The Most Uncommon Cold I - Life in the Time of Zombies (17 page)

     In fact, the only thing that did seem to change was the
sound from the shells.  They were getting louder and seemingly more agitated as we could hear the shuffling and scratching sounds becoming louder.

     “
Any more great ideas?”  Glen asked sarcastically.  I thought there was a somewhat pleased sound in his question as if he was happy at having been proven right.

     The guy was actually starting to get on my nerves, which made me more determined to get him out of the doorway and for both of us to
get somewhere safe. 

    
Both of us were surprised by my curt response.  “Shut up and hold your breath.”

     Even more surprising was the force with which I threw myself into the young
man’s body.  This time I concentrated lower on the body rather than at the shoulders.  The breath instantly blew out of Glen’s mouth, and he grunted in pain. 

     “Sorry,” I said.

     “Don’t worry about it,” Glen answered even though I could hear his discomfort.

     “Ready?” 

     “Yeah,” he answered unenthusiastically.

     He started to take another deep breath when something occurred to me.

     “I think we might be wrong about holding your breath. That might be making you bigger.”

     “Of
course!”  Glen agreed enthusiastically.  “I should be letting all of my breath out.”

     “Okay, let
’s try that,” I said as he blew out with a long breath.  “Go!”

     Once again, I threw myself against him at hip level.  This time it was
obvious that his body moved slightly through the door. 

     I chuckled as I backed a few steps from the door and said, “Go!” 

     This time as I pushed myself into Glen’s hip it was clear that his body moved further through the door. 

     “We
’re moving now!”  Glen commented with a laugh.

     “One more push ought to do it,” I said with some satisfaction.    

     “Go!” I announced quickly just before I launched myself once more into the doorway. 

     With this final push, Glen shot out of the doorway to the hallway on the other side, and we both found ourselves lying on the floor laughing. 

     “Just like Winnie the Pooh!”  I snorted, and we both laughed wildly at the thought of the old cartoon.

     At that instant, Glen and I realized that we were surrounded by the shells. 

     We made eye contact as one of those things grabbed his leg. 

     “Go!”  He screamed.

     Whether the scream was from pain or to warn me, I am not sure, and it doesn’t matter.  I rolled away from Glen and jumped to my feet.  The slow shells did not react as I ran quickly by them.  I headed toward a door about twenty feet away at the end of the dark hallway.  The screams got louder as I neared the door, and I could not stop myself from looking back. 

     All I could see was a
mass of those things squirming around the spot where Glen had been lying.  The screams were muffled and then stopped. 

Chapter 13

     Without thinking, I threw open the door and stumbled forward.  Fortunately, none of those things was waiting there because I would have landed right in the middle of them.  Something like blind panic had grabbed me, and that panic threw me forward.  I was aware of nothing more than the need to keep moving.  My feet seemed to move on their own, and I had no sense of them touching the ground.  

     Everything around me was a blur like things outside of a speeding car
’s window. 

     The only thing I heard was the roaring
echo of Glen’s voice as he screamed, “Go!”  It sounds a bit ridiculous, but the screaming pushed every other thought out of my mind.  Of the fight or flight response, I had obviously chosen flight! 

     I did not come out of that blind-flight
mode until I ran head long into the chest of a tall, thin, pale white shell in a dark suit.  

     Again I was lucky. The shells did not have
great balance or react quickly.  One second, I was smacking into the tall, thin thing.  The next second I was on the floor of the hallway staring into the light blue, dead eyes of the thing on the floor next to me.  Everything froze like that for an instant.  All at once, the thing let out
a
string of excited gibberish, and that was enough to force me back to reality.  Such as it was.  

     I jumped to me feet and kicked at the ribs of the tall thing on the floor.  The only result of my assault was a
new string of gibberish as it rolled over and tried to grab me.

     I watched the
thing in the same way that someone would study something about to be dissected.  I wondered if it was aware of what it was doing or just acting on reflex.  Was it just acting on reflex or did it have some logic … some conscious thought?   It continued to grab at me, but I kept just out of its reach. My curiosity grew, but now I was not questioning mental processes.  I was now wondering about the shell’s previous life.  The dark suit made me think that it had been some sort of businessman.  Did this thing have any memory of that other life? 

     Before I could
imagine any answer to my questions, a loud, high-pitched wailing sound from down the hallway shook me from my thoughts.  I looked down the hall from which I had come toward the sound.  Whether it was coming from one of these dead things or from a living thing in need of help, I could not tell.  To be completely honest, it was better not to know since I never seriously considered going back to find out.  Instead, I spun the other way.

