Love Prevails: A Zombie Nightmare (8 page)

Wells grinned. "I know. I was only having a little fun. Just think if it was wearing a grass skirt. It would’ve looked like it was doing the hula dance. That gives me an idea. Let's put a grass skirt on a zombie woman. You can get a video camera and film while I shoot her up, making her
dance
. Then, we can upload the video on the internet. We can put a music track on and everything."

Rogan shook his head. "Wells, you can come up with the craziest shit."

“Are we’s going to do it or ain't we?"

"
We's
, need to concentrate on our mission. Search and rescue, remember? Not everyone obeys the evacuation warnings. Some people are probably holed up in their houses, scared out of their minds, wishing they would have left at the first call," Rogan said.

"I doubt that they's had much chance of surviving. Arlington National Cemetery is so close that this neighborhood would have been the first course on the menu," Wells said.

From around the corner, a half block away, an old woman with a nasty limp ran screaming for help.

"Good Lord," Rogan said, seeing the host of undead in hot pursuit. "There must be forty of them after that woman. Call for back-up, now!"

Wells radioed their position and briefly described the situation. He ejected the empty magazine in his rifle and stabbed in a full one.

"Run, lady, run!" Rogan sped off first, shooting as he ran, carefully avoiding the woman. The randomly fired bullets hit the crowd of pursuing zombies, doing little to slow their advance.

The leg injury was too great for the adrenaline surge to overcome, allowing the nearest carnivore to overtake the old woman.

As the two crashed to the street, withered hands from all sides arrived, digging filth-encrusted fingers into her soft flesh, ripping her apart. Blood splattered into the air, flying in all directions.

Rogan stopped, took aim, and shot the zombies where it counted as they feasted on the kill. As soon as one fell to his bullet, another fought its way in to share the prize.

Wells arrived at his side, with
the dash of heels pounding the ground from the other members of his platoon following.

In between firing shots, Wells gloated, "Got one . . . and another. Got that one . . . it too. Missed that one. Wait . . . got it. That one's head exploded like a frog sucking on a cherry bomb. I'm up to about eight points. How many d’you get?"

"Wells, this isn't a video game. This is serious stuff, man," Rogan said, squeezing off a carefully aimed shot.

With six more members of the platoon in position and firing, the mass of the undead fell like corn chopped in the field. The smell of the fresh kill was too alluring for the group of zombies to notice the soldiers in the distance.

After a few minutes of combined gunfire, the last of the zombies fell to the street. It took a bullet to the head as it climbed over a pile of its companions, reaching out for a half-eaten piece of thigh. It didn't get the satisfaction of a last meal before returning to the grave.

"I'm glad that's over," Rogan said.

"If this had been the carnival, I would have won one of them stuffed gorillas. You know, big and puffy, with that bright blue fur and a goofy look on its face,” Wells bugged out his eyes and poked his tongue to the corner of his mouth. 

Rogan looked at Wells in disgust.

Wells rubbed his chin and scratched his head. “At least we found the best way to kill a whole bunch at once."

"Overwhelming fire power wins every time it's tried. Nothing really special about the way we killed them," Rogan said.

"That ain't it. You and I could've took out these goobers by ourselves."

"How on Earth do you figure that?" Rogan asked.

"Well,
Mister I'm so smart
, it's as plain as the nose on yer face. You saw how they acted. They had only one thing on their mind. Dinner. They's didn't even know we was here as long as they had something close by to eat. The way to take out a pile of zombies is to keep their attention away from you." Wells grinned from ear to ear. "All you gotta do is use the right bait."

Chapter 3

Modern times:

The sky above was the brightest blue that Lisa had ever seen. A wisp of a single cloud rolled through the winds like a tumbling wave. She wished it had a hand she could take and dance alongside.

Birds adorned the branches of towering pine trees, singing a multitude of songs of life's delight. A family of ducks led by the mother waddled past and into the calm waters of the crystal clear lake. She heard the splish-splish-splish of each duckling as its bottom hit the water.    

"It's good to be alive, isn't it?" A mellow voice spoke from behind her.

"Yes." Lisa felt the warm breeze against her cheeks, ferrying the spicy-sweet scent of gardenias past her nose. "It is so good to be alive." She turned around. "Oh, Bob, it's you."

Bob wore his best black suit and his signature purple tie. Lisa never understood his obsession with the color purple. He bent over and snapped a single emerald rose from a medium-sized bush, and brought it over to her.

"For you, my dear. It matches your eyes, and the envy that all other men have for me when they see us together," Bob said.

"Aw, that's nice for you to say." Lisa reached out and wrapped her arms around him.

"I am your knight in shining armor," he whispered in her ear.

"I know, I know." Lisa smiled, feeling so happy that she thought she was going to burst.

Something felt wet under her hand on Bob's back. She pulled it away and found it smeared with deep red blood. 

"Bob, are you hurt?"

