The Zombie Apocalypse (Book 1): Buried Instincts

by Henson, Lynn

  nine

  Blake pushed himself up to a sitting position. It was fairly dark, as they had declared lights out and most people had settled into their temporary bedding, though the area was peppered with the light from screens from cell phones, laptops, and portable game systems wielded by people who were unaccustomed to sleeping so early. Blake was in a huge room normally used as a convention floor. Fortunately, it was carpeted and well maintained, so it wasn’t too uncomfortable to lie on the floor. Currently, there were hundreds of people spaced out evenly across the entire room, though several of those spaces were currently unoccupied as people had gone to different areas of the building in search of amusement, fresh air, pooping, or the myriad other things that people have to do. Bree was off doing who knows what. She had unrolled a small sleeping bag next to his blanket over the carpet and had commanded him to “Watch my stuff.” That had been an hour ago, and at first he’d occupied himself with people watching, then he’d tried to take a nap, but there was just enough movement and noise to make that impossible, so he’d done a few laps around his area all the while making sure no one was trying to take off with Bree’s stuff. That was going well until an old dude had flagged him down and insisted on talking to him about the most boring topics imaginable. Finally, he could take no more, claimed fatigue, and beat a hasty retreat back to his area and promptly pretended to be asleep. And to top it off, every time he snuck a peek at the old guy, the guy was over at his spot staring suspiciously at him. It was only when another old dude engaged his tormenter in boring conversation that Blake dared to sit up again.

  He’d focused on a middle-aged blonde woman with what seemed to be unnaturally enormous breasts thrash around on the floor with her blanket half off as she struggled to find a comfortable sleep position. She was wearing an extra-large t-shirt with a V-neck, and every roll held the possibility of one of her breasts popping free, thus demanding his constant attention. She had just flopped over and Blake leaned in as he was pretty sure he’d caught some nipple when someone in jeans impeded his vision.

  He looked up and Bree was looking down at him. “Miss me?” she quipped.

  He shrugged at her. “Only because you left me here to watch your stuff. Can you stay here and watch your own shit? I gotta use the can.”

  She plunked herself down on her sleeping bag, stuffed her headphones in her ears and a second later he could hear her muffled music. Satisfied, she rolled onto her back, turned her head to him, wiggled her fingers at him and closed her eyes.

  He stared for a few seconds, then spared a glance at Mrs. Mammaries, who had seemed to somehow find a good spot and was no longer moving. Disappointed, he got up, stretched a bit, then headed off to look around.

  As it turned out, the restrooms weren’t too far away. The men’s side disgorged five or so Latino children who laughed as they streamed past Blake slowly picking up speed and took off to convention center parts unknown. He stepped around an old dude who was slowly making his way out while stopping to pick at his crotch and found a good spot at a urinal that had two free urinals to either side. As he relieved himself, he realized that someone in one of the stalls was puking something fierce. He stole a glance at the guy closest to him that was also at a urinal to see if he noticed, but he was just staring stoically ahead at the wall in front of him, face devoid of expression. Blake finished up and went over to wash his hands. It sounded like the guy in the stall was done throwing up. He pushed down on the button on top of the faucet and was rewarded with a spray of lukewarm water. He got some soap and scrubbed up and moved to rinse as the water stopped. He sighed and used his right elbow to bring it down on the faucet to get it going again. As he was drying his hands with paper towels, he heard a thud behind him and the stalls rattled. He lofted the paper towels into the trash and paused halfway out the door to look back. No sound was coming from the stall. The stoic guy who had been taking a piss zipped up and walked straight out, eyes going to Blake for a second as he strode out of the restroom.

  Hearing nothing more, Blake moved quietly back in a little bit and squatted down to look under the stalls. He could see shiny black shoes occupying one, but otherwise, the restroom was empty except for him and the barfer. The thing that bothered him about the shoes was that they were too far forward for someone sitting in the stall. Unless the stall was really small. Or the guy had really long legs. But the stalls had plenty of room, he could see that from looking at the distance from the wall to the front of the stall. Blake had to say that the owner of those shoes was within licking distance of the stall door.

  He inched closer to it, trying to look through the slim gap at the edge of the door. The restroom was eerily quiet. He moved his head from side to side trying to get a glimpse inside but still couldn’t confirm his suspicions. He moved closer until he was inches from the stall door, and put his eye close to the crack and peeked in. The man inside was indeed just standing nearly flush with the door. He seemed to be dressed in a black suit.

  The man sniffed.

  Blake recoiled, his blood running cold. He moved back a couple steps and held his breath trying not to make a sound.

  He could definitely hear sniffing on the other side of the stall door.

  He started inching towards the exit sideways, eyes never leaving the door.

  There was a loud smack on the stall door, and all of the stalls shook.

  Blake had had enough and booked out of there. He turned the corner and nearly slammed into a pale black man with graying hair. He stopped and was trying to get off some choice words, but Blake didn’t hang around to listen. He hurried off to any place that was not the men’s restroom.

