Zombies Begin (Zombies Begin Series Book 1) (14 page)

“You know computers and techno stuff, right?”

Davis continued to nod. He wasn’t sure where this conversation was headed.

“Doc, you’ve got that”—he pointed to Fuller in the passenger seat—“under control, right?”

Santiago nodded. She had Fuller under control.

Lloyd looked back at Fuller. “You never get too close to me. You never, ever, walk behind me. If you get hungry, you eat a burger and some fries or something. Right?”

Fuller nodded in agreement.

“If you don’t, I’ll cap your zombie ass!” Lloyd said in stern voice. “I’ll help you find Fittler...Field…fff...fuck head…. whatever the hell his name is…”

“Fiedler” Santiago said softly.

Lloyd glared at her. “Whatever his damn name is! That’s it. No more! Now, Doc, give the wonder boy the details so he can track this quack down.”

The smell of burned coffee filled a small internet cafe. It was dark and reeked of body odor. Several serious gamers had been playing online games for days without a break. They lived on pizza and kept up a steady coffee intake to keep themselves awake. The stench choked Davis as he tapped away on a computer keyboard. Fuller and Santiago sat either side of him as he searched for Dr. Fiedler on the net. Santiago had purchased an orange and white horizontal striped T-shirt and some jeans for Davis, so that he wouldn’t be walking around in his dressing gown and underwear.

Davis was trying to track down Fielder’s whereabouts. All thoughts of their own displacement had been put on hold. They had only one goal—find Dr. Fiedler. He was the only one that could make a cure and end the potential pandemic.

***

Lloyd’s eyes scanned the street outside the cafe from the safety of his truck. It was a part of town you shouldn’t be in. A place on the wrong side of the tracks. Several people milled around looking for no good. Lloyd was ready for action. He cradled his twelve gauge in his lap. Anything out of the ordinary and he’d be ready to put a bullet in it, maybe two. He glanced at his watch. The day was starting to get away from them. In a few short hours it would be night. After what felt like hours, Fuller and crew walked out of the cafe.

***

The Beast lurched to a stop on a small, well-kept suburban street. The team sat quietly, peering at the side mirrors on the truck. Their sights set on a small, single-story wooden home. They didn’t want to just walk up to Fiedler’s house without a quick recon. All seemed quiet.

After a short time, Davis slowly stepped out on the sidewalk, leaving the safety of the truck. He was nervous, heart pounding, shallow breaths. His footsteps echoed in his ears as though everything was happening in slow motion as he approached the small house. It was brightly colored and had a small, white-picket fence at the front. The gardens were well kept. Picture perfect.

Davis cautiously opened the small, wooden gate. He stopped at the threshold. Images of a SWAT team waiting for him on the inside flashed into his mind, or worse—a raging zombie Fiedler. He stared longingly back at the truck. He could just see the team in the truck, thanks to the street lamps nearby.
Why are they making me do this?

Fuller could see his reluctance. He waved his hand to move him along.

Davis took a small step into the yard. His eyes darted around, looking at each window on the front of the house. One of the lace curtains moved slightly, as though someone had brushed past it. He glanced back at the truck. His legs close together, shoulders hunched; right arm crossing his chest, holding his straightened left arm by the elbow—almost like he was trying to make himself smaller, harder to see. He watched as Fuller ran across to the same side of the street as him and quickly made his way toward the house, gun in hand. Lloyd did the same thing, only he stayed on the opposite side of the street. He took cover behind a small, brick fence with his gun aimed at the house.

Davis felt more secure with backup in place, but seeing the two guns made the whole thing seem more real. He forced himself to the front door and gave a weak knock. The door wasn’t latched and swung open slightly with a small creak, the entrance dark. Davis froze with fear. He couldn’t see anything past the open door. Fuller inched closer to the house. He hopped over the neighbor’s fence and took cover at the side of the house.

Davis looked back at Fuller, not sure what to do. The wind blew a little, causing the door to sway back and forth. The creaking freaked Davis out. He bolted across the lawn as fast as his long, lanky legs could carry him. He leaped over the fence like a human grasshopper and ran toward the truck. Fuller had never seen him move so fast.

