Zombies Begin (Zombies Begin Series Book 1) (3 page)

The day soon turned into night. The rest of the day had been uneventful. Fuller struggled to keep his fluid intake in check. He was a little shaky and weak. He still hadn’t eaten, and the idea of food still had no appeal. Davis, on the other hand, had finally succumbed to sleep and had not quite made it to his bed. He lay passed out on his bedroom floor.

Fuller tried Johnny Chen again. The phone rang and rang. The same robotic voice answered with an invitation to leave a message. Fuller didn’t bother to leave another message. He anxiously paced around the living room.

An object flashed across the room. Without warning. Just like before. Fuller strained to catch sight of it, but to no avail. The shadow or object seemed too fast for the human eye. A whisper again entered his ear. His mind playing tricks? His breathing got heavier. Faster. Heart rate jumped. Head pounded. Fuller tried to calm himself.

***

Fuller reached for the pain killers from behind the bathroom mirror. He knocked back two tiny, white pills with a glass of water. One glass wasn’t enough. Before he knew it he gulped down half a gallon. His eyes scanned the bathroom. He was alone. He could faintly hear the heavy breathing of Davis, sleeping in the other room.

Fuller lent over the bathroom sink to steady himself. He knew something wasn’t right with him. He splashed his face with water. His reflection was a man he almost didn’t recognize. His eyes were sunken in. His face was pale. He looked like he had dropped a few pounds. His cheeks now more pronounced. His skin was dry. Maybe it was from the dry winter air. Small pieces of skin flaked from his face and hands.

Fuller lathered moisturizing cream over his dry skin. It was greasy and stunk of an artificial berry smell. The cream filled in all the cracks and soothed his dry hands and face. His throat was still dry and scratchy. An urge came over him. Before he knew it he was sucking the moisturizing cream down his neck as though it was the best thing he had ever tasted.

When the tube was empty, Fuller realized what he’d done. He stared at the tube of cream. He quickly read over the packaging to see what would happen if ingested. “External use only” was the only warning. The cream did nothing for his throat, but made him feel sick. Should he force himself to puke it out or drink some milk? The idea of drinking more seemed like the best idea.

“Michael?” a whisper came.

Fuller spun around to see who had uttered his name. Just an empty doorway.

“Who’s there?!”

Silence.

Fuller’s heart pounded hard and fast. This time he was sure he heard a voice.

Shadows seemed to dance around the room. Almost hypnotizing. Each one born of refracted light that bounced from water droplets scattered across the bathroom mirror and sink. Simultaneous whispers began to plague his mind. He pounded the side of his skull with his palm.

“Arrrghhh… What’s happening?!”

The once hypnotizing shadows now morphed into jagged edges, blurs and shadows of people that weren’t there. Menacing. The room started to feel small. It was closing in on him.

“WHO’S THERE?!”

Fuller groped around behind him searching for a weapon on the basin. The only thing he found was the empty tube of cream. An object flashed in the corner of his eye again. He followed the object, spinning back around, tossing the tube at it. His eyes met his reflection in the mirror. He lashed out, punching the mirror. The glass cracked. His reflection now even more eerie with the distortion. Fuller realized he’d attacked his own reflection and quickly rushed out of the room.

***

Fuller slammed his bedroom door, locking it. He slid his heavy wooden dresser in front of the door for added protection. He frantically searched the room. He looked under his bed, in the wardrobe and behind his window curtains. He was alone. He retrieved his college baseball bat off the top shelf in his wardrobe.

After he felt somewhat secure, Fuller killed the light and slid his tired, transforming body into bed. His baseball bat keeping him company.

***

Fuller tossed and turned. Sleep escaped him. The minutes turned into hours. He was in pain. The cream in his gut was not treating him well. He curled into a ball to comfort himself. He was hot and sweating, his mouth dry again.

