Zombies! Episode 3 - Love Bites (7 page)

He stayed just long enough to see the color
drain from the driver's face. Then he turned and fled with Suzanna
in tow. For a moment, he thought the driver was going to get out
and pursue. Only when he heard the car pull away, did he finally
begin to relax. He only hoped the driver was too scared to call the
police. The last thing they needed was a visit from the Zombie
Nazis.

At the door, he reached for the buzzer before
remembering that Suzanna was there with him. Taking her purse from
her, he riffled through the contents until he came up with her
keys. He let them both into the building and made straight for the
elevator. Suzanna shuffled beside him, not protesting, not even
speaking. After he had rung for the elevator he checked to make
sure that she was breathing. She was.

The three minutes between hitting the
elevator button and arriving inside her apartment seemed to take
hours. That three minutes was filled with anticipation. When the
doors opened and revealed an empty car, there was momentary relief
replaced by more anticipation. They had to ride up seven floors up
without taking on more passengers. A lifetime later, they finally
reached her floor and the door opened up on an empty hallway. It
seemed that everything was going right for them.

Arrick pushed Suzanna inside and closed the
door behind them. He maneuvered her into the bedroom and dropped
her on the bed. As he turned to leave, she reached out and grabbed
his hand.

"John," she whispered to him.

He took a breath and then turned back. She
didn't just look sick. She looked haunted.

"Don't leave me, John. Please?"

He hesitated, knowing that he had made that
decision without even thinking about it. Moving her hand away from
his arm, he told her he was just going to lock the door. And when
he got to the door, he did just that. He locked it and slid the
deadbolt into place. Then he got himself a glass of water and went
back to the bedroom.

Suzanna had managed to curl up under the
covers. When he stepped into the room, she looked up at him through
her tangled hair and smiled. "You stayed. You really stayed."

He held out the water. "Would you like
this?"

She nodded and he helped her drink it.

"Do you think I'll get better?" she asked him
with tears in her eyes. "Maybe…do you think I can just beat
it?"

"Sure, love," he lied, this time with no
hesitation.

"I'm sorry, John. I'm really sorry."

"Nonsense. Get some rest."

"I mean it." She was sobbing now. "You're a
good man, John. I don't deserve you. Not after Larry."

He tensed but didn't ask any questions. And
she didn't provide and answers. Swallowing hard, he stood up from
the bed, went to the other room and got a chair. He brought it back
and sat by her bedside, holding her hand until she and he both
drifted off to sleep.

***

DENISE
Luco reached for the box of
donut minis, her eyes never leaving the lens of the microscope. Her
hand found only air, which was a remarkable failure for someone who
could write in a straight line without ever looking at the paper.
When she looked up, she saw Captain Lance Naughton eating her
minis.

"That's my dinner," she told him.

He looked down at them and then at her. "How
do
you maintain your figure?"

"Give them back," she said through gritted
teeth.

He tossed them onto the bench but she didn't
reach for them. There was silence between them for a moment and
then she asked, "What brings you here on a Saturday night?"

He smiled a charming Lance Naughton smile. "I
could ask you that same question."

Letting out a protracted snort of laughter,
she answered. "When you're saving the world you don't get weekends
off."

"Is that a fact?" he muttered, picking up a
pen off of the bench and fiddling with it. "We ID'd the pet
zombie."

"Is that the one Culph called in last
night?"

Naughton nodded. "His wife called in the
missing person's report three days ago. The guy's a plumber from
Oklahoma. He was here for a convention. Forty four years old with
four kids."

She scowled. "Their life stories aren't
helping me beat this infection."

He shrugged. "Did you see the video from the
basement?"

"Culph again," she said with disgust. "I
passed it over to Beckham. Does he think I care about their social
behavior?"

"He has a crush on you."

She shuddered. "That's all I need."

Naughton shrugged. "You could do worse."

