Zombies Begin (Zombies Begin Series Book 1) (5 page)

As the beast’s tail lights disappeared into the distance, Fuller got to his feet. He stumbled, almost tripping over. Still very weak, having spent all his energy on an almost failed escape. His senses had slowly returned to him. He was himself again, at least mentally. What the hell was happening?

He hobbled through the streets, trying to find a place to lie low. He caught sight of a nearby dumpster. He managed to pull himself in, crashing into the rotten trash and junk. The lid slammed close. He was hidden, out of sight. The thought of getting to a hospital and possibly getting arrested slipped in and out of his tired and wandering mind. Rest, and then get to hospital.

A chair flew across the room, smashing into a tinted glass window. Cracks spider-webbed the glass from the extreme impact. The window was thick, tempered glass. It didn’t shatter. In fact, it shouldn’t have cracked.

Mr. Willard spun around, searching for something else to trash. His small hospital room was sparse and dull. He grabbed his heavy hospital bed and overturned it. It took little effort.

Willard stood still, breathing hard. Rubbed his almost bald head in frustration and scratched his scruffy, orange mustache. He was in his late fifties and about eighty pounds overweight. His face and arms were bandaged from deep wounds. Not that he was even aware of them. His very pale complexion, chapped lips, and flaking skin displayed something a lot more sinister.

Three hefty male nurses stood just outside his room, nervously waiting for security. One of them held the door handle, white knuckled. Willard continued to smash the room. Pounding against the walls. He held his sweaty, bald head between two hands, as though experiencing some sort of mental anguish.

Security was quick to arrive at the scene. Two men in gray uniforms. After a quick, deep breath, together with the male nurses, they stormed the room. Willard stopped his rampage as soon as they entered. The five men started to circle him. Willard’s eyes rolled back in head. His body shook slightly. His head flopped around and he let out a fierce growl that none of the men had ever before heard.

Fighting back fear the men rushed at him. Two hit high, one hit center and the other two took out his legs. They smashed Willard hard onto the hospital floor. The five men pinned him, a man on each limb and one across his torso. Willard squirmed. He was incredibly strong. He pushed a few of the men back and sat up. The men closed the distance and attempted to pin Willard again. The six men rolled around the room, smashing into the overturned bed and walls.

Willard forced his way back to his feet. He headed for the door, dragging the other men with him, like they were stopping him going for a touchdown. Two more security guards burst through the door to join the fight. Willard was forced back to the floor. Punches and knees flew. Willard sat up. Bruised and bloody. He sank his teeth into the shoulder of one of the men. Clothes and skin ripped. The nurse let out a scream. Blood soaked the remaining cotton T-shirt sleeve around his shoulder.

Like ants on a lizard the seven men powered him back to the floor—securing him long enough for one of the nurses to stab a sedative-filled syringe deep into his pale neck. They held on for dear life as Willard’s body slowed. Strength left his body. He twitched. He lay still. Unconscious.

A few of the men escorted the wounded nurse into the hallway. A man in a dark suit, obviously a federal agent of some sorts, stood by, observing the wounded nurse. He removed his radio. “Lockdown level five. Full containment.”

***

The night had dragged on. Most people had gone to bed. The full moon was high in the sky. Its light fell softly on an upper-class neighborhood. The houses were expansive, with perfect grass and well-kept gardens.

One of the more impressive homes still had a light on. A man in his forties sat in his home office. It was furnished nicely, with a large, high back, executive leather chair and a large oak desk. He wore fine, black silk pajamas and a white silk robe. He tapped away on a laptop computer, stopping only to adjust his reading glasses. Beside him lay a large German shepherd, well-groomed, fast asleep on a fine rug.

A small noise in another part of the house drew the man’s attention. He stopped typing. Listened to see if he heard it again. He couldn’t make out what it was. The man shrugged it off when he didn’t hear anything further. He started typing again.

Suddenly a much louder noise sat the man straight up in his chair. The German shepherd popped up its head. Wide awake. On alert. He looked back behind him into his darkened house, hair on end, frozen with anticipation. He almost expected someone to walk out of the shadows into his office. The shepherd assumed semi-attack position—ears pinned back. A growl deep within its throat.

