Eat, Prey, Decay: 7 Tales of the Apocalypse (Zombie, Dark Fantasy, Dystopian, Horror, & Post-Apocalyptic Boxed Set), page 119
I couldn’t repress the bile as it flooded my throat. I let it loose, barely missing the boy’s body as I added my vomit to the growing pool of blood on the floor. Still feeling sick afterwards, I looked up and found Denise Morgan shambling towards me. Her face- as lifeless as it was- held some understanding. Her gaze moved from her once-alive son to me and I knew I’d pissed off mother zombie. Zombies. They’re not fucking zombies, Virginia. Get a damn grip. But what else was I going to call them. Zombie kids and zombie parents. That would do for now.
“Jennifer, you have to calm down. You have to calm down.” Jim’s voice pulled my attention away from Mrs. Morgan. I’d opened the door to exam room B, but never looked inside, never checked on Mr. Marsh and his daughter.
The sight inside the exam room was nearly worse than out in the hallway. Nurse Leslie was on the floor, leaning against the wall, nursing a large wound on her arm. Jim was pushing Jennifer down against the exam table. The girl was kicking and snarling, trying desperately to bite her father. I have to get out of here. Stephen was right. I have to get out now.
I slammed the door to the exam room shut again, just as Denise Morgan’s hand gripped my upper arm. I screamed, slapping her away. Now, I was regretting not taking the free martial arts course Juan Mendoza taught at the community center last spring. I screamed again, this time bringing up my right leg and kicking at the woman. Mrs. Morgan’s head came dangerously close to my shoulder, but my kick landed squarely on her upper left thigh. I was short, mismatched against the taller woman, but the blow was enough to push her backwards. She tripped over Duke’s body. Once next to her son, the woman whimpered and seemed to give up, wrapping an arm around her inert boy. Somehow it was sad. Sad and disturbing.
Racing quickly away and past the file room, I yelled for Nurse Kayla, but the only response I got was the sound of breaking glass and a cacophony of ear-splitting screams. If it had been Leslie manning the front desk, I might have gone in, tried to see if she was okay. But it was Nurse Kayla… and I could not bring myself to risk my own neck to save hers. Save me a seat in hell, I didn’t give a shit. Past the file room was a one-way viewing window.
The waiting room looked like a murder scene. Blood was everywhere, like a monochromatic mural of red on the floor, walls and ceilings. I could see the source of the breaking glass sound now. The large front window of my practice was shattered. Nurse Kayla was shoved onto a large spike of remaining glass and a red haired child bounced atop her body like it was a trampoline and not the remnants of a person. There were children outside the building, moving quickly and with purpose. In contrast, their adult counterparts seemed directionless and void. I could only imagine what had unfolded within my practice… Duke and Jennifer times ten.
They weren’t children.
They were clawing, biting, scratching, tearing little things… hurting the ones that loved them most. Rabid.
Rabid like a pack of wild dogs.
Outside, the children moved together, clawing at a station wagon as it tried to leave the lot. I recognized that vehicle. The Fields family owned it. Maybe they were okay. Maybe one family made it out of this hell unscathed. Somehow I pulled myself away from the gruesome scene. I was shaking violently and it took every ounce of willpower I possessed to calm down. I’d only been still for a moment studying the fall out, but now that I’d returned to the present, I heard Jim yell and remembered that there was still one zombie child I had to worry about. Gripping the key card around my neck with shaking fingers, I darted toward the secured supply room- not the one with tongue depressors and gauze. No, this one had the more expensive items, the controlled substances, the things that sticky fingers might be tempted by. I kept a number of items here meant for the walk-in clinic across town. Things that might be useful- like bandages, antibiotics, and mild painkillers.
Sliding the card down the reader, I entered the room. I’d be safe in here for now. Pushing down my emotions, I began gathering supplies, stuffing everything into plastic, red biohazard bags. They weren’t sturdy, but they’d work until I could find a replacement. I took as much as I thought I could carry, enough that I could help anyone who needed it. This was still my town. I was still a doctor. I had a duty.
