Dead Soil: A Zombie Series (6 page)

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Carolyn Bock sat on her zebra striped bedspread as she painted her toenails a neon shade of turquoise. She huffed at the TV. She didn’t want to watch the news, but no matter what channel she turned to it found a way onto her screen. She gazed up at what was an old rerun of
Buffy the Vampire Slayer
to see a middle aged, balding man in a white button down shirt and a loose, crooked tie talking into a microphone in the lobby of some building in Chicago. The underarms of his shirt were stained yellow. Carolyn rolled her eyes and turned the TV off. She dropped the remote to the bed with a groan.

Work had called early that morning to tell her not to come in until they called again. They didn’t specify what it was about or when that would be, only that there was no work. This sent a pained lump of worry down to the pit of her stomach where it sat like a bad piece of sushi.

Business was slow at the steel mill and even though HR had to stay open as long as anyone was working there, if they shut the plant down completely she would be out of a job. And with steel being cheaper overseas, that was entirely possible, a thought that terrified Carolyn. As if that wasn’t enough to worry about, the news made a huge deal over some flu virus and also over a few people who had gone crazy in town. Carolyn laughed the day before when she first heard about them biting people. Everyone blamed drugs. That was nothing new.

She didn’t understand why it made national news and she didn’t care to find out. Instead, she shut it out of her life all together and tried to focus on bettering herself with her day off, in case it became a permanent thing. She started with new polish on her toes and fingers.

She walked to the bathroom on the heels of her feet with her toes turned up so the polish wouldn’t smudge. She looked at herself in the mirror. She wore a tiny towel with Velcro that kept it secured around her large breasts. She did a turn, admiring herself, wondering why she couldn’t hold onto a man with her curvaceous body. She scrunched her hair in her hands and looked at herself from behind.

If she had a husband, or even a serious boyfriend, she could quit her job and stay at home, her ultimate goal. That was living the dream. On other side of the bathroom wall, a series of screams from the Hansens’ apartment scattered her daydreams until they were lost in the depths of her mind again. Her shoulders slumped and she let go of her long, blonde mermaid waves in a huff. She wouldn’t allow anything to ruin her day of relaxation.

Carolyn Bock turned on the warm water and let it fill the tub. Steam rose and moisture gathered on her upper lip. She dipped a toe in first and then lowered herself slowly, throwing the flowered towel onto the floor. Once she was submerged, she rested her head back against the inflatable pillow attached to the wall.

A pounding in her right temple crept behind her eyes as she closed them. She rubbed the spot, but it did nothing to get rid of it. With every piercing cry from next door, a sharp pain stabbed her head and ran down her neck. She couldn’t take it anymore. Colt Hansen and his abusive hands needed to be stopped and she was going to be the one to stop him. Debbie was her friend, sort of, maybe, or maybe Carolyn just felt bad for her. Either way, she felt overcome with the need to help poor Debbie.

When Carolyn rose from the tub, the water cascaded down her body. She wrapped the flowered towel around herself, another around her sopping wet hair, and left the apartment, slamming the door behind her. She hadn’t bothered to put on shoes since she planned to get back in the tub immediately after she told Colt off. Her wet, bare feet slapped at the cement of the open hallway as she marched next door.

Carolyn banged her tight fist against the door and held nothing back as she yelled obscenities at the man inside. “You better open this door right now motherfucker or I’m going to call the police and you’ll be in a lot of fucking trouble when they haul your ass off to jail. You know what they do to wife beaters there, you piece of shit?” She paused.

No one answered, but there was another scream from the inside that tapered off into a high squeal like a wounded pig. It faded out until there was nothing but silence. Carolyn stared at the door with wide eyes, her fist frozen in the air mid-knock. What if he’d done it this time? What if he actually killed Debbie? All Carolyn could do was stare at the gold numbers on the door as she breathed heavily through her parted pink lips. She couldn’t let Debbie die.

