The Ugly Beginning - 01 (2 page)

“So you’re telling me that zombies are out there going all
George Romero
on the unsuspecting citizens of the world?” I was still watching my now muted television while sitting on my coffee table rubbing Pluck’s head as it rested on my knee. It wasn’t showing me any zombies, just a talking head and a caption that read:
Possible Small Town Epidemic
.

“If you saw any of these clips, you’d be grabbin’ a gun and headin’ to the nearest shopping mall!”

No, I didn’t believe Bill in the slightest. That was mostly due to the hours he, I, and others spent imagining just such a scenario; usually after viewing any of the
Dead
flicks. Take your pick…
Night, Dawn, Day, Land
. Original. Remake. We’d seen them all enough to recite lines like
Rocky Horror
fans. It always led to the “what if” conversation.

One of the oldest, most overused sayings is, “Be careful what you ask for…” You know the rest. So, I did what anybody else would do if their friend called to say that the zombies were coming. I hung up.

***

 
Sometimes you will see something in life that makes you say or think, “That’s just like that movie….” Or, if you’re the literary type, it could be in a book. I’ve read or seen lots of ‘zombie-esque’ stuff over the years. I always thought it would be so cool. Of course, I’d never go into that
dark place
that so many fall prey to. Plus, those zombies move so slow…at least until the British influence brought on the sprinting zombie. Man, am I glad they got that wrong.

***

I went to bed watching
Talk Show with Spike Ferensten
. Overall, a normal Saturday night for me. Ironically, it was the utter darkness that woke me.

My eyes opened to that total blackness that modern man had grown so unaccustomed to experiencing. The first moments were disorienting. Usually there is a blue glow that filters through my curtains from a car rental place that casts its light on my closet door. I live near the airport, so I can count on two fingers the number of times I’ve lost power. Both times were due to terrible ice storms.

It was late April.

In the distance I heard sirens. That is nothing unusual near the airport at any time of day or night. So, I closed my eyes with the intention of going back to sleep. An unfamiliar growl signaled the change in my world…I just didn’t realize how drastic at that particular moment.

The growl changed register. Suddenly, my droopy-faced, foot-warmer of a dog began barking furiously. There was no mistaking the message.

Danger
!

I climbed out of the covers and tried to creep to my bedroom doorway. If there was a creaky board in the floor that I missed, I’d be shocked. I peeked down the hallway. My front door was in a direct line of sight, and on the right was my living room window with the curtains closed. Through an arch on the left would be my kitchen and a much smaller window. My apartment was on the second floor and in the corner of the small thirty-unit complex. Usually, at night, the big lit sign from the luxury hotel across the street shone brightly in my living room; even through closed curtains.

Not tonight.

“Pluck!” I whispered.

I could see his dark shape, barely discernable against my front door in the blackness. The shape moved and was at my feet pushing against me with its bulky head. I reached down to scratch behind his ears and noticed that Pluck’s hackles were standing straight on end.

“What the hell?”

That was all I managed before something outside brushed up against my front door. In a flash, my normally docile companion was lunging towards the door barking furiously. Not thinking, I ran after him yelling his name and that he quiet down.

A dull thud
.

I moved my agitated dog aside with one leg and leaned over just enough to ease the curtains aside so that I could take a peek out my living room window. A man stood at my door. To be more precise, he was leaning against it with his back to me. That was the first time I got a hint of that smell.

I watched as one hand raised and brushed the doorknob. It fell listlessly back to his side. My first thought was that this guy had been hurt and was seeking help. He wore coveralls and a heavy utility jacket. I figured him to be from the power company.

There are moments in life that you never forget. Ones that never erase themselves from memory and end up in that permanent photo gallery your mind keeps. Some of those images blur over time. Others become glossier, as if they’ve received a bit of mental airbrushing. The first girl you kissed becomes a vision of pure beauty. That first car loses all the dents, dings, and rust spots.

Some memories do the opposite.

