I Dream of Zombies (3 page)

A cold breeze snakes around her shoulders as she steps forwards, her feet making not a sound on the ground. The light is fading. A lone bulb swings from the ceiling, back and forth, back and forth, but the chain fails to creak. This still quiet looms while in the distance shadows play, running patterns around these old, decaying walls. Something lies there, silent, upon the rusting iron bed that fills the space between them.

She creeps
forwards, her tiptoes making no impact as though gliding through the air. Looking down she realises her feet are indeed walking.
How surreal.
The bed moves closer and its occupant shifts ever so slowly as she drifts, drawing nearer to where the shadows dance. Above her head the bulb continues to rock soundlessly, in time with her movements. She shivers as the air grows colder still.

He
is sleeping, this man. His face is fine, almost beautiful, and at peace, yet pale, so very pale, in stark contrast to the deep ebony of his hair. She can hear his breathing, low and regular. Opening his eyes, he looks at her and she smiles, watching his sensual lips curve upwards as he raises himself up. As she brushes her hair out of her sleepy eyes, his grin widens, welcoming, but the perfect white teeth stumble out one by one, floating through the air in slow motion like petals on the wind, sliding to the floor. They make not a sound. The blood rushes to her face as she feels a wave of nausea flood over her.

The man’s
eyes draw her in, but they too are different. White in colour, their irises erased, lain waste, and lines of red cross them. He smiles this rancid smile as bile slides out from between his cracking lips. It drips upon her hand, burning into the skin, searing, and she withdraws it quickly, but it remains there, stuck on top of the bed.
Why doesn’t it move?
She stares down at her skin, turning red from the liquid, the surface bubbling. A stinging pain spears through to her palm and fear overwhelms her senses.

She turns to run. Heaving her body in the direction of the exit, she
sprints wildly, not daring to look back. She feels the movement, slow but sure, like gliding through a thick fog. Yet her body is still there, standing by the bed as the thing gapes at her, his eyes fixed on her face, the mouth opening wider to reveal a black endless nothing. She screams, but its existence is crushed in the silence. Out of the corner of her eye she notices the tick-tock sway of the bulb flickering, and she senses she is doomed; knows it as surely as the fact that the heavy chain will swing again, unrelenting.

His face moves closer, the skin beginning to flake like old paint turning away from a wall, the edges
creeping up. Then it falls. Beneath, the muscles continue to move as he smiles. Blood oozes. Dread ravages her as fear caresses her body like fingers, icy cold and unforgiving. She turns again and races in panic towards the exit, yet she finds herself in the exact same place, her feet rooted to the ground like the trunk of a tree, her arms solid like branches. She imagines her hair as the leaves, blowing in the breath that he now turns on her, sickening in its putrid scent of death and decay. The maggots swarm across his bloodied face as he opens his mouth wider. The yawn seems to swallow her whole in its darkness as a jagged, ripping pain overwhelms her; the sharp teeth scraping, gnawing at her neck, plucking at the strings inside the skin. In the distance comes the incongruous ripple of laughter.

Marla
woke with a scream that bounced around the room, her vest soaked in sweat. Beside her, Peter jolted from his sleep.

Walking out of the bathroom wrapped in a purple towel, Marla picked up her mobile and dialled a number. Taking a deep breath, she waited until the person answered. “Hi, Tommy, I was wondering if you could get me a few things.”

“Hey, stranger,” he replied, “it’s been a while. How about hi, Tommy, how are you?”

“Eh, sorry,” she said, sitting down on her bed. “I wasn’t thinking, how are you?”

“I’m good. How’s things?”

“Good. Now that’s out of the way, I need a rifle, a second Glock, similar to the one I’ve got, and a hell of a lot of ammo. You know what I like. Plus I want to get a new car. It doesn’t have to be new, but something sturdy. It has to have reinforced windows that are tinted, really tough and it needs to run pretty good on petrol. It has to be safe.”

Tommy laughed. “A
part from the fact that we haven’t spoken in a really long time and you’re calling me up out of the blue to ask about guns, of all things, which aren’t exactly easy to get by the way, with the small detail that they’re illegal. Are you expecting an invasion?”

Marla chuckled. “You know me. I like to be prepared.”

“Okay, but are you sure you need all this?”

“Yep and I have savings, so don’t worry, I can pay for it
all,” she insisted.

