I actually slept a bit, something I hadn’t done much of in the recent months. I didn’t tell Griffin, but I had begun to have nightmares off and on after regaining my humanity, though they had gotten worse recently. I assumed it had to do with the fact that I remembered all the horrendous and despicable things I had done while being zombiefied, but I couldn’t tell as I had a hard time remembering them.
“Good morning, Calli. How’d you sleep?” Griffin found me lying under a tree near the communal tent, staring up at the sky. “Fine. I slept a little.” I sat up as he came over and took a seat next to me. “I figured you’d might be hungry,” He handed me something wrapped in brown paper, “It’s deer, but it’s all I’ve got for now. I’ll try and save what I can from the hunts.” I unwrapped it to find brain-matter that looked similar to human, but I could tell by the smell that it wasn’t. “Thank you.” I was really grateful as I tried to politely tear pieces of the raw meat from the package and discreetly eat it so as not to disgust Griffin. “I’ve decided, if it’s ok with you, to have you bunk in my room with Lonnie and Sam. I’m sure you aren’t keen to talk to too many people at the moment, and that will keep you out of the limelight so to speak. You may be sleeping on the floor, but at least you’ll be safe.” Griffin was fiddling with a blade of grass as he spoke. I stole a glance at him and really took everything in about him, at least physically. He was at least a head and a half taller than me, broad shouldered and thick waisted with strong arms and long legs. He had this curly ebony hair peppered with silver to match the stubble on his face that covered his ruddy complexion. Very distinguished in appearance, just like you’d think a scientist would be. I was curious how old he was… “Forgive me if it’s rude to ask, but how old are you?” I blurted. “Ha, the silver is aging me isn’t it? I didn’t have all of this when the apocalypse started. Stress and all.” He chuckled, “I’m thirty-eight. Would it be rude of me to ask your age?” “Nope. I’m thirty-five, I think. I’m pretty sure I was thirty when this started. My memory is a little fuzzy on some details; I think my brain is still trying to make up for its three year betrayal.” I always made jokes when I was uncomfortable. “We can work on that, memory recall that is. I think you may hold a lot of information that could be very beneficial to humanity’s survival.” Griffin tossed the blade of grass out into the yard and snagged another. I’m glad I could be beneficial; maybe that’s why he was being so nice to me. I was going to be his guinea pig to save humanity. “That sounded apathetic of me. You’re important whether or not you hold the secrets to this infection or not.” It was like he was reading my mind. I felt myself blush and I wondered what that looked like with my ashen complexion. “So, you said you worked for a fashion magazine before? Not to sound judgmental, but you don’t seem like the type of person to work for a fashion magazine.” Griffin started getting personal again. “You don’t think I have fashion sense? I’ll have you know that this outfit is vintage, thank you very much.” I feigned offense. “No, you most definitely have the post-apocalyptic look down, but you said that it wasn’t what you really wanted to be doing. What did you want to do?” He scooted a bit closer to me in the grass. “I wanted to be an astrophysicist originally, but I’m not smart enough for that. I was actually trying to make enough money to put me through college to become an Astronomer. I have a thing for outer space.” I felt stupid saying it. I’m sure that was even farther from what he expected me to say. “I can see that with a name like Callisto. Callisto and Ganymede were always my favorite moons.” Griffin nudged me with his elbow. “Jupiter always had the best moon names.” I knew I was blushing again. He was staring at me now, and I instantly felt self-conscious. “What?” I asked him. “I was just wondering if you had any idea how you look.” Griffin was blunt. “Yeah, ugly.” I laughed, “But seriously, I haven’t really seen my reflection in a long time. I know I don’t look living and I’m not sure how I’m passing as such.” “You’re hardly ugly. Different, but far from ugly. You kind of remind me of a dark elf with the skin and eyes. Sorry—my geek is showing apparently.” It was Griffin’s turn to blush. “Hey, I played D&D too so that’s a compliment.” I smiled genuinely at him. “Anyway, I was wondering if you’d be willing to let me take a blood sample from you. We were able to gather some lab equipment a few months ago and I’ve been dying to use it.” Griffin seemed excited as he asked me. “I don’t know how much you’ll get, but sure.” I shrugged. “Perfect. Want to go knock that out now and then we can go help put the barn back together?” Griffin shoved off the ground and stood before offering me his hand. “Sure. I did sort of help make that mess.” And this time I actually took it. (*) “I may have to leave the tourniquet on longer than I’d like to get a good vein since yours seem kind of flat. Are you dehydrated at all? Do you even need to drink water?” Griffin was getting a needle ready to draw my blood and grilling me with more questions. “I’m pretty sure I didn’t drink anything besides blood when I was actively feeding, but now it’s only occasionally that I get thirsty.” I sat there with my arm outstretched, the skin turning a weird shade of bluish-grey with the pressure being applied. “You may want to drink more, just in case. Has anything changed since you regained your sentience? Was the initial comeback gradual or spontaneous? I’m sorry I am asking you so many questions, I’m just trying to figure out what might have happened within your biology to somewhat reverse the initial infection and virus and if there is a possibility to make you entirely human again.” Griffin tapped my arm, looking for a good vein. “As far as the comeback, I never really thought about it. I guess it was spontaneous because I don’t remember things coming back in pieces, it was just all at once. It was like my brain was bad and someone gave me a transplant and there I was.” I flinched a little as Griffin tightened the tourniquet. “Tell me about it. What were you doing? What did it feel like?” Griffin tapped my arm again and deemed that it was ready to have blood drawn. “Honestly, I was feeding. I was elbows deep in a kill, blood all over my face, a mouth full of entrails because the brain was already gone and I was still hungry. It was like my focus shifted, like my vision had been blurred and the only senses within my body were smell and hunger and then they weren’t. I could feel the blood all over me, pricking my skin with this sticky sensation. I gagged, spitting out the entrails that were in my mouth and then I started screaming. It was like I all of a sudden realized what I was doing and I was mortified.” I didn’t want to think back that far, but maybe it was necessary. “You were unaware and then all of a sudden it hit you?” Griffin looked up at me right as he pushed the needle into my flesh. I nodded. “So it wasn’t sporadic, it just happened all at once. That’s interesting.” Griffin began writing everything down as my blood filled the rubber line; it looked like chocolate syrup. “That was the day I gave up murder for Lent.” I joked again. “You have a morbid sense of humor. Is that your way of coping?” There went Griffin with the head-shrinking. “I suppose. Isn’t that how truly depressed people cope?” I returned smartly. “You’re depressed? That’s good.” He nodded, writing more down on his pad. “That’s a good thing?” I made a face at him. “I think it is in this case. That means that you have feelings and emotions and it adds to your sentience. You can feel that you’re not happy, you have compassion for others unlike yourself, you cried yesterday. Bet you haven’t done that in a long time.” Griffin was right. “I haven’t.” I responded quietly. “I wonder if there is anyone else out there like you.” Griffin mused as he removed the needle from my arm and bandaged me up. “If there is, I haven’t met them. Come to think of it, I haven’t seen many fresh turns lately.” Now my mind was working like his. “I’ve noticed that too. I go out a lot on runs for food and to find other living individuals and I have actually run into a few of the same zombies over a period of weeks and took note at their rate of decay. They seem like they are decomposing faster than normal, like they aren’t able to feed as often. Like I said, eventually they will just wither away, but feeding does prolong the decomposition. I’m assuming it has to do with less survivors on the road, but it could be that the infection doesn’t have the same effect it once did.” Griffin took my blood and popped it into a centrifuge. “Or it’s mutating. I wonder if those hosts have served their purpose and the virus is looking for stronger ones, like the guy we encountered yesterday.” I proposed an idea. I wasn’t sure how biology worked in regards to viruses and bacteria, but I was just making an assumption. “You know, that never crossed my mind. The virus is still being passed along from host to host, but if it’s evolved, it may be killing the host quicker than it used to. Some parasites are like that, sometimes their control of the host is too strong and the host dies before the parasite gets what it needs and it either dies too, or it accommodates.” Griffin tapped his lip with his pen and then scribbled that down. “And the result is a practically unkillable zombie? That’s not terrifying or anything.” The thought made me shudder. Sam was almost zombie chow yesterday and that one zombie had the potential to destroy this whole place if left unchecked. “I’m sure he’s not the only one. Did you watch how he behaved?” Griffin asked. “Yeah, he didn’t seem as mindless as the others, almost like he was calculating. A regular zombie would have just clawed at the post repeatedly until its meal came down or someone killed it, but that zombie knew to shake the support beam to the point that it brought the house down. He saw the weakness and went for it.” I had already taken note of its behavior. “Exactly. And that’s a terrible thing to have a sentient zombie with no consciences