Zombified (Episode 2): Yankee Heights (6 page)

From what the drawing suggested, the infection hijacked the already-hijacked cells; they converted the factory to produce copies, overwriting the flu instructions.  He shared the observation with Mike.  "Is that about right?"

"Not only that," said Mike, waving his hands around in the air, "but I think it's a parasite!  I think this thing actually lives on viruses and bacteria, letting them do the hijacking and then sneaking in the back door."

"Ooookay."  Matty wrinkled his eyebrows.  "I get the concept, but I'm not understanding why that's so amazing.  Is it unusual?"

"Unusual?  If this thing can use other pathogens to infiltrate systems, it's the first of its kind.  Not only does it act like a spy, but also it would be damn hard to defend against.  The body cues in on the virus or bacteria.  If this thing can piggy-back on any other pathogen… there's nothing we can do about it—at least not in the short term."

Matty paced the room, rubbing his chin and taking deep breaths.  Biology and anatomy and whatever this branch of science covered was alien territory; give him something to read and write and it was a wrap, but things with formulas and forty trillion steps to a solution… thanks, but no thanks.

"Is this something natural, Mike?  If something like this always existed, why haven't we heard about it?" 

Mike shrugged.  "Beats the hell out of me, Matty.  I don't have the facilities to do any type of DNA testing, so I can't answer that."

"This is your field," said Matty.  "Take a guess."

Mike picked up a pen and started pacing; he clicked the pen repeatedly, alternating between slow, spaced-out clicks and rapid staccato ones.

"It's possible something like this evolved through natural processes," Mike blurted out.  "Maybe it evolved somewhere away from human populations."

"Then how does it infect people so fast?  Doesn't it need time to…" Matty searched for the word, "mutate, or adapt, or something."

"It has adapted, Matty."  Mike gave the pen a hard click and held the button in.  "It adapted to become a parasite on other pathogens.  Wherever those pathogens go, it can go."

"That makes sense."  Matty leaned against the counter.  "Any other ideas?  Could it be some sort of bioweapon or medical experiment?"

"Hmmmm."  Mike stopped pacing and reached up to scratch behind his ear.  "It definitely could be.  There's always that possibility in this field.  I read some fascinating articles about designer microbes intended to seek out and destroy deadly pathogens.  Maybe one of those experiments got loose."

"Are we really that advanced in this field, Mike?  Shit, I still get a cold."

"Ahahahaha," Mike chuckled.  "We can clone animals and human tissue, so of course we're that advanced.  The bottom line: I have no idea where this thing could have come from."

They looked at each other in silence for a moment, and then Matty asked another question: "How does it work on the dead?  If these things tear apart a person, there's no life left to hijack, is there?"

Mike's eyes popped open.  "You know what?  I haven't got around to doing that experiment."  He walked back to the guinea pig cage and slipped on the glove.  "I can't believe I didn't think to do that!"

"Hey, you wanna catch me up?  I have no idea what you're rambling about."  Matty stayed back, out of range of the psychotic rodent. 

"Autopsy," Mike said.  He reached in the cage and seized the guinea pig: it went berserk, scratching and biting and dribbling blood over the thick rubber hand around it.  Droning squeals filled the room.

With a quick twist, Mike snapped the creature's neck.  It's jaw continued to snap and a gurgling "SQWEEEE" noise bubbled from its mouth.

Matty made a gun with his thumb and forefinger.  "Gotta blast the brains, doc."

"Huh."  Mike carried the critter to a separate counter and held it down while he retrieved a scalpel.  "That's interesting."  He drove the scalpel into the base of the rodent's skull and gave a little twist: a muffled crack ended the squealing and snapping.

"I don't know how you do that, dude."  Matty made a face of 'none of that for me, thanks' and kept away from the table.

"It's part of biology, Matty."  Mike pinned the rodent's limbs and set to work cutting it apart.  "I'm going to take samples from different tissues and see how the pathogen affects them."

"What can I do, Mike?"

Mike glanced over at him and nodded at the laptop.  "Take notes.  Type up everything you see and everything I say."

"Ten-four, homey."  Matty hopped up on the cushioned stool and opened a new text document; he noted the time, location, and nature of the report at the top.  "Ready."

They spent an hour documenting every piece of the guinea pig.  Matty didn't understand any of it, but he transcribed whatever Mike said.