He rolled over again and again. He pounded on his pillow to try to get comfortable. A chill came over him. He started to shiver and shake. He huddled under the blankets, rubbing his hands and arms to warm up. He reassured himself that by morning he would feel better and maybe pay the doctor a visit.

His room was very dark. Only a small crack in the curtains let in some light from the moon and outside street light. Fuller climbed out of bed. He moved to the window, pulling back the curtains to let more light into his room. He peered out into the street. A black sedan was parked in front of the house. It appeared as though two men sat inside. It was a vehicle Fuller didn’t recognize. He glanced at his watch—3 a.m.

Fuller observed the vehicle for a few minutes. The men were like statues. They didn’t appear to move. They seemed to be peering back at Fuller. He couldn’t tell, but it was unnerving to say the least.

His eyes started to feel heavy. He dismissed the vehicle as another game his anxious mind was playing on him. He slid back into bed. Wrapped himself up in blankets and tried to get warm again.

His eyelids slowly opened and closed. They closed for longer periods each time he blinked. His breathing slowed as he started to drift into sleep.

His bed gently bumped.

Fuller opened his eyes. He wasn’t sure if something had bumped into his bed or it was just him drifting into sleep. He relaxed again, trying to let sleep overcome him.

As he blinked in slow motion his eyes were drawn to his bedroom door. It was wide open. The dresser had been knocked over, clothes spilled out over his bedroom floor. But he had heard nothing. He sat up straight. Someone was in his room.

Fuller clasped his bat tightly. His heart pounded like it was going to come through his chest. He froze. Fear dared him to not move.

Without moving his head he tried to see if anyone was in his room. Maybe they couldn’t see him if he didn’t move. It was still dark. He suddenly felt conscious of someone else breathing. But where was it coming from? A pit swelled in his stomach. His breathing became shallow and rapid, almost hyperventilating. His arms felt like lead. Weak. Hands became clammy, bumps populated his body.

A dark figure stepped out from the shadows into Fuller’s field of view. He didn’t know whether to run, scream or fight. His body shook. He closed his eyes for a second, hoping it was just his mind playing tricks again. He opened them. The tall, slender figure still there. It’s head turned to one side, almost animal like, observing him.

Suddenly, something kicked in, maybe adrenalin, but it was as though someone else had taken over his body. He released a savage scream! Almost a roar—an epic war cry!

Startled, the dark figure rushed out of the room. Fuller quickly pursued. In full sprint he smashed head on into his dresser—which still stood firmly securing the door. He reeled to the floor almost as hard. Now confused and questioning himself; how did his dresser return to barricade the door again? Madness.

His mind couldn’t process it right now and he couldn’t waste time dwelling on it. He got to his feet and dragged the dresser out of his way.

Fuller ran as fast as he could through the house after the intruder. The dark intruder dodged and weaved, making it hard for Fuller to see its exact location. He stopped to try to catch sight of it again.

Fuller became enraged, like never before. His body felt strong and he had courage like he had never known. He walked briskly, as if invincible, through the house, searching. No fear.

The shadow figure stepped out in front of Fuller. Almost on of top of him. He swung his bat, smashing a huge hole in the wall. His bat lodged in the wall momentarily. The shadow had managed to avoid the blow and just as quickly disappeared out of view again.

Fuller continued the chase, running around and around the living room, swinging his bat violently at glimpses of the intruder. Photo frames, lamps, the TV and anything else in his path were no match for his new strength and baseball bat. Each one suffered the same fate. Smashed to pieces. No matter how close Fuller got to the intruder, he never managed to land a blow.

The lights suddenly sparked on. Davis stood half naked, in his customary tighty whities, obviously awoken by the sound of smashing items. “Are you friggin’ kidding me, mate?!” he erupted.

Fuller, startled by the sudden light, squinted to see where the intruder was. It had vanished.

He was alone and perched like a bird up on the TV cabinet, baseball bat still in hand. The room looked as though a tornado had ripped it apart.