unlike yourself.” Griffin pointed his pen at me before standing, “Let’s let the blood fractionate for a bit and go help with the barn.” That sounded like a good idea as I didn’t want to consider the possibilities of smart brain-hungry zombies at the moment. (*) “This should hold it for the time being until we can find some better wood. That thing really did a number on the supports in here.” We had just finished repairing the damage to the barn and Carl was speaking to Griffin. “It did. At least Sam is safe.” Griffin brushed wet hay off his hands. “Thank God for that. How’d you manage that one, Grey?” Carl turned to me with a nickname I wasn’t sure I liked. “I’m stronger than I look.” I glanced over at the infected blood that still caked the blades on the tractor. “Yeah, but that guy was bigger than I am and I doubt you could overthrow me.” Carl cracked a joke, but there was something threatening about his words. “Want to test that?” I felt the need to challenge him. “You’re cute, Grey.” Carl tousled my dark hair and I had to fight the urge to bite his arm off. “It’s lunch time. Let’s go grab some food and take a break for a bit. We need to go out for more supplies today. I would have done that yesterday, but we had more important things to tend to.” Griffin led us out of the barn and back to the big house for a meal of MREs and cold water. “How’d you sleep last night? I know the accommodations aren’t the Hilton, but they are safe.” A woman approached us as we sat eating together with Lonnie and Sam. “Good afternoon, Trisha.” Griffin greeted her with what appeared to be false warmth. “I slept well and thank you for allowing me to stay.” I hadn’t met this woman yet, but I overheard Carl talking to Griffin about her when we were in the barn. “No thanks needed. We here at Haven welcome everyone with open arms. We are a safe space and take in anyone we can as long as they put in the effort to help maintain the farm and take care of one another.” Trisha rubbed her hand down my hair and I instantly felt my skin prickle. Something was off about her. “You going out on a supply run after lunch, Griff? We are really in need of some more canned goods and medical supplies if you can.” Trisha turned to Griffin. “You got it.” Griffin gave her the thumbs-up, but didn’t look at her as he finished his Vegetarian Taco Pasta. I sensed tension between the two of them, but who was I to insert myself into that situation. “And why don’t you take Calli here with you. She can earn her keep.” Trisha winked at me. “Are you sure? I was going to take Carl with me.” Griffin questioned her. “Take the girl and Carl with you. Safety in numbers.” Trisha winked at me again. “Sure thing.” Griffin agreed, glancing at me before Trisha walked off to talk to the next person. “You sure you want to come out on this run? You don’t have to.” Griffin seemed like he was trying to talk me out of it. “No, I’m good. You’ll be safer with me anyway.” I raised my brow at him. “Oh, will I now? I’ll have you know that I do just fine against a horde of zombies, thank you very much.” Griffin grinned at me. “I guess you’ll have to prove me wrong.” I got up to dispose of my trash and I could feel Griffin’s eyes following me as I walked away. I knew I was flirting, but I wasn’t sure if he did. It was probably better if he didn’t.
0 Comments
“I’m going to take your vitals myself before we tell anyone, ok?” Griffin had me back in the infirmary with my jacket off and my sleeve rolled up.
I nodded, staring out the window as a group of people passed, talking to one another and laughing. Griffin took out a blood pressure cuff and wrapped it around my upper arm before he began pumping. I knew that there was pressure, but my nerves didn’t allow me to feel it much. He put the stethoscope to my arm and slowly let the pressure release in the gauge as he listened. “Forty over ten; you’re practically dead.” Griffin raised a brow at me. “Told you.” I raised my eyebrows at him. He then popped a thermometer in my mouth and held the stethoscope to my chest, “Breath in. And out. In. Out. In. Out.” He instructed me as I took the deepest breaths I could. “Well, your heart is beating, but it’s so slow I don’t even know how you function. And—your body temperature is eighty-two degrees. You should be hypothermic.” Griffin took the stethoscope off and set down the thermometer. “I’m dead. Or undead, rather.” I reiterated what I had already told him. “Let me get a look at the wound in your shoulder out of curiosity.” Griffin had me take my shirt off again. “It’s like your blood instantly coagulated, but I think your lack of bleeding has to do with the fact that your heart beats slower. Blood isn’t being circulated through your body as quickly, so you don’t bleed as much when cut. This wound looks nasty though.” Griffin was commentating, but I sort of already knew this. “Yeah, because I’m rotting from the inside out.” I laughed. “But you’re not. You don’t look like the other zombies; they are physically decaying. Even though they are eating, they are still falling apart. The ones we see now probably haven’t been around this whole time. Even though their minds are active, their physical functions are not and eventually they completely decay and cease to exist. But the rate of infection has been high enough that more are being turned before the others can die out completely. You aren’t decaying at all, but you’re still clearly infected.” He re-wrapped my wound and handed me my shirt. “So, give it to me straight, doc. Will I live?” I smirked at him. “For the time being.” He smirked back. He had a nice smile to go along with those grey eyes. “Let me get a look at your eyes, ears, and mouth.” Griffin picked up another instrument and looked in my ears, then my mouth, before shining a light in my eyes. “Your eyes don’t dilate at all. Your pupils are so large I can barely make out that you have hazel eyes. More green than anything.” He commented. He could see the color of my eyes. They weren’t black, what I had seen was my enlarged pupils. “And the bloodshot thing? I look perpetually high.” I asked. “I assume that has to do with the infection. Have you always been sentient like this?” Griffin set the instrument down. “No. I was mindless for a few good years, maybe three? I didn’t even know much time had passed until I overheard some survivors talking about the year, or what they assumed to be the year. I started counting the days after that.” I explained. “Tell me what happened. Start from the beginning if you can remember.” Griffin sat down on a rolling chair in front of me. “It was January 17th, 2018 if I remember correctly. I had a shitty morning, all sorts of crap happened before I even got to work, including a woman vomiting on me at the bus stop. I knew something was wrong when a car wreck outside my office resulted in people eating each other. I tried to go home in a panic, but the whole city was losing its shit and I felt sick.” I tried to recall everything. Griffin grabbed a pen and a pad to take notes, “What were your symptoms?” “Full body sweats, fever, nausea, vomiting, headache, intense coughing. I was bleeding from the eyes too. It was like the Ebola flu.” I actually remembered how painful it was. “And then what happened?” Griffin was scribbling on the notepad. “I seized up on the street. It felt like I was having a heart attack and then… I guess I died? I blacked out, but when I woke up, I was starving and had a craving for brains. I killed my first person not too long after, though I didn’t recall any of that until my mind came back.” I hated having to admit that I killed anyone. “So, you don’t remember any of the events of being a mindless zombie until after you regained your mental faculties?” Griffin asked. “Nope. Everything hit me all at once when it did; it was awful.” I didn’t want to think about. “You’ve been sentient for what now, two years?” Another question. “Mmhm. I think that’s about right, more or less.” I was getting uncomfortable with him asking all these questions. “How do you survive now? Are you—still killing people to eat?” Griffin narrowed his eyes at me. “God, no. I scavenge or if I have to, I find an animal. I haven’t killed anyone in a very long time and I hate even having to tell you that I ever did.” I sighed. “It’s ok. I try not to remind myself that the undead that I kill were once human like myself. They can’t control the way they are and neither could you; that’s what matters. You were infected without actually being bitten or scratched, which we have never encountered. Many of us have wondered who patient zero was and how they were infected. You said a woman vomited on you that morning and you turned not long after? Maybe it was airborne initially.” Griffin continued to write. “Maybe. But what sort of airborne virus or bacteria could do this? I mean, I was never taught about anything like this in science class.” I was curious if he had an idea. “Me either and as I said, I’m a bio-chemist. It’s strange that it could go from initially being airborne to being transmitted through saliva or by a scratch. It must have mutated along the way obviously, but then there is you. Maybe you’re different because you didn’t contract the infection through bodily fluids or by a scratch.” Griffin mused out loud. “That woman must have had the virus and probably changed shortly before I did. She could have possibly been patient zero and started the whole thing!” I gestured with my hand. “No, there were cases before the date you mentioned that you turned. They were sparse, but they were all over the United States, the British Isles, China, and even in Australia. It had to start somewhere else.” Griffin shook his head. “You were following the initial infection, weren’t you?” I was picking up on something. “I was. I worked for the CDC in Atlanta. There were calls coming in about cases and it’s funny that you mentioned Ebola, because that was our initial thought, but that wasn’t the case. It looked like there was a buildup though because the infection seemed to have taken longer to run its course through the body before shutting down all vital functions. They were considered so highly contagious that the bodies were incinerated without us being able to study