Parasite; The True Story of the Zombie Apocalypse

by Doug Ward

I turned the knob, releasing the twin latches that lock the door in place.  They slid free with an audible squeal.  My breath caught as I waited a few moments, listening for any sound of undead attracted by the noise.  Detecting nothing, I grabbed the handle and prepared to heave it up.  Looking back at Dean, I gave the thumbs up, signaling him to start the engine.   I wouldn't be caught in a nonfunctioning vehicle again.

  The car started on the first crank and was, to my relief, very quiet, so I lifted the heavy door.  I wasn't ready for the terrifyingly loud noise of the metal rollers as they rode along their tracks, the sound magnified by the quiet outside and my attempt to keep it that way.

  The world outside had changed.  As the door reached its apex, I could clearly see the sky filled with the orange glow of distant fires.  Sirens called out from every direction as at least a dozen walking dead swiveled toward the racket I had just created by opening the garage.  The zombies, who previously were milling about the neighborhood, were now drawn to the only living thing readily available.  Me.

  I spun and started back toward the passenger side, trailing a hand on the hood, not willing to break my connection with the gently rumbling car.  The vibration was reassuring as I rounded the bumper and made my way by the fender.  Releasing my hand from sliding across the car, I reached for the door.  Something caught my pant leg, pulling me off-balance.  I spread my arms as I sprawled to the floor, trying to stay upright.  This caused various tools to dislodge from the garage wall and follow me to the ground.  Debris pelted me as I rolled to my back, the last of which was the snow shovel banging hard on my shin.

  Dean must have turned the headlights on, because twin beams illuminated the front of the garage.  I could see Marcy's torso, one hand on my trousers, the other pulling itself toward me.

  Holding my revulsion at bay, I grabbed the handle of the shovel and pushed the snow blade against Jen's mom's head.  The shovel's edge slid down her face and lodged at the base of her neck, gaining a hold on her collarbone.  As she pulled forward, I pushed her back, and we lay for a moment at a stalemate.  When I saw a zombie, silhouetted in the headlights, shamble into view, I redoubled my efforts and shoved hard enough to break her grasp.  I slid back into a sitting position and, using a hand on the tire, gained my feet once again.

  Marcy doggedly slithered toward me, hands, smacking wetly against the cement floor, prompting me to pump my feet in an odd dance to avoid her clutching fingers.  My left hand blindly sought the passenger door handle as I continued to dodge my attacker.

  Finally, I found my prize and I lifted the handle springing the door's latching mechanism.  I swung it open hard, purposefully smacking the door into the prone Marcy's head.  I leapt into the seat, dragging the door closed behind me, securing the lock with my free hand just as the next corpse slipped in the gore trailing behind Marcy's upper body.  As the zombie slid out of view, Dean dropped the car into drive and punched the gas.  The rear end of the Jeep lifted upwards slightly as, I imagine, it drove over a part, or parts, of the two undead inside the now empty garage.

  My neighbor accelerated as he drove through the rest of the undead shambling up the driveway.  The car rocked with each impact as we barreled our way through the throng.  The tires squealed as we pulled onto the road.

  Then Dean began to slow the car.  What we had seen from the house was nothing.  I had heard the term apocalypse, but until now, I had never really understood it.  Cars and bodies were here and there.  Fires burned unchecked and the undead were everywhere.  Any place there was light, the illumination revealed another scene more gruesome than the last.  A few blocks down the road, a zombie policeman staggered about near a crashed cruiser with its lights still strobing.

  As we drove down the street, many of the walking corpses turned our direction and began to follow in their slow, shuffling gait.  Our pace was hampered by debris strewn all about as well as the bodies, both walking and lying still.  We wove our way through, avoiding it all, sometimes driving through yards to gain passage around one problem or another.

  I leaned my head against the window, watching everything I had ever known come to a screeching halt. This technological world was falling back into the dark ages. Man had put too much stock in technology. We had converted our books, businesses, and lives into a digital format that was being deleted right before our eyes.

  As we neared the on-ramp to the highway, a girl ran past, pursued by a larger undead woman.  The girl looked about eight years old at the most and was wearing a dirty party dress.  Dean and I looked at one another and shared an unspoken word.  Stealing a quick look around, I confirmed our present situation.  We were alone.  Dean had leaned over the seat and checked on Julie.  He gave me a solemn look and reached for the door handle.

  After exiting the car we looked in the direction the child had taken.  A car blocked our view; turned upside down and smoking.  Dean called out for the kid to come back.  He added that we could help her and that she would be safe.  There was no response.  She was gone.  In the midst of the chaos, we could hear a chorus of distant screams.  Turning our gaze toward the noise, I made out a tiny, terror-filled scene.  The overpass, as well as the freeway, was swarmed with walking dead.  People dragged from their cars were screaming as they passed through shattered glass and were consumed by the dead.  The living were trapped as they tried to escape on the fastest route available.  As one car stopped, blocked by someone or something in front, it was barred from the rear by another trying to flee in the same direction.

