Zombies Begin (Zombies Begin Series Book 1) (2 page)

A few kitchen staff rushed into the restaurant to see what the commotion was about. Johnny was ready to go toe to toe with the old man. His hands made fists. Knuckles turned white. Teeth clamped together tight. It was an overreaction to the situation. Fuller grabbed Johnny’s arm to calm him. It was an outburst Fuller had not witnessed from him in the years they had known each other. Johnny turned on him. He breathed fast and shallow—ready for a fight. Fuller motioned with his head to leave.

Yat-Sun waddled away to retrieve his cane. As he moved away he continued yelling in Cantonese and waved his arms for them to leave.

Soft rays of morning sunlight shone through Fuller’s bedroom window. Fuller lay on his bed. Beads of sweat covered his forehead. A sweat outline of his body had stained the sheet. His face was pale. His mouth was partly open. Dried, white, crusty saliva had built up around his chapped lips. If he was breathing, you could hardly tell.

“You dead?” whispered Davis in a thick English accent.

Davis was Fuller’s roommate. A tall, lanky guy in his late twenties, with sandy, unkempt hair. He stood over Fuller’s bed wearing only a pair of mismatched socks, tighty whities and a beanie.

“You dead?” he repeated.

Fuller didn’t stir. Davis leaned in closer. “Michael?”

Davis couldn’t resist. He stretched out his hand and flicked Fuller on the cheek. Fuller didn’t respond. He flicked him again. Still not a moan or a goan. This guy was a corpse.

Davis was getting impatient. He grabbed Fuller’s earlobe and twisted it really hard. Any normal person would have been awoken by this punishment, but Fuller remained motionless.

Now truly concerned by his lack of response, Davis got down on his knees beside the bed. He looked to see if Fuller was breathing. It was hard to tell. Fuller’s finger twitched slightly, unbeknown to Davis.

Davis felt for a pulse. To his relief Fuller had a strong beat. He put his mouth close to Fuller’s ear. Almost touching it.

“WAKE UP!” he screamed at the top of his lungs.

Fuller abruptly awoke. Sitting straight up. Disorientated.

He lashed out in a rage. Grabbed Davis around the throat. Breathing heavily.

Davis slapped and pulled at Fuller’s hand, trying to break the throat hold.

Suddenly Fuller became very aware of where he was and that it was only Davis crouched down beside his bed.

He slowly released his grip. Rubbing his eyes he asked, “What time is it?”

Davis rubbed his neck, checking to see if anything was broken. “Six-thirty… a.m.”

Fuller rolled over after hearing the early time. The sheet half stuck to his moist, naked back. “Why are you waking me so early on a Saturday?”

“It’s Sunday, dude. You slept all Saturday.” He gave a chuckle. “You must have consumed some serious shit.”

Fuller’s eyes grew wide. He had slept for roughly thirty-six hours straight without knowing it.

“I need you to walk Samson for me,” Davis said. “He’s needed to take a shit since yesterday, but I’ve been cramming for finals for the last forty-seven hours. I’m a little hyped up on caffeine and other herbal nourishment, if you know what I mean?”

Fuller grabbed his pillow, shielding his face from Davis and the world.

***

Steam filled the tiny bathroom. Fuller stood against the shower wall, letting the hot water run over him. It felt good and was bringing him out of his one day coma. He soaped down his body, but it still didn’t feel clean. Even when he scrubbed hard, his skin felt dry and scaly. Small pieces of skin flaked off as he scrubbed. His skin was itchy, but it was an itch that couldn’t be scratched.

He smacked his lips together. His mouth was still very dry. Swallowing was a chore. Fuller opened his mouth to let the warm shower water run in. He swished it around his mouth and spat out. That still wasn’t enough. His throat was scratchy and dry. He tried to clear it. It felt like something was in there, like a hairball or something. His mind flicked back to his night out with Johnny Chen and the dinner he ate.

Fuller started to dry heave. The thought of eating cat haunted his mind. He shook off the thought and continued to rinse his mouth. He felt dehydrated. The shower felt too good to leave. Instead of spitting out the water he started to drink.

