When the Dead Rise (Book 1): The Beginning (4 page)

"What can I get you?" she asked softly, walking to the bedside to check his temperature.

"Nothing." His eyes closed. "I had a dream you'd been hurt. When I woke up, you weren't here, so I got worried that something happened to you."

"Nothing's happened. I'm fine." The thermometer beeped and her heart sank when she read the readout; 104.0 degrees. Not even the cold compresses were working to lower his temperature now.

"I'm cold Maggie," Tyrone complained.

"Well we can get you into a cool bath, I'll change the sheets and start a load of laundry and afterwards we can get you into fresh scrubs. You should feel a little more comfortable after that." She wasn't quite sure how she'd get the big man into the tub, or out if he lost consciousness, but it was a risk she'd have to take. A cool bath should help lower his fever and it was her last resort before calling for medical help.

"Okay," Tyrone groaned as Maggie helped him into a sitting position.

"Now, just stay here while I run the bath for you and try not to lie back down." She pressed her lips to Tyrone's burning forehead before hurrying from the room to get the bath underway.

With Tyrone settled into the bath, Maggie set about stripping the old sheets from the bed and placing a new set on. She wasn't sure if she wanted to bother washing the bed sheets or if she'd be better off throwing them out and buying a new set to replace them.

"I'm too tired to decide right now," Maggie sighed and dumped the heap of blankets onto the back stoop. She sat for a few minutes on the steps, soaking in the sun's warmth; it felt good to be out of the stuffy sick house.

Her peace lasted less than ten minutes. When Tyrone started screaming, Maggie was back on her feet ready to face the next challenge - she'd decided that Tyrone was going to pull through and she needed to be the one to help him through it.

She ran to the bathroom where Tyrone was sloshing about in the water screaming: "Get them off... Get them away from me."

"What is it?" she asked, frantically searching for the cause of his agitation.

"The snakes," he shouted shrilly as he thrashed. "They're all over me."

Maggie knew this wasn't a good sign. If he was delirious, the fever wasn't getting better in the cold water. "There are no snakes Tyrone," Maggie said as she calmly pulled the plug of the tub and helped him out. As the water receded, Tyrone slowly calmed.

"Get me out of here," he barked, when the last of the water drained. "They're gone for now but they'll be able to find their way back up the drain. I want you to close the bathroom door and shove a towel in the crack."

"There were no snakes Tyrone," she said again, as she toweled him off. "It's just the fever playing tricks with your mind. Let's get you into clean scrubs and get you back to bed."

Maggie redressed the wound on Tyrone's arm without looking at it too closely this time; it smelled worse and the lines were darker and longer. It wasn't a good sign and her hopes of Tyrone's recovery ebbed into fear.
At this point, I'm not sure that he's going to survive, even if I can get him to the hospital.
She choked back a sob.
I've left it for far too long.

Even in his delirium, Tyrone refused her offers to get medical help. She'd even gone as far as to suggest they call Synergy to ask for the equipment she needed to deal with the blood poisoning. When that sent him into a fit, she knew she couldn't propose that option again; all she'd accomplished was to get him worked up and expend energy he didn't have.

The morning wore on and Tyrone's delirium grew worse. He had an episode where he thought maggots covered his entire body and another where he was sure the meat in the soup were chunks of human flesh. The worst was when he'd woken up screaming that the house was on fire. He'd made it all the way out to the front porch before Maggie had been able to convince him that there was no fire and get him back to bed.

Around one that afternoon, Tyrone began to shake uncontrollably. At first Maggie thought he was seizing, but quickly realized none of the standard seizure symptoms were showing. There was no fluid coming from his mouth and he wasn't shaking violently, with whole body spasms; it was almost as if he had a really bad case of the chills. Tyrone became increasingly hard to waken for the fluids Maggie insisted on giving him every fifteen minutes. Then came the blackish vomit. Every time she tried to give him water, he'd swallow and almost immediately, his stomach would reject it and vomit it back up.