Fuller was speechless. He didn’t know what to do or say. He searched for an answer. No words came to mind.

“I’ve got a big exam in the morning. I don’t need this crazy shit!” Davis said as he turned off the light and headed back to his room. Fuller left stranded in the dark.

Fuller slowly got down from the cabinet. His mind was racing. He tried to clean up the room, but soon realized it was pointless. The room was in tatters.

***

The bright white glow of the monitor screen shone into Fuller’s face as he sat at the computer in the dark. He navigated to a few websites. Sites full of information regarding severe dehydration, delusions and schizophrenia.

He knew something was wrong with him. Something had changed him the last two days, but he couldn’t find the answer. He was sick, yet strong. It didn’t make sense. A lot of what he read matched with what he was experiencing.

His eyes felt heavy again.
Get some sleep and deal with it in the morning.
The next day he’d be back at work and could talk to Johnny Chen. What did he make him eat at the Yat-Sun restaurant? Had he been drugged? Magic mushrooms? The idea of pufferfish crept back into his mind.

***

Fuller returned his bat to the shelf. He knocked back a cup of warm milk to help him sleep and ease his stomach. Before he climbed into bed, he decided to check on the vehicle seen earlier in front of his house. He pulled back the blinds hoping to see nothing there, however the vehicle with the two men remained in the same spot.

Fuller clenched his hand into a tight fist. He moved briskly to the wardrobe and snatched his bat.

Fuller burst through his front door, bat in hand, toward the black vehicle. The men in the vehicle were silhouetted and unidentifiable. Although it appeared both wore suits. As Fuller closed in, the vehicle’s engine turned over. Headlights off, it squealed in reverse up the street, whipped a one-eighty and took off into the distance. Fuller came to a stop, realizing he’d never catch them. The fumes of burning rubber and a small cloud of smoke blanketed Fuller’s face. He could taste rubber.

Fuller turned to walk back to the house. Out of the darkness a man rushed him in full camo gear, packing a twelve-gauge shotgun.

“What’re you doing?!” yelled the man. Shotgun trained at Fuller’s head.

Black boot polish covered the man’s face. Fuller swung at the black face with his bat. This would end it. In one movement the man stepped in, caught Fuller’s arm—locked it up and hip threw him hard to the ground.

Fuller felt cold, wet grass smash against his body. Wind knocked out of him. It all happened so fast, he didn’t realize what had happened. All he knew was, he was flat on his back staring at the stars.

The cold steel barrel of the twelve gauge poked him in the cheek. The man’s crazy eyes looked extra white in contrast to the boot polish covering his face. They were Lloyd’s eyes. Crazy ass neighbor eyes.

“You try that hero shit again and I’ll cap your ass!” threatened Lloyd. “What were you thinking?!”

Fuller let out a cough, recovering from the blow. He swatted the barrel away from his face. He felt the cold dew soak through his clothes. He rested his forearm over his eyes.
Could this night get any worse?
He slowly got back to his feet, not sure what Lloyd’s intentions were.

“You don’t know who you’re messing with,” Lloyd said, glancing up the street to make sure the men weren’t coming back. “They were agency men. They’ve been staking my house for hours and you just blew it all!”

Lloyd paced around the yard, tapping the shotgun on his shoulder, fuming. Fuller didn’t know what to do. Should he say something? Should he leave, hug the man?

Lloyd threw his arms in the air and disappeared into the night, towards his house. Fuller retrieved his bat, relieved he didn’t get shot by crazy Lloyd. Also relieved that the men in the car weren’t there for him. It wasn’t just his imagination playing tricks after all.

Phones rang. Office workers rushed between photocopiers and office cubicles. Chatter flooded the floor. Small cubicles covered the entire large office floor imprisoning the workers. It was the nineteenth floor of the Morrison Group, a large financial and investment firm. Fuller dragged his feet, weaving his way through the crowd towards his small cubicle at the back of the floor. He was oblivious to the morning chaos happening around him. He dressed shabbily. Tie already loosened. Shirt half untucked. Black circles around his eyes from lack of sleep.

