“I don’t
know
where that business card is, Dan,” said Mom in a reproachful voice. “It’s not my job to keep up with your things.”
“Mom?” I asked. “Hey, I’m not feeling so well. Could I stay home today to keep close to a bathroom?”
“Nice try, Ty,” said Dad without even turning around from pouring his coffee. “I heard you up there playing games.”
Mom reached out and ruffled my hair. “Sorry, hon. You’ve got that science test today, too, so I want you to make it.”
“I’ve got the science nailed, Mom,” I said impatiently. Actually, I had it
all
nailed and they knew it. I spent most of the time in class thinking about other stuff and still had all A’s. Which made it especially frustrating that Mom and Dad wouldn’t give me a break. So tactic number two, now—the truth. I hesitated for a second before saying, “Okay, the truth is that I’m worried about going to school. And worried about Ginny being at school. You’re right, I was playing games. But while I was playing, I heard about some weird stuff going on. It sounded like some weird virus that makes people attack other people.” There was
no
way I was going to bring up the word ‘zombie.’
Dad was now doctoring his coffee with a ton of sugar. He snorted. “Ty, these games you’re playing are making you break with reality. You’re fifteen years old. Your brain is still developing and it’s probably getting warped by this stuff you’re playing. So you’re saying that
zombie
attacks are happening.” He finally turned around to look at me through narrowed eyes. “And what were you just playing?”
I didn’t answer, just stared steadily at him.
“Zombies, right? That’s what it sounded like, anyway.” He rolled his eyes.
Mom, as usual, was more sympathetic. Plus the fact that she just enjoyed disagreeing with Dad. But being sympathetic didn’t mean that she was on-board, either. “Hon, how did you hear about the attacks if you were playing a game?”
I sighed. It wasn’t going to sound good. But I couldn’t say that I saw the news on Twitter or my phone or something because my phone was still on the charger here in the kitchen. “It was a friend of mine. A guy online.”
Dad was now totally ignoring me as he lifted papers still looking for the stuff he needed for his briefcase.
Mom said, “He was just pulling your leg, Ty.”
“This guy doesn’t do things like that,” I said stubbornly. But it was pointless to argue. They were just going to say that I didn’t know these online friends. Then they’d so some sort of lame safety check to make sure I wasn’t giving out personal information online. “Look, have you watched the news this morning?” I pleaded.
“I certainly have,” said Mom, pointedly handing me my backpack. “There was absolutely nothing on the news about any attacks when I was checking the weather.”
“But that was local news. This might just be breaking on national,” I said. “I don’t want anything to happen to you guys, either.”
“Thanks for the concern,” said Dad. “But I think we’re good. And I’m running late. And
you’re
running late if you’re going to catch the bus, Ty.”
“Look, Ty,” said Mom, giving me a loose hug. “You’re talking about viruses, right? They can take a while to transfer and become real outbreaks. It’s not like some imminent danger.”
“I’m out of here,” said Dad tightly. “Get it together, Ty, and get going.”
“All right,” I said. “Let me just run upstairs for a minute and grab something off the printer.” I jogged up the stairs. I had an uneasy feeling in my stomach about the whole thing. For a minute I wondered if maybe the made-up story about being sick was coming true.
Naturally, the printer was out of paper. I set down my backpack and opened a new pack and was sticking it in the top drawer of the printer when I heard yelling outside toward the front of the house. I dropped the paper and pushed the curtains to take a look.
Then I heard my mom screaming downstairs. “Roger!”
Looking out the window, I saw one of our next door neighbors attacking my dad. He swung his briefcase at the thing as hard as he could, and he was a strong man. But this thing … and it was a zombie … was unaffected by the blows it was getting. It was true. And then—I did turn away and get sick.
Wiping my mouth I yelled, “Mom! Stay inside! Mom, come here!” Legs shaking I ran down the stairs, taking them a couple at a time.
It was too late. Mom had gone out to help Dad and was immediately attacked by two of the zombies. What was even more horrible … Dad was already turning. At least, his eyes were getting a hollow, hungry look and his motions were no longer fluid, but jerky. When he turned to Mom, and I realized—and
she
realized that he wasn’t going to help her—I’d seen enough.
