Surviving in the Time of Zombies Read online

  Without thinking, I started to walk toward her. I wanted my wife back. Nothing else mattered. I suddenly became aware of the tears rolling down my face, and this brought me back to the hallway of the police station. Now instead of merely trying to stand, the thing in blue was on its feet and swaying unsteadily.

  I suddenly became aware of Detective Lawrence’s voice shouting.

  “… up, Turner! I can’t get a clear shot! Back up!”

  I looked over at Lawrence to see his raised gun. Somehow, without realizing it I had stepped closer to the blue thing and was now blocking his shot. I looked at the shell in front of me. Its head was bent in a strange angle to the left. It didn’t take long to figure out why. I could see that my shot had hit just below the left ear tearing away part of its jaw and neck. When the reality of the situation finally clicked in my head, I took a step backward, but it was too late. The shell lunged toward me and caught the front of my shirt. I think I may have let out a yelping sound. Anyway, I kept moving away from the shell even as it clung to my shirt. Fortunately, the thing still had not recovered its balance. Rather than really

  trying to pull me toward it, the thing was simply trying to stay upright. But I continued to back away, and it fell at my feet.

  The detective was standing next to me as we both looked down at the thing on the floor struggling to get back up.

  “There’s certainly no quit in that thing, is there?” Lawrence said with something that sounded strangely like admiration.

  I glanced at him for a moment before turning my eyes back to the floor. The shell filled me with rage and revulsion. The idea of such a monstrosity existing in the world was more than I could take. In the next instant, my foot was stomping down on the thing’s head. This was the first time I had ever stepped on a head. I am not sure exactly what I was expecting, but whatever I expected it was not what happened. The head gave a little with a sort of squish sound. I suppose that was from the side of the heads with the missing parts. But it did not simply cave in like some ripe melon. It made that gurgle before sliding out from under my foot. In the next instant, I was sitting on the floor next to the shell. The gun flew out of my hand and slid across the hallway floor. From my new perspective, I looked at a shell that seemed very surprised to find someone sitting on the floor nearby. It immediately stopped its efforts to stand

  and instead turned toward me. The cold, glassy eyes stared blankly at me. As I continued to gaze at the tilted, round, ghastly white face, any discernible expression was lost to me. Instead, my

  attention became captivated by the destruction done to the left cheek and throat.

  “Turner, get away from that thing!” Lawrence yelled, and his words broke me out of my paralysis.

  I was still on my back, quickly kicked out and began scurrying away, crablike on my hands and feet. Fortunately, the shell seemed to be frozen by my strange movement. At the same time as it moved toward me, Lawrence was there with his gun drawn. The thing actually moved into the barrel of the gun. Just as its forehead made contact, the detective pulled the trigger. In the next instant, it was as if the head had simply disappeared, and I found myself covered with pieces of flesh, pebble-like bit of bone, and some slimy grey ooze. The body simply crumbled to the right and remained still.

  Even with the head blown off, the thing in dark blue worried me. I continued to stare at it for several seconds, expecting it to move again. Finally, Lawrence was next to me with his hand on my shoulder. He shook me gently at first and then more roughly when I failed to respond.

  “Turner, are you okay?” The detective yelled.

  I looked blankly at him for a moment before his words registered in my brain. “Um… yeah… I guess so… I mean… I’m not hurt,” I muttered.

  Lawrence kept his eyes focused on me as if he was not sure about the truthfulness of my words. After nearly a minute, he shook his head and said, “I just killed two guys I knew for a lotta years.

  They had families and little kids, you know? And I killed ‘em.” His voice got very quiet before he asked, “And you got no idea about why they got like that?”

  I shook my head. “I wish I could tell you more. All I can figure out is that it seems like people get this cold that’s been going around. Except I guess it’s not only a cold. I think it kills them, and I think when they come back they’re not… I don’t know… they’re not the same.”

  “They’re not the same! Yeah, I’d hafta agree they’re not the fuckin’ same!” Lawrence looked at me with a mixture of disbelief and irritation.

  “Detective, I wish I could tell you more. You’ve seen what I have seen. All I know is my wife… Bonnie… she… well, she had the cold in the morning and… When I came home that evening, she was like them.” I looked at Lawrence to see his reaction and found him looking at the floor deep in thought.

  When he finally looked up at me, he smiled and said, “Well, I never heard of no cold like that, but I suppose we can figure it out later.” His face turned serious once again as he continued, “The only thing that matters right now is finding Christina.”

  “I admire your determination, but we don’t know where she is,” I commented, trying not to sound like too much of a negative jerk. The big cop’s expression showed me that I had not succeeded.

  He snapped, “I got forty-one twenty-seven for the street number and the name starts with p, h. I

  oughta be able to find it. Besides nobody’s asking

  you to come along.”

  He walked quickly into the office, leaving me in the hallway with a headless body and covered in remnants of its execution.

  I walked over and picked up the gun. By the time I moved into the office, Lawrence was already in sitting at one of the desks and typing on a computer keyboard. He looked over at me when I came in the room. “There’s a toilet over in the back corner.” He nodded toward it.

