Forest Park: A Zombie Novel (11 page)

Both men, the alive and Undead wrestled with each other on the grass, each trying to resist each other’s forceful moves. For a moment, it looked as if the coughing guy might crawl away to escape, but Craig came back at him hard. Ignoring the man’s defensive blows, Craig slowly gained the upper hand as the coughing guy’s energy began to ebb. Steve began to back away from the window as the man he had abandoned earlier became more and more uncoordinated, until he finally stopped resisting altogether.

He was dead.

“Kathy, I think you better...”

The reporter wouldn’t, or couldn’t, stop screaming as the staggering man slowly moved closer and closer. “Get in the truck; get in the fucking truck, or run, just fucking run!” Steve heard Kathy shout at the television.

“Just run, damn it, run!”

As the staggering man’s rear torso came into view, Kathy, and every other viewer saw a large butcher’s knife extending outward from his back. The sight was plainly horrific and shocking.

“Jesus!”

The fat cameraman came into view once more, and now he was attempting to drag the reporter further away from the bloodied killer, but she, for some reason, refused to take another step back --- it must have been a shock, being there and seeing the horror of it all. Kathy couldn’t imagine how the woman felt.

“Run for Christ’s sake!” Kathy said repeatedly, as she looked away from the television and toward Steve who was standing to one side of the window, his hands now covering his gaping mouth.

The man with the butcher’s knife penetrating his back was now only a few feet away from the reporter --- who still refused to move.

“Somebody help them...” Kathy said as she closed her eyes --- missing the Humvee as it crashed into the staggering man, throwing him high into the air, and tossing him over the Humvees flat roof and on to the ground with a thud.

“Take that!” Kathy said as her fist punched the air, and she breathed a sigh of relief.

“Kathy, Craig killed him…” Steve said without turning toward her.

“I know I saw it. Everyone just saw it. It was on the television. Morning television, my ass. How did you know his name was Craig?” Kathy said, sounding confused.

“What?” said Steve. “I mean Craig from across the road; our neighbour…”

“Craig was driving the Humvee?” Kathy questioned.

Steve turned and said, “Humvee what Humvee? What are you talking about?”

HELP ARRIVES

“Is that your truck?” the soldier asked, pointing toward the Wolfpac.

Neither Charlie nor Susan answered him.

“I said, is that your truck?” the soldier repeated himself as the dead thing convulsed on the ground in front of Susan and Charlie.

“Yes,” said Charlie, and then added, “It’s a Wolfpac.”

“Okay, good for you. What I need you to do is ---” he said before Susan interrupted him.

“You killed him.”

“I didn’t kill anyone,” the soldier answered.

“You drove over him with your monster truck and killed him…”

“I told you I hadn’t killed anyone, anyone who wasn’t fucked up already. Now I need you to get in your truck and follow me.”

“Who are you?” asked Charlie.

“I’m the man you’ll thank later. Captain Louis Tyler of the US Army Corps of Engineers.”

“Captain who?” Charlie said.

“Tyler.”

“I’m not going anywhere with you,” Susan said, “you just murdered, that murderer…”

“Isn’t that good?” Charlie asked.

“Then stay here, ma’am, it’s your choice. However, if I were you, I’d play it smart and come with me to Fort Gillem or get on home. It’s not safe being out on the streets,” Tyler said.

“Fort Gillem,” Susan said as she glanced over to Charlie. “You heard him, Charlie; grab the camera --- we’re moving out!” Susan quickly straightened herself up and smiled at the captain, whom she noticed wasn’t paying her the attention she believed that she warranted.

“The clock’s ticking,” the captain said as he checked his watch.

“Charlie, you heard the captain. Move it!” Susan said as Charlie swiftly gave his camera a good once-over.

“It’s not broken,” Charlie said; his relief was clearly palpable.

Susan rolled her eyes. “Just move your fat ass, will you?” Susan said as their attacker suddenly stretched out his one remaining good arm and attempted to grab Susan’s ankle, causing her to shriek.