With the bedding covered with black smears, Maggie was on the verge of panic. Ridiculously, all she could think was that she shouldn't have changed the sheets earlier.

Immediate medical attention no longer required...

Maggie sat with the phone clutched in her hand for what seemed like an eternity. She'd been arguing with herself about whether to call 911 or if she should respect Tyrone's wishes, and let him continue fighting whatever he'd contracted, on his own. With her knuckles turning white around the phone, she listened to his laboured breathing and, for a frightening moment, thought she'd waited too long when she didn't hear the next inhalation. With the next wheezing breath, Maggie decided she'd waited far too long already and punched in the numbers. She no longer cared what promises she made about keeping the doctors away.

The operator answered in a calm tone, "Nine-one-one, what's your emergency?"

Maggie wasn't sure what to tell the operator: if she told the truth, they might revoke her nursing licence for not bringing Tyrone in sooner, but if she lied, Tyrone wouldn't get the treatment he desperately needed.

"Hello?" the operator spoke again, filling the silence. "What is your emergency?"

Maggie choked back a sob, "I need an ambulance for my boyfriend. He came home last night and didn't feel well and he's gotten much worse throughout the night."

"What is his condition ma'am?" the operator asked in that calm tone.

"He's barely breathing. He's started vomiting blackish fluid about twenty minutes ago." This time Maggie couldn't hold back the sob and burst into tears.

"I am dispatching an ambulance to your location. Why didn't you call earlier ma'am?"

"Because he made me promise not to." Maggie wailed, unable to control her emotions. "I'm a nurse and I knew better, but he made me promise. I did what I could with my limited resources at home... I did the best I could. It just wasn't good enough."

"Help is on the way ma'am; I'll stay on the line with you until..." Maggie hung up; the house, she noticed, had fallen silent. She rushed into the bedroom and stared in shock at Tyrone. He wasn't breathing. He wasn't moving.

Maggie crumpled to the floor in the doorway, shock paralyzing her - Tyrone was dead.
I waited too long.

The dead didn't look the same as the living, Maggie knew from experience; they looked deflated, as if the part of them that made them human was gone. What they left behind was only a shell. She broke into fresh tears as she stared, unable to pull her eyes away from the lifeless corpse that lay in hers and Tyrone's bed.

Maggie wasn't sure how long she sat on the floor with tears streaming down her face. It wasn't until Tyrone's hand twitched, that she returned to her senses. Had she imagined the movement or was it just the last electrical impulses firing off in his brain? She wiped the tears from her eyes and sniffled to clear the snot running from her nose. In her attempt to clear her sinuses, she was assaulted by the scent of ammonia; his bladder had released its contents meaning he was truly dead.

"Post-mortem spasms," Maggie whispered to herself, wishing for the moment that she didn't understand so much about death.

Tyrone's hand twitched again, as did his foot. Maggie got to her feet and slowly walked to the bed, intending on pulling the sheet up over Tyrone's head - she didn't want to witness more. Just as she pulled on the sheet, Tyrone's eyes flew open. Maggie staggered back with a squeak, bumping into the nightstand, which upset the light causing it to crash to the floor. She'd never heard of post-mortem spasms causing the eyes to open like that. In the dim light peeking through the curtains, Maggie watched in horror as Tyrone struggled to sit up.

"Baby?" she asked almost in a whisper - she'd been sure he was dead.

At the sound of her voice, Tyrone's head whipped to face her and Maggie saw the milky white of his eyes. This wasn't her boyfriend any longer - she didn't know what this thing in her boyfriend's skin was. The thing tracked Maggie as she scuttled for the door, not daring to turn her back on the creature. She watched in horror as it swung its legs over the side of the bed and attempted to stand. Its belly filled with air, puffing out like an emaciated child's, and a long low moan escaped its lips.