    
The tall, thin, pale white shell in the dark suit was on its feet and moving toward me.  The only sound in the hallway was the squeaking sound of its shoes on the tile floor. The feeling of wild panic had left me.  I stood there surprisingly calm just watching the thing shuffling toward me.  The only emotion showing on its face was determination.  As strange as it seems, I was still fascinated as to what was going on in the shell’s mind.  Luckily, there were no more of those things behind me as I kept my eyes fixed on the tall, thin, pale white shell in the dark suit.  As the hands stretched out toward me, I walked slowly backward just out of their reach.  For the first time, I noticed the chunk missing from the thigh just above the knee. 

     A
string of guttural babble and sort of hissing pulled my attention away from the wound.  The cold stare of the dead eyes seemed to look at me without quite seeing.  The gibberish continued, and I realized that the shell seemed frustrated by the inability to form intelligible words. The head twisted from side to side as if to punctuate the sounds.  The movement became more frantic and the sounds more threatening.  All at once, I realized how incredibly stupid I was to tease this terribly dangerous thing. 

     In the next instant, the image of those things swarming on Glen flashed in my mind, and I was
instantly drowning in rage.  The tall, thin, pale white shell in the dark suit hunched in front of me became the focal point for my rage.  Acting on wild instinct, I spun away from the shell in search of something with which to do harm.

     For the first time, I became aware of being in a
large room that had been used as some sort of storage or work space.  There were stacks of boxes of cleaner, paint cans, brooms, and lots of other things that didn’t look to have been used in some time.  None of it seemed to be of any use to me. 

     I was still looking around as I felt the fingers of the shell trying to get a grip on my arm.  The
unexpected contact startled me, and I fell as I jumped away.  One of the paint cans was under my foot and then I was sprawled on the floor surrounded by the cans. 

     The
shell seemed confused by my movement. It was absolutely still for a moment.  It then turned and started to shuffle toward me. 

     I scrambled
quickly to my feet.  Without being conscious of it how it came to be, I was holding one of the paint cans by its wire handle in my right hand.  Suddenly the paint can was being swung at the tall, thin, pale white shell in the dark suit.  It struck the side of its head pushing the left ear deep.  The shell crumbled to the floor, and I felt as if my arm had been ripped off at the shoulder.  The pain from swinging the heavy paint can brought me back to reality.  My arm hung down at my side with the paint can still dangling from my hand.

     I stood there for a minute looking at the blood and some other
string stuff oozing from the bottom of the can onto the white tile floor.  I noticed the label on the can announced the color was Aqua Chiffon.  Something about the name made me smile.  The smile faded quickly as I caught sight of the thing on the floor.

    
The can had made a clear crease in the side of the head, and something gray-red could be seen beneath.  A big part of the ear had been sliced off, and a piece of it was on the floor nearby.  The shell was absolutely still.  The eyes were still open and staring blankly at nothing. 

     “Well, it definitely looks dead,” I whispered to myself. The idea that this
dead thing was now unquestionably dead brought another twisted smile. 

     No other shells were in the room.  I slowly walked over to the open door.  A soft shuffling sound came from the hallway as I got closer. Standing pressed against
the wall near the door frame, I slowly closed the door.  Despite my best efforts, a squeak came from the hinges, and my breath caught in my throat. The sound from the hallway stopped, and I held my breath.   

     Time seemed like it just stopped.  Nothing changed for what felt like hours but could not have been more than seconds.   Then things changed quickly as the sounds of the shuffling began again only faster and louder and joined by something like growls. 

     By reflex, I slammed the wooden door and took a step back from it.  Almost immediately, there was the sound of bumping on the door and rattling of the doorknob. The door began to creak as it slowly opened, and I jumped forward to push it closed once more. Then I noticed the deadbolts on the top and bottom of the door. I kept my shoulder pressed against the door as I got the upper bolt pushed into place and then dropped to my knees to slide the lower one in place. 

     I stayed on my knees as I moved
back from the door. The heavy, dark wooden door looked pretty old but strong. When it started shaking a second later, I wondered about the strength of those bolts.  Of course, if a whole bunch of those things worked together, there was no way that the door would stop them.

     Did the shells work together?  The
question was echoing around my head, and I had no idea about an answer. I pictured the door bursting inward under the force of a group of shells pushing together. Of course, there was no sense in wasting time thinking about it.  I needed to get away from that door.  That was the only thing that mattered.