He plonked down in his chair. His desk and computer monitor were decorated with little stickers of smiley faces and positive reinforcement messages—“You can do it”; “Smile, it’ll be okay”; “Success is positive thinking.” Fuller stared at the messages as though he was looking at them for the first time.

Fuller turned to the desk behind him. He shared a cubicle with Johnny Chen. Johnny’s desk was untouched. His chair empty. Fuller glanced at his watch. Johnny Chen was always in the office before him. Always.

“Staff meeting in five,” some guy called.

Staff in Fuller’s section gathered notebooks and pens and headed for the boardroom. Fuller glanced at his watch again. Something wasn’t right. Johnny Chen wouldn’t miss today with his upcoming big promotion.

Fuller removed his cell and punched out a quick text message:
Where are you????!

***

Ten business heads had gathered around a boardroom table with another twenty-five lowly office workers crammed around the outside. The important staff got to be seated while the others got to stand for an hour or so. Fuller pushed his way through the crowd toward the back of the room.

MacKenzie, the head honcho, was escorted into the room by his two assistants. He was a short, overweight man in his late fifties. Gray-white hair, what was left of it. He stood at the front of the room with a stack of papers. He cleared his throat.

“Before we get into general items, I wanted to put to rest all the speculation that has arisen since Harris’ departure last week. After careful consideration, I’m pleased to announce that Eric Dodson has been promoted and will take Harris’ position—effective immediately.”

Dodson was seated near the front of the room. A pencil-neck paper-pusher who loved authority. He stood, to be recognized by his colleagues. A few staff gave a small clap. Others muttered at the back about their disapproval. Fuller felt for Johnny Chen. He knew he would be disappointed.

The meeting carried on and on. Policy after policy. Fuller soon lost interest in the meeting after the announcement. Most was general chatter: how staff didn’t work hard enough and profits needed to be increased by working harder. Blah blah blah... It was all just a blur.

Fuller’s mouth felt dry. He hadn’t had a hit of water for some time. His tongue felt swollen dry.

Across the room a tall jug of cold water sat on the table. Beads of condensation trickled down the side. It looked good. Good enough to lick the trickling beads going to waste, swallowed up by a white, soft, cotton cloth. Fuller was too far away to get to it. Besides, it was unofficially reserved for the chosen few seated at the table. Not for the commoner.

A seated business woman poured a tall glass of water from the jug. Fuller watched on longingly as the woman had a small sip. He craved the fluid. His body needed it. He loosened his already loose tie. He glanced around at everyone else. They were all enthralled with MacKenzie’s words of wisdom.

He couldn’t hold back. Only the water mattered to him. He slowly pushed past a few people in front of him. He made his way forward. He climbed onto the table. Lay on his stomach, pulled himself along the tabletop, as if he was scaling a wall. People gasped.

MacKenzie’s speech was silenced as Fuller slid himself across the large table. His body made a squeaking noise on the polished wood. Heads turned to witness the bizarre behavior.

“Fuller! What the hell are you doing?!” said an exasperated Dodson.

The world around him seemed to just fall away. Voices muffled. Fuller could only see the water. It was almost a drug to him. He wrapped his two hands around the jug and gulped it down. Everyone just watched, bewildered. Women cupped hands over their mouths.

Fuller replaced the jug on the table. Thirst satisfied. All of a sudden the voices in the room became crystal clear. He became very aware of all the eyes on him from the thirty-five-plus people standing in the room.

“Did you really need a drink that badly, son?” inquired MacKenzie.

Without a word, Fuller got to his feet and walked along the center of the table. He jumped off the end and walked out of the room. MacKenzie and others watched on in disbelief.

***

A large stack of papers slammed onto Fuller’s desk. Eric Dodson then piled on another two stacks of papers of equal size to the first.