  I was still holding the gun as I slowly walked to the back of the office. Obviously, that there had been some sort of fight there. Desks were knocked out of place. There was a computer in pieces on the floor. Near it was a large pool of blood. Reflexively, I raised the gun with both hands in front of me. There was something that might have been a body on the floor about thirty feet away from me. I watched the shape for at least a minute before I moved closer. There was no movement. As I got closer, I saw the reason for the lack of motion. The thing on the floor was just a pile of coats and bullet-proof vests. For just an instant, a smile curled my lips at the thought of my foolishness.

  Any hint of amusement vanished as I pictured the panic that must have run through the office as

  the shells attacked. It would have been a complete surprise. Maybe one of the cops grabbed the vests thinking they would offer protection. Such a notion would have disappeared as the cops were

  overrun by their fellow officers.

  I crept around the pile of vests and to the door of the restroom. There was a blue and white plastic circle on the door showing the symbols of a man and a woman. The image of a police station scene took over.

  My head was filled with the scene straight out of a typical television cop show. A big older man with a cigar hanging from his mouth stood in the doorway of an office and bellowed, “Lawrence! Hernandez! In my office now!” He spun and walked back out of the doorway.

  Two men stood up from a desk in the corner of the room. As they started walking slowly toward the office, I recognized a younger, slimmer Detective Lawrence. Next to him was the living version of the shell I had shot in the hallway. The pair had the swagger of numerous smart-ass cops populating the airwaves.

  “Looks like you guys are in trouble again,” cooed an attractive blonde officer as they passed her desk.

  Lawrence stopped and turned toward her. “Well, Karen, maybe you can counsel me on my self-destructive behavior,” he said and smiled. “Say your place at about eight tonight?”

  The woman just giggled as Hernandez grabbed Lawrence’s arm and pulled him toward the office.

/>   “C’mon. partner, time to get another ass chewin’ from the captain.”

  All of a sudden, the light mood that had filled the place was replaced by a much darker feeling.

  The captain reappeared in the doorway, but the cigar was no longer clamped between his teeth. Instead, blood dripped from his open mouth as he launched himself out of the office and onto Officer Hernandez whose screams filled the room. In the next instant, the entire place was taken over by screams and carnage. The attractive cop at her desk was now convulsing into death after having had her throat torn open. Another officer was firing his gun repeatedly even as a group of his fellow cops closed in and began tearing him apart. Lawrence was standing in the middle of the chaos, looking around him and yelling, “What the hell is going on!” Finally, the shells in blue swept over him and his words were cut off.

  The picture of both men and women cops being slaughtered in the office knocked the wind out of me. I did not move for a minute. After a moment, I pushed the door of the restroom.

  The automatic light flickered on as the door opened. It was a small bathroom with a toilet and a urinal next to the sink. Blood covered everything. I tried not to look at the blood-smeared white tile as I went to the sink. As overdramatic as it may sound, a look in the mirror actually made me gasp. The pieces of skin and bone and blood were spattered all over my face like some disgusting freckles.

  I turned on the hot water and waited for it to heat up. After a moment, I realized that it was as hot as it was going to get and splashed the warm water on my face. I rubbed the water on my

  cheeks and forehead. I could feel the grit of the bone pieces scratching my skin. I repeated the water and rubbing until the grit could no longer be felt. With my head in the sink, I worked to cover it with water and get as clean as possible. I lifted my head, and the water dripping off filled the sink with reddish-pink liquid with bits of something floating atop. I grabbed a hand full of paper towels from a pile stacked on the counter next to the sink. I rubbed over my head and face. Looking in the mirror, I saw my red face, but the color came from brisk rubbing rather than blood which made me feel better. At the moment that I began to notice all the blood around the bathroom, Lawrence pushed his way into the room.

  “You okay in here?” He asked. “We gotta get going.” He stopped for a moment and then said, “Well, I gotta get going. I can drop you off or something if you want.”

  The big cop suddenly looked older and more tired than before. “Hell, you just saved my life. Seems like staying with you might be a smart idea.” My response appeared to please him. Suddenly, something occurred to me. “But I am a little curious. It’s pretty clear that all hell broke loose around here. It must have been complete chaos. How is it that you missed it all?”

  Lawrence glared at me for an instant before looking away. “What am I a suspect here? Fuck that! The truth is I’ve gotten in the habit of catching a few winks in the interrogation room

  near my office. The place is soundproof, so I

  couldn’t hear nothin’.” He took a deep breath and grinned before continuing, “Okay, I found a couple of street starting with ph. There’s Phelps and Phillips. Phelps is down in the Financial District where there are mostly only offices. Phillips is in the Marina District. There are house and apartments in the area, so I figure that is where she is.” He looked at me as if needing confirmation of his logic.

  “That makes sense, but do you think we can really find her?”

  “Sure, we can find her! I told you…” Lawrence’s words trailed off as he realized what I was asking. “We’re gonna find her,” he added after a moment.

  He led the way back through the office and into the hallway. And I followed.

