The Turning: A Tale of the Living Dead (2 page)

Then it all snapped back into
focus, and his feet were slipping in the soap scum he hadn’t cleaned in his
bathtub and he fell forward, catching the ledge before he bashed his teeth in. 
Zombie hands clutched at his back and he screamed again as his feet found the
side of the tub and shoved his body up and into the window. He kicked his feet
behind him, pushing off the fingers that were grabbing him, as he tried to slip
out the window.

He got stuck at his hips, halfway
in, halfway out.

Outside, the zombies were closing
in, four yards away, their arms outstretched and their greedy fingers clawing
the air in front of them.

Inside, the zombies had gotten
hold of his pants and were yanking him back in, even as he kicked and thrashed,
barely keeping their biting mouths from sinking into his flesh.  Then they got
him, hands clenching his pants, and yanked him back inside.

Jeff fell onto his feet in the
tub, the crush of ten zombies filling the tiny bathroom against him.  They
moved together, a fence of dead flesh, and pressed him against the wall.  He
pushed hard and shimmied to keep from having his arms pinned to his sides as
open mouths clacked inches from his faces and torso.  Jeff kicked and thrashed
like his nice old lady neighbor had, using his strength and ferocity to keep
them just barely off of him.  He raised the hand with the plunger stick in it
and waved it in the air.   

The Mexican lady was closest to
him, her teeth snapping open and shut mere millimeters from his nose.  Her
breath stank and gobs of bloody, gooey slobber lashed out from her chin and
coated his face.  Jeff held the stick up like a dagger and stabbed it down,
shoving it through her evil eye and deep into her skull.

The wood split her eyeball in two
and pus burst from the hole like a popped zit as he sunk the stick fist-deep. 
He shoved the Mexican lady back, using her limp body to shield himself from the
other zombies as they pressed in all around him.

How he got free he’d never know. 
It was almost like he was a cork in a bottle and their combined weight, instead
of crushing him against the wall, pushed him back up to the window.  He punched
and kicked and screamed and heard their bones break and teeth crack from his
blows even as their fingers dug into his skin, scratching and clawing at him,
tearing out divots of flesh under his clothes as he shoved off of them and went
back through the window again. 

The zombies outside were right
below him and his face thrust out and over them, inches from their outstretched
fingers and snapping jaws.

Jeff looked around, panicked, as
he continued to kick his legs inside and wave his arms in front of him like he
was trying to swim through that tiny window.  His eyes searched but there was
nowhere to go, zombies were everywhere, and if he dropped to the ground, they
would have him just like they would inside if he didn’t keep moving.

He despaired, then, a sense of
doom and death pouring over him.  It was an odd moment, very brief but seeming
to last forever, as he went numb inside, resigned and resolved that this was it
and there would be nothing else.

Then his eyes lighted on the
trellis next to him, covered in ivy and running up to the porch of the
apartment above his.

Fingers bit into his legs and he
screamed at the pain and wriggled his torso through the window and got stuck at
his hips again.  He couldn’t move even as his legs thrashed madly inside and
his hands clutched at the trellis on his left.  He wasn’t going to get away, he
realized, unless he did something to free himself.  He let go of the trellis
and his body dipped down, the zombies below him clutching at him, grabbing his
tee-shirt.  He grabbed the trellis again and tore free of their grip.  Inside
the bathroom, the zombie hands had gotten hold of his legs and were pinning
them against the wall. 

Jeff held on with one hand and
used the other to snap open the buckle on his belt and then he grabbed the
trellis again and yanked, hard, to free his lower body.  He slid out, easy and
slick, leaving his pants behind.  A zombie bit down but only got the toe of his
sock, no flesh.  It came off and flapped from the frustrated creature’s mouth
as Jeff climbed up the trellis in his underwear, a white tee-shirt, and one
sock. 

He managed to reach the porch and
then swung over the railing, tumbling down over a small chair and knocking over
two potted plants.  He rolled in the dirt and the shards of shattered pottery,
crying and screaming, completely freaked out.

The door slid open and an Asian
woman stomped out, shotgun in hand.  She stuck the barrel under his nose and
clacked the pump.

“Who are you?” she said.

Jeff looked up, tears and snot and
sweat running down his face.

“I’m your downstairs neighbor.  My
name is Jeff.”

The woman, very pretty and slight,
with nice breasts and skinny hips, stared at him for a moment before lowering
her gun.

“Where are your pants, Jeff?” she
said.

He looked down at his
near-nakedness, blushed, and then pointed over the railing.

“The zombies ate them,” he said.

She laughed and he’d never heard a
sound so good in his life.  She stuck out her hand and said, “My name is
Jenny.  It’s nice to meet you.”

2

Jenny whisked him inside and made
him a bowl of chicken noodle soup while he sat in the living room, still
shaking from nearly being eaten.  Her apartment was exactly the same layout as
his but much nicer.  Why was it women knew how to make a place seem like a home
while guys made it look like a frat house?  It was much warmer here, with down
comforters on the couch, fuzzy stuffed animals lining shelves full of books and
pictures of what he assumed was her family.  The television was on but
broadcasting fuzz and she had a nice laptop on a small desk that was also
turned on.  He hadn’t thought about the internet.  It wouldn't have done him
much good, though, because he'd left his own laptop at work the day before the
outbreak began. 