The warm water was good. It soothed his dry throat. He couldn’t get enough water into his body. He lapped at it like an animal. He pulled the shower head from the wall, putting it to his mouth. That still wasn’t good enough. Frantically he tried to remove the head to get a solid stream, but it wasn’t coming off.

In a rage he banged the shower head against the wall. Tiles cracked. He smashed the shower head repeatedly. Pieces of tile flew into the air. After the thrashing, the head finally snapped off the hose. Fuller shoved the hose into his mouth drinking as fast as he could. Water spilled out the sides of his mouth. His gag reflex kicked in. He started choking and coughing. He wouldn’t stop swallowing water. He craved it.

His body couldn’t take it anymore. He vomited all over himself and the tub. He collapsed to the shower floor. Water spilled out all over him from the broken hose. His vomit-soaked chest was washed clean as he lay there. His mind raced. What the hell was he doing?!

***

Fuller stood at the kitchen counter with a water jug and empty glass. He looked more human now. Hair combed back and dressed for the day. He leaned against the counter, staring at an empty glass. He badly needed a drink. He slowly filled the glass all the way to the top and placed the water jug back into the fridge.

Fuller slowly lifted the glass to his lips. His hand was shaky. His blood sugar levels were low. He hadn’t eaten in close to thirty-six hours and whatever he did have left in his gut was now splattered all over the shower. Food was not on his mind right now. It didn’t have any appeal, only the desire to drink.

The cool, crystal-clear water slid down his throat. It tasted so good. Fuller tapped on the bottom of the glass to get the last drop onto his tongue. He licked droplets from the rim of the glass. He forced himself to put the glass back onto the counter.
Just one more drink?
He briskly walked away from the fridge, but he couldn’t handle the temptation and was quickly drawn back.

Fuller grabbed the jug handle tightly. He breathed hard.
Don’t drink.
He couldn’t control the urge and guzzled the remaining water.

“You okay, dude?” Davis asked from the adjoining living room. He had observed Fuller’s strange drinking ritual from his study corner. Science textbooks littered the room, all open at various pages. Davis was a perpetual student. Changing from one major to the next. He would probably be in his midfifties before graduating.

Fuller vacantly stared at Davis. There was no explanation for his strange behavior. Samson, Davis’ little white poodle, interrupted the weird moment, scratching at Fuller’s leg, begging to be let out.

Fuller wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and returned the empty jug to the fridge. His thirst had been quenched, for now.

***

The cold, crisp air smacked Fuller’s face as he left the warmth of his modest home. It was a quiet, older, suburban neighborhood. Samson was excited to relieve himself on the footpath in front of the neighbor’s house. Fuller stared at the massive pile of poo left by such a little dog. Maybe no one was watching and he could just leave it there. But he was too upstanding for that and bent down to collect the package with a plastic bag from his coat pocket.

As he crouched over something flashed past the corner of his eye. It was quick. Just a blur. Fuller stood straight up. He spun around. Nothing there. An empty neighborhood. No one wanted to be outside on such a cold Sunday morning. Just as quickly as it happened he dismissed it. It was hardly the weirdest thing that had happened to him today.

Just as he returned to his business, a second flash caught the corner of his eye.

Fuller spun to try to follow the object. It was too fast. It was gone before he could get a look at it. Samson let out a small bark at Fuller.

Slowly he bent down again, eyes fixed on the street. As though someone was right next to his ear, indiscernible words were briefly whispered. He wasn’t sure if he actually heard anything. But the hair on the back of his neck stood straight. Something wasn’t right. Fear exploded over his body. Gentle whispers again echoed in his ear. He spun to see who it was. No one was there. A lonely street.

“Hello?” called Fuller.

Mist escaped Fuller’s mouth as he exhaled. No one answered his greeting. He glanced around the street again to be sure he was alone. Was his mind playing tricks? Samson tugged on his leash, breaking Fuller’s thoughts.

Fuller whipped out his cell phone from his coat pocket. He had to see if Johnny Chen was experiencing the same bizarre behavior. Did they eat pufferfish at the crazy Chinese restaurant? He didn’t know anything about it, just that it would kill you if prepared wrong.