them. Then it blew up and we couldn’t contend with all the cases and before we knew it, there was an outbreak and people were turning. I have no idea where this started exactly, but the initial cases all came in within a period of three days and then the world essentially ended.” Griffin was staring off into the corner of the room. “It isn’t your fault, you know.” I could tell that he was feeling guilty. “I know, but I still wonder if we had been allowed to look at one of the bodies if we could have stopped this.” He glanced up at me as he spoke. “Or you would have ended up infected too and wouldn’t be here now to talk about this.” I reached out a hand to comfort him, but hesitated. “You’re right, and now there’s you. There may be something about the way the infection reacted within your blood that could help us figure out a way to end the cycle.” Griffin was now writing things down again. “Like, a cure?” Was that what he was insinuating. “Possibly. It wouldn’t do any good for those that are long gone or those that were killed by a zombie and subsequently turned, but it could help those that have been bitten or scratched and lived initially.” He was now looking at me again and I couldn’t help but have the tiniest bit of a crush on him now. Great, Calli. You’re setting yourself up for complete and total failure, but maybe this crush is just because he’s being nice to you…you were always bad about that. “Anyway, I think I’ve decided to not tell everyone about what you are for the time being until I can wrap my head around this. I want a good strong case for why you aren’t a threat and should be allowed to live. I worry that Carl’s ogre ass would try and kill you whether I wanted him to or not.” Griffin got up from the chair he was in and gestured for me to follow him, “We need to find you a place to sleep for now.” I followed him out of the infirmary and back to the big house where everyone was filing in for food. It was dark and dinner seemed to be ready. “We were wondering where you two went off to. What took so long?” Lonnie met us in the line with Sam by her side. “She has a condition called hypercoagulation so we will need to keep an eye on her, but I got her sewn up.” I gave her a thorough once over to make sure she was ok. She’ll live.” Griffin patted my arm. “I’m sure you did.” Carl chuckled behind us. “You’re funny, Carl.” Griffin glared at him and pushed me forward to stand nearer to Sam and Lonnie. “Thank you, Calli.” Sam took my hand as we waited in line. “Of course. You’re our future. Got to preserve that.” My words sounded almost heartless, but I meant it. She didn’t ask to be in this world. All she knew was the apocalypse, death, and destruction. “And I thank you too. I don’t know what I’d do if I lost Sam. She’s the last piece of Amanda I have left.” Lonnie whispered to me and laid a hand on her shoulder out of understanding. We got our food and sat down to eat, chatting for a while between bites before Lonnie announced that she had to get Sam to sleep. I surprisingly made it through the soup and pretended that it was brain stew so that I didn’t choke. “Do you feel ok sleeping in the communal area for now?” Griffin asked me as he led me outside of the big house and to a large revival type tent out in the yard. “Are you asking me if I will be tempted to eat my neighbors if I have to be in close quarters with the living?” I chuckled. “Well, yes, but no. I just want to make sure you’re ok.” Griffin paused in the middle of the yard as we spoke. “I’ll be fine. I don’t sleep much anyway.” I assured him. “Is that a zombie thing?” He wondered. “No, it’s an insomniac thing. I’ve always been that way. You’d think I’d have a lot of lost time to make up for having not slept for three years, but I’m good.” I joked. “I could always make up a cot for you in my room with Lonnie and Sam if you’d feel safer.” He was trying to comfort me and it was sweet, but I wasn’t going to impose. “I’ll be fine, Griffin. I just want to settle down and force myself to get some rest.” I swore that I’d be ok. “Alright. Lonnie brought your bag in and it’s over there. There’s fresh blankets and a pillow. If you need anything else, let me know. I’m in the farmhouse, second floor, third door on the right.” Griffin led me into the tent as we spoke. “Thank you, Griffin. I really mean it. You saved me earlier and I don’t know how to rep—” Griffin cut me off with a raised hand. “Don’t mention it. You saved me first and you didn’t have to. You don’t have to repay me and you owe me nothing, But if you really want to give me something in return, you can let me study you.” Griffin seemed like he wasn’t sure if that request was offensive or not. “Sure. That seems like a reasonable request.” I nodded once. “Great. Well, have a nice evening, Calli. I’ll see you in the morning.” Griffin smiled and bowed out of the tent. There weren’t many people in there yet and I wanted to avoid conversation as much as possible, so I took myself to my little corner, covered up with the blanket and pretended like I was asleep. What a fucking day this had been. “Sit here. I’m going to go get the doctor; don’t move.” Griffin pointed at me as he left the room we were in. It was in one of the smaller out houses on the property and the perfect opportunity for me to escape while he searched for the doctor.
I grabbed a roll of gauze and some medical tape and shoved it in my pocket before checking outside to see if anyone was around. There wasn’t, but I could make out a few figures down at the gate and knew I’d have to take a different route to get out of here. We were backed up to the woods so I figured that was my best bet and I could lose anyone quickly if they tried looking for me. I booked it towards the back of the property, running so fast that the wind was whizzing past me and humming in my ears. There was a fence, but I vaulted it and was in the clear as the trees came up around me and I didn’t stop till I couldn’t hear the sounds of the farm any longer. I was safe now, which was a funny thing to say in an apocalypse scenario, but I wasn’t on the side of survival. I slowed my pace and stopped near a bunch of blackberry bushes to wrap my shoulder. Even though I didn’t bleed much, I still bled and I still took time to heal. I still wasn’t even sure how that worked because I had seen zombies get hacked at or shot, followed with a horde for weeks just for the fun of it and none of them ever “healed”, so why the hell did I? Dumb question that I didn’t have the answer for, just like I didn’t have the answer for why I was now more or less like your average human save for the strength, lack of dying, and hankering for brains. I sat down, pressing my back up against a tree as I took a deep breath. I could feel that stinging heat you get in your nostrils when you’re trying not to cry, but it was no use. I cried. It was weird because I don’t think I had cried the whole time I had been a part of the apocalypse. I got emotional a few times after I regained my mind, but never cried. It burned as the tears rolled down my face, hissing against my skin like acid. Maybe it was acid now, I didn’t know. Why did I keep doing this? Why did I keep letting myself live like this when I knew better now? It was one thing when the only thought in my head was to eat brains, but now I could think for myself again and this existence had become lonely and tiring. What did I have to live for at this point? Nice people had offered to take me in and I couldn’t be around them because they would probably try to kill me or I’d try to kill them if I got too hungry and couldn’t find brains. And out here I was just wandering out of boredom and lack of things to do, scavenging for dead bodies that still had some meat in their skulls for me to munch on. What kind of fucking life was that? But could I end this? Was I even capable or killing myself? I mean, I was capable, sure…but I couldn’t do it like a regular person. I felt it in the pocket of my jacket, the cool metal cylinder of a gun barrel. I had forgotten that Griffin had handed me one when we went to look for Sam. This was my way out. It was over. I pulled it from inside my jacket, cocked the hammer back, and stared at the gun in my hands. I had thought about this sort of thing before a long time ago, but never in this manner. But it didn’t matter anymore. Nothing really did. The fun was over. I turned the barrel on myself, staring down into the darkness before I brought it closer to my face. “Calli, don’t.” I heard a voice and thought it was my conscience before I realized that my inner voice wasn’t male. I glanced over to see Griffin standing there with his rifle across his back. “Don’t come any closer.” I turned the gun on him. “What are you doing? I came back to the infirmary and you were gone.” He took a step closer, but I shook the gun at him. “You don’t understand. I can’t stay there.” I got up from the ground shakily, still aiming the firearm at him. I wouldn’t hurt him, but I had to make him believe that I would. “Try me.” He came closer still; he knew I was bluffing. “Just go. Turn around, go home, and don’t look back. Don’t worry about me.” I let the gun lower a bit. “I can’t do that. I can’t leave someone who is hurting alone in the woods where zombies could kill them.” Griffin shook his head. “Do you think that concerns me?” I waved the gun to show him that I was ready to die. “Why? Why do you want to die so badly? You could have a home at the farmhouse, why try and end your life? Did you do something that has you feeling guilty?” Griffin was trying to play crisis intervention with me. Yeah, I ate more people than I could count. “Griffin, I don’t want to hurt you, but I will if you don’t let me go. This doesn’t concern you.” I now held the gun with two hands. “It does concern me. You saved my life, Calli. You saved Lonnie’s life and Sam’s twice. I can’t let you take yours.” Griffin was mere feet from me. He wasn’t going to let me go; he wasn’t going to let me kill myself even though I was ready to die…but I couldn’t hurt him just to have the opportunity to end my life on my own terms, so I would have to do it another way. “You want to know why? Why I want to put this barrel in my mouth and pull the trigger? This is