Zombies Begin (Zombies Begin Series Book 1) (4 page)

“Please, don’t hurt me.”

“Yeah, leave him alone!” a guy yelled.

Fuller slowly started to calm. He shook off the gruesome urge. His eyes fixated on the cowering security guard. His mind became sharp. It was as though he had control of mind and body again. He looked around the shock-filled room. How could he have done all of this?

He slowly got to his feet.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” His hands held up. Submissive.

He bolted out of the offices.

Fuller stumbled down an inner-city neighborhood street. He would try to run, but would almost fall over. He still didn’t have full control of his body, and was a little discombobulated. His torn clothing made him appear as just another crazy, homeless person in this neighborhood.

The cold morning wind beat upon his coatless body. His exposed right arm and fingers were numb with cold, but he didn’t seem to feel the cold. His body was switched off to feeling that kind of pain.

It was a rough neighborhood. Sirens bellowed out in the nearby distance. Drug dealers huddled on one corner, pimps and prostitutes on another. Johnny Chen didn’t have to live in such a bad neighborhood, but he preferred to live beyond his means in other areas of his life.

Fuller entered the foyer of a rundown apartment building. People milled around, smoking all kinds of things. The residents were almost as bad as the people on the street. Some stared at Fuller’s beaten and shabby appearance; others couldn’t care less. They had all seen worse.

The elevator was out, so Fuller had to take the long way up. After climbing five flights of stairs he made it to Johnny Chen’s apartment. Yellow police tape crossed the closed door. Fuller stared at the tape for a moment. His eyes grew wide. His heart started beating fast. He glanced around to ensure he was at the right door.

Even though the police tape indicated Johnny Chen probably wasn’t there, Fuller banged on the door anyway.

“Johnny?!Johnny?”

Fuller grabbed the door handle, twisting back and forth. Locked.

He banged on the door again.

Fuller ripped down the police tape and shoulder butted the door wide open. A stale smell of rotten, moldy food and other awful gases hit Fuller in the face. He second guessed his decision to enter.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” called someone from behind. The voice was dry and raspy. He was not sure if it was a woman or man.

Fuller spun around to see who was there. Across the hall stood Carol Mainer, a lady in her late sixties. Bleached blonde hair. Her tobacco-stained fingers (and voice) suggested she had a heavy smoking problem. She cradled a long-haired, fluffy white cat in one arm and a cigarette in the other hand.

Carol hid a little further behind her half-opened door when she saw Fuller’s beaten appearance. “I wouldn’t go in there. The police are doing an investigation, you know. I’m sure they’ll be back any minute now.”

“Where’s Johnny Chen?”

“No one knows.” Carol paused to puff on her cigarette. “He went crazy, you know. Started talking to himself. He attacked Mr. Willard when he came to check on him yesterday morning. Poor Mr. Willard. Bit him on the face and arms. It was just terrible. He’s in the hospital now.”

“What about Johnny?”

“Hopefully the police have him by now. He ran into the street screaming like a madman. It was a horrible day, just horrible, you know.”

Fuller nodded and turned his attention back to the apartment. He slowly entered.

“He looked a lot like you,” Carol called after him.

Fuller leant back out of the apartment.

“He’s Chinese!”

“Obviously.” Rolling her eyes. “He was very pale and his skin was flaking like you. I never seen him look so bad. He always liked to look his best. A very fine dresser, you know.”

Fuller nodded and turned back to the apartment. The living room was in a mess. Furniture had been overturned. Things smashed to pieces. Large holes in the walls. There were blood stains on the carpet, most likely where Mr. Willard had been attacked.

Fuller continued to the kitchen. The hum of the fridge compressor struggled to keep the temperature—the door wide open. Food had spilt out all over the floor. Food was also spread out over the countertop. Rotten, half-eaten raw meat and moldy food. Dirty dishes and smashed dishes littered the sink and floor.

He continued into the main bedroom, taking in everything he saw. A lot reminded him of the last two days he’d had. The bed was a mess. A sweat outline of Johnny Chen’s body stained the sheets. The room was a mess with things tossed around.