“What is it, boy?” The man peered down at his dog. The shepherd was ready for the command.

“Revir, revir,” the man commanded his well-trained dog in Czech (“Search, search”).

Crouched low, the shepherd quickly snuck out of the room on high alert, on the hunt. It moved silently. The dog weaved through the dark house briskly. It had picked up a scent. It darted through the kitchen and stopped at the back door. The large doggie door swayed gently.

The dog growled, its lips peeled back, showing large, pointed teeth. Suddenly it bolted through the doggie dog. Disappearing into the cold night air.

“DANEK?” The man called the shepherd’s name.

He slowly moved through the house, looking for his dog.

“Danek! Ke mne, ke mne!” (“Come here, come here!”) he repeated in a stern, attempted Czech accent.

The man stopped in the kitchen. Dog nowhere in sight. The doggie door swayed vigorously.

He rushed to the kitchen window in search of Danek. He saw a shirtless figure, silhouetted only by moonlight, swaying awkwardly from side to side in his backyard. Adrenaline surged through his body. No Danek, no barking.

The man’s head pounded with the beat of his own heart. Don't lose visual or call 911? He hesitated.

He dashed to the nearby wall phone and nervously punched in 911. Stretched back over to the window, phone still glued to his ear, to regain visual on the figure. The operator responded, “Nine-one-one, please state your emergency.” The figure was gone.

He slowly pressed his face closer to the cold glass window to see if he could find the stranger in the dark backyard.

“Hello. Please state your emergency.”

Before he could utter a word in response, a bloody Danek burst through the doggie door and limped forward towards him. Still holding the phone, the man rushed to the aid of his dog. Several large bite marks covered the dog’s beaten body.

“Please state your emergency.”

“There is....” he anxiously replied, “a person in my...”

Johnny Chen burst halfway through the doggie dog. Danek and his owner instantly cowered. Johnny’s face and half-naked body were covered in blood. A mixture of human blood and dog blood. There were no whites in his eyes, just a black gleam.

The mindless madman repeatedly rammed his body through the small space in a relentless attempt to enter the house. The doggie door shattered under the force of the rampaging madman.

The man retreated. Armed himself with a large kitchen knife, the size of his forearm, from the drawer. Turned to face his attacker.

Johnny Chen lunged at him—like a lion attacking its prey.

Horrific screams echoed out in the upper-class neighborhood street.

***

The lid of the dumpster opened and Fuller slid himself out, falling to the cold cement sidewalk. He had seen better days. He needed to find a way to get his life back. He was covered in all kinds of rotten trash, and smelled as bad as he looked. He found himself alone. The streets were dark and eerily quiet. The yellow glow of nearby street lamps provided some light.

He removed the dirty and crumpled Yat-Sun menu from his pocket and slowly unfolded it. He scanned the menu. Most of it was in Cantonese. The one thing he could read was the restaurant’s address.

***

A thick steel chain and a large padlock secured the scissor gates closed. The restaurant was dark, with only a dim green exit sign illuminating the entrance. Fuller squinted through the barred windows to see if anyone was inside. It was late and way past closing time. No one was there at that hour. Not that he could see anyway.

Fuller moved into the empty street. He peered up at the building. Above the restaurant appeared to be a small apartment. Fuller moved to the alley behind the restaurant, looking for a way to get in.

He leaped up, grabbing hold of the building’s fire-escape ladder. He scaled the rungs to a closed window. Without much force he pried the window open and made his entrance. The room was dark. Fuller wasn’t sure if he was in the right place. However, the apartment was decorated in an array of Chinese ornaments, including a few tiger charms and figurines. A few empty Yat-Sun takeout containers littered the kitchen counter. It most likely was the restaurant owner’s place.

The flicker of candlelight and the strange smells of different incense burning from one of the bedrooms attracted Fuller’s attention. Mr. Yat-Sun lay peacefully asleep in his bed. Fuller clenched his fist with contempt. This was the crazy old man that had poisoned him and Johnny Chen, turning their lives upside down over the last few days. If he did cause this mess, maybe he would have a remedy. Or at least know what was happening.