why.” I took my jacket off, my shirt came next, and then I peeled the gauze off my shoulder. “Does this look normal to you? No blood, grey skin, and this isn’t fucking allergies.” I snarled, pointing at my eyes. I was letting myself redline again. If Griffin wouldn’t let me shoot myself, I’d force him to do it for me. “I don’t understand.” Griffin spoke those words, but I could see it on his face; he got it, he just didn’t want to admit it. “I like brains, Griffin. In fact, I prefer them. That PB&J you made me tasted like dirty dishwater; no offense.” My vision was going blurry as I focused on the smell of his blood and the organ inside his head. “Are you really trying to convince me that you want to commit suicide because you’re a zombie?” Griffin looked like he wanted to laugh, but was holding it in because of the sensitive subject. “Yes! For Christ’s sake, I’m a damn zombie! Just fucking shoot me!” I dropped the gun on the ground and held my arms out. “Or what? You’ll make me?” Griffin possibly thought I was still bluffing. “Yes.” I lowered my head and glared at him from under my brow. I knew my eyes must have flashed in an inhuman way, because Griffin’s expression changed. “No.” He still defied me. “Just do it!” I stomped towards him and he drew his rifle, aiming it at me. I gripped the barrel with my hand and pressed it against the greying skin of my forehead. “Shoot me, Griffin, or you won’t live to regret it.” My breath was ragged as I spoke. “Kill me then. Do it. Eat my brains if you have to; if it will make you feel better. I don’t want to make a liar out of you.” Griffin still held the rifle, but his finger wasn’t on the trigger. “Are you fucking stupid? I just told you that I’m a zombie and you can clearly see that I’m not human anymore. SHOOT ME!” I shrieked, reaching out for the trigger myself. Griffin brought the gun down quickly, dropped it, and tackled me to the ground. I fought, him gnashing my teeth, but never trying to actually bite him. I wouldn’t, I couldn’t. He was the only human to show me compassion in all this. “Stop, Calli. Just stop. Stop!” Griffin’s grip on me changed from a submission hold to a gentle embrace as I started to cry again. “Why? Why won’t you just let me die?” I sobbed, flexing my hands by my side, not wanting to return the emotion that he was giving me. “Because. You may be a zombie as you say, but clearly you don’t want to hurt anyone. If you are actually a zombie, you are unlike anything I have ever seen and you are important. Not just for the implications of what you are now, but because you are human at your very core, despite being infected.” Griffin brushed damp hair from my face as I finally let myself cling to him. There was that warmth again, that sensation of human touch, of human caring and understanding. God, it felt so good. “They won’t accept me.” I murmured, finally ceasing with the crying. “Maybe not now, but we will work on it. I’ll vouch for you and I think maybe Lonnie will too. Sam definitely. Just come back, let me check you out and then we can talk with the others.” Griffin stood, snatching the handgun and his rifle before I had a chance to go crazy again. “If they don’t, promise me something.” I put my shirt and jacket back on as I spoke. “Sure. Anything.” He reached out for my hand, but I wouldn’t take it. “Promise me that you’ll be the one to end my life. At least I could die knowing that the person who killed me actually cared.” I slipped past him and on towards the farm. I heard him draw a sharp breath behind me, but he never said anything. He never promised and it oddly made me sick. I couldn’t get attached. I didn’t do attachments. I was walking down an old highway, no running cars in sight, just old burnt out shells of pickups and dusty Priuses. I was just kicking rocks and minding my own business when I heard the usual sound: zombie gurgles and people hollering, gunshots fired, and then the whacking sound of metal on bone. Someone was being attacked by the undead and I wasn’t about to help because the last time I tried, I got shot at and had a festering wound in my gut for three weeks. But the sounds of the undead grew louder and then I heard something that I hadn’t heard in a really long time… A child crying. Now, even in my prior devolved zombie state, I never once maimed or ate a child. Even though my mind wasn’t quite functioning properly, I knew that somewhere deep inside that you just don’t eat kids. And now that my brain was working again, I wasn’t going to let a fellow zombie eat a kid either. I took off running toward the sound, pulling the hood of my jacket up over my head to try and minimize my horrendous appearance. Closing in on the scene, I could see two men, a woman, and what looked like a little girl no more than seven years old. They were standing in the bed of a battered pickup truck, a rifle in one man’s hand and a baseball bat wrapped in barbed wire in the other. They were surrounded by a small horde, two of which were trying to climb into the bed as the woman swatted at them with a duffle bag. The little girl was clinging to her leg and trying to hide behind her, but the encroaching zombies seemed like they were winning. It was obvious that the gun had no ammo and the bat could only do so much. I didn’t want to get too close, so I whistled. It was a high-pitched sound through the teeth that got the attention of all zombies involved and they turned to me, cocking their heads to the side in unison. “Hey, you shit-stains! Over here!” I hollered, waving my hands over my head. They looked at me, back at the living in the truck, and then over at me again. I guess they decided that I didn’t look like anything good to eat, and went back to harassing the people in the truck. Well, it looked like I was going to have to get closer than I wanted to. I broke into a run and made it to the truck just as one of the brain-eaters climbed into the back and took the man with the rifle out with a quick chomp to the face. The woman screamed and the man with the bat began beating at the zombie chowing down on his friend. I elbowed my way through the other rotten mouthed zombies and tore the one in the truck clear off his feet. I noticed that the back window to the cab was open and began shoving those still living inside. “Close the window!” I instructed them as I took the bat from the last man standing and started bashing heads. One, two, three, four, and five. Five down in a putrid bloody mess, but more were coming. I could hear them off in the distance as they caught the scent of a fresh kill. “Shit.” I cursed under my breath, hopped out of the bed and came over to the driver’s side window where the man was sitting. “Does it start?” I tapped on the window, looking over my shoulder for the throng of zombies that were closing in. “There’s no keys.” The man spoke through the crack in the window. I didn’t have any idea how to hot-wire a car and I’m sure if that man did, he would have. If there weren’t any keys, we were in trouble. But then a thought struck me. I knew that some people kept spare keys in little magnetized boxes under the wheel-wells and fumbled around for one while the zombie pack closed in on us. “What are you doing, lady?” The man asked me, “There’s a whole bunch of them coming!” I held up my finger with my free hand and felt around with the other until—there it was! I yanked the box out from under the car and slid the top back to find just the key I was looking for. “Take it, take it!” I thrust the key through the cracked window and the man took it from me. God, I hoped that there was still usable gas in the damn truck. And then it sputtered a bit before roaring to life. The zombies were a few feet from me as I banged my fist on the door, “Go! Go now!” “Get in!” He responded and I knew that I was making a funny face. “What?” Why the hell would he be asking me to get in? “Get in! They’re gonna eat you alive. Get in!” He pointed at the bed of the truck. I didn’t have the heart to tell him that I would be fine, but he kept insisting and looked like he wasn’t going to leave until I got in the truck. I nodded and hopped into the bed before he sped off just in time. A dark cloud of exhaust plumed into the faces of the zombies close enough to the truck and I gave them the middle finger as we floored it down the empty highway. That man was the first person to speak to me in five years and he had no idea what he had just gotten himself into. (*) “Here, let me help you down.” The man reached for my hand, but I just shook my head and hopped out without assistance. We were parked just outside a twelve foot fence that surrounded what looked like a boarded up farm house that had been converted into a communal lodge and was surrounded by a few smaller out houses and a large red barn. “I’m Griffin, by the way. This is Lonnie and her niece, Sam.” He introduced me down the line. “I’m—I’m Callisto; Calli for short.” I stuttered. No one had addressed me personally in—well, you know. “Nice to meet you. When was the last time you ate? You’re looking pretty gaunt and sallow.” Griffin gave me a once over. “Uh, a few days ago.” It wasn’t a lie. I had scavenged the brain of someone I found on the side of the road. “Come in for a bite, won’t you? I’m sure everyone would be happy to have you.” Lonnie smiled at me. “I’m ok, but thank you. I have to get going.” I pulled on the straps to my backpack as I started to walk. “At least come in and spend the night. It’s going to get dark soon. You saved our lives; it’s the least we could do to thank you.” Griffin urged me. It was a bad idea. I hadn’t been this close to another untainted human being since I was still actively hunting and killing them. “I really shouldn’t.” I protested. “Please, Calli. It’s not safe to be alone.” Now it was Sam’s turn to chime in. I hesitated. “You aren’t infected, are you? Is that why you don’t want to come in?” Griffin asked. I should have said yes and walked away, but being this close to someone who didn’t have a penchant for brains was nice. “I’m not. Just—just used to being alone, that’s all.” I tried to be as honest as I could. “Understandable. At least come in for a bite and maybe a good night’s rest.” Griffin tried again. He had no idea how unsafe it was