Alameda Native History Project

Tag: zombie

  • Zombie: The Incident at Bloody Rock – Four

    Four

    I’d never been able to sleep on those big jumbo jets.  I don’t know what it was about them.  Maybe it was because they flew so high up.  I remember one time I flew redeye to Dulles from San Francisco in a 747 and didn’t sleep a wink.  Then we flew from Dulles to a small airport in Pennsylvania, in a little mudskipper.  We’re talking a fifty passenger, two prop plane.  I slept like a baby the whole flight.  Maybe it was the adrenaline come-down, or the safety of my father.  My dreams were vivid:

    I saw it happening in front of me, the whole terrifying experience of dying.  The pain, the gore, I imagined myself on the hospital bed, bleeding out, burning out and choking on my own breath until it all went black.

    …Then waking up again like it was some bad dream.  I saw the astonishment I felt reflected in the nurses’ faces.  I wondered if I were ghost.  I felt as if I were replaying something that already happened when I looked over and saw the others tearing the room up.  I already knew to hide.  I watched as people ran past me screaming, only to be brought down and eaten.  I scrunched myself down in a storage bin and closed my eyes.  All around me I could hear people screaming, pleading for their lives, suffering….  I covered my ears so I couldn’t hear and prayed.

    From somewhere else, I could hear Clive telling dad that’s when I found him.  In my haze, I struggled to come to; I was almost too tired to move.  The car had stopped; I felt like we were still waiting for George.  Then I remembered, the images of his burning truck coming back.  I wondered which killed him: the truck rolling over, or the subsequent fire.

    As I climbed back into the cabin, I noticed my ankle was feeling a lot better.

    Clive turned around and asked, “Did you sleep okay?”

    “Yeah,” I said, “But I don’t think I really slept.  I think I dreamt what you were telling dad about what happened.”

    “How long have we been stopped?”  I asked.

    “Maybe about fifteen minutes,” Dad said.

    We all looked at each other for a moment.  I felt like I had interrupted the flow of things.

    “So. . .” I began awkwardly, “Why are we stopped here?”

    Dad let out his breath and shrugged.  “I don’t know . . . .  I just wanted to rest, I guess.  Try to get a grip on what just happened.”

    “Oh,” I said, “Watch out, Clive, I need to stretch my legs.”

    I pushed Clive out of the way, pulled the latch and flopped out of the door, onto my back, in the dirt.  The cool earth greeted me and I savored the feeling of calm and serenity, the pine scent, the dirt.  I took a big whiff of dirt-smell and looked at the sky.  I cocked my head to the left and looked out over the lake.  In the distance, I could see a thin trail of black smoke rising from where we left George…

    We were in front of the coffee shop, three doors up the street from the gas station.  The sky was bright blue, except for the horizon, where I could see the last thin strips color before the sun would to peek over the hills.  My watch showed sixty forty-three.

    The road we were on was a two-way; one lane larger than the unmarked dirt roads we had escaped on.  The shoulder of the north side being nothing but wood.  There was the rise of another valley hill maybe five hundred yards off.  The place was a ghost town, just like I thought.  It didn’t look like anything had been open in a while.  The window of the coffee shop had a thick layer of dust.  As I pressed my face against the glass I could see everything inside was coated as well.

    “Dad,” I said.

    He came over and stood by me.  We were both looking at the smoke now.  I wanted to tell him not to feel bad.  But I kinda wanted him to tell me that.  The incidents at Bloody Rock were so fresh I couldn’t think about them without breathing heavier.  And then there was Clive.  I found myself spacing out for a minute, thinking about what would happen, eventually.  Then I wasn’t really thinking about that, I was just staring out.

    “It’s unbelievable,” Dad said quietly.

    When I turned, he was looking at me solemnly.  But somewhere in his eyes I saw a glint.

    “What is?”  I asked him.

    “How are you so calm?”  Dad asked me, “Are you just pretending?  What Clive told me. . .”

    He left off there, probably realizing he didn’t need to tell me.  I took a few seconds to think about what I would say.  I wasn’t really calm inside.  But we were away from it.  We had that much.  How long would it take for them to wander?  Or chase the others into the woods?  Do they even need to eat?

    “I don’t know,” I said to myself, as much as him.  “I just took it at face value, took it like I had to.”

    He looked at me.

    “It was really just self-preservation,” I told him.

    Dad asked, “How’s your ankle?”

    I shifted my weight back and forth on it.  It felt really stiff, but I could still use it, for the most part.

    “It’s okay, I guess.”  I told him, “Could use some ice, though.”

    When Clive came over to tell us we were forty-five minutes away from the highway, I noticed his eyes were a little paler.  They looked like a gray instead of blue.  And he used to have brown eyes.  Dad and I both shared a look before examining the route.  It was different from the way we came, but it would shave off fifteen minutes.  And the road looked fairly flat, once we hit the ridge.

    The winds shifted direction, a dry heat wafting over us.  I could have sworn I heard something humming in the distance.  Clive was looking at me.

    “Who do you think called Dr. Robertson?” He asked.

    “I don’t know,” I said, “All the phones I tried weren’t working.  And we didn’t get cell phone reception.”

    “Maybe he was just crazy,” Dad offered.

    I couldn’t argue with that.  The little asshole was probably bunkered up in his office, talking to an imaginary person on the phone.  I let out a low chuckle at the thought.

    “Let’s get out of here.”  Clive said.

    “You don’t have to twist my arm,” Dad replied.

    So we mounted up and drove away. The road was deserted.  Only a couple SUV’s passed us.  Then we turned on the freeway.  By the time my stomach started to gurgle uncontrollably, we’d been driving for two hours and were in Santa Rosa.  Dad spotted a McDonald’s and told us it was time for breakfast.

    The first thing that Clive and I did when we walked into the McDonald’s was wash our hands.  Mine were stained the color of the earth outside the hospital; they looked like I had been digging in red clay, if one didn’t know better.  I tried not to notice as I scrubbed errant bits of hair off my fingernails.  After my hands, I scrubbed my face.  I was tan, normally.  But my face was covered in a thin layer of grime.  More from camping than anything else; I smelled, too.  The smell of the hospital had eased since I changed clothes, but the smell was still stuck in my hair; and it felt like it clung to my skin.

    After I dried off, I took Clive’s pulse, hoping. . . .  But his skin was cold.  And he still didn’t have a pulse.  His eyes were still the lightest, dullest blue I’d ever seen.  Enzyme packages my ass, I thought.  This is some voodoo bullshit.

    When we walked out, Dad had gotten us a pile of McMuffins.  

    “I hop you brought your appetite,” He said.

    Oh man, I thought.

    I tore into the food with a reckless abandon.

    Running for my life had me hungry.  Dad was more conservative, and I noticed Clive just sniffing at the food.  In between a gulp of orange juice and giant bite of egg, sausage and muffin, I took the patty out of Clive’s sandwich and squirted a bunch of ketchup on it, so it looked bloodier.

    “That’s not funny,” He told me.

    “Get used to it,” I told him, “You can’t eat the dog.”

    “’m not hungry,” Was all Clive said.

    I laughed anyway.  A kind of desperate, denial-laugh.

    “Seriously, though,” I told him, “Eat the fucking burger.”

    “Don’t talk to your brother like that!”  Dad snapped.  My dad was scary when he got angry sometimes.

    “Sorry, Clive,” I said.

    “S’okay,” He mumbled.

    Clive picked up the patty, then, and nibbled at it.  I watched him think about the taste, the texture.  I was kind of alarmed when I realized his nostrils were flared and he was looking at the other people eating.  I could tell he really wanted them.  Or us, for that fact.  I tried not to think about it, so I just concentrated on eating.  Dad tried to make small talk, but he could kind of tell Clive and I were both in our own little worlds.

    When I finished, I got up, balled up my wrappers and shit, threw it in the trash, washed my hands, wiped my face and walked outside.  I did all of that while I tried not to focus on the very real fear of my brother rising in me.  Clive wasn’t my brother.  Rodney wasn’t my friend.  Those things in the hall way weren’t my friends.  Even that woman, the one I crushed the head of….  She wasn’t really a woman.

    I shook my head and lit a cigarette; the conflict between what I saw and what I knew was the truth simmering just below the surface.  I hoped that my brother and my dad finished soon.

    Sooner or later, I thought.

    I could already see the battle to the death.  I don’t know why Rodney didn’t lift me up by the eye sockets, too.  Or even tore out my throat or hit me with an EKG monitor.  Why didn’t he?  But Clive was definitely capable of something like it.  Dad should have asked him how he could be so calm.  How did it feel to be a zombie?  How was any of this possible?

    And if we killed him, what would we do with the body?

    “Jesus christ!” I said aloud, “I can’t believe I’m actually thinking about this.”

    A mom with two kids walked out.  The kids were tyke, pretty much unaware of their surroundings.  The mom looked kinda tired as she herded them to the wagon.  It seemed so wrong.  If I’d left him, would he have turned on me?  If I had killed him, I was sure it would’ve felt much worse right now.  But I had to take him with me.

    God damn it.

    When Dad and Clive came back out, I asked to drive.  Dad gave me the keys and I hopped in.  Man, I loved driving the Toyota; and I drove it fast, too.  I rolled the windows down and turned on some oldies to get my mind off everything.  I knew Clive would have to be dealt with.  It was something that I had made my peace with.  In the moments after I snuffed my cigarettes out, I resolved myself to taking the matter into my own hands.  I would make him kill himself.

    Or maybe not; I still didn’t know what to do with the body.  I mean—“alive”—Clive is a zombie.  Dead, Clive is just a dead kid.  And cops are going to want to know why there’s a dead kid in your house.  There’s gonna be an investigation.  Someone has to be blamed, and it wasn’t gonna be me.

    If we didn’t kill him: then what?  Would we let him decompose until he couldn’t move?  Would he be completely conscious during the rest of his decay?  Frankly, would he like for us to bury him alive?  As I rolled over the Richmond Bridge, I considered dumping him in the bay.  A cement coffin might do well.  The body would decompose inside of it; and no one would find it because it’s at the bottom of the bay.

    But then I remembered that this wasn’t just a body.  The whole situation seemed a reversal of all of those hide-the-body dreams I’ve ever had.  This wasn’t just a fit of passion.  But he’s a zombie!  I thought, but I can’t prove it when he’s completely dead!

    It frustrated me, not having an answer.  I needed to have an answer.  I felt like I was on the verge of popping.  But I regained my control, and decide to confer with my father later.  I didn’t know what he thought of the situation.  From what I’d seen, my Dad was pretty much in denial.  He was being kinda vacant, not really bringing attention to anything.  I wondered if he was afraid of Clive, too.  If, maybe, he thought that bringing the matter up would spur an attack.

    At the toll plaza, at the Bay Bridge, I jockeyed my way through cars.  Dad gave me the toll money and I made the hop, skip and jump to our exit.  Sometimes it was convenient living in the middle of the bay.

    When we got home, everything was how we left it.  Everything seemed so normal.  I let out a huge sigh of relief when I opened the front door and the cool air hit me.  We didn’t worry about the stuff in the truck yet.  As Dad and Clive started opening the windows, I dropped my backpack on my bed, turn my computer on, and stood out on the front porch and looked at San Francisco.  I could hear Dad messing with the television.

    The day was clear.  It was about eleven now, and it was unseasonably warm for November.  And, with only a couple hours of sleep, it was incredibly early.  When I turned around and went back inside, Dad was watching channel two.  I remember this part clearly:

    “…And the breaking news: Bombs Destroy the Francis E. Seymour Children’s Research Hospital  in an Apparent Terrorist Attack.  There are no survivors,” Was what the lady said.

    I said, “What the fuck?!”

    Dad said, “Clive!”

    Clive came running and we all looked at the screen.  It was a hill, with a smoldering pile of brick and metal rubble.

    “That’s the hospital!” Clive exclaimed.

    The image cut to a pan over some dead bodies in the wreckage, burning R.V.’s.

    “Officials believe several bombs that were planted inside the hospital exploded earlier than planned.  The explosions completely destroyed the hospital.  What you see behind me is the rubble.  Some of it is still on fire, but fire crews say they have it… [I could hear the sounds of a jet soaring overhead] ninety-percent contained.”

    We looked on in disbelief as they played interviews with someone in camoflauge.

    “This is bullshit,” Dad said.

    Clive and I just looked at each other in disbelief.  The television told us there would be more information at noon.  Fuck, I thought.  Dad jumped up and started screaming cover-up.

    “You can’t show anyone those CD’s now,” Dad told me.  “If they find out we were there. . .”

    He looked at Clive.  I could see the light turn on.  Clive looked at both of us like we were going to kill him.  And who knows?  Maybe we were.

    “Go to your room, Clive,” Dad said.  “We need to talk about you.”

    “Are you going to kill me?”  He asked, obviously afraid.

    But Dad didn’t answer.  Clive went to his room, and slammed his door.  Dad turned the television up in the living room, and we walked into the kitchen, where we wouldn’t be overheard.  He poured a glass of water.

    “Have you been thinking about what to do, too?”  I asked him.

    “Yeah,” Dad says, “But this completely changes everything.”

    I took out the first aid kit and started to wrap my ankle.  It was very stiff, and very swollen, but not broken.  I brought Dad up to speed on what I had already considered.  Dad nodded and sipped his water.

    In the background, I could hear the reporters talking about “assassination.”  One of the African diplomats who were supposed to in attendance was running for re-election.  He was very unpopular, the report said, and lots of people wanted him out.  It was amazing how deep the lie was.

    They already had people in jail for orchestrating the attack.  I wondered what the omnipotent “they” would do if they ever found out we were alive.  My only regret was that I couldn’t be there to witness the spectacle.  Those things were exterminated.  At least, I hoped they were.

    “Whatever happened there,” Dad said, “People aren’t supposed to know there were zombies.  And we definitely were not supposed to get away.”

    I wondered how they did it.  How the government decided to destroy everything.  Even though the footage was heavily edited, I was sure the jet in the background was a fighter.  They probably called in the air force, I thought.

    “How many of them do you think escaped?”  I asked.

    “I don’t know…”  Dad replied, “They had a few hours to roam.  Those other two got pretty far…”

    “Do you think they’ll get to civilization?”

    Dad shrugged.

    Then I asked him the real question, “What do we do with the body?”

    Dad’s face went through a series of emotions, the first being shocked anger.  I thought he was going to hit me, honestly.  Then he took on the look he has whenever we play chess and I’ve just backed him into a corner.  He looked at the backyard, probably sizing it up for a burial.

    “We could just bury him under the house,” I cracked.

    “Don’t be morbid,” Dad told me, “This is already bad enough without you being so insensitive.”

    That hurt.  I didn’t say anything after that.  We looked at each other, trying to come up with an alternative.

    “There can’t be an autopsy,” Dad said, “That’s just going to expose us.  And so are those discs.  You should destroy them immediately.  We need to burn those clothes.  How long do you think we have with Clive?”

    “I don’t know,” I told him.  “Compared to Rodney and everyone else . . . he’s lasted for quite a while.  When Rodney attacked me, his eyes were yellow.  I don’t know if that’s the benchmark, but Clive’s eyes have only been getting paler.”

    “When do you think it’ll happen?”  Dad asked.

    “Probably tonight,” I told him.

    Dad asked, “Do you think we should ask for his opinion?”

    “You can,” I told him.  “I’ve had my share of murder.”

    Dad gave me a concerned look, “You don’t think it’s murder, do you?”

    He said, “The doctors checked him.  He’s dead.  They’re all dead, Kenny.  If we kill him…  Well, we won’t be killing him.”

    “But how do we explain his disappearance?  How do we just live knowing he’s out there?”  I motioned to the backyard.

    “The disappearance is easy,” Dad told me, “He died in the hospital, okay?”

    “Okay,” I agreed.

    But that still didn’t help the fact that my little brother’s body would be buried on our small property, “just waiting to be dug up by some future homeowner.”  How long would it take a CSI team to track his body to us?