  Chapter 2

  We did not see any other movement as we made our way down to the garage of the police station. What we did see was lots of blood. There were certain places where the shells must have attacked

  a number of cops at once. I imagined a group of

  people huddled together trying to defend against the shells even as members of the group turned themselves and began attacking the others.

  Without as much experience with the shells as I had, Detective Lawrence looked at the scenes of

  obvious violence with clear confusion. I almost laughed at the idea that I was the veteran when it came to the shells. When we got to the garage at the ground floor of the station, he stopped us in the doorway as he listened. But there was just silence. We looked out at a nearly-filled garage. A chain stretched across the right side of the parking lot. Hanging every few yards on the chain were little yellow signs that read “Official Police Vehicles Only”.

  “That’s weird. I have never been here when it was quiet. I mean, there’s always some work being done on the cars, air compressors running, or guy’s bullshitting down here,” the big policeman sounded surprised.

  I spoke without thinking, and my words must have come out more harshly than intended, “Wait! We just saw two guys who were dead trying to kill us, but you find it strange that the garage is quiet?”

  “Fuck you, Turner! I’m real goddam sorry my reaction doesn’t live up to your expectations!” Lawrence took a deep breath before continuing, “Let’s just get going.”

  “Sorry, Detective Lawrence. I didn’t mean to sound-”

  He cut me off by saying, “It don’t matter. The

  only thing that matters right now is finding Christina.” He spun around and walked to a counter in the right corner of the garage. Behind

  the counter was a board filled with pegs on which hung sets of car keys and chits, the thin brass

  metal discs used to check out keys.

  “First time I ever saw this counter without a cop behind it.” He glanced toward me as if expecting me to make some comment. For once, I did the wise thing and kept quiet.

  Lawrence moved around the counter and to the peg board. He stood in front of the board staring at the assortment of keys for almost a minute before exclaiming, “Yes!” He grabbed at key ring and turned back toward the cars. “My old car is still running!”

  I have to admit that the word old combined with the phrase still running did not give me great hope about the condition of the car. However, I kept my thoughts to myself and followed without a word.

  The plain white four-door sedan looked like every other unmarked police car I had ever seen. I looked to the dashboard with the idea of checking the radio for any possible emergency information being broadcast.

  The detective must have realized what I was doing, because he said, “Sorry, no radio except for the cop com.” He pointed to the two-way radio that was strangely quiet.

  We drove up a slight slope to a big silver and white pull-up metal door. Just to the right was a

  big black metal desk. “There’s supposed to be an officer stationed at that desk to record cars coming in and going out and to open that door,” Lawrence said.

  “Where’s the switch?” I asked, opening the

  door.

  He looked at me for a moment. Just as I was about to repeat my question, he replied, “It’s on the wall on the other side of that desk.”

  I jumped out of the car and slid on the blood-covered pavement. I managed to regain my balance and walked slowly over to the desk. Whether my pace was slowed by the slippery ground or my extreme anxiety did not matter at all. In any case, I rounded the black metal desk and looked around the area for the door switch. I did not immediately see the switch, but what I saw made my stomach jump into my throat.

  Making my way around the back of the desk, I found the chair pushed out and blocking my path. As I started to push it back in, I noticed a shoe under the desk. I leaned down and picked it up. It was not until I stood up with the thing in my hand that I realized it was heavier than it should have been. Instantly, I realized the reason for the added weight was that inside the shiny black show was a foot.

  “Aw, fuck me!” I screamed and dropped the shoe.

  Lawrence was
walking toward me with his gun drawn in an instant. “Are you hurt?” He yelled.

  “No, I just… I’m okay,” I said, a little embarrassed by my reaction.

  I glanced down at the shoe was lying on its side near the chair. The torn flesh of the ankle could be seen. He looked at the shoe and shook his head a little. Lawrence moved around the desk chair,

  the shoe, and me to slap the button on the wall next to the desk.

  Immediately, the chain and pulleys on the door started to move. He turned, grabbed the back of my arm and moved me to the car. By the time we were in the car, the door had raised about three feet off the ground. We could see three sets of legs just on the other side of the door.

  It suddenly struck me that the way the legs were rocking back and forth looked like a little kid who needed to use the bathroom. I started to mention this aloud but was stopped by Lawrence’s voice.

  “Buckle up!” He commanded as he revved the engine of the car. There was a deep rumbling roar that filled the garage.

  I did as told and then pushed back in the seat, watching as the door slowly rose to reveal those waiting beyond. All of the shells wore dark blue police uniforms and appeared to have been in some sort of struggle as parts of their clothing had been torn off. The movement of the door seemed to fascinate them as their heads followed it upward.

  As soon as the door was open enough, Lawrence hit the gas, and the car lunged forward.

  We sped passed the shells before they had time to react.

  We were in what looked like a loading area. There were trucks and other vehicles in the yard which was surrounded by a tall barbed-wire-topped cyclone fence. There were other shells

  scattered around the area. At the sound of the car, they all turned toward us. Lawrence’s expression made it clear that he recognized some of them but said nothing.

  “Well, I’d say that we got their attention,” I commented.