Byron : A Zombie Tale (Part 1) (8 page)

The knife was there in the middle of the floor. It was the centerpiece for a potential calamity sitting in the midst of us four. Pam, sitting to my right, had just tossed it there and was curled back up against the wall after having just admitted to us all she’d plunged it into a man’s chest. Though I don’t think that any of us could blame her; that man had attacked her with the wickedest intentions.

It was a basic wood-handled folding knife like I’d owned when I was a kid. Such knives were a common appliance found on the persons of hunters throughout the United States. The knife itself, however, wasn’t the 800 lb. gorilla sitting in the room; that was me. Or, at least it was what my reaction would be to the dark crimson – nearly black – dried blood caked all over the handle and blade of the knife.

Evan, my Frat brother with whom I was so close that I had considered him a true brother, was sitting opposite me with a 12-gauge shotgun clasped firmly in hands. Its barrel was pointed directly at my head. I was, so to speak, for the second time this night on the receiving side of the business end of the weapon. Our first meeting – the gun and I – had unfortunately resulted in it leaving several lead pellets in my left arm. For which, admittedly, I was glad that as a walking, talking dead man I did not seem to feel pain. But, a blast from that close range would forever unburden me with the worries of having to comb my hair.

John, my other Frat brother sat to my left. He was leaning a little forward over his crossed legs. In his right hand was clutched a baseball bat which, due to his proximity to me, was probably right within striking range of my skull. Given his past experience as a college baseball player, I knew that his swing too would decimate me and end both my living and undead existences. So far, he had been very conciliatory and understanding of my predicament. But, the scenario in which I found myself unnerved me. For all three of the others within this room had their eyes transfixed upon me waiting to gauge my reaction to the dried blood upon the knife that Pam had just tossed into the center of us all.

After the recent pig’s blood incident, which had sent me running for the bathroom in the need to protect my friends from the uncontrollable urges caused by my new condition, I understood their concern. And, there it was; the crux of the problem. Would I break into frenzy, or…

“Hey guys,” I said calmly. “What’cha doin’?” I tried to give the warmest smile I could, which for a dead man, would likely be a ghastly sight. “How’ya feelin’?”

John looked me up and down, sizing me up. “How’re YOU feelin’, buddy?” He asked with an equal level of calm. However, I could tell that it took quite an effort of will on his part to maintain his calm; there were beads of sweat running down his face.

“I’m fine,” I said to him calmly, my eyes bouncing between the bat and the shotgun which were pointed at my head, “how’re you doing?”

He took a minute before letting the baseball bat drop into his lap and nodding to Evan. I guessed that he was signaling the ‘all-clear;’ meaning that he didn’t think I would be dining on their flesh right now.

“Look, guys,” I began, “I’m not any happier about my current physical condition than you are. I mean, put yourself in my shoes – I woke up sometime yesterday for some reason I couldn’t understa…” I never completed the thought because it suddenly struck me what it was that had animated me. It was Pam! Or, rather, it was her assault on Jim, the police officer. The smell of his blood must have made its way down the hallway to the morgue and somehow managed to infiltrate the body bag in which I had found myself. Perhaps the smell had permeated the air ducts in the building. It wasn’t strong, probably just a trace, but it had been enough to wake whatever it was in my body that kept me moving.

But, it was
fresh
blood, not
dried
. I was sure that the body bag had been caked with dried blood, and there were dried blood stains on the morgue floor. I remember seeing them. Yet, the dried blood had no affect on me – only fresh, living blood.

While deep in thought I had not bothered to focus my attention on the other people in the room. But now, as I turned to address them, it became apparent to me that something spooked them. Evan had the shotgun to his shoulder again with the barrel trained at me, and John was winding up to bash in my skull with a backhanded blow.

“Guys!” I yelled. Evan jumped and pulled the trigger. The shotgun barked and blew a hole in the sheetrock about a foot to the right of my head. I felt several of the pellets strike my face, but figured that all things considered, it could have been much worse.

John yelled next, “Goddamit, Evan! Next time I’m holding the shotgun. You almost blew his damn head clean off.” John was pissed, and when he was pissed he could lace into Evan like no one else. My instinctive drive to protect Evan kicked in immediately.

“John, lay off him!” I yelled at John, turning my head to face him “I just startled the crap out of him. He’s having a hard enough time coping with the fact that I’m dead and still talking. He doesn’t need you ripping him a new one, too! I wasn’t hurt; no harm – no foul!”

“Byron,” John yelled back at me, “he just took your right cheek off!”

What?! He had done what? I stood up and walked out of the room, down the hallway to the bathroom where I had earlier hid to get myself under control. In the mirror hanging on the back wall I could see the blatant truth in John’s words. The lead shot pellets were lodged in my cheek all right, but the only thing that was exposed was bare bone. The flesh had been torn off by the blast of the shotgun. Well, I guess any chances of hooking up with Pam were out of the question now!

