by Richard Lee
"We have lodgings and will provide you with food and drink." The Maori elder smiled. "Tomorrow will be a joyful day," he said and led us to our lodgings, an old abandoned hotel. We were welcome, our weapons were not. If we ventured out, the guns were to stay at home.
I wanted to venture out. "Excuse me, sir. Is it safe to go to Hataitai? I would like to see my old house."
The Maori Elder shook his head. "Sorry, that is overgrown and lion territory. Also some wild dogs and cats. No place for man. We stay out of their way, they stay out of ours."
"They never venture here?" I remembered the lioness and her cubs.
"Not usually."
Not usually meant yes in my book. Still, I was determined to see my old place. There were memories in that place. Memories of a time lost. Times hadn't always been happy and stress-free, but—fuck I don't know—I just wanted to go there. There were others on our security detail that possibly had the same thoughts. I could see it in their eyes. The past had its hardships and troubles but it also held items we considered dear.
The Maori Elder left, satisfied that I wasn't going to venture out, and took the council members to their private rooms. The security detail shared two rooms, four beds in each room.
To Jon, I said, "I'm going to head out at dusk. Wanna come along?"
"No suicide mission for me." He tossed his M16 and Glock onto the bed. "I'm heading to the food hall at dusk." He laid in the bed, next to his weapons and shut his eyes.
Suicide mission or not, I was going.
I WAS IN THE ROOM ON my own, everyone else had gone down to dinner. Earlier we had toured parts of the city zoned for Man. But it held no interest for me. Office buildings converted into apartments or communal areas. The Beehive was overgrown with weeds, I guess no one wanted to go back to that system as well.
The city's set up was as grand as our own. There was free electricity, computers, TV played videos and DVDs at prearranged times. I heard the cinema was open once a month; it was the same movies over and over, yet most people went. It was a taste of the past.
A once impressive library was split into two separate buildings, the fiction was in the same place but the technical books, science books, and ancient texts was moved into a secured location. Only authorized people were allowed to gain this knowledge.
I didn't understand that. This is not my community, so I said nothing. In my community, we share all knowledge and encourage the training of others. Many people in our community have several trades. We help one another. In the city community, status was gained by knowledge or skills. The haves and have nots. Some things hadn't changed.
Considering my route, I knew I couldn't take the fastest way, which would have put me wandering through lion territory from the outset. Taking the Oriental Bay parade through to the turn off for Mount Victoria, I could cut downhill and hit Waipapa Road. My old place was down there.
Time to go.
I opened the door and saw Warwick standing there.
"I hear you are planning a trip."
"Yes." I could have lied, come up with some excuse for leaving my room with the M16, but I didn't. I'm not good at lying and anyway, Warwick had heard I was taking off. Jon obviously had loose lips. Who else had he told?
"I understand why. I lived nearby before the silence, as well. Newtown to be precise and I hear that is lion territory as well as the hospital up there."
"Still..."
"Gary, I can't and won't stop you. All I can do is advise you against it."
"Noted."
Councillor Warwick stepped aside and I stepped past him, the M16 slung over my shoulder, the Glock positioned in the small of my back. My knife was still attached to my ankle.
Taking the stairs I was hoping the sound of gun fire would frighten the lions and other animals away if any appeared. Stepping outside, the streets weren't empty as I'd hoped. There were kids playing with zero adult supervision, a block further I saw men preparing the stage for morning. I figured it was going to a little different than previous celebrations, I didn't think there was going to be a Hui either. Maybe a new type of Waitangi Day would evolve with the joining of all communities. Something to look forward to. Each community was a tribe scattered across the land. This special day could bring them and us together.
Then again, we had all scattered for a reason.
Lost in thoughts, I realized I'd almost reached the old surf lifeguard box. There was no one around here. The silence was bliss. Looking up in the direction of Mount Victoria, my chest suddenly felt dry, empty. Not far now.
A small dog raced between my feet.
