Resurrection X Read online

  “Plus, by naming it Zombie, he’s trying to defuse the power of the word’s negativity. You remember how bad came to mean something good? He’s going to do a similar thing with zombie and turn around the attitudes where the Non-Dead will be accepted as equals.”

  Lisa shook her head. “The Non-Dead already have enough rights and benefits. There’s no need to let them vote or get an equal rights amendment. Most of them are so far gone in the head they wouldn’t understand if it passed anyway.”

  “You’re lumping the Sub Zs in with the Sub Ys. Why do you Conservatives insist on doing this? There would be a qualification test for the Sub Zs to prove competency. Sub Ys are mentally no different than you and me. You’re painting a far worse picture than you need to.” Bob breathed a sigh of relief as the curvy rural road straightened. Soon he would be merging onto the highway. He and Lisa had enjoyed a nice weekend together, a quiet intimate time in a rented cabin by the lake. It wasn’t until the two had dinner at Cafe D’Esprit that the world’s problems once again became a barrier between them.

  Lisa applied more lip balm and returned the tube to her bag. A trail of billboards pointed the way to the city. Most were old and in disrepair. Only a few had working lights.

  One billboard shone brightly in the distance. The smiling face of Reverend Will Hatfield, pastor of Streets of Gold Church, welcomed those traveling the highway to come and worship with him.

  The Church had a long history of staunch right-wing conservative policies, having fought Godless liberal heathens on many fronts. First, it was racial equality. Then abortion, then gay marriage, and now the fight was against the granting of equal rights to the Non-Dead. The Streets of Gold Church thus openly supported political candidates who sought to prevent the Non-Dead from acquiring any additional rights.

  More cars crowded the highway as the lights of the city grew larger. Bob turned up the volume on the radio to mask the silence.

  Lisa picked at a loose cuticle on her thumb, her thoughts seemingly a million miles away.

  The steering wheel started to pull ever so slightly toward the curb. Bob wondered if it was the angle of the road, a tire, or his imagination. A mild vibration in the steering wheel swelled the farther he drove.

  “Lisa, the car feels like it’s pulling to the right. Do you hear anything unusual?”

  “I hear a thumping noise. I thought it was from the tires running over the grooves in the road.”

  “Well, it might be, but I think I can feel the pull getting worse. I’m going to turn in at that convenience store and check it out.” Bob lifted the turn signal lever, engaging the switch.

  The tires bumped against the curb leading to the parking lot. Lisa’s head bounced in response. The car passed by the gas pumps and stopped near the side of the building away from the entrance. Bob turned off the engine and got out.

  Lisa lowered her window when he came around her side. “See anything?” She fanned the air and looked back at the fuel pumps.

  “The front passenger tire is sitting a little low,” he said, giving it a few short kicks. “Open the glove box and get out the air gauge.”

  Lisa opened the compartment and immediately fought to suppress the compressed paraphernalia as it spilled out the sides to the floor. “Why do you have so much crap in here? How do you expect me to find the tire gauge?”

  “It’s not crap if you need it one day,” Bob said.

  “It’s crap. I know what crap is, and this is crap.” Lisa slowly let the glove box door down and dug through the contents. “Here’s a half-eaten granola bar.”

  “And if we were stranded in a blizzard, and that’s all we had to eat for a week, it would be worth a million dollars to us.”

  “That’s a huge load of cr—wait. I found it.”

  Bob sheepishly smiled as she handed him the gauge, knowing she was right, but refused to admit it. He bent over and removed the valve cap, positioning his body to use the faint light overhead to read the gauge. “It’s over ten pounds low. I guess I picked up a nail or something. I’m going to have to change it.”

  “Maybe you should move the car first. You parked right in front of the dumpster. The sign says ‘No Parking.’ ”

  “It’s only going to take me about fifteen minutes. I don’t think a garbage truck will be coming tonight to dump it anyway. You need to get out because the jack goes right under where you’re sitting. Go inside and get us something to drink. I’ll try to hurry.”

