Dead, but Not for Long (19 page)

“So the body has to be infected first. Someone that dies of natural causes isn’t going to be
affected, I hope. That could be an even bigger problem,” Lindsey said.

“I checked the morgue earlier and all of the bodies that were already dead have stayed that
way, though it might be worth trying to infect one to see if it revives. To be
safe, we should keep a close eye on our critical patients until we find out.”

He began to pace, going off on a spiel about the nature of viruses and other illnesses and
how they normally worked. Some of it was over Lindsey’s head, but she found it
interesting. She watched the surgeon as he walked back and forth across the
room, running his hands through his hair as he spoke and occasionally flinging
up his arms and gesturing wildly when he wanted to make a particularly strong
point. For someone that was normally so unemotional, he seemed to get
passionate when it came to talking about medicine and his research.

Snake and a couple of his men had come into the room and were listening to the conversation.

“Not to interrupt, but what if this thing is on more of a spiritual level; a demonic
possession of sorts. I know it sounds far-out, but, Dude, considering the
circumstances, it seems like a possibility that has to be considered.”

Dr. Doune stopped midstride and turned to look at the man in disbelief.

“Personally,” Lindsey answered before Doune had the chance to say anything, “I believe in God
and I’m sure that sort of thing is possible, but it seems that this virus
affects people physiologically. I mean, if you shoot them in the head, they
die. I think it’s some sort of primal response where the involuntary parts of
the brain take over. What I don’t get is how that part of the brain stays alive
after blood stops flowing to it. She turned to Dr. Doune.

“Do you have any theories?”

“I have one theory. It’s possible that these afflicted persons,” Doune said, still
hesitating to call them zombies, unless he did it in sarcasm, “are not truly
dead. It’s possible that most of the brain is destroyed, causing the victims to
appear dead and not show perceivable vital signs. Yet the brain could still be
working at a primitive level, allowing them to attack anything they perceive as a threat.”

“Why do they eat people?” Autumn asked. “I saw one of those zombies attack a guy that was running
from it, and then it ate him.”

“Perhaps that’s one of the instincts still left; to eat their prey after they’ve killed it,” Doune replied.

Snake shrugged his shoulders. “Whether this is a spiritual battle or physical, my guys have
fought both, so they’re at your disposal. Just try not to piss them off,” Snake
said, grinning. “They’re still learning how to play nice.”

“So I’ve noticed,” Doune said, dryly. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

“So, what do we need for the quarantine room?” Snake asked.

Doune said, “The ER waiting room has chairs and sofas and the ER has beds, but I’m not sure we’d
need both areas for quarantine.”

Snake thought about that for a moment.

“Let’s use the ER for quarantine. Since we walled off the exit to the outside, the only way to
get to it is through the waiting room, so it’ll be easier to keep an eye on
anybody in quarantine. The waiting room is too open to be very useful for
quarantine, but maybe we could throw a few beds in there for the guys to sleep on.”

“We’ll need restraints for anybody that doesn’t cooperate or that we know is infected,”
Doune said. “But I can take care of that.”

He listed a few more items as they walked toward the ER but heard footsteps approaching and
looked up to see Dr. Winston heading their way.

“Oh, wonderful,” Doune muttered.

“Dr. Doune,” the other doctor said with false surprise. “Just the man I wanted to see.”

Nick sighed. “Yes? What is it, Dr. Winston? We’re rather busy at the moment.”

The GP patted Doune’s back and continued talking while Snake leaned against the wall.

“The other doctors and I have had a discussion and we just want to clarify some things.
Some of the others want you to know that we allowed you to do this job mainly
because the rest of us, well, we’re just overloaded as it is, and with your
specialty not in that high of a demand right now, you have more time on your
hands than any of us. We need you to understand that this is a group effort,
and we’ll need to be informed on how you intend to conduct this research and on
your progress. We may have some ideas or suggestions that could prove helpful,
so maybe when you get everything set up, we can meet and we could all concur on
how we’re going to tackle this project. Sooo, can I count on your cooperation?”