Fuller and Lloyd moved quickly, closing in on the small house to see what Davis had seen. Fuller was first to the open door. He gripped his gun, ready to shoot. A bead of sweat ran across his forehead and into his eye. He quickly wiped it away with the back of his hand. He moved into the house, aiming his gun, ready for anything. Lloyd was hot on his heels, moving into the house behind him.

The late afternoon sun peaked through a few of the small windows, causing lots of shadows in the rooms. The house was crammed with a lot of antique-styled furniture and bric-a-brac. Not what you’d expect for a lead scientist that worked for a government-run research facility.

The two men systematically moved through the house. It appeared empty. Fiedler would have been a fool to come back to his house after releasing the parasite to the world. A noise from the kitchen drew their attention. The men moved cautiously, closing in.

They stopped just short of the doorway. They could see a light was on in the kitchen. A person’s shadow moved slightly from side to side against the wall. Someone was in the kitchen. The men gave each other a nod. They weren’t sure what to expect when they entered the room. They both gripped their guns, ready for impending battle.

Fuller was first to burst through the doorway. He moved quickly, Lloyd hot on his six.

Within seconds they stood face to face with a little old lady, who worked at the kitchen sink—their guns trained at her head. A soapy, wet dish shattered on the white-tiled floor at her feet. She stood petrified, holding only a washing brush. Soapy water dripped from her shaking hands; too frightened to scream.

***

The team sat squished together on a small, three-seater sofa. Mrs. Fiedler served tea to the four. She had pulled out her fine china, reserved for special guests. Lloyd’s head twitched, visibly not impressed with the arrangement, not to mention being this close to other people.

Dr. Fiedler’s mother shared broad strokes of her son’s life, in between topping up cups of tea. He had never married, enjoyed living at home with her. An only child.

Mrs. Fiedler’s husband had passed away seven years ago, and any visitor was a welcome change.

She was a small, frail woman, with dyed, bluish hair. At times she seemed like she wasn’t all there. Unaware. But a very friendly disposition.

Santiago sat forward on the sofa. “Mrs. Fiedler, when was the last time you saw your son?”

“Oh… it’s been more than a week now. He’s probably at work now,” Mrs. Fiedler said, almost lost in thought. “Robert has always been like that. I never see him much. His job keeps him really busy.”

“Can you think really hard,” Santiago continued to probe, “and tell me if Dr. Fiedler acted out of character the last time you saw him?”

Mrs. Fielder looked at her with confusion. “Why did you call him doctor?”

Santiago flashed a look at Fuller. They weren’t sure how much information they would get from the old woman. Fuller got to his feet to look around the house. Lloyd did the same, taking in what they could around the small living room. Photos of a young Robert Fiedler decorated the walls.

“Dr. Fiedler and I worked together. I’m also a doctor.”

“Oh my! My mind doesn’t work like it use to. What was the question again?”

“Was Robert acting strange when you last saw him?”

Mrs. Fiedler shook her head. “Robert always keeps to himself. I never know how he’s feeling. I make him dinner every night, but he rarely eats it.” She picked up the teapot. “Would you like some more tea?”

Santiago shook her head and took a sip of tea, feeling uncomfortable with the situation.

***

The bedroom door to Fiedler’s room swung open. Mrs. Fiedler led the team into the small room. The room was in a mess, with papers and clothes tossed around the room, like someone had been looking for something.

“I would have cleaned up, but Robert doesn’t like me touching his things,” Mrs. Fiedler said, looking around the room.

“Has anyone else come looking for your son, besides us?” asked Santiago.

“Two unfriendly men came recently. They were very nicely dressed young men. Very nice suits, but very unfriendly. It was the middle of the night. It made me quite worried that something may have happened to Robert.”

The team spread out, moving around the room, searching for anything that would help find Fiedler. The wardrobe doors were open. Boxes that stored books and papers had been turned upside down. Clothes pulled from drawers. Nothing left unturned.

Davis collapsed onto the bed. He was tired of looking and frustrated with everything that was happening. “If I was going to infect the whole bloody world with a mutated parasite, that will make everyone into men-eating zombies, I wouldn’t be hanging around here. I’d get my arse to higher ground. I’d bug out!”