to ask a zombie to come in for a bite, but I accepted. Griffin took a high-powered laser pointer from his pocked and began flashing it up the hill. Soon two armed men came strolling down from the house and let all of us in. “Where’s Dan? And who is this?” The larger of the two men asked. “Dan didn’t make it, but Calli here saved our lives. We figured it would be ok to invite her in for some food and shelter for the night.” Griffin smiled, but the two men scowled at him. “Bite check.” The large man insisted, grabbing me roughly by the wrists. “Hey, watch who you’re man-handling, Sasquatch.” I growled, but I didn’t protest. He jerked the sleeves up on my jacket, yanked down my collar, made me pull up my pant legs. But there was nothing. I hadn’t ever been bitten or scratched. “I’m not going to pull my pants down or take my shirt off, sicko.” He was still eyeing me warily. “She’s good. You feeling ok, though? You look really—pale. And your eyes…” The other guard was squinting at my face. “I have allergies. Bad ones.” I shrugged, pulling my hood down low over my face. “Alright, she’s good. Get her something to eat and maybe walk her around a bit because she looks like she could use some sun.” The big one nudged me forward as I followed Griffin, Lonnie, and Sam up to the big house. “Carl is harmless, just a bit of a douche. Where you from?” Griffin inquired as we made it up to the house and I noticed there was actually a good bit of people living wherever it was that we were. “I was in NYC when the outbreak started, but I’m originally from Virginia.” I found myself carrying on a conversation. “What’d you do before all this shit?” He probed further. “I worked for a fashion magazine. It wasn’t what I wanted to do, but it was a living.” I grimaced as I remembered my last day at that stupid job. “I was a bio-chemist before all of this and Lonnie here was a high school Lit teacher. Little Sammy was only three.” Griffin gave the run down about who they were prior to all of this. “She was so young.” I commented on her age, surprised that she was able to survive this long. “Lonnie’s sister got knocked up by some idiot a few years before all of this started. He stuck around surprisingly, but got bitten about a month after the outbreak and then Lonnie’s sister passed about a year ago from a bad infection after she cut her leg on a rusty pipe trying to escape a horde.” Griffin glanced wistfully at the woman and the little girl who had broken off from us to go greet a few others. “What were you all doing out there on the highway with a little girl if this is home base?” Obviously they lived here. “Picking up Lonnie and Sammy. They got separated from the old group I was with about six months ago. I ended up here and we routinely check radio transmissions for any survivors. Happened to pick up a distress signal from a CB radio and Dan and I went out to pick them up. We didn’t make it very far down the road before those brain suckers got ahold of us. Poor Dan; he was a good guy, but not very bright.” Griffin shook his head slowly. “I’m so sorry.” I really was. I didn’t exactly lose anyone in all of this, but I killed plenty in the beginning. “It’s sadly the norm now. It’s hard to get attached to people in this, even though things aren’t as bad as they used to be. You—you leave anyone behind?” Griffin got personal. “Nah. It’s been just me from the beginning. I don’t get attached for obvious reasons.” Yeah, obvious reasons being that attachments were basically dinner. “I hear that. Enough chit-chat, let’s get you something to eat.” Griffin patted my back and led me into the big house. It had once been a large plantation home it seemed, but the residents had converted it into a communal home for at least twenty-five people complete with an industrial kitchen, large dining hall, and rec room. “This is really nice.” I commented on how well-kept everything was. “Yeah, it took them a while to put it all together, but it was worth it.” Griffin gestured to a chair in the dining room and I took a seat while he flagged someone down to grab me something to eat. I wasn’t going to stay long. I figured I would force some regular food down my gullet and then slip out the back undetected and be on my way. If any of them found out that I was one of the walking dead, I’d be dead dead and that would be an unfortunate end to my five year survival. “How does PP&J sound?” Griffin set a sandwich down in front of me and I thanked him before taking a bite; it tasted like dirt. Peanut butter and jelly used to be one of my favorites too. I muscled my way through the sandwich, leaving the crusts, and got up from my seat. “Hey, Griffin? Where’s the head?” I was going to pretend to take a piss and take off. “Down the hall and to the left.” Griffin was snacking on a protein bar as I left the room and started to make my way down the hall. I saw that there was a door in the kitchen and I figured that would be my easiest route out of here. No one was in sight and it seemed like leaving undetected would be a sure thing, but then a sound signaled that I wouldn’t be leaving just yet. Someone was screaming out front, screaming like I hadn’t heard since the day I turned and I knew that they were in trouble. “Really?” I sighed loudly. I couldn’t let anyone get hurt if I could stop it. The stupid zombie vigilante that I was. I turned around and made a beeline for the front door where Griffin was waiting with a shotgun. “What’s going on?” I peered out the window as a group of men went running towards the front gates. “The horde followed us from the freeway. They’re trying to break through the gate. Lonnie can’t find Sam.” Griffin spoke frantically as he loaded his gun. “I’ll go look for her.” I patted his shoulder and took off through the front door. “Don’t you need a weapon? Hey!” Griffin called after me, but I didn’t need a gun or a bat. I ran past the militia and made it to the front gates before anyone else. There were at least fifteen zombies clambering at the gate, throwing their limp bodies against it with all their might while groaning loudly. “Go home, you fucks.” I yelled at them, smacking at hands that were thrust through the bars, waving frantically at the air, trying to catch anything that came too close. But I hadn’t seen the break in the gate. The bars had been pried back and something had clearly made it through. Others were now slipping through themselves and I wasn’t enough to keep them all from getting in. “No. No, no, no.” I shoved several away from the bars while looking around wildly for something to cover the gaping entry in the gate. But there wasn’t anything and now I could see no less than five zombies loping up the hill. What the hell should I do? Try to board up the bars or go after the ones already inside? Obviously, covering the hole would be the smartest option so no others got in, but I had nothing at my disposal… Oh. I felt like such an idiot as I turned back to face the gate. A zombie muscled its way in, so a zombie could repair what had been done with equal strength. “Back up, ladies and gentlemen. Hey! Watch where you’re putting those things. Stop it.” I shoved the undead as I pulled the bars back together with every ounce of strength I had. I wasn’t quick enough, however, because the sound of gunshots and bedlam was echoing down to me from the top of the hill. I turned heel and raced back up the hill, ready to kill whatever had made it through. I tried to not do that sort of stuff as it always made me feel guilty, but if actual humans were being threatened—that was far more important than those that I couldn’t help. “How’s the gate?” Griffin called out to me as he tried to corral people inside the big house before firing off a shot towards the yard. “It’s fine.” I let him hand me a gun that I had absolutely no idea how to use. “I wonder how they got in.” Griffin waved his hand for me to follow as someone else took over his position. “No idea.” I shook my head, “Did they find Sam?” I walked quickly in step with him as he fired off another shot, drawing the few zombies on this side over to us. “No. Lonnie is beside herself, but I made her stay in the house. I told her that I’d find Sam.” A zombie was limping quickly towards us as Griffin raised his rifle and put one between its eyes. Two shots rang out from behind the barn as a group of men emerged and gave Griffin the thumbs up. “How many were there?” Someone hollered out to us. “I saw five come up the hill all at once.” Griffin called back. “We just got two.” They replied. “I got three.” Griffin held up his fingers. I counted in my head. I saw five get through—but that was after I noticed that the bars had been pried open and watched them slip by. “There’s more. At least one more.” I blurted. “We got all five.” Griffin assured me. “No, there’s one more. At least.” I insisted. “And what makes you think that?” Carl was part of the small band of men we met up with and was giving me this look like I didn’t know what I was talking about. “I saw another one?” I made a face at him. The wailing of a child caused us all to turn and look at the barn. “Sam.” Griffin looked scared as he broke into a sprint towards the brick red structure, all of us following behind him. He yanked open the doors as the screaming grew louder and I could see Sam up in the hay loft as a zombie at least twice Carl’s size began shaking the support beams that held the loft up. “Hey!” I cried out to get its attention, but it didn’t bother with me. “Shoot it.” Griffin commanded and the men opened fire, striking the undead man multiple times in his chest and head…but he didn’t go down. “What the fuck.” Carl uttered, shouldering his gun to shoot again. The zombie shook the support beam hard and I heard the wood crack and then splinter as it gave way and Sam began to slide closer to the grasp of this invincible zombie. “Sam! Back up towards the window!” Griffin barked, but it was too late. She had lost her footing and was now sliding down towards the waiting arms of Frankenstein’s monster along with the loose hay. I didn’t think. I just charged forward, shoved the zombie hard as it lost its balance and crashed into another support beam. I held my arms out wide and caught Sam as she came tumbling down. But