“Oh, please,” Doune said, rolling his eyes. “You know as well as I do that I am the only one
in this hospital that has a chance at finding a cure for this. This is so far
over your head that you wouldn’t even know where to start. Did you even take
gross anatomy in college, Harold, or did your mommy sign a note getting you out of that one?”

The balding doctor began to sputter but couldn’t quite manage to get out a real sentence.

“I trust, Harold, that you’ll be able to handle the uncomplicated procedures such as
taking out splinters and dressing a wound. If there is surgery needed, don’t
even think about it. And I will let you know about my progress as I see fit. I
will not waste my valuable time on long, worthless meetings over how to handle my research.”

He turned away from Dr. Winston to resume speaking with Snake. Suddenly the biker seemed like much better company.

“Now you wait just one minute!” the GP demanded. “The rest of the doctors made me the
spokesman and you had better . . .”

Snake abruptly turned and shoved Winston’s forehead until he staggered back into the open
doors of the elevator. The biker pushed a button and the doors closed, cutting the doctor off in mid-sentence.

“That guy’s more annoying than you are,” Snake said, only half joking.

“You have no idea,” Doune said. “His whining could put the whole pediatrics ward to shame.”

~*~

Eric swallowed a scream and turned to find himself face to face with Miguel. Shreds of meat
dangled from the man’s face, and blood continued to ooze from various parts of
his body, but Eric was relieved to see that his eyes didn’t possess the milky
white stare that those who had turned seemed to share.

Miguel was trying to talk but the words came out a hoarse whisper. He wobbled for a second then fell
to his knees, making another attempt to speak.

Certain that the man had not yet changed, Eric knelt down and put his ear next to Miguel’s mouth. This time,
Eric unmistakably heard the words “shoot me” pass through the dying man’s lips.
Eric stood up, balking at the sheer irony of the request. He had spent
countless hours throughout the past decade fantasizing about ending the man’s
life, and now he held that same life in his hands and desperately wished that
he could save it.

Miguel shook uncontrollably as he again mouthed his request, the blood beginning to pool
around him. Eric hoped the man would soon lose consciousness and make the job
easier. Instead, Miguel seemed to muster what strength he had left as he
grasped Eric’s arm, which still held the pistol.

Miguel struggled against the tremors that were taking over his body. He raised Eric’s arm until
the pistol was held squarely against his own head. Taking a deep breath, he
exhaled the raspy words, “Don’t let me hurt them.”

The tremors seemed to move to Eric as Miguel’s hand, still holding the pistol firmly
against his forehead, shook violently. Killing the zombies was easy, almost
cathartic, but this was a living, breathing human being.

“Do it!” The guttural scream coming deep from within Miguel snapped Eric out of his cowardice.

Eric closed his eyes and pulled the trigger. Suddenly, the tremors stopped and Miguel fell to
the ground, releasing his grip on Eric’s arm. Eric turned away, sick to his
stomach. When the queasy feeling subsided, he dared a glance back toward
Miguel. The sight of the man face down in the pool of blood made him vomit.

Putting the gun on the seat of the car, Eric slowly returned to the car and drove back to the
farm. He hoped that the kids hadn’t figured out what the gunshot meant. With
any luck, they had seen the truck disappear into the dust and had assumed that
Miguel was leaving to do an errand. As he walked toward the house, he could see
Cheri and the kids watching him. He looked at Cheri and shook his head.

Without a word, she turned and walked back into the house, with Eric and the children
following. They all walked silently down the stairs to the basement where Cheri
stopped at the door to the guest bedroom. She turned to the others before entering it.

“I need some time,” she whispered hoarsely, shutting the door behind her.

Eric had considered giving her the ‘now that you’re single’ speech, but he had the
feeling he’d better wait a while. He looked at the children and felt an
obligation. Miguel had entrusted Eric with care of his family. He had known
that Cheri’s chances would be slim if she were alone. Eric, with all his
faults, would be at least better than nothing. It was the first time that
someone besides Jack had trusted him with anything important in years. He
followed the children to a large recreation room where he rummaged through a
shelf and picked up a rectangular box.