Susan was about to yell for help until Tyler reversed over the mangled man’s mid-section and on to his head, squelching it flat like a ripe tomato.

“Did you get a shot of that, Charlie?” Susan asked.

“No… I was too…” Charlie said, sounding flustered.

“Jesus, Charlie!” Susan said as she shook her head in frustration.

“I bet that whole sequence would have rated through the roof anyway.”

“It better had, Charlie.”

PROBLEMS WITH NEIGHBOURS

Steve wrenched Kathy from the couch and pressed her to the window.

Her feet scarcely touched the ground.

“Fuck the television, Kathy, have a look out there. I think that woman in the diner who was attacked is the real deal. I’m not saying it was special effects or nothing, just that I saw something similar in the street. Craig was biting that guy from earlier. He killed him --- I think. At least, it looked like it.”

“What’s happening?”

They both leaned nearer to the window; Kathy’s nose caressed the glass.

“I don’t know,” Steve said as they watched Craig slowly rise to his feet and leave the possible corpse of the coughing guy behind. He then began to stumble about his yard.

It looked as though Craig was attempting to traverse an invisible maze.

Kathy placed her hand on the windowpane.

“I think it’s got something to do with the terrorist attack that guy from the CDC was talking about. He said something about illness and violence.”

“Did he say anything about people becoming even more stupid? He didn’t say it was terrorists ---”

“How did it get here then?” Steve said as they watched the macabre display across the way.

“Steve, stop jumping to conclusions. We don’t even know if it’s an IT…” Kathy said.

As she spoke, the coughing guy sat up slowly and turned his head from left to right.

“Hang on a second. I don’t think he’s dead.” Steve grabbed Kathy by the hand.

“I’m going to help this time.”

Kathy’s eyes opened wide. “Steve, don’t; this doesn’t feel right, what about the flu? God damn it, it was only moments before when you were worried about terrorists,” Kathy pleaded.

The coughing guy rolled to his side and attempted to stand as they were speaking.

“We can’t just leave him out there. I’ve had this year’s flu shot. I’ll be fine,” he said.

“A flu shot is different, Steve --- this is different.”

Steve made a run for the door.

“Stop!”

However, he was gone.

Kathy watched helplessly as her husband ran across the street and then came to a sudden halt. She pushed her face closer to the windowpane. Her heavy breathing began to obscure her view of what was happening. Kathy quickly wiped the condensation away with her palm.

From inside the house, Kathy watched as Steve said something to Craig, and then he spoke to the coughing guy.

For moments, nothing happened.

Then she heard, “Oh, fuck!” And Steve stepped sharply backwards.

Then he ran.

Seconds later, Steve burst into the living room and onto their couch, before the front door could even slam shut behind him.

He was completely out of breath, more so from panic, Kathy suspected.

“Steve, what happened?”

For a minute, and possibly longer, he didn’t move an inch, other than when he inhaled and exhaled --- his unfit chest begun to wheeze.

“Steve, what happened out there?”

“Kathy … we’re in deep shit, babe,” Steve said in between wheezing breaths.

“Steve, I think you’re having a panic attack.”

“Where are they now, Kathy?” Steve asked as he leaned forward and placed his elbows on his knees.

Kathy looked out of the window.

Both Craig and the coughing guy were crossing the street, weaving and stumbling in their direction.

“They’re coming over here,” she finally said. Then after a long pause, “What the hell is wrong with them?”

“Kathy, come away from the windows,” Steve said. “Don’t let them see you standing there.”

“What if they do?”

“Just don’t.”

“Oh, because I think they’ve already seen me.”

          “Oh.

Oh, shit! Kathy, I think they’re both dead, like in the movies.”

Kathy stared at him dumbfounded. “You’re kidding me, aren’t you? You think this is funny?”

Kathy looked back out the window at the two men staggering across the road.

“I’ve never been more serious in my life. I wish we had a gun,” Steve said and then suddenly stood up.

“What are you doing now?” Kathy asked him.

“I’m checking the doors.”

“You’re scaring me, Steve! I’m scaring me…”

After checking, and rechecking both doors, Steve paused.