  We could see people falling from the bridge where the overpass crossed the road below, not sure if they were live or dead.  Whether they were being pushed off the side or jumping in an attempt to escape the gnawing death, which surrounded them, I had no idea.  It was a horrible sight.

  "I think we should take the side streets to the hospital," Dean suggested.

  "I think you're right," I agreed, returning to the yawning passenger door.

  I just couldn't lift the latch yet. Taking another look around, I felt reasonably safe, so I continued observing the destruction and chaos all about. It was amazing. Random fires were everywhere. Abandoned and crashed cars joined random junk all over the street. The most disturbing thing was the blood. Spots, smears, pools and spatters were all over. But the blood wasn't the most terrifying part of the scene. It was the lack of bodies that the blood had come from. Bloody hand and footprints were the only tangible human links to the red stains.

  The streetlights flickered, drawing us back to reality. It was time to go. Looking at each other, we both lifted the door latches and reclaimed our seats.   Dean leaned over the seat to check on Julie.  From my quick glance back, I ascertained that she was still sprawled out on the back seat and asleep. I latched my seatbelt and leaned my head against the passenger window.  The flickering firelight in the distance danced across my features as I relaxed for a moment, closing my eyes against the bazaar happenings all around me.

  The closed car door muted the sounds of the distant highway.  I could hear Dean saying soft words of comfort to his girlfriend, soothing things, which seemed to fall on deaf ears.  His ministrations were a monolog, which, in a way, was probably just as good for his own fear of her condition.

  I heard my neighbor returning to his seat and fastening his own safety belt.  The car had been left running.  Dean turned to me and told me, "We gotta get to the hospital.  Her breathing is really shallow.  I could barely tell that she was alive."

  I reluctantly opened my eyes.  Turning my head, I answered, "She'll be fine." I gave him my most confident look.  "Let's get out of this horrible place."

  He didn't answer me but put the vehicle in drive and accelerated around the flipped car.  Gravel and other debris crunched under our tires as we skirted the obstacle and continued down the road.  The walking dead moved to intercept us, breaking off from their siege of living people's homes to try for prey out in the open, only to suffer disappointment by fall
ing behind due to Dean's skillful maneuvering.

  It seemed like hours passed by as we wove our way through the various threats.  One frightening sight blended into the next, creating one long spectacle.  We were lucky the town had a low population.  I began to give in to despair.

  As we approached St. Joseph's Memorial Hospital, the streets became more crowded with cars and dead.  Many of the latter were in pursuit of the few living people in the area, weaving between vehicles and on the tree-lined walkways.  As the medical facility came into view, an explosion erupted in the distance, mushrooming out of the medical building's fifth floor.

  Dean stomped on the brakes, bringing us to an abrupt stop.  "The TV said to avoid the hospitals," he mumbled in a monotone voice, staring straight ahead.  The fiery ball rolled skyward as we watched in shock.  Black smoke followed in thick billowing clouds, obscuring the facility's floors above.  When the explosion first happened, I thought I saw human forms being tossed from the blast, tumbling through the air like dolls.

  A man slammed against the windshield, blocking our view and bringing our focus back. Blood flowed from multiple small wounds but mainly one long gash on his forehead.  Long rivulets of crimson divided the man's face. Eyes wide, he slapped the flats of his hands repeatedly on the glass in desperation as he begged for aid.

  "Help me!" he screamed, his voice a squeal from fear.  His hands continued to paw at the windshield.  "Get me out of here!"  The latter was said as he snapped his head around and screamed again.  Three walking dead gained the front of the car and attempted to pull the man to their snapping jaws.

  I heard the car doors lock as the victim struggled to get away.  Knees slipping against the polished hood, he was being drawn toward his attackers, his eyes shifting between ours as he slid to his demise.

  Dean moved the automatic gear shift to reverse and we both spun towards the center of the car, craning our necks to look behind.  We were met part way by a snarling Julie.  Her eyes were white like her skin and her jaws spread wide.  She had turned.

  We both screamed as the car shot backward wildly at a high speed.  The momentum brought the now undead Julie forward just as fast.  My neighbor had casually reached his arm around behind my seat as he had turned to support the twist in his body.  His limb was in direct line with his former girlfriend's salivating mouth.  I jammed my left hand back as quickly as I could and grabbed a fistful of long, greasy hair, stopping her teeth mere inches from Dean's arm.

  Our vehicle slammed into a parked car, snapping us all back into our seats and leaving me holding dripping clumps of hair and scalp.  My neighbor had swiveled back into a normal seated position and dropped the gear selector into drive.  Punching the gas pedal, we careened forward through the night.  Our momentum kept the zombie Julie pressed against the rear seat, but as the pressure normalized, she once again came forward.

  Just as I aimed a hand for her forehead again the car crashed, stopping us immediately.  The female's forward movement, accelerated by the impact, hurled her past us and through the windshield.  The airbags just missed her as they deployed, enveloping us in their pillow-like embrace then immediately deflating.

