Swarm (Dead Ends) (12 page)

I carefully scooted back to the base of the branch and hollered for Doc. His zombie was still unscathed, circling around the tree and sniffing the air. The remnants of its park ranger uniform clung lazily to its body and I could see what looked like a walkie-talkie attached to its belt.

“What’s the deal man?” I shouted. “You alright?”

“My shoulder’s fucked” he yelled back, painfully, “I don’t have enough strength to even pull the arrow into position.”

“You have your machete with you?” I asked.

“Yeah, why?” he asked.

“Wait until he’s directly underneath you and drop the blade into his head. It worked for me.”

“Alright” he said, “It’s worth a shot.”

After what seemed like minutes of silence, he shouted out “God Dammit!”

“What happened?”

“I missed! God Dammit! I missed. I’m sorry” he said. The desperation in his voice had me more than a little worried.

“It’s ok man, just stay cool” I said, knowing full well that staying cool under the circumstances was pretty much impossible. “We’ll figure something out.” I looked around for a while, first at the gimp, then at Ranger Zed, and just as I was about to make the dumb decision to attempt to scale down the tree somehow, at least to a point where I could jump and land on the ground without breaking every bone in my body, Ranger Zed bumped into the ladder that had allowed Doc to scurry up to safety. He was looking at the ladder and I swear there was a glimmer of recognition there, like all of the sudden he knew what the ladder was for. He put a hand on one of the rungs. Then the other hand followed.

“Oh come on”,
I mumbled to myself. A moment later I could hear Doc spouting off a slew of expletives as he realized what was happening.

The Ranger kept his hands in the same position on the ladder while whatever was left of the hamster wheel in his brain began to slowly pick up speed. He began to lift one of his feet and I could almost hear the theme song from
2001: A Space Odyssey
resonate through the forest as I was witnessing what I was sure was some sort of Darwinian horror show.
Zombies can’t climb, those are the rules
I thought. But apparently the rules of pop culture sci-fi don’t apply in the event of an actual undead uprising. One of his hands reached for a higher rung as his other foot lifted off the ground, bringing with it a complete reappraisal of everything I thought I knew about zombies. Luckily though, before the song could reach its belabored crescendo in my head, the record scratched as Ranger Zed’s foot squished down on the rung and slipped out from under him, leaving him flailing backwards as he still gripped firmly to the ladder. The top end of the ladder began to fall down to the point where it was now parallel to the ground with Zed’s head sticking out between the rungs as his momentum carried him backwards. The end of the ladder came to an abrupt and violent stop at the base of a tree. The force was strong enough to make Zed’s head rattle around the rungs like a pinball. There was a final hollow metallic thud combined with just a hint of squishiness that left his head looking like a cartoon character that just ran into a fence post at full speed. He was no longer going to be a problem.

I didn’t know whether to laugh or be absolutely terrified at what I had just witnessed. With Doc’s injury though I knew I had to be the one to get out of this tree so I could get a ladder up to him. And I knew I should do it soon while I still have some breathing room between Gimp Girl and myself. After more than a few deep breaths, I slowly lowered myself from the branch so I was hanging off of it. Only then did I realize how bad of an idea it was. But my grip was slipping so that didn’t really matter anymore. I just braced myself for the inevitable fall. Luckily the linebacker’s lifeless body provided a bit of cushioning but I still twisted my ankle pretty good. I could feel it swelling up already. I slowly pulled the machete out of his head and chuckled at the realization that I had finally had my
Sword and the Stone
moment. I walked towards the gimp readying my machete before I finally decided this undead bitch was going to die by an arrow, one way or another. I didn’t care if that meant more work for me when I had to remove and clean the arrows. It had to be this way. If for no other reason than to restore a little bit of pride in my own abilities. I’d work on my aim later. Right now, point blank was the way to go.

She went down somewhat anti-climactically but I suppose I wasn’t sure what I really expected. Although there did seem to be a sliver of fear in her eyes as I raised the crossbow and aimed it (I hoped) at her face. But as soon as it had appeared, it was gone again and she reverted back to shuffling towards me, a meal she would never have the pleasure of enjoying, if the dead could even enjoy such a thing. I tend to think the drive to consume human flesh is the only thing that keeps them going. They don’t get any pleasure out of it. They just do it because it’s the only programming they have left.