“Anyone up for Monopoly?”

The two children looked at Eric then at each other and they laughed.

Eric’s eyes lit up as they grabbed a couple of controllers and fired up the gaming system. “Do
you have ‘Bird of War?’” he asked excitedly. They gave him a blank stare and
put a disk into the game console.

Although it was still early in the evening, it was evident after a couple of hours that the
day’s events had taken a toll on them as they both found comfortable spots on
the couch and fell asleep, leaving Eric to entertain himself.

A short time later, he, too, nodded off, only to be awakened from his slumber by one of the children.
Eric couldn’t understand what the boy was saying through the crying and constant sniffling.

“Calm down, Jon,” Eric said, trying to comfort him as well as possible. “Now take a deep
breath and tell me what happened.”

Jon breathed slowly in, and back out, sniffed, and wiped his eyes.

“I-I went upstairs to get a drink and I saw Daddy outside the window. It looks like he’s
hurt, and he’s really mad.”

A feeling of dread crept up Eric’s spine.

“I think he was mad because we locked the doors, so I let him in, but he just got madder and
tried to grab me,” the boy continued. “I got scared and ran.”

As Eric listened in horror, he heard stumbling footsteps descending the basement stairs.

~*^*~

Eric closed the door and locked it. He turned to Jon and put his finger to his lips.

“Don’t make a sound,” he implored. “That’s not
your dad. It just looks like him. That’s a mean person who’s trying to look
like your dad.”

Jon looked confused.

Eric knew that he could have come up with something better, but there was no time as the footsteps were now at the door.
The room was quiet, except for the slow breathing of the sleeping girl, and the
beating of Eric’s heart. He put his head to the door to listen. He thought he
heard scratching, then a low moan. As he strained to hear, he wondered if Cheri
would be safe in the other room. Certainly she would have had enough sense to
lock the door, but in her present state of mind, he wasn’t sure. If her
recently deceased husband headed her way, Eric would have to do something.

He grabbed for his sword, but it wasn’t there. He’d
left it on the kitchen table. The gun, he thought, trying to remember where
he’d put it. After shooting Miguel he’d placed it on the seat of the car. He
groaned in frustration realizing he’d left it there.

A loud thud on the door made him jump back.

Jon screamed, waking his sister. Several more thumps followed a piercing moan, which made Marie and Eric join in the screaming.
The noise only seemed to entice Miguel, making him more determined to get in.

The wooden door held firm, but the frame started to crack under the tenacious assault. Searching in vain for a weapon, Eric
grabbed a video controller by the cord and swung it in a circle, waiting for
the dead man to bust through. The frame splintered and he knew that one more
push would put Miguel inside the room. A shot rang out, followed by the sound
of a body dropping to the floor. A series of shots followed.

Eric gingerly stepped toward the door and peeked through the crack. Cheri’s eyes were vacant as she stood and fired methodically
and continuously into the body, until the magazine had nothing left to give.
Every bit of lead that had been in the gun was now lodged in Miguel’s body.

“Stay right there,” Eric told the kids.

They were happy to oblige. Eric twisted the door knob and pushed with all his might,
shoving the splintered frame aside.
He grabbed the pistol from Cheri’s hand but she didn’t notice. Her curved
finger twitched as if the gun were still there.

“Cheri!” he shouted. She didn’t respond. She just stared at the body, squeezing her finger.

Eric gently grabbed her by the shoulders and led her into the rec room. He sat her on the couch and held her finger until the
twitching stopped. Still, she stared into nothingness.

The children tried in vain to snap her out of her trance, but she seemed to be somewhere else; somewhere far away. It was obvious
that she wasn’t coming back anytime soon.

“Watch your Mom,” Eric told the children. “I’ve got a mess to clean up.”

Eric grabbed a blanket from the bedroom and paused to look at the body for a moment. Miguel’s face was unrecognizable due to the
sheer number of rounds that had made their way through it on their way to his
brain.