Sven the Zombie Slayer (8 page)

Sven pulled himself together and carried the gym bag and backpack downstairs to the kitchen. To the gym bag he added the first aid kit that he kept on top of the refrigerator. He filled the three water bottles and put them back into the gym bag. Sven opened his cupboards and cursed under his breath. He kept all the good stuff in the storage room downstairs. But he couldn’t go there now.

Out of the cupboard Sven took a small bag of dried pineapple and papaya, a box of oatmeal granola bars, and some uncooked rice. He put all of these into the gym bag. Sven looked at the bag that was now bulging. He took the rice out and put it back in the cupboard, figuring that wherever he was going, he wasn’t going to be cooking rice. Then he took a small bag of Ivan’s dry cat kibble out from under the counter and stuffed it in the outer pocket of the backpack.

“This is your ride,” Sven said to Ivan, pointing at the backpack. Ivan looked up at him and tilted his blue head to one side.

Sven took a pan out from under the counter and set it on the stove. He turned the stove on. Then he picked Ivan up and found an angle at which both he and Ivan could see Bob bumping and grinding against the back door.

Sven pointed at Bob. “You never liked him did you?”

Ivan hissed.

“Smart cat.” Sven gave Ivan a smelly fish treat, which Ivan gobbled happily. Then Sven put Ivan back down, and put the bag of fish treats in one of the backpack’s small outside pockets.

When the pan was hot enough, Sven took out two ribeye steaks that had been meant for his post-benching meal. He seared each to perfection, all the while trying to silence the voice in his head telling him he better enjoy them, because they would be his last. Sven plated the steaks in overlapping slices, and carried the plate into the living room. Ivan followed. Sven sat down on the floor and began to eat the steaks. He started with a knife and fork, then put the knife and fork aside and used his hands. Sven devoured the meat while Ivan lapped at the steak juice that collected at the bottom of the plate.

It occurred to Sven to turn the TV on and see if the news had anything to say about what was going on. He wiped his hands, got the remote, and turned the TV on.

The first channel that came on was all static. Sven flipped around and saw that most of the channels were just static. Thinking that was all in a good day’s work for Time Warner, he nodded to himself as he chewed and kept on flipping.

The first channel that worked was Comedy Central. The caption on the screen read, “Strange Flu Outbreak Grips Commonwealth of Virginia.” There was a reporter on the screen. She looked uneasy and pointed behind her. She said, “The CDC is handling the matter and asks that if you reside in
Virginia
, you stay indoors until the matter is resolved.”

Sven gnawed on one of the rib bones. The reporter went on, “The flu symptoms are rather unusual but the CDC insists there is no cause for alarm. Special field units have been dispatched to—”

The channel cut out and the TV screen filled with static. Sven looked down at the bare rib bones in his plate. His stomach growled against the backdrop of Lars’s scraping downstairs, Bob’s bumping outside, and Ivan’s tongue smacking as he worked on the steak juice in the plate. Sven picked up the remote and flipped around some more. He found another working channel—the Oprah Channel. There was a news report on that one too, but with no caption on the screen.

The reporter said, “The
Virginia
flu outbreak has been traced to—” and the channel cut out. The TV filled with static once more. Sven had had enough of Time Warner and its static, so he turned the TV off.

Maybe he should have turned the TV on
before
he cooked his steaks. Maybe then he would have heard more about what was happening. He shrugged, walked back into the kitchen, and seared another ribeye.

20

It was clear that Ivan didn’t want to get in the backpack. Sven pleaded with him, but Ivan just wouldn’t listen.

“Come on, we have to get out of here,” Sven said. “Just get in and we’ll talk about it later.”

Sven pointed at the backpack in frustration. “Please? We really have to go. I promise we’re not going to the vet. Would I lie to you?” That was probably the problem. When they went to the vet, Ivan usually traveled in the backpack, and Sven figured that Ivan suspected this was a vet trip.

Ivan meowed in defiance as he danced around the backpack, hitting Sven repeatedly with his tail.

“Come on,” Sven said, still pointing at the backpack. “We’re really not going to the vet, and I won’t close the top of the backpack all the way. You can peek out as we go, so you can jump out and run away if something happens.”

Ivan turned away from Sven and waved his tail.

“Okay, okay, I’ll get you some beef jerky. How about that?”

Ivan got in the backpack.

“That’s all it takes,” Sven said, and he put on the backpack and picked up the gym bag. He got his car keys and made for the front door.

Something in the basement overturned as Sven was walking to the door. He stopped for a moment, and then he heard the screams.

21

Lorie was trying to finish her eggs. She knew she had to finish them, and the toast too. Her breakfast would be her fuel for the race. But she was too nervous, and her stomach wasn’t cooperating. Lorie always got that way before track meets, and today was the most important meet so far. She cut away a piece of broccoli omelet with her fork and stared at it.

Evan was next to her, eagerly lapping up spoonfuls of Fruit Loops. Lorie looked into his bowl. There were only three fruit loops left—one blue and two yellow.

“Do you actually like that stuff?” Lorie asked. “The milk doesn’t even look like milk anymore, it’s all blue and purple and orange in places.”

Evan looked up at her as he sloshed another milk-drenched loop into his mouth. “These are great. And blue milk is better than regular milk. It’s sweeter.”