"Pooki! Come here!" A little girl of four or five came to a stop next to me. She was breathing hard and took off after her dog. She was well out of the safety zone. The road had deteriorated, broken asphalt vanished under clumps of grass, and further ahead, perhaps the length of a football field, new growth had hold over the old.
"Put it down! Bad dog."
The child had followed the dog down some steps onto the sandy beach below. The tide was out and she was wrestling something out of its mouth. It looked like a bone. Score for the dog.
I headed back to the centre of the road.
The dog was growling.
Better put that bone down, I thought.
She screamed and a second later came running up the steps. Tears flowed down red puffy cheeks. She was running and sobbing at the same time. The dog appeared at the top of the steps. Fangs barred. Its attention now on me. The hair of its back was raised, saliva drooled and it was in a crouch.
Attack mode.
I raised my M16, then lowered it. I couldn't shoot the girl's dog.
Keeping low, it slinked towards me.
That's when I noticed its eyes were bloodshot and glossy. I levelled the M16, adjusted the sight. It attacked, lighting fast. I pulled the trigger. Three shots knocked the animal down.
It got back up. Snarling.
I backed up, keeping the M16 steady. The small dog had three holes in its side and it continued to advance. Movements were a slower this time, but I wasn't taking any chances. I blew a hole in its fucking head. This time it stayed down.
Turning around, I looked for the child but she was long gone. Cautiously I squatted down closer to the dog, friendly moments ago, then suddenly vicious. Over a bone? Using the M16 barrel, I lifted the mutt's upper lip. The gums were black, rotted. Several teeth looked loose.
A terrifying memory was pushing at the back of my brain. There was something about the dog, but I just couldn't get the memory back, it was buried deep in the past. Flashes of the memory came, bits and pieces—my old house, my cheap television hooked up to Cable—paintings on the wall—new carpet (on hock)—sunny weather—a beautiful day—channel surfing.
Nothing more. But the memory did enforce the urge to see my house. I was proud of those paintings on the wall, they were hours of work and love and frustration.
I still didn't trust the dog, so I stepped around it keeping the M16 pointed at the head, my finger massaged the trigger with every step.
Until I passed, I didn't realize I was holding my breath. Why was I so freaked out about a dead dog? Especially a little fucking thing like that. Walking backwards I bumped into the concrete fence that separated the footpath from the beach below.
Down in the sand I could see the bone sticking partially out of the sand. That's why the girl was able to run away, the dog was busy burying its prize. I looked back at the dog. It hadn't moved. Suddenly I understood why I didn't trust the dog. Three bullets holes and no blood.
Without conscious thought, I found myself walking down the steps headed directly to that bone.
Taking the steps two at a time—a seagull dived at me—I slipped, driving my elbow into the last step. "Fuck!" I brought the M16 up to the seagull, now sitting on the railing, watching me. Its beak was open. A sliver of skin poked out. Part of its ribcage was missing. Thin feathers fluttered against black, rotted hole.
Its head titled in my di
rection. I blew it off. A zombie seagull, a zombie dog. What was next? Sharks? Fish? Us? It was plainly obvious what that bone was. But I still had to see.
Floating on the gentle lapping water, many seagulls squawked, some flew overhead in a circle, closing in on a school of fish. I hadn't noticed them before.
The bone, half buried, looked human. Though I couldn't be sure. Some morbid curiosity drove me forward, dropped me to my knees and made me dig up the bone. Done, I stared at it, not really believing my eyes despite the dog and seagull encounter.
Laid out on the sand was a forearm, stripped bare of skin and flesh. The attached hand was mottled grey, the fingernails were black and a couple of fingers dangled by strips of skin. A wedding ring, a simple gold band, lay in the sand next to it.
A series of loud squawks drew my eyes upward. The seagulls had left the ocean. They flew overhead in one large circle. Several broke free and headed to the one I’d shot, they pecked at its flesh and started tearing it open. A squawk alerted other birds to the area where the dog was.
Several seagulls dived at me. One of the fuckers clipped my head, its beak tearing a gash. I let lose, my M16 tearing holes into them.