Crude drawings of tigers covered the walls and around the window. Words had been scribbled on the walls and ceiling with a black marker pen. Most were sentences written in Cantonese. There were a few English words written on the wall: “dead men shall live”;
“walking corpses.”

Fuller read over the words carefully, not understanding their meaning.

He noticed a small, well-worn Bible carefully laid on the bedside table. He moved to it and flicked through the pages. He hadn’t known Johnny Chen to be a religious man.  A Yat-Sun Chinese Restaurant menu had been tucked into the pages, marking a spot. A Bible verse had been marked in red pen,
Zechariah
14:12: “The Lord will send a plague on all the nations... Their people will become like walking corpses, their flesh rotting away…”

“Oh my!” interrupted Carol, as her eyes gazed upon the room, making the sign of the cross on her chest. She had decided to see things for herself. Fuller was surprised to see her there. He removed the menu and slid it into his pocket.

“That’s mine. He borrowed it from me.” Referring to the Bible.

“What does this all mean?” Fuller thought out loud.

“Who knows? It’s the writings of a madman.”

“They’re Bible verses.”

“Not from my Bible.”

Carol walked further into the room, reaching for her Bible. Fuller handed it to her and continued to inspect the room. His fingers gliding over the words on the wall. He closed his eyes, trying to imagine the scenario.

Different images flashed into his mind. Johnny Chen desperately trying to scribble the words onto the wall. He was frantic—erratic—as though someone was out to get him. He flipped through page after page in the Bible, skimming the pages, trying to predict his own fate. He was pale. His skin peeling and flaking. Lips chapped and dry.

Fuller moved out of the bedroom back into the living room, as though he was following Johnny Chen’s movements. Carol followed along like a lost puppy, not sure what Fuller was up to.

He visualized Johnny Chen running around the living room, smashing things to pieces. Crushing them with his bare hands. Chasing an imaginary intruder. He was in a rage. Shirtless, screaming in Cantonese at an unseen force.

Fuller moved into the bathroom. The mirror had been cracked. The walls had been decorated in more of Johnny Chen’s penmanship. Crude images of tigers had been scribbled on several walls. The faucet dripped. He pictured Johnny taking a drink to soothe his dry mouth and throat. Fuller copied the action, putting his mouth over it and opening the valve to drink. Carol watched on with a suspicious eye.

After his thirst had been satisfied, he walked back into the kitchen. Cold air spilling out into the room from the fridge. Fuller pushed food and debris away from the door with his foot, shutting the fridge.

Images of Johnny Chen flashed in his mind again. He was smashing the dishes. Removing food out of the fridge and chewing on raw meat. He was like an animal, totally possessed. He squatted on the countertop to eat. No dignity left. No control of his mind and body.

Fuller approached the rotting, raw meat. It smelled bad, but at the same time there was something very appealing about. He stretched out his hand slowly, taking a half-eaten piece of steak in his hand. He couldn’t understand its appeal for him.

“What are you doing?! Wash your hands!” Carol snapped at him.

Fuller dropped the meat back onto the counter, coming back to reality. He briskly walked back into the living room. He peered at the blood-stained carpet. Images flashed in his mind of Mr. Willard coming to the door. Johnny Chen leaping through the air, beating Willard down. Attacking him. Biting his arms and face, like a wild animal feeding on freshly caught prey. Fuller touched his lips. His mind flicked back to his encounter with the security guard where he had almost bitten him. Was this his fate?

Fuller’s eyes were drawn to the back of the front door. A pair of scissors had been stabbed into the wood, barely hanging on. He moved in for a closer inspection. Etched into the back of the door were large letters which read:
“God among men.”

No doubt the scissors had been used to carve the words into the door.

“What do you think that means?”

Carol just shrugged. She wasn’t sure what Fuller wanted from her.

“You’ve never read that before? From all your years of studying the Bible?”

“I never studied it that hard. I prefer to just keep it in my house. It keeps the evil spirits away, you know.”

The two shared a look at each other for a moment. Group thought. Nothing. Fuller turned his attention back to the letters.

“Jesus was a God among men.” Carol thought she had a stroke of genius for a moment. “Maybe he was praying to Jesus for help.”