  Lisa lowered the visor, examining her makeup in the mirror after brushing her hair away from her left eye. She opened the door and planted both feet firmly on the ground before standing. She straightened her skirt and placed her bag over her shoulder before walking toward the door.

  Even getting out of the car is a big production for her, Bob thought. The trunk popped open with the push of the remote. The spare tire compartment and tools hid under the false floor, which he lifted. This shouldn’t take long. Let’s see, righty tighty, lefty loosey. He unscrewed the tire clamp until a foreboding chill prickled hairs on the back of his neck.

  Nothing was there when he darted his head around. The only area partially hidden from sight was at the far end of the dumpster. He was about to lift the tire from the wheel well when something rustled nearby. What was that?

  If someone wanted to rob him, or worse, he had better find out before Lisa returned. He scanned the area by the dumpster, with the emergency flashlight in one hand, and a tire tool in the other.

  Bob wasn’t spoiling for a fight but didn’t want to appear to be an easy target. As he moved closer to the dumpster, he glanced over and saw an older gentleman wearing an ancient Dallas Cowboys football cap, watching from the gas pumps. Bob nodded, and the old man nodded back.

  I guess he’s wondering what in the hell’s wrong with me. Bob turned his attention back to the dark corner, aiming the flashlight. The light beam blinked out. Greaaat, he thought. He took the tire tool and tapped it . . . nothing . . . tap tap . . . nothing . . . tap tap . . . flicker. Bob pointed the lens toward his eyes . . . nothing . . . tap tap . . . light! The beam returned to shine directly in his eyes.

  He redirected the light to the target, but the sudden burst left him seeing nothing but a bright yellow orb. The tire tool firmly in hand remained poised ready for action until normal vision returned. Fortunately, nothing waited to attack.

  Bob looked back at the old man, who still watched as intently as before. So, he gave him another nod. The man nodded back, giving him a half smile as the nozzle handle went limp when the pump shut off.

  Bob made three steps toward the car before the smaller of the two doors on the dumpster clashed open. A ravenous Non-Dead ran out and attacked.

  A primal scream electrified the air. There was no way to tell if it came from Bob or the zombie that attacked him. It didn’t matter. Everyone at the pumps frantically scurried into their vehicles. The old man pulled out his cell phone and pushed 616 on the keypad—Zombie Emergency Hotline.

  Bob raised his left arm in defense. Teeth sank deeply into his forearm. The tire tool fell from his hand, clanging loudly as it hit ground. A sickly crunch followed as the jaws of the walking dead crushed bone. Gnashing teeth gouged out tendons, muscle, and ligaments.

  Bob struggled to roll off his back. He beat the monster with the flashlight and cried for help. Blood pooled around his sides outlining his body. His bowels loosened soiling his pants.

  A dull ringing started in his head and grew louder. The flashlight dropped from his useless grasp. Bob’s vision clouded from his peripheral. The ringing turned into silence as the jaws of death gripped his neck, swelling the pressure on his brain like a balloon about to burst. Blood pumped from a torn jugular draining life’s essence from his body.

  Paying a visit to the bathroom was tops on Lisa’s list. The drinks could wait. She was no fan of public restrooms but couldn’t hold it any longer. Taking a few minutes to pee, a few minutes to adjust her clothing, and a few minutes to check her makeup, seemed like en
ough time for Bob to change the tire.

  When she left the bathroom, the sales clerk—some greasy young man who ogled her when she walked in—had left his station. In fact, no one else was in the store. The office door that had been open when she entered was now shut.

  Lisa peered through the Plexiglas store front toward the car. The tire hadn’t been changed. Bob was nowhere to be seen. She hurried to the door, the deadbolt had been latched shut.

  She turned latch mechanism, burst through the door, and shouted, “Bob! Bob! Where are you?” She ran past the rear of the car and saw a figure straddling another on the parking lot.

  An old man in his car by the gas pumps laid on the horn, waving frantically as if trying to shoo her away.

  She yelled Bob’s name again and ran toward the scuffle. Bob was on bottom, in the heat of attack. “Get off! Get off!”

  Bob wailed in agony as the zombie devoured him with the zeal of a starving animal. Lisa grabbed her purse by the straps and repeatedly slammed it against the assailant.

