The Most Uncommon Cold I - Life in the Time of Zombies (19 page)

     She twisted away from her captor and trotted over to me.  “Kevin, you
’re just in time!  Principal Thomas was in the dunk tank and didn’t last too long.” I thought I caught a bit of embarrassment or maybe guilt in her voice. 

    
I smiled and said, “Looks like your carnival is a big success.” My words seemed to relieve Bonnie. 

     A moment later, the principal was in front of me.  “Well, hello again!  Glad that you could
make it.”  He shook my hand vigorously.  “As you can see, your extremely persuasive wife managed to get me into her dunk tank!” 

    
He made a move as if he was going to press himself against Bonnie again.  However, she stepped quickly away from him. 

     “Let me show you around,” Bonnie said as she grabbed my hand and avoided looking into my eyes.

     She had led me around the school grounds cheerfully pointing out the various booths and introducing me to other teachers.

    
I never brought up the incident at the dunk tank again nor did Bonnie.   

     The
final time I had gone to Gerald Ford Junior High School was about seven months ago. I remembered the day with some regret. At about four thirty, I had gotten a call from Bonnie to let me know that her car wouldn’t start and to ask me to come get her.  I told her that I would leave right away and be there in about thirty minutes. And I had certainly planned on keeping that promise. 

     Unfortunately, a job as a newspaper reporter does not always fit neatly between 9 and 5. Immediately after talking to Bonnie, my edito
r Steve Conklin had rushed up to my desk with a scribbled note.

     “We just got word of a double homicide at this address in Novato,” Steve said out-of-breath. “I need you to get over there right now for an exclusive on this.”

     I wish I could say that my first thought was to call Bonnie and let her know what was happening, but it was not. I had instantly gotten caught up in getting the story and forgot everything else. It wasn’t until almost two hours later that I remembered my stranded wife. I had been following the detectives through a luxurious house with pillars in front, marble floors inside, and two dead bodies in the backyard.   

     I am not sure what
suddenly brought Bonnie to mind.  But anyway, I grabbed my phone from my jacket to find that she had called several times. I called her back but got only continuous ringing. Finally, there was a click and a recording about how the owner of the phone was not available.  That let me know that she had turned off the phone and was pissed off at me.   

     By the time I had gotten to the school, it was almost nine. Other than Bonnie
’s old Mustang, the lot was empty. There was still no answer on her phone, so I headed home.

     As I pulled into my space in the garage, I glanced over at the
spot usually holding Bonnie’s car. My expectation that the space would be empty was wrong, and it caused me to do a double take.  Instead of an empty parking space, I saw a small silver Mercedes coupe. 

     My curiosity about this
strange car pushed my body quickly up the stairs to the apartment. 

     Everything was dark when I opened the front door. I flipped the switch on the wall, and light flooded the
place. At first, I thought that the apartment was empty. Then I had noticed Bonnie’s red leather purse on the coffee table in the living room. Her keys were nearby.

     I strained my ears but couldn
’t hear any sound other than traffic outside. 

     I walked slowly down the hall. It was the only time I could remember having seen the bedroom door closed. I had stood outside the closed door for at least a minute trying to
hear any sort of noise. There was nothing.    

     The doorknob turned easily, but the door seemed to be stuck. I pushed, and it had opened with a pop. I am not sure why I was feeling so
anxious about not waking my wife, but I was. I slowly pushed the door open and peaked inside the dark room.

     It took a few seconds for my eyes to adjust to the darkness. Eventually, I could
make out the shape of a body in the bed. I undressed quickly in the dark, lifted the blanket slowly, and slid next to the body.

     The
body was still. I could feel the warmth but could see no movement at all. After a moment, I reached out to put my hand on the shoulder. 

     At the instant of contact, the body sprang out of the bed and hurried from the room. She paused only long enough to
slam the bedroom door. The whole apartment vibrated with the impact.

    
I had lain in bed for a few minutes trying to decide if I should follow after Bonnie or if it was better to leave her be alone until she cooled down. Finally, I figured it was better to at least try and talk to her.

     She was in the kitchen waiting by the microwave.  Before I could say anything, the bell rang, and Bonnie took the cup of tea out of the
small white microwave oven on the counter.  Without acknowledging my presence, she carried the steaming tea out of the kitchen and into the living room.

     I stumbled after and found her sitting on the
dark leather couch we had bought right after I started working at the newspaper.  Rather than sitting next to her, I had followed my thought that it would be better to give her some space and sat on one of the chairs.

     “I
’m really sorry,” I started.

     As if not even aware of my presence, Bonnie
simply picked up the television remote from the coffee table and turned on the television.

     “Right after I got off the phone with you, a story broke in Novato,” I continued talking without getting a response. “I called to let you know, but your cell
phone was turned off.”

     The growing
irritation must have been clear in my voice, because Bonnie suddenly spun around to face me. Her fury seemed to stop her from speaking for a short time.  Once the paralysis was gone, she spat out, “I waited for almost two hours before I turned it off!” She turned back to the TV and started changing channels.

     I knew better than to say anything right then other than “I
’m sorry”.

     After a few minutes, Bonnie spun back toward me. “You said you were coming to get me at four thirty.”  Her voice got suddenly quiet. “I waited for almost three hours for you to
come…  or even to call and let me know something.” She looked down, and it was clear that she was crying. 

     Of course, nothing could have made me feel shittier.

     Finally, I had broken the silence, “So how did you get home?”