A glass of water splashed into Yat-Sun’s face. He awoke abruptly, yelling in Cantonese. Fuller had positioned himself in a chair, right beside the bed. Yat-Sun quickly became aware of Fuller—a stranger in his home. He feared for his life. He grabbed hold of a small, tiger-claw amulet that hung round his neck. He began rubbing it between his two fingers, and whispered indiscernible words. Perhaps a prayer.

“You think you’re little piece of jewelry there is going to protect you? You remember me?!” Fuller said, pointing to his own face.

Yat-Sun remained quiet, rubbing his amulet nervously. He probably didn’t understand too much of what Fuller was saying to him.

“Remember me? I’m the cat soup guy!”

Yat-Sun shook his head “no” and mustered enough courage to motion Fuller to leave. “You leave now!”

Almost before he could finish his sentence, Fuller snatched the old Chinese man by his slim grey beard, sitting him up straight and instilling a renewed fear.

“What did you give me?”

As Yat-Sun sat up, the blankets fell back revealing his wounded body. He had fresh, blood-stained bandages wrapped around his body and right arm. Fuller was shocked to see the old man in such a condition. He almost felt bad about being in his home and threatening the old guy. His folks sure hadn’t raised him to be like this. In his small hometown a man’s honesty and word were what mattered most. Had Johnny Chen been here first? He released his grip, letting the old man sink back into bed.

Yat-Sun started to chuckle, knowing that Fuller had compassion on him. He spouted out a bunch of Cantonese and pointed to his heart. Fuller looked on with confusion.
There goes my leverage
, Fuller thought.
I’ll probably get nothing out of the old bastard now.

“My grandfather say you have kind heart,” came a woman’s voice from behind.

Fuller whipped his head to see the young waiter, Mai Ling, standing in the doorway. Yat-Sun continued to speak, firing more words at Fuller.

“What happened to him?” asked Fuller.

The old man continued to ramble. Mai Ling spoke softly over the top of her grandfather.

“He say, a great evil has come upon us. A disease that will destroy our world.”

“What disease?! What is he talking about?”

“The disease you carry.”

Fuller looked down at his pale hands and broken skin. His body was numb. He didn’t feel anything. No pain. No cold. His body wasn’t his anymore. It was foreign. Almost like an arm that had been slept on too long. Asleep—pins and needles. At times he felt as though he was losing his mind.

Yat-Sun began to cough. Sickly. Mai Ling rushed over to assist her failing grandfather. She poured a strange smelling tea into a small china cup. Sprinkled what appeared to be a dried spice or herb into the cup and stirred quickly.

The old man slowly sipped on the liquid. He slid back into his bed to rest. Mai Ling returned the cup to its resting spot on the bedside table. Yat-Sun motioned to her to give Fuller a cup of the strange tea.

Mai Ling repeated her actions, sprinkling the herb on top of the tea and stirring. Fuller took the tea from the woman. The smell wasn’t appealing. He was hesitant to drink. Could he trust them?
Could this be a remedy?
He paused for a moment.

The two watched on, waiting for Fuller to drink. “It’s Asian ginseng and ginkgo.” Mai Ling paused. “It will help you.”

Yat-Sun sat up, taking Fuller by his hand, looking at his broken skin. He turned it over, looking at his palm. His eyes glared into Fuller’s. He smirked and turned to his granddaughter. He rattled off a few more words, before sinking back into his bed.

“He say there still hope for you. You strong. Different to others.”

“Others?”

Yat-Sun tore his tiger-claw amulet from around his neck and placed it into Fuller’s dry hands. He continued in his native tongue.

“He want you to keep his amulet. The tiger claw will protect you from evil. It will give you courage. Courage to rise up against plague and be great warrior.”

Fuller stared at the small amulet in his hand. His mind raced. Maybe it was time to get out of the city. The flickering candles and the incense started to irritate him. His eye twitched. He wasn’t getting the answers he had hoped for. His life had been turned upside down and the thought of having a disease was the last thing he wanted. He was hopeful this was only temporary and he could soon return to his normal life—despite the fact that he was probably a wanted man. What he wouldn’t give to return to his boring job right now or, better yet, spend a night out with Johnny Chen chasing girls. That would be better. A lot better.