     I struggled to my feet and felt my legs were
ready to give out from under me.  I turned away from the rattling of the door toward the back of the room.  Finding a way out of the place and away from those things in the hallway was my only thought.

     The door continued to
rattle noisily, and I looked wildly around the room hoping to catch some glimpse of an escape route. Nothing jumped out at me. Perhaps this is a poor choice of words.  But then again, it may be the best choice. The point is no escape presented itself, and no shells appeared from the darkened edges of the room. 

     The rattling
door was suddenly quiet. The absence of that sound made me instantly aware of the rasping noise of my own breath. It came rough and too fast.  The wheezing sound of it scared me but also calmed me. I mean that the awareness of my physical being brought me to some sense of reality. I walked slowly over to the wall on my right. 

     I stretched my hand out to
touch the white cinderblock wall. This was not only steady to myself but also from a need to make contact with something solid.

     I am not sure just how long I
leaned like that against the wall. I looked down at my feet for a few moments.  Then to my complete surprise, the contents of my stomach pitched forward and on to the wall and floor.  In my mind, it was a stream that lasted for minutes.  Somehow accompanying the vomit, images of things I had seen during the last hours flashed before me.  There was Bonnie shuffling through the apartment in her apartments in her pajamas and fuzzy pink slippers. In the next second, she was being smashed by the front of the Jeep.  And the vomit continued.  Jerry Clark’s blank face as he slapped the window of the car was suddenly in front of me.  This was replaced by the bloody body of the young Asian waitress at the airport café. She lay motionless on the floor in her twisted pose as she stared blankly into space. With an exaggerated twitch, her oddly-tilted head spun in my direction as she focused upon me.  Then somehow the waitress became the shape of Glen.  For an instant, he was smiling from his position in the doorway.  In the next, he was on the floor with shells ripping him apart.  He screamed and then there was no sound other than that of snapping bones and limbs being torn from his body.

     This filled my ears even as I became aware that I was kneeling on the floor in a puddle of my own vomit. The sense of
disgust that I should have felt was absent.  Instead, an overwhelming sensation of the absurdity of my present situation covered me. As strange as it might seem the blanket of hysteria felt somewhat protective.  I trembled with the laughter of disassociation, and, for that time, nothing could break in to hurt me. Of course, this sense of security was fleeting, and in the next moment, I was simply on my knees covered in puke and laughing like an idiot. 

   
Slowly and unsteadily, I got to my feet. The sour smell of puke burned my nostrils. 

     Just to my left there were metal shelves stretching from near the floor to the ceiling about six feet above me. Cardboard boxes filled the shelves. The boxes had company names and stock numbers stamped upon them
, but there was nothing to give me a clue as to the contents. Suddenly, learning what was inside the boxes became crucial.

     I looked at all the boxes with no idea about which to
open first. With the wild abandon of a child attacking presents on Christmas morning, I grabbed a white cardboard container from the shelf at my knees and put it on the floor. Without stopping, I pulled up the flaps at the top of the box and peered inside.  There was only disappointment inside. The box held plastic spray bottles of clear blue glass cleaner. It was like getting socks and undershirts instead of toys from Santa.   

     The first
box was quickly abandoned, and I grabbed another from the shelves.      

     This
box held packs of paper towels for a restroom dispenser.  The third box yielded boxes of plastic utensils.  I chuckled at the thought of trying to use a small, white, plastic knife to defend myself against the shells. 

     Another
box held bottles of water, which suddenly made me realize that I was thirsty.  The water was warm but still satisfying as I drained an entire quart at once.  The liquid awakened twinges of hunger in my stomach, and I began pulling more boxes to the floor in search of something to eat.  I could not remember the last time I had eaten.

     Inside the tenth or eleventh
box, I found small bags of pretzels obviously meant for a vending machine.  It might not sound like fine cuisine, but I cannot remember tasting anything as magnificent as those pretzels.  Sitting on the floor against the wall with the box of pretzels on my right and bottles of water on my left, I feasted. 

     After a few bags of pretzels, the appeal of the
crunchy, salty treat faded.  Another box yielded bags of chocolate-chip cookies, which inspired another feeding frenzy.  The cookies were even better than the pretzels, and I quickly emptied nine little bags.

     After eating, I felt much better. It was then that being covered in my own vomit started to bother me. The best
solution I could come up with was to pour some to the bottled water over my clothes and wiped myself off with the paper towels.  The result was that the chunks of vomit were gone, but the liquid was mostly just smeared in more deeply.  Now instead of just looking and smelling disgusting, I felt wet and slimy. Given the circumstances, my personal hygiene might seem pretty trivial, but that is not how it felt.  With handfuls of paper towels, I tried to blot some of the water.  The results were less than successful.  Finally, I just gave up.