Carolyn turned the doorknob carefully. It was unlocked. She pushed the door open gently so it wouldn’t make any noise. It didn’t seem smart to go in guns blazing anymore, no matter how much she wanted to karate chop Cold Hansen in the throat. She didn’t know what he was armed with, if he was armed at all. He could have killed Debbie with his bare hands. He was six-three and had at least a hundred and fifty pounds on his stick-thin, sickly-looking wife.

The door was cracked open just enough for Carolyn to peer through. When she caught sight of the two bodies in the living room, she took a stumbling step back. It was worse than she thought.

Debbie Hansen leaned over her husband, his face a bloody mess with claw marks across his forehead and cheeks, exposing torn pieces of muscle underneath. One of his eyeballs was pulled loose from the socket and sat, trying to balance, on his carved out, hallow cheek. There was a look of terror petrified onto his face as his mouth gaped  with his final scream.

Debbie didn’t notice that her neighbor was watching as she dug into her husband’s stomach and pulled out his intestines like a horrifying clown trick. She stuffed entrails into her mouth with urgency, gnashing at them with her teeth until they could slide down her throat. Her chartreuse eyes rolled into the back of her head as she sucked the blood off the coils of insides.

Bile rose from Carolyn’s stomach. She covered her mouth to muffle the sound of her gagging. She reached her hand out to close the door, but stopped. If Debbie heard her, would she come after Carolyn too? Could Debbie even open a door in her state? She looked demented, like she’d ripped out her own hair out of her head and tore away the skin on her own arms and legs before she attacked her husband. Her mouth was stained a deep red and the skin around her eyes were sagging and shadowed. Maybe Debbie had finally lost control after all the abuse she’d endured over years.

Carolyn Bock took a guarded step away from the horror in front of her. She wanted to run back to her apartment, but was too afraid to move in front of the crack in the Hansens’ door. She bumped into the door of the empty apartment across the hall. Her head banged against it with a dull thud.

Debbie Hansen looked up at the sound, able to just barely peer through the doorway where Carolyn stood in plain sight.

Carolyn whimpered into the hand that was still pressed over her mouth. Her first instinct was to run back to her apartment, lock the door behind her, and shove her dresser in front of it for good measure, but she didn’t. Instead she reached out and grabbed ahold of the Hansens’ doorknob.

Debbie was there before she could close it all the way, her arms stretched outward through the small crack. Carolyn yelped, pulled hard, and smashed the door against Debbie’s arms. She heard the sickening sound of bones cracking which made her want to let go immediately to spare her friend the pain, but she held tight. Debbie’s graying fingers frantically grasped for anything they could reach.

Carolyn had to do something or she would be stuck holding the door forever. Why didn’t anyone come to help her? Knowing her neighbors, they never would. What a bunch of assholes…

She took a deep breath. She knew what she had to do. She released her hold on the door. Debbie lunged forward with her mouth open, but Carolyn was prepared. She drove her bare foot into Debbie’s thin, porous chest. The blow threw her back into the apartment. She stumbled over her dead husband’s body and fell drunkenly to the ground. Carolyn slammed the door shut and took a few jarring steps away from it. She heard Debbie throw herself against the door, clawing at the white paint to leave deep brown scratch marks in the wood.

Debbie, or the thing that used to be Debbie, gave an ear-splitting cry, but Carolyn couldn’t make out any words. It was nothing more than incoherent shrieks, wails, and moans. Her chest rose and fell in deep breaths. Her legs started to shake the longer she stood still, her eyes trained on the door as her brain tried to process what she’d just seen. She didn’t know if Debbie could get out or not. She couldn’t stay there.

She ran to Luke Benson’s apartment across the hall from her own. She pounded on his door in a frenzy and begged him to open up.

Luke was still in his sweatpants and no shirt, his dark brown, hairless chest exposed. He’d been enjoying a rare day of sleeping in since the library he ran was closed. A librarian’s job was never finished, so even on his days off he usually found himself planning events for the children or filling out orders for new books. But the library was closed…indefinitely, at least that’s what he was told and he planned to take advantage of the unexpected vacation. He rubbed his eyes as he shuffled to the front door.