  “Get off, motherfucker! Help! Someone help!” A cell phone, a tube of lipstick, and tissue flew out the purse, spilling onto the parking lot.

  The zombie turned its head with the speed of a striking rattlesnake and snapped, leaving teeth marks in Lisa’s right forearm. She screamed and stumbled backward, crashing into the rear of the car before landing hard on her side. The bite burned like it was on fire.

  A siren wailed in the distance, growing louder by the second. A black van with Z.M.A.T. printed in large white letters, and an ambulance following close behind, roared into the parking lot. Every door of the van flew open, and eight armed men in black poured out. Zombie Medical And Tactical, a non-politically-correct name surviving the infancy of the outbreak, had arrived.

  A burly combatant with ‘Lt. Banes’ neatly sewn above his right breast gave the orders. “Get into position and wait for my call.” The men hurriedly formed a circle around the zombie. “That’s a well preserved specimen. Be careful with it. Go! Go! Go!”

  Ballistic cannons shot nets draping the zombie from four different directions. The monster twisted to free itself from the web-like cage.

  “All right, take it down!”

  One team member hit the zombie behind the knees with a telescoping aluminum pole, sending it to the ground.

  “Juice it!” Banes ordered.

  Another member sprayed the writhing undead in liquid shrink. The nets slowly contracted, becoming tighter and tighter until the zombie could barely move more than a finger.

  “Medical! The area’s secure!” The lieutenant stretched and pulled out a cigarette from his front pocket. The local police were on the scene with the jail bus. He watched his team load the zombie aboard the bus and check the area for any more strays.

  “I wonder how this one got here,” one of the men said to Banes, as he closed the door to the bus.

  “Good question. This is only our seconded call this year. It’s usually the campers and hikers that find rogue zombies,” Banes said.

  Lisa shivered as she lay on the hard asphalt, unresponsive, but with eyes frozen open.

  Two paramedics pushed a collapsible stretcher to her side. Paramedic one dropped to a knee, produced a large flashlight, and turned it on. After a quick examination, he said, “She’s clean, Johnson, except for the arm.”

  Johnson focused a smaller flashlight emitting a pale greenish beam on the bite. The teeth marks glowed. “There it is in all of its glory. Cole, start the treatment.”

  Cole retrieved a foil pack from the medical kit, tore off the corner with his teeth, and removed a contraption resembling a sponge with a handle. He put it directly on the bite mark and pushed. It made a slight click, and liquid oozed through the sponge onto her skin. The sponge went into a waste bag.

  The two lifted Lisa onto the stretcher and wheeled her to the ambulance. Once inside, three taps to the back window had the vehicle moving and on the road.

  Cole took a sample of her blood while the other readied an IV. A few drops of blood added into a graduated cylinder containing a clear liquid remained clear after a gentle shaking. “We have confirmation the infection is still in the early stage. She’s a legal candidate for RY.”

  Johnson removed a vial marked ‘RY’ from an ice chest big enough to hold two six-packs of drinks and prepared a syringe. He put the IV into the uninjured arm and slowly injected the syringe filled with the medicine.

  Lisa’s head flopped to the side, he brushed the hair away from her face. “This is a crying shame. Looks like we lost a pretty one. I would have so hit this, but not now.”

  “Hey, quiet. She might still be able to hear you. Stop thinking with your dick,” Cole said.

  Lisa opened her eyes. A teardrop snaked down her cheek.

  “Now-now, don’t be afraid,” Johnson said, gently patting her hand. “We got you in time. You’re going to be just fine.”

  The arm with the IV started to shake, and then the rest of Lisa’s body began to twitch.

  “We’re going to have to put you to sleep now. You’ll learn more when you wake up.”

  Another syringe went into the IV.

  Lisa’s eyes fluttered closed.

  Chapter 3

  The sky above was the brightest blue Lisa had ever seen. A wisp of a single cloud rolled through the winds like a tumbling wave. She wished it had a hand she could take and dance alongside.