Fuller breathed hard. He almost felt like he was sweating even though it was freezing cold. He pulled at his loose-fitting shirt collar. The phone rang and rang. No answer on Johnny’s cell, just the robotic woman’s voice telling him to leave a message.

“What did you feed me?” Fuller said desperately. “Call me when you get this.” He tucked his phone back into his pocket as Samson pulled on his leash again to get moving. Samson was ready for a long walk.

“Hey, asshole! Are you going to pick that up?” called Lloyd Corbet from across the yard.

Lloyd Corbet was a fifty-six-year-old laborer. He was the neighbor. The house where Samson just took a dump. His face was well-weathered and looked beyond his years. Too many days in the hot sun. He was in shape and strong as an ox, no doubt. You could tell he had been a well-built man in younger years and could still handle himself. He had a look of “don’t mess with me.” That and his partly cauliflowered ears.

“Are you going to pick that up?” Lloyd repeated.

Fuller was a little out of it. He wasn’t sure if he was hearing a real person or voices again in his head.

Lloyd walked briskly across his front yard to meet Fuller head on.

“Can you hear me, fancy boy?!”

Fuller snapped to and realized there was now a real person suddenly standing in front of him. A pissed-off person. What was this guy’s problem?

“I’m sick of your rat poopin' all over my yard! Clean that shit up!”

Fuller didn’t want to face the full rage of Lloyd Corbet. In fact he liked to stay clear of Lloyd altogether. Rumor had it that he had served in Vietnam and had a steel plate in his head. Either way, he was a crazy son of a bitch.

Fuller kept his head low to avoid confrontation. He didn’t make eye contact. He stooped down, bagging up the pile of poo. Lloyd stood over him to ensure every piece of poo was scraped off the sidewalk. He was lucky Lloyd didn’t make him lick it.

Lloyd was a former Marine. Strict to the bones. He didn’t like things out of place. Since his wife left him, he had become even more disgruntled with the world around him.

Fuller pulled on the leash for Samson to follow as he walked briskly back to his house, glancing back at Lloyd. Lloyd watched on to see he wasn’t going to get into any more trouble. He called after him, “You better tell your boyfriend to keep his rat out of my yard too!”

Cold air rushed into the house as Fuller escorted Samson inside. Samson ran and jumped up onto the sofa next to Davis. Fuller closed the front door and removed his coat. Davis took a break from his study to give Samson a rough up.

“Crazy Lloyd isn’t too happy with Samson pooping in his yard all the time. Told me to let you know not to let him do it again.”

“What’s he going to do? Silly old bastard!” shot back Davis.

“I don’t want to mess with a guy like that.”

Davis got to his feet and marched over to the front door. Yanked it open. “SOD OFF, YOU BLOODY WANKER. I’LL KICK YOUR ARSE!” he yelled.

“What the hell are you doing!” Fuller pulled him back and slammed the door. “Are you crazy?! Crazy Lloyd will come over here and kick both our asses! He owns a gun too!”

“Nah, silly old bugger doesn’t have a clue.”

The front door banged hard. Fuller and Davis froze. No one wanted to move. Fuller moved slowly to take a peek through the peephole. Lloyd’s face was distorted through the hole. He paced slightly, waiting for the guys to open up. He banged on the door again. His patience grew thin.

“Piss off, no one’s home!” yelled Davis.

“Shhhh!”

Fuller quickly locked the door. All went quiet.

Both men leaned in to see if they could hear him. Fuller mustered up the courage to look through the hole again. Lloyd was still there. Shit.

A scary calm had come over Lloyd. He leaned in close to the door, putting his eye up to the hole to look in at Fuller.

“You don’t want to switch my switch,” whispered Lloyd. “It’s a war you can’t win.”

Fuller shot a look at Davis. Davis shrugged his shoulders. Neither man knew how to respond to the threat, but their thumping hearts certainly confirmed the “declaration of punishment” as real.

“Man up!” Lloyd yelled in anger.

Lloyd briskly walked back to the sidewalk. As he did he unleashed his rage on their mail box, kicking it out of the ground, then tossing it across their front yard.

“Frig me,” Fuller cringed.

Fuller and Davis breathed a sigh of relief that that was all he did. Lloyd was someone you didn’t want to tangle ass with.