Epidemic of the Undead: A Zombie Novel (16 page)

Chris acknowledged that as truth and then continued to listen. He had never heard Steve sound so serious in all his life.

“But… me, man. I envy you. I always have.” His voice grew even softer, his eyes focused. “You’ve got people back home that want you there. And if I had that, I might want to get back just as bad. But I don’t. No one there misses me or loves me. Now, don’t get me wrong, my parents have supported us by fixing the tour van and what not . . . but that wasn’t love, dude. That was just a buy out.”

Chris looked confused.

“See, I told you, you don’t get it.” Steve continued. “My folks did all of those things, not because of love, but because keeping us out on tour kept me out of their hair, man!” Steve’s eyes swelled with tears ready to break free, but the floods never came.

“That’s not true, Steve.”

“Yes it is and you can’t tell me otherwise, because you don’t know! You don’t have my life!”

“Come on now…”

“You don’t know what it truly feels like to get burned. You don’t! Are you really eager to find out, though? Well, go ahead. Try your luck with the blonde college chick. But the second Stephanie burns you, man, don’t come crawling back to me.”

“What the hell is your problem, Steve?”

Steve sighed and then settled down to a low heavy breathing pattern.

“I’m sorry, dude.” Steve finally calmed down again. This time his voice was so low that Chris had to struggle to hear him. “I guess…I guess I’m just scared, man.”

Chris reached down to comfort Steve, while wondering what he should say, but before a single word could come forth from his lips, shots rang out in the distance. It was close enough that it might have come from the courtyard, but he wasn’t sure. A few screams followed. One sounded like Stephanie.

“What the hell was that?” Chris gasped. “I’ll be right back!” Chris left Steve’s side, darting for the only exit.

“No…Chris…wait…I’m afraid. Don’t leave me in here alone!” Steve shouted.

It was no use.

Just before the classroom door shut behind Chris, the nurse joined him to investigate the shooting. Steve was left alone with an old dying man; both too weak get up from their cots.

Chapter Eight

Chris, Nan, Brady, and Stephanie all sat together with their belongings, each seated right where they had all slept the night before. Their spirits low, as if they were on the brink of falling into a bottomless chasm. Noon had come and gone, finally bringing forth the first meal. With supplies sparse, food was rationed to two small meals a day. Chris hadn’t eaten yet, but didn’t think that the sparse looking plates of food everyone had looked filling. The portions were almost nothing, and with more than half of his plate devoured, he was still starving. They probably would have eaten much earlier had that poor bastard not stirred everyone up by committing suicide.

The hard thing for everyone wasn’t that the man had gone with such a dramatic exit, two self-inflicted shots to the chest, but that he left someone behind. While Chris and the others quietly went about eating their meals, the overwhelming sound of sobs and mournful pleas from a grieving woman echoed throughout the courtyard. Almost immediately, after the man’s unexpected suicide, several of the uniformed officers covered the body and took it deep into one of the school’s classrooms. Blood still stained the brick walkway, a reminder to everyone as to where the man had taken his life. His wife hadn’t left it all morning. She just sat sobbing and staring at it as if she hoped somehow that it would form back into her husband. It was a reminder to stay strong, to stick together, and to pray you didn’t succumb to a hopeless depression like that man had done. Chris wondered what would have driven the man to kill himself. Maybe, he had become depressed and wondered if all life would have left for him was this fear and pain, this constant struggle to live. What use did he have for life? Maybe, he had been a father and lost his son or daughter. Worse, like Chris’ parents, maybe the man had no idea where his child was in all of this and he feared having to kill his child for a second time.

Chris prayed his parents were strong. He wasn’t sure if it was the Catholic school, Father Clark, or the undead threat outside beyond the gates, but he felt himself growing closer to God somehow. Maybe it was his way of coping or coming to terms with the situation around him. Whatever it was, prayer was helping him keep his sanity. He knew he needed it too. Last thing he wanted was to fall to the same fate as that dumb little man who dealt himself two shots to the chest like that.