  After a full five minutes of purposefully walking aimlessly, Blake’s heart had slowed down enough that rational thought began to return. He stopped for a moment and took stock of his surroundings. He’d arrived at the rearmost part of the convention center which looked a lot like the front part complete with people camped out everywhere, kids running around, and peoples stuff threatening to spill out into the walkways. He continued on until he reached a wall, put his back to it and slid down onto his ass. He thrust his hands out in front of him. They were shaking. He lowered them and took a deep breath. He was still freaked out.

  “Is that understood?”

  Voices were coming from the wall behind him.

  “Yes, sir. No one is to leave this building once locked down for the night.”

  He turned his head to press his ear to the wall to make sure he could hear what was being said.

  “Excellent. Carry on.”

  He slumped back down to a more normal sitting position and thought it odd that they’d have to enforce something like that. Of course, no one would want to go out with the infected running around in the streets. Maybe it was just to avoid lawsuits if people walked out at night and got sick. Maybe it’s for the smokers?

  He stood up and knocked on the door next to where he was sitting. A few seconds later, the door opened and a soldier in combat fatigues holding an assault rifle looked out at Blake.

  “Yes, sir?”

  “I think there’s a sick man in one of the restrooms. He’s in one of the stalls.” He didn’t want to mention that he ran out. “It’s the restroom near the entrance and along the right wall as you come in.”

  “Thank you, sir. We’ll take care of it.” He paused a second and then closed the door.

  Feeling better, Blake walked back to the area of carpet that was home for now.

  ten

  Bree looked up with half a glance from her magazine as Blake walked to her and sat down on the carpet.

  “You were gone a long time,” she remarked.

  “I went for a walk too.”

  She started reading again and said, “There’s not much to do here besides walk around and talk to people.”

  “So I gathered.” He gathered his knees to his chest and rocked back and forth.

  “Ummm...” he started again, “Anything cool happen while I was gone?”
<
br />   “Are you kidding?” she said from behind her magazine.

  He edged closer to her and said in a low voice, “I had a scary experience in the restroom.”

  She angled her magazine more towards him, “You can keep that to yourself thanks. I don’t want to hear about any burning sensations or sores or bleeding out of orifices, thanks.”

  “No! Nothing like that!” he looked around and lowered his voice again. “There was a guy acting strangely in one of the stalls. Just standing in there. I think he might be sick.”

  “And just how is it that you could see into a stall to determine that this guy is sick?”

  “Alright, look... he was barfing in the stall, and then when he stopped you’d expect him to come out and wash up, right? Maybe rinse your mouth out? He didn’t. He just stood with his face like an inch from the stall door!”

  Her eyebrow went up at him.

  “It was obvious because I could see his shoes! They were right behind the door!”

  The magazine came down to her lap, and she looked right at him. “Maybe he didn’t want to come out because some pervert was looking into his stall?”

  “Or MAYBE... he’s turned into one of those monsters that are running around outside sampling people. Ok, look... I got close to the stall to see if maybe he needed help, and when I got close... he sniffed me.”

  “Sniffed you.”

  Blake nodded slowly.

  The magazine resumed its place in front of her face.

  He moved around it to the right, “You have to admit, that’s weird.” He looked around then back at her, “Maybe even suspicious.”

  She tried to interpose the magazine between them again, “Look, even if he turned into a monster and suddenly became trapped in the shitter because monsters don’t know how to open stall doors, why is it a big deal? Just tell the cops or the army guys. I’d think they’d take care of that problem pretty quick.”

  “Well, that’s exactly what I did,” he beamed.

  “Then it’s all good now right?” she returned to her magazine.

  Blake sat down and watched the entrance to the men’s restroom to see what the cops were going to pull out of there.

  An hour passed and while the restroom had certainly received its fair share of traffic, it seemed that the police were taking their sweet time dealing with it.

  “Maybe they didn’t take me seriously,” he surmised.

  “And that surprises you?” came the response from behind the magazine, now covering the face of a flat on her back Bree.

  Blake snorted at this and moved to grab the magazine when the intercom blared, “Your attention please: For your safety, we will be locking down the building until morning. No one will be allowed in or out. We should have more news for you tomorrow. Thank you for your attention.” There was a loud clicking sound that echoed in the building and most of the lights went off.

  Bree groaned and covered herself with a blanket that had been given to her when she checked in. Blake got up and headed for the restroom. He walked quietly inside and looked under the stalls. Empty, except for the same pair of shoes standing right in front of the stall door. He froze, suddenly he felt that whatever was behind the stall knew he was there. The left foot shifted slightly in his direction. Then the right foot. The left foot moved forward and there was a smack as the stalls rattled with the impact. The feet continued to try to shuffle forward in place.

  “Hey? Someone in there? You ok man?”

  There was someone else here, a bald biker wearing jeans and a leather vest taking a leak at one of the urinals. The biker zipped up and moved to the front of the stall and knocked on it. “Hello?” he tried again. He waited, but got nothing in reply except for more stall rattling.

  “He’s been in there all day,” Blake found himself saying.

  The biker jumped at this and turned quickly to look behind him. Blake raised an arm in greeting and walked closer to the stall.

  “You know that guy?” the biker thumbed at the stall.