The magazine emptied quickly. Hundreds of seagulls came at me. Hastily reloading, I made better use of the rounds. Still most shots missed. The sound did drive away several gulls, maybe not all were zombified. Yet.
The last bullet flew from the magazine. I flipped the weapon around and used it like a bat, with better results. But there were just too many of them. They slammed into me, snapping at my neck, head, hands and tearing into my clothes to get to the flesh underneath.
I thrashed under their weight until I could thrash no more. Seconds before I passed out, I heard Jon's voice and the sound of bullets.
I AWOKE IN MY BED.
It was still dark outside. Not middle of the night dark, this was a grey-dark, the kind of light hitting the mountaintops just before the crack of dawn. My head throbbed. I pulled the blankets off and swung my legs out of bed. I was fully clothed, only my boots and socks were off. They were tossed against the facing wall.
Aches complained as I got to my feet and hobbled to the mirror. Next to it was a candle and a BBQ lighter. I didn't feel like turning on the lights, the softer glow of the candle would do.
The flame danced in the wind from the open window. I brought the candle close to my face and examined the marks left from the seagulls. They weren't as bad as I thought. A few cuts looked nasty, mainly long scratches on my neck, more cuts on my head. Thankfully none had gone for my eyes.
Tiny rivulets of blood covered my shirt and I pulled it off. My arms were a mess of holes, my chest as well. I remembered them attacking my hands, but there weren't any marks on them. There were spots of blood around the groin area, and I realized why I had passed out.
There was a knock on the door. It opened before I could reply. "Oh good," Warwick said. "You're up." His smile was warm and in his hands were clothes. "These were found and our community volunteered to wear them." He tossed on the bed a pair of military trousers and long sleeved shirt.
I picked up the shirt, it had badges sewn across the left breast. "Looks like someone high ranking."
"Indeed." Warwick’s smiled showed he had an even higher level uniform.
There was a knock at the door, Jon leaned around the jamb. "How are you feeling?"
"Like Swiss Cheese," I said. That brought a smile to his face. He stepped into the room and I saw he, too, wore an army uniform. I looked at Warwick.
"There was one extra," he said.
"Thanks for earlier." I held out my hand to Jon. He gave it a firm shake.
"Think nothing of it."
"Gary, you better get changed, half the community is already awake and getting ready. It'll be dawn soon." Warwick spoke with the excitement of a child on Christmas morning trying to rouse his parents to get the day started.
I undid my trousers. "If you don't mind..."
They left, closing the door behind them. Stepping out of my trousers, I refused to check the damaged done to 'Helmet Head' and kept my eyes averted. I decided to let Susan tend to him when I returned.
Fully dressed, I felt refreshed and ready to go. The uniform was crisp and fit like a glove. It was perfect.
I went to the window and learned out into the cool morning breeze, letting it wash over me as if I had no care in the world.
Zombie dog.
Zombie Seagull.
According to movies and literature (fiction and non), the virus was passed on by a bite, a scratch, saliva. Yet, the seagulls had gone to town on me and I was walking, talking and felt like a million dollars, even the headache was departing. Maybe it didn't transfer from animal to Mankind.
I pulled away from the window and went downstairs to see if I could help with the preparations. As it turned out, they kept me quite busy, doing heaps of odd jobs and breaking a sweat. Thirty minutes before the start, everything had been done.
The Maori flag was flying and on the horizon the crack of dawn.
People came. All the seats were taken and the sidewalk was packed. I was surprised so many people had come. The folks here wanted what our community wanted. Unity with others. New Zealand as one people.
A Maori group in traditional dress came out. The opening ceremony was about to get underway. A hush fell over the crowd. I moved from the front. Warwick gave me a look that asked where I was going. A smile was his only answer.
Sliding past groups of people of the sidewalk, I reached the end of the chairs. People were standing here as well but not as crowded. Warwick wanted me up the front with him, but I wasn't the type to seek notice. Hide me in a corner and I'll be fine.