The dead man’s wife was going ballistic with hysteria. At least, everyone assumed that they had been married. From what he could tell, no one actually knew anything about the poor guy or the woman he was with, other than they were together. For all anyone knew, they had simply met in the chaos and stuck together to survive. It was so odd how quick people can connect in times of desperation and Chris knew it to be true. He felt it with Nan, with Brady and Stephanie too. Chris didn’t blame that woman for losing it either. Had he watched Steve, or even Stephanie, weaken to the point of self-destruction like that, he would have definitely lost it also. Realizing that the poor woman wasn’t going to snap out of it, Father Garcia Clark escorted her elsewhere to talk things out.

That was more than an hour ago and it hadn’t helped one bit. Everyone sat quietly eating what little they were given, while doing all they could to drown out the woman’s cries. Wherever Father Clark had taken her wasn’t far enough.

Between the shots fired earlier and the ongoing screaming and crying from that poor lady, activity outside of the compound had definitely thickened. Although there wasn’t nearly as many ghouls lingering around out front, compared to when Chris had first drove up to the school, their numbers were definitely getting closer. The gated entryway to the schools parking area was crowded two and three zombies deep for thirty feet at the front fence line.

Not only was everyone’s mood dreary from the sudden violent loss, the moans from the dead were growing louder by the hour, which only meant that more creatures were joining in by the day. Soon, the living dead would surround the school. Chris didn’t like the feeling of being trapped inside the school’s four walls. He hoped to hear at the upcoming meeting that there was a contingency plan if they were ever to get boarded in by the dead outside. Chris started to consider these things. He needed to be ready. He didn’t feel safe not being on the move and was still on edge with people in general. Someone would be bound to snap and put everyone else in harm’s way, and that poor bastard shooting himself was a prime example.
What if he had taken a few people out first or went nuts and let those things inside the school grounds before taking his life?

The life of a touring musician was beginning to set in. He hated staying in one place for too long. It didn’t feel right, didn’t feel safe.

Before the meals of oatmeal and bottled water had been distributed to everyone, word about a group meeting quickly circulated. Word was that the meeting would be held in the center of the courtyard soon after everyone was done eating. And Chris couldn’t help but wonder what it was going to be about. He was hopeful that it was an update to the rescue situation or that more supplies were on their way.

“Any ideas on what this meeting is going to be about?” Chris asked with a spoon full of oatmeal to his lips.

Brady coughed up some of his food then wiped his mouth. “I think I’s got an idea as to what it’s gonna be about.”

Both Chris and Stephanie grew curious.

Brady set down his lukewarm bowl and said, “Other than the pistols the two of you got and the one here…” Brady patted down his side. “We’re missing a handgun.”

“Wait, what?” exclaimed Chris.

“What are you trying to say, Brady?” Stephanie scooted forward on her cot, sitting on both hands.

“I don’t know it for a fact, but that fella that done shot himself, well, I got a quick glance at the weapon before one of them cops took it. That was definitely my gun. All I can reckon is that poor bloke dug through our stuff while we was talking with Father Clark. And…well, you’re smart enough to put two and two together, right?”

“So what,” Chris said. “Some dumb punk stole from us and offed himself.”

“I’m sure they plan to bring up another thing or two. But what, I don’t know.” Brady took a swig of bottled water and looked around the courtyard. “One things for sure. Between the handful of armed officials that have been posting watch, my guess is they aim to take our weapons. Pull rank on us.”

“No way!” Stephanie snarled.

Both Nan and Brady’s expressions conveyed the same message. Brady was more than likely right.

“But they can’t do that! Can they?” Chris frowned

“They sure as hell are gonna try, son.”

And as if to prove Brady’s suspicions, one of the uniformed police officers walked up, introducing himself as Brandon Phillips, with the DPS; Department of Public Safety. “Afternoon everyone.” He shook only Brady’s hand, while giving hard looks to everyone else. “If you are about finished with your meals, we will hold a meeting. Please join us at the center of the yard when you’re ready.” His bright red hair was cut very short. His skin was fair and his checks were covered with freckles. Chris guessed him to be in his mid to late forties. When he smiled, his cheeks were plump and shiny. 

“Hey, I got a question for you?” Chris raised his hand as if in school.

The officer nodded. “What’s that?”

“Why is it that we have all of the cots out here in the open? Wouldn’t it be better to get everyone out of the weather and into some of the classrooms?”

