Revelations - 02 (10 page)

The second monitor was a puzzler. This was a simulated, highly humid environment. Yet, the decay process was not accelerating.
Why not?
Dr. Cox tapped the center of the monitor screen. The next was a very arid simulator, still nothing. These things did not react in any way conducive with science.

“Science!” Dr. Cox laughed. The dead were walking. They were eating people—whether they had a stomach or not—and spreading the infection. This infection was communicable in the same manner as any other blood-born pathogen. Beyond that, nothing else synced up.

He sat down at the expansive desk full of monitors, data entry stations, and a totally useless communication center, and pulled his last candy bar from his pocket. He’d saved this one for a special occasion, only there didn’t seem to be any of those on the horizon. He took a bite and tried to simultaneously savor the clean air and the sweetness of chocolate.

Of course
, he thought as he chewed slowly,
there was one tiny possibility
. He finished his candy as slowly as possible. Pleasures had been almost nonexistent in these past several weeks. Finally finished, Dr. Cox got up, walked to the sink and washed his hands. Taking one more breath of the clean air, he stepped into the interlocked sally-port. Closing one door triggered the automatic mister. After five minutes, he was able to open the second door. He stepped out and it closed on its automatic hinge, the hiss of the door sealing echoed in the empty corridor.

He walked into the lab, trying not to let the stench curdle the chocolate in his stomach. He walked past all the bays. Each had contained an assortment of specimens. The last bay still had its curtain drawn. Taking a deep breath, then promptly choking on the sudden rush of stink that coated his throat like partially congealed shortening, he opened the curtain.

Walking over to the last uninfected specimen, Dr. Cox picked up the clipboard. He paused at all the monitoring devices and confirmed the readouts. Reaching over, he rolled the thumbwheel on the IV.

“Wake up,” he glanced at the chart and smirked, “Jane.”



The Jenifer-zombie stood on the gently rolling deck of the boat. Unaware of rain, unaware of wind, it simply stood. The transition from day to night meant nothing. The fact that there had been three others standing beside it for ten days went unnoticed. A wave had taken two yesterday morning. The other had fallen backwards down the open hatch. Its legs had broken in several places and now it simply lay on the carpeted deck in three inches of water. It’d had one arm torn off when it had tried to fight off the Jenifer-zombie while it was still human.

As the sun rose high in the sky, the Jenifer-zombie stood. Birds circled above, but would not swoop down. Even they sensed the wrongness of the greyish thing. It smelled like the carrion they would’ve
normally
fed on. But this was different.

Wrong.

The Jenifer-zombie stood as the hot orb sank into the arc of the horizon once more. Only, this time, that arc was jagged. Not the smooth line of the sea. This was the hotel-pocked vista of Miami. Under the dull glow of the moon, the boat ground into the sand. The Jenifer-zombie lurched forward and pitched over the side.

An hour later, a thin figure still resembling a small female staggered from the surf. Several times, the form was knocked over. But, eventually, its feet found the soft sand of the beach.

The Jenifer-zombie arrived in Florida to the notice of nothing more than an alligator that recognized it as something to avoid.



“Because,” Juan looked at the large propane tank to ensure that the bundle of flares were still securely attached, “I don’t have a jackhammer.”

“If all you end up doing is starting a big fire—” Mackenzie unscrewed the caps on the two fifty-gallon drums that were full of kerosene.

“Then we have plenty of stuff on the boat and we can go someplace else,” Juan cut her off. He’d heard this same gripe at least ten times just on the two mile drive from the Simm’s farm to the bridge.

“This is the only way those things can get on the island,” Juan recalled seeing a few fall off a pier and quickly added, “at least in any big numbers.”

“Here comes my mom.” Mackenzie turned at the sound of the approaching engine. The tan Range Rover came to a stop in the dirt parking lot of the small grocery store. Margaret got out, leaving the driver’s side door ajar, and sprinted for the younger pair.

“They’re heading
out
!” she pointed the direction Juan figured must be west.

“So?” He was confused why she was in such a panic.

“If you blow that bridge now,” Margaret was looking at him that way she had that made him feel like he was back in school and just said two plus two was five, “they’ll see!”

“Somebody’s gonna see anyway,” Juan said and shrugged. “This baby’s gonna blow up and destroy a bridge.”

“But none of those things are around at the moment,” Margaret insisted. “Can’t we wait just twenty or thirty minutes?”

Juan looked at all the stuff in the back of the truck: kerosene, a propane tank, a long, white cylinder of nitrogen based fertilizer with the words “DANGER—CONTENTS UNDER PRESSURE—HIGHLY EXPLOSIVE!” a case of flares, and two sticks of dynamite that they’d found in a box in the office of the Fish and Wildlife outpost. Yep, this was gonna blow up big. He sighed and stuffed his hands in his pockets.

“Twenty minutes,” he growled.

The trio sat in the morning sunshine. Juan kept his eyes on the marina across the bridge on the mainland side. He was relatively confident that they’d cleared most of the threats from the island with the exception of any that had crossed in the past two days.

He saw two of those things walking around a big white building. It was like they were doing laps. After the second lap, he tapped Mackenzie on the shoulder and pointed them out.

“Zombie races?” Juan smiled.