Before I went to help Doc down, I checked my surroundings to make sure that there were no more of those things lurking about. A task I admittedly should’ve completed while still in the lofty confines of the tree but becoming a stone cold undead killer doesn’t seem to happen overnight. And in my case it’ll probably never happen. A survivalist maybe, but a zombie hit man? Doubtful. But if I wanted to survive for any measurable amount of time, I should probably make a mental note of making sure I’m in a (relatively) safe area before I just jump into the Eating Zone and start shooting from the hip. Luckily, there didn’t seem to be any more of them for now. At first, the overwhelming quiet that had blanketed the region was eerie and discomforting but now I’m beginning to adjust to it. I see it for what it is. An equilibrium. Solace, even. If it’s quiet it’s safe. If the silence is broken, expect the worse. One gunshot had brought three of them. What would prolonged conversation bring? Or a running car or a generator? All of the things that can help us survive can also give away our position. I feel like it will take me some time to fully come to grips with that fact.

“Did you get ‘em all?” Doc’s voice was strained and he was breathing heavily.

“Yeah, you ok?” I asked, grabbing the ladder and bringing it over to his tree.

“Shit, I think so. I might have dislocated my shoulder” he said. “Ah well, wouldn’t be the first time.”

“Can you make it down?”

“I’m afraid to say I might need a little help” he said.

“No problem. I’ll come up and try to guide you onto the ladder.” I made sure the ladder was firmly planted on the ground and made my way up, having no idea how I was actually going to guide him onto anything given how much pain I was currently in. My shoulder was still killing me and I kept getting shooting pain and numbing sensations all down my arm but I had to give it my best shot.

I helped him onto the top rung. I could tell he was in pain but he kept quiet. It’s amazing what your survival instinct will do to your pain tolerance. Before all of this, I would’ve cried out in pain if I experienced even half of what was going on in my body right now. I guess after a while you just learn to live with it. Better to be painfully aware that you’re alive than sadly unaware that you’re undead. Doc slipped slightly as I guided him down, causing me to support his weight for a split-second, which was all it took to send another unwelcome wave of pain up and down my arm and shoulder. I remained a few rungs below him as we descended just to make sure he wouldn’t lose his balance. As I looked down to see how many steps were left, something warm dripped onto the crown of my head which immediately made me dab at it with my fingers. I pulled my hand from the top of my head to reveal blood. I almost didn’t want to but I knew I had to look up and see what was going on. Doc’s flannel shirt extended above his waistline as his good arm remained outstretched for support and I could see the remnants of what looked like a bite wound just above his left hip. Blood was leaking from the middle and the area where the teeth made contact and ripped the flesh away was severely bruised. There were dark outlines that looked like black veins snaking from the wound and extending several inches up his skin.

Time seemed to stop and it took everything I had not to either jump off the ladder or pull him off and get back up to the safety of the tree before he turned. Instead I quickly and calmly descended, two rungs at a time, waiting for the familiar feel of earth at my feet and the machete that I had stuck into the ground right next to the ladder. I gripped it hard and waited for him to reach the ground, contemplating whether to just kill him before he turned around or at least wait to see if he had turned. Normally I’d think that since he was still climbing down at a relatively slow pace, being sure to place both feet on one rung before lowering to the next one that maybe he hadn’t turned yet but after seeing Ranger Zed’s light bulb moment a few short minutes earlier, I wasn’t so sure. With each step the virus, or whatever the hell it was, was slowly taking over his brain and by the time he reached me, I was sure he’d probably be ready to pop his undead cherry. I took a deep breath as his foot found the last rung. When his second foot was firmly placed, I readied myself.

“I know I’ve been bitten” he said without turning around. It caught me off guard and I lowered the machete.

“Yeah, I noticed that” I said quietly.

“Do what you’ve got to” he said confidently.

I wanted to lop his head off right then and there but a part of me was curious just how long it took for someone to turn. I remember the girl from the bathroom in Sportsman’s Paradise but I never actually saw her get bitten so I have no idea how long it might be until the zest for life gives way to the hunt for brains. Was it universal for everyone or did the time vary? It’s disturbing to think about but knowing these kinds of things could be the difference between life and death. There would come a point where we would have to stop just reacting to these creatures and start learning about them. That’s the only way we’d stand a chance.

