Zombies! (Episode 5): Sinners and Saints (12 page)

"Is that why you're calling?"

"I miss you, Rose. I'm sorry."

"There were a lot of them, weren't there. The zombies. Were there enough for you?"

"Please, Rose."

Her voice took on a honed edge. "Did it drain all of the fight out of you, Frank? Did it steal the power from you?"

"Rose, I didn't call because of that." But he had. And they both knew it.

"I'm sorry, too, Frank. I really did want to love you."

Culph didn't know what to say. Then he heard a throat clearing in the background, and a question being asked. It was a man's voice.

"Who's that?" Now Culph’s tone sharpened.

She hesitated, then took a steadying breath and said, "That's none of your business. It's over between us."

"You didn't even give me a chance!" he screamed into the phone.

"You threw that chance away when you hit me, Frank."

"God, Rose, I didn’t mean to. I just…the lines get so blurred that I forget where I am. I just…I…"

"I know, Frank. I know. I'm not really angry now but I know that I can't love you anymore. I'm sorry, Frank. I'm so sorry…" She began to cry and he didn't know what to do. He was so overcome with sorrow and guilt and anger that he just hung up the phone and put it into his pocket. Every instinct told him to go over to her house, beat the crap out of whoever that bastard was that was screwing her, and take her back. But he knew that none of those things could happen. He needed to put Rose behind him and become a better, stronger person so he wouldn't make the same mistakes next time.

"You okay?"

He looked up at the woman, two stools away, drinking something from a martini class. She was older than he was, probably pushing forty and well used, but still pretty. She kept herself in good shape. Clearly she was unattached and looking for just the right man to rescue her. Culph chuckled to himself. She was looking in the wrong place.

"Did I say something funny?" she asked.

"No," he answered, shaking the mirth from his face.

"I'm Wilma," she introduced, extending a hand.

"Really?" he asked. "Like the Flintstones."

A look of mild offense crossed her face, but she quelled it quickly enough. She didn't want to blow this. Did he?

"Francis," he said, taking her hand. "Most people call me Frank."

"Nice to meet you, Frank."

"I wouldn't jump to conclusions," he chuckled.

She waved him away. "Don't be silly. When something bad happens to people, they always look down on themselves. I've been through my share."

He grunted, finishing his beer.

"What do you do, Frank?"

"I'm a cop," he said. "You?"

She ignored his question. "A cop, huh? Out here in Manhattan?"

He shrugged. "I get around."

"Ha ha," she laughed. "Me, too."

They spoke for a while but Culph didn't learn very much about her. She, on the other hand, was very good at getting him to open up about himself. He told her about his childhood and about Heron and how he felt about him, which was borderline father figure and borderline oppressive teacher. He told her about Rose. The only secret he kept guarded was his job on the police force. He didn't know why he wouldn't tell her but every time the word zombie crept up his throat, he swallowed it down aggressively. When she invited him back to her place for "a little privacy", he refused. He was sure that the last thing he needed was female companionship. But she was persistent. She read him very well, playing on his need to protect someone. She complained about her neighborhood and her neighbors and her ex-boyfriend who popped in every once in a while and needed someone to show him the door. She said absolutely everything a woman could say to entice Francis Culph. There was no way he wasn't eventually going to be hooked.

Wilma lived only a few blocks from the bar. They walked there arm in arm, their breath making small plumes of steam in the crisp November air. The weatherman had called for light snow overnight but nothing had developed yet. They talked some more but just small talk. She was done pressing him and he was done pressing her. She snuggled against him, using every trick she knew to make him feel comfortable, as if this was their fiftieth date instead of their first meeting. And he bought every line she threw at him partly because he was as naïve as he was brash and partly because he found himself more and more wanting to lose himself in the fantasy.

She lived on the fifth floor of a five floor walk-up. The neighborhood wasn't so bad. The building was narrow, sandwiched between a hotel and a restaurant. On the first floor, Culph could hear opera music playing. On the second floor, he smelled the remnants of Polish cooking. His mom was Polish. She could cook. On the third floor, the light bulb was out and they were engulfed in darkness. She gripped him tightly and he stopped right there and kissed her. It was an instinct and she went with it, elated. On the fourth floor, they giggled because someone had left their wet shoes in the hallway and the puddle had flowed away making it look as if the shoes had peed. On the fifth floor, Wilma was home.

They went into the apartment smiling, Culph's tension having eased. Like the building, Wilma's apartment was narrow. They walked into the living room, which looked out over a kitchenette. Toward the back was a bedroom and through the bedroom was a bathroom. And that was it. The TV was old but the couch was comfortable. There were cheap IKEA shelves mounted badly all over the living room and they all held porcelain kittens. Culph wondered why all of the dirtiest women insisted on filling their apartments with the cutesiest knick knacks. It probably had something to do with her father. He was sure some psychiatrist had worked it out ages ago. But those were dark thoughts and he wanted nothing to do with dark thoughts tonight. Whatever her motives, Wilma had put him at ease and he was glad of her company.