I locked the front door and pulled chairs and small tables to block it. Then I checked the back door to make sure that it was also secure. I jerked open the pantry door. Mom must have gone to the store yesterday, because it was full of food and water bottles. I ran around the house, pulling together tote bags and boxes and throwing food and waters and a first aid kit in them, trying to ignore the sirens and screams from outside. Did I just have minutes? How strong were these things? How smart? Would they think to break a window? Would they use teamwork?
I knew I had to get my sister, Ginny. Would the zombies be at the middle school already? I needed Mom’s car out of the garage. Was the garage door open, or closed? Did Dad go out through the garage or the front door? Was his car blocking Mom’s? I could barely focus on what I was trying to do with all the questions flying through my head.
I forced myself to look out the front window, trying not to see my parents. And I saw that Dad’s car was off to the side of the driveway. I could get Mom’s car out.
I flung the stuff I’d put together into the back of Mom’s van, wishing I could stop shaking and think harder and clearer about what I needed. First aid, food, water. Maybe blankets. I ran back in the house and pulled blankets and bedspreads off the guest room beds downstairs and pushed them into the van.
Weapons. Dad wasn’t much help here, since he never liked guns. Instead I grabbed my baseball bat and an ax and shovel from the garage.
My camping equipment for scouts was in the garage, too, and as soon as I spotted it, I knew that was probably some of the best stuff to have. I even had water purification straws and that kind of stuff. I threw in a sleeping bag, tent, flashlights, and matches.
And all the time, zombies were scratching at the garage door and moaning.
Chapter Three
Charlie
I finished my new-employee orientation at the hospital. It was as boring as I’d figured it would be and I was ready to move on to the rest of my first day on the job. The reason I’d switched from being a salesman to being a paramedic was because I was ready for more excitement. The sales job, despite all the travel…the endless airports and planes…just wasn’t providing that.
I joined my new coworker, Wes, at the ambulance parked in the hospital lot. We shook hands. He grinned at me and arched an eyebrow. “How was orientation?”
“Boring,” I admitted with a laugh. “I was ready to get out of there.”
Wes shook his head. “Just be aware that this job is ninety-five-percent total boredom.”
I asked, “And five percent adrenaline, right?”
Wes said, “We go on tons of calls where no emergency help is required at all. We
think
we’re about to get rescued from a dull shift, but then it ends up being something like a fender bender and somebody with a couple of scratches.” He glanced at his watch. “We’d better get in the truck. Do you want to drive?”
I hesitated. I’d thought I’d really be more observing today. “Do you want me to?”
“I’ve been driving my last couple of shifts and could use the break. Do you mind?” Wes was already heading to the passenger seat.
For about thirty minutes, I could see what Wes was talking about. Nothing was going on in this town. Apparently everyone was driving safely, using excellent fire and stove safety, and treading carefully down staircases. Wes closed his eyes and leaned his head against the window. While sitting there waiting for a call I started checking the gig for equipment and familiarizing myself with where everything was. “Wake me up if anything happens, okay?” Wes mumbled.
Then something did happen. Our computer console on the dashboard notified us of a call. “Hey Wes,” I said. “I think we’re about to have our five percent excitement for the day.”
Wes became fully alert quickly and his eyes scanned the data terminal for more information as I started up the truck to drive to the scene. “Huh. This sounds like a weird one, too. You always remember your first call, but this one sounds like one to remember anyway. The 911 call says some man was attacked by a person who started gnawing on him. Victim is in bad shape and needs transport to the nearest hospital.”
“A
person
started gnawing on them?” The siren was going and my blood was pounding. It felt good to be here, good to be on my way to help out. This was what I craved.
“That’s what it says. Someone mentally disturbed I guess. The neighbors came out and chased him off and called the cops.” Wes’s voice was uncertain. “You know, I thought I heard something on the news on the way over here. A similar report somewhere else.”
“Maybe some kind of weird gang activity? Like an initiation or something?” I asked.
