Parasite; The True Story of the Zombie Apocalypse

by Doug Ward

Zombies were overrunning the world and I was doing my twentieth load of laundry.  Something just didn't seem right with that.  I felt kind of like Daniel Boone's wife.  He spent his life out in the wilderness, hunting, exploring, and having fun, while his wife stayed home and took care of the house and kids.  Sure, he'd come home for a few months to visit, just enough time to knock her up again and leave.  By today's standards, Daniel Boone would be just another deadbeat dad.

  The room was hot and humid.  I felt a perpetual glaze of perspiration, making me feel sick.  The sound of the sixteen machines whirling about their automated chore made it hard to hear anything.  In between loads, they pressed us into maid service, picking up and cleaning in the lounge and other communal areas in the building.  Other women, like Amber, were scouring the bathrooms at this very moment.

  Any time we were outside, even just going between buildings, we realized the grim reality that the enemy was close.  And even though I had a strong desire to do anything but more laundry, it was a sobering thought.

  I was on lunch break when I saw Amber.  She looked both directions and snuck over to my table.

  "You ok?" she asked, looking concerned.

  "Fine," I said as my hand unconsciously went down and gave my backside a reassuring rub.  "She just bruised my ego a bit. How about you?"

  She frowned. "I don't like it here.  I agree with Dean.  There's something weird going on around here."

  "What do you mean?" I asked in a hushed voice.

  "We need to get out of here," she said even lower, eyes darting about the room.  "It...  It isn't safe to talk now.  Later."

  As I took another bite of my sandwich, I scanned the room casually.  There were guards at the inside of each entrance.  As I watched them, it occurred to me that they looked more like they were more concerned with keeping us inside than they were of protecting us from an outside threat.  They all looked inward.

  The rest of the day, I spent as much time as possible questioning my fellow inmates.  Most had lived here, in Slippery Rock, from the start of the outbreak, while others were newer arrivals like we were.  The people who had come here more recently were more accepting of the military treatment, thinking that it was a good trade-off for a secure place to survive the rise of the dead.

  The residents who were here from the onset explained their view of events.  They informed us that this wasn't the Army.  It was the Army National Guard.  These people were, for the most part, regular citizens with military training.  I also found out that they were working alone, that there was no coordinated effort to contain the major cities.  It was all a ruse.

  Colonel O'Neill was a local lawyer in his civilian life.  This gave me a very unsettled feeling, not that he hadn't been properly trained.  I began to question what was he up to?  Why was he trying to hold this whole town against an undead invasion?  I also began to fear for my husband.  What if he was unable to synthesize a cure?

  I kept these questions in my head.  I would have to wait until later to discuss this with my companions.  The waiting was the hardest part.

  When our shift ended, Amber and I went to the dining hall.  It was the last place my friend wanted to go, but we had our limited choices and we could be with the guys so we joined them there.  It was odd.  Mostly, we ate in silence.  We exchanged meaningful looks over half-hearted forkfuls of spaghetti.  The men ate ravenously, all except Dean, who barely touched his plate.

  Later, we sat in the grass between buildings, not trusting the close quarters of the dorm to maintain our privacy.  So we swatted the occasional mosquito and spoke in hushed tones.

  "O'Neill can't hold the town much longer!" Dean said while plucking a blade of the long uncut grass.  "We're running low on manpower."

  "I don't understand why he's trying to hold the whole town," Drew spoke up. He was lying in the grass with his head nestled in Amber's lap.  She softly stroked his mass of unruly brown hair as he spoke.  "It's absurd."

  "I think he's mad," I challenged.  "Or at least deluded.  There were rumors that he was going to make a run for office.  A congressman."

  "He can become the flippin’ king, for all I care.  This is insane," stated Ben angrily.

  "He lived in this town, and maybe he never saw what was happening outside here," I offered.  "He had a standing army of sorts and mobilized the citizens shortly after."

  Frank's eyes shot open from his near sleep, "What are you saying?"

  "Just that if he doesn't know that the whole country isn't going to recover anytime soon, he might be hoping he can come out of this a hero.  Another Giuliani."

  "She might be right," Amber agreed, pausing her hand on Drew's head.  "I heard he was only in the National Guard to further his political aspirations.  He was involved in some pretty shady deals."

  "It isn't going to work, in any event!" Dean cut in, tossing the blade of grass back to the turf.  "If we keep this up much longer, we'll be overrun.  It wouldn't be so bad if they used the trained soldiers up front."

  Amber and I looked at them, stunned.  We didn't know what to say.  I tried to form the question, but Ben beat me to it.

  "Where do you think we were all day?" he said indignantly.

  "You were on the front lines?" I asked.  A chorus of bobbing heads confirmed the statement.

  "It seems like it's mostly a civilian corps," Dean asserted.  "At least, the ones I spoke to were."

  "I wonder why no one talked to me," Frank inquired to no one in particular.

  "Maybe if you weren't such a nerd!" Ben shot back.

  Frank hurled a fist full of rocks at his diminutive friend.  Throwing his arms up, Ben deflected most of the pebbles.

  "Stop it, or you'll put my eye out!" he cried.  "That would be great, a comic book artist with no depth perception."

  "So! It's not like it stopped Nick Fury!  He can still shoot a gun!" Frank defended himself.

  "He's also a cartoon character!" Drew stated, bringing the conversation back to reality.  "Besides, he has a special eye patch from SHIELD designed to triangulate distance."

  "I can't believe they put you guys in front," Amber restated.

  "I can't believe they gave these bozos guns," Dean said.

  "Listen, guys," I said, trying to change the conversation.  "We need to come up with a plan.  I think something's wrong here."

  "I agree," Drew said.  "What are you-"

  Shhh. I blew the sound out, silencing the conversation.  A group of six armed soldiers walked right up to our gathering.

  "Nice little picnic you have here," the huge Sergeant said.

  "This isn't a picnic, Sergeant Platz. There isn't any food," stated Dean.

  "What did you say, son?" the huge man said.

  "You said ‘nice picnic,’ and I just stated that we have no food.  Pretty poor picnic if we don't-"

  "You think you’re funny, son? Well, I'm pretty funny too.  All civilian men are to report to their commanding officer in ten minutes!"

  "We just got off duty, Sarge," Drew said, sounding tired.

  "The Colonel just put you back on duty, so let's get moving!" he goaded.

  "Really, guys. We-"

  Six machine guns were suddenly trained on us.  I could hear clicks as safeties were being disengaged.

  "I said NOW!" the sergeant barked.

  The guys carefully got to their feet and went off in search of their commanding officer.

  Chapter 32

  Henry