Mike brought several samples of different rodent parts over to the microscope.  "I'm going to exam each one and see if we can come up with anything.  Most of what I'm going to say won't mean anything to you."

"Shit, Mike, I haven't understood a damn thing you've said so far!"

"Ahahahaha," Mike laughed, but this time he threw his head back—it was something new, at least.

He made up a dozen slides, using tissue samples from the organs, spinal fluid, brain, muscles, nerves, and skin of the guinea pig. 

"The skin is desiccated and all the follicles are filled with coagulated blood."  He made a few more observations and switched slides.  "Muscle fibers appear normal, except where the subject strained or pulled with no regard for limitations."

When Mike got to the nerve samples, he whistled.  "Now this is something I have never, never, never seen."  He fiddled with the dials on the microscope.  "I think we may have answer about how the parasite infects dead or destroyed tissue."

"Can you explain it to me in idiot terms?"

"Ummmmm."  Mike turned the microscope dials a fraction.  "There are appendages running from the parasite into the nerve cells.  It's literally connected to the nervous system."  He made a few more adjustments and frowned.  "Damn!"

"What happened?"

"Nothing!  That's the problem: there's no activity at all.  I can see the connection, but there's nothing happening.  I'd have to study a living specimen to know how it interacts with the nervous system."

"What about the brain?"

Mike was already switching slides.  After a few minutes he pulled away from the eyepiece and shrugged. 

"I can't make heads or tails of it.  I'm used to studying human cells, unfortunately."  Mike rubbed his eyes.  "I didn't expect to see it in the nerve cells—at least, not like that.  Whatever this thing is, Matty, it's… advanced.  If it's hijacking viruses or bacteria in order to replicate, it seems to be aiming to reproduce enough to take over the nervous system.  I've never seen anything like it."

"We're not talking about tremors and seizures, though," Matty said.  "We're talking about something that enables deliberate and motivated actions.  What the hell kind of disease does that?"

Mike stood there, mouth agape and hands up.  "I have no idea."

"All right."  Matty got up from the stool and stretched his back.  "I think we should try and explain all this to the others."

Mike nodded.  "Good idea."  He collected the laptop and the sketches. 

Matty opened the lab door; pimple-faced Shane stood on the other side, his hand outstretched towards the handle. 

"Oh, hey," Shane said.  "I was just coming to get you guys.  We have another survivor."

Behind Shane stood a pudgy guy wearing a faded baseball cap.  It was Dan.  Matty did something totally out of character and wrapped Dan in a bear hug.

"Dude!  I thought you were zombie chow!"  He let go of him and held Dan at arms' length.  "What the hell happened to you?  Where'd you go?"

Dan grinned and held up his smartphone.  "I heard about the zombies while you were upstairs trying to get lucky with Kayla.  I got the hell out of there right away."

Matty shook away the images of Kayla's shredded body.

"Glad to know you had our back."  He punched Dan in the shoulder.  "Good lookin' out, amigo."

"Hey!  I had to get my pack of survival stuff and my .22.  I wasn't going through this without them."  He rubbed at the shoulder Matty had punched.  "I'm here now, aren't I?  By the way, where is Kayla?"

Matty swallowed.  "She's—"

"She's right there!"  Mike bellowed, thrusting a meaty hand out and pointing behind Dan.  "Holy shit, she's one of them!"

Down the hall, the stairwell door was open and Kayla's shredded body stood in the dim glow of emergency lights.  More zombies staggered and shoved through the doorway.

"Shane," Matty said in a hushed, angry voice, "tell me you forgot to lock the fuckin' door!"  He yanked the 9mm from his pants.  "Head to the elevators!" 

"We can't leave the other people!"  Shane pointed to the security office.

"If you think you can get there without the munchers getting you first, go right ahead."  Matty turned away and ran down the corridor.  Dan was right on his heels, but Mike hesitated.

"Now or never, Mike!"  Matty yelled over his shoulder.

"We can't wait for him," Dan said, panting heavily.  "Some of those things can run."

"I know."  Matty looked at Dan.  "Where's your pack?  Where's your gun?"

"In my car."  Dan gulped down air.  "I'm parked right behind your truck."

"Are you fuckin' crazy?  You came down here without your fuckin' gun?  Come on, Dan!"  Matty shook his head and loosed a string of profanities.