Once I had three over-filled red bags, I realized I was going to have trouble carrying all three by their small white, flimsy handles. I needed to put them all into something, something that would allow me to navigate outside with my hands free. Just in case I needed to defend myself.
The only thing I could find that even marginally fit the bill was one of the large blood drive gift bags from the previous year. It really wasn’t suitable for carrying weight, but it had string straps and that was better than nothing. I shoved the biohazards bags into it, shouldered the supplies, and mentally prepared myself for a quick exit. As an afterthought, I put on a P-100 mask and gloves before leaving the supply room. I didn’t know what had caused this outbreak, but so far, I wasn’t infected. I’d do whatever I could to keep it that way. The bag on my back was angular and clunky; I shifted my shoulders restlessly, trying to get the weight of it to settle more comfortably on my back. It was a fruitless effort. And I need to focus.
Only a few strides took me from the supply room to the emergency door. I peered tentatively through the sliver of reinforced glass which posed as a window. I could see the back grassy lot and immediately wished that I had installed the employee parking lot that year, but the contractor quotes had just been too damn high. Sixteen grand for a slab of concrete. Ridiculous.
Course, if I’d just paid the damn money, my car would be parked conveniently out back. As it was though, my Land Rover was out front along with zombie kids, zombie moms, zombie dads, probable death. It wasn’t worth the risk. I’d rather run home than risk my neck for the advantage of four wheels. The nearest building wasn’t far, just across the two-lane road that ran parallel to Main Street. I could make that easily. The angle though… one of them might see me. I can do this. I can make it across the road and the three miles to my house. Heart racing I adjusted the awkward pack again and pushed on the door release.
It didn’t open! What the hell? I pushed harder and looked down to see if the door was locked. My eyes were greeted by a little red sign over the release lever. HOLD FOR 15 SECONDS UNTIL ALARM SOUNDS. Crap. That’s less than ideal. They’re going to hear that sucker a mile away and make a beeline for my ass. Holding my breath, I pushed and held the release in place.
The emergency alarm blared to life and a split-second later, the door clicked and swung open. Without hesitation, I bolted across the threshold and ran. My legs pumped back and forth, my sensible shoes slapping the pavement in a rushed rhythm.
A gunshot sounded to my left and I turned quickly, almost falling over my own feet and face-planting on the asphalt. John Croxton, one of the deputy sheriffs, was firing warning shots over a crowd of people moving toward him. Coming to a halt, I opened my mouth to yell, to warn him that the mob couldn’t be reasoned with. I saw the children in the crowd, they moved faster than the adults, moved toward John… closer, closer. John fired again. I couldn’t look away. Morbid fascination- a brutal car crash on the freeway.
The children were upon him now. I watched as his body disappeared beneath the swarm of ringlets and bloody, cherub cheeks. I listened as he fired a last desperate shot into the air. And then his gun was silenced, replaced by his screams… an infinitely more disturbing sound than a gunshot.
Something told me to move, something primitive, something ancient. My inner self prodded me to run- like a hot poker on my backside. I snapped into action. The emergency alarm was still screeching and the infected children were beginning to look my way. My feet started pounding against the pavement again. I counted the footfalls, trying to ignore the snarling and spitting in the distance behind me.
I was almost at my house. So close. Only one more street to cross.
Everything around me was in ruin. People were screaming; a man was beating a child with a garbage can; an elderly woman was lying on the ground, an old wooden cane her only defense against an attacker with blonde pigtails. Percy, the local handyman, was fending off a preteen with a hammer. But he couldn’t defend himself from all sides. I gasped as a boy bounded on all fours towards Percy from behind. I was close enough to hear the squelching, flesh-ripping sound as the man lost a chunk of his calf. I flinched as Percy fell forward, the hammer useless against such calculated viciousness.