  Years of wearing safety belts had kept us from joining Julie in a crumpled form, neck twisted awkwardly, lying on the hood.  The front of the car was nearly wrapped around the base of a huge oak tree.  Smoke poured from the front of the vehicle and the air smelled of antifreeze as we recovered our wits in our seats.

  A scream in the distance, as well as approaching moans, brought us to our senses.  "We've got to get out of here," I urged.

  "We're sitting ducks," he agreed, unbuckling and opening the door.

  It took me a few minutes to unfasten my restraint, having been twisted around due to the impact.  My back was sore and the door took a few shoves to make a wide enough opening for me to escape the wrecked vehicle.  It groaned so loudly it made my teeth grind, but I guess after the demolition derby we had just participated in the sound of the door resisting my attempts was comparably quiet.

  Taking a quick look about, I saw that we were not alone.  Dean had opened the trunk and was rummaging around inside.  He closed the lid and pressed an L-shaped tire iron into my hands.  I could see a short, snub-nosed revolver in his right hand and a duffel bag slung over one shoulder.

  "What am I supposed to do with the tire iron?"  I asked, hefting its weight in my right hand while shouldering my bag.

  "It's a quiet weapon, good in close quarters.  I think guns might draw their attention.  We gotta find a place to hide," he said, head swiveling as three more lurched into view.  Clothes ragged their jerky movements and telltale bloodstains betrayed their intentions.  "Follow me!"

  I did as he said, shadowing him as he ran, his gun always pointed forward with his arms fully extended.  We ran down the lane, avoiding the streetlights, using picket fences and shrubs as places to rest.  Twice, Dean had to shoot his gun.  The first time he fired a bullet into the chest of an approaching zombie.  "Crap!" he cried, adjusting his aim as the undead nurse continued toward us.  The second round took the horror in the head.  "The movies were right!  Ya gotta shoot them in the head.  Who would've thought that would work?"

  "Who would have thought the dead would reanimate?" I countered between ragged breaths.  "We can't stay out in the open.  We have to find a car or some place where we'll be safe."

  My neighbor sat back against the car we were hiding behind.  "I was just thinking the same thing.  Ya wanna try one of these houses?"

  I nodded my agreement, breathing returning to normal.  "Which one do you want to try?"  I said, sweeping my arm at the houses in our view.

  The suburban block was full of mid-sized homes painted in different colors.  Each had a covered porch with stairs leading to a small lawn in front.  The houses were well maintained.  It looked like a traditional neighborhood in some TV sitcom from the 1960's.

  Dean was up and moving.  He chose a yellow one, its wide front porch decorated with white-painted gingerbread trim.  It looked inviting.  As we moved, I saw that a few of the walkers we had previously been avoiding had taken notice. Our risky move had exposed our presence.  Their moans became more urgent as they moved in our direction.

  We gained the porch and pounded on the door.  The only light inside switching off was our only reward.

  "Let us in!" Dean demanded while maintaining his pounding at the door.  "They're coming!"  The door remained closed.

  The dead were slowly but methodically continuing their approach.  Our time was running out.

  "They aren't going to let us in!" I offered.  "We have to try another."

  "We should break the door down!" he shot back, turning to gauge how much time we had.

  "That won't work.  With the door broken in it will only be a matter of time until the zombies make their way in.  We would be killing that family as well as ourselves."

  "Let's try next door," he said, abandoning the barred entryway and moving to the right side of the porch.

  The shambling dead were mostly coming from the opposite direction.  We leapt the railing and dropped to the ground.  As we crossed the rest of the house’s front, a zombie came from between the two houses and crashed headlong into my friend.  They went down in a tangle, Dean winding up on the bottom, propped up awkwardly by the duffel over his shoulder.  Desperately holding his attackers head away from his own I came up behind the creature and, raising the tire iron, dispatched it with a blow to the head.  I could feel the vibration ring through the iron shaft as it struck the skull of the zombie.

  As my neighbor pushed the now still corpse off of his body, I just stood there, blood dripping off my weapon.  It was a weird feeling, killing.  Although the beast would have killed both of us with no remorse, I felt strange.  This was the second time I had killed.

  Sure I had killed countless insects in the field or lab, but now I was ending the life of something very human.  Something inside me changed.�
� The world had changed into a place of survival.

  Wiping my tire iron on the grass, we continued to the next porch.  I could hear our pursuers making their way behind us.  Luckily, they were slow.  Dean adjusted the load on his shoulder and we were off again.  We gained the next porch and were greeted with the muzzle of a shotgun pointing out of the door, which was opened just a crack.

  "Just keep moving on!" said the voice from inside.

  "Come on man!" Dean begged.  "You gotta let us in!"

  The sound of a shell being chambered was his answer.

  While we crossed the porch, the barrel followed our movement.  We once again made our way to the ground.  The walking dead had gained on us.  We had to get indoors or we would be through.

  Chapter 9

  Henry