  “Well, no. But heard him throwing up in there hours ago. He stopped but didn’t come out,” Blake recounted for the biker. “He might have what’s going around. I told the cops but they haven’t done anything.”

  The biker’s eyes widened and he took several steps away from the stall. “Aw man... if that dude in there is sick the way I’ve seen people get sick lately, we’re better off leaving him in there.”

  The biker looked really uncomfortable and muttered, “Peace man,” and hurried out of there.

  Blake followed him out, thinking what the biker had told him made a lot of sense. Well, if the cops aren’t going to do anything about it, I can at least make everyone a little safer. He took down a piece of paper that said “Hot Dogs $12”, flipped it over and wrote, “Do NOT open. Possible infected inside.” on it. He carefully removed the tape from the paper and applied it to the other side. He took that back into the bathroom and stuck it to the stall door. When he did it, the man inside thrashed around, shaking the stalls. He got out of there and returned to his designated spot.

  Bree peered out from under the blanket at him. “So? What happened with the guy?”

  “I’m just going to assume he’s infected. He’s trapped in the stall and I put up a warning sign so no one opens it up.”

  “Not bad,” she smiled. “But the fact that the people protecting us don’t care that there’s an infected person in the bathroom is really making me worried.” She shook her head, “Something’s off.” She tossed her blanket off and got to her feet. She stuffed her headphones into her backpack and shouldered it. She looked expectantly at Blake.

  “Oh crap,” he complained, grabbing his stuff “We going somewhere? If this is going to be like getting your car back, I’m going to be really upset.”

  “Nothing like that. We have to check some stuff out. Let’s go.” He got up and walked with her. She set a fierce pace and he had to start jogging to keep up and almost overshot her when she stopped abruptly. She whirled around and looked him in the eyes. “What?” he wanted to know.

  She looked behind her quickly, then took him by the elbow and moved him back around the corner.

  “Ok, here’s what you have to do,” she whispered conspiratorially, “There’s a soldier around the corner. Walk up to him and tell him about the sick guy in the bathroom.”

  “I already told someone,” he reminded her.

  “Do it again anyway,” she replied, “Once you’re done, go over to the far side of where he’s standing and find a spot to lie down to sleep. But don’t sleep, watch him and see what he does.” She patted his shoulder and gave him a double thumbs up.

  Sighing, he walked around the corner and spotted the soldier immediately. He looked back and Bree was nowhere to be seen. Jeez, good ninja trick. The soldier was in front of one of the service doors, similar to the one he’d seen earlier.

  He walked up to the soldier who stoically looked straight ahead with his assault rifle, pointedly trying to ignore the scrawny guy who had walked up to him.

  “Um... there’s a sick guy stuck in a bathroom stall in the men’s room. I think he needs help. He’s been standing there for hours.”

  “Thank you for bringing this to my attention sir. I will pass this along to my superiors and we will resolve the situation as soon as possible,” he said, while somehow keeping his face perfectly expressionless.

  “Thanks.” He offered a grin that was met with a wall of overwhelming indifference and he turned around and walked away from the soldier, looking for a likely spot to camp down among all the people who were making the best of sleeping cots or the floor.

  He decided to settle down near a loudly snoring fat figure in a cot. If cots could cry, this one would be weeping in agony, judging by how the frame seemed to tremble with every terrible sawing noise the fat man emitted. Not surprisingly, an area had been cleared around the sleeping man, so Blake sat down beside the guy. He could clearly see that the soldier hadn’t moved at all. He looked aroun
d but could find no sign of Bree. He sprawled his legs out in front of him, took his backpack off and put it behind him so he could put his head down on it. He popped his earbuds in and turned up his iPod, keeping the soldier in sight.

  eleven

  A hand touched him on the shoulder.

  He shot upright, flailing around. Another hand covered his mouth. His eyes traced the arm to Bree who had a finger up to her mouth trying to keep him quiet.

  He relaxed. The hand came away.

  A loud buzz saw noise abruptly interrupted by a choking sound and then lip smacking completed his journey back to reality.

  “Wha... wha?” he gurgled.

  “Something’s not right,” Bree whispered to him.

  “Umm.”

  “Since you talked to the soldier, he hasn’t so much as moved for three hours.”

  Blake realized he had been drooling during his nap and wiped his mouth with his hand.

  “Now the soldiers are gone.”

  Blake gaped at her, then quickly looked for the soldier.

  The soldier was indeed gone.

  He looked back at her.

  She showed him her watch. “It’s three in the morning. Soldiers don’t just abandon their posts. And it wasn’t just that one. They’re all gone.”

  He continued to look at her.

  “Something’s going to happen. Something bad.”

  Blake looked at her in disbelief, “What could happen? I mean, we’re safe inside here right? Soldiers or no, everyone is sleeping and even if there’s one sick guy stuck in the bathroom, he’s just stuck in the bathroom stall.” Even as he said it though, it felt like the same sort of lie parents tell their children about grandma passing away. “Forget what I just said. We’ve got to get out of this place. Now.”

  She shook her head. “Now? It’d be smarter to wait until morning.”

  “No.” He grabbed her by the shoulders, “We have to leave right now.”

  “You’re scaring me.”