    Even if we could explain what happened . . . it just wouldn’t work.  It would be easier if we let him scratch us . . . or bite us; at least it was self-defense.  But then, weren’t we as good as dead, too?  I should have just left him in the hospital.  It was so fucking ironic how one zombie was suddenly more of a problem than a hospital full of zombies. 

    I followed Dad to the gun case and watched as he opened it and prepped his Sig Sauer for my brother’s execution.  My heart rate went cyclical as he took the silencer out of a shoebox in his closet.  We only needed one bullet, but he popped three in the magazine, and chambered the first round.  I tried not thinking of him doing all of us.  (You know: murder-murder-suicide.)

    He turned around and looked at me, his face was desperate.  I could tell he wanted there to be another way.  But we’d worked ourselves into a corner.  No, I put us here.  This whole thing was my fault.  Dad could look as pathetic as he wanted to, but I knew in my heart of hearts, this was my fault.

    Clive must have heard the sound of Dad chambering his Sig, because he popped his head out of the door.  His eyes had taken on the color of old mayonnaise, opaque, and yellowed around the edges.  We looked back at him like the family dog who had reached his time.  I tried not to be afraid as he came toward us.  When he noticed the gun in Dad’s hand, he looked at us with a determined gaze.  

    “Just do it,” Clive said, as he stepped forward bowed his head

    Dad gasped and gripped the pistol tighter.  I watched it quiver in his hand.  My stomach was twisted in knots.  I couldn’t believe this was actually happening.  Clive was closing his eyes tight, but he looked calm.

    Clive muttered, “We all know you have to, dad.”

    When we didn’t move, he looked at us accusingly.

    “Do it!”  He screamed, “I don’t want to be like Rodney!  I don’t want to wait until I fall to pieces to finally rest.  I can’t feel anything.  I’m not hungry.  But I want to…”

    He grimaced and clenched his knuckles white, growling lowly.  Dad and I both took a step back.  Clive was changing before our eyes.  His eyes were rapidly turning yellow now.  I could see a hint of foam at his mouth.  When he locked eyes with me, I felt a quake go through my whole body.

    This is it, I thought, as Clive lunged towards me.

    Dad peppered Clive across the back with all three bullets, but he didn’t even flinch.  I could hear the sounds of ripping.  Ribbons of red hit the floor between us as he grabbed my outstretched arms.  I tried to break free, but he was much stronger than I expected.  He threw me down to the ground.

    I brought my knees up and kicked him away from me.  There was blood pouring from the holes in his side.  But I knew it didn’t matter to him.  Dad tried to catch Clive, but Clive almost caught him.  It was frantic.

    “Don’t get bit!”  I yelled at Dad.

    As Dad wrestled with Clive, I marveled at how strong my little brother had become.  Even Dad was having a hard time fighting him.  It looked like they were evenly matched.  I looked over at the gun rack and felt a calm rush over me.  Dad had left the keys in the case.  I watched them as I fumbled with the locks to the Mossburg.

    “The head!”  I told dad, “The brain or the brain stem.”

    Dad lightly slammed Clive’s head against the table.  I could tell Dad didn’t really want to hurt Clive.  His look said it all, shock and horror.  When Clive turned around, I could see the corner took a piece of his eyebrow.  As they fought, Clive would lean in every once in a while and try to bit Dad.  Dad was trying to get him to calm down.  But Clive was behind reason.

    “He’s beyond the grave,” I muttered to myself.

    I’ll never forget the sound his teeth made against each other.  I pulled the shotgun out and loaded the steel shot.  Clive whipped around immediately when he heard me chamber the first of four shells.  I flipped the safety on and got ready for Clive’s attack.

    It made me feel good to have the shotgun in my hands; even though I wasn’t going to shoot Clive.  I planned to beat his brain in the backyard.

    When Clive charged me, I stepped back and raised the butt to his chin.  Then I shoved the muzzle in his stomach, pushing him back.  He was fighting and scratching, but I was calm.  I kicked him into the kitchen.

    “Open the door, Dad!” I yelled.  “Get outside.”

    He did as he was told, slipping behind Clive, who growled and tried to scratch him.  I took the opportunity to butt him in the back of the head.  Any normal person would have been unconscious.  But Clive just turned and screamed.  I gave him the final kick and he flew out the back door and hit the dirt a few feet away.  He tried to get up, but I ground my boot in his face until he just laid there.  I thought it was over then.

    But he looked up at me like that girl in the Exorcist and said, “Do it!”

    Dad was standing to the side, shocked, as I stood over Clive and gave him the final blow.  It was one more shotgun butt, to the center of his forehead, straight down.  My knees followed through and the whole butt went through to the back of his skull with no more than a crunch and a wet slapping sound.

    When I removed the shotgun from his face, I tried not to look.  But he was my brother.  His head was caved in, a mess of purple skin, shattered bone, blood and hair.  His eyes were laying in the center, completely yellow now.  The smell was unbearable.  It was so bad I could almost see the fetid, curling trails of stench rising from his lifeless body.

    I dropped the shotgun and heaved until McMuffin was spurting out my nose.  Then I started to cry for my dead brother.  I puked so hard, my throat grew raw.  And the ragged breaths that I was taking in between sobs were filled with the horrible taste of my own bile.  I gave one last heave and laid out on the grass, rolling into a ball in the vomit and blood.

    Dad dropped beside me looked at Clive.  The look of shock and horror was displaced by the disgust . . . and the sorrow.

    It was over.  My brother was dead.  And what was it worth?  I looked at the blood on my clothes, on my hands, and wondered if there was anyone to blame for it.  Besides me.

    “Get the shovels and a trash bag to cover him.” I choked out.

    “What are we going to do now?”  Dad asked.

    We did what any good murderers would do.  We bought some lye, dug a hole and planted roses.

  • Zombie: The Incident at Bloody Rock – Three

    Three

    Once the second disc popped out, we shut off the computer and sat in silence.  No more was spoken of the doctor’s experience, or my brother’s lack of bloodlust.  We listened for any sign of movement.

    Clive peeked through the blinds; but he couldn’t see anything.  Dr. Robertson took the point as I cracked the door open.  It was almost pitch black.  I kept my eyes open and tried to adjust to the darkness as I peered out.  The stench was rich.

    I heard something slide against a wall.  It sounded kind of close, but it was muffled.  Then a muffled groan and the rattle of the axe in the break room door.  Those were the only sounds I heard.  Other than that it was so quiet I could hear my heart beat.  Dr. Robertson looked ready when I turned around.  He had a death grip on his suitcase.  I told Clive not to turn on the flashlight unless we absolutely needed it.  I took out the security guard’s nightstick and patted the CD’s in my pocket before sliding out of the door and creeping down the hallway towards the elevators.

    Adrenaline was coursing through my veins.  I expected to run into one of them any second.  I let out a sigh of relief when I saw the elevator was still there, waiting for us.  But that relief quickly faded when I realized someone was standing in it—and she was missing an ear.

    “Take care of her.”  The doctor told me.

    I was about to turn around, about to argue.  I mean, this guy just asked me to kill someone.  Okay, this isn’t a person, I thought, but it was still dangerous.  Plus I was scared, really scared.  It would have been more preferable to just jog down the hall and disappear into the stairwells, on my way to safety.  Then I wouldn’t have to fight that thing and risk having it bite me.  I briefly considered sending Clive in there, as I was positive he could handle the thing.  But then I remembered what Randy said about his brother succumbing to blood lust.  The doctor nudged me out of my train-of-thought.

    “Go on!” He hissed.

    I’d be doing a lot of this if we had bad luck, I told myself.  And if we had good luck, this was the last stop before getting the fuck out of here.  The thought pressed me on as I crept up to the elevator, staying low and hiding along the railings.  I tried to think of all the different ways of getting rid of the woman in the elevator.  I watched her just stand there, nearly lifeless except for the subtle growling sound.

    I could throw her into the light well, I thought.  I could crack her skull with my nightstick.  I wanted to just run up there and smack her in the back of the head with the short side of the side-handled wooden stick.  At least, I thought it was wooden.  I tried my grip on it as I rounded the elevator door and she caught sight of me.  I froze in my tracks, my courage completely diminished.

    It took her a millisecond to charge me; I had to think quickly.  I let her have the first one against the side of her head and it landed with an echoing CRACK!  She fell on her face and I dropped on top of her as she tried to get up.  She struggled to bite my arms as I tried to hold her down, but I couldn’t get the right grip.  So I tried something new.

    The night stick was abandoned as I slammed her head into the floor until I could hear her skull crack and feel it soften like a rotten tomato in my hands.  When the brains started to ooze from her face and wet my hands I let go; my fists clenched and dripping infected blood.  I hoped that I didn’t have any cuts on my hands; and that there wasn’t another one waiting somewhere in the darkness.

    For a few fleeting moments, I took into account that this was someone the doctor used to work with.  That somewhere, out there, this person had a family.  She was collateral damage.  I watched her lifeless body as I caught my breath.  I was aware of Clive and Dr. Robertson watching me.

    “Okay,” I said.

    Clive and Dr. Robertson came into the elevator with me and I was about to pull the emergency stop button when the doctor slapped my hand away from the controls.

    “What the fuck?!”  I asked.

    “All of the buttons are pressed.”  The doctor noted.

    It was true.  The control panel was completely alight.  I’m surprised we didn’t hear her ring the bell.

    “God damn it!”  I slammed the panel.  “Get out.”

    I pushed the emergency stop button in again and watched as the elevator went down and dinged at the next floor.  It was met by a groan.  I was happy that we hadn’t gone on the elevator.  But I was more distressed because I had to wonder if those were the same zombies, or if they were new ones, ones that had come off the elevator perhaps.  The door dinged closed and continued its way down tot he next floor.  This would have been the cafeteria and the offices.  I didn’t hear anything.  I wanted to wait and listen some more, but Clive pulled at my shirt.

    “So what are we going to do now?”  He asked, “Are we going to wait for it to come back?  Or should we just take the stairs?”

    “They’re probably in the stairwells by now.”  I said.

    “I don’t know.”  The doctor said.  “But we need to get down somehow.  We just have to pick the right one.  They can’t be in all of the stairwells.”

    We moseyed down the hallways back to the stairwell by the doctor’s office, on the easterly point of the building. Clive played the brave one, pushing the door open far ahead of him, and taking a sweeping look around the stairwell with his flashlight.  There was one in the corner, on the landing down from us.

    “Close it!” The doctor shouted.

    Clive reached for the door, but I jumped it and slammed it shut for him.  We could hear the thing pounding and screaming on the other side.  I turned to the doctor, completely pissed off that he would have the nerve to shout in an environment where shouting is a very, very bad idea.

    “Shut the fuck up!” I hissed at him.  I felt like slapping him out of terror, “Don’t yell, you idiot!”

    The doctor checked himself and we walked to the western stairwell.  Mind you, the doctor’s office was on the southern wall; which is why I was able to peer out and see the hint of a sunrise.  If this doesn’t work, I thought, we’ll have to walk over to the dark side of the hallway.  I never admitted it to anyone since I was five, but I was deathly afraid of the dark.  And the thought of losing battery power or breaking the flashlight—or of someone running away with it—was terrifying.  … Being abandoned was incomprehensible and the thought left me with a tingly, unavoidable fear.

    We arrived at the other end of the hallway.  I could still hear the one in the other stairwell screaming.  But, there were new voices, of children.  I brushed off a chill as we got into position.  I instructed Clive on where to stand and hold the flashlight and got ready to move in, when I turned to look at the doctor, standing there.  Doctor Robertson looked scared shitless.  He was hugging his briefcase and staring at us wide-eyed.  In his breath I heard a shiver and I wondered if he would run.  He looked like he was in shock.

    “Dr. Robertson,” I addressed him.

    He gave me no response; so I took out my stick and poked him in the briefcase.  “Hey!”

    The doctor snapped out of it and looked at me.

    “Stay with us, okay?” I asked.

    “Sorry,” He said.

    It bumped into one of them, the door, when I opened it.  I still thought of them as people; but not for long.  I wanted to puke—I was so revolted and scared at the same time.  It was a nurse.  Her face was torn almost completely off, except for the spots around her chewed up ears.  One of her eyes hung loosely from its socket.  It whipped around uselessly as she snapped her head toward us and hissed.  I shut the door as quickly as I could, but it got stuck on her fingers, the edges of the door subtly sinking through her flesh like a fork through a bone-tender veal cutlet.  I let out a shriek I couldn’t control.

    “Oh my god!  This is fucking crazy!” I stuttered, as tried to pull the door shut, but she wouldn’t let go.

    “Run!” The doctor squealed. 

    “No!” I shouted.  The thought of them leaving me over one zombie pissed me off.  I mean, this was one zombie, with its fucking hand in the door.  Was that really so fucking scary?  “Stay here!” I told them.  Then I turned back to the nurse and slammed the door on her hand a couple of times, to no avail.

    I was not going to give up and let them in.  I was not going to run away.  If I ran away, they could still get me.  But if I took any longer, Clive and the Doctor would leave me alone.  And this was just one fucking zombie.  I’d already taken three fucking zombies.  So fuck this.

    “You’re fucking dead!” I screamed; as I shoved my shoulder against the door, using all of my body weight.  It slammed against her like a freight train, and I almost fell over the rails.  When I turned, she was stunned, but beginning to get up.  I slipped behind her and wrapped my arms around her neck and pulled, and twisted up as hard as I could.  I swear I felt the vertebrae pop against my chest.  When I was done, I threw her over the railing.  Then I closed the door, thumping against it with a huff.

    “Did you see that?”  I asked.

    “Yeah, you totally got her!” Clive exclaimed.

    The doctor looked at me warily.

    “Have you ever done that before?”  He asked.

    “Don’t worry,” I told him, “If you were a zombie, I’d do it to you, too.”

    He went deadpan.

    .

    Feeling empowered, I marched over to the dark side and waited for the others to catch up.  They looked like they had finally become hyper-aware of their surroundings.  The doctor was staying away from Clive, I noticed, at least two arm lengths if he could.

    “Are you alright, doctor?” I asked him.

    The doctor looked at me and nodded vigorously.

    “Do you want to try a door now?”

    “No thank you,” he said, “I value my—I mean, I don’t think I’m quite as brave as you are.”

    “Turn off the light, Clive,” I said.

    When he did, I opened the door as quietly as I could and listened.  There was some shuffling.  It sounded above us, not very close.  I closed the door, and decided to see what the other stairwell was like.

    “What was wrong with that one?” The doctor asked.


    “Nothing,” I told him, “Except for maybe a zombie or two.”

    As we approached the final stairwell, the doctor strode passed us.  He walked over to the door in a determined kind of way.  He rolled his sleeves up and said,

    “Let me do it this time.”

    When the door opened, there was a crowd gathered on the landing.  It was kind of ironic, if one stopped to think about it.  The doctor ran away immediately, he disappeared into the darkness, leaving only the sounds of his footsteps behind.  We were left there, at the open door, staring at a grip of zombies that were now staring at us.  I wanted to scream.  The thought had struck me to stay still and hope they tore after the doctor; but judging from their unwavering gazes, they wouldn’t.

    “C’mon!” I screamed, taking Clive’s hand and pulling him towards the other stairwell.  I hoped that once we go through the door, they wouldn’t be able to follow.  But I knew they would be ale to, with the push-bar design of the damn things.  I knew why they couldn’t leave the stairwells, the doors had handles.  It was so simple.  But it never occurred to any of us.

    I filed the thought away for later as we fled, the door growing closer as the hungry growls of those things got louder.  I could hear their feet thumping behind us.  I could smell them.  It was putrid, like a mixture of spoiled milk and bad meat.  My bowels gave a jolt.  I had to take a shit.

    …In all of the places….