Wes just shook his head. The rest of the time he only spoke to let me know when the intersection was clear on the way to the scene, just a few blocks away.
It was a quiet neighborhood—ordinarily. But today was different. It looked like all of the people who lived there were either standing out in the street watching what was unfolding, or else they were looking out of their windows and doors. Their faces were tight and scared.
We pulled up, lights still going on top of the ambulance and hopped out, running with a jump bag and stretcher to the victim who was surrounded by a group of people.
Wes, although he was a basic EMT, was giving me information about the victim in short sentences. Still breathing. Seems to be in shock. Needs tourniquet. We worked together fast to treat the victim and get him into the ambulance.
One of the neighbors wouldn’t stop talking. I was so focused on our patient that I wasn’t even listening. Then something she said finally sunk in. In a guttural voice, she said. “Look at him. Look at him! What’s wrong with his eyes?”
“He’s in shock,” muttered Wes. He and I loaded the man onto the stretcher. But I looked closer at the victim’s eyes. They were glazing over with a thin gray membrane. The victim was thrashing around on the board and we had to put restraints on … with some difficulty.
“Easy there,” said Wes in an even voice.
We rolled him into the back of the ambulance. Technically, since I was the paramedic, I had more training than Wes, who was an Advanced EMT. But there was no question that he had the most experience. Wes automatically climbed into the back with the patient. The patient stopped moving. Wes looked at me. “I’ve lost a pulse. I’ll try to keep bringing him back … just get us to the hospital.”
I hopped behind the wheel, blaring the siren as I sped to the hospital. Without Wes to tell me I was clear, it was pretty terrifying going through stoplights at those huge intersections. But then I started hearing crashing sounds in the back of the ambulance and that terrified me even more. I had a dead or, at the very least, dying patient in the back. What could be making those sounds?
Should I pull over and check? Even though I needed to get this guy to the hospital before he ended up having to go to the morgue? There was a crash right behind my head and this time I spared a glance over my shoulder. I saw Wes, palms splayed on the glass partition between us. His eyes were covered with a thin, gray membrane, his mouth was slack, and he was covered with blood … and snarling. I turned back to glance at the road, and when I turned back to look at the back window, our victim was staring hungrily back at me. Whatever soul that had made it human before was gone now.
There was no more indecision. I felt no responsibility to the creature in the back now. My mind grappled with using the word
zombie
, but it wasn’t long before I accepted it, at least mentally. Although I’d like to think that I had a responsibility to Wes as a coworker, the truth was that the thing in the back was fast turning into something that wasn’t Wes at all.
I decided to abandon the ambulance and drive myself back home. If I could get away from Wes and our patient before they attacked me, that is. Looking at the buttons on the driver door, there didn’t seem to be a way to lock the back doors of the ambulance from the front. But I was pretty fast when running on foot. I hoped Wes and the patient weren’t very fast.
I pulled the rig over to the side of the road. Clearly it would be irresponsible of me to bring these creatures back to the hospital to inflict harm on helpless patients and staff. The side of the road was a better option, despite the fact it meant I’d have to jog a long ways to my car.
Now the road was full of emergency vehicles. Police cars were screaming by, lights flashing, along with other ambulances and fire trucks. It seemed like too many rescuers for a car wreck, house fire, or other more ordinary emergency. Was this zombie threat spreading? How fast? Did I even have a shot at getting back to my house?
As soon as I stopped, I yanked the keys out of the ignition. I was thinking maybe I could lock the back of the trunk manually before Wes and the patient could get out. Then maybe I could radio in and warn people about what was in the back before they could check it out and get hurt.
But the second I stumbled out of the ambulance, so did the things from the back. They lurched toward me, mouths open.
So I hopped right back into the truck, locking the doors with a shaking hand, and took off before they could get back into the back. At least they didn’t seem to have superhuman speed.
I’m not ashamed to admit that I had my siren on, too. I wanted people to get out of my way. My plan at this point was to hightail it back to the hospital, dump the ambulance there, ditch the rest of my very first day as a paramedic, get into my pickup, and get back to my house to figure out where to go from there.