The Neuropathology Of Zombies (25 page)

“This way, Doctor,” he said, leading me towards the stairs to the roof.
The sound of the firefight was deafening on the roof. I looked out over the ledge and saw thousands of Driftwood flooding into the parking lot. They pushed and shoved each other, trying to squeeze through the opening in the wall where the gate used to be. The Marines shot into the swarm, not bothering to aim, just firing, and hoping to slow the horde. It wasn’t working, there were too many Driftwood. Within seconds they surrounded the Marines.
Suddenly, there was an explosion. Someone threw a grenade. The area of in front of the gate was in flames. The burning Driftwood didn’t slow, they continued to race through the base, lit like torches. Their screams became louder.
The number of Marines dwindled and the sound of gunshots quieted. The frantic movements of the Driftwood slowed as they stopped to feast on the slain soldiers.
The last few Marines marched backwards towards the barracks, continuing to fire into the pack. They were directly beneath me. I wondered if this was what it was like in ancient Rome when someone was fed to the lions. I saw the baby faced Marine I met in parking lot yesterday. He held down the trigger of his gun and hollered. His bullets struck the Driftwood and their carcasses jerked. It was no use. I watched him disappear into the legions of zombies. His screaming stopped.
General Fitch leaned out of the helicopter, “Come on, let’s go!” He waved his arms at us.
I couldn’t run. My legs felt like lead. The man in the black suit grabbed my hand and began pulling me. He shouted something, but I couldn’t hear him. He looked over my shoulder, towards the stairs, and pulled harder.
Fitch jumped out of the chopper. He and the man in black lifted me inside and dropped me into one of the seats. We lifted off the roof and I watched the Driftwood reach up, trying to grasp the landing skids.
The sun was coming up over the eastern horizon. The breaking day filled the sky with electric oranges and reds. The colors sparkled, reflecting off the sea.
We circled out over the town before turning towards the ocean. I watched the sun glow through the window. Two fast moving fighter jets screamed past us, I craned my neck to see where they were going. My eyes finally tracked them, streaking out across the town. Two bright explosions erupted from the ground under them; they were bombing the Island. Containing.
We approached the second aircraft carrier that had just arrived, fighter jets took off constantly beneath us. The departures paused momentarily while we landed. I looked out the window trying to get one last look at the Island. Pillars of smoke obscured the view of the mountains.
We descended and landed on the deck of the ship. The rotors were still turn when a man in a white helmet opened our door. The General and I stepped out, bending low to avoid the blades, and sprinted across the tarmac.
The man in the white helmet ran alongside us, shouting over the noise of the flight deck, “Your plane is ready, the seaman will escort you.” He handed us off to another man wearing a yellow helmet. The General and I raced behind him towards our plane.
Fitch and I stood outside the plane, waiting for the doors to open. He yelled into my ear, “We should be back at the base in a few hours. From there we should both be able to call home. We’re almost there, Doc.” He put his arm around me.
We boarded the plane and were moving down the runway before either of us could get our seat belts buckled. We laughed as we frantically tried to secure the clasps. The plane left the flight deck; I felt it drop for a second before soaring into the sky. We made a hard right, and began flying due east into the sun.
I looked out over the empty sea. I caught sight of smoke rising into the air. I squinted, focusing my vision. It was the infested aircraft carrier. Huge plumes of smoke rose from the flight deck. I didn’t even want to imagine what they were incinerating. I sat back and closed my eyes and wondered if this was all a dream.
The flight to the air force base in Florida was uneventful; I think I slept the entire way. We landed, and the jolt of the landing gear striking the ground woke me. It was a cloudless morning and the aqua blue sky stretched as far as the eye could see. The palm trees lining the runway reminded me of the Island.
I was led into an aircraft hangar and given a phone. I gripped the receiver my hand and dialed my sister-in-laws number. She answered after four rings.
“Hi there, it’s Hawk. Is the mother of my children available?”
“Hi, Hawk, she’s here, hold on,” she yelled my wife’s name into the house. I felt relived knowing my wife and kids made it to my sister-in-laws safely. “Have a good trip?” she asked me while we waited for my wife.
“Yeah, interesting,” I replied uncomfortably.