    Clive crashed into the door and turned, waiting for me to catch up.  “Hurry!” He yelled; and I jumped into the stairwell.  We both slammed the door shut and put our weights against it.  When they hit, the door almost shook out of its hinges.  The impact reverberated through the concrete steps that we stood on and echoed through the whole stairwell just like a dinner bell.

    As I stood with my back against the door and my feet on the railings, I noticed the flashlight meant little.  It was pitch black.  I tried to listen, but the sound of those things on the other side drowned out even my own heartbeat.  I clenched my teeth and growled, pushing the door against its sill.  I didn’t know if I could take this much longer.  

    “There’s another one in here,” I breathed.

    “I know,” Clive said.

    “How do you–” I asked, but already, I could see the outline of someone a half flight up from us.  If we let the door open, I thought, it might keep them long enough for us to sprint the four floors down to the lobby.  Then what?  Do we call the Red Cross or something?

    “Clive,” I said, “I’m gonna let door open.  They’ll probably run straight into the railings.  We can beat them running down the stairs.  What do you say?”

    “Okay,” Clive said, casting the torch down the winding stairwell.

    “Do you see anything?” I asked.

    “No.” He replied.

    Clive did the countdown and I sprung off the railings and pushed against the door.  It came back faster than I thought it would and found my ankle.  Then I was falling.  I tried not to land on my face and got up.  They were screaming at each other, confused at the door.  They don’t see me, I thought.  But they will when I get up…

    I pushed myself up as quickly as I could.  When I put weight on my ankle I almost collapsed.  The pain was intense.  But I had to go, and so I grabbed both sides of the railing and heaved myself down the stairs, skipping entire flights and landing on one leg as best as I could.  I can worry about my ankle later.   I have to get down the stairs now.   Clive’s flashlight wasn’t getting any closer.

    “Why the fuck are you chasing us?”  I yelled at them.  But all I got were more feral screams.

    When I caught up with Clive, he was already on the first floor, waiting for me.  There was a light coming out from under the first floor door.  It was unmistakable because the rest of the doors were dark.  I hurled myself through it without thinking.  Clive shut it.  I was blinded when the door swung open and turned around, landing on my back.

    “Close it!” I shouted.

    “Look!” He said.  The handles were on the outside of the door and the push-bars were on the inside.

    “Do you know your way?” I asked him.

    “No,” He replied.

    We could hear screaming again, coming from behind us.

    “They can get out,” I told him.

    “Fuck,” Clive muttered and offered me his hand.

    The pain in my ankle had de-escalated from unbearable to throbbing.  It wasn’t broken, but I was looking forward to when I’d be able to sit.  Or sleep….  I wondered if Dad was still outside.  As I heard the stairwell door slam open I wondered if the zombies had struck outside yet.  A sudden fear gripped me because I could imagine the dead bodies and screaming.  If they had gotten out to the living in the tents and RV’s, it would be almost impossible to get out alive.  Deep inside, there was a part of me ready to reap vengeance on anything that came near Clive or my dad.

    For now there was running down a corridor of all white.  No signs anywhere.  I could hear them screaming behind us.  I followed Clive right, down a smaller corridor.  There was a green exit sign ten feet away.  Just in time, I thought.  When Clive tried the door, the handle didn’t move.

    “Shit!” I exclaimed.  I could hear the patter of their feet coming towards us.  “What are we going to do?”

    “I don’t know,” Clive replied.

    So I took off running down the hallway until I reached what looked like a loading dock.  On the left side of the hallway was a steel rolling door, and on the right were two double doors that led into what looked like a warehouse.  I knew this was the same loading dock we had set up camp in view of.  Five hundred feet from this door was my tent.  If only we can find the exit.  Clive pushed on the double doors and they opened.

    “C’mon, Kenny!”  Clive hollered.

    I slipped into the door with him and we took off towards the first door we saw, across the room.  Behind us, we could hear the thunder of feet stop outside of the door we went in.  I didn’t know how they found us.  I slammed through the door and took off right, down whatever hallway I was in.  I kept pushing on; completely unaware of what was behind me, or what was going on around me.  I took the next door and bounded through a room full of cubicles.  A look over my shoulder confirmed Clive was right behind me.

    Finally, at the end of the room, past the overturned chairs and spilt coffee mugs (somebody left in a hurry); there was a door with a green exit sign.  The door led into the promenade that the elevators serve.  I could see several bodies lining the floor.  We came to a dead stop.  Mind the pun.  I motioned for Clive to be quiet as we tip-toed over suspiciously lifeless bodies.  I could see mucus and brain spilling out of their ears like chicken soup.  In the middle of them all was Rodney, eyes wide open, mouth agape like so many dead squirrels I’d seen on the road, rigor mortised into their last moments.  His body looked worse than I remembered….

    I hadn’t even noticed the screaming had stopped.  Either they’d lost us, or had decided to chase after some other poor dumb bastard.  Almost on cue, I heard the doctor’s voice above me.

    “Kenny!”  He shouted.

    I looked up.  He was standing on the balcony four floors up.

    “Don’t forget my research,” He told me, “You must put it in the proper hands.”

    I felt like asking him why he was still up there, what he thought he’d gain by hiding—waiting for them to come and get him.  But I figured he’d already made his choice, and he didn’t need me to risk my life to convince him otherwise.

    The doctor was still talking, “I got a hold of someone… They’re supposed to be coming soon.  They told me to stay here.”

    I looked up at him, surprised he’d been able to reach anyone.

    The doctor chuckled, a relieved, surprised sort of chuckle.  “The phone just rang.”  He laughed now.  “Somehow they knew.  Maybe Bart reached help!  Maybe we’ll see each other again, after all.  I’m hiding in my office and waiting for them to arrive.”

    Clive tapped me on the shoulder and pointed at one of them crawling towards us; blood coming out of its mouth.  It was less horrifying when they weren’t screaming and tearing off after you any chance they got.  This one was so defenseless.

    “You’ll be one of the first specimens,” I told it.

    When I looked back up, the doctor was gone.  I wanted to say something more to him.  But the door was there . . . only a few feet away.   The thing on the floor had made little progress.  Now that we were in the home stretch, Clive and I took our time walking out of the building, taking care not to be seen by any more of them.  I tried the phones briefly, before we left, but they were all busy.  How did they call in, I wondered, and who were they?

    There was no one in the halls.  No bodies or blood stains anywhere near the door.  Right next to the door was a red fire alarm switch.  I pulled it and dashed out the door.

    Clive whooped and hollered as we made our way to the rear of the building.  Everything looked normal.  The sun was making its way up over the horizon.  A lot of people had left already, probably dejected by what had happened.  The news crews were gone, probably in their cushy hotels, waiting until the dinner ceremony tonight.  The RV parked next to our camp was still there—and so were our tents.

    “Dad?!”  Clive called out.

    My dad’s tear-streaked face popped out of the tent.  He looked at me, and then Clive.  I took the time to look at Clive under this new light.  He didn’t look that bad.  His toes were blue, though, and his veins were poking out, but considering that I was out of breath and still frightened as hell….

    Dad hugged Clive.

    “I never thought you were going to make it out!”  He exclaimed.  “Did the nurses let you out?  What did Doctor Robertson say?”

    Clive and I exchanged nervous looks as Dad continued, “Where are Avery and Rodney?”

    “Ummm…” Was all that Clive could say.

    “Dad,” I started, “Rodney and Avery are dead.”

    “What?” Dad opened his mouth to say something but he closed it, a confused look on his face. “How…. How did Rodney die?  What happened?”

    George, Rodney and Avery’s dad had seen us come running.  He was on his way over.  He probably wanted to know what was happening, how come Clive and I were outside and no one else.

    “Did you see anyone leave the hospital?”  I asked.

    “No, well, there was one person, a kid—two, actually.  He was wearing a black shirt and ran straight into the woods.  Another kid in a hospital gown was running not far behind.”  

    Clive and I shared a look.  Wasn’t that the kid with the medical weed?

    Dad looked at us seriously then, “What’s goin’ on, Kenny?”

    “Something went wrong,” I told him, “I don’t know what.  But, everyone died, and then they came back.  They’re like zombies now, dad.  They’re trying to eat anyone in sight.  I know you’re probably not going to believe this, so just listen.  Everyone in there is dead.  The only people we saw alive were the doctor and Rodney.”

    “What do you mean, Zombies?”  Dad asked, “You’re saying . . . Clive’s a zombie, too?”

    “Who’s a zombie?”  George asked.  He had a huge grin on his face.  “Not Clive I hope.  Did you two see Rodney and Avery in there?”

    We just nodded.

    “How are they?”  He asked.  “I haven’t heard from Rodney in hours.  Is Avery okay?”

    I couldn’t believe how isolated the hospital really was even; from five-hundred feet away.  Our cell phones didn’t even work.  We had to use someone’s Nextel to call the hospital.  But that was hours ago.

    “They’re sleeping.”  Clive lied.

    “Oh,” George looked back to the hospital.  We could see the fire alarm lights blinking in the corridors.  “Are those fire alarms?”

    “I don’t know.”  I turned to dad and whispered as softly as I could, “We need to go outside and contact the CDC or something.”

    George chit-chatted with Clive, asking about how it was in the hospital and if they treated him right; meanwhile I told Dad about walking into the trashed AIDS wing and finding Clive cowering in a storage closet.  I said I would tell him more, but we had to go now; or I would leave them behind.  George asked about the kids who died.  And I told dad about following Clive up to Avery’s floor and finding Rodney, eaten alive but still talking.  Dad took in all the gory details, trying to keep his reactions in check.

    I told him that I saw Doctor Robertson and I showed Dad the discs that he burnt for me.  Dad took them and looked at them carefully.  He handed them back and I told him that I didn’t want to see him get bit, or the rest of what come next if people went inside.

    As low as I could I said, “We have to leave now.  Before it’s too late.”

    Clive was good at side-stepping and stretching the truth, but I could tell he was being stretched too far.  Dad just stared at us thoughtfully, probably trying to weigh the truth of my statements.  Normally, I was known as a prankster, so I forgave him for waiting so long to high-tail it out of there, but I could feel the stench clinging to my skin.

    “Were your eyes always blue?”  George asked.

    “N–” Dad tried to answer.

    But I interrupted him.  That’s when I saw something click in Dads eyes; like it all sunk in.

    “Okay,” Dad said, “We’re going, George.”

    “You should come, too, George.”  I told him, “It isn’t safe.”

    Soon, I thought, the fire engines and paramedics would come.  Hopefully some armed police officers, too.  Firemen and paramedics wouldn’t be able to stop anything.  The whole place needs to be leveled, I thought, they should just call in the air force and be done with it.  I should have killed Clive and left him there.  But he’s still my brother.  I didn’t understand why he wasn’t like the others.

    “Leave?”  George asked, “Why?”

    He cast another glance at the hospital and I could see the realization in his eyes: they were fire alarms.  George turned from us and started walking to the hospital.

    “Don’t go in there, George.”  Dad said, “We’re lucky to see these boys alive.”

    “How dare you tell me what to do!”  George looked at us accusingly, like we were in on something he wasn’t told about.

    “George, it’s dangerous in there.”  Dad said, “Come here and let’s have a talk.”

    George followed him to the stove.  Dad started to pour out the coffee pot.  I looked around and noticed a few groups of people watching us.  Some of them were wandering towards the hospital.  I could hear people asking what was happening.

    “You shouldn’t have pulled the fire alarm, Kenny,” Clive said.

    Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a little blur of movement.  A woman was dashing towards the hospital.  The murmurs grew louder until it broke.

    “Oh my god, the fire alarms!” I heard a woman scream.

    Right then, right when everyone started to panic, I realized I should have just left the damned place as it was; because they all started running towards it.

    Against all reason, I assumed any mother or father would try to save their child from a burning building.  But would they do it even though their child was dead?  Some people would probably try to save the body.  Convincing anyone seemed beyond reason; well beyond my dad.  But he had his sons.  If there were a doctor in the house, they would believe me then.  I’m sure something in the doctor’s files would cinch it, too.  But what was I gonna do, pull a megaphone out of my ass and tell them?  They’d call me a lunatic.  Besides, my ankle was killing me.

    I could already see them walking into the hospital, finding Rodney lying on the floor in the throes of rigor mortis.  George didn’t need to see that.  I could imagine a person trying to help in vain that one who was on the floor.  Even after they started to bite, I was sure they would continue, ignorant to their impending fate.  I could just imagine the screaming, terrified people running away from the building.  They would be trying to save themselves by clogging the road and escaping.  But all they would do was spread it.  The idea of quarantine was antiquated, superfluous.  I wondered if they would die before they came back, too, or if they would end up like Rodney and Clive.

    In stark contrast to the adults, the kids seemed to hold some form of higher thought.  It seemed they could track and could speak.  Although none of them spoke so much as Clive when they caught sight of fresh food—if they even needed food.  I wondered if they’d be smart enough to play possum, or if they would simply turn into the slobbering blood thirsty things I was so familiar with.  I didn’t have any more energy to run.  I had to sleep.

    “Dad,” I said.  “We need to go now.  It’s gonna start spreading as soon as they find the first one.”

    “What do you mean?”  George asked.

    “Someone’s gonna get bitten, someone might get scratched.”  I said, “I don’t know how long it takes, but someone is going to turn, and they’ll want to feed.  Imagine all these people trying to get in their cars and drive away at the same time.  If we don’t leave now, we may not get another chance.”

    “Bitten…” George finally said.  His voice carried a cold realization to it.

    “How come Clive…” He began to ask.  But he’d put it together.  He looked at us like we had AIDS.  Pardon the pun.  He looked at us like we would eat him at any moment.

    “Just him,” I said, trying to ease the scrutiny.

    George nodded and cast a sideways glance at my brother.  Dad’s expression was one of disbelief.

    “How come he isn’t…trying to eat someone?”  George asked.

    “I don’t know,” I told him.  “But he hasn’t tried yet.”

    “When we found Rodney,” Clive said, “He was like me.  He could talk….  He told us what happened.”

    “We were going to all get out together,” I said.

    “But then he turned on us.”  Clive finished.

    “Where is he?”  George asked.

    “Right next to the elevators.”  I told him.  “But you don’t want to see him.  Or Avery.”

    “God…  What happened to Avery?”  George asked.

    “He went crazy,” Clive said, “He tried to protect Rodney; but he got too excited and started biting everyone…”

    George furrowed his eyebrow.  I could see the effort it took for him to look neutral.  But there was a glint to his eyes that said something different.

    “But Avery didn’t get sick….” George said, “He was just supposed to be in there for observation.”

    “He did get sick,” I said.  I added, “We saw Doctor Robertson, too.  But he didn’t want to come with us.  He was too scared.  Doctor Robertson told us what happened with everyone.  He even gave me this disc to bring to the CDC.”

    I pulled out a disc, some of the most concrete proof of what happened inside; aside from the blood, which both Dad and George neglected to comment on  All of a sudden we heard screaming from the hospital; it sounded like they all let it out at once.  People came bolting out of the building.

    A woman was running behind them, covered in blood screaming, “HELP!”

    “Oh my god,” I heard someone scream, “Somebody call an ambulance!”

    People ran towards her; I watched, numbly, as she collapsed.  And I knew then, it was time to go.

    “Daaad!” Clive said.  He pulled on dad’s shirt, hard.  “We have to go!!”

    “C’mon, George,” I said, “Come with us if you want to live.”

    “But what about Avery?”  He asked.

    “He’s fucking dead, okay?  He’s dead.  There are people in there who murdered him.  And they’ll murder us, too.”  I said.  “Get a fucking move on!”

    I don’t know why I said it like that, but it worked.  I told him to bring his own truck, and then ran over and started to pull the stakes on our tent.  One might wonder why we bothered to bring anything with us.  I don’t know.  Maybe it was just because we were supposed to take it with us.  Because we were used to doing that before we left.  It didn’t take any direction.  Not a word was said.  It only took a minute.