Santiago and Fuller gave each other a look. Fuller mouthed “bug out” to her, mocking the crazy Englishman’s attempt to sound like he knew what he was talking about.

Lloyd moved over to a small bookshelf. A couple of survival type books were hidden amongst science books. “It’s a military term. It means get the hell out of town when shit is hitting the fan,” Lloyd continued. “We just need to find his bug-out location.”

Lloyd removed one of the books, flipping through the pages. A small real estate brochure fell out from between the pages. Lloyd scooped it up. The brochure was advertising a small, wooden holiday cabin for lease up in the hills on the outside of town.

Night was closing in fast. A small breeze stirred up some dry leaves, blowing them across a layer of damp, wet leaves and twigs that covered the ground. A small wooden cabin, the same one pictured in the brochure, was hidden amongst the thick trees. It sat eerily in darkness. Not even a porch light was on. A small gravel road led to a clearing in front, where a couple of cars were parked. One looked like the typical black sedan the spooks liked to drive.

Harsh, bluish light from the full moon cast creepy shadows from surrounding trees. The dark figure of an animal, crouched low to the ground, darted across the small clearing. It took cover behind the black sedan. Lloyd waved over Fuller to join him at the car. Fuller followed Lloyd’s lead and darted across the clearing, taking cover behind the same car. Their twelve-gauge shotguns locked and loaded.

Fuller peered through the window into the sedan. Empty. Lloyd placed his hand on the hood. Cold to the touch. A thin layer of dust covered the sedan, as though it had been there for some time. The two men surveyed the area. They weren’t sure what kind of trouble they could be facing. The agents were there somewhere, and where was the doctor?

All seemed clear. Fuller moved silently toward the front door, crouching low as he walked. Lloyd rested his gun on the hood of the car. Sighting his shotgun. Following Fuller to the cabin. Fuller slowly climbed the three small, wooden steps to reach the deck. The floorboards creaked with each step. He moved to the window to see if he could see any activity inside. Too dark.

He gripped the door handle and slowly turned it. The door gently swung open with a long, drawn out creak.

***

The Beast was parked, hidden amongst trees on the side of the gravel road, not too far from the cabin. Santiago stood out on the road, looking. Looking for anything. But she was too far away to see anything of value. She pulled her denim jacket tightly closed around her to shield herself from the cold, nervously pacing back and forth. The gravel crunched with each step, the only sound on the lonely road. Her arms wrapped around herself, almost as though she was giving herself a reassuring hug. She glanced back at the truck. Davis had slid down low in the seat. His head barely visible over the truck’s door. He cuddled Samson on his lap. The dog moved restlessly, needing to get out and relieve himself.

Davis peered out into the dark. The overhanging trees looked menacing. His back lent against the cold truck door. He plopped Samson onto the gravel road, clipping the lead onto the dog’s collar, walking a short way up the road.

Samson moved around, sniffing. All the different smells of the wild drew his attention. He wouldn’t sit still long enough to do his business. He kept jerking Davis forward, slowly edging his way into the surrounding woodlands. Davis looked back. He could barely see Santiago and the truck. He rubbed the back of his neck, not sure what to do. He let Samson lead him along a little further.

Samson’s nose twitched. A scent caught. He pulled hard on the lead, wanting to chase down whatever he could smell. Davis reluctantly let him go a little further into the trees.

Samson growled. A low growl, teeth exposed. A warning that something was there. Davis froze. If he didn’t move maybe he would be invisible. At least that was his plan. Moments passed and Samson reverted back to sniffing, quickly followed by peeing all over the bushes. His back legs kicking dirt all over the place, claiming his territory.

Davis tugged on the lead to make his return to the truck and get out of the creepy woods.

Movement from within the dark scrub caught his attention. It was as though something was slowly walking through the trees. Dried, dead leaves crunched under the weight of something slow and heavy. Davis’ hair on his arms stiffened. Samson growled. All went quiet.

Davis’ eyes darted around, staring into the dark woods. Too dark to see. Davis jerked on the lead, trying to get Samson to follow him. Samson wouldn’t budge. Locked onto the noise and the scent.

Bushes suddenly moved in the darkness again. Large bushes, which meant something big shifting them. And it was coming straight forward, picking up speed. Davis wasn’t going to wait around to find out what was about to burst out of the darkness. He whipped Samson up into his arms, by the lead, almost choking the little dog.