It was too much. I couldn’t handle this. How could I survive on my own? When so many were dying… so much fear?
I pushed harder, sprinting as fast as I could, fully focused on getting to my house. Getting to a phone. Because I realized that I didn’t have to be alone. It was a stupid, stupid time to realize that I needed Chris. But I did. I needed Chris. Not just because the world had gone to shit, but because if the world went to shit, I’d want to be with Chris until the end. It was just that simple.
Right foot down. Left foot down. Right foot down. Left foot down.
I could do this; I could make it home, pack a bag, and take the Jag to Dallas. I’d get Chris. We’d be safe together. And I’d wear that damn engagement ring with pride.
All I could think about was Chris now. I should have been paying attention to my surroundings.
Crossing the last street, I didn’t look left or right.
Just a little further and I’d be home.
The car seemed to come out of nowhere- they always do when you aren’t paying attention.
There was so much pain. I knew it was over. I’d never make it home. Never make it to Chris. Those things would get me, bite me, turn me… all because I wasn’t paying attention to the damn road.
I was curled against the concrete, not wanting to move until I knew how bad my injuries were. My mind was slowly shutting down, shielding me from the onslaught of pain. I blinked, trying desperately to remain conscious. As I slipped into blackness, I felt my body gingerly lifted and placed against a much softer surface. Voices filled the space around me. I only caught three words. Was she bitten?
***
In an out of consciousness and pain.
The aches greeted me each time I woke up and they forced me to drift back into the sweet darkness of sleep. Occasionally, during my brief moments of wakefulness, I heard voices. There was a man, a woman… and maybe a child. I couldn’t be sure and I really didn’t care. All I cared about was leaving the pain behind.
But I knew that giving into oblivion like that was unwise. So each time my eyes fluttered open, I tried to stay awake a little longer.
As my conscious brain began to clear from the trauma-induced fog, I tried to self-diagnose. My hips were sore and there was at least deep tissue bruising in my pelvis and lower abdomen, maybe a few banged-up ribs. I could wrap those tightly… if the people in the car with me had picked up my medical supplies along with me and my busted body. I didn’t think anything was broken thankfully, but I hesitated to move too much and draw attention to myself. I might have fractured my wrist and my left ankle sent a sharp pain up my spine when I tried to rotate it.
I nodded off to sleep again several times.
Finally, I awoke and I felt wholly myself- alert and alive.
The car was slowing down; the motion reminded me of being a kid riding in the back of my mom’s conversion van. I opened my eyes fully now, curiosity beating out my desire to remain unnoticed. A new rush of soreness assaulted my senses and made me wince. I wasn’t accustomed to this much physical damage and my body was sending all types of signals to my brain, more than it wanted to process at one time. I fought the urge to once again give in to sleep.
The daylight was blinding, the late afternoon Texas sun shining through the glass right into my sensitive eyes.
“Where am I?” I heard my voice and it sounded strangely detached.
“Marvin, she’s awake,” came a voice from the front seat, “It’s okay, Honey, you’re safe and Marvin doesn’t think you’re too bad off.”
“I’ll be the judge of that.” I sat up now, my body screaming in revolt “Last thing I remember was getting run over…”
“That was us, Ma’am,” a voice came alive to my right “and we’re awful sorry. You just ran right out into the road. Dad couldn’t brake quick enough. Scared the dickens out of Mom though. Never heard her curse before!” I looked at the voice and saw that I had been resting next to a teenager with carrot-colored hair and a face full of pale brown freckles. The boy looked like he could have been in the cast of Mayberry R.F.D. or on the cover of MAD magazine.
“You hush! Cussing is awful and impolite. I can’t believe I said something so foul.”
“I think you’ll be okay, Mom. God’s not going to give away your seat in heaven for saying the word—”
“Son, if you say that word, I’ll wash your mouth out with soap, just like Grandmother Reynolds used to do to me!”