“I wasn’t worried about that. We’ve known each other long enough.
If you really need this, I can get it for you, for old time’s sake. In two weeks.”

“Can
you get it sooner?” Marla asked impatiently.

“What is up with you exactly
?” Tommy asked, a serious tone appearing in his voice.

She took a deep breath. He was a friend she’d known for years, so surely she could tell him anything? “Something’s wrong, Tommy,” Marla said at last. “I’ll be honest with you. Something bad is coming. I don’t know if it is something to do wi
th the government or what, but, seriously, please get yourself fixed up – expect the unexpected.”

He chuckled.
“You’re talking crazy talk.”

“Yeah, but I’m not the only one. You watched the news lately?”

“You mean all this stuff about weird dreams and that crack-head zombie guy? He started all that crap and people are just having a laugh!” said Tommy.

“
I think there’s something serious behind it all. Not zombies, obviously. That’s just for teenage boys reading too many comics, but I think there’s something behind it all.”

“Like some conspiracy?”

Marla sighed. “After all the shit we’ve seen in our lives, you know anything is possible.”

Tommy sighed. “I guess. Okay, I’ll try to get this stuff by the end of the week. Maybe
then you can come over for it and we can chat over a beer. It’s been a while.”

“Yeah, Tommy, I’d like that,” said Marla. “I need to get my money sorted and I’ll transfer it to you. A beer would be cool. A good old catch up.”

“Yeah, like the old days where I drink you under the table, but you still manage to beat me at pool.”

“Ha, yeah, I’ve been missing all those arse kickings I gave you,” said Marla with a giggle
. “Later, Tommy.”

“You take care, girl.”

“As always. Someone’s gotta.”

“See ya.”

“Come on, Ellen, just try!” said Marla, standing with her hands on her hips.

“I’m not going in there.”

“Look, I’m not getting back in the car and driving anywhere until I teach you this. Understand?”

Ellen frowned and glanced at the building. “What is the point? I don’t need to know how to shoot a gun.”

“Like fuck you don’t,” said Marla, adjusting her backpack. “Just stop huffing and follow me.”

Scuffing her trainers in the grit path, the younger girl followed her sister up to the heavy black door and inside
the building.

“Hey,
Joe,” Marla called out as they approached a young-looking guy sitting behind a desk.

“
Hello, Marla,” he replied with a big smile, “the usual?”

“Yep, you know my lucky number.”

Joe’s eyes lit up as he clapped sight of Ellen. “So, who’s your friend?”

Marla grinned. “This is my sister, so eyes off!”

“Okay, ma’am,” the guy replied while Ellen rolled her eyes and backed away towards the shooting area.

Marla picked up the two handguns and
some bullets, and headed after her sister, calling out, “Thanks, Joe,” as she went.

He nodded and went back to reading his magazine.

“Which one?” asked Ellen.

“Number eight, of course.”

“Lucky eight!”

“Yep, the symbol of infinity,” Marla replied.

“This place makes me think of Dad,” Ellen remarked as they reached the shooting booth. She glanced at the figure of the target in the distance. “It makes me kind of sad.”

Marla handed her sister one of the guns. “Here. I think the last ti
me you came here was with him. That was a long time ago.”

“Yeah,” said Ellen, turning t
he cold steel over in her hands, “and I hated it then too.”

“J
ust humour me. Do this and I’ll never nag you about it ever again.”

“You know I’m gonna hold you to that, don’t you?”

“I don’t doubt it,” Marla replied. “Come on, put on your ear protectors and show me what you can do. I want to see if you remember what Dad taught you.”

Rolling her eyes, Ellen did as she was told and took the position in front of the target. She focused her perfect vision on it and raised the gun. The recoil made her jump and the shot went wide.

Marla sighed. “Thought as much.”

Ellen pouted. “Come on, it was about ten years ago!”

“I was hoping it might be like riding a bike. You know, how you never forget.”

“Yeah, well, that was wishful thinking cos I’m crap. I can’t shoot to save my life.”

Marla bit her tongue while a few images sped through her mind at her sister’s words. “My aim is to help you save your life, if you need to.”

“Uh huh, okay,” Ellen replied, giggling. She then noticed the expression on her sister’s face was steely serious.
The corners of her mouth stayed in the downward position. “Marl, you’re not joking?”