"Are you S.W.A.T.?" she asked him as she went to the kitchenette to fetch glasses and wine.

"What?"

"You seem like a man of danger so I figured you were on the S.W.A.T. team or the bomb squad or something."

Culph shook the dark thoughts from his head. "No," he said. "Not those."

She came out of the kitchenette with the two glasses of wine, expertly kicking off her shoes. Handing him a glass, she nudged him onto the couch and laid herself out next to him, head in his lap. "What then? You didn't tell me."

"Does it matter? I don't really want to talk about it."

She looked up at him but he wasn't looking at her. In those moments, she really tried to figure him out, really tried to see what those troubled eyes were hiding. When he finally looked down, she smiled. "It
doesn't
matter. I like you whatever you do and it's tough luck for that other bitch."

Dark thoughts. "What did you say?"

Wilma sat up, sensing that she had said the wrong thing. She tried to keep reign on her tone of voice, aware that she was messing things up. "I just meant that it's my good luck to have you here with me."

"You said she was a bitch."

"I didn't mean anything by it," she answered dismissively. "It's just something we girls call each other."

"I never heard Rose call anyone a bitch. At least not anyone who didn't deserve it."

Now Wilma backed up a bit. "Whoa, cowboy. Don't let your lasso get all tangled. I didn’t mean anything by it."

"I should go." Culph put his wine glass down on the table a little too hard. It wasn't hard enough to break the glass, but wine splashed out over the sides.

"Go? Because I said something a little stupid?"

Dark thoughts
.

He stood and moved past her, but she got up and intercepted him, grabbing him by the bicep as she did so. Without even thinking about it, he whirled around and slapped her across the face. Wilma had seen her share of hard times but she wasn't nearly as tough as Rose. She half fell, half recoiled from the blow. There was no anger in her eyes when she looked up at Culph, but there was fear. It was enough to soften him for just a moment. He thought of all of those dead people he had shot and killed again that very morning. He thought of the little boy who had been bitten, chewed upon really. He thought about how he
hadn't
thought when he'd fired. It was just another corpse. Just another zombie. Just not yet.

Culph pulled his hand back and started to apologize. Then he saw the hand, felt the tingle in his fingers. Then he liked it. Bitches needed to know their places. There was that word again. Bitch.

She turned to bolt, but he caught her by the neck of her blouse and yanked her back.

Don't do this,
something inside of him shouted.

He threw her on the couch and punched her once in the cheek.

You don't want to do this!

He tried to get on top of her but the back of the couch was interfering with his right leg. So he shoved the coffee table away and dragged her to the floor. The table slid off and collided with one of the IKEA shelves. Dozens of porcelain kitties tumbled to their shattering demises.

No!

Straddling her stomach, Culph hit her again and once again. Beneath him, she whimpered, engulfed in pain and fear. And then his hands were around her throat and he was squeezing. And he didn't see Wilma. He saw dead, desiccated flesh. He saw the faces of zombies. Black faces. White faces. Men and women. He saw the old and the young.

He saw Rose.

Oh, God!
his mind shouted at him.
Don't become this. Not this!

But he couldn't stop himself. He squeezed and he squeezed. And when Wilma's jerking movements stopped and she issued her final breath, he squeezed some more.

***

Half way there!

When I first started writing these, I was very wary about the kind of reception these stories were going to get. After all, there are so many zombie stories out there that I was sure that my little series was going to blend into the crowd. Well that has not been the case and I have my readers to thank for it. So thank you for finding Zombies! and thank you for reading Zombies! Thank you for putting up with the misspellings and the typos and botched edits (
no matter how many I find, there are always more the next time)
. Thank you for seeing the story and only the story. I hope the second half lives up to the first half.

The escalation continues next month as the definition of the word
normal
is skewed just a bit. While the police are running from zombie event to zombie event, others are simply conducting business as usual according to that new definition. As the only person to ever recover from a bout with the plague, John Arrick must wonder where life will take him. And Peter Ventura, dissatisfied with society’s sudden casual acceptance of zombies, finds that he must take action. And his actions must include a very strong woman who stood side by side with him during his first encounter. Next month, I welcome you to the second half of Zombies! with Episode 6,
Barriers Collapse
.

***

If you like these books, please show your appreciation and make them known to others by
reviewing
them. A few stars and a couple of kind words puts them in the spotlight.

Spread the infection! If you like this series, please recommend it to friends and family and other lovers of zombie stories. Writers put words on paper, but readers bring those words to life.

Have questions or comments for the author? Send me an email at
[email protected]
. You can also look me up on facebook or start following me on twitter. Your comments are always welcome!

***

Be sure to check out what happens when the Jury starts punishing people for their crimes in past lives and sets their sites on a rabbi who is believed to have been Adolf Hitler in
The Book of Revelations
, available for all your reading devices from all of your ebook stores.

For an epic (and involuntary) journey through time at a breakneck pace, join Mathew Cristian as he narrates his adventures as a Forty Leaper.
Forty Leap
is available for all your reading devices from all of your ebook stores. Read the first half for free.