"Captain Naughton, I don't think you're
really in a position to make those kinds of comments. Besides
which, Culph is a baby and…" She trailed off.

Naughton looked up from his pen, suddenly
interested. "And?"

"Never mind."

Now he put the pen down. "Uh uh, Denise. You
were about to say something insightful."

Luco had long since learned that her personal
observations, even if correct, were better kept to herself.
"There's something
wrong
with him."

Now Naughton laughed. "Of course there is.
There has to be something wrong with you if you become a cop."

"It's not that. He likes his job too much.
He's got the mentality of a big game hunter but only if that big
game is really dangerous. I wouldn't be surprised to find out he
beats his wife and children."

"He doesn't have a wife or children. He's
just a kid himself."

"Whatever." She turned back to her work. "Can
you show yourself out?"

"I suppose. I showed myself in. What time are
you leaving?"

She laughed again, just one short burst, and
motioned off to the side. Naughton looked and saw a door, slightly
ajar, that led to what appeared to be an office. From the angle, he
couldn't see much but he could see that the desk was pushed up
against the wall and a cot had been set up.

"You're living here?"

"Saving the world," she answered, never
taking her eye from the lens.

"I don't think the world needs that kind of
saving. If there weren't zombies involved, I'd say that this is
less scary than swine flu."

She looked up at him again. What
was
he doing there? "Swine flu didn't kill young healthy people. This
thing is aggressive and gets stronger the closer you get to death.
Once you're dead, it's at its strongest. The bacteria from a bite
can take over a victim in a matter of hours. If you contract it
from a living person, there's an incubation period. It might take a
week or more before the victim becomes symptomatic. Then it's like
a freight train."

"But the hospitals aren't overflowing with
zombies or people who think they have the zombie plague," Naughton
argued. "In fact, people are starting to go back to work and back
to school."

"I'm very happy for them. But when you're
dealing with an incubation period, especially one that may vary
based on the strength of the victim, then you never know when there
will suddenly be a million sick people. This also might be a slow
starter. The winter will help because the cold weather will keep
people indoors and limit spreading, but this thing is not weak and
it's not going away and we can't fool ourselves into thinking we're
safe."

The captain chewed this over a bit. "Who's
going to save us when you die of fatigue and sugar poisoning?"

This time her laughter was a bit more
genuine.

"Let me buy you dinner," he said. "We'll have
a proper dinner at a proper restaurant."

This was an invitation that took her totally
by surprise. Up until that moment, he'd been very subtle. She was
flattered, though. Naughton had always struck her as the type who
surrounded himself with vapid and buxom twenty year olds. Her
boyfriend, now ex -boyfriend, had been sure that she and Naughton
had been screwing around. He'd been wrong, of course, but he hadn't
bought into the whole saving the world bit. Now she wondered if he
hadn't been just a bit on cue. Looking back at the microscope she
considered her desires versus her obligations. For the past two
hours, she'd been studying cells and comparing the results of
tests. She had gone over the same data again and again with no
revelations. Maybe she could spare a couple of hours of
selfishness. Then she could return to work with a fresh
perspective.

She smiled and it was genuine. She couldn't
remember the last time one of those had surfaced. Naughton took her
by the hand and led her out of the lab.

***

DINNER
was nice, but had the feel of being rushed. It was as
if they were both just trying like hell to get through the meal and
see what comes next. They made some small talk, starting of course
with their common ground. The zombie plague. But the truth was that
neither of them was really interested in exploring that topic very
far. It was what had brought them together but not what
drew
them together. Denise found that Naughton was able to bring out her
underlying personality. He made her feel as if she didn't have to
defend her lifestyle or her choices. HE made her feel as if she
could finally let her guard down. Even the restaurant he'd picked
was understated just enough to make her comfortable. It was nice
enough to be impressive without giving the idea that he was
trying
to impress her.

When the waitress put the dessert menus down
in front of them, she didn't touch hers.