    I watched the hospital as I rolled the tent, still with the sleeping bags inside, and got it ready to move.   Clive tossed in the pots and pans through the open gate, while Dad folded the table and put it inside.  Then he helped me throw the tent in the back.  That was it.

    We exchanged cell phone numbers with him and made plans to meet at the ghost town next to the airport.  I jumped in the back seat, just in case Clive somehow found his appetite, and we tore off down the service road leading into town.  Sitting felt so good.

    Dad was speeding, hitting fifty on a road we first took at forty; the paved road that ran for about a mile, and stopped at the gates.  I tried to call 911 as I bounced around in the back, but I didn’t get any cell phone service.  Luckily, my GPS service was still working.  So I searched for the nearest CDC and Environmental Health offices and saved the numbers for when we had service.  George was still behind us when I looked back, good.

    Just in front of wrought iron, we saw them: the kid in the hospital gown; and the kid with the black shirt.

    “Those are the guys you smoked with last night!”  Clive exclaimed.

    I looked on in disbelief.  It looked like they were making out or something.  But the kid was eating the guy in the black shirt.  His eyes were blank, but he still had that terrified look.  As we came closer, the kid stood up and screamed at us.  We were going too fast to hear and I couldn’t read his lips.  As we passed, he charged the truck and launched himself into the side of it.

    He landed with a huge thump.  I almost thought we ran him over until we heard the unmistakable sound off the kid hitting the hood of George’s truck.  It sounded just like a deer getting hit by a car.  I whipped around to look behind us.

    I could see the dust rising from where the kid hit the dirt, George’s truck fishtailing.  Poor dumb bastard probably slammed on his brakes.  I watched the truck perform one, two flips and see-saw to a stop on its back, in the ditch.  Dad stopped.  We all looked back as the dust cloud washed over us, our visibility dropping rapidly.  Soon, we were overtaken by the cloud of dust.

    “What do we do?”  Clive asked.

    “Umm. . .” Dad said.

    “Do you think they’re dead?”  I asked.

    Dad put the truck into reverse and we backed our way into the fog.  We could smell the burning oil before we could see anything else.  When we’d cut through the dust we could not have been more than twenty feet away.  The truck was on its side.  Its underbelly was exposed to us, and we could clearly see the gasoline pouring out of its breached tank, oil dripping over and around the engine block.  The front of the vehicle was smoking and there was just a hint of fire from underneath it.

    Dad put it back in drive before any of us could say anything; and we rode away from it a little bit, just as the blaze flared up and we heard a loud pop.

    “Let’s go.”  Clive said.

    And we did.  I didn’t want to watch the rest.  Whether or not the kid died didn’t matter.  George was the only one left, as far as I was concerned.  The last one. . .  And it was disheartening to know there was nothing we could do.

    My clothes were disgusting, and they smelled like shit.  I decided to crawl into the back and change them.

  • Zombie: The Incident at Bloody Rock – Two

    Two

    When I walked in, the lobby was empty, the lights were on low.  It was a lot warmer than outside, almost uncomfortable.  Some of the lights were on in the banquet hall.  It didn’t look like they had finished cleaning.  In the center of a room, there was a lone chair, overturned.  I walked past, to the elevators and got in.

    The second floor cafeteria was dark, as the elevator went past.  But I could see a few people rummaging around in the fruit bin.  The laboratory looked like a mess.  As I ascended, I became aware of the racket coming from my brother’s floor.

    At first it was a faint whisper.  But as I got closer I could make out the electronic tones.  The chimes and bells I’d heard coming from my brothers monitors were loud.  What’s more, I could here the lonely tone of EKG’s stuck on flat-line.

    No on was around when the elevator jolted to a stop on Clive’s floor.  Something about the situation made the hairs on the back of my neck stand up.  Despite the noise, I couldn’t hear anything else.

    I walked a few steps down the hall, and turned in to the AIDS wing.  It was the smell that made me stop dead in my tracks.  It was like rotting pumpkin.  But there was something else, something acrid.

    I was stood at the end of the hall, maybe three feet from the corner of the nurses’ station and took it in.  The place was a mess.  I mean, it looked like someone robbed them.  A few of the curtains were pulled back.  I could see bedpans scattered around the floor; and blood on the sheets.  There was a pile of orange-red puke on the floor next to one of the beds.

    I felt the overwhelming sensation of déjà vu, as I called out, “Hello?”

    I stepped in farther, and almost slipped on a popped bag of saline solution.   This is too much, I thought to myself.

    “Hello?!”  I called again.

    No answer.

    It occurred to me that I couldn’t hear any talking, no shuffling of feet.  Just the blaring alarms and chimes.  They were so loud I couldn’t think.  The buzzing was permeating my skull.  I wanted to go in and shut them off, but I was afraid I was alone.  And I could tell, without even going farther in, that something very bad happened.

    But it doesn’t make sense, I thought.  I saw people in here, from our tent.  Where is everyone?  What happened?

    I hadn’t seen anyone in the building; no patients, no bodies, no nurses!  Being immersed in the horrible smell, I couldn’t think about the word “vomit” without suppressing a retch that, very soon, I wouldn’t be able to suppress anymore.

    So I snuck into the room, crouching and being quieter than the alarms.  Maybe I was being paranoid.  Maybe the whole wing decided to eat in the cafeteria or something…  No one was in the storage hallway that connected both entrances.  But it looked like everything inside the storage bins had been emptied.

    Probably in the heat of the moment, I thought, it must have gotten even more chaotic once they kicked us all out.

    I eased up the wall next to the nurses’ station and peeked around the corner, super fast.  I wanted to see the nurses huddled around a clipboard.  But no one was there when I looked.  I took another quick look just to make sure. I searched the beds, disgusted with what I found; the vomit, blood and gore.

    There was blood all over the place, now that I noticed it.  I mean, I never really thought blood in a hospital would be out of place.  But the way this blood was spattered against places it normally wouldn’t be able to reach…  Like the nurses’ station.  It all gave me cause for alarm.

    Charts were strewn all over.  The phones were off the hooks.  There was blood on those, too…

    Maybe someone had come and killed them all, I thought.

    But I quickly dismissed the idea as paranoid bullshit.  There had to be a reasonable explanation.  The whole wing was deserted.

    I could see down the hall and into the west wing.  The automated doors—which were usually only opened for visitors—were propped open by an overturned wheelchair.  Beyond that, I could see it was the same as this one.  Now that I knew no one was around, I shut off all the monitors.

    It took me a second to adjust to the reduction in noise.  There were still alarms going off in the wing next door.  I looked on the floor for Clive’s file, being careful not to touch any of the crap by using some gloves that were sitting on top of a table.  But I couldn’t find it.

    I was about to walk back to the elevators and tell Dad what I found when I heard something move inside the storage area.  I became terrified when I realized I walked right past it without seeing anything.  I stopped breathing as all the things it could be ran through my head.

    Even though every self-protective fiber in my body was screaming at me not to call out, I knew that I should; in the end, this could turn out to be something completely different.  But if this really was something like terrorism or a mob hit, or some kind of international spy thing, then maybe it was a survivor… or something—hopefully someone who can explain all this.  And, if it were something else, like a rat, or just shifting crap, then I could chuckle to myself before I left to safety; and told Dad to call the fucking cops.

    When I looked in the storage area, I didn’t see anything out of the ordinary.  I mean, yeah, it was trashed; yeah, there was blood.  Yeah, this is fucking creepy and I want to leave.

    I sighed, “But I have to at least look.”

    There were tons of trays from the shelving units strewn across the floor, but all of the gates around the shelves were closed.  The gates were solid metal, all the way up to my stomach; from there it was covered with metal mesh.  Then I saw it.

    Even though the place was a mess, I could clearly see there was a space cleared in front of the unit in the center of the room where someone had thrown everything out, and closed the doors.  The swing of the doors left a trail in the rubble.  What’s more, I could see the top of a head.  Someone was hiding there.

    “Hello?”  I whispered.

    Whoever was in there jumped.

     “Kenny?” a strangled voice came from the middle locker.  It sounded like Clive.

    “Clive?”  I watched my voice.

    “Kenny!”  It was him, “Hurry! Let me out!”

    I pulled at the handle, but it was locked.  There was an LCD screen with a 9-key pad and some additional buttons around it that said stuff like “OK” and “Clear”.

    “I can’t,” I said, “It’s locked.  Do you know the combination?”

    “No,” He said, his voice was panicked.  “Get me out!”

    I shoved my fingers in-between the door and the frame and pulled as hard as I could.  I pulled so hard that the corner of the door bent outwards; but it wasn’t any closer to opening.

    “Hold on,” I said.

    I crouched down and used all my strength to pull the door up and off the hinges from the bottom.  It made a lot of noise, but there he was.  Clive was curled in the shelf, shivering.  I pulled him out of the bin and he gave me a big hug.

    “I thought you were never going to come!”  He said.

    Clive was covered with blood.  I couldn’t tell if it were his own, or someone else’s.

    “Clive, what happened to you?!”  I hissed.

    Clive shoved his hand over my mouth.  I was repulsed by its smell; his hand was clammy. His eyes were full of fear, and the bags under them were almost as big as Dad’s.

    “Be quiet, Kenny!”  He hissed, “We need to get Avery!”

    “Where is he?” I asked.

    “He’s upstairs, in the cancer ward!”  He pulled my hand and we trotted back to the elevator.

    As we waited for it to arrive, Clive was looking around wildly, as if something were going to pop out any second.  I kept asking him what was wrong, what happened; but he was too focused on finding Avery.

    .

    When we stepped out onto the sixth floor, I noticed there were bloody foot prints and smears everywhere.  Clive signaled to be quiet and walked silently over to the big double doors of the cancer ward.  Clive pushed on them, but they bumped against something and didn’t open.  I gave it the shoulder and the doors slid open enough for me to squeeze through….

    It was dim inside.  Most of the standing lights had been broken, as well as some of the overheads, most of which flickered.  The smell hit me immediately.  Like rotten pumpkin, but curled, like . . . I don’t know.  Whatever it was, it made my stomach wrench.

    “Jesus,” I said, covering my nose and mouth with my t-shirt.

    The doors on the other side of the wing were barricaded, I noticed immediately.  I took a step in and almost tripped on someone’s arm.  I was disgusted.  I was past vomit, past surreal.

    Bodies littered the ground.  Some of them had scalpels in them.  Some of them had bundles of syringes.  There was a boy who caught my eye.  He looked kind of like Avery.

    I half-stepped further into the room to get a closer look.  There was a massive wound in his neck.  I realized I was in his pool of blood.  I took an involuntary step back, glass crunching below my feet, and turned towards the door.  I almost screamed when I saw her.

    There was a nurse, dead.  Mouth gaping wide, her body slumped against the door.  Her head was broken, one eye cleanly removed; her skull crushed like a shell around a boiled egg.  I could see the red, scrambled mess underneath the ragged remainder of her scalp, which hung lazily over the crag.

    There was a monitor stuck in the wall behind and at angle from her head.  It was one of those metal ones the doctors use for EKG machines.  The wall was splattered with blood and I could make out something that I told myself wasn’t her other eye.

    There was a huge wound in her arm, about the size of my fist, like a gouge.  I couldn’t see it very well; but I could tell it wasn’t what killed her.  There was something else about her.  About the way she was laying . . . .

    It occurred to me that whoever had killed her could still be in the room, as the double doors were the only way out, and the woman’s body was effectively blocking the exit.

    “Can you see him?” Clive whispered.

    I freaked and jumped back through the door.  Thank god I had a way out!

    “I don’t think he’s in there.”  I told him.

    His eyes fell on the puddle of blood that seeped out from under the slightly opened door.

    “He has to be in there.”  Clive said, “I know he is.”

    “Clive,” I told him, “Everyone’s dead in there.”

    He made for the door.  But I grabbed him and pulled him away.  “No!”

    Clive broke free of my grip and went inside.  I followed him quickly, hoping to change his mind before we were caught.

    .

    Most of the dead were kids, mostly with shaved heads, and they all seemed to be piled around the nurse’s station.  They all seemed to have head trauma.  We walked around the room, looking them in the face, trying to find Avery.

    We were standing in the middle of the room, I just got finished checking a kid with hair and blood on his face when suddenly, out of the shadows, we heard a cough.  I spun around, ready to. . . well, just ready for whatever it was.

    It was someone in the shadows.  I couldn’t tell from where.

    “Hey guys,” A familiar voice said.

    “Rodney?” Clive asked.

    I could barely make him out.  But there he was, the dark shape in the corner holding something.  We stepped towards him, being careful not to walk on anyone.  Once we got closer, I was able to see he was holding Avery.  And Avery was dead.

    There was a scalpel sticking out of his forehead.  It was so macabre.  The blood running from it had already clotted, the place the scalpel protruded from had become a pussy, yellow mess, god it looked like cottage cheese.  I was thoroughly disturbed now.

    “What happened, Rodney?”  I asked.

    He pulled Avery’s arms into a folded position, across his chest.  “They went mad.”

    “Who did?” I asked.

    Rodney set Avery down on the ground, beside him, and stood up.  “All of us.”

    Clive stepped back then, and pulled my hand.  “Kenny . . . .”

     “They wanted to kill him.  The nurses…. They said he was going to kill us.  But they were killing each other.  I could hear them screaming from the fifth floor.  They were killing all the kids.”  Rodney stopped and held his stomach.  I noticed the blood that had seeped through his shirt; it looked black in the dim light.

    “But then he turned on me.”

    “What do you mean?”  I asked him.

    “Kenny!” Clive hissed.

    “What?”  I turned to look at him.

    Clive was staring over my shoulder.  His face was filled with terror.  I looked to my side when I heard a bedpan clatter on the floor.  An orderly, about six foot three, stood up.  In the dim light, I could see a bundle of syringes sticking out of his cheek, and more in his body.  As he reached towards us, I could see the orderly’s hand was split wide open.  It looked crushed almost.  So bad I could see his bones and tendons.  His neck was leaking blood, from what I could tell was a bite wound.  There were very clear teeth imprints all around the actual gouge.

    “Oh my god,” I gasped.

    And his eyes were yellow.  I wanted to close my eyes and pretend this wasn’t happening when the orderly came toward us.

    But Rodney was there.  He lunged forward and kicked the orderly down.  With a grunt, Rodney picked up a monitor and smashed the orderly’s skull in one blow.  It was done so fast, I wasn’t sure if it really happened.

    The sound of crushing bone and tissue sickened me.  I watched as Rodney stood over the body, panting.  He looked back at me, with dull eyes.

    “They come back,” Rodney said.

    I looked around me, at all the bodies, and wondered if they, too, would come back.

    “We should get out of here,” I said, and turned towards the door.

    But neither one of them turned to follow me.

     “C’mon!” I said.

    But they didn’t move.

    “I can’t,” Rodney said.  “When they find out what I am, they’ll kill me, too.”

    “What do you mean?”  I asked him.

    Rodney walked into the light from the hallway and showed himself to us.

    Clive shrieked a little; but I was so shell-shocked I don’t think I even blinked.

    Rodney’s eyes were glassy, and his pupils were crimson.  His face and body were covered with deep scratches.  Then there were the fist-size gouges in his sides big enough to be a bite…  At the bottom of every wound were purple, empty looking pits that pus seeped out from.  He smelled bad.

    “Are you going to kill me?”  It was the only thing I could ask.  I felt nauseous.  The smell emanating from him was even worse than the corpses around me.

    “I don’t think so.”  Rodney replied.  He was eyeing the open door.  “You know, I was doing okay when the door was closed.”

    Clive ran over and pushed the door closed.

    We just stood there, staring at each other.  I knew I shouldn’t trust him.  But he saved my life.  So this is some kind of . . . zombie thing? I thought.  I could already see there was  a big difference to between the nurses and Rodney.  Rodney was still smart.  Clive. . . .  Wait, I thought, what the fuck is going on?!