The sound of footsteps echoed behind them; Mike was sprinting to catch up.

They skidded to a stop in front of the elevators.  Matty flipped through the ring and inserted the facility key into the lock between the doors: the arrows flashed briefly and he punched the up button.

"The munchers are going to be busy down here," said Matty; "hopefully, all the ones from the lobby will be attracted to the commotion from the stairwell.  When we get to the lobby, run to the vehicles—no hesitation."

DING.  The left door slid open.  Matty, Dan, and Mike piled in; Dan punched the lobby button.  As the doors closed, the sound of echoing zombie carnage faded out.

"Where the hell do we go?"  Mike asked, clutching the laptop to his chest. 

"No fuckin' idea, doc," replied Matty.  "Let's focus on getting out of here alive." 

DING.  The door opened: the lobby wasn't empty.

Fuck me
.  Matty raised the gun and fired two quick shots, caving in the face of two zombies within reach of the door.  He stepped over the bodies and fired again, blowing off the top right side of a girl's head.

"Move!" He yelled.  Eight munchers converged on the party as they bolted to the shattered doors of the main entrance.  Matty's pistol barked three, four, five times: zombie heads popped, spouting red fountains into the gloom of the lobby.

"Watch out!"  Dan yelped.  Right outside the entrance, more zombies attacked.  Dan darted between Mike and a muncher, knocking the laptop from Mike's hands.

Matty charged out of the doors, blasting the last rounds of his clip into the closest undead.  One of the shots missed, ricocheting off a low stone bench.  The noise was attracting a horde of them; the parking lot was a concert crowd of groaning dead.

"Leave it!"  Matty screamed as Mike shoved a zombie away while trying to collect his laptop.  He dumped the empty clip into a pocket and slid one of the two full magazines into the grip, tapping the release.

Hands grabbed Matty's back and hot, slimy breath fell on his neck.  Matty fell forward and rolled; it was far from graceful, but the zombie's hands tore off shirt and missed Matty's flesh.  On one knee, his left hand came up to support the gun: BANG!  The shot entered at the muncher's chin, sending a fan of bone and brain backward.

Mike was struggling against two zombies; his voice was a fever pitch of hysterical screams and swears, hands pushing ravenous blue-black mouths away. 

Matty scrambled over and yanked a zombie away, kicking it in the backside and sending it crashing to the pavement face-first.  He turned back and aimed the gun, trying to get a bead on the other one.

Over the din, Matty heard Dan's car start and the transmission drop into gear.

Mike screamed; the stub of his pinky finger shot a jet of crimson into the zombie's face.  A sickening crunch and slobbering swallow came from its mouth: it had swallowed Mike's finger.

BANG!  From the teeth up, the muncher's head was gone; it lurched back, bubbly wells of blood overflowing its neck, and toppled over.

Dan laid on the horn: zombie heads turned and they converged on the car. 

Matty grabbed Mike and ushered him to the truck.  He got it unlocked as Dan was backing up, undead pawing and gnawing on the windows.  Matty slammed the door and blasted a pair of zombies at the front of his pick-up. 

Fuck!  There are hundreds of them!
  He noticed the exterior lights were still on. 
Son of a bitch, Shane
.  Matty hopped into the driver's seat, getting the door shut and locked as zombies crowded around both vehicles.  Torn faces and dismembered bodies pounded against the metal and glass.

Mike was alternating between swearing and moaning as he clutched the maimed hand.  "I'm so screwed… so totally fucked!  I don't want to go out like this, Matty."

"I won't let it come to that, Mike." Matty shifted into drive.  "I won't let you turn."

He floored the accelerator and smashed through zombies; the truck bounced and careened, clearing the front of the building and swerving wildly out into the parking lot.  Dan weaved through denser knots of munchers, but a few hit the front hood and rolled up and over the roof.

Shoulda bought a truck, Dan
.  Matty watched in the rear-view. 

When they cleared the parking lot, he reached behind the passenger seat and felt around for the first aid kit. 

"Here."  He handed Mike the large white box.  "See if you can patch it up for now." 

"Thanks."  Mike put the box on his lap and went through the contents, pulling out gauze, tape, antiseptic wipes, and antibiotic salve.  "I dropped the laptop."