     There was no
reply for a minute, but I could tell that Bonnie was angry at herself for crying.  Eventually, she took a deep breath and answered in a shaky voice, “I called Principal Thomas.”

     My mind had
instantly flashed on the silver Mercedes in the parking space.

     “Oh, I guess Principal Thomas has a little Mercedes,” I commented with
sarcasm and unexplainable anger.  “Where is the good principal?”

     Bonnie looked at me with bewilderment and said, “Yes, he has a Mercedes Benz, but why do you think he
’s here?”

     “I saw the car in the garage.”

     Bonnie’s fury had now diminished to significant irritation.  “I called Principal Thomas.  He lives only a few miles from school, so he came back and picked me up.”  She paused for a moment and looked at me in a way that sent a clear message; unlike me, the principal was someone on whom she could depend.

     As I was about to ask again where he was, Bonnie snapped, “He lent me his car.  I drove him home and then drove
here.  I have to pick him up for school in the morning.”

    
She had gone back to channel surfing, and I had sat there trying to think of something suitable to say. I really could not think of anything, so I wisely stayed quiet. 

      After a few more minutes of switching between TV channels, Bonnie had
simply turned off the television and stomped into the bedroom.  Once again, the door was slammed and, once again, the apartment shook. 

     I looked at the door for a few minutes trying to
decide what to do next.  Finally, I had chosen the non-confrontational approach.  I got a blanket and pillow out of the hall closet and slept on the couch.

Chapter 16

    A scream from somewhere down the street brought me back to the present. Once again, I saw the empty street before me. The thought of going toward the scream to try to help the screamer floated into my mind but then floated out again without taking hold. Instead, I began shuffling in the direction of Gerald Ford Junior High School.

     The dim streetlights
barely cut into the darkness.  Shadows seemed ready to spring forward and claim the street. Trudging forward, I tried to stay calm even as the shuffling sounds seemed to grow around me. I imagined the shells trailing after just waiting to overtake and devour me. As if my imagination had been translated into sound, I heard something squishy that sounded like flesh being ripped away.

     Without realizing it, I had stopped to listen to the carnage. I peered into the blackness. In the shadowy edges of the area, dark shapes appeared to swoop in and out of my perception. As I stared intensely into the darkness trying to
make out any details of the shapes, the sudden appearance of a woman’s pale face right in front of me sent a jolt. I stumbled backwards a few steps.

     Unfortunately, those few steps took me over the curb, and I landed in the
street on my back with a thud. I am not sure if the wind got knocked out of me or what exactly, but I could not move for a few seconds.  My state of paralysis disappeared as soon as I realized that the woman was now standing over me. Her short red skirt and white tank top were totally out of place in the chilly evening.

    
“If you got money, I’m yers,” she muttered.  As she was speaking something dribbled from her mouth and landed on my arm. The warm liquid was probably blood, but I did not think to look. The sensation was enough to bring me back to the reality of the situation. I rolled away from the shell and quickly got to my feet.

    
“If you got money, I’m yers,” it repeated with more force as it shambled closer to me. 

     For the first time, I noticed that the
shell was barefoot. I am sure it was not the absence of footwear that caused my disgust. But for whatever reason, revulsion and loathing bubbled within me to form an intense fury. It was an emotion that could not be kept inside.

     Everything exploded for me. I launched myself at the shell. In the next instant, we were on the
pavement with me atop. I sat up and mindlessly started swinging my fists. Somewhere deep down below the consciousness, I felt my knuckles colliding with the cold flesh beneath me. Still the blows continued. If the shell made any attempt to defend itself or fight back, I did not notice. I kept on punching, and the bones of the face crunched under the force. Around this time, I came back to myself and felt the smile stretching my mouth. My eyes moved downward to see the bloody mush that had been a face. Some of the teeth as well as the nose were still visible amid the tissue and hair, but beyond that there was not much that was recognizable as human. I sat there closely studying what was left on the street following my rampage until the sounds around me caught my attention. 

     I saw three shells moving out of the darkness toward me.  One of them was tall and thin in
a dark business suit, and about three yards away, and the others were further off.  Luckily, the shells moved slowly. I was able to stand up and move away before they had gotten much closer.  

     As I jogged down the street toward the school, I could feel the
sting of my bloody knuckles. Again I could feel the sensation of an unexpected smile forming on my lips. As strange as it must seem, the sharp pain pleased me.  The feeling meant that I was alive unlike so many of those shells which were reflexively going through their usual routines.

     I am not sure how long I spent jogging down that street.  All I know is that when I stopped my lungs were burning.  It had been quite a while since I had been for a jog, and my wheezing and hacking made that
obvious. 

     Once I recovered, I took a look around to see if anything looked familiar.  I instantly recognized the grocery store on the corner.

     In fact, I remembered stopping at the store a few times a long time ago.  It was right after Bonnie had started teaching at the junior high school, and I had taken her lunch several times.  The grocery store had a good deli section with magnificent burritos.  Bonnie was worried about the food smell in her classroom, so we had spent some happy lunches in my car eating those burritos.

     Now there would be no more burritos for us. It was a
ridiculous thought, but it made me sad nevertheless.  

     Whether it was the memories, the bright lights, curiosity or something else, I felt myself drawn to the store. I stepped into the street and walked slowly toward the building. I moved
along without thinking anything other than reaching the grocery store. Fortunately, other than some shuffling sounds emerging from the dark fringes of the street, nothing approached me.