    Clive walked over to a window and looked down, seeming not to care if he turned his back on Rodney.  I, only the other hand, could not look away from this . . . macabre predicament.  I was sure that, for all intents and purposes, Rodney should be dead by now—or at least screaming in pain.  But he was neither.

    As if answering my unspoken questions, Rodney began to speak: “All the other people died before they became…  They bled to death, and they came back.  Or they died like Avery; and just woke up.  I don’t know . . . It seems like everyone who got the cure . . . .  They came back . . . .  And they started to bite people.  And the ones who got bitten and came back; they’re like zombies.”

    He kicked the orderly in the head, for emphasis.

    “And I didn’t do either.”  Rodney’s voice carried a bitter undertone. 

    I noticed Clive looking at me out of the corner of his eye.  Did he remember dying?  I had the eerie feeling that I had just walked into a trap.

    Rodney continued, “But I don’t understand. If I’m a zombie, I would know, right?  I mean, all these people got bit.  And they… they fucking killed each other!  And look at me!  Do you know how long I’ve been in here?  Four hours… Four fucking hours! “

    He was giving me a look I couldn’t discern.  He said, “I should be dead.”

    “Yeah,” I said.

    “Do you feel like eating anyone?”  Clive asked.

    “Not particularly.”  Rodney said lightly.

    I watched Rodney in the reflection of the window as I looked out.  The moon was setting, but we still had more than two hours of night left.  Six stories down was the tent I slept in.  I could see the coffee pot steaming on the camp stove from up here.

    I studied Clive.  He looked calm.  Through the dried blood caked to his skin, I could see he was unharmed.  I wondered if Rodney would try to eat me.  I wondered if Clive was one of them, too.  I wondered why he could talk, and how they came back, where the bodies from downstairs went.  I wondered why they hadn’t come outside yet. 

    I walked over to the phone and picked it up; playing on the off-chance they’d work.  No dial tone.  I lit a cigarette and told myself to chill out.  I was safe, for the moment.

    “So what the fuck is going on?”  I looked at Rodney, “What happened?”

    “Do you want the long story?” He asked, “Or just the short one?”

    “Just tell me what happened.” I told him.

    “I went in at about midnight,” He said, “I couldn’t sleep.  I’d already found out that people were dying.  So I had to go see if Avery was okay.  But when I got there, he was in a bed with the curtains drawn.  They told me he was sick, like, almost dead sick.

    “The doctors said he wouldn’t last the night.  So I sat by him, you know.  They told me everything was going wrong with him, his blood was poisoned.  His organs were shutting down.  That fucking cure wasn’t a fucking cure.  It killed him.  I mean, he looked worse than anything I could ever imagine.

    “His skin was white, he was oozing blood from his eyes and his ears and I could just see it creeping out from under the sheet.  It was horrible.  All the other kids were flipping out, even though the curtains were pulled, they could tell something was going on.  They were giving him morphine.  Avery was talking all kinds of crazy shit.  I could tell he was hallucinating.  I sat there with him until they said he was going.  I watched him close his eyes and take his last breath.”

    I watched Rodney’s face contort into grief.  He sniffed and held back a choking sob.  But tears still ran down his cheeks.  I wondered how any of this was possible.  I damned myself for ever setting foot in this hospital.  I wondered: What kind of idiot would build a hospital on a place called Bloody Rock?  There has to be a reason this place is called ‘Bloody Rock’.  And I’m positive it’s not a good one.

    “I watched as they checked his pulse and responses.  It was twelve-thirty-three, I remember that.  Then the doctor left.  Outside the doors, there was lots of yelling and screaming.  I figured it was just a bunch of people screaming and crying over their kids.  I know I was angry, sitting next to my dead brother.  But if I’d known then what was going on, I would have run for my life.

    “I would have left then, too.  But when I turned to say goodbye to Avery, he opened his eyes.  At first, I thought it was some kind of dead thing.  You know how you hear about people getting rigor mortis, losing control of their functions and twitching and stuff?  Well, I thought it was that.  But it wasn’t.  It was scary.  Avery looked at us, at all of us.  The doctors were really freaking out, then.  All of the monitors and stuff were still attached him, you know?  They were all saying he was dead.

    “You could tell he was confused.  Like he didn’t know how he got there.  Then he asked, ‘Am I dead?’  It was trippy, to say the least.  All the other kids were screaming, ‘Zombie!  Zombie!’  I mean, they were practically tripping over each other to get to the door.

    “When one of the kids opened the doors, we could hear people screaming from all over.  Another kid, from one of the other wings ran over to ours.  As I stood over Avery, I could hear him asking for help.  He said there were zombies.  Then there was screaming.  Lots of ‘What the hell is that?’ kind of stuff.  I turned and looked.  The doors were wide open and these two little gremlin looking kids, covered in blood, were screaming and hauling ass towards us.  The kid we’d just let in shoved the doors closed and we all jumped in to help.

    “They were strong.”  He motioned over to the orderly he killed in front of us, “Chad let the first one in without knowing because the little fucker said he wanted us to protect him.  He looked normal enough.  But when Chad picked him up, the kid bit him, ripped his throat clean out.  We all forgot about the door, when the little kid came at a nurse.

    “I tried to grab him, but he was biting.  So I held him by the face, like a dog, to keep his mouth away.  I threw him around a couple of times but he wouldn’t listen.  He was snarling.  That’s when I noticed his eyes didn’t look right.  I was pretty sure he was gonna try and kill me, too.  So I picked him up, put him in a neck lock, and snapped it.

    “When I let the kid fall out of my arms…  It changed me.  When I noticed it was one of the kids from dinner, I kind of put it together.  Well, not exactly.  But I knew Avery was one of them, somehow.  When I looked back, he was watching me with this weird look.  I couldn’t tell what he was thinking.  The bloodshot in his eyes were so thick they looked red.  And his eye color was black.”

    Rodney fell silent then, lost in thought.

    “The others closed the doors again.  I saw Chad stand and charge the nurses and patients gathered around the doors.  He was frenzied.  It was hard to tell what was happening, because Chad would just grab someone and bite them, taking big pieces out of them, and they would fall, but, like, a minute or two later, they would get back up and start biting, too.

    “Everyone scattered out and started hitting him with everything they could; it was a melee.  That’s when Avery got into it.  I tried to stay out of the way.  He had been watching the whole time.  But once he started, he was like a rabid animal.  He killed them all.  Then he turned to the only nurse that hadn’t been bitten yet… and he ate her.

    “I wouldn’t let him near me.  But he was talking to me like normal….  So I let my guard down.  He said he was sorry, he got kinda out of control.  Everything would be okay.  He hugged me and told me he loved me.  But then, he bit me.”  Rodney was quiet for minute, then. “And he wouldn’t stop.  I didn’t want to kill him.  But I had to.  So I killed him, and then I killed the nurse before she could turn, too.  Then I hid.

    “I slid down into the corner and waited to die.  But I never closed my eyes, never stopped breathing.  I’ve been sitting here for hours, now, wondering what to do with myself.  When I heard you downstairs, I didn’t believe it at first.  I thought it was another trick.  But then I heard Clive.  When you walked in, I was ready for another fight.  But I saw you weren’t bit.  I thought about saying something then.  But I knew you guys couldn’t help me.  I just hope . . . .”  But he didn’t continue.

    I stood there, looking at him, wondering how it was to wait to die.  I looked at Avery’s body, limp and still laying exactly where Rodney had laid him.

    “Where are the others?” I asked.

    “I’ve only been in here.”  Rodney told me.

    I turned to Clive, “Where did everyone in your wing go?  How come there was no one in there when I came?”

    “They left,” Clive said.

    All of a sudden, we could hear running outside, along the hall.

    “Hide!” Rodney hissed.

    We ducked into the nurses’ station.  Clive crawled under an over-turned computer chair.  Rodney and I hid behind two filing cabinets.  I could only see a little of the room between the cabinet and the wall.

    Standing next to Rodney, I became very aware of the way he smelled.  I could feel his blood seeping through my pants.  It was cool to the touch, and matted my pants to my thigh in a way I thought was more than a little gross.  I tried to push him away a little, but he said to be quiet and pressed against me more.

    The door slammed open.

    I held my breath as I watched three or four people slowly into the room.  I was scared, I realized, more scared than I had ever been in my life.  They stood in the center of the room for what seemed like hours, unmoving.

    I tried to stay still, not make any noise, pressed against the filing cabinet until my leg began to cramp.  And the smell from Rodney was becoming unbearable.  I felt claustrophobic.

    When they turned to leave, I caught a glimpse of a badge on one of them.  I whispered to Rodney it looked like a security guard.  But they heard me, too.  All of a sudden, they were screaming; and running towards us.  I pushed the filing cabinets on top of two of them and ran, punching the security officer to the ground as I passed.

    “Clive!” I yelled.

    He threw the chair away and followed us as we ran out into the hall, to the elevator.  I jammed the button so hard I almost broke, the button popping out of the countrol panel.  I shoved the button back into place and held it while the security guard came running out of the ward.

    “Kenny!” Clive screamed.

    I didn’t have anything to defend myself with.  But I could see the guard still had everything on his utility belt.  If I could somehow incapacitate the guard and take his weapons, then I’d have something use when we were leaving.  Rodney was on it.  He body slammed into the security guard and gouged at his eyes.

    I could see the guard was scratching Rodney, but he didn’t seem to care.  I watched as he popped the guard’s eyeballs and shoved his thumbs home.  Rodney picked him up by the skull and shook him out like a sheet.  The sound of the man’s spine cracking told me he wasn’t going to get up.

    I was in awe.  Even though I was horrified, I couldn’t help but empathize a little with the guard.

    I heard the elevator open behind me.  Clive jumped in.

    “C’mon,” He said.

    “Hold it!” I told him.

    “What are you doing?” Rodney asked me, as I dashed over to the dead guard and took his flashlight, nightstick, mace and handcuffs.

    “We’ll need these.”  I told Rodney.  I let out a shriek when I realized his eyes had gone yellow.  “Your eyes,” I gasped.

    “I know,” He said, “But don’t worry.”

    He smiled, and I could see the blood on his teeth.

    “Kenny!” Clive yelled.

    I turned to him and saw that a nurse was staring him down—the hot one.  I turned back to Rodney, to tell him we should help, but he already took that small opportunity to jump me.  He pinned me down and started punching me.

    “Rodney!”  I yelled at him, “Stop!  It’s me!”

    But he didn’t.  I could hear Clive squealing in the elevator.  Could hear the elevator thumping against the sides as Clive struggled with the nurse.  I hit Rodney in the head with the flashlight so hard he flew into the railing and almost went over.

    He came back screeching, mouth open, trying to grab me.  I stabbed him in the head with the short end of the nightstick; Rodney slumped back and grabbed his head.  But he wasn’t done yet; and neither was I.  Before he regained his composure, I hopped behind him and choked him with the nightstick.  He kicked and snarled as I picked him up and held him over the balcony.  When I tossed him, I made sure he’d hit something on the way down.

    I had to take care of the nurse next.  She had Clive on the ground; she was snapping at him.  I pulled her off and she pushed me against the wall.  I was surprised to see the sharp gaze in her yellow eyes.  When she lunged, I side-stepped and hit her as hard as I could in the back of the head.  She didn’t get up.

    I turned to Clive.  “Are you okay?” I asked.

    “Yeah,” Clive said.

    There was a loud bang, and snarling from the other side of the promenade.  More of them had come running out of the west wing.  They were mostly kids, and they were fast.  I pulled my little brother to his feet and shoved him into the elevator.  One of them almost reached us before it closed.  I could hear them pounding on the doors as we descended.

    “Do you think I killed Rodney?” I asked Clive.

    “Yeah.” He answered.

    I gave Clive the flashlight.  We stood there, in uneasy silence, as the elevator crept its way downward.  The commotion must have been heard throughout the building, because there was a crowd gathered around the elevator on the fifth floor.  They screamed and pounded on the doors as we passed, but the elevator didn’t stop.  I took out the nightstick and tried my grip on it.

    The elevator stopped on the fourth floor.  It was dark again.  And, from what I could see, so was everything below.  The elevator lights cast an eerie glow on a body lying not three feet from the door.  I was kind of freaking out at the thought of having to go through the darkness.  I could hear people screaming all around.  But this floor was quiet.  I jammed the door close button.

    Before the doors closed, Dr. Robertson appeared from the shadows and stuck his arm through the door.  I jumped back, but recovered quickly enough to kick the doctor away when the door opened again.  Clive shone the flashlight all around us, to make sure he was the only one there.  Dr. Robertson stood up and approached us again.  This time, he kept back from the doors.  They started closing again.

    “Wait!” He said.

    He still had his lab coat on.  There was blood on the bottom of his coat, and on his hands, but otherwise, he didn’t appear to be bitten.  I stuck my foot in the door.  “Why?”

    “Because you need me,” He said.  “I’m the only one who can reverse the cure.”

    “No you’re not,” I told him, “After they pick up your research, if this place still exists, there’ll be hundreds of people working to reverse the little freak show you’ve got here.”

    “He’s one of them!”  Dr. Robertson cried, pointing at my little brother.

    “I know.”  The elevator doors began to close again.

    “Please take me with you!” He begged.

    I sighed and felt like giving in; mainly because I really just wanted to get out.  I knew the longer I stayed in one place, the likelier it would be for me to get trapped; and the harder for me to watch both my brother and my backs.  I didn’t want to add the doctor to the equation.

    As I stood there contemplating this, the doctor stared at Clive and me.  He could show us the quick way, even drive us out of here.  I quickly disregarded the thought of leaving my father behind.  How much was this doctor worth?  My life?  Clive’s?  And who says he can reverse this?  Who says he isn’t one of them?  What if Clive can’t be saved?  But what if he could?

    I told the doctor, “If you do anything funny.  And I mean anything.  If you get us close to dead one too many times, if you make too much noise, if you don’t pull your own weight: I’m gonna handcuff you to a pipe; and you won’t be going anywhere.”

    The doctor nodded and said, “But, I need to get my research.”

    “Why don’t you have your research with you?”  I asked, “Your research is the most important thing you have and it’s not on you?  Where the fuck is your head at?”

    “You know,” Doctor Robertson pointed out, “Berating me isn’t going to help the situation.”

    “Well, then let me say in retort that we need to get the fuck out of here as quick as possible.  It’s not safe to get your research.  You can come back for it later.”

    “I need to get my research.”  The doctor stressed.

    “Only if we can wait here,” I told him.  “Besides, if it were us who truly needs you, why does it seem that you need us more?”

    “Can we not argue semantics?”  Clive grumbled.

    Dr. Robertson said, “You must come with me.  It’s on the other side of the lab.”

    “Are there any on this floor?”  I asked him.  I considered the fact that we had been pretty loud.  But, so were those screaming lunatics upstairs.

    “I locked three in the break room.”  He said, “There are two more.  The rest are dead”

    “Are you sure?”  I asked him.

    “I think so,” Dr. Robertson answered.  “But we have to go back to my office.  I need my research.  I wasn’t able to make a copy of my data before one of the ones from downstairs broke in.  But, this floor is secure… I think.”

    Clive shrieked, “Can anymore get in?!”

    “No,” The doctor said, “The doors in the stairwells are all handles except for the first floor, which was the push-bar.”

    Great, I thought, Let’s just give them an easy way to get out.

    I pulled the emergency stop and stepped out of the elevator.  Clive followed close behind.  I directed Clive to examine his arms and legs for bite marks as I stood there and looked around.  It was still dark, but I had gotten used to it without the flashlight.  At least, out there, in the light well; I knew once we walked away, it would get much, much darker.  Everything in front of the elevator seemed to be a series of laboratories, all smashed.

    “Do you have anything for a weapon?”  I asked the doctor.

    Dr. Robertson looked genuinely at a loss, “Weapon?”

    “Well, how did you kill all of these people?” I asked, “You didn’t use kung fu, did you?”

    “I don’t know Kung Fu,” The doctor said.