Fuller’s eyes wander over the torn-up room. Metal chair legs were bent and twisted, gaping holes covered the walls—destruction from someone with superior strength. His mind cast back to his earlier encounter in the office. Jumping effortlessly from desk to desk, lifting a grown man over his head. The image of Johnny Chen leaping at Mr. Willard and smashing him to the ground flashed into his mind.
Johnny didn’t need Jesus. He had found his new calling.

“He’s referring to himself!”

The sun just started to touch the horizon and descended gradually. The soft, orange light shone through the kitchen window. Davis was making dinner for himself in his usual attire—socks, beanie and tighty whities—probably the same ones for the last three days.

A large steak sizzled in a hot skillet. Davis poked and prodded at it with a fork. The salty, oily, steak’s aroma filled the air. Samson jumped up on Davis’ leg, excited and waiting with anticipation for the juicy meat.

“Settle down, settle down,” said Davis.

Samson let out a bark, wanting to be fed now.

A cold rush of night air flowed through the house as Fuller came through the front door. Davis wasn’t impressed to see him.

“Got yourself into trouble, haven’t ya?”

Fuller didn’t answer. The scent of the cooking meat dominated his attention. His stomach rumbled. Realization of his hunger kicked in. He hadn’t eaten for three days and that steak smelled good.

“Look at ya. You look like shit!” Davis prodded the meat a little more. “The coppers were ’round here lookin’ for ya earlier today. They wanna get ya for assault… or something like that.”

Davis’ words fell on deaf ears. Fuller’s mind was not processing information right now. The sizzling steak was the only thing on his mind. His breathing became heavy. The sound of the sizzle echoed in his ears. Davis prodded the steak a little more, flipping it over to reveal a nice, even, brown coating. Little oil bubbles popped on top.

Fuller advanced further into the kitchen. His eyes gazed at the meat. His movement was jerky, as though fighting himself not to move.

“I failed my exam again, thanks for asking,” said Davis. “Your night of crazy shit didn’t help either. My mum is going to be pissed when she sees what you’ve done to the living room and bathroom... You might have to find a new place to live.”

Fuller inched a little further. His bloodshot eyes rolled back. He rubbed his eyes.

“Are you even listening to a bloody word I’m saying?”

Fuller didn’t answer. He stumbled further toward Davis. His body bumped up against Davis’ side. His face next to Davis’ face.

“Oi! What’re you doing? Ya bloody poofter.” Davis used his forearm to shove Fuller back. Fuller stumbled back a couple of feet and then mindlessly pushed forward, pressing his body up against Davis again.

Davis stepped back, finally realizing something wasn’t right. Fuller pushed himself against the oven, salivating over the meat. Samson started to bark at Fuller, as though he was a stranger.

“Shhhhh!” Davis tried to calm Samson. “What the hell is wrong with you, mate?” He stared in shock at Fuller.

Davis scooped Samson up into his arms. Samson struggled to get free, growling and wanting to leap out of his arms.

“Calm down!”

With his bare hands, Fuller snatched the sizzling steak from the skillet and ripped chunks off with his teeth. He barely chewed the hot meat before swallowing it.

“HEY! That’s mine!” Davis poked Fuller in the shoulder with his fork.

Fuller ignored the prodding. He continued to feed. Davis stabbed a little harder to get his attention. No reaction. He reached for the steak to remove it from Fuller’s grasp. The hot steak burnt his hand. He pulled back quickly, sucking on his burnt fingers.

Fuller turned to stare at Davis. His eyes were empty, emotionless. It was almost like he was seeing through Davis. He opened his mouth wide and growled. Davis immediately held up his fork in defense—closed his eyes and turned his face away from danger. The extended fork his only shield from danger. Fuller pushed him back with ease, knocking him to the floor. The fork slid across the floor. Davis went into a half-fetal position on the cold, gray tiles. He had never seen Fuller like this in the entire time they had lived together. This wasn’t normal, and neither was Fuller’s superior strength.

Samson bolted free and ran straight for Fuller. He latched on to Fuller’s pant leg. He tugged and growled. Fuller acted as though the small dog wasn’t even there. He crammed the rest of the hot steak into his mouth. Davis watched on from the floor. If he stayed still maybe Fuller would forget he was there.