     I continued to
search through the boxes in the hopes of finding something else of use.  Some sort of weapon and more food were two things that came to mind.  Unfortunately, the remaining boxes held nothing that fit into either category. 

     A quick scan of my surroundings made it clear that there was no
hidden exit and nothing else of use to me. 

     With a couple of packets of cookies and a bottle of water stuffed into my pockets, I crept toward the door that had been rattling earlier.

Chapter 14

     A door is an inanimate object. There is no dispute about that fact. 

     How can a wooden door have any sort of personality?

     It is certainly one of those questions that philosophers may spend time debating over a bottle of ouzo or whatever it is that philosophers drink.

     All I know is that the dark wooden door seemed to be extremely menacing. My body trembled more than slightly as I approached and then stopped a few feet away.  Everything was silent and absolutely still.  I stood there simply staring at that door as if somehow I would be able to see beyond it.  My head tilted slightly as my ears strained to catch any sound.  There was nothing, but my eyes and ears continued to search.

     The search did not last long. 

     My eyes caught the very minor vibration of the doorknob. I watched as the tiny movement grew to the turning knob. Finally, it blossomed into violent shaking with the knob bouncing up and down and side to side. In an instant, the door burst forward, and a wave of the shells sprayed out knocking me to the floor. I felt the pain of teeth biting and ripping my flesh, and I heard a scream streaming from my mouth and then…

     Then I was standing in front of the closed dark wooden door staring. Everything was still and
silent once more. After a deep breath for courage, I took the final steps to the door. Slowly, I slid the top bolt. It moved until it stopped with a click.

     Inside the silence of the room, the click sounded like a firecracker popping. I froze, held my breath, and waited for the inevitable attack. After a moment, nothing came. I started breathing again and reached for the lower bolt. The brass-colored
bit of metal felt loose and moved easily from the loop on the door frame back to the dark wood of the door.

     I
reached for the doorknob quickly before I changed my mind.  The metal felt cold in my hand.  For a moment, I just gripped the knob without moving.  My breath was held again. There was a little squeaking as the knob turned and the door popped away from the frame.     

     My hand squeezed the doorknob with all its strength as my body tensed fully prepared to slam the door shut again at the tiniest
sound or sight of movement. Only silence.

    
I pulled the door open a little more to reveal a dark hallway.  The dim light from the storeroom spilled through the door but stopped after just a few feet.  It appeared as if whatever might be contained within the darkness repelled light. I shook my head at the silly thought. Then I shook my head at the notion that in a reality where lifeless bodies were shuffling around killing there could be a silly thought. The absurdity of everything that had happened in front of me suddenly seemed to remove the chokehold it had.

     I quickly pulled
back the door to allow the greatest amount of light to make its way into the hallway. The light refused to penetrate further than a few feet.  I stood in the doorway peering out into the darkness.  My eyes darted back and forth.  The darkness was absolute, and my eyes could make out nothing. Except for the hum of some distant electric appliance, the darkness also seemed to capture every sound.

     Another deep
breath gave me the courage and calm to step slowly from the safety of the light into the darkness. My eyes made out nothing within the deep black. Reflexively, my arms raised, and my hands extended. Slow step after slow step, I hesitantly waved my arms in front to be sure that nothing was there. My arms moved freely through the air without touching anything. I think that my pounding heart would have actually exploded had my fingers touched anything that was cold and dead.  

      The image of something which might be waiting
ahead found its way inside my head. I stopped moving and tried to clear the picture of Bonnie away from my thoughts. Standing there in the nothingness of the inky black of that hallway, I was overcome with the reality that I would never see my wife again.

     Sometime and somewhere in my life I had heard that according to psychologists people go through stages of grief when losing someone.  The stages I could remember were
denial, anger, grief, and acceptance. There might have been another one, but it does not matter. The reason I thought of this was that I had clearly been in a stage of denying what was happening.  Now in that blinding blackness of the hallway, I could certainly feel the anger rising up within me.

     The fury grew as I saw Bonnie
’s face smiling at me.  She was standing on the porch of our first house.  It was a tiny place that we had rented not long after getting married. The house had been so small that it shook every time the wind blew. But the small place had brought us closer together, literally and figuratively. The roof had leaked terribly, so that whenever it rained we ran around putting cans and pots on the floor to catch the water. The memory brought a smile to my face, but the smile instantly stoked my wrath to even greater intensity.