"I don't really want dessert, Lance."

He looked up from his menu, grinning. "Too
many donuts?"

She shook her head.

"Oh," he said, showing some disappointment.
But, like a good sport, he put down the menu and looked around for
the waitress. "Eager to get back to the lab then. I
understand."

But Denise shook her head again. "No. I don't
think I want to go back there tonight."

Now he was confused. She could see it in his
eyes and took a kind of guilty pride at having made him feel that
way. The indomitable Lance Naughton, confused and cowed by some coy
flirting.

After a healthy pause, she added. "I thought
I might stay by your place tonight."

"Hmm?" he asked. Then it dawned on him. "Oh!"
He got the check in a hurry after that.

They stopped at a drug store on the way home.
It's not what you think. Denise wanted to buy a tooth brush because
she was fanatical about her teeth and Naughton would have neither
the brush nor the toothpaste that she would want to use. She also
liked a special kind of floss. They separated, he going to pick out
a few things himself while she grabbed her items. With an armload
of dental supplies, she wandered up the medication aisle on the way
to find him and noticed the display of
Head Shot
.

It claimed to be the perfect defense against
the zombie virus. Except there was no zombie virus. There was a
zombie infection and this cold and flu remedy would do just about
as much good as chicken soup or a nice cup of tea.

"Lance," she called out.

He came quickly. A voice carries in an empty
drug store on a Saturday night. Indicating the bottle of medicine,
she puffed up her cheeks and waited. It's a funny thing when the
relationship between a man and a woman changes from business to
social. Even though he knew he'd done nothing wrong, he could tell
she was upset and he knew it was about
Head Shot
, but he
didn't know why. And a man's brain is always wondering which of his
next moves will make matters worse.

"They can't possibly have run any tests on
actual zombies," he muttered, taking a general stab at the
problem.

"It's worse than that, Lance," she answered,
completely unaware of his discomfort. "This plague is
not
a
virus. If people think this stuff will help them, they'll be less
likely to get real medical help until it's too late. That means
more dead people, more zombies, and a quicker spread of the
infection."

"Okay," he said, putting the bottle back on
the shelf. "I'll make some calls tomorrow morning and get the ball
rolling on forcing a recall. I know enough people in the right
places to make that happen. We can also make a statement to the
press exposing the fraud. We'll have this buried by Monday
night."

Luco fingered the bottle on the shelf,
mulling over his plan. "You can do all of that? You're sure?"

He shrugged. "I'll do what I can. I'm not a
lawyer but I think we'll get some special latitude on this because
they had the nerve to mention zombies on their label."

"All right," she said, sounding very much
like a little girl who's putting her trust into someone about which
she's not entirely sure. Then, with more finality. "Okay."

"Do you want me to take you back to the lab?"
he asked her.

Denise looked up at him and smiled. "Not on
your life."

***

MARCUS
spent most of Saturday with
Shawn and enjoyed himself. They covered the city from uptown to
downtown, hitting every autumn street fair and eating and laughing.
It wasn't only the best date they'd had, it was the best date
Marcus had ever had. He desperately wanted Shawn to stay with him
that night and he was sure Shawn
wanted
to stay but neither
of them could manage it. Shawn's mother became increasingly hostile
after each phone call and ultimately demanded to speak with "this
Marcus person". That was no problem for Marcus, who was charming
and could talk to anyone. He put her at ease with no difficulty.
Still, when evening fell, they grabbed a quick bite and Marcus saw
Shawn to the train. He advised him to steer clear of any
zombies
on the way home. Shawn laughed because he knew it
was what Marcus wanted him to do but the laugh was empty. He could
still taste the life inside the jail. He could still feel the soft
resistance of Larry Koplowitz's body as he'd pushed in the pipe.
The vibrations of that very same pipe caving in the skull of
Allison Ciccio still echoed up his arms and through his back and
shoulders. He wondered if it would ever be less vivid.