the damn zombie was already back on his feet and coming for us. I set Sam down in a hurry and shoved her forward, urging her to run as it grabbed me about the waist and hoisted me up in the air. “I can’t get a clear shot!” I heard Carl call out as I fought to keep myself from being crushed. “Dammit.” Griffin returned and I could see him aiming his sight at me, but Carl was right—there was no clear shot. “Just shoot!” I bellowed. If I got hit it was a 50/50 chance that I would either live or die right along with the undead that was now crushing my bones. “No, goddammit.” Griffin was obviously upset from what I could hear. I could get away, but if I did I would expose myself and die. If I didn’t, I would probably die anyway. This zombie was unlike any other I had ever seen and it wasn’t just his abnormally large size. He wasn’t as crazed as some of the others I had encountered, he seemed just a tad more sentient, but he was clearly a lot harder to kill if that was even possible with the amount of bullets that had been pumped in to him. Then I saw a possible way out. The beam that he had broken, the one that had ejected Sam from the hayloft, was basically destroyed, but the other one I had shoved the zombie into was still partially standing. I was close enough to kick it out and bring the whole loft down. This would give me the advantage of cover and I might have been able to kill this thing without anyone seeing and play it off as it meeting its demise in the avalanche of wood and straw. I kicked out with both legs, the zombie teetering with the movement, and my feet connected with the beam and brought the whole house down. I heard Sam scream again and the men all talking at once as I finally took my opportunity. I reached my arms up behind me and grabbed the undead by the neck and pulled with all my might. The chaos I had caused disoriented it and I braced myself as its body lifted up off the ground and came over my shoulder, crashing right down on the blades of an old tractor, impaling it. It still gurgled, reaching out its hands to take me, but I ended it quickly with a pitchfork straight through the face. “Calli! Calli!” I could hear Griffin calling my name as I stood there, covered in blood and wet hay, my chest heaving up and down as I tried to catch my breath. “I’m—I’m ok.” I answered, crawling through the hay and back into the dim sunlight that seeped through the rafters above. “Jesus Christ.” Carl was shaking his head as I wobbled out. Yeah, it was quite a feat that I survived, I suppose. But that wasn’t what he was commenting on. “We need a medic!” Griffin looked terrified as he yelled over his shoulder. I felt fine, but the problem was I didn’t look fine. I had a pair of large gardening shears imbedded through the top of my shoulder that protruded out my back. So much for hiding what I was. “She’s in shock; get her to sit down.” Griffin instructed, but I wouldn’t let Carl or any of the other men get close to me. “I’m fine.” I tried to convince them, but Carl tried to touch me anyway and I felt myself redline. I growled at him, swiping his hand away from me as I hunkered down, the muscle in my shoulder audibly tearing. “Calli, you’re in shock. It’s ok. We have someone coming to take a look at you. Don—don’t do that!” Griffin pleaded with me as I gripped the shears and tore them from my body with a sickeningly wet squelch. Everyone gasped and Griffin scooted Sam out of the barn and commanded her to run back to the house as I tossed the shears to the ground. “I said I’m fine.” I growled, a low rumble in my chest as I stepped back a few paces, ready to strike like a cornered animal. “She’s not bleeding, Griffin.” Carl’s eyes darted to the man that was trying to calm me as he picked his shotgun up and aimed it at my head. “Did she get bitten? Scratched? Maybe she’s turning.” Another man spoke, readying his own gun. “Stand down. Let’s not get hasty now. She needs medical assistance and until we can assess the damage that has been done, we don’t need to act rashly.” Griffin was still on my side as he locked eyes with me. I hadn’t realized what a gentle face he had until this moment, his stormy grey eyes catching my attention. It reminded me of the first day that my mind had put itself back together and I lay out in a field of wildflowers staring up at a swirling grey sky as the rain fell. I could feel it as it hit my skin in icy wet plops, drenching my hair and clothes, but I didn’t care—I could feel it and that’s what mattered. I felt my breathing even out and the tension in my muscles slack as I pulled myself upright. I wasn’t in shock, but I guess I had to play like I was and I let my knees buckle as I went down to the ground, Griffin scooping me up before I “passed out”. “What happened? Is she ok? Sammy said that there was a zombie here in the barn and Calli saved her again.” It was Lonnie that came rushing into the barn with a First-Aid kit in hand. “We thought we got all of them, but there was one still left. It was huge, Lonnie, and practically indestructible. I’m not sure how, but Calli killed it. The whole hay loft came down and I think there must have been pair of rusty shears up there.” I played faint as Griffin filled Lonnie in, showing her my shoulder. “A First-Aid kit won’t help tha—where’s the blood, Griffin? There isn’t much for a wound that deep.” Lonnie lowered her voice at the end of her sentence. “That’s what I’d like to know. We need to get her inside to the infirmary and give her a medical check-up. Something isn’t right.” Griffin turned to me, “Can you walk?” “Mmhm.” I nodded as he slung my arm around his shoulder and hoisted me up. His body was warm as I leaned against him and I almost started to cry. When was the last time someone had even touched me? This wasn’t going to last. I’d have to find a way to leave and soon. When they strapped a blood pressure cuff on me or went to take my temperature, they’d know. The comfort of home here was definitely going to be short lived. You could call us a few things: Revenant, Ghoul, Undead, Lych…Zombie. Pick your poison, but they were all the same on some level. Soulless, mindless, stark-raving mad, flesh hungry creatures with not a drop of supposed morality or self-control and only one uncontrollable urge—to consume. Whether it be brains, or blood, or fleshy muscle and sinew, we had the need to consume everything in our paths. We were cannibals, only wanting to taste the sweet, succulent flavor of human tissue as we gnashed and sucked meat from bone and brain from skull. We were pariahs, devils, evils from the darkest corners of human thought, but we were human too…or we were at some point. Everyone acted like it was our fault that we wanted to hunt them down, rip limb from body, and feast upon the meat that coated their bones, but that wasn’t a fair assumption. We never asked to be this way. We never asked to lose our humanity and be forced to only eat that which was once ourselves. But we had no choice. Something made us this way and we had no ability to control it. I didn’t know how it worked. I didn’t know what it was that had infected us and dumbed us down to the point that the only thought in what was left of our minds was to eat—and to eat our own kind. I used to love meat as much as the next zombie—er, person, but that was when I craved a nice rare hamburger or a piece of fried chicken…not my next door neighbor’s brain meat. When it first happened, when the virus or whatever it was hit me, I didn’t understand. I wasn’t attacked and bitten to be turned like some of the others, I was unfortunately chosen by the virus and most likely one of the first ones to turn. I was minding my own business, waiting for the bus so I could hopefully get to work on time when the lady sitting next to me puked on my shoes. I thought it was just my luck that this would happen on a Monday after I had already lost my keys, discovered I had a flat tire, ended up with gum in my hair thanks to my shitty roommate and her habit of falling asleep drunkenly on the couch while she chawed away on Juicy Fruit. I spilled coffee on my laptop as I woke up late, frantically trying to finish my presentation before I had to go and stand up in front of my colleagues to pitch my latest idea for the magazine. It wasn’t an ideal job, I wanted to be doing something else, not a columnist for a fashion magazine. It just wasn’t my thing, but it was money, and in that world, you needed money to survive, to eat. I didn’t need that now. Everything that walked on two legs was food. I wasn’t proud of what I had become, but like I said—I didn’t have a damn choice. But I digress. Back to the woman that retched all over my new boots… “Hey!” I jumped up off the bench as putrid chunks of that morning’s breakfast hit my shoes. “I’m—I’m so sorry.” The middle-aged woman apologized, rifling around in her purse for a handkerchief. “It’s ok.” I softened, trying to shake the vomit from my boots. “I haven’t been feeling well. I should’ve stayed at home, but you know how it is.” She tried to mop the slop from my feet. “Yeah, Mondays.” I shrugged, helping her clean up my feet with a napkin I found inside my own bag. “I hope your day goes better than I assume mine will.” The woman cast me a half-smile that I returned as the bus pulled up and we both climbed on board. The ride to work was uneventful, even quiet, as everyone sat silently in their seats reading books or listening to music with their headphones on. I spent my time looking out the window at the buildings and city trees that passed by me in a blur. This isn’t what I wanted for my life, this isn’t what I had planned that I would be doing by now, but it was all I had and something was better than nothing. The bus made its stop a few blocks from my job and I hopped off and power-walked it down the sidewalk before jaywalking over to my office building and rudely shoved past someone who was more focused on their phone than they were on actually getting to their destination. I scrambled into the elevator and made it up to the thirteenth floor before bolting to my cubicle to prepare my presentation which was in less than fifteen minutes at that point. “You’re late.” Mariah hovered over me as I tried to get my laptop to boot up and do