by Doug Ward
We both looked at him questioningly.
"It's just a statement," the youth said sheepishly. "I can't help it."
"There's a whole kitchen downstairs. I'm sure you'll find something down there," I assured, joining Dean as he cycled through the perimeter cameras.
"There's a zombie down there," Tim said in a small, scared voice.
"I, as you kids would say, busted a cap in its head," my neighbor emphasized with a shooting gesture to his head.
"Are you sure about that, Dean?" I asked, pointing at a thumbnail labeled Kitchen.
Dean Walker clicked the mouse on the icon and the thumbnail expanded to fill the screen. It showed a modest kitchen with honey oak cabinets. The floor and Formica counters were strewn with debris. A big, dark spatter covered one wall and a corpse, head drenched in blood, staggered about.
"I told ya to double tap 'em! You never believe one of them is down unless ya do."
Dean's shoulders fell. "Sorry, guys. Let's go get him."
"No," I suggested. "Let's study him. Just for a while."
It was my turn to be on the receiving end of the questioning looks.
"What do ya expect to see?" my neighbor asked.
"I'm not sure. But we have this opportunity. We might as well use it."
Tim leaned over, viewing the walking corpse for the first time. "But I'm still hungry."
"Go through one of the duffel bags in the front room. There's some food inside. Beef jerky and stuff like that."
Over the next few hours, I observed the behavior of the undead beings. I looked for patterns in their behavior. I had Dean show me how to record the cameras so I could save some of what the cameras saw for later viewing.
That night, I could see on the screen that it had rained outside. It didn't fall very heavily, but it was one of those straight down soakers. It didn't matter at all to the walking dead. They paced about, three still clawing at the door, concerned only with their endless quest for food. Clothes plastered to their bodies, they lurched through puddles, mud or dry pavement, all the same.
I found some notepads with the Kingdom’s letterhead printed on each page. An array of pens were stored in a thin top drawer. I noted movements I found interesting or even odd and looked for other undead to replicate them. Compiling page after page of traits and behaviors, I was looking for a pattern to emerge.
I became an expert with the camera software, figuring out how to zoom and create split screens. My favorite was to fill the screen with four large camera views. This way, I could cover most of the zombie activity without having to switch views. Since three cameras outside were in working condition, I was able to watch our friend downstairs as well.
Dean and Tim, after securely locking the basement door, had found an old radio and were listening to various reports of the outbreak around the globe. From time to time, they would come in to give me updates on the news they had heard.
It seems the current theory linked the living dead to an unknown virus, possibly something cooked up in Afghanistan or Iran, because third world countries, as well as less traveled places, had not shown any signs of the virus anywhere. This could be due to the lack of immediate contact from the more advanced countries.
The more advanced countries were the ones completely overrun by the outbreak. The larger the population meant the worse off the people were. While New York and Las Vegas collapsed, small town USA lived on with hardly a bite taken out of it.
I tried my phone a few more times with no success. It seemed everyone in the area was trying to use his or her phone at the same time, using up all the towers’ capacity. I checked for text messages and found no current ones. I sent Melissa a text saying that I loved her and that I was fine. I was trying to get to her but was currently trapped at a Jehovah’s Witness Kingdom Hall.
In the desk, we found an iPod charger, which Tim and I were using to keep our phones’ charges topped off. Dean said he hated Apple products, but when questioned, all he kept saying was that they were "Mac-in-trash." Being a scientist, all I used were Apple products, so when the first iPhone came out my choice was already made. At this point, my neighbor's phone was nearly dead.
The door opened, revealing the dynamic duo. They seemed to have gotten close pretty quickly. While I was watching the cameras, they had explored the rest of the building. They had eaten and even slept.
"Bedtime, Hank," Dean said in his best fatherly voice.
"Aw, dad! I don't wanna!" I complained, trying to sound like a little kid.
"We need to conserve our strength if we want to get out of here. And that means everyone. If you don't rest soon, you won't last if we have to run."
I had to agree. My eyes were getting very heavy and my thoughts were difficult to focus, so I reluctantly agreed and retired to the larger meeting room where the guys had made some makeshift beds. As I lay there, I knew that I was missing something. I couldn't substantiate my hypothesis, but I knew I was on to something. It might be a breakthrough.
I would have thought my sleep would have been full of nightmares. With all the things I had experienced in the last 24 hours, you would think that would be true. But the fact is, I was so tired I think I slept right through the REM cycle and nearly into a coma. When I awoke, it was from one of those paralyzing sleeps where you can't move a muscle. In some ways, you don't want to. I finally broke free of the spell and threw off the blanket. The room was musty smelling but warm. I could hear the guys in the other room.
It sounded like they were having a very good-natured conversation. They were quoting movie lines and debating who was better, Kirk or Picard?
I sat up, letting the blanket slide down my chest, pooling up in my lap. Being in this building was like being in a cave. Although we were safe, we were also completely cut off, unable to immediately sense the weather and other factors you would typically notice in a home with many windows.
Pulling out my cell phone, I checked the signal. It once again told me I was not connected, but I must have been at some point while I slept. I had two new text messages, both from Melissa. One told me she was glad that I was safe and that, although they had some difficulties, she was safe for the time being, as well. The other message said we should continue using text messages because it uses less "tower space" and conserves battery. She ended both messages with I love you.