My wife’s voice finally came through the satellite signals, “Hi love, good trip?”
“Yeah, it was alright. Should be home in time for dinner. You guys able to head back this afternoon?”
“Absolutely, I think I have a couple of little monsters that will be happy to see their dad!”
“
Ahhh, nomore monsters!
” I thought to myself.
After a few more seconds of conversation, I said goodbye and headed back towards the runway, hoping to gather information regarding the time of my flight home. I stepped out of the hanger and saw Fitch leaning against the side of the building, smiling. He held a phone to his ear, he gave me a wave. I never considered he had a family. He looked happy.
I sat on a spot of grass near the end of the runway. The General walked towards me.
“Mind if I join you?” he asked.
“Not at all. Kids?” I inquired.
“Three, two boys, twelve and ten, and one girl, eight. Keeps us busy.” he smiled. “We should be out of here in another hour or so. We’re just waiting for the plane from Pease to arrive.”
“Good, I am anxious to get home.” I said. “We?” I continued, looking at him as he lay back in the grass.
“My orders are to see you home. After that, I go home.”
“You don’t need to do that, I am sure someone can get me home. Just order someone else to do it, you know, delegate.”
The General laughed, “Now that’s good military sense, Doc, but orders are orders.”
We sat without talking until the plane from Pease was ready to take off. We hardly said a word the entire flight to New Hampshire.
I couldn’t sleep, I was excited to get home and I kept willing the plane to fly faster. I think I was a little manic as well, I knew from my various mass disaster work, it’s hard to come back from emotionally charged events. I flipped through a magazine someone had left in the pocket of the seat in front of me.
After what felt like the longest flight of my life, we finally landed. It was rainy and foggy and I couldn’t see the runway until we hit the pavement. It looked cold and damp, it was certainly a contrast to the weather of the past few days. However, I would take rain and cold over a zombie infested resort island any day.
A black car was waiting at the edge of the runway. The same two Marines that came to my door a few days ago were standing next to the vehicle dressed in rain gear.
They both saluted. The older Marine spoke, “Have a good trip, gentlemen?”
“Excellent. Uncle Sam treated me very well. Makes me glad I pay so much income tax!” I joked.
The Marine opened the door for me and I moved inside the car, the General entered the opposite side. As soon as we were seated, we were moving.
Fitch and I made small talk. The topics focused mainly on sports; he had an encyclopedic knowledge of baseball. I loved the game, but couldn’t remember any of the statistical mumbo jumbo.
We turned off at the exit for my town and the General grew quiet. He looked uncomfortable and shifted in his seat. I watched him fidget from of the corner of my eyes.
“Doctor, I was saving this bit for the last leg of the trip. I really want to thank you for your help,” he said, handing me an envelope.
I looked puzzled.
“It’s a letter from the President. He is greatly indebted to you and also expresses his appreciation,” he paused and took a deep breath. “From time to time certain events occur that require, how would you say, um,” he hesitated, searching for the right words, “unique skills sets and perspectives. The events on the Island are one example. The letter from the President is a commission as an officer in the United States Marine Special Science Corps. You’ll have to take a little vacation to attend an officers training, but the government would very much like to have you in its arsenal, if you’re agreeable, of course. It’s a bit like being black ops, it’s not something you can advertise. We’ll call you when we need you.”
I sat, silent, and read the letter. We turned on to my street, I folded the paper and slid it back inside the envelope. I looked out of the window, in my absence, buds had appeared on the trees lining the sidewalk. A part of me was excited about the opportunity, the work was certainly different and exhilarating. A part of me also knew that there was great danger involved. My house came into view, I was torn.
“I’d like to work with you again, Doc. I spend a lot of time putting out fires, but every once in a while there comes a time when I need something special, and that’s you.” His eyes blazed into mine.
We stopped in front of my house. I shook Fitch’s hand, “I think General, we’ll work together again one day. We’re a good team.”
His faced beamed.
I stepped out of the car and closed the door. As I hurried up the walkway towards home I heard his voice call out, “Hey, Doc, sleep tight...”
I turned to see the Generals face just before it disappeared behind the black tinted glass, his final words barely escaping the closing window, “...and don’t let the bed bugs bite!”

