Another Zombie Apocalypse Tale: Part 2

Two Weeks and One Day Since the Apocalypse

The doctor made another “Hmm.” The fifth he’d harmonized in the last twenty minutes since examining me. I kept track of the time by the analog clock on the wall behind him as I sat on a wooden table with a stained gray sheet draped over it. 

The rest of the small room was almost barren, save for a tray table against the wall with several first aid kits set on it, and a tool chest next to that. Wooden blocks chocked the wheels on the chest to prevent it from rolling away.

“How old are these?” The doctor lifted my arm and traced two distinct crescent-shaped scars. The winkles on his face deepened as he squinted at me. One bite mark was bigger than the other. Both bites were scabbed with dark, dried blood. The skin around them bruised yellow and purple.

“About a week old.” I remembered the dead that bit me. One was a small child, who hadn’t appeared dead—save for the stench, but everything stank like a rotting corpse—and the other one who bit me was my own sister. I’d been looking for her, and when I found her, I forgot the chaos. The scar was a forever reminder of my mistake.

Another “hmm” from the doctor, and he poked at another scar. This one was on my ankle. The scabs were gone, but it was still bruised. There were new bruises from my attack just a night ago, but the bruises from this bite were a faded yellow, now hidden under angry purple and black.

“And this one,” he asked, taking a step back to peer at me.

I clasped my hands together in my lap. “I got that one the day the dead came back to life.”

“Did you become sick at all?” He tilted his head a little and a lock of his graying hair fell across his cheek.

“I threw up,” I said, releasing my hands from their grip. My palms were slick with sweat. “But I think that was from shock.”

“Fever, chills, headaches, clammy skin?”

I shook my head. My hair fell across my face. Unlike his longer, graying hair, mine was cut short to my chin and was dark brown in color. My sister had always said it reminded her of fudge brownies.

Remembering her made my heart ache and stomach clench. I had to kill her. The bite on my arm itched as the scene played through my head. First, relief flooded through me when I saw her, and I ran to her. She turned around, her dark eyes were glassy and a gash rotted across her chest. I couldn’t stop myself before her gaze zeroed in on me, then her blank expression went from zero thoughts to hungering for my brains. Literally.

“Nothing at all?” The doctor’s tone implied that I was lying, and I looked up at him, my face going hard as I made eye contact with him.

“No,” I said. “I didn’t get sick. Except for throwing up after I had to kill people I knew.”

“Hmm.”

I pushed off the table, my feet hit the ground with a thud. “Have you seen what they do?” I shoved my arm in his face. “These bite marks are only because they couldn’t grab my head. They don’t just want flesh, they want brains. Do you have any idea what it’s like? To watch someone you know bashing in the skull—”

“I’m aware of what they do.” The doctor took a step away from me, and frowned. “Do you know what happens to those they bite?”

“Do you?”

We stared at each other. His frown deepened. My pulse slammed in my temples and my skin burned up my neck. If this guy really didn’t know what happened to those who were bitten, and those who were eaten—and how they were eaten—by the walking corpses, he'd have to be an absolute moron.

Talking to him was a waste of time. Not that I truly had anywhere to be. The world had bigger concerns now than making sure kids went to school. I had bigger concerns than making sure I got good grades so I could attempt to acquire some grants and scholarships if I did decide to go to college.

College. A concept I had once been terrified of.

I laughed and leaned back against the table. The doctor gave me a skeptical look, but moved over to the first aid kits and rolling tool chest.

“May I draw your blood so I can run some tests?”

“Sure,” I said around a bitter laugh. “I’ve got all the time in the world.”

We remained silent for the entire ten minutes it took him to draw a few vials of my blood. He didn’t make a single “hmm”, which pleased me. I was sick of hearing that.

Once he finished wrapping the puncture site with a cotton ball and light blue gauze tape, he left the room with a murmured, “Be right back.”

He returned one minute and eighteen seconds later, and motioned for me to leave the room. Outside the room, in a hallway smelling of bleach and metal, stood the bearded man who’d rescued me, and a woman I didn’t recognize. Granted, as soon as I’d woken up, I’d been greeted by that doctor and grilled and poked at. I didn’t get the chance to meet anyone else in this…place. I wasn’t sure what one would call it. A refuge, perhaps?

“Hi,” I said.

The man didn’t greet me. His face was set with a grim scowl, and his gaze wandered, not meeting mine. The woman smiled an all too cheerful smile that didn’t reach her eyes.

“I’m Marge.” She reached her hand out to me.

“Cool.” I glanced at her hand and didn’t shake it, keeping my hands at my sides. They were cold and sweaty, but that wasn't why I refused to accept her hand. Maybe I was reading into the situation too much, as I often did, but I didn’t feel comfortable. My gut agreed with me.

“We’re here to take you to your room.” Marge pulled her hand back and clasped them to her chest. Her red hair was falling loose from it’s braid, and her shirt was covered with dark stains. “This way.”