He said nothing. Lisa felt her insides plunge as if riding down on a fast elevator.

Then, she remembered. The convenience store—the parking lot—the attack of the Non-Dead. The blood . . . the blood.

Bob dissolved into empty air. Lisa was left isolated in a world of beauty, alone, with no one left to share.

*

"Miss Goudard, are you awake?" the nurse asked, as Lisa's eyes fluttered open.

Lisa heard the voice of a woman, but couldn't comprehend a word of it. Her mind was a swirl of discordant thoughts. Some still trying to hold on to parts of the dream, others forcing her back to reality.

Draped in a weave of shadows, the ceiling loomed above as a closed lid of a funeral casket. The only glow of light came from a floor lamp shoved in the corner of the windowless room. The air felt cold and stung the back of Lisa's throat as she took a deep breath. A soft electronic beep sounded from behind in slow rhythm, confusing her further. 

A warm hand touched Lisa's arm. "Miss Goudard? I'm Jennifer, your nurse. How are you feeling?"

Lisa propped herself  on her elbows and gazed around the room. Hopelessness washed over her. Her left shoulder itched, and when she went to scratch, her nails scraped against a large adhesive patch.

"Careful, that's your ATP patch," the nurse said, pushing a red button on the intercom hanging on the wall.

"ATP patch? Did I get cut or something?"

"No, nothing like that. The ATP patch provides the energy source your body needs in order to function. It's a lot less invasive than a feeding tube, like we have to give most patients in a coma."

"I was in a coma?"

"A chemically induced coma," the nurse said.

"Why am I here?" Lisa closed her eyes. "My God! Bob! I remember!" She ripped the sheet away from her legs and sat sideways on the bed. The room started spinning. She jutted both hands to her side to steady herself from keeling over.  

The nurse placed her hands on Lisa's shoulders. "Just a minute, hon. It's too soon for you get up."

Lisa lowered her head to keep from passing out. The flimsy hospital gown covered only to her upper thighs, exposing the full length of her legs. A few days of hair growth told her how long it had been since she last shaved. Both legs were ghastly pale, as if they had never been exposed to sunlight, and worse. She turned her palms up to her face and then turned her hands around, feeling as if she were wearing someone else's skin. Her ruby red nails were a startling contrast to her lifeless looking skin. "Oh my God, this can't be happening to me."

The door opened, flooding the room with bright fluorescent light from the hall. A thin woman wearing matching pants and jacket entered, closing the door softly behind.

"You can go now," she said to the nurse, as she took the position standing in front of Lisa, who sat on the side of the bed with her bare legs and feet dangling.

"Hi, Lisa, my name is Anne Watson. I'm a social worker for the hospital. My job is to help transition trauma victims back into normal life," she said, extending her right hand.

Lisa reached and took her hand; again, it felt strangely warm. "Please tell me what's going on. I know something bad has happened to my boyfriend, Robert Sanders. He's . . . he's dead isn't he?" 

Anne gently squeezed Lisa's hand. "I'm afraid so, dear. He was attacked by one of the Non-Dead. He suffered physical trauma beyond what the RY treatment can do to save him."

Tears welled in Lisa's eyes and slid down her cheeks. She wiped them away with her free hand, becoming aware of the bite mark on her forearm. "It bit me too."

"Yes it did. The entry point of the alien virus won't ever heal. Fortunately, the medics gave you the treatment in time. The virus's effects on you are minimized. Don't worry, there are plenty of beauty aids available to help hide imperfections on the Non-Dead."

Lisa frowned. "Non-Dead? I thought you said the medics got to me in time?"

"In time to keep you from a physical death. They were able to give you the Resurrection Y medicine. Had they not arrived in time, and you had died from the infection, Resurrection Z would have been used. That is, if you were registered with the state as a willing donor.

"You are a Sub class Y Non-Dead, the least affected by the alien virus. You have more rights and privileges than Sub class Z. Still, according to the current laws, you must now be classified as Non-Dead," Anne said.

"I don't understand. I didn’t die. I didn’t attack anyone. How can I be stripped of my status as a Living citizen of the United States? So what if it's an alien virus? Other people have AIDS. It's a virus, it kills, but their citizenship isn't affected." Lisa's voice became stronger.

"It's for national security primarily. At least, that's what the laws are based on. You must appreciate that your physiology excludes you from being equal to the Living. You can no longer donate blood or organs, or give birth. Your body has changed in more ways than you can see on the outside. The politicians have set a standard of laws to separate the Living from the Non-Dead. The Living have rights that need to be protected too, you know."

Lisa slapped the top of her bed. "But I didn't choose to become a Sub Y like the others. I didn't have a choice."

"Some of the Sub Y class did have a choice, as you imply. Those that elected to take the treatment and be cured of their paralysis. That was a onetime special act of congress. But there are a number such as you, who received treatment after becoming infected with the virus. The laws apply to all treated with the RY drug the same. I'm sorry."