CHAPTER 38

The front door opened and my two hooligans raced towards me, like horses breaking from the starting gate. I knelt down and embraced them both tightly. My chest compressed against their bodies and I tried to hide the expression of pain on my face. My wife stood in the doorway, laughing. Her blue eyes glowed against the dull grey mist; her chestnut hair hidden in the shadows of the awning.

“Daddy, what did you bring us?” the littlest one asked.

“For heaven’s sake, let your father get in the house, can’t you just be glad to see him?” my wife shouted, stepping off the front stoop.
“We want presents!” they chanted, over and over. I laughed at their persistence. I wished I had made a pit stop on the way home to get them something.
“I’m sorry, monkeys, the gift shops were closed, I didn’t have the chance to get you anything!” I lamented, shrugging my shoulders.
“Daddy, why are you dressed like that?” my daughter asked.
I looked down, I had forgotten I was wearing fatigues.
“I didn’t bring enough clean clothes with me, the nice soldiers let me borrow theirs,” I answered. So far I had been totally honest with them.
After dinner we drove to the ice cream store for dessert. Despite the giggles and smiles, I felt distant and outside of my body. I was there, but completely disengaged. I felt like an impostor. I tried to hide my emotions and faked my way through the rest of the evening as best I could, but I couldn’t escape the feeling that I was a liar.
Getting the kids into bed that night was difficult. They were excited to have me home and tired from their trip. I sat in the small room they shared reading bedtime stories until I ran out of books. Finally, they fell asleep.
I walked over to each of their beds and tucked them in; I was overcome by an urge to check their mattresses for bed bugs. I fought the compulsion, knowing that if I did it once, it would become a nightly routine and undoubtedly result in them having many years of therapy.
My wife was asleep by the time I slipped into bed. The feel of my own bed against my back was a relief. I breathed in the scents of home: the smell of the sheets, the air freshener, and my wife’s gentle floral perfume. I lay awake for quite some time, partly because the excruciating pain in my chest, and partly because I was trying to put the events of the past few days together in my mind. I spent a great deal of time wondering if it had really happened at all; my aching body reminded me that yes, in fact, it had. I fell asleep.
The next morning I sat at the kitchen table sipping a cup of coffee; the smell of the freshly ground beans lingered in the air. The sun had burnt through the fog and mist and now the first beams of light were glowing through the window. Outside, the rays danced along the moisture still clinging to the blades of grass and the lawn sparkled like a thousand shards of broken glass.
A voice came from behind me, “You’re up early.” My wife smiled and kissed me on the head, patting the healing gash.
“Yeah, couldn’t sleep. There’s some stuff I want to do around the house today, then I want to take the kids out, spend some time with them.”
She poured herself a cup of coffee and we sat at the table talking for over an hour. She seemed like an alien to me, not the woman I had been married to for fifteen years. I felt like a fraud, I had never kept anything from her. It took all of my will power not to pull her close, and whisper my amazing story into her ear. But no one could know what I had just witnessed and I had to find the strength to deal with it alone, in secret.
She got up and walked towards the sink, her yoga pants clinging to her shapely body.
“You know,” she said, her back towards me, “I’ve been thinking, we should pay that boy across the street to mow the lawn. I mean, you don’t like doing it.”
I sighed and I looked out the window at the overgrown weeds. She was right, but it wasn’t that I didn’t like to mow the lawn; it was just that it always turned out to be such a project. I never planned ahead well, inevitably the gas tank of the mower was empty and the plastic gas canister was usually dry, too. It meant a trip to the gas station and some form of maintenance on the mower. By the time I finished, the day was half over, and I was hot and pissed off. The mowing part I enjoyed, the other crap drove me mad.
“No, no, I can take a hint, I’ll do it,” and I got up, placed my empty cup on the counter and walked towards the garage.
The scent of freshly mowed grass was one of my favorite smells. In the spring it signaled that winter was finally over, and in the summer, it coincided with pool parties and BBQ’s. I breathed in the sweet fragrance. I pushed the mower slowly, my chest throbbed and my head ached with every step I took. My mind was having trouble processing the scene and dealing with the complete normality of it all. Here I was mowing the lawn; it was such an ordinary thing. Yesterday, I was almost eaten by zombies. It all seemed so absurd. I kept repeating to myself “
AmIreallymowingthe lawn?
” in disbelief.
I wondered if the lieutenant had a son, or a young neighbor to mow his lawn and I wondered if that son, or young neighbor, was eaten, or became one of ‘them’. I tried to envision what my kids would look like as flesh eating zombies. The sound of the lieutenant’s skull fragments hitting the wall resonated in my mind. My hands began to shake and I gripped the handle of the mower tighter and tighter. I was panicking. I began to cry.
I finished the lawn. The morning had turned hot and sticky and sweat dripped from my head. The salty liquid seeped around the cut on my scalp and it stung.
I returned to the kitchen and walked over to the sink to get a glass of cold water. My wife emptied the dishwasher while a small portable television sat on the countertop blasting CNN. I looked at the TV. I saw the Governor on the deck of an aircraft carrier surrounded by news crews.
My wife sighed, “That’s terrible, and did you hear that?”
I turned up the volume and stared at the screen.
The news anchor tried to look sympathetic, “The magnitude 9 quake left no survivors, the entire population of the island, wiped out.”
The anchor paused for dramatic effect and then continued, “And now over to Ty for sports!” I turned off the TV.
My son was sitting at the kitchen table eating breakfast. I sat in the chair next to him and yanked the comic page from his hands.
“Dad!”