“You’ll need to do Johnny’s load today as he hasn’t bothered to show up and, as my position is now vacant, you’ll have to do my old load as well. I’ll need it completed by the end of today as usual.”

Fuller stared blankly into space. He didn’t really care what Dodson had to say.

“FULLER?! Are you listening to me?”

Fuller flipped through the massive pile of papers. An impossible task.

“Consider this as punishment for your earlier bizarre misbehavior in the boardroom.” Dodson leaned in close with both hands on the desk. “Are you on drugs? You whacked-out freak. Luckily for you this is my first day as supervisor. Next time I’ll submit a formal complaint to HR for unruly behavior.”

Dodson strolled off, enjoying the right to exercise his newfound power. Fuller flopped his palm onto the pile and slowly dragged his hand along the table, sliding a bunch of the papers onto the floor. He watched on in a daze, repeating the action over and over again until the cubicle floor was covered in the paper work. His desk clean.

He dialed Johnny Chen. A new message: “This phone is currently not in service or is switched off...” Fuller smashed his cell down on his desk. A large crack split the screen in two.

“SON OF A BITCH!” Fuller threw his phone across the room, hitting the wall. The phone shattered. A few nearby workers peered over. An obvious breakdown was taking place, so they thought.

“What’s your problem?” a man yelled, hidden behind a nearby cubicle.

Fuller ignored the comment and scooted his chair over to Johnny Chen’s desk. He pulled all the drawers onto the floor. Searched through papers and files. He wasn’t sure what he was looking for, but wanted answers.

A concerned, plump lady approached Fuller. She had an exaggerated and almost annoying cheery disposition—high-set brown hair, red lipstick and way too much blue eye shadow. “Are you okay, Michael? You seem a little off color today.”

Fuller paused his rampage of Johnny Chen’s desk. “Do I look okay to you? Do I? I think I look like shit! But thanks for your concern.”

His attention turned again to the desk, continuing the reckless sorting. The cheery lady blinked rapidly a few times and swallowed deeply. “Maybe it’s time for a little break,” the lady said, with a let’s-stay-positive kind of smile.

Fuller got to his feet. He gave the woman a forced, teeth-showing smile and moved to his office desk. The woman looked on with anticipation. Fuller ripped a smiley sticker from his monitor—walked over and slammed it onto her forehead, the force knocking her off balance. She ungracefully stumbled into a nearby cubicle wall, almost tipping it over, and slid to the floor.

Silence traveled like a wave over the entire floor. Whispers started. “What’s that all about?” “The guy’s lost his mind.” “Call security!”

Dodson briskly walked to Fuller’s desk. He assisted the large woman off the floor. Shock silenced her. Tears streamed her black mascara. Dodson raised his index finger to Fuller as though chastising a child. “You’re in big trouble, mister.”

Fuller dropped his head to face the ground, then suddenly lashed out, smacking Dodson in the side of the head, causing him to immediately stumble. Papers flew from his hands. Then again on the other side of the head. Dodson tried to cover his head, but Fuller was too fast and strong. Dodson was getting bitch slapped. He cowered and covered his head.

Fuller grabbed his keyboard and smashed it against the back of Dodson’s gray suit. Keyboard keys flew into the air. Dodson went down. Witnesses screamed at the unexpected brutal attack. Dodson curled up on the floor in the fetal position. Fuller was in a rage. He stood over Dodson. Back curved, hands ready to attack, his breaths shallow, teeth showing. He was more animal or monster than man.

All eyes were now on the commotion at Fuller’s cubicle. Fear spread through the room like a wild fire.

Fuller leapt on his desk effortlessly. A woman screamed. He surveyed the room as everyone watched on in complete shock.

Two bulky security guards entered at the other end of the floor. Their eyes locked with Fuller’s bloodshot eyes.