Maggie's fear paralyzed her. She'd never seen anything like this creature before - other than in zombie movies... She went cold; this was exactly like a zombie movie and the stupid idiot who discovered the zombie always got eaten first. Maggie didn't want to get eaten by this monster. She watched as the thing shuffled forward, closing the gap between them. Its legs tangled in the sheet and it pitched forward, falling onto Maggie. It gnashed its teeth and clawed at her shirt, trying to gain purchase, but Maggie was able to wiggle free from its grasp. It collapsed in a heap to the floor. For being a zombie, it was incredibly uncoordinated. Maggie laughed at the absurd thought - how did she know what a zombie was supposed to be capable of? Her experience with zombies went as far as what Hollywood portrayed on screen and how could they know what a zombie was truly like?

Standing there watching as the zombie struggled to its feet was wasting precious time - she needed to get somewhere safe, even if it was only temporarily. She ran down the hall, dashing into the spare room, and slammed the door closed behind her. Her heart was beating wildly as her mind raced to catch up with the reality of her situation. She leaned against the closed door and began to laugh; she sounded manic even to herself. Her fit of laughter quickly subsided when something heavy hit the door from the other side, making the room shudder. The monster trying to get into the room and eat her flesh moaned again and crashed into the door for a second time. Maggie realized she had to act quickly if she hoped to get out of the house before the thing got in.

She cast a quick glance around, settling on a heavy waist-high dresser against the wall beside her; Maggie prayed the door would hold until she could maneuver piece of furniture into place. It took several heart-pounding minutes to push the dresser, all the while, the thing kept banging away. Once she heard a splintering sound, she knew the room wouldn't be safe for long. With the dresser barring the door from being opened - not that the thing knew how to open it anyways - Maggie rifled through the room searching for the gun Tyrone kept hidden there. She found it in the last place she looked - the bottom dresser drawer locked in a small metal box; there was no key.

"You're an ass hole," Maggie shouted through the door. "What use is a gun, locked in a metal case without a key?" There was no response, but she hadn't expected the zombie to respond. The monster just kept up its incessant banging on the door.

The door splintered off its hinges, the loud crack making Maggie jump. She was thankful she took the time to move the dresser; otherwise, it would already be in the room with her. She quickly changed into an old pair of scrubs she'd found in the closet, thankful she'd kept the oversized clothes after losing thirty pounds last year. She cursed when she realized her cell phone and keys were in her purse, hanging from a hook in the kitchen. She'd just have to try and sneak in the back door before that thing heard her.

The door shuddered in its frame again, making loud cracking noises as the pounding increased in speed and strength. With one final crash, the door snapped in half, falling to the floor at Maggie's feet. The zombie stared at Maggie with its milky eyes and stumbled forward, falling over the dresser and landing in a heap inside the room.

"You fucker!" Maggie shouted, as she pulled up the window, knocking out the screen. She struggled to get one leg out, and then ducked her head in an attempt to squeeze through the small opening. She could hear a siren close by and realized the paramedics are on their way to get Tyrone.

"Too late now," she muttered, looking back to the zombie shuffling across the floor. Straddling the window ledge, she looked down to the ground beneath the window, relieved that she lived in a single story home. If she were on a second story, the fall would be a lot further and hurt a hell of a lot more. Realizing that she'd be unable to get her other leg through the opening without falling to her ass, Maggie took a deep breath, preparing herself for the fall. It was too late. Cold hands clasped her leg and she screamed as teeth sunk into her calf.

Shocked, Maggie lost her balance and toppled out of the window, feeling her flesh tear free from the zombie's teeth as gravity forced her to the ground. She stared up as Tyrone's head popped through of the window, blood dripping from his maw and his mouth working in a chewing motion. In life, Tyrone was a large man, and now he was unable to force his body through the small opening of the window.

"Small miracles," Maggie muttered.

Food for the hungry...

There was loud banging on the front door and the zombie's head disappeared from Maggie's view. She gingerly pulled up her pant leg to inspect the damage to her calf and had to swallow back bile as she inspected the bite - he'd taken a chunk of skin from her leg. Was that what he'd been chewing on? The banging on the front door continued, pulling Maggie back from the brink of hysteria. She knew she had to warn the paramedics not to open the door.