“Goddamit, Evan!” I yelled down the hallway as I walked back to the room. “Stop shooting me, or so help me I’m gonna kick your ass!” By the time I got into the room, however, the comment had had the effect I’d hoped for: everyone was laughing. It was an absurd statement in an even more absurd situation.

“Byron,” it was Evan speaking this time, “I’m sorry. But, look at the bright side! At least I didn’t get your good side!” He smiled and laughed. It was good to see my old Frat brothers in a slightly more regular capacity – laughing and joking; the same way I had come to know and love them.

Pam, too, was even laughing. After a few minutes of us all relieving the tension that had been mounting in the room through a bout of laughter I finally tried to get back to the thought I wanted to express before Evan’s itchy trigger finger interrupted me.

“Guys, I had a thought before Evan blew half my face off,” I said with a joking lilt to my voice. “We came to realize while we were back at the ambulance that I am sensitive to the sight and smell of blood, right? Well, it occurred to me that it’s not just any old blood. Don’t you see, it has to be living, fresh blood. The dried blood had no effect on me, it was dead. But, when you pricked your finger, it rejuvenated me! Saliva began to flow in my mouth and it wet my vocal chords so I could speak.”

Evan leapt right in to the conversation like any self-professed geek would! “Wait a minute. You mean to tell me that you have trouble speaking when you’re not around blood?”

I nodded. “Yeah. And, not just speaking. My body becomes stiff; it’s hard to move at all. In fact, until Pam had stabbed the cop at the police station, there was nothing! I was in complete blackness – not even dreaming. One minute I remember being in my dorm room with Cole screaming his head off, then I wake up in some body bag in a morgue.” I hung my head a little and smirked, “I thought you guys were playing a prank on me!”

John and Evan both laughed. “I wish,” John said between chuckles. “That would have been an awesome prank!” I shot him a wicked glare and he just laughed more.

“Prick,” I said to him under my breath. Even Pam laughed now.

“The point,” I continued, “is that now we have more information about these creatures and what drives them. They smell and seek out fresh blood.”

Evan interrupted, “If that was the case, then how come they keep attacking living humans who don’t have any prior open wounds? I mean, what had happened to you? Did you have any cuts or anything?”

I had to think about it. I still didn’t remember much about what’d happened before I awoke in my dorm room. Was it possible that I’d had some kind of wound which attracted one of these creatures?

John spoke up. “There wasn’t anything wrong with you that I saw when you were leaving the pub. And I don’t think you had fallen down or anything.”

“I don’t think that I had any cuts or scrapes, or anything. But, I can’t be sure.” I told Evan. “Though, what if these things have a stronger sense of smell than me? I mean, obviously whatever is causing this condition is only working on select systems of my body and not on others. Maybe since I am not completely turned over to whatever it is that has caused me to still walk and talk I don’t have the full effects of it.”

Evan didn’t miss a beat, “And why is it that you aren’t completely affected?” He thought about this for a few moments and then shouted, “Your leg! That’s it. You were bit in the leg. So, whatever vehicle or catalyst caused the condition of un-death it needed more time to spread through your body.” He was on a roll – I could see that glassy look he got in his eyes when he’d figured out some difficult problem. “It took time for it to take over certain systems and body systems. But, somehow it never reached your brain. Your brain was safe.”

He thought for a few extra moments and was about to say something when I blurted out, “I broke my neck!”

Evan looked at me with a puzzled expression. “Huh?” he asked.

I pulled my collar away from my neck. “I apparently broke my neck during the night. The break must have slowed the blood flow to my brain. That’s why I’m still in control!”

Evan was about to say something, but after a look from John he decided not to. However, Pam didn’t share that same silent language with John. She pointed out, “then it’s only a matter of time before you become like one of them. I mean, once whatever catalyst is causing this ultimately poisons your brain, then you’re just gonna be an undead eating machine, right?”

I didn’t want to think about that, and neither did anyone else!

So, there it was – out there in the open; another 800 lb. gorilla. My companions were simply waiting for the other shoe to drop. The thought that I may be able to learn to control the impulses for feasting on human flesh, or to learn to incorporate blood into me somehow so that it would sustain my body was simply unfathomable to them. Instead, they simply focused on the fact that I was the undead and would likely someday turn into one of the mindless, soulless beasts we could hear caterwauling in the dark streets below.

I had to admit that it was a prospect that bothered me as well. I had already seen how my body would respond when faced with such strong temptation. After all, didn’t it already take a major act of will to resist burying my teeth into the cop’s flesh as he lay there bleeding to death? That I may one day become a mindless flesh-eater worried me likely more than it worried my companions. For, their torment would be the choice between killing some thing which sought to devour them, or to let themselves succumb. On the contrary, my torment would be to watch through the prison that was my own flesh as a body which I no longer controlled tore and bit at friends, loved ones, and strangers, devouring their muscle and sinew only to suck in their lifeblood. I would have to feel the lumps of meat slide down my throat with the knowledge that this was once a living, breathing, thinking human! What’s worse is that I would be absolutely powerless to stop it.