I wasn’t going to follow her, but the bearded man posted up behind me and herded me along. The sick in my stomach grew as we kept turning down a maze of hallways. 

When we came to a staircase that led down, I almost bolted, but with a glance back at the man, and being reminded how big he was—broad shoulders, two feet taller than me, arms thick with muscle—I knew I needed to save my strength for whatever was to come next.

The lights flickered down the corridor at the bottom of the stairs. The shitty bulbs that had never been replaced with LEDs made obnoxious buzzing sounds. I followed Marge, our footsteps an odd muted echo.

“Here we are,” Marge said, pushing open the door and walking in. “It’s not much, but it’s clean and there’s a shower with lukewarm water.”

I waited in the doorway, and took in the grim site. Indeed, it was clean, despite the dark stains on the floor. The scent of bleach hung in the air, and there was a small room off to the side. The open door revealed a bathroom with a shower in the corner, its curtain hung halfway open and was yellow with age.

“Thanks,” I said, the sick in my stomach started to wane, and I wondered if my uncertainty was overexaggerated. I stepped into the room and paused. There was a door across from me. The handle had been removed from my side and was covered with a metal plate. “What’s behind—”

I turned around in time to see Marge pull the door shut. My heart dropped and the sick twisted my insides with full force. There was no door handle on my side of that door either.

“Hey!” I banged my fists against the door, the sound hollow and absolute. “Let me out! Let me—”

A click was heard over my shouts, and I turned around slowly. The hair on the back of my neck stood taut. The door on the other side of the room opened in toward me. Darkness stared back at me, but I could sense movement. The scuff of shoes against the ground, the brush of fabric and skin.

Despite my terror, I forced my gaze away from the darkness to scan the room for a weapon, anything I could use to defend myself against what was going to inevitably come out of that room. 

A twin bed was against the wall. A split second thought made me think I could shove the bed in front of the door, but it was bolted to the floor.

A moan drew a chill up my spine and my skin spiked with gooseflesh. I glanced toward the darkness. A shape started to take form as it ambled into my room. I turned to the bathroom, and contemplated locking myself in. Only there wasn’t a door.

I swore, then gagged as the stench of death filled the small room.

Teeth chattered hungrily. I stiffened and peeked over my shoulder. The corpse zeroed in on me with dark eyes. It was small, like a pre-teen human, but with its decomposing flesh oozing off its body, I couldn’t tell its gender. Not that it mattered in this moment.

It clacked its jaw and jerked toward me, raising its arms. Its fingers curled and grabbed at me. I stumbled back, smacking into the wall. I stepped to the side and tripped into the bathroom, falling hard on my ass. Shock jolted up my spine. The corpse lunged for me, reaching for my head.

I scrambled back, whimpering. My hand touched something plastic and malleable. Metal tinked together, and I glanced over. The shower curtain crinkled under my hand. I grabbed it and yanked hard, lifting it to shield myself against the corpse determined to end me.

Its fingers dug into the fabric. Crack. Snap. The bones in its hands broke as it shoved with zero regard for pain. I screamed. My shoes slipped against the floor as I struggled to keep the dead off me. The shower curtain was the only thing keeping it from me.

“Help!” I screamed. Why did they do this to me? Throw me into this room to be attacked by a corpse? “Help, please!” Tears streamed down my face, and my muscles started to weaken. I hadn’t had anything real to eat in days, much less anything to drink. I wasn’t going to be able to fight for long.

The curtain gave way. The full weight of the dead person fell upon me. I screamed again. My whole world turned black and tilted. Metal clanged against tile. The dead tried to bite me through the shower curtain.

Metal, I thought with a jolt. My panic stilled for a second, and that was all I needed. My vision cleared and I turned my head to see the rod that the shower curtain had been hanging from. I groped for it, while the corpse groped for my head, nails digging through the fabric between us. The metal was cool in my hand. Hope—and rage—fueled me.

An animal-like growl ripped from my throat as I shoved the corpse. It budged just enough for me to scramble free. With the metal rod in my hand, I lifted it and swung hard. The corpse lunged. The metal connected with a bone jarring thwack, but the corpse didn’t go down. We fell backwards, into the main room. Its teeth sank into the meat between my shoulder and neck. I cried out. My vision went fuzzy, but the rod was still in my hand.

I adjusted it in my grip, and slid it under the dead's neck, between me and it, and I pushed with all my strength. Screaming as my skin was torn from my body by the bite the corpse took. Blood dripped warm on my face and neck. I shoved again, then rolled to the side. 

I got to my feet. Using the rod like a spear, I rammed the end into the gaping mouth of the corpse. I pushed until the rod snapped in half, then I used the half still in my hands to smash the corpse’s head until it was nothing but mush.

I was sitting in the corner of the room, fading in and out of consciousness, when Marge and the doctor came to retrieve me. My body was sticky with blood, brain matter, and rotten flesh. If I wasn’t passing out from blood loss, I would have done the same thing to them as I had done to the dead. Lucky for them, I didn’t have the strength.