    “So…?”  I let the question hang.

    The other elevator went past us, then, going up.

    “They’re gonna get us!” Clive almost screamed.

    “Don’t be ridiculous,” The doctor said, “I’m sure they don’t know how to use the elevators.”

    We heard the elevator ding above us.  We listened, maybe for the press of the button, the doors sliding shut.  I kind of expected it to happen, actually.  I was almost certain that they would have opened the doors to the elevator shaft when we made our get away; that they would tear of the maintenance hatch and kill us both.  But after a couple minutes, standing there, listening to them scream and snarl, nothing came.  Maybe they didn’t know how to use an elevator after all.

    “Even so,” I said, “We should probably make sure there’s a door to run through… just in case.”

    “My office is right there,” He said, pointing to a hall behind the elevators.  “There are fire escapes on both ends of the hallway.”

    As we walked into the hallway, Clive pulled my arm and pointed at the elevators.  They were all piled into the elevator, clogging it completely.  The things screamed in ignorant rage at each other.  Of course, they weren’t really saying anything.  They were just a group of screaming, slobbering beasts.  Some of them were jumping over the railings to get to us.  I wondered if we would meet them later.  They looked so different from Clive or Rodney.  As the darkness closed in on us, I wondered if Clive was resisting The Urge on purpose or if it hadn’t actually set in yet.

    I looked over my shoulder what seemed like every second.  Most of the doors were closed and locked; all the lights were off, of course.  And it looked just like every other floor, ransacked.  Some of the office windows were broken.  There was blood inside one, handprints and smears all over.  In the center of the room, twisted in a mess of blinds and office equipment, lay someone in a lab coat.

    Her head was twisted towards us in a way I knew was unnatural.  Her face was covered with scratches, and her neck was eaten through in one place.  The woman’s head almost looked torn off, the way she was laying.  I covered Clive’s eyes before he could look, and, lord, when I touched his skin, it was cold.  That was when I started to freak out; more than when I found Rodney and he tried to eat me.  I looked at the Doctor, and he looked back at me with the same terror.

    We passed a closed door with an axe guarding the handle.  Inside I could hear faint thumping.  But I didn’t want to get too close.

    “That’s the break room,” Dr. Robertson said quietly.

    His office was against the wall, on the south side of the building, the front side.  It had a window; and I was relieved to see a hint of dawn on the horizon.  As soon as we stepped in, I pulled the curtains on the window to the hall, locked the door, and silently moved a filing cabinet in front of the window.  Dr. Robertson hopped in front of the computer and entered his password in the screen saver.  As the Doctor did whatever it was that he had to, I looked Clive over.  His feet were bleeding.  But, he still looked alright.

    “So . . .” I addressed the Doctor in a whisper, “Why is my little brother still alive?”

    “You know?” Clive asked.

    “You’re a walking corpse, little brother.”  I told him, “And, as much as I love you, I’m scared that you’ll turn on me.”

    “I’m not like Rodney.”

    “Who’s Rodney?”  The doctor asked.

    “He’s . . .” I forgot the name, “He’s . . .”

    “Avery’s brother,” Clive helped.

    “Oh,” the Doctor said, “But, he’s not a patient.”

    “What did you do, Dr. Robertson?”  I asked him, “How come Clive and Rodney were smart?  How did they come back?”

    “Every test I had performed, every analysis told me this was going to work in humans.  So, I don’t know.  This sort of thing has never happened before.  Even with the new enzyme package, this wouldn’t, ever be possible.”  As the doctor was speaking, he rummaged around in his briefcase, extracting a blank disc that he shoved into the computer.

    “Am I a zombie?”  Clive asked.

    “Zombies can’t be self-aware.”  Dr. Robertson replied immediately, as if he’d already considered it.

    “So what is this?”  I asked, “Are they in some kind of coma?”

    Dr Robertson replied, “That’s ignorant.  Even the worst somnambulists don’t run around eating people–”

    Clive was becoming offended.

    He continued, “And, even if they were sleep walking, how do you sleep walk after you die?!”

    “There has to be a reasonable explanation for this.”  I said.

    “You’re right, there has to be.”  Dr. Robertson told me, “But when the first one got up, we ran him through the gauntlet.  There have been many cases of mistaken death.  Many.  We reasoned: this all could have been due to some other, underlying disease we had no knowledge of.  Each one of took us turns inspecting his heart and lungs with a stethoscope.  There are animals that go from eighty beats a minute to eight, but a human can only drop down to fifteen beats a minute.  And when they do that, they’re asleep.  This kid didn’t have a pulse; we listened for whole minutes at a time.

    “If I’d have known what they were, I would have immobilized and quarantined him.  I could have locked everyone in the wings.  Anything could have turned them.  Could have been any combination of drugs we were already giving them.  Maybe one of the DNA treatments Drug Corp. had been so insistent I give them.  Maybe it was the something in the cake.  How could I have known?  I’ve been going crazy over it ever since.”

    “So, what did you do instead?”  I asked him.

    “We tested his verbal capacity and reasoning skills and… he did okay, although he seemed a little slow.  We thought maybe we’d got it wrong.”  The doctor chuckled slowly.  “But his temperature was ninety-point-two degrees Fahrenheit.  Yet he was exhibiting zero lividity.  We even checked his toes.  In fact, he didn’t seem to be the slightest bit uncomfortable.  I was going to run him through a full physical, but I was called upstairs, to the lab.  I had my assistant perform it.”

    Doctor Robertson shivered then, tears streaked his face.  I could tell he was trying to hold it back.  “She was only 22!”  He gagged.  “What did she do to deserve this?!  I should have transferred the call.  But, I only went upstairs for a few minutes.”

    Dr. Robertson looked back at the screen, hit a key and switched out the discs.

    “The hematologist was standing there, waiting for me.  The kid’s glomerular filtration ratio was insane.  First off, well . . . . His kidneys should have been decomposing by then.  His whole body was filled with toxins at levels only secreted when the body shuts down.  He should have been a frosty-lipped corpse in the basement.  Do you understand that?  There wasn’t a single explanation for any of this.  I should have called Lonna and told her to strap him down then.  I should have issued a code red and had the whole place locked down!  But I was too fascinated.  No, I was shocked.  I didn’t know what to do.”

    “We were just about to look at the blood in a microscope when I got the phone calls.  One was from Rachel, in the fifth floor ward, across from where your brother was.  She was calling to tell me that all of but two of them had died in the west wing, and only one in Clive’s.  She told me that the other wards we overflowed to were reporting similar numbers.  And Clive’s friend, Avery, in the cancer ward was sick.  I hadn’t heard the code blues because I was too intent on unraveling this enigma.  But, even if I had…. there was nothing I could do anyway.”

    He sighed, “I was… appalled.  I was scared.  What I first thought was a rash of food poisoning turned out to be something even worse. Even though there was no way to tell this was going to happen, no matter how many tests I did, I knew I would be held accountable for it all.”

    “Those fucking bastards!” He screamed.

    Clive and I both jumped, startled by his sudden outburst.

    “The second call was from the MRI tech who told me it looked like his lungs were forming hypostatic congestions.  Since he was on the same floor as Lonna, I told him to go help my assistant get the patient relaxed and into his bed.  That was a nice way of saying, ‘medicate him and strap him down’.

    “That’s when it started.  I heard Lonna scream my name.  It echoed up the light well.  The hematologist and I immediately ran down the stairs and came to her.  And, when we got there, it was astounding.

    “The boy was looming over her, biting her neck.  From what I could see, he was trying to eat her!  I noticed the tech. out of the corner of my eye, hiding in the opposite corridor, holding a fire ax.  He nodded to me, then rushed forward and started to choke the kid with the thing.  The boy went wild, scratching and clawing.  The hematologist tried to help get the boy under control while I rushed to see if Lonna could be helped.  But she was gone.  We locked the kid in an examination room and got on the phones.  The hematologist went to bandage his scratches…  I didn’t see him until later.”

    “You know . . .  A part of me wonders if–”

    The computer spit out the CD and the doctor was about to put it in his briefcase.

    “Let me keep it,” I said.

    Doctor Robertson looked at me warily, “No, I think I’ll keep it in my briefcase, thank you.”

    I didn’t want to fight.  But I didn’t want to risk having the doctor drop his suitcase; it was cumbersome, and I thought—if those files are as important as he said they were—he should have put it in his pockets.  There was a middle ground here.

    “How about making me a copy, then?”  I asked, “While you finish your story?”

    The doctor scoffed.  “What are you going to do with it?”

    “I’m just gonna hold it.”  I pointed to my cargo pockets, “It’s a perfect fit, and you know it’s going to stay with me the whole time.”

    “What would you do with it if I die?”  The doctor asked.

    “Give it to the CDC, and make sure they credit you for all of this.”  I told him, “Not just the good stuff.  But, yes, I solemnly swear on my life that your research will get to people who want to help.”

    “What if he turns on us?”  The doctor said, meaning Clive, “You should be careful who you trust.”

    “If he turns, I’m prepared for what I have to do.”  I said it cold, like how I would need to be if the time ever came.  “But if he doesn’t turn on us, then we don’t turn on him, okay?  He’s still my brother.”

    Clive stared at both of us the whole time.

    “Okay.”  The doctor said.  He even smiled.  We watched as he put another disc in the computer.  “Where were we?”

    “The kid in the examination room,” Clive helped.

    “So we locked the kid in the examination room, and put Lonna’s body on a stretcher.  I tried to call the receptionist, so she could use the intercom system.  But she didn’t pick up.  So Bart, the MRI technician, and I picked up the phones in neighboring rooms and made the calls ourselves.  They had no idea why we asked them to strap down dead people.  And when I tried to explain I got a mixed reaction.  Mostly, they thought I was playing a joke on them.  I was completely frustrated by the second call.  Bart told me he wasn’t having any success, either.  So we stopped.

    “Bart convinced me that we should stick together for safety, but it seemed kind of ridiculous.  Lonna, killed by some deranged, dead kid… This whole thing seemed ridiculous.  We checked on the kid, who was screaming and trying to break through the reinforced glass we have in the exam rooms.  The windows were the kind with the wire in them; so I knew the kid would be there a while.

    “Bart accompanied me back to the lab, where I transferred all of my data, via the network, to the computer, here.  I was finished and about to go back to my office when we got the first phone call.  The kids were starting to wake up again.  We told them, again, ‘strap the kids down.’  But it was already too late.

    “What we didn’t know, was that Lonna had come back sometime during the transfer.  She had let the boy out of the exam room, and they began to take people on the floor below us.  The sounds were drowned out in the lab, by all of the equipment.  It wasn’t until we lost the lights that we heard it.  I’m still not sure what caused it.  I haven’t gone down to look, but I’d wager it was some equipment malfunctioning.  There were only six people working downstairs, plus Lonna and the kid.

    “The phone rang again, it was the fifth floor, wanting to know what was happening.  I was going to reply when, all of a sudden, we saw the hematologist running at full speed towards the break room.  Behind him were the X-Ray tech and Lonna.  Bart and I jogged up, to see if we could help, but we realized it was a blood bath.  Bart was the one who locked the door with the axe.”

    The first CD that I was to hold popped out, the doctor put it in a slim case and handed it to me.

    “Thanks,” I said.

    By way of reply, the doctor grunted and put another disc in the tray.  He continued, “I wanted to stay and hide.  But Bart wanted to go outside, and find help.  He was bit, I noticed.  We ended up arguing about what to do.  I told him that, if he left, he could spread it; but he didn’t seem to care.  Then he left.  Just opened the door and walked out.  So I closed it and locked it.

    “It was horrible, really.  No more than twenty minutes passed when I started hearing the screaming and banging from upstairs.  It was enough to scare me under the desk.  After a while, it wasn’t as loud.  The sounds from the break room took over.  But, underneath it, I could hear someone in the hall.  I thought, maybe, it was Bart coming back to get me.  But when I opened the door, another one of them was standing there, looking at the office right across from me.  Somehow, she found me.

    “It was Connie, the nurse from radiology.  I closed the door, but she came through the window.  She was a disgusting mess, leaking coagulated blood from a gaping wound in her neck.  I crushed her skull with a paperweight while she was climbing through the window, and she fell at my feet.  I didn’t move for what seemed like hours, too scared of abandoning my hiding place just to run into a group of zombies.  To be perfectly honest, I didn’t know what to think when I heard Shane, upstairs.”

    The doctor was referring to when I was upstairs, calling out to anyone; looking for Clive.

    “I thought you were going to die, quite honestly.”  The doctor said to me.
    “Thanks,” I said.  Luckily for me, I thought, I didn’t die.  But am I going to get out?

  • Zombie: The Incident at Bloody Rock – One

    One

    As I was setting the tents up and dad was wrestling with equipment, I looked around.  The place was quiet.  Peaceful.  People were milling around, talking with each other.  All of them were smiling.  As I panned the place, a few people nodded at me and I felt obliged to nod back, ever so slightly.

    A warm gentle breeze wafted through the clearing, and on it, I could smell food.  We’d set up camp behind the building, next to a big cypress, a few hundred feet away from the loading docks in the rear center of the hospital.  Most of the other people chose to set up on this side, too.  There were R.V.’s and those convertible truck things.

    That’s when I met Rodney.  As I was tying down the rainfly on the tent, he walked up to me.  Rodney looked about my age, a few inches shorter than my 5’10”.  He was wearing some jeans and a Dredg shirt.  He didn’t say anything at first, just caught the side I was struggling with and helped me secure it.

    “Thanks,” I mumbled.

    The guy offered his hand and said, “I’m Rodney.”

    His grip was firm.  “Kenny,” I introduced myself.  I pointed to my dad, “That’s my dad, Corey.”

    “Are you here for family, too?”  Rodney asked, but we both knew the answer.  He kind of detracted that question and asked me how long we were staying for. 

    “Just tonight,” Dad replied, he was busy hooking up the stove and lanterns.

    “Oh,” Rodney said.  He asked me, “You’re not staying for the festivities?”

    Rodney moved with me to the truck and we formed a line, tossing pillows, sleeping bags and backpacks into the tent.

    “Nope,” I told him, “Just here to take my little brother home.  Thanks.”

    “No problemo,” Rodney replied.

    “We need to go check in now,” Dad told me.

    I looked at Rodney, who grinned back at me.  “It was nice meeting you,” I told him.  We shook hands and I followed my dad over to the hospital.

    The woman sitting behind the front desk was nice enough, issuing us a parking pass along with our visitor’s badges.  I looked around.  The door on the right of the reception desk led into a large hall, which was being decorated for the night ahead.

    On the other side of the lobby was a large curving staircase that led to the second floor, an arrow and the word “CAFETERIA” painted on the wall.  A few steps past that and we were standing in a large promenade with a skylight.  This place looked massive.  There were three sets of doors in the wall of the promenade, one of which was a set of double-doors I assumed led into a service-way.

    The elevators were in the middle of the promenade.  It was encased in a glass shaft.  The doors were glass, but the top and bottom of the elevators were made of shiny steel.  There were nine buttons in the elevator: B-2 through 7; there was a slot for a keycard next to floor seven with a label that said “INFECTIOUS DISEASES, AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY.”

    This is cool, I thought.  My dad mentioned it, too.  I watched the floors drop away from us, enjoying standing.  We got off on the fourth floor, where Clive would be waiting in the East Wing.  Before I went in, though, I looked up at the seventh floor.  It was sealed off with glass.

    “Whoa…” I said to myself.

    “C’mon,” Dad said; and I followed.

    When we walked into the doors, I could smell the sterility.  The room was filled with the mellow echo of the EKG machines.  The nurse said my brother was still hooked up because they wanted to gather more data.  This was a research hospital after all.  Clive was watching some reruns of Family Guy as we walked in.

    “Dad!” Clive exclaimed.  He almost jumped out of his bed.

    Dad gave Clive a big ‘ole hug and then it was my turn.

    “Kenny!”