***

The cabin light sparked on. Fuller stood alone in the living room of the small, wooden cabin. It smelled like damp wood after a light rain shower. Furniture had been tossed around the room, smashed. An all too familiar sight. Fuller was becoming accustomed to this kind of welcome when entering a new place.

Boxes full of research papers littered the room. Files stacked on top of each other. Chemical vials and other scientific equipment lay on the nearby kitchen table and other small tables around the open space. The vials were full of all kinds of brightly colored liquid: blue, green, red. Fuller breathed in deeply—a cure? Was Fielder working on a cure?

From the safety of the deck, Lloyd shot a look past the door into the bright room. Slowly moving in, shotgun leveled, absorbing the surroundings. He watched on as Fuller cautiously moved around, looking at equipment and chemical mixtures.

Lloyd cautiously moved through the rest of the cabin. Each room was in a mess, as though someone had tossed it. He noticed a small amount of dried blood on the bedroom floor. His military mind started to piece together the possible events that took place. Maybe the blood was from a bullet wound. However, there didn’t appear to be any bullet holes in surrounding walls. And it didn’t explain why the agents’ car was still there. Unless the crazy doctor had done the firing and killed two agents. Not likely. A crazy doctor against two highly trained military types? Didn’t sound right.

A small noise caught his attention. Lloyd moved into the small hallway. At the end of the hall a closed door. Pale, blue moonlight seeped out under the door. Again a small noise came from behind the door. The sound of a rat crawling over papers? Something moved—cutting the moonlight under the door. Lloyd gripped his gun a little tighter, ready to squeeze off a shot.

***

Fuller peered into the small fridge. Not a lot of food. A dozen eggs and some stale crusty bread. And more vials of colored liquid.

Fuller ran his fingers over the kitchen table, leaving a trail in the small layer of settled dust, until they rested upon a large, open, leather-bound journal. A pen rested in the crevice where the two pages met.

Fuller glanced around the room to ensure he was alone and rested his twelve gauge beside the book. His fingers ran over the pages, studying the words. He flipped back several pages and started to read.

Day 2

I have awoken from a deep sleep. It’s been at least a day since being exposed, maybe longer. I have an unquenchable thirst. Possible side effect. Not sure. Too early to say. Pale skin, dry mouth. Nothing to get concerned about. Body is adjusting.

Fuller flipped over the page to read a little more. Hypnotized by the writing on the page. The writing was becoming shorter and less controlled. Barely readable. Fuller removed his bottle of pills and took a couple. He chomped on them and swallowed as he read the pages, focused on what he was discovering.

Day 3

Someone may be trying to get me. Shadows move. Too many strange noises. Not a lot of sleep.

Day 4

Strength like I’ve never known…

***

Santiago rested her right hand against the side of her neck and rubbed it slightly. Her left hand lay on her right bicep, folded across her body. She gazed out into the night towards the cabin. She shifted her weight from one foot to the other. Time had been ticking by and no word from the boys yet.

“GET IN THE TRUCK! GET IN THE TRUCK!” yelled Davis, bursting out of the darkness.

Santiago spun around, jarred by the yelling. Davis bolted toward her, white faced, one arm waving, the other holding Samson tight under arm. Santiago squinted, focusing her eyes into the darkness. Out of the shadows a dark figure moved rapidly towards them. The figure hunched over as it moved.

Santiago jumped into the front seat of the truck—the only protection they had.

Davis reached the truck and jumped into the back seat. He locked his door. All the doors.

“Drive! Drive!” He screamed orders at Santiago.

Santiago slid over into the driver’s seat—no keys! Shit.

***

A handful of pennies hit the hardwood floor and rolled in different directions, some hitting the door at the end of the hall. Lloyd stood, taking cover behind the door frame with his twelve gauge aimed, ready for whatever came through that door. Noise from the scattering pennies stirred up the person behind the closed door. It moved back and forth, breaking the moonlight under the door with each pace.

Lloyd’s bait worked—the door handle turned slowly, squeaking as it turned. Lloyd closed his left eye; right eye lined up the sights on top of the barrel. A single bead of sweat rolled down his half-shaven cheek. At this range a shotgun wouldn’t miss.