“Sorry, Mom.” But the boy didn’t sound sorry at all; he sounded amused.
I cleared my throat to interrupt the mother-son bickering. “Well, thanks for not leaving me for dead.” I grimaced, the pain shooting through my ribs as I adjusted myself in the seat.
“We couldn’t have done that.” It was Marvin, the dad, looking at me in the rearview mirror. “I mean, it may be the end of the world, but we can still be civilized, you know?”
Civilized? I thought, acid forming words in my mind. There’s nothing civil about the end of the world… zombie kids, zombie parents, damn murder and bloody mayhem. The situation was as far from civil as it could get. Do these people even know what the hell is going on outside their little van and idealistic morals?
“Where are our manners?” The mother chimed in, “I’m Cindy; this is my husband Marvin, and that’s our son Tye, short for Tyson. We’re the Gadsons.
I looked at her thoughtfully; for some reason, her introduction struck me as funny. Formalities at the end of the world. Just weird.
“Well, it’s nice to meet you and your family, Cindy. I’m Dr. Virginia Lynn. I assure you, I don’t make a habit of running into moving vehicles like a deranged woman. I’m living a bit outside my normal routine today.”
“Oh, aren’t we all.” She responded in a perky voice, “Marvin says it’s the tribulation and this is God’s curse on the planet. We’re on our way to the temple right now to find sanctuary. Nothing can happen to us there.”
“Temple, what temple?” I was trying to grasp what she was saying, but the pain had suddenly worsened and was muddying my brain. Maybe I had broken something after all. Before I could ask if they’d brought along my medical supplies, Cindy started speaking again.
“Why the Mormon temple of course, Dear. Marvin says the Dallas temple will be too crowded so now we’re heading to San Antonio. That temple’s fairly new and Marvin thinks they’ll be less people going there.”
“Yep, that’s right.” Marvin chimed in, “Less people means less children. We were actually headed to the Dallas Temple when we ran into you, but decided to turn around after we began running into clogged roads and a lot of the sinners outside your town. We have to feel pity for them and pray; they’ll be spending existence that way.”
“Sinners?” That confused me… “What sinners?”
“Those kids, the ones that are killing people. And then there are the adults, heaven knows how many sins sentenced them to that fate!” Cindy’s voice was high-pitched and frazzled. I stared at her, my mouth gaping at the ridiculousness of her words. As if small children could be ‘sinners.’ My eyes left her face, focusing on her lap. I was worried I’d say something curt and get my ass tossed to the curb. Cindy’s hands were folded loosely against her thighs; a white undershirt peeked out from beneath her gingham blouse. She caught me looking and hastily pulled her blouse over the undershirt. “They’ll all need to be offered redemption. I’m sure they’ll be doing round-the-clock baptisms for the dead at the Temple. Because they are dead; aren’t they, Marvin? That’s what you said.”
“Dead as can be, Cindy.” His voice was sad. “Like you said, must have done some real terrible things to have to walk this earth immortal and evil.”
They really believed that the children must be sinners; that they’d done something terrible to make them change. No, kids were innocent. It was something else; something that we adults caused that robbed them of their childhoods and turned them into monsters. I didn’t say anything to contradict Cindy though. I’d known a few Mormons; they’d been wonderful, decent people, but this was a family of zealots, non-mainstream, and one scoop-full away from a whole bucketful of crazy.
“That’s right, Honey. Only sinners would be fated to that sort of hell on an earthly plane.” His voice was serious, matter-of-fact. Then, almost manically, a smile lit his face. “Soon as I get some gas, we’ll be to the Temple in no time. We’re actually not too far from where we hit you, lost a lot of time heading to Dallas and then turning around.”
It finally dawned on me. They’d been heading toward Dallas. Now they weren’t. And every second took me further and further away from Chris.
“I can’t go to San Antonio.” I muttered. “I need to get to Dallas. It’s a… a medical emergency.”