    “Hey little man,” I greeted him.

    He looked better.  There was more color to his skin.  His eyes were shining.  He even looked like he gained more weight.  I was impressed.  He gave me a monster hug.

    “Wow!” I said, “What are they feeding you here?!”

    Clive giggled and told me they had a kitchen that cooked real food for his floor.  Lucky sod, I thought ruefully, we’re dining on Hungry Man meals and he’s dining out osso bucco.

    We pulled up chairs and chatted about life in the hospital.  We hadn’t seen him for three-months.  It’s not like we didn’t want to go see him.  It was just the damn journey we’d have to take, there were no motels close by and . . . .  Well, we’re here now, I thought.

    My brother told us about how the reporters had crammed into the room, trying to get the best shot for the evening news.  He said the injection felt funny, like a million butterflies were swimming in his veins.  The tingling sensation spread through his body and became barely tolerable.

    At first he thought something was wrong, but one of the nurses (he pointed at her)—the hot one—calmed him down.  The “Governator” even shook his hand before leaving.  That’s when he went on about meeting Arnold Schwarzenegger, who was a god in his eyes ever since watching Terminator.  Frankly, I was jealous.  So was dad.

    When the nurse came around to hand out water, Dad asked her when they would let Clive go.

    “We still have to watch him for another month or so,” The woman said.  “But tonight, everyone healthy enough will be able to leave and visit with their families.  We planned the whole weekend for it.”

    The nurse adjusted the leads and automatic pressure cuffs attached to Clive.  “You guys are really lucky, you know.”  She said.

    Clive just beamed; the lucky one.

    .

    On our way back down, in the elevator of the seven-story complex, I reflected on what it would mean to have him home again, healthy.  Ever since Clive was born, the house seemed like a funeral parlor.  We both assumed that he was going to die soon, at any moment.  And any time he didn’t wake up quick enough, or seemed too tired to do anything, I thought…  It was just a matter of time.

    Out of the elevators, everyone was bustling.  There were workers decking the halls for the banquet.  And suits running around, telling them what to do.  The receptionists (three of them crammed in where I figured one usually worked) were busy taking and making calls; the lobby was full of their voices.  We walked out the double doors and made our way down the wheelchair ramp.  My dad gave my shoulder a firm grip.

    “It’s about time he got out of the hospital,” Dad said, referring to my brother, “To be honest; I didn’t think he was ever going to leave.”

    I was very excited that Clive would be able to come home soon, and I’d be able to show him all the tricks I’d learned on my board since he went away, almost three months ago.

    “Me too,” I told him.

    “Do you think he’ll like his room?”  Dad asked.

    We’d stocked it with all the video game systems, a PS3, all the Xbox 360 games we knew he’d love.  I’d been keeping the controllers warm for him.  “Zombie” just came out with their thirteenth and (maybe) final game for one of the story lines they made.  The new game was awesome.

    Clive was as much into Zombie as I was, although he’d wake me up in the middle of the night because he had scary dreams about turning into one.  But I wasn’t as easily scared.  Sometimes he wouldn’t be able to wake me up, and he’d run into Dad’s room, screaming.  Dad yelled at me after those times.  He told me to hide the games where Clive wouldn’t find them.  But who was I to deprive my little brother of his favorite past-time?  He asked me about the newest one when Dad went to go hit on the nurse.

    Watching Dad sit there with Clive and me; seeing him smiling, the hopeful shimmer in his eyes.  Man, it felt like we got the magic back.

    .

    At six, we were all summoned to the banquet.  There were hors devours all over the place, held by waiters with white towels on their arms.  An eight-piece ensemble was playing classic jazz and waltzes in a knave, next to the main stage.  The stage was a slightly raised platform at the end of the room.  A few old ladies were dancing in the middle of the large hall.

    In front of the stage, there was a table of honor set up.  Our governor was already seated close to the head, the rest of his table was murmuring to itself, and watching the press with wary eyes.  Directly in front of them were the Drug Corp. International and donors tables.  Both groups sat and glared at each other through the small space between them.

    The ceilings were vaulted, large circular depressions that held skylights.  From the outside, it had looked like a normal room.  But inside, it looked like we were in Rome.  Large panels were devoted to events like the construction and opening of the hospital.  The entrance wall was filled with donor plaques.

    Dad and Clive went to find our seats while I walked around the room, staring at the moldings along the vaulted ceilings.  There was a story, about some god of medicine, I think.  I couldn’t tell for sure, but it didn’t look dedicated to a saint because the man was holding a snake, and that would not have gone over well in a Catholic establishment. Over the stage, etched into the arches, was something in Greek or Latin that I couldn’t read. 

    “Would you like a drink?”  I heard from behind me.

    I turned around and was faced with the most beautiful woman I’d ever seen.  She was holding a tray with some martinis, glasses of champagne and some other drink with a cherry I’ve never seen before.  She had long brown hair that rested on the neck of her blouse, totally showing off the fact that she had big, nice boobs.  Her face was pretty, I mean, gorgeous, and I had to cough to clear my throat as I looked into her soft brown eyes.  She returned my gaze with a Mona Lisa smile, the edges of her lips curling at the ends.  …I couldn’t speak.

    I was going to tell her I was only 18, but she was already holding a flute.  So I took it.  Sweet, I thought.

    “Thanks,” I said, trying to keep my cool.

    She gave me a smile that just rocked my world.  She didn’t say anything.  She just smiled and turned and walked away and I watched her.  Of course I watched her!  I didn’t even know her name.  But then she turned and gave me a grin.  I caught you, it seemed to say.  I gave her my best grin and pranced off to find dad.

    “Dad,” I called trying my best to hide the flute on my side, “I’m going out for a fag!”

    Dad looked up from the menu and nodded.  Clive jumped from his seat and followed me.

    As soon as I got out, I lit up and took a deep hit.  I’d been waiting for that cigarette ever since I arrived.

    I barely noticed as Clive zipped past me and took a lap around the parking area.  In fact, I didn’t notice until he came trotting back my way.  Considering that, the last time I saw him, he could barely hold his head up, this was a really good improvement.

    “Aren’t you supposed to be resting?”  I asked him.

    “Whatever,” Clive said, stretching, “It feels good to get out of that hospital bed.”

    When I gave him the look, he added, “No, really!  It’s strange, I feel a hundred and ten percent!”

    “So when’d you get the shot?” I asked.

    “I dunno,” He said, “After lunch, a while before you guys got here.”

    I hit my cigarette and looked for a building, a plane.  But I saw nothing.  The air was filled with the smell of earth, and the sound of crickets.

    “What’s that?”  Clive meant my flute.

    I took sip.  It tasted kind of tart.

    “I think it’s champagne,” I told him.

    “Oh,” He said, looking a little interested.

    But I didn’t offer him any.  He jumped up and down a little, then; maybe just to get his land legs back.  Then he stopped and looked me dead in the eyes for a few seconds.  It was peculiar; I couldn’t tell what he was thinking.  He held the gaze so long that I was beginning to get creeped out.  But then he broke into a grin and gave me a bear hug.

    “I’m glad I’m coming home,” He said.

    I hugged him back, “Me too, little man.”

    After we finished having our guy moment and walked back into the entrance, the hot waitress lady offered me more champagne.

    “I haven’t finished my first one.”  I told her.

    She gave me the same smile from earlier and said, “I won’t tell if you don’t.”

    “You’re dangerous, lady.”  I grinned at her.

    I finished my first one and took the second, then got her number discreetly while Clive went to get hors devours.  All around me were the family and friends of other children affected with AIDS mingling with Dr. Robertson and, I guessed, the pharmaceutical executives, or other interested parties.  As we sat at the table, I couldn’t get over how healthy Clive looked.  It had been so long since I’d seen him healthy.

    I won’t go into all the details about lesions and the subtle downward spin he’d gone into shortly before being hospitalized.  But, this was the best I had ever seen him.  It brought a tear to my eye to know that he would be my normal little brother now.  There would be no more blood tests, no more worrying about his t-cells dropping. And we wouldn’t have to fight with him to take those disgusting pills.

    I know I keep saying that.  But it was over.  All of it was over and he would be normal now.  It was like the end of a nightmare, where you wake up to your reassuring blankets.; satisfied that everything was okay, after all.

    After everyone had been wheeled in, all the family seated, Dr. Robertson came out to full applause.  He was holding a large flute of champagne and his cheeks were rosy.

    “Dr. Robertson looks drunk!”  Clive exclaimed.

    I shushed him.

    Dad cleared his throat, he was working on his third or fourth flute, “There’s nothing wrong with celebrating, Clive.  You can have some champagne, too, if you want.”

    Clive declined; and we listened to Dr. Robertson begin his speech.  He told us we were a part of history.  He told us that, finally, the horrible disease that had taken so many would die on that night.

    After a life of searching for the cure, he found it, one night, when he was tinkering with his stem cells.  It was serendipity.  He couldn’t believe it worked.  He tried it on sample after sample, on rats, guinea pigs; he even tried it on monkeys—but that’s just between us.

    He even took healthy feline stem cells and used them to create a cure for the Feline Immunodeficiency Virus.  Tonight, the pain was over.  Thanks to his creation, and the government subsidies and pharmaceutical companies’ vows to keep it cheap.  Applause.

    Then there were the photo ops.  The pharmaceutical executives gave him the giant check.  All the patients gathered outside for a group photo, and then went back inside, where there was cake and dancing.

    When Clive and I decided to leave, I met up with Rodney.  We shot the shit as Clive and, his brother, Avery ran around in the field.

    “So where are you from, anyway,” I asked.

    “Santa Cruz,” He told me, “A couple blocks away from the boardwalk.  You?”

    Rodney seemed surprised to learn that there was an island in the middle of the San Francisco Bay; even more that I lived on it.

    “That must be pretty cool, though,” He said.  “You could row your ass to San Francisco.  …Is there any surfing out there?”

    “Not inside the bay,” I told him, “But, yeah, at Stinson Beach and Ocean Beach.  The riptides are kinda gnarly, though.  Santa Cruz is way more desirable.”

    It was getting dark when some dude in a black shirt and khaki cargos came running up to us.  His hair was shaggy, kinda surfer style.  I wondered if he was another brother or something, though they didn’t look related.

    I tried not to watch as they talked lowly between each other.  The guy in the black shirt gave me a sideways look.  I was started to feel left out when Rodney let out a laugh and pulled the dude around by his shoulder.

    “This guy’s cool,” He told Black Shirt, holding him.  “His name is Kenny.”

    Black Shirt turned to me.

    “Sup, Dude?”  We pounded fists, “I’m Trent.”

    He pulled a blunt out of his ear.  It was fat, and I could smell the weed from where I was standing.

    “Whoa!”  I asked, “Is that medicinal?”

    “Yeah, man!”  Trent replied, “My mom gets it for her back.  Do you smoke?”

    “Yeah!”  I replied enthusiastically.

    “Do you want to come to our tent and smoke?”  Trent asked.

    “Your mom’s tent?”  I asked, dumbly.

    “No,” Trent said, gesturing to him and Trent, “Ours.”

    It was about at that time that Clive, Avery and Trent’s brother, Sam came over to us, sweaty and breathing heavily.  Sam looked like a smaller copy of Trent.  It was kinda cute.

    Clive wanted to come with us, but I didn’t think he should.  Someone had already come out and made the announcement that it would soon be time for all the patients to come back.  Even so, I wanted him to; so I asked Dad (leaving the last bit out.)  Dad told me to keep him close.  Clive knew about smoking pot, but he didn’t partake, and I usually didn’t pressure him to do it.  This was not an exception.  Clive liked to watch, though.  We ended up smoking five bowls of weed before I eventually tapped out.  And I swear Clive even got a contact high.  

    Rodney, Avery and Trent followed us back to our big three-room dome tent.  I flopped down on my sleeping bag, in the left room, I couldn’t help it.  Clive came and flopped down against me.  The other guys hit the dirt, too.

    It seemed like everyone there had pot, and everyone was sharing.  It seemed like we’d met half the camp around Trent and Rodney’s tent.

    “I’m stoned,” I said.

    “Me too,” Trent said.

    When I looked over, Avery was closest to us, watching me and Clive.  Trent and Rodney were behind him, legs intertwined, resting against each other.  I put my arm around Avery and he snuggled closer.  

    We listened to the sounds of music and the celebration around us and looked up through the clear rainfly, into the stars.  It felt good.  And I felt happy that my little brother was next to me, almost ready to come home.

    My brother suddenly rolled over.

    “What are you going to do once you’re better?” Clive asked Avery.

    “I’m going to go back home and eat all the food I want to eat.  I’m gonna hang out with my dog and watch all the shows I missed, and hang out with my friends again.  Yeah,” Avery said.

    I saw Rodney’s head pop up from under Trent’s shoulder.

    “What are you going to do?”  Rodney asked Clive.

    “I don’t know…” Clive said.  “Get a tan.  Learn how to kick-flip.  Go camping.”

    Rodney lit up another blunt and we passed the time talking about sports and video games.  The “Governator” came up again.

    “You lucky bastards,” Rodney teased.

    I said, “If I’d have known, I would have sent you some movies and posters for him to sign.”

    Clive made a face at me.  I made one back.

    We were halfway through the second of Rodney’s blunts when I noticed Clive grimacing and holding his stomach.  In my arms, he felt tense.  It couldn’t have been after eight.

    “What’s wrong, Clive?” I asked him


    ”My stomach hurts.”  He said.

    I thought maybe we worked him too hard, with the running around and stuff.  So I told him, “Maybe we should get you back to your bed.”

    “No!” He shrieked, “I don’t want to go!”

    Rodney started putting his shoes on.

    “C’mon, Avery,” He said to his brother, “We might as well go, too.”

    “I don’t want to go.”  Avery told him.

    “You have to.  Do you want to get sick again?”  Rodney asked.

    “No,” Avery replied.

    “Then it’s settled,” I turned to Clive, “Let’s go before you get sick, too, Clive.”

    A flash lit up the sky, followed soon by an earth-rattling boom.

    “Yep,” Rodney said, “Let’s go.  It’s raining.”

    When we walked into the front doors, the lobby was bustling with activity.  Not just the regular clean-up after a banquet, something was going on.  A nurse—the hot one—ran up to us.

    “Is Avery sick?” She asked Rodney.

    “No,” He told her, “But Kenny’s brother has a stomach ache.”

    She grabbed Clive by the arm and said, “C’mon, we’d better go.  We’ve been seeing a few people sick already.”

    As we went into the elevator, I asked, “What’s wrong?”

    The laboratories on the floor just below Clive’s were busy.  I mean, busy!  As we passed, we could see people in clean suits huddling over a microscope.  It looked like they were arguing with each other.  But I could only go off their body language.

    “It’s probably something in the food, a minor case of food poisoning.  Most of the patients have been getting sick and, with such delicate immune systems, we want to be sure that they’re up to fighting off a tummy ache.”  She said the last words to the boys.

    The AIDS wing was crowded with people holding files and rifling through storage bins.  I heard someone yelling about not having the right size catheter.  Many of the curtains were pulled around the beds, but we could hear sobbing, and alarms.  Dr. Robertson was there.

    “You need to go and let us do our work!”  I heard one of the nurses yell.

    “Dr. Robertson!” I called.

    He turned around quickly.  Dr. Robertson looked frazzled.

    “Kenny!” He said.  “Is Clive sick, too?”

    “Yeah,” I told him.

    Dr. Robertson called the hot nurse over and told her something quietly.

    Rodney and Avery were trying to catch glimpses of what was going on behind the curtains.  But I was overwhelmed.  They took Clive to a hospital bed and had him strip down and get into a new hospital gown.

    I watched the doctor running the wing like a triage.  As we passed him, I heard Dr. Robertson telling the RN Clive was the last one, to put people up in recovery, which was in the basement.  It hardly seemed comprehendible while I watch Clive get hooked up to a Pulse Ox and EKG leads.