That body leaning against my door jerked like it was convulsing. The head snapped around so suddenly that I’m pretty sure I heard something pop…right before I screamed and fell backwards on my ass.

Something heavy struck my doorknob. That sound was like a slap on the face. I scrambled to my feet and did one of those stupid things I said I’d never do. You know what I am talking about. The person in the movie has to take that ‘one last look.’  Of course that is usually when he or she gets their face eaten off. So, I pulled the curtain aside just enough to get that peek.

I know in my logical mind how dark it was that night. Over time, my brain has filled in the shadows. His name was Ed. I know that because it was embroidered on the left breast of his dark jacket with white thread. There was a milky film over his eyes that looked like a thin coat of Elmer’s wood glue. Black blood filled the vessels in his eyes, which add a particularly nasty effect to that vacant, soulless look that lets you know you’re dealing with a monster (oddly it is also a giveaway for somebody in the latter phases of infection). The dark smears around his mouth are the bright red of arterial blood in my nightmares. Ed’s mouth is open and his face is pressed against my living room window.

 The apartments I called home for over a decade were not the greatest: leaky faucets; poor insulation; and cheesy carpet from an era that was long out of style way before I moved in. But back to the windows…they are thin enough that you can feel a cold breeze through them on a blustery fall or winter day. I knew seconds before it happened that the glass was not going to hold.

Crash
!

And just that quick, everything I knew, loved, did for fun…gone. My world had been shaken violently, and the pieces would never settle into anything resembling normal ever again.

Ed’s stench hit me hard. The smell was so thick that I could taste it in the back of my throat. Two things happened almost instantaneously; Pluck lunged at the body that was halfway through my living room window, and I puked. To say “vomited” or “threw up” would diminish the true nature of that moment. It was as if my stomach heaved so violently that my intestines reversed flow and joined in the event. My mouth and nose burned from the bile-laced mixture that spewed from deep inside my guts. I staggered back, unable to see for a moment. Over the ringing in my ears I heard Pluck snarl and bark as he threw himself at the unnatural thing that threatened his master. I probably owe my life to that stupid dog.

His sudden yelp brought me back.

My eyes cleared, and I could see Ed holding something in his hands. It took another second to overcome the shock of what I was seeing. It held Pluck by a hind leg and his collar as it buried its face into that soft, warm, scratchable belly. When its head snapped up, long strands of skin and viscera pulled away. My best friend howled loud enough to drown out my own cry. But for a moment anyway, Ed was occupied.

God help me.

I ran.

I scrambled for the door, fumbling with the lock for seconds which seemed eternal before I could yank it open, and I ran away. I ran away from my apartment. I ran away from all my stuff. I ran away from that smell of death, and blood, and puke. I ran away from Ed.

I ran away from Pluck!

At the bottom of the stairs was a small, pink bicycle with training wheels. My mind held up a mental flash card of a tiny Mexican girl. She would ride that bike around the square inner-courtyard of the complex. She always rang the little bell on her handlebars if she came up on somebody from behind. She would laugh.

So I ran.

I reached the parking lot and realized that I had never bothered to grab my keys. The stupid ones in the movies always go back. My mind flashed on that image of the Ed-thing taking a bite out of the middle of my dog. Every hero in the movies knows how to hotwire a car. I had no clue. I still wasn’t going back.

I stood there like an idiot for a moment, then heard a low steady sound. The backside of my apartment complex’s parking lot is a steep, tree-covered embankment. There is a wall made of river rock that forms about a five foot base before the earthen slope begins and rises up to the street above. That street is like a border between my apartments and a quiet residential neighborhood. Parked on the edge of that street, just visible through the trees that overhung most of the parking lot, was a big power company truck.

It was running!

Hoisting myself, and scrambling up the embankment, I reached the road. Typical for this time of night (it was 3:42 a.m. according to my watch) it was quiet. I sorta turned a slow circle to make sure all was clear. Farther down the road from me something may have moved in the darkness. I wasn’t about to wait and find out. Still, rushing to the truck without at least a little caution could be as fatal as a stroll down this road into the deep, black shadows.