It wasn't until a scream ripped the air that I realised I was looking for the little girl and her family. I had left the ceremony all together and was in Courtney Place. The girl had been bit by the dog. I didn't need to find her to know what was going on.
Screams came from the ceremony. I turned back and came face to face with the child. Blood covered her mouth, chin, and Hello Kitty nightdress. She was only tiny, but she was terrifying.
A growl slowly rose. Guttural. Animalistic.
The girl's eyes locked on me. Without warning, she sprung. Fast as a Cheetah she slammed into my legs, knocking me off balance. Suddenly she was on my back—biting. Searing pain shot through my body. Dropping to my knees, I thrashed against the cold concrete trying to get the child off. She clung on tight. I could feel her jaw opening and closing on me. She was small, but she was trying to get to my main artery.
I brought my knee up, reaching for the hunting knife strapped to my ankle.
A foot swung at me, I rolled onto my side and the boot whacked the child. I quickly rolled away. Jon stood on the child's chest and planted a bullet into her head.
"Thanks, Jon. That's the second—"
He trained the M16 on me. His eyes were dead as if he didn't recognise me. "You been bit." His voice was cold, matter-of-fact. Devoid of emotion.
I held my hands up. "I haven't changed yet. I can still help." The screams were all around us, but they were dying off. "Let me find Warwick, get him to safety. The second I look to be changing, please blow my fucking brains out."
Jon looked undecided.
"Please. You know me."
He lowered his M16. "Fuck, Gary."
I grabbed the hunting knife strapped to my ankle and looked up at him. Leaping to my feet, I screamed, "MOVE!" Jon dived to the side bringing the M16 to bear on me. I slammed my knife into the eye of the zombie behind him, driving it to the hilt and piercing the brain. I brought my leg up and kicked her to the ground. The body lay still.
Jon turned his M16 off me, got to his feet and together we headed to the ceremony. We didn't expect to find the councillor there, he would have moved or hid. As long as he didn't come at me with drool hanging from his mouth, then I would keep him as safe as possible. As to the other councillor—fuck him. I did not give a shit about James.
>
Jon's aim with the M16 was true, every shot. He wasted no ammo. Shot no one from a distance, always waiting for them to get close. When he reloaded, I slashed our way forwarded. I was covered in blood and gore. But there was something inside me, loving every disgusting second, never wanting it to end.
Other guards had fallen, most were not getting up again. Near the stage I saw the Maori elder, the whites of his eyes red, a maddening grin on his blood covered mouth. Black veins scarred his face and hands. At his feet, Councillor James. Huge chunks missing from his neck and a child barely able to crawl was playing in the muck hitting at the flow of blood.
Jon took aim.
I put my hand on the M16 barrel and pressed it down.
Jon looked me in the eye. "What are you doing?"
Not answering I ducked into our hotel and raced up the flights of stairs to my room and kicked the door open. I grabbed the Glock, shoved it in the back of my trousers and slung the M16 over my shoulder. I still held onto my trusty knife. From my rucksack, I searched for more magazines, found two. Only one was filled. Should have brought more, but no one suspected anything like this.
Passing the mirror I caught sight of my reflection and quickly turned away. My face was lined with black veins like that of the elder and all other infected. Yet I was still in control of my senses. My hands looked bruised, purple splotches here and there, on my forearms as well.
I thought of Susan. How could I face her like this? Hell, I wouldn't get near the gates to our community. They would shoot me on sight. Maybe I'd head to my old home after all and once there, put the Glock in my mouth, pull the trigger.
Outside intermittent screams came far of in the city. I heard gunfire. Pistols and rifles. Not rat-a-tat-tat of an M16 or other like weapon.
From the next room, I heard bullets hit the wall. Then silence. Jon! He had gone for extra ammo. I rushed into the corridor. Someone dashed past me, knocking me to the floor. I struggled to my feet when Jon came out of his room. His face was like mine, only worse. His veins pulsed and his upper lip was curled back. Primal thoughts only.