“What?” Mackenzie looked where he was pointing. She saw two of those terrible creatures stumbling along. One had been a balding man in a business suit, the other a really fat man in coveralls.

“Just watch.” Juan folded his hands and waited.

They rounded a corner and disappeared from sight. After a couple of minutes, Mackenzie gave Juan a dubious glance. A moment later he nudged her with an elbow just hard enough to send her sliding off the bumper of the truck they’d been using as a bench.

“Nobody shakes on it no more.” Juan reached out with his left hand and closed her extended hand into a fist. Then, he brought his fist down on hers and guided hers up, then back down on his. “Bumped.”

They continued to urge the zombies on. Margaret tried to pretend she wasn’t interested, but kept sneaking a peek as the zombies neared the finish line. Leisure Suit-zombie stopped suddenly and turned slowly, heading the other direction. Two steps later Fatty-zombie passed the pole, then also stopped.

Uncoiling the long fuse, Juan ran it down the tailgate of the truck. He waited until both women had reached the flat main road leading onto the island from the bridge. He pulled out his lighter and thumbed the wheel. The fuse began to spark and sputter. Juan turned and ran.

He waved at the women, not at all certain how big the explosion would be. For the first time in memory, neither tried to argue or protest. Both spun and sprinted towards the open lot.

KA-WHOSH!

Juan felt heat at his back. He also felt a wind seem to lift him just slightly, aiding his running speed with a steady push that felt like a giant, warm hand cupping the entire back of his body and shoving him along.

He reached the Rover, collapsing across the hood. He looked back towards the bridge. The reddish steel arching support was a twisted mess jutting out of a black cloud. Several large pieces of concrete and steel rained down, much of it into the waters drifting by below. The hood of the truck crashed down several feet away, sticking into the dirt and standing straight up and down.

“Tight,” Juan whispered as he admired the destruction of his handiwork. A good portion of the center of the bridge was gone and both ends sagged down, bowing to the powers of gravity.

“Tight like a tiger.” Margaret slung an arm around Juan’s waist.

Mackenzie frowned, her gaze fixed on the dingy tube-socks pulled to just below the knee that Juan wore.



Diedre Smith patted the ground with the back of her shovel. An earthen rectangle stood out amidst the tall, green grass. There were two others just like it off to the right. Small makeshift crosses were stuck in the ground at the head of the other two.

“You always thought you were so damned smart,” she said to the large, empty yard. “Always knew what to do in every situation. Even figured out what was happening when dead people stopped stayin’ dead.”

She picked up the crudely fashioned cross made from her favorite spice rack and the cord from her iron, “But you wouldn’t listen to me when I told you that you shouldn’t go into town. I told you—”

Diedre sniffed. She’d promised herself that she was done crying. When her son James had come home from school saying that a group of crazy people had tried to jump him, she’d written it off as just another of his exaggerations. After all, isn’t that how Bill said he should be dealt with. How her “over-mothering” had weakened the boy’s ability to function as a “normal” boy.

That night, they’d been watching the terrible events on the news. Everybody except James who had uncharacteristically missed dinner. Then, James came into the living room. His skin was a sickly grey, and his eyes, they had that white film coating, and were bloodshot like he’d gotten himself stoned out of his mind, only the bloodshot appearance wasn’t exactly right because they weren’t red, they were shot with black. And then there was the smell.

James had looked from one person to the next like he was deciding. Then, he came for
her
, mouth open, arms reaching like all he wanted was a hug. And she’d actually taken a step towards her son until Bill pushed her back.

“He’s one of
them
,” Bill warned. “He’s a zombie.”

Well that was just plain ridiculous, Diedre had tried to argue. With Bill, with their daughter Janie who had run to hide behind her dad who—no surprise—had stepped in front of
her
as a human shield.

Diedre had tried to stop Bill when he’d grabbed the apple wood limb that was sitting in the firewood bin. She’d screamed and cursed him when he attacked her sweet baby. Called him a monster and any other name she could think of. In the end, though, Bill had been right. And really, hadn’t he always?

That night he’d tried to comfort her, but it seemed like he was mostly trying to justify his actions. He twisted and turned every word until he almost had her convinced that
she
had just beat their son to death with a piece of firewood. And, of course, Janie took his side. Naturally, the next few days until the power went out, the news only seemed to back up Bill’s assertion.

Their home was on an enormous hill that looked out over the valley below. The view was as spectacular as the price they’d paid for it. Their seclusion was a blessing since the cities and towns had turned into nightmarish pockets of Hell. Out in the country, the nearest neighbor a few miles away, they were much safer.

They’d owned no guns whatsoever, something they both actually agreed on. However, they had them now. Bill insisted and she’d agreed. Bill had called somebody and paid handsomely for a pair of .357 Magnums and a thousand rounds. He’d planned out a garden. Three weeks into it, he’d made a supply run, returning with all manner of food and drink.

The garden was going well. He’d even thought enough to bring a yellow rose bush to plant at the foot of James’ grave. He’d managed to produce some books that pointed out all the edible plants and even mushrooms known to be native to the area. Janie really took to the whole “gatherer” role and began making the daily trips to the nearby woods with a basket. Bill took to calling her his little Nature Princess. Then, one of those
things
got her. It was just a really bad scratch. Bill had heard the scream and ran to the rescue. That was the first time they’d used one of the guns he’d paid ten times the value for.