It wasn’t a shock to hear Carolyn Bock banging on his door at such an early hour, even if it did sound urgent. She was always trying something new to get him to let her inside and into his bedroom. He scoffed at the sound of her begging. Even this seemed a little desperate for her.

He opened the door, keeping his hand on it so she couldn’t come in right away. “What do you want, Carolyn?”

She didn’t say anything when she pushed past him and used all her body weight to slam the door shut again. Luke’s first instinct was to be angry and upset. This woman had gotten him in trouble with his ex-wife, almost caused him to miss a weekend with his daughter, because she just couldn’t seem to stay away from him, especially when she was drunk. He wasn’t in any mood to do her any favors. He looked at her with a stone cold glare, arms folded across his bare chest.

“Oh my God, thank you!” she exhaled all in one breath. She pounced on him and wrapped her arms around his neck in a tight embrace.

He didn’t hug her back. His arms hung loose like a ragdoll’s at his sides.

Carolyn squeezed Luke tighter as tears started to cascade down her tanned cheeks. The image of Debbie devouring her husband’s entrails flashed in her mind and the light tears turned to uncontrollable sobs. Luke tried to lean back to get a look at her face, but she resisted. She pawed at him to pull him closer as she buried her face into his neck. He felt the hot tears trickle down his chest.

“Hey…hey. It’s OK,” he said, finally raising his arms to place one lightly on her back and the other to pat her gently on her head. “What’s going on?”

“I don’t know,” she said, finally pulling back and wiping her face.

Luke wanted to roll his eyes, but he stopped himself.

“I heard the Hansens arguing. Or at least I thought they were arguing. I guess I really never heard Debbie. Only Colt,” she said, unraveling the truth in her head as she spoke disconnectedly. “So I went over there. I knocked, but no one answered. No one said anything.” More tears fell from her eyes as she stared blankly ahead. “I tried the door and it was open. I was going to go inside, stop Colt from hurting her, threaten him with the police again, but…” she broke down and covered her face with her hands as she sobbed.

“But what?” Luke asked. “What happened? Did he hurt her? Is she alright? Should we call the police?”

Carolyn looked over the tops of her freshly painted fingers and whispered into her palms. “He’s dead.”

Luke scrutinized her with narrowed eyes, unsure that he’d heard her correctly. “He killed her?”

Carolyn shook her head. “
She
killed
him
…she was
eating
him.” She let her hands fall to hug herself around the waist.

“What?” Luke barked. “What? She was
eating
him? What does that mean? Like she
ate
him? I don’t…” He paced in circles as he rubbed at his buzzed black hair.

“Can I stay here?” Carolyn asked meekly as she continued to hold herself. “I can’t go back to my place. I can’t listen to whatever’s going on next door. I can’t…” she heaved rapid, shallow breaths. Her chest clenched. She couldn’t breathe.

“OK,” Luke said and placed his hand on her back as he led her over to the couch. “It’s all right. Just breathe. Everything’s gonna be OK.”

“My neighbor just fucking ate her husband!” she screamed, shaking her head so her wet hair slapped Luke across the face. “How is anything going to be OK?”

Luke wiped the water droplets from his cheeks. “I don’t know. That’s just what people tend to say in bad situations.”

Carolyn doubled over and cried into her lap. Luke watched her. He wanted to feel sorry for her, knew he should, but he couldn’t. If what she said was true, then they were all in some serious shit. The virus was worse than he thought. Fuck Carolyn. What was he going to do?

Luke pretended to comfort her. He let her cry it out in silence as he patted her shoulders gently. His eyes roamed her bare, smooth back and her tanned, toned arms. Why did so much crazy have to be wrapped up in such a tempting package? He let his eyes wonder down her bronzed legs until they stopped dead in their tracks on her ankle where there was a fresh, deep scratch. Droplets of blood dripped down to her foot and ran off onto the beige carpet.