“I’ll give you two options” I said, “Number one: I kill you right now either by chopping your head off or shooting you, Number Two: I tie you up to a tree so I can see how long it takes for you to turn, that way you’ll at least be helping me learn something about how this happens.”

He didn’t even hesitate. “Option two. But hurry. According to the CDC statement, it can happen in less than five minutes. There’s some rope over there” he said, nodding towards the base of a tree. “Tie it tight.”

Chapter 11

I tied Doc as best as I could to the tree, attaching one end of rope to each wrist and ankle and wrapping it around the tree. The virus was clearly starting to kick in because he no longer felt any pain. Mentally he still seemed to be all there, as much as I could expect anyway given that he knows his death is coming within minutes.

“How you doin’?” I asked, “I mean I know how you’re doing but…”

“It’s ok man” he laughed, “I’m at peace. But I’ll tell you what, if I’m gonna die, I’m not doin’ it sober.” He nodded towards the left chest pocket of his shirt. I reached in to find a small joint and a lighter, which immediately made me smile. I lit it and we both took a big inhale.

“Ahh, much better” he sighed, “Listen, I know you might not be able to do what I’m about to ask you but all I can do is ask that you try…”

“Anything, man” I said.

“My daughter” he said as I put the joint to his mouth. He exhaled and said “I haven’t been the best dad but I just want her to know how much I love her. There’s a letter in my pocket that I just haven’t had the balls to send for years now. I’m guessing the mail probably isn’t being delivered anymore” he laughed and then looked me in the eyes, “but if you ever find yourself up in the San Juan Islands, maybe you could give it to her? Her address is on there. I know it’s a lot to ask but…”

“Done” I interrupted, “don’t even worry about it, Doc.”

He looked relieved as he fought back a tear. “I don’t know you that well Sam but you’re a hell of a guy in my book. I’d shake your hand but…” he moved his wrists slightly, “I’m a little tied up right now.”

“Right back at ya’” I smiled.

“It’s folded up in my back pocket” he said.

“Ok, hold this for a second” I said, placing the joint between his lips.

“Don’t mind if I do.”

I slowly reached into his back pocket, trying to avoid touching any of the blood that seeped from his wound. “It’s not in there” I said.

“Shit, try the other pocket” he said.

I went to the other side and reached in to grab the envelope. He dropped the joint from his mouth and when I glanced up to his face, the change had already happened. The vacant look, the nightmare eyes filled with yellow and black, and a few seconds later, the recognition that dinner was right in front of him. I stepped away as he lurched at me, biting the air and struggling against the rope to get closer. I looked at the envelope and shook my head before placing it in my inside jacket pocket for safe keeping. I know that a part of Doc probably realized that I could’ve just been saying what he wanted to hear but I had every intention of getting that letter to his daughter, one way or another.

For now though, the only thing I had to worry about was the question of how exactly to kill him, or
it
, at this point. Should I cut the whole head off or would he still be alive? Slice halfway through the head so the brain would be severed? Admittedly, my decision would be based on a mild dose of personal experience and a whole lot of otherwise useless science fiction knowledge that until yesterday had remained safely in the realm of fiction and in no danger of ever being considered a scientific reality. I wondered if this whole thing was even scientific in nature to begin with. Was it some lab experiment gone wrong or just a confluence of improbable and seemingly unrelated events like the Ebola monkey who bit the pretty-boy from
Grey’s Anatomy
? Some bumbling scientist who mislabeled a vial? Or perhaps the conditions were just right in a random stew of primordial ooze bubbling away in the far reaches of the planet.

He was starting to snarl and make all kinds of unwelcoming noises, his flesh tearing against the rope as he quickly became accustomed to the unwavering strength and inability to feel pain that seems to be a perk of joining the undead. I decided on a vertical strike right down the middle of the head with the machete that belonged to him only a few hours earlier. The resistance surprised me. Since he was newly turned, his body remained rigid, still warm from the blood taking its last trip through the veins and arteries before it turned into a crude sludge that seemed to exist in some sort of semi-solid, gelatinous state that thumbed its nose at the laws of fluid dynamics. Up to this point, I had no problem de-humanizing these creatures because they literally looked like monsters. But Doc was different. He had a name, a story, an existence beyond undead flesh-hound. For the first time I felt like I had just killed a man. I didn’t like the feeling one bit.