  Birds adorned the branches of towering pine trees, singing a multitude of songs of life’s delight. A family of ducks led by the mother waddled past and into the calm waters of the crystal clear lake. She heard the splish-splish-splish of each duckling as its bottom hit the water.

  “It’s good to be alive, isn’t it?” A soothing voice said.

  “Yes.” Lisa felt the warm breeze against her cheeks, ferrying the spicy-sweet scent of gardenias past her nose. “It is so good to be alive.” She turned around. “Oh, Bob, it’s you.”

  Bob wore his best black suit and his signature purple tie. Lisa never understood his obsession with the color purple. He bent over and snapped a single emerald rose from a medium-sized bush and brought it over to her.

  “For you, my dear. It matches your eyes and the envy all other men have for me when they see us together.”

  “Aw, that’s nice for you to say.” Lisa reached out and wrapped her arms around him.

  “I am your knight in shining armor,” he whispered in her ear.

  “I know, I know.” Lisa smiled, feeling so happy that she thought she was going to burst.

  Something felt wet under her hand on Bob’s back. She pulled it away and found it smeared with deep-red blood.

  “Bob, are you hurt?”

  He said nothing. Lisa felt her insides plunge as if riding down on a fast elevator.

  Then, she remembered. The convenience store—the parking lot—the attack of the Non-Dead. The blood . . . the blood.

  Bob dissolved into empty air.

  Lisa reached out into the vacant space with no lifeline to hold onto. The world of beauty threatened to kill her with loneliness.

  *

  “Miss Goudard, are you awake?” the nurse asked as Lisa’s eyes fluttered open.

  Lisa heard the voice of a woman, but couldn’t comprehend a word of it. Her mind a swirl of discordant thoughts. Some still trying to hold on to parts of the dream, others forcing her back to reality.

  A weave of shadows draped across the room, and the ceiling loomed above as a closed lid of a funeral casket. The only glow of light came from a floor lamp shoved in the corner of the windowless room. The air felt cold and stung the back of Lisa’s throat as she took a deep breath. A soft electronic beep chirped in slow rhythm, confusing her further.

  A warm hand touched Lisa’s arm. “Miss Goudard? I’m Jennifer, your nurse. How are you feeling?”

  Lisa propped herself on her elbows and gazed around the sterile room. Drab whites and beige smothered any chance of hope. Her left shoulder itched, and when she went to sc
ratch, her nails scraped against a large adhesive patch.

  “Careful, that’s your ATP patch,” the nurse said, pushing a red button on the intercom hanging on the wall.

  “ATP patch? Did I get cut or something?”

  “No, nothing like that. The ATP patch is how you’re getting nutrition. You were in a coma. At least we didn’t have to use a feeding tube.”

  “I was in a coma?”

  “A chemically induced coma,” the nurse said.

  “Why am I here?” Lisa closed her eyes. “My God! Bob! I remember!” She ripped the sheet away from her legs and sat sideways on the bed. The room rocked over a twenty foot wave. She jutted both hands to her side to steady herself from keeling over.

  The nurse placed her hands on Lisa’s shoulders. “Just a minute, hon. It’s too soon for you get up.”

  Lisa lowered her head to keep from passing out. The flimsy hospital gown covered only to her upper thighs, exposing the full length of her legs. A few days of hair growth told her how long it had been since she last shaved. Both legs were ghastly pale, as if they had never been exposed to sunlight, and worse. She looked at her palms, and then turned her hands around, feeling as if she were wearing someone else’s skin. Her ruby red nails were a startling contrast to her lifeless looking skin. “Oh my God, this can’t be happening to me.”

  The door opened, flooding the room with bright fluorescent light from the hall. A thin woman wearing matching pants and jacket entered, softly closing the door behind.

  “You can go now,” she said to the nurse, as she moved to the front the bed. “Hi, Lisa, my name is Anne Watson. I’m a social worker for the hospital. My job is to help transition trauma victims back into normal life.” She extended her right hand.

  Lisa reached and took her hand; again, it felt strangely warm. “Please tell me what’s going on. I know something bad has happened to my boyfriend, Robert Sanders. He’s . . . he’s dead isn’t he?”