The door opened slowly, creaking. A silhouetted figure stood hunched over. Cut in half by the partly opened door, highlighted by blue moonlight. It spilled into the small hallway.

“Put your hands up, asshole!” Lloyd called.

The figure rushed forward.

“I’LL SHOOT! PUT YOUR HANDS UP!”

Lloyd squeezed the trigger. The shotgun sound exploded throughout the hallway and echoed in the cabin. Chunks of door jamb dusted into the air. A warning shot. He didn’t miss.

The figure didn’t flinch. It rushed faster towards Lloyd. He didn’t want to shoot the figure—the doctor.

In one movement he stepped and smashed the doctor in the face with the gun butt. Doc’s legs airborne. Air burst from the doc’s lungs on impact with the hardwood floor. He scurried quickly to get back to his feet.

But it wasn’t the doc. Lloyd could now see in the bright blue moonlight. The man before him wore a ripped up suit. His white shirt looked filthy and blood stained. The missing agent.

But it wasn’t just his clothes that didn’t look right. His skin was dry, like gray, cracked paint—-he was infected. Lloyd cocked his gun and, without hesitation, blasted the agent in the chest as he got to his feet. The blast sent the agent flying back into the room behind him. Lloyd walked towards him to finish the job, shotgun raised. As he moved into the room the heavily wounded agent jumped, smashing through the window. Lloyd let off another shot. He missed. The agent disappeared into the darkness.

***

Santiago frantically searched the glove compartment for a spare key, a gun—anything. Nothing.

The strange figure slowly circled the truck, like an animal hunting its prey. Hidden in the cover of night. This was a second agent. Davis held Samson close to him. He slid to the middle seat. He couldn’t take his eyes off the agent. Fear was in his eyes. He felt vulnerable, helpless.

Santiago continued her spirited search. Checking under every seat, nook and cranny—as fast as she could. She made her way to the back. Pushing Davis aside.

The agent leaped up onto the hood of the truck. The impact of his feet sounded like thunder, leaving two big dents. He peered in through the windshield, trying to see Santiago and Davis. Santiago dived over the seat, turning on all the exterior spotlights. The agent covered his eyes, shielding the lights. His clothes were in tatters. Tree branches had torn his suit coat and pant legs. Large blood stains covered his once white shirt, as though it had been dipped in pools of blood; perhaps the blood of wildlife. His eyes were glazed over—all human emotion gone.

The blinding lights angered the raging agent. He attacked the truck—kicking and smashing out the roof-mounted spotlights. The truck shook with every beating. Santiago blasted the horn over and over, with her palm. Trying anything. Between them they had no gun. Stupid. Maybe Fuller and Lloyd would hear the distant horn?

The infected agent lashed out at the windshield, kicking the glass repeatedly with a bare, bloody foot. Spider cracks split across the glass.

***

Fuller quickly made his way down the dark hallway. Twelve gauge leveled. He killed the living room light when the gunshots started. The truck horn echoed in the distance—Jennifer and Davis? He had to push on. The gunshots had to be from Lloyd.

Wind rushed into the bedroom from the broken window. The room was empty. No sign of Lloyd. Fuller made his way to the window, staring into the night. Another gunshot rattled his core. It sounded like it came from the front of the cabin.

Fuller burst out the front door, and stopped. Lloyd wrested violently on the ground with the wounded agent. They fought with the loaded shotgun between them. Lloyd on his back, agent on top. He had overpowered Lloyd and wanted flesh. Lloyd had slammed the edge of the gunstock into its mouth. It was like a dog with rabies, a relentless attack. Growling and biting down over and over again on the stock; leaving deep teeth marks in the wood.

No hesitation, Fuller squeezed off a shot. The shotgun recoiled into his shoulder. He missed the agent—but not Lloyd. Lloyd screamed in pain as the bullet grazed his arm like a red hot poker. With Lloyd wounded and unable to defend himself, the agent went for the kill.

The agent’s mouth gaped open—thick saliva glistened on its teeth, dripping. Fuller squeezed off another blast as he walked forward. He didn’t miss. The agent’s head snapped back. Blood peppered Lloyd’s face.