what it was supposed to do. “Yeah, I know. It’s been a bitch of a morning,” I replied as I mashed buttons angrily, trying to get the computer to fucking work. “ Mr. Markle was asking where you were. They changed the meeting to 8:30.” Mariah looked over my shoulder as my computer crashed and I tried not to scream. “But it’s—” I checked my watch, “Fuck! Almost nine!” I slammed my laptop shut, working or not, and hoofed it to the conference room where Mr. Markle and the rest of the advertising and writing team was waiting for me. “Miss North. You’re late.” Mr. Markle spoke flatly as I took my seat and attempted to get my computer to boot up again. “I’m so sorry; I didn’t know that the meeting time had been changed.” I apologized, repeatedly punching keys on my keyboard. “Maybe if you checked your e-mails like you’re supposed to.” He scolded me and I cringed. “I’m so sorry.” I apologized again. “Is your presentation ready? You’re up first.” He pointed at me. “Um, it was—is. I’m just having some technical difficulties.” I continued to try and get the laptop working and I could feel myself sweating as I panicked. “Any day now, Miss North.” Mr. Markle stood at the head of the table as all eyes fell on me. “Ok. I may just have to start without my Powerpoint. My computer seems to be having issues.” I could see where the sugar from my coffee had crystalized in my keys. I got up from the chair and rounded the table to where Mr. Markle was standing as he took his seat to my right and I pulled a rolling white board from the corner to start sketching out my ideas. “So, I was thinking that with this new issue and Fashion Week coming up, maybe we could focus on some local designers and artists and maybe do a section where we can interview them on their inspiration and their process, maybe showcase a few of their favorites pieces and—” “Mm, I don’t think so. No one is interested in local designers. They want to know what is going on in the world of High Fashion, not what Sally Dress-Maker is doing in the Bronx.” Mr. Markle shook his head. “Uh, well…maybe if we talked to them about what High Fashion designers influenced their work—” I started down a different track, while still keeping my idea alive. “Nope. No. You don’t have anything else, do you?” Mr. Markle had his pen to his mouth as I stood in front of him and a room of at least twenty of my colleagues with a dry erase marker in my hand. I wasn’t a person who cried at the drop of a hat, but with the stress that the morning had put me under, I was swallowing hard so as not to blubber in front of everyone. I opened my mouth and closed it a few times like a fish out of water looking for a response, but something outside the office saved me. “What’s that sound?” My colleague Brenda stood up from her seat and craned her neck to see past Mr. Markle and out through the window that faced the street. He turned and glanced behind him, did a double take, and got up from his chair. “Jesus Christ. Someone call 911.” He waved his hand behind him as he stood plastered to the window. Everyone got up from their expensive ergonomic chairs to see what he was looking at, myself included. There had been a car wreck—no, a pile-up, right outside the office. There was a mangled bike and a cluster of people on the sidewalk screaming. I thought that maybe someone had gotten struck at the crosswalk and others swooped in to help, but that wasn’t the case. The man in the bike helmet had a woman pinned on the ground and was howling as he swiped at other people who tried to pry him away. One man finally did and I could see that the woman had her throat torn out, her eyes wide and glassy as she stared up at the blue sky. “The police are on their way.” Mr. Markle’s assistant came to inform him as the deranged cyclist leapt on another man and began tearing into the meat of his face. Everyone in the room gasped and Brenda screamed as I took a step back from the window. What the hell was this guy on? Steroids? A new performance enhancing drug? High on a new blend of kale and wheatgrass juice? Then the most impossible thing happened… The woman who had previously had her throat torn out and was very clearly deceased, began to pull herself up from the sidewalk and surprised another bystander with an ungodly strong bear hug. “Holy—did anyone else see that?” Brian, my cubicle mate, asked. I didn’t say anything. I couldn’t tear my eyes away from what was happening. “Call down to security and have them lock the building down. I don’t know what’s going on, but this is too close for comfort.” Mr. Markle stepped away from the window and instructed whoever was listening to make a call. Everyone was talking all at once, mumbling to one another about what was going on and my first thought was to run…so I did. I left the conference room amidst the hub-bub and went back to my cubicle, packed my laptop, and made my way to the emergency exit just as I could hear the sirens of an ambulance and police vehicles pulling up out front. I came out through the side entrance that was usually used for emergencies only to see the rotating blue and red lights as I turned the corner of the building. “Hands up where I can see them! Get on the ground! Get on the motherfucking ground!” An officer yelled as I peered out into the street. He was yelling at the throatless woman, but was paying no attention to the cyclist, the soccer mom with her coifed pixie, and the sign guy that usually stood on the corner doing tricks with his advertisements for the Deli around the corner. All of them were behaving in the same manner and began to charge towards the officers, grunting and spitting as they tackled one after the other and took them down to the pavement screaming. What the fuck was happening? I could feel myself begin to sweat and I assumed it had something to do with the panic that was bubbling inside me as I witnessed what was going down. “Keep it together, Calli.” I whispered to myself as I pulled my bag in close and booked it in the opposite direction. I was probably going to be fired, or at the very least penalized for leaving work without telling anyone, but I had this sense of urgency; something was telling me to get away from everybody…and fast. I made it to the closest bus stop and waited impatiently with shaking knees for the first bus to pull up and take me home. But the bus didn’t come. There was supposed to be a ten AM bus, but there wasn’t one. I was now hearing multiple wails from ambulances, fire trucks, and cop cars, but no sound of the diesel that usually accompanied the bus. “Fuck.” I cursed, picking my feet up to keep moving down the street. I was at least twelve blocks away from my apartment, but I had this need to get home and to get home now. I wasn’t feeling so well as I hobbled down the sidewalk clutching my messenger bag. I was sweating more now, almost drenched from head to toe even though it wasn’t more than sixty degrees out and I felt my head pounding as I began to cough like I had smoked two packs a day for my whole life. My gut was churning, my knees were weak, and my throat was raw as I came to a crosswalk and just missed getting hit by a damn bus as it ran the red light and crashed into two taxis and an SUV. I jumped back on the sidewalk and lost my balance as I landed hard on the pavement, my laptop crunching beneath me as I fell. I felt sick, like I had the flu, but worse… My hand flew to my face as I tried to pick myself up and wipe the sweat from my cheeks…but it wasn’t sweat. There was blood covering my hand and I began to panic as people got out of their cars to check on the victims of the wreck and I pulled my compact from my bag. I almost screamed as I saw my own reflection. My eyes were bloodshot, but somehow jaundiced at the same time and the irises were dark like they had been injected with black ink. Blood was running from the corners and dripping down my face like tears as I began to cough violently, more blood staining my other hand as I covered my mouth. “Ma’am, have you been hurt?” There was a man standing next to me on the corner who had obviously seen the bad wreck. “No, I’m—ugh uuuuuck—I’m fine.” I coughed and wheezed, holding my stomach as I felt it churn like it did that one time I had eaten bad shrimp. “You don’t look fine.” He replied, laying his hand on my shoulder. I could smell him, and despite the fact that I was feeling sick to my stomach…he smelled like a wonderful, delectable meal. “No, I’m ok.” I jerked myself away from him and ran in the opposite direction, away from my apartment and the people gathering on the streets. I could now hear helicopters overhead as I jogged down the street, leaving my busted laptop behind. I passed people running in a completely different direction as they screamed, crazed individuals hobbling closely behind them with constricted limbs and gnashing mouths. I wanted to stop, but I was too scared to help as I sprinted across the street and holed myself up in an alley. “What the hell is happening?” I fumbled for my phone in my bag as I attempted to find a livestream for the city that would give me some sort of information. “Bedlam has broken out in New York City as citizens are being violently attacked by crazed individuals that are assumed to be under the influence of some sort of super street drug. Multiple deaths have been reported totaling close to a hundred as police respond to the scenes. Many officers have either been killed or injured and aren’t sure the exact cause of the violence.” I watched as the news anchor debriefed the populace, “In other news, cases of a highly contagious flu strain are being admitted to Bellevue and Lennox hospitals. Doctors are working around the clock to come up with a temporary treatment, but so far any sort of solution seems resistant. Individuals with the following symptoms are urged to make a trip to the emergency room as soon as possible: high fever, intense body sweats, nausea and vomiting, uncontrollable coughing, migraines, and bleeding from any orifices. More information to come as it is reported.” I felt my breathing quicken. I was sick. I had almost all of those symptoms. Now was not the time to be making a trip to the ER. Something crazy was going on in the city and I didn’t want to be stuck