No, I did not want to think about this anymore.

“Guys,” I said, my voice steeled, “if it ever comes to the point that I begin to turn fully to one of those things I want you to kill me. Don’t hesitate, don’t mourn, just kill me.”

Nobody spoke. No nods of assent. Not so much as recognition that they had heard my request!

“Well?” I asked in exasperation. “Promise me,” I bellowed at them, "promise that you will kill me! I don’t want to become one of those things!”

Pam was the first to respond. “I hope it never comes to it, Byron. I’ve only just started to get to know you and it would be a shame to have to bash your skull in. You’re a good guy!” I nodded.

John was next. He patted his baseball bat with a wry grin and said, “hell, you ever turn on me your head is gonna be sailin’ over left field!” Then, he smiled at me, “let’s just hope it ain’t necessary, brother!”

Evan was still silent. I could see the anguish on his face. He didn’t want to face that possibility. We had always been so close; to him, I was like family.

“Evan?” I asked. “Evan, will you promise?”

At first he said nothing. Then, his head slowly started to nod up and down. Barely audible, I could hear the words, “yeah, I promise,” mumbled under his breath.

“Good,” I said. “Now that we have that squared away, let’s try to figure out our game plan.”

John piped up without skipping a beat. “We need food. The whole reason I was out is that I was on a raid.”

I nodded. “Okay, then what say you and I go on a raid – find some food, and then make our way back here. Evan, you and Pam stay here and hold down the fort.”

Evan spoke up finally, “How are you going to get out? They’re still out in John’s apartment. I can hear them!”

I gave him a smirk. “Don’t worry about that,” I said noticing that my voice was becoming raspy and my throat dry, “I’ve got a plan. What supplies do you have? More to the point, do you have any rope?”

I was in luck, they did! They had enough rope to safely climb down to the ground below. That would be our new means of ingress and egress from the Sanctuary. A couple of extra baseball bats, and a few knapsacks to fill and sling on our backs helped to round out our equipment for the adventure ahead. As daylight was just breaking over the rooftops John and I were ready to climb down and make our way to find supplies.

While John put some finishing touches on his costume, I clambered down the rope to the ground below. I took note of our surroundings and made a mental note of which window we had climbed from. John was next down the rope, and as soon as his feet touched the ground the rope was pulled back up. We didn’t need an invitation for some beasty to climb back up.

Outside, I could smell the remains of the pig’s blood balloons Evan had shot into the air last night. Some of the blood still smelled fresh and I decided to take a quick breath and hold it in so that the smell stayed with me for a while. The burning was terrible, but I noted that my body stayed under my control instead of on hunger-crazed auto-pilot.

“Where to?” I asked John. He looked around and grabbed my arm, dragging me off in a direction. “This way,” he said.

We had decided that it would be best not to spend too much time speaking. After all, it may tip off the beasts that John’s costume was just that and beneath lay a living, blood-filled man.

In the early morning light, that part of town looked so strange. It was desolate, not a soul to be seen, but yet there were definite indications of recent habitation. Cars with smashed windows, broken windshields, and all manner of dents were strewn about. They were on lawns, across streets, and wrapped around trees and phone poles. Houses were quarantined with plywood nailed across their doors and windows. And, on occasion we could see pieces of decomposing human bodies: an arm in a tree, a leg on the grass, or sometimes a head laying on a front stoop.

The town’s people were decimated! It was horrific! I wondered to myself how there could be a God in heaven if such a scene could exist? No beneficent creator would allow something as vile as what had happened!

We made our way over to the nearest supermarket. I knew the place well. I had been there on many occasions buying provisions for upcoming parties, or even just doing my weekly food shopping. Despite that I lived on campus and had a meal plan, it was often a good thing to not rely on the slop our campus kitchen dished out. I swore that half that food was unfit for rats and flies, let alone for people.

There was no power on in the place. Its generators must have died days ago. Then again, there was nobody there to stop us from just taking our fill either. We first made our way over to the produce section. John nearly doubled over as we approached.

“What’s wrong?” I asked him.

“The stench, Goddamn, can’t you smell it? Rotten food!” He asked, coughing.

I couldn’t smell it. Perhaps, that was yet another benefit of being the walking dead. My sinuses no longer worked so well, so bad smells didn’t really bother me. I smiled at him and shook my head. “Nope. Not a thing!” Besides, I thought to myself, my body itself must be kind of stinking by now; especially, after more than a week of decomposition! I was surprised that nobody had mentioned anything yet.

John’s cause for disgust was obvious. All around us were heavily rotten piles of fruit. As we made our way toward the meat section, his disgust became worse. Shelves upon shelves of spoiled meat were piled along the back wall.

From behind the butcher’s counter I heard something move. I put my hand on John’s shoulder and raised my finger to my lips. That there was something back there I was sure. However, what it was – that was the question!