pawnshop, so those of us with guns were worried about our bullets ricocheting. So in order to avoid shooting one another, we only fired a few times throughout the fight.
During the scuffle, it felt like I was fighting my gun just as much as I was the zombies. I ended up getting bitten because of it. I couldn’t reload, so I resorted to predominantly using my bayonet. The bad thing about that is I can only engage one target at a time. After all was said and done, and the shop quiet, I spoke with Branden about my problem, and how we severely needed to go back to the sporting goods shop where we found the other guns and find the key to remove the trigger locks. He agreed.
Upon examining our condition after the fight, it looked like Branden’s face was beginning to swell up from a heavy punch. All four of us had bites and deep blood-drawing scratches. Will nearly threw out his shoulder. We all agreed that we did not want to experience that desperate of a fight a second time. If it weren’t for Taylor and Will being with us, this oddly large group of eleven infected would have easily consumed Branden and me.
I think I know how Taylor feels now. It is so unnerving getting bitten, even when you know that, as long as Bella’s words stay true, you won’t turn or suddenly lose your sanity. Even though I am still alive—thankfully, lest you forget—it doesn’t feel right.
How the hell is this a zombie apocalypse when this disease doesn’t infect you on first contact? Yes, the signs are obvious; this particular infestation has been rather slow to take hold. It’s surprising how there aren’t hordes of fifty or more infected shuffling their way down the streets. I won’t complain too much because I don’t want to have to deal with that big of a group. Sure, the Cedar Valley’s population isn’t much in the big scale of the world, but I would have expected more instantaneous chaos. Damn you, Hollywood, for engraving that into my brain.
Our return to the sports shop proved to be worth the second trip. While we were all hoping to find the trigger guard key to our extra guns, we found something, or someone else. Joining our group of rabble, codenamed “The Survival Squad,” is a man named Dana. Like Branden and me, he is plagued with red hair. It seems true—gingers travel in packs.
I first met Dana with a gun pointed directly in my face. I was startled, not only by the fact he could blow my skull open, but also by what I had caught him in the middle of. He was sitting in a bathroom stall, with his pants pulled down to his ankles. Finding a man taking care of his bodily business isn’t what was awkward about it. It was the items that lay at his feet that made our first meeting uncomfortable.
Now, let me take a step back and explain how it all happened. The Squad and I were searching throughout the sporting goods store in search of the key we desperately need, like we had planned. Noises such as grunting, moaning, and heavy breathing were coming from the men’s bathroom. We stood outside the door for a few moments and felt that the noises coming from inside were not normal. Branden, Taylor, and Will all deemed me to be the scout, so I went in the bathroom first. While remaining as quiet as possible, I approached the stall where the noises were coming from.
I was nervous walking into an unknown situation, yet I still felt relatively safe knowing that standing in the doorway were three other men who would help me if I needed them. Just a few short seconds before I reached out to open the door, it swung open. The door slammed into the next stall and nearly ripped my face off in the process. By chance, I was quick enough to step back in time to not get hit by it, but then I became stunned by what I was seeing inside the stall.
With his handgun pointed in my direction, the man cursed and tried to pull up his pants. An adult magazine, a small plastic jar with a blue label and lid, and what appeared to be paraphernalia rested on the ground near his feet. Having never experimented with drugs of any kind myself, but having witnessed all different kinds of substances in use in movies, I had a general idea what the syringes were for.
In the surprise of the moment, I glanced away like I was trying to respect his privacy. That was probably foolish since he had a gun pointed at me. Nonetheless, I saw what I saw. I feared for my own safety and dove out of the doorway of the stall. Branden and the others rushed in at that point and quickly pulled me up from the floor. Profanity poured from the bathroom stall unrelentingly. Before too long, the man stepped out with his gun pointed at us from his side.
“What the fuck!” the stranger screamed. “World’s gone to shit and you think it’s fun to peep on strangers, ya fuck?”
Now this guy is by no means a small man. Don’t get me wrong; he is completely capable of carrying his own body. While he is overweight, he is built like a goddamn tank. It would hurt to be punched with his full force.
He took a step closer, and his eyes bounced back and forth between all four of us but always seemed to return to me. We all tried to stammer out an excuse, but with all of us talking at once, our point didn’t come across to Dana.
He spoke, “Shut the f
uck up! All of you!” He waved the muzzle of his gun at all of us. “If one of you doesn’t give me a good reason as to why this fuck,” Dana motioned toward me, “is going around trying to get glimpses of people in their ‘personal time,’ I swear to God I will fucking take all I got right now.”
Taylor, Branden, and Will looked bewildered. I took a closer look at Dana and noticed his hands were shaking. A short moment passed where all of us were simply trying to make sense of what was going on.
“What happened to your shoelace?” Will pointed down toward Dana’s feet.
“What about it?” Dana looked down for a brief second, and I’m not even sure if he looked down long enough for his brain to register that his left shoelace was missing.
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