“Steve, you’re frightening me --- stop it,” she said.

“If you’re scared, Kathy, then I’m terrified!”

Unexpectedly, a clatter came from the front door --- then a moan.

The door handle rattled.

Steve, snatching the television’s remote control, pressed mute.

Kathy forced her eyes shut and began grinding her teeth, something she hadn’t done since she was a child. It’s a dream; this is bullshit. You’ll wake up in a second, Kath, don’t let it worry you.

Nobody is outside.

Soon, you’ll be eating breakfast and joking about this with Steve --- he’ll laugh too. You see dead people! You know he’ll say it.

Good one.

“Kath, wait here for a moment.” Steve said.

That’s right, stay in bed and sleep it off? Sure will, I am so goddarn tired I could sleep a week anyhow.

I really could sleep a week.

“I’m getting my bat, just sit tight. I’ll only be a second.”

He left Kathy on the couch with her eyes still closed, until... The door handle rattled once more.

“Please don’t open,” she prayed.

Kathy, glancing at the television as she prayed saw a news ticker begin rolling across the screen.

All residents. Please stay inside; do not attempt to provide assistance to your family, friends and neighbors. Emergency services are aware of situations in your area.

The message repeated over and over --- but once every few minutes, a Coca Cola icon or a McDonald’s symbol appeared within the message. Within hours, more corporations would join the ticker parade.

So the news ticker starts now
, she thought.

Steve came back into the living room carrying his baseball bat.

Kathy didn’t speak, and neither did he.

A scream came from outside. A woman was running along the street wearing a nightgown.

Her hands were waving around wildly as if she was trying to shoo away a bat.

As she ran, the woman turned her head and glanced over her shoulder. She looked terrified and had blood streaming down from a gash on her forehead. Moments after she had run by, the clamor at the front door stopped.

Craig and the coughing guy were leaving, slowly.

“Oh, God, that poor woman,” Steve said.

“Would you like another coffee?” Kathy asked. She sounded lost.

Steve nodded. “That would be nice.”

Kathy walked out from the living room in a daze.

They could both do with a brew, and she could make a nice one.

FOX- 5

ATLANTA

A conscience can be a peculiar thing.

It could take you in directions you wouldn’t normally opt for, such as omitting commercials.

While hard-hitting serious reporting might win an obscure award once in a while, profit was the name of the game --- the trick was how to bring the two together.

Profit is God!

Profit and fat bonuses are what buy you the beach house in Malibu, and the Audi R8 Spyder that sat in the garage.

That was why Paul Herbert was struggling with his moral compass, which rarely pointed north.

However, as Jesus is to a miner stuck one hundred feet below, revenue and profit helped Paul make the correct decision.

“You can’t buy that kind of endorsement,” he said earlier during the online board meeting.

“We never left you! Every hour, every minute of every second, we provided you with the news you could live by.”

The corporate heads adored the idea, now they could run the news ticker across the network on every channel and not disrupt the broadcast; in fact, it increased product airtime while scheduled programming continued.

“Yeah, that’s right, Coke saved your life! It’s a fucking bonanza, who wouldn’t pay for that kind of endorsement?” he said during the meeting.

He had found a way to bring the two often-mismatched goals of cable news together and was also able to use the word synergy as he did so.

Paul was thirty-seven, and considered handsome; he also had a knack for making something out of nothing. He was an outside the box thinker.

Although, he had two serious faults: women and recreational drugs. Not a true fault when you combine the two. In theory, they worked in perfect harmony.

Tanya was proof to that theory, and unlike Susan, Tanya had shown that she was not only a fantastic piece of ass, but she was also capable of holding her own. Hell, she had to hold her own, no one else showed up!

None of Paul’s anchormen had driven into the car park that morning, not a single one of them, nor could he get hold of any of them.

You pay huge dollars for talent; you treat that talent as if they’re your own flesh and blood and then that same talent drops their designer pants and shits all over you.

Fucking typical!

However, there was still no chance in hell that he was going to call Susan into the studio --- no way, regardless of how well that diner shit went in the ratings.