The steak only whetted Fuller’s appetite. He moved to the fridge. Nothing seemed to be what he wanted. Food spilled across the floor. A large, raw steak took his fancy. He bit into it, tearing the meat and swallowing it. The meat juice ran down his chin and dripped pale, red spots onto his dirty white shirt. Davis watched on in disgust. He stayed still on the floor.

“Dude, you wanna cook that first?” he said sheepishly. “It could have parasites or anything in it.”

Fuller’s eyes rolled back in his head, showing only the whites of his eyes. His eyelids twitched rapidly, like he was getting a hit from the raw flesh. His eyes re-adjusted. After a moment he went back in for more food, frantically searching. Nothing was left. Suddenly he became aware of the little dog tearing holes in his pant leg. A scary calm came over him. His head slowly looked down on Samson.

“Samson?” called Davis in an unnerved voice. “Come here, boy!”

Before Samson could retreat Fuller clutched the little dog around the back of the neck. Reefed him off his leg and held him at eye level. Samson bared his teeth and growled in an attempt to scare off the would-be attacker.

“What are you doing, dude?!”

Fuller’s head jerked around a little, fighting his own mind again.

The animal instinct won. He opened his mouth to take a bite of the helpless dog’s face.

Davis reacted quickly—shoving the kitchen’s fire extinguisher nozzle into Fuller’s mouth—-blasting a full shot of chemical agent into his mouth. Fuller stumbled back against the bench. Foam and liquid poured from his mouth. Davis followed up his attack, blasting his eyes and face with more foam.

***

Davis bolted across the front lawn through the cold. His mostly naked body covered in goose bumps. Samson was tucked up under his arm like a football. He headed for the toughest man he knew. He banged vigorously on Lloyd Corbet’s front door. No answer.

Fuller ran out the front door like a crazed animal. Body hunched over, low to the ground. Saliva mixed with foam dripped from this blood-stained mouth and chin. Meat blood peppered his shirt. Pupils black. He growled as he looked for his prey. His actions were stiff and uncoordinated. A part of him (the human part) still fought to not hunt down Davis.

He leaped off the front step to give chase—tripped and smashed head first on the front lawn—still partially blinded by the foam.

Davis ran around to the back of Lloyd’s house, trying to find a way in.

From the dark interior, Lloyd observed Davis running frantically around his house. Lloyd cradled his shotgun. Locked and loaded.

Davis banged on some of the side windows. Screaming. Where the hell was Lloyd?

“WAKE UP, YOU OLD BASTARD!”

Davis ran up the few stairs, across the small deck, to the back door. Puffed and panicked. As he went to bang on the door, the door flew open. Lloyd rushed out at him—twelve gauge in hand. He stuck the barrel into Davis’ face.

Davis froze. He wasn’t sure who was worse, the raw-meat-eating roommate or the crazy, gun-carrying neighbor. One of them would probably kill him tonight.

Lloyd paused, giving Davis a once over. His presence at the house at nearly dark out was very unusual. Even his just knocking on his door was unusual.

“What’s your problem, sissy boy?! Why you banging up my house?!”

Davis was terrified. The twelve gauge in his face tended to make him speechless. He tried to speak. The words wouldn’t come.

“He’s trying to eat my dog!” Davis finally spouted out, holding Samson up carefully with two hands.

Lloyd squinted, scrutinizing Davis’ appearance and actions. His head shifted to one side, like he heard something. He retreated back into the house. Slammed the door. Davis rushed after him, banging on the door repeatedly. He just wanted to be behind the safety of a locked door.

Samson let out a warning bark. A cold chill ran over Davis’ already cold, numb body. Still facing the closed door, he didn’t want to look behind him. But he knew someone was standing there. He peaked over his shoulder. Fuller stood a few feet away. Fuller’s head looked to the ground. Shoulders and chest rose up and down with heavy breathing. His head flopped back to stare up at Davis.

Davis peered at his friend. He looked ghostly pale. His face and head were deformed from the beatings he had sustained. His clothes were torn. His face and shirt were stained with the meat juices. He was slightly hunched over and looked like a crazed serial killer. Who was this person? A stranger.

Davis frantically banged on the door.

“Let me in! Let me in! Let me in!”