“Milk isn’t supposed to be sweet, Evan. Everyone knows that.”

Evan picked up the bowl of cereal and slurped up all of the brightly-colored milk. He put the bowl down, turned to Lorie’s plate, and looked thoughtful. “It looks like mine is better than yours. At least I want to eat mine. You’re just playing with your green omelet.”

“Am not. I’m just not that hungry.”

“You shouldn’t play with your food.”

Lorie smiled. “I’m not playing with it.” It was good to have Evan around. It made for much less boring breakfasts, even though he liked those silly cereals that she had no taste for. Lorie also liked Evan’s dad, and Lorie’s mom liked Evan’s dad, and they all hung out together and it was fun. It had been a little weird when their parents first got married, but now it was starting to feel normal, a lot like things used to feel like back when Lorie’s dad had been around before he—

A shattering sound came from the living room.

Lorie was on her feet at once, calling into the living room. “Mom? Are you okay?”

No response.

Lorie began to walk toward the living room threshold. “Mom?”

No response.

“Come on,” Lorie said to Evan, and he got up to follow her.

Lorie’s mom and Evan’s dad had been taking their breakfast on the balcony off the living room. They often took their breakfast out there, outside and away from Lorie and Evan. They liked their privacy.

As Lorie was about to cross into the living room, there was another shattering sound, and Lorie was hit in the face with a rancid, too-sweet smell that stopped her in her tracks.

22

Sven realized that the screams were coming from the front yard. He looked out the window into the yard but saw nothing. The screams continued, unabated.

He could only get a full view of the yard if he went outside, and he had been on his way out until the screams began. Now he stood there, uncertain.

In the basement, something heavy fell, its sound adding to Sven’s uncertainty.

Sven turned to the door to the basement that was blocked with his couch. He turned to the front door. The screams seemed to be subsiding. Sven went back to his kitchen and looked out the window. Bob was gone.

“Here we go,” Sven said to Ivan, and opened the back door. Ivan’s head and front paws stuck out of the backpack, his paws perched on Sven’s left shoulder. Sven found himself thinking that it was a fun day to be a cat.

Sven walked out and shut the door behind him. The back yard was empty. He made his way around the back of the house and walked through the driveway. The straps of the backpack bothered his benching injury, but carrying the food-loaded gym bag bothered the injury more. Both were necessary, he knew, and grossly inadequate if what he suspected was happening, really was happening.

Sven let out the breath he’d been holding since he walked out of his house. His mid-size SUV was still there. From somewhere beyond the car, the screamer, though apparently losing steam, kept screaming. Sven put his bag down on the driver’s side of the car and rushed around to see what was happening.

It was Bob. His tennis racquet was on the ground and he was bent over something. Was he the one screaming? No, he was bent over someone…someone else.

“Hey,” Sven said, “what are you doing over there?” It wasn’t unusual for Bob to be in Sven’s back yard, since Bob and Sven shared a driveway and sometimes Sven saw Bob doing skinny guy calisthenics back there. It was weird, but it was alright by Sven. Sven got to use Bob’s three extra parking spots whenever he wanted, so he wasn’t about to complain about Bob’s back yard Pilates. But Bob was in Sven’s front yard now, and he wasn’t doing Pilates.

Bob turned, and when Sven walked closer he finally saw the screamer. It was Bill, the mailman, or at least what was left of him. Sven’s jaw dropped and he walked backward into the pokey hedge. Bob began to get up from his crouch over Bill and locked his dead black eyes on Sven. Bob’s face was covered in blood and gobbets of flesh, his arms were covered in gore up the elbows, and a four inch piece of intestine hung out of his mouth, suspended, apparently mid-swallow. Bob and the parts of Bill’s flesh that covered the cannibalistic tennis player began to stagger toward Sven in uncoordinated spasms.

Even while Bob approached, Sven’s eyes were drawn back to Bill, who lay in the gore of his own evisceration. Finally, his screams died down to whimpers, and the whimpers died down to nothing. Bill lay still.

It was so hard to look away from Bill’s destroyed body. The carnage was mesmerizing, even to the non-violent Sven, who, after much difficulty managed to unlock his gaze from the dispatched mailman and turn his head in Bob’s direction. Sven’s eyes narrowed and he gritted his teeth as he fought the creeping numbness that was suddenly nipping at him again, now that Bob was close.

“You bastard,” Sven said. “You killed Bill. But—but why? But what? What are you doing? And what’s wrong with you?”

Bob didn’t reply, his stupid, bloody grin didn’t move, and he kept shuffling across the lawn toward Sven, dribbling blood and bits of flesh.

Sven ran around the slowly-shuffling Bob to the tree in the very front of the front yard. It took Bob a few seconds to register that Sven was somewhere else before he began the fit of spasms that turned his uncoordinated body around. From under the tree, Sven picked up the E-Z Curl Bar that he used for biceps curls. When the weather was nice Sven liked to work his arms on the front lawn. He loved it when people passed by and admired his physique. Some would roll their eyes—the jealous ones. Sven knew that his arms were something to be shown off. And most importantly, Ivan approved, always keeping Sven company during the front lawn arm-pumping sessions.