I moved out into the middle of the street so as to allow myself the greatest amount of open space, then crept towards the idling vehicle. A large, dark smear marred the driver’s side door. I wondered briefly if it belonged to Ed…or worse…his co-worker. Just as I neared close enough to peer in the open window, a scream unlike anything I’d ever heard—before that night anyway—shattered the relative quiet. That piercing sound seemed to reach inside me and clamp down hard on my bladder.

Yeah. I wet my pants.

Now I realize that something like that never happens to action heroes. Well, I guaran-damn-tee that he or she never heard a scream like that before. Not for real anyways.

It sounded like a woman or a child.

I yanked open the truck door deciding it was time to move a little quicker. Thankfully, no surprises leapt out at me, and I slid into the cab. I took quick visual inventory: keys, big flashlight, clipboard, brown paper sack. Great.

I popped the column shifter into drive and stomped on the gas pedal while twisting the steering wheel hard left. Making a big U-turn, I raced to the corner and did a bouncy power-slide. Turning sharp left again, I dropped into the entrance of my complex. I veered slightly left clipping a beat up Buick parked in the first tenant’s parking spot. The truck fish-tailed the short length of the lot where an opening in the two-story building on my right indicated the entrance existed to one of two breezeways. Slamming on the brakes, the truck screeched to a halt and banked right just enough to have the nose pointing into the void. I found the knob and pulled, turning on my headlights.

The scene in that dark tunnel-like breezeway threatened to cause another upheaval from my stomach. Ed, along with two more of those things were clawing at this short, pudgy, Mexican woman. One of them was tearing out what looked to be a strand of intestine from a gaping hole in her abdomen. Another was jerking back with a chunk of left forearm between its teeth. Ed was on hands and knees chewing away at a thigh. Backing toward the steps was a little girl.

I struggled to remember the name I’d heard when her mom or dad had called for her. It was my little bicycle rider.

Thalia!

I leaned out the window and called her name. She spun, and I could see her clothing was splattered with blood.

Please don’t be a zombie.

The three things feasting on what I was pretty sure had been her mom glanced up, then went back to what they’d been doing. Thalia, on the other hand, ran towards me.

Zombies don’t run. Right?

“
Ayuda me, por favor! Ayuda mi mamá, señor
!”

“English, sweetie.” I reached down and grabbed the tiny girl, yanking her rather unceremoniously through the window.

“Please to help my mamá, Mister Steve!”

Her accent was kinda thick. “Mister” sounded like ‘meester’, but her family was the sort that worked hard at their English. Good thing, because my Spanish was limited to a poor Speedy Gonzalez impersonation.

She looked at me with large, pleading eyes. I didn’t have time to explain. Besides, I felt that any help on behalf of her
mam
á
at this point would be useless.
Mam
á
was done. I shifted into reverse and backed out as quick, and still cautious, as I could. It would be really stupid to wreck now.

As the headlights drifted across that horrific scene, I took one more look. My mind was screaming that this could not possibly be happening the way I was seeing it. I slammed on the brakes causing Thalia to fly forward and hit her head on the dashboard. She started crying, but I didn’t hear it. Creeping into the breezeway was a short, squat shadowy figure.

Pluck.

I watched in painful fascination as my constant companion for so many years nosed into the body sprawled on the concrete. His head pulled back, and a flap of torn flesh hung from his mouth.

Slowly, I regained awareness of my surroundings. Tiny fists were pounding on my right shoulder. I glanced at Thalia in confusion as the sounds of her sobs poured into my con-sciousness. The blurred vision and burning sensation in my eyes made me realize that I was crying, but that wasn’t why the little girl was pummeling me.

A bloodless face stared at me through the closed window of the passenger side door. The mouth opened and pressed against the glass. My mind focused on the weirdest thing.