Officer Phillips smiled. His chubby cheeks made the freckles slightly stretch. “You’re not the first person to bring that up. What’s your name, son?”

Chris’ brow crinkled, while pondering that maybe being called son was a Texas thing. “Chris Commons,” he said.

“Well, Chris. Even though we have some power, we feel it safer for everyone to be out here. Because…if those things out there ever do get in here at night, at least we have the moon giving us some light. I don’t know about you, but the idea of getting attacked in the darkness of buildings I’m unfamiliar with doesn’t seem like a good time. At least out here we are all accounted for. Just a safety precaution, that’s all.”

The man in blue, still sporting his badge, said nothing else. He nodded, and then walked on to the next group of people, until he had finally introduced himself to everyone announcing the meeting. Chris noticed that the whole time he talked his hand had never left his sidearm.

“He seems nice,” Stephanie said, looking optimistic. 

“Nah . . . I know his type.” Chris scowled with repulsion. “Never trust the nice guy when talking to a pig. Had plenty of run-ins with his type.”

“Oh?” Nan looked back at Officer Phillips with uncertainty.

“Yeah, its cops like that guy that enjoys giving everyone a hard time. Power hungry tools. That’s all they are. He’s going to play buddy-buddy at the little meeting, you can count on that. But anybody questions his authority and it’s going to get bumpy, and quick. Just how bumpy is the main question.”

Stephanie rolled her eyes.

“No, seriously, Stephanie. Those types of cops are nothing but trouble. This one time when the band was doing a two month run through Georgia down into Florida, we turned around because we needed gas. We were pulled over and the cop asked where we were headed. Well, when we told him Florida, but we were facing the opposite direction, he didn’t believe us. We tried to explain that we were headed back a few blocks because we were low on gas and the dude flipped. With a lot of those guys, any back talk at all is taken as insubordination, a question of power. Needless to say, the guy ended up cuffing all of us. Almost three hours later and three more cop cars, all flashing their lights, they successfully emptied out the entire tour van and trailer. When it was all said and done, we missed the show, and guess who got left on the side of the road to pick up all of our gear? Yeah, we did. They had our stuff all over the street. One of Mark’s guitars was even broken. Snapped the neck plain as day when they drove off. They drove over it as they left and didn’t even flinch. All of that, just because the nice guy had a big head. That dude there,” he pointed toward Phillips, “is the nice guy with a big head.”

“You really think so?” Nan’s complexion had taken on a sickly tone.

Chris smiled at Nan with a reassuring nod. She looked weak and very tired. Her hair was damp with perspiration.  It was similar to the several times Chris had gotten a pretty severe cold or flu. Her cheeks were flushed with fever and her skin was pale and clammy.

Chris glanced at her with concern. “You all right?”

“Old age, dear. All this stress is a bit much for these old bones.” Nan was snuggled tightly in her green jacket. “Just need some real rest is all.” 

“Well, I think that both you and Brady are being a little too paranoid. Let’s just go see what the fuss is all about.” Stephanie stood up, setting her bowl aside. She started walking toward the growing congregation of bodies, and then turned, waving Brady and the others to follow.

“Honestly, son. I’m with you. I got a bad feelin’ about that police fella.” Brady shook his head in disgust.

A few minutes later, the meeting was underway. Chris sat back and did a head count. Excluding Steve and the other people recovering from various injuries, Chris counted exactly thirty-seven people. The priest, six armed officers in blue, about ten ratty previously homeless people and a bunch of average looking people of every ethnical background. Chris only noticed maybe three people younger than he was and two kids that had to be middle school age and a toddler being comforted by a really rough looking dude. The guy looked like he was holding the child as if she were a football, ready to drive her down the line for a touchdown. He was as big as a professional linebacker or something. His head was bald, reminding Chris of the Mister Clean commercials. All this guy was missing was the gold hoop earrings. The tribal tattoos covering both his arms definitely made him look scarier than he probably was. In contradiction of his tough image, he was holding a baby of all things. It was hot outside and with the buildings that wrapped around the yard, there was almost no breeze at all. Humid was an understatement. The faint sound of chirping birds was in the background along with the moans of the dead out past the parking lot.