    I moved to a whole new level of numb as they drew his blood.  This isn’t happening, I thought.  We just got him back.  This is a mistake.  But it was.  Two beds over, I could hear a woman howling.  I could barely hear her over the alarms and yelling of the doctors.

    “What’s going on?” Rodney asked.

    When I looked over at them I could see they were as panicked as I was.  Though my panic was inside, it was a knot winding itself up in the middle of my chest.   I wanted to do something to help.  But I couldn’t.  I watched helpless as the woman adjusted a pressure cup on Clive’s arm.

    “It’s very delicate,” The male nurse who tested Clive’s eyes said.  He was writing in Clive’s clipboard, “The cure doesn’t work on everyone.  And we didn’t exactly plan on people getting food poisoning the same day they took a cure for an immune disorder.”

    “I think I need to puke!” Clive exclaimed.

    The nurse pulled out a bedpan just in time.  We watched as he filled the first, entire bedpan, retching loudly.  It was disgusting.  His vomit was bright orange and green; and nothing in it reminded me of the chicken and vegetables we’d had for dinner.  I reached behind Clive and rubbed his back as he gasped and heaved and readied himself for the second one.  He was sweating.  His skin felt cold and clammy under his damp shirt.

    “What’s wrong with him?” Avery asked.

    “I don’t know.”  I gasped.

    “Don’t worry,” The hot nurse said soothingly, “We’re going to find out soon.”

    Clive started hacking up big black/red chunks of . . . it looked like jello.  He started crying.  I could see the blood beginning to run out of his mouth.  The doctor told us that we would have to leave, immediately; and that Avery would have to stay.

    Avery didn’t want to, but—once the nurse had steered us away from Clive’s bed—she told him he could stay in the cancer ward, just to see if he got sick.  I was on the verge of flipping out.

    But we couldn’t say much because we were shocked.  Rodney cried a little as they took his brother away.  I did, too; but because I just lost mine.  And probably for good.

    I replayed the scene in my mind as Rodney and I rode the elevator down.

    “Do you think the same thing is happening to everybody else?” Rodney asked.

    “I don’t know,” I could still hear the alarms in my head, see the chunks.

    “Do you think it’s food poisoning?”  Rodney asked.

    “I don’t know.”  I felt sick to my stomach, too.  But it wasn’t because of the food.

    We said goodbye at my Dad’s tent.  Dad was all smiles and rosy cheeks.  I felt cold and desperate.  When I told him what happened, his smile sank.  Dad lamented the unfairness.  How hard he worked to make the money to put Clive in the hospital. 

    When he found out other kids had gotten sick, too, he wanted to sue.  But neither one of us knew how bad the problem really was.  We wouldn’t know until the morning. 

    .

    That night, I could barely sleep.  The sound of crying kept me awake.  I could hear the women from the hospital, still bawling.  I couldn’t forget the sound of the woman’s voice if I tried.  Except it wasn’t just her, it seemed like everyone was mourning.

    During the night, it only got louder.  More and more voices would join the others.  More people were getting sick.  Soon, the entire camp sounded like a war zone.  When I finally fell asleep, I didn’t sleep for long.

    .

    It was still dark when I woke up.  The tent was open and the cold wind was blowing in.  It was quiet.  Dad wasn’t in his sleeping bag.  I wiped the sleep out of my eyes, pulled on my boots, and stepped outside.  I looked at the hospital and my eyes stung at the sight.  The flood lights all around the hospital were on, shedding piercing white, halogen light across the grounds.  The cold was stinging my face.

    I could smell coffee.

    “Do you want a cup?”  Dad was standing over the camp stove.  He had heavy bags under his eyes.  When I turned around, he gave me a weak smile.  I knew he was worrying about Clive.

    “I’m gonna go check on him, Dad.” I told him.

    Then Dad said something that hit me so hard I saw stars.

    He said, “I think Clive’s dead, Kenny.”

    “No he’s not!” I shouted.  “The doctors took care of him.  I saw!”

    But I was really scared that he was right.  It was a creeping feeling that gripped me deep inside.

    “Son,” Dad said, “I know you don’t want to think about it.  But we have to.”

    I didn’t answer him; and he didn’t push me.  He gave me a cup of coffee and we sat in the chairs in silence.  Looking up at the hospital, I could see people running around on the fourth floor—probably still working like crazy.

    “Do you think they’ll let me visit him now?”  I asked.

    “Maybe,” Dad said.

    I wanted to see my brother.  “Can I call them?”

    Dad handed the cell phone to me, but it didn’t get any service.  I felt a hot wind rise up in my chest and a let out a long sigh.  I lit up a cigarette, handed the phone back to him and settled into my seat.

    “What happened?”  He asked.

    “No signal.” I told him.

    “Oh,” Dad took another slurp of his coffee and nodded at the hospital, “They’re probably still in there.”

    I sat there and fought myself over going in to see Clive.  The lights were on.  The most they would do would is tell me to leave.  But I wouldn’t want to go all the way up there for nothing.  No, I wouldn’t ask, I would just barge in and demand to know what was happening to my brother.
    I’m going, I told myself.  I’m going right now.

  • Zombie: The Incident at Bloody Rock – Prologue

    Prologue

    It was November.

    My dad and I were in some place about forty minutes north-east of Enterprise, California; inside the Mendocino Forest.  We’d driven nearly three and half hours up the 101 from Treasure Island, where we lived.  Then we turned onto some poorly paved road and went further on.  The road led us over some hills and past Lake Pillsbury.  There were some shops when the road opened up, and followed the lake north.  One had a giant, steaming mug of coffee.  Against the woods there was a gas station.  None of them looked open as we passed.  Then there was the gravel airport, which didn’t look well kept.  Then more dirt.

    One time we went too fast and almost lost control; our truck veering to the right while it felt like the weight was fishtailing off to the left.  My dad let out a nervous chuckle and grinned at me.  Point taken, it seemed to say.  Although I hadn’t said anything; I’d watched quietly from the passenger seat, staring out at the mountains in the distance, and the never-ending horizon.

    Being from the Bay Area, I’d gotten used to artificial horizons.  But this, this was awesome.  I rolled the window down to feel the air.  A hot, dry gust of wind shot in.   It must be close to a hundred degrees, I thought.  I could smell the pine trees and something else, something sweeter I couldn’t place.  I stuck my hand out the window.

    “What’s that smell,” I asked him.

    “You mean the trees?” He said.

    “No, the other one,” I told him, “The sweet one.”

    My dad pointed his nose in the air and took a whiff. “I don’t know,” He said.  “Do you know how far the hospital is from here?”

    I pulled the nav. device out of the backpack between my legs and turned it on.  I’d put it away for a while because it said we were supposed to go in a straight line until we got there.  I didn’t remember how far it said we should go, but what appeared as a little line on the map felt like hours.  The machine in my hands lit up and I watched as it loaded our trip.

    .

    The Francis E. Seymour Children’s Research Hospital was one of California’s leading research facilities.  That’s where my brother was being treated; and he was the whole reason we were there.

    We were supposed to be celebrating the end of AIDS.  The cure, as far as we knew, was a copy of the HIV virus, rebuilt to destroy the real virus and replicate healthy T-Cells that were specifically designed to repair the damaged DNA in cells already affected by HIV using pure code from stem cells.  A man, a doctor named Henry Robertson made this breakthrough; and the FDA rushed to allow him to administer his cure to all of his patients.

    This wasn’t entirely experimental now these days.  Scientists were beginning to make designer hearts and lungs for patients a little more frequently.  But it was still rare.  The cost of such an endeavor was extraordinary, and most of these cases were research-related success stories.  Doctor Robertson’s research was the single most important advance against the HIV pandemic.  And my brother was being treated by him.

    We were invited to participate in their special ceremonies the next day, tomorrow.  The governor had become intimately involved in all of the happenings around the first injections and probably took this as a great photo-op.  The guy even dug into his personal coffers to fund the party.  Since the official announcement of the cure, the hospital had been swamped with reporters.  We’d even gotten a few calls.

    My dad didn’t want to talk to the reporters; and he forbade me to as well.  He said our business was our business.  He wouldn’t even let Clive be filmed getting the injection.  I tried to talk him into at least interviewing.  But he would have none of it.  So I resigned myself to waiting for the day I’d see my brother again.

    .

    Mom thought she got away from the danger when she finally quit shooting, when I was four, and she found out she was pregnant with Clive.  But it just didn’t work that way.  

    Clive’s thirteenth birthday is in a month.  Mom died giving birth to him and he has HIV like she did.  This was back in the day when doctors thought most babies born with it were doomed to live life in the hours.  But Clive was a fighter.  In any normal circumstance, I could have blamed Clive for killing my mom on the way out.  But this was something she did to herself, to all of us.  I still missed her; even though I had more pictures than memories.

    I loved my little brother.  He was always nice, he always shared.  Sure, whatever, he’s my little brother, he gets into my stuff and tries to be me.  But I liked that.  There was a time I remembered that Clive stayed healthy for a few years.  Those days were the best.  We did lots of family stuff.  But he got sick again.

    The rest of the time, Clive was sick, fighting some flu or a cough.  Every sniffle or fever seemed cause for concern.  The last year and half was the worst, though.  We didn’t think he was going to make it.  He pretty much lived in the hospital.

    The doctors in Oakland didn’t have the expertise to handle him, though.  And that’s how he got here.  They kept calling Dr. Robertson for advice.  So dad eventually decided to put him in The Francis E. Seymour, where he could receive Robertson’s specialized care and expensive advice personally.  

    They had to airlift him in because the campus was so remote.  When I asked why it so far out here, my Dad told me it was therapeutic.  But I could tell Dad didn’t really know why, as he searched the endless horizon for the building.  Clive had only been there for a few months and he was already making history.

    I ran my fingers in the wind, tracing the outlines of all the hills I could see.  All the while I was thinking of how life would be with the new Clive.  

    “What do you think about the vaccines?” I asked.

    The governor had agreed to give half a million vaccines and a million cures to Africa.

    “With our tax dollars,” Dad noted.

    Delegates from the African Union would be there to accept them.  And they’d scheduled the ceremony for the day after the cures were administered.  That meant tomorrow.  We were invited to stay and participate in the ceremony, but dad and I weren’t trying to get on any evening news reports.  We just wanted to get Clive back.

    Dad said the whole thing was covered in subterfuge.  …My dad believed in aliens and ghosts and pretty much applied to any of those whacked out theories he could put some evidence behind.  Even Bigfoot.  When I asked him about Africa’s vaccines, he snorted.

    “Diplomatic positioning,” My dad called it.

    This whole event was staged, he told me.  Doctor Robertson signed with a major pharmaceutical producer shortly before they announced the cure publicly.  Of course, we had known long before then.  It was a coincidence that Drug Corp. International already had other DNA treatments ready to be released in combination with a drug like this.  Dad stressed the word coincidence.  They offered Dr. Robertson an untold sum for the patent.  Rumor was the amount was in the billions.  But the doctor didn’t seem any different than when we first met him.  He did look happier.

    When we pulled up to the hospital, the first thing I noticed was the red ground.  Even below the grass, in the huge clearing surrounding the hospital, it was blood red.  When I looked back at the navigation system, there was a tag that read “Bloody Rock”, right next to the location marker I was surprised the system could even find local information. Our phones had lost signal as soon as we drove over the first ridge.  Great, I thought.  The hospital was on top of a hill, smack-dab in the middle of no where.  But that might be underestimating it.

    The Francis E. Seymour was a large, imposing building made of smooth, red brick.  On all four sides was a perforated metal façade that curved outwards at the tops and bottoms, with larger square-shaped holes cut for windows, and a larger, rectangular incision made for the cafeteria and its second-to-ground floor ramp.  The entrance-way was encased by a large quarter-arch that split at the bottom like a snake’s tongue, with a staircase that led out to the main parking lot.  It looked like some modern art monstrosity.

    Even though the façade covered most of the roof, I could see the blades of a helicopter peeking out over the edge, and what looked a little like the rotor-top, and folded blades of another.  These guys are definitely making use of their funding, I thought.

  • Zombie: The Incident At Bloody Rock – Forewords

    Cover art.

    Publishing Notes

    Originally posted to a Google blog called “Gabriel Duncan’s Zombie”, in 2011; which was re-syndicated from my original websites LonelyOcean.co.uk; and LonelyOcean.net [check the WayBack Machine]. I know that this story was written in 2006, finished and published shortly before the release of the film adaption of Richard Matheson’s book, I Am Legend.

    I know it’s important to distinguish my work, Zombie: The Incident at Bloody Rock, from other works. But, the book I Am Legend, and the movie, “I Am Legend”, are important to distinguish from each other because:

    1. The book, I Am Legend was a racist white man’s response to Integration; the basis for the idea of “White Flight”; and he called all the zombies “vampire n-word’s”.
    2. “I Am Legend“, the movie, uses the premise of HIV being re-engineered to cure cancer by replacing malfunctioning cells with healthy cells, in some sort of CRISPR-esque way; oh yeah, and the main character is an African-American (Black) U.S. Army Lieutenant Colonel, and a Virologist–which is a far cry from the racist white guy hiding in his house, and performing mideval experiments to discover the best way to kill these …. vampire n-words. [What the hell. Seriously, the racism was barbaric. But, *spoilers* the main charecter in Matheson’s book was ultimately tried and executed for crimes against new humanity. …Which is sort of how the movie ends…. Sort of. That’s why the ending is a little weak, with the outro monologue. Sorry, my opinion.]

    Zombie: The Incident at Bloody Rock

    This is a story about the cure for the Human Immunodeficiency Virus; coupled with a mysterious enzymatic (bioenhancer) package, which became the catalyst for a zombie apocalypse. It’s got all the trappings of legit psuedo-science; plus some dark-corporate-money influence!

    This story is written from the view point of someone who watches his brother become one of the first people to receive the Miracle Cure. This story takes place at a remote Children’s Research Hospital, in Northern California; on the eve of the roll-out of the Miracle Cure. It’s all so promising. So hopeful. Until the kids start getting sick.

    This is the first of a series of at least three parts.

    The second part is being written now. Third part is already outlined.

    Some things I want to note:

    1. These zombies are re-animated through an anaerobic, chemical-electrical process that somehow leverages the components of the body for fuel, in an ultimately degenerative process.
    2. The idea of using a re-programmed RNA virus made the most sense. The other possible candidate was a prion-type genetic mutation.
    3. This idea has a twist:
      • People who were previously infected with HIV seem to regain most of their higher brain function.
      • Those who are not infected with HIV-1 or HIV-2 become the most basic, hyper-violent version of zombies.
    4. The primary influence behind this variant of Zombie Disease is the idea of augmentation. Something I’ve seen in the Resident Evil universe, specifically the series of books by S.D. Perry. And even Borg maturation chambers, to a certain extent.
    5. The book Medical Jurisprudence, Forensic medicine and Toxicology. Vol. 1, by Becker et al. was my main source material for the matters of death and dying; and, of course, Stiff: the curious lives of human cadavers, by Mary Roach.

    Anyway. That was the brief introduction to the universe of what’s officially known as Gabriel Duncan’s “Zombie”.

    Stay tuned for Chapter 1.

  • Keeping the Design Fresh & Adding Functionality

    Keeping the Design Fresh
    Adding Functionality

    https://nativehistoryproject.org/ Logo variations. AlamedaNativeArt, #AlamedaNativeArt, AlamedaNativeArt.com.

    I’ve been performing some copy editing, graphic art production, and user experience design, to make the website more user-friendly. Also because images can convey information in a way that is not as readily available as print.

    I try to make sure to optimize for both Desktop and Mobile views. If you’re wondering why the website doesn’t look right in Tablet view, that’s why.

    (more…)

  • AlamedaNativeArt.com Series Schedules Announced

    AlamedaNativeArt.com has several, concurrent, series and galleries being published right now. Here’s a break-down of what you can expect.

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