in the hospital. More screaming was heard outside the alley as I emerged and continued to make my way home. The sound of crashing cars, people shouting, and gunshots were ringing out around me. My knees were becoming weak as I coughed harder and wiped the blood from my eyes…then the nausea got the better of me. I stopped dead in my tracks on the sidewalk and evacuated everything that was in my stomach and then some. A soupy red mess came pouring from my throat as I purged the contents of my stomach, my hands to my knees as I gasped for air. Everything was happening so quickly. I had felt fine this morning, albeit a bit pissed off, but not ill. Though, here I was, vomiting on the corner of Carmine and Bleecker, drenching the sidewalk in what looked like bloody coffee grounds. My insides felt like they were melting as I tried to move forward, but my stride was slowed as my body weakened and I sucked in air to inflate my lungs that were sore and feeble. Where had I gotten sick? I was usually so good about not getting the crud and it was past flu season… The puking lady at the bus stop. That bitch. I tried to keep going, but my vision was getting blurry and my feet were heavier than normal. Even though my stomach was churning and the bile was sloshing around in it like a tumultuous ocean, I was hungry. And not for bagels or a Reuben sandwich slathered in sauerkraut—I wanted something a little more fresh and enlightened. I hungered for thoughts, urges, dreams, ideas, emotions… I wanted the gray matter. “No.” I shook my head hard and trudged forward down the street like I was walking through a snow storm, but the thought of fresh brain meat, all pink and squiggly with knowledge and ideas made my stomach twitch with hunger pangs. I vomited again, so hard I thought my eyeballs were going to eject from their sockets and roll down the street. Then I felt my body seize, the locking of joints and that rigid sensation your muscles feel when you start to get a charlie horse. I collapsed in the street, slipping off the lip of the sidewalk and right into the gutter as my body locked up. I started to lose consciousness as I began to vomit thick dark blood once again. This wasn’t the flu, it was fucking death and I couldn’t stop it. The last thing I remembered as I flailed on the asphalt was that intense craving for human flesh and sticky sweet brain meat. That was just the beginning of it, though. I’m pretty sure I died, or my body did at the very least, and when I “woke up” I was still lying face first in the gutter with sirens wailing all around me and blood curdling screams of people in the distance. Something was really wrong. My body felt like it was vibrating at such an accelerated level. I couldn’t control my body movements, my arms jerking about at my sides as I tried to use them to push myself up off the asphalt. My knees were shaking and my legs wobbled like a baby calf fresh from its mother. An explosion to my left that would have normally caused me to duck and cover my head, didn’t even make me flinch. The air was hot now. Hot and thick with a scent I had never had the pleasure of inhaling before. It was raw and sweet like burning cedar and scorched cherry. I needed it. Whatever it was, I needed it. No, I wanted to eat it. Like the smell of burgers on the grill or bacon in a skillet permeated my surroundings and I felt myself hobbling towards it at a slow speed. Eventually I became accustomed to the vibrating within me and began to sprint down the vacant street to the nearest intersection where I was sure the smell was coming from. And I was right. That’s where the smell originated from…but it wasn’t coming from a hot dog cart or falafel stand. It was wafting from a group of people who were stuck in a multi-car pileup, panicking as they tried to lock their doors and roll up their windows as other people frantically tried to break into those cars while gnashing their teeth. They looked—weird. Not like uniquely dressed or with rainbow spiked hair…I mean, weird. Like, oddly similar to the way I looked before I face-planted in the gutter. And then it hit me. I was hungry and the woman in the soccer mom van that was frantically trying to get her car started despite the fact that the front end was smashed all to hell, smelled like fresh steak. Then, there I went. Rushing forward as I slammed my full body up against the driver's side door, banging my fists into the window as I let out incoherent groans, clicking my teeth furiously. I was starving and she looked like a fucking snack. None of the other weirdos were paying her attention so I didn’t have to fight for my food as I finally cracked the window and punched my fist through the glass. The woman was screeching, clawing at me with her perfectly manicured nails as I yanked her through the busted glass, the sharp edges tearing at the flesh on her face and arms. The smell of the blood was just an appetizer to the meal that I was about to enjoy. She was screaming bloody murder as I finally pulled her portly body completely from the vehicle and cracked her head against the door a few good times so she would stop with the goddamn screaming. Whimpers and feeble protests still came from her as I opened my mouth as wide as it would go and bit down on the side of her face. Who knew that my teeth were strong enough to tear right through the top of her cheekbone? I felt the eye socket crumble, ejecting the eyeball from her skull as she began to scream again. Oh my God, if she wasn’t the most scrumptious thing I had ever tasted! I slurped her optical nerve into my mouth like a piece of spaghetti before crunching down on the eyeball itself, the insides squishing between my teeth. But that wasn’t enough, that was just a hor d'oeuvre compared to the meal I was about to have. I gripped the wound I had just created in her face with both hands and yanked, cleaving her skull in two like you would tear a tail from a lobster. Theeere was that smell that had beckoned to me from down the street. Her brain was still pulsating in her skull as the blood continued to course through her body and I began to feast on the grey matter. It tasted like chocolate cake, rare steak, fried potatoes—a slimy pink, cranial Everlasting Gobstopper. She finally stopped making noise at this point and I ate my fill before tossing her body into the side of her vehicle and wandered off to find the next meal because… I was still hungry. No—I was starving, and I needed to fill the void in the pit of my stomach lest it drove me insane. But nothing would stop that hunger, that bloodlust, that need for food that would satiate nothing. I was a monster, but at that moment nothing mattered more than finding the next brain that I would devour. And that leads us to now, or sort of to now. I wasn’t sentient enough at the time to get the full effect of what happened, but apparently it was straight out of a Romero film. People who were infected ate people who weren’t and if they survived then they became infected too and the cycle perpetuated on down the line till there weren’t many people left that weren’t infected. And when I say many, it seemed that over 85% of the population in any given place had become either infected or dead, leaving the living a minority in a quickly crumbling world. Those left alive fought for their lives at first and then eventually fought each other to preserve their lives, or so they said, and everything went to shit. I survived all of this. I mean, I survived not getting a bullet to the brain or a knife through the skull, but I would hardly call what I did for the last five years living. I mean, I’m a zombie for Christ’s sake. I’m no one’s favorite person and generally considered to be a threat or, at this point, a social pariah. And yes, I know that sounds ridiculous to call myself a social pariah because zombies don’t exactly have social structures or even people skills for that matter, but I was different. There was no one like me that I knew of. I was the only one. The only zombie in existence who evolved from a devolved lifeform that had once been the highest evolved being on the food chain. Sound confusing? Yeah, I’m still confused about it. Why was I still infected, still craving brains, still clearly dead-ish—but I was walking, talking, and thinking like a normal human being? Where had things changed? From terrifying brain eating monster to somewhat normal human-like monster with the mental faculties and cognitive functions like the regular humans. I didn’t know where things went wrong…or went right. But life goes on. And that brings us to now-now. Five years after the initial outbreak, years of munching on brains and wandering around alone, years of supposed survival and here I am. Except now I was a sentient zombie. I was still ugly, still brain-hungry, still infected, but I could talk and make conversation if people didn’t run away screaming or try to shoot me between the eyes when they saw me. I was lonely. It was fun at first, though. When my brain started to right itself, when I first snacked on the brains of some asshole who was trying to shoot at me and thought, “Gee, this does taste really good, but holy fuck am I ashamed of myself.” I knew something had changed. All the zombie movies I watched hadn’t prepared me for that one. I dropped the body and I ran. Yeah, I actually ran. Not limped, not scuttled, not loped or meandered…I ran. It felt good to be able to do that. Then I realized that I was alone and I liked being alone when I was living, so why not now while I was undead? I sang loudly and badly as I wandered through the woods, found old spray paint cans and painted awful graffiti on the crumbling walls of vacant buildings, raided long abandoned thrift stores for new clothes that weren’t bloodstained and put on a one woman fashion show. It was fun for a while, but then talking to myself and having single tea parties lost its novelty and I longed for human companionship, except that wasn’t a damn option. No one wants to be friends with a zombie and no one stays around long enough for me to even let them know I could say more than two words. But then the unbelievable happened… |
E.M. MoonStories from the World Wide Weird Archives
December 2021
Categories
All
|