Fuller leapt from cubicle to cubicle, landing on desks and chairs. He bounded over people and obstacles like a tiger in an open field. Office workers cowered in fear. Those who could screamed as he landed close to them. Workers scurried to herd in a corner like scared sheep.

Fuller’s body suddenly stiffened like a board. Two Taser prongs pierced his skin with 50,000 volts of electricity behind it. His face connected the side of a desk on the way down to the hard floor. The side of his face instantly bruised up. Lip cut.

The two security guards were on top of him in seconds, pinning him to the floor. Fuller squirmed to break their grip. Both guards wrestled tight, grabbing at his limbs. He used his newfound strength to toss the men off, tearing his right shirt sleeve off in the process. He yanked the Taser prongs from his body, and got to his feet. A guard tackled high, another low. These guys knew how to put someone down hard. But not this time. Fuller flung them across the room. They piled up against chairs and desks.

The security guards quickly stood and circled Fuller. They flicked black, extendable batons out. Playtime was over. “Careful, Jim, this guys on PCP,” cautioned one of the security guards. They waited to see what Fuller’s next move was going to be.

Fuller stumbled. The walls appeared to warp and pulse. He hadn’t been on PCP before, but it sure felt like he was on something. The security guards appeared to blend into the surroundings. He found it hard to pinpoint where they were exactly. Head dizzy, spinning round and around. He was losing control of his body and acting only by instinct.

One of the security guards lunged forward, cracking Fuller’s thigh with his baton. Fuller involuntarily dropped to one knee. The second security guard reacted quickly, hitting him around the side of the skull. Fuller hit the ground hard, lying face down as though he was unconscious. Saliva mixed with blood trickled from his open mouth onto the floor.

The two security guards gave a chuckle. Proud of their take-down. They didn’t see a lot of action in the corporate world. A few office staff clapped and patted the boys in uniform on the back for a job well done. But the celebration was short lived.

Behind the crowd of staff thanking security, Fuller slowly rose back to his feet. He was a mess. A large purple-blue bruise and lump had formed on the side of his head. His shirt tattered, a sleeve missing, a torn pocket and spotted with blood. A swollen, bruised cheek and small bit of dried blood on his lip to round out his new look.

“You gotta be kidding me!” said one of the guards, turning back around to see him standing back up. “Boy, if you don’t lie back down I’ll whoop your ass again!”

Fuller’s eyes rolled back in his head. As though he was possessed. He wasn’t in control of his thoughts and actions.

A baton whipped through the air, aimed at his skull again. Fuller caught it midstrike, and reefed it from the guard’s hand. Disarmed, the guard retreated back a few steps. Fuller twisted his neck from side to side, cracking bones. Ready for another round. The other guard was apprehensive to attack. This wasn’t like any crack-head he had seen before.

The crowd of office workers started to chant for the guards. “Kick his ass! Kick his ass!”

The support of the crowd spurred the guards. The two men rushed Fuller, smashing him to the ground. The unarmed security guard let fly with punches into Fuller’s face. Punch after punch landed. His eyes started to swell and his nose started to bleed. A swollen, bloody mess. No matter how much punishment the guards landed on Fuller, he just kept coming. He forced the guards off him again. He grabbed one of the security guards and lifted him high into the air over his head and smashed him into the floor. If he had landed on his head, he would have been dead for sure—fortunately his shoulders and back absorbed the impact, crushing the air from his lungs and leaving him unconscious.

Fuller leapt unhuman-like onto the other guard, beating him down to the ground. Fuller returned the blows to the man. He pinned the guard easily to the ground. A strange urge overcame him. He got close to the man’s neck, his teeth showing. He wanted to bite him. He wanted to feed.

“WHAT’RE YOU DOING?!!” a woman screeched.

Fuller’s head spun to gaze upon the onlooking crowd. His bloodied face and look of rage caused the crowd to back away nervously. He let out a growl like a wild dog. He turned his attention back to the guard. The guard’s hands were shaking, trying to cover his face.