Fuller rushed toward him. Davis covered his face, cowering against the door—ready to die. Suddenly all went quiet as the noise of a twelve-gauge shotgun cocked from behind Fuller. It was the noise that drove fear into the heart of any man that was in the wrong place, even the crazy ones. Lloyd let off a round, blowing a chunk of wood out of his decking railing. Shards of wood exploded over Davis, getting stuck in his unkempt hair. He trembled in fear.

Fuller stopped in his tracks. Lloyd stood a few feet back behind the pair on the lawn. He had come around from the side of the house.

“Now look what you made me do. I’ve blown a damn hole in my deck. If you boys want to continue this lover’s quarrel, I suggest you get on home.”

Fuller twitched and swayed. His eyes closed and rolled in his head. The conflict in his head continued. He grabbed hold of the stair rail, clenching it with his fingers.

“Move your ass!” Lloyd commanded.

Fuller tore the railing from the stairs. He spun, launching the railing at Lloyd with incredible force and speed. Lloyd dived, rolling on the ground. The wooden rocket barely missed.

Fuller bolted, almost leaping as he dashed across the lawn. He effortlessly dove over the five-foot wooden fence.

“What the…” Lloyd was momentarily dumbfounded with awe by his athleticism. He let off a couple more rounds, blasting holes in his fence. Pieces of wood went airborne. “DRUG SUCKING SCUMBAG!”

***

Fuller bounded, animal-like, over backyard fences with little effort. After a few more fences his energy started to wane. It became more difficult to run. His sprint turned into a jog. He didn’t have the strength to fully make it over the next fence. His feet clipped the top—he hit the ground hard. Face first.

He crawled across the ground, then slowly got back to his feet, continued his jog. Moments later his jog downgraded to a stumbling walk. He smashed his way through the next fence, taking the rest of his energy. He crashed to the ground, exhausted.

As he lay on the cold, moist grass, just outside a stranger’s house, a distant rumble caught his attention. It grew louder and closer. The noise turned into the roar of a massive V8 engine. A full-sized, crew-cab, pickup smashed through the wooden fence across the yard from him. It had an enclosed bed, was covered in roll bars and a roof rack full of spare tires, jerry cans and camping gear. The front had a huge bullbar and winch. It was decorated with a variety of spotlights of different sizes, top to bottom. Everything about this truck was oversized, including its huge tires. It sat high off the ground—a beast.

The beast slid to a stop, tearing up the wet lawn and almost running over Fuller. His eyes squinted as the powerful lights bathed him in light. Lloyd stared at him through the windshield, his twelve gauge ready for action. Davis was huddled up in the passenger seat, holding Samson close and tight—his hand gripped the dash, fearful for his life. Fuller was covered head-to-toe in dirt, grass stains, cuts and bruises.

Lloyd turned to Davis. “If you, or that rat, shit in my truck, your boyfriend will be the last thing you’ll have to worry about.”

Davis swallowed, staring at Lloyd’s twelve gauge. He pulled Samson a little closer for comfort.

Fuller slowly got to his feet. Lloyd taunted him, jerking the truck toward him. Fuller didn’t flinch.

“Let’s call 911, eh?” Davis mumbled.

“This boy needs some serious medication. Something’s gone haywire upstairs, if you know what I mean.” Lloyd let out a chuckle, laughing at his own attempted joke.

Davis looked left then right, up then down, not sure whether to laugh or not. Lloyd realized Davis didn’t understand. He coughed to clear his throat.

“We better get him to a hospital, I guess.”

Lloyd and Davis returned their attention to Fuller. But the lights shone on the glistening lawn. Fuller was gone. Their eyes quickly scanned around. There was no sign of him.

Lloyd maneuvered the truck out onto the street. The beast slowly drove around the neighborhood. Fuller was nowhere to be seen. Sirens could be heard in the not-too-far distance. Lloyd didn’t want to stick around. He sped off to get out of the neighborhood for a while.

***

The beast slowly turned into a small, inner-city alleyway. Lloyd scanned the area, looking for a place to hide out. As the truck slowed to a crawl, Fuller dropped down from underneath it, landing on the hard street. His shoes had dragged along the streets, wearing holes in them as he clung for dear life under the truck.