I returned the phone to my front left pocket and stretched. I was happy that she was alive and safe, but I really needed to find a way out of this building and to her. I quickly found that buildings could offer safety, but they could also be traps like was the case with the car. Once inside, it may be difficult to leave. Once the food and potable water was gone, you had no option but to go. It seemed safest to keep moving.
I draped the blanket over my shoulders and unsteadily made my way into the office. The lights were off. The room's sole illumination was the computer screen, casting my friends and their surroundings in dull the colors.
"Spock is the best!" chirped Tim.
"The needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few, or the one!" Dean quoted in his best Spock voice.
"Kirk said the middle part," our young friend corrected.
A pen flew at the youth's head in answer to his correction.
The room was efficiently decorated. Pictures, mostly photographs, filled large frames on most walls. A small library of books spilled from the shelves of twin bookcases. Aside from these items, the room was spartan. There were no knickknacks or even desktop picture frames. Just four seats and a desk occupied the room.
I thought about my current hypothesis, prompting me to ask, "Any news on the radio?"
"Nothing new," Dean answered, craning his neck about to look at me. “The outbreak is still spreading. They keep announcing safe places to go, but it seems to us that a few hours after one opens, it's overrun and they are announcing that it isn't safe anymore."
"Tim!" He spun in the desk chair. "I hate the name Timmy."
"Tim then. Can you please…" I reasserted, not finishing the question.
"Why?"
"I'll do it!" Dean spat in disgust. "Kids nowadays. You just sit there and be comfy, Skid."
"Skud!"
"Whatever," he said, rolling his eyes. He stomped out of the office and toward the entry.
"I would have done it," grumbled the youth as I pulled a chair up to the computer monitor and switched the camera view to the front door. I could tell that Dean had reached his destination by how the zombies reacted. They could tell that he was near. The three who were already at the door began attacking the outside with a renewed vigor. Two of the nearest wanderers made their way to the blocked entry and joined the others reaching, over shoulders and receiving admonishing bites to their offending limbs as a result. The other undead who had wandered a little further out made no response to my friend's proximity. They continued their aimless pacing.
"That's weird, Hank," Tim breathed. "Did you see that?"
"I sure did. Can you go and tell Dean to come back in here? I think he'll want to see this."
Timmy disappeared, leaving me to my thoughts. "What does this mean?" I wondered. When the two returned, I played the tape back for Dean and he had the same response the two of us had.
"They know when we are near," he said more to himself than us. "How can that be? I didn't make any noise. There aren't even any windows to give me away."
I stroked my chin, taking a few moments to choose my words to avert unfounded fear. "We humans are just animals. We evolved to a point where we depend on technology more than our instincts." I paused to see if either had any questions or arguments.
Tim raised his hand, as if in school. I grinned at the Pavlovian action and nodded in his direction. He immediately lowered his arm and inhaled.
"My Earth Science teacher used to say the theory of evolution," Timmy made quotation mark gesture with both hands as he said the last three words. "He made it sound like it wasn't true. Are you saying it is?"
"Public education," I stated, shaking my head side to side. "And we wonder why we lag behind other countries in science. Yes, Tim, he was wrong. I doubt he read scientific journals or did any research in his time off."
"No, he was the football coach."
"That's my point," I said. "Many public educators insert their own beliefs into the school’s curriculum, not researched and unfounded as their ideas may be, producing generations of young people who are ignorant of the most common principles of today's scientific world. Evolution has been proven consistent with current results in microbiology, genetics, and even proteonomics.
"How is my teacher allowed to do this?" the youth asked, distraught.
"As an instructor, he shouldn't be allowed, especially from a professional and ethical point. But in some political and religious circles, it is overlooked or often encouraged."
Dean cut in, "So how does this relate to zombies being able to tell I was on the other side of the door?"
"It is possible that in our more primitive state we used senses which later became unnecessary, obsolete. My working hypothesis is that somehow these living dead are able to use senses we have long forgotten. Maybe it is because they are throwbacks. They have no need for technology, only a need to survive, much like early Homo sapiens."
"So this is your theory?" asked my neighbor.
"A scientific theory is basically a fact. It has reams of proof attached to it. This is my current hypothesis. It is my working idea which I need to prove."
"I hope you live long enough to publish your paper, Doctor, but we have problems of our own."
I switched the camera view back to the current, real-time view of the front door. One of the zombies had wandered away. There were probably forty others milling about in the parking lot.
"We need food and a plan for escaping this place," Dean continued. I had to agree as my stomach rumbled in protest of being empty.
"I have a plan." Dean strode from the room.
As we stood to follow, Tim leaned close. "I wish you were my teacher, Hank."
I placed a hand on his shoulder and smiled as we exited the office.
Dean was rummaging through his thigh pocket. He produced a permanent marker and dropped to his knees on the floor. He crudely sketched the top floor, and to the side he drew what we remembered of the downstairs.
"Umm... Why do you have a marker?" Tim asked sarcastically.
"I found it in the office," he said, looking hurt. "I'm gonna use it to warn people away from dangerous places. It's not like they're gonna use this as a church again."
We still had the problem of the zombie downstairs. We needed to deal with it. From a small closet, the guys pulled some thick rubber-coated gardener’s gloves, a rake, and a snow shovel. I laughed as my neighbor pulled on the hand protection and gave a couple of practice motions with the shovel before taking his place in front of the door to the basement. Timmy was about to back him up until I grabbed ahold of the rake. He looked somewhat relieved as he let the weight of the garden tool-turned-weapon transfer to my hands.
Chapter 12
Melissa