Marla
shook her head. “I wanted to tell you something, and now is as good a time as any. I’ve started having the same dream as you.”

Ellen lowered the gun and spun
around, her eyes wide. “Now you’re kidding?”

“Nope,” Marla replied, “a
nd it scares the shit out of me. All of these people, and now me and you, having the same dream, well, wow, it makes no sense to me, and I get the feeling that something is coming, and I’m going to feel a hell of a lot better if you learn how to shoot that thing.”

Ellen glanced from
her sister to the gun in her hand and back, her eyes as wide as saucers. “I’m glad you believe me now,” she said softly. “Remind me how to use this thing.”

“Good girl,” Marla replied with a grin. “Now, hold it
steady, just like this…”

“I’ve got the stuff for you,” said Tommy, “and I got the bank transfer, so we’re good. When do you wanna pick it up?”

“Tomorrow,” replied Marla
, clutching her mobile to her ear. “Is that alright with you?”

“Yeah, no problem. I’ll put some cool ones in the fridge.”

“Later, Tommy.”

“You take care, girl.”

“You know I always do, cos someone’s gotta,” Marla replied with a laugh, before hanging up.

Walking into the lounge, she picked up the remote and flicked through the channels. It was getting worse. More people were experiencing the same dream and it was exactly the same for everyone. Doctors were explaining it as some kind of stress-related mass hysteria. Religious groups were expressing concerns
, with some extremists even predicting the end of the world or the second coming of Christ, whichever idea took their fancy. Meanwhile, the scientist who had experienced the dream in the first place, or rather the first to say so in the media, had formed a support group, which now had thousands of members. Whatever it was, it was spreading.

“
Mass hysteria?” repeated Marla softly as she turned off the television. “Mass something.”

“Everything okay?” asked
Peter, walking into the room.

“Yeah, I didn’t hear you come in,” she said, standing up.

“You seemed engrossed in the news.”

“It’s weird.”

“Just some crazy talk,” he replied. “You want a brew?”

“Yeah, tea for me,” Marla said, following
Peter into the kitchen. “Don’t you think it’s strange what’s going on – all these dreams and stuff?”

He shook his head. “Not rea
lly. There’s always something; always some crazy person starting, you know. There’s always gotta be something to worry about and get the people worked up.”

Marla bit her lip. She
had not mentioned her nightmares to Peter and she never intended to. “I’m thinking the government is up to something, that there’s…”

Peter
laughed. “You mean some kind of cover-up?”

“Yeah,
why not? Maybe they paid this scientist guy to start this thing, thinking people would believe him cos he won the Nobel Prize. And maybe these dreams are being caused by something that everyone has in common. Maybe it’s something in the food or water?”

Peter
turned and stared at her with a spoon raised in mid air. “So you think they are drugging us?”

Marla shrugged. “Stranger things have happened.”

“Why would they do that?”

“Well, maybe it’s to get the public’s attention away from something. Maybe the economy is about to collapse or maybe
the prime minister wants us to join the war in…”

“Or maybe everyone’s imaginations are working overtime,”
Peter scoffed as he turned to pour hot water into the two waiting mugs. “You want it strong or weak?”

“Medium,” Marla replied, wondering how it was that he never managed to remember how she liked it. “As always.”

“Yeah, well, you’re always so fussy about it…”

Marla rolled her eyes. “As if,
Peter. I like the same old tea and coffee, medium brewed, as I always did. What’s got into you lately?”

“Nothing, but
seriously, quit with this government conspiracy shit, can you?”

“Why? What’s the big deal?”

“Because I had enough of it after you left the army,” he said, picking up his cup of coffee and striding into the lounge.

Marla stared at the
dragonfly mug that remained sitting on the side. He hadn’t even passed it to her.
When did things change?
With a sigh, she picked it up by the handle, feeling the familiar warmth travel towards her fingertips. In that moment she realised there was zero point in trying anymore – something so simple had accentuated all the big issues; the things that had long been wrong.

Turning, Marla
walked out into the lounge and carried on walking towards the bedroom. Setting down her drink on the bedside table, she lay back on the bed, stretched out her limbs and closed her eyes against the tide.
Life used to be so simple.
The army had rules and decision making was limited. In a way she missed it. The future suddenly seemed to be slipping away and Marla felt that she was wading through mud; the slippery kind.