She came into the room carrying a
tray with a bowl of soup, some crackers, and a soda.  He watched her as she
moved, so soft and easy.  She was his age, maybe a little younger, and
beautiful.  She set the tray in his lap and sat herself down across from him at
her desk.  Jenny stared as Jeff and he held his head over the steaming bowl,
smelling the soup.

“Go ahead,” she said.

He dove in, burning his tongue on
the first bite but not giving a damn.  He had hardly eaten at all, his time
consumed with fear and thoughts of escape when he wasn't sitting in pure
disbelief.   

Right now, though, that canned
chicken noodle soup was about the best damn thing he’d ever eaten and was all
he cared about.

“Don’t go too fast,” she said.  He
looked up and she smiled.  “My boyfriend did that once, when he was sick.  He
ate too fast and then threw it all up.”  She cast her eyes to the floor,
looking suddenly very sad.

Boyfriend.  Of course.  A girl
like her, pretty and nice, she’d have a boyfriend.  It was like a natural law
or something.

He ate in silence, afraid to say
anything that might upset her.  He didn’t know why, but he was worried that if
he offended her, she’d toss him out of her place.

Jeff looked at the front door and
saw she’d barred it shut by shoving a chair under the handle so it couldn’t be
opened.  Jenny followed his gaze and nodded, grim.

“I nailed some boards over the
window in the kitchen, but I haven’t really had to worry about it.  I’ve been
pretty safe up here.  For some reason the zombies haven’t really come by,” she
said.

“They probably can’t climb the stairs,”
he said. 

Jenny smiled.  It looked good on
her.  “I hadn’t thought of that,” she said.  “I’ve been watching the zombies,
from my porch, trying to make sense of everything.”  She laughed and shook her
head.  “I can’t believe I’m using the word ‘zombie’ so casually.”

“It’s crazy,” Jeff said.  He
sipped his soda, feeling better than he had in days.  “When it first happened,
I thought it was a joke.  You know, like some kind of punked thing.  But then
it was on every channel and when I tried to use my phone and it didn’t work…”
Jenny nodded.  “I can still get on the internet, but there’s not a lot there. 
Up until yesterday, people were still posting stuff, but today there hasn’t
been much.  I don’t know if they’ve ended up someplace safe or, you know.”
Silence sat between them, heavy and wet. 

Outside her door, they heard
something shuffle by and moan.  It stopped at the door for a second and moved
on.

“It was the screaming I couldn’t
take,” she said.  Tears filled her eyes.  “You heard it, when everyone tried to
leave after the TV went out?”
He nodded.  He couldn’t look at her.

“It was crazy out there,” she
said.  “That’s when I sealed the door and the window.”

They sat in silence again.

“I,” Jeff began, then paused.  He
took a deep breath, not sure if he should say anything, but barreled right on
ahead, needing to confess.  “People came to my door, screaming for help, and I
wouldn’t let them in.”

He doubled over and sobbed, the
tears he’d been holding back coming fast and angry.  Cool hands touched his
forehead and warm arms wrapped around his shoulders and he felt the soft push
of her breasts against him.

“It’s okay,” she said, hugging
him.  “I didn’t let them in, either.”
She started crying, too, and Jeff slipped his arms around her.  They were
complete strangers and yet there was a comfort between them, an instant
connection.  Maybe it was their situation or maybe it was just natural, he
didn't know. 
He pushed those thoughts out of his head and enjoyed the warmth of another,
living person.  Otherwise, he feared he’d go insane.

They must have fallen asleep,
exhaustion taking both of them, because when Jeff opened his eyes again it was
night and the apartment was dark except for the light from the kitchen.  He
looked down and saw Jenny was still sleeping, her head in his lap.  He also saw
the bulge in his underwear and nearly fainted when he heard her stir.

“What time is it?” she said, her
eyes opening. 

“Shit!” he blurted, jumping to his
feet.  He hunched over and spun and sat at the computer desk, crossing his legs
to hide his shame. 

“Ow,” she said, bleary, as he
bounced her off of him.  She laid back down, moaning softly.  “Don’t worry
about your boner.  It doesn’t bother me.”
Jeff felt his face turn bright red.  “Uh, I don’t know what you mean.”
She laughed.  It was soft and nice, not mocking. 

“I felt it, against my cheek.  I
don’t care,” she smiled.

“Oh, uh,” he felt his heart sink. 
“Sorry about that.”

“Don’t worry.”

He felt his erection go down, at
last, but in doing so, it was replaced by a sudden throbbing pain.  He had to
urinate.

“Um, I gotta go to the bathroom,”
he said, standing.

“Sure,” she said.  She waved her
hand in the direction of the toilet.  When he turned to go, she bolted upright,
panic on her face.

“Wait!” she said.

But it was too late. His hand was
on the knob of the closed door, turning it and pushing it open when he heard
her.  The stench hit his nose and he nearly doubled-over.

Jenny was by his side in an
instant, shutting the door and blocking the entrance.  Jeff staggered back. 

“What was that?” he said.

“Nothing,” she said.

He looked up at her and even in
the darkness of the hallway, he could see she was scared. 

“Let me see,” he said.

She shook her head. 

“There’s one of them in there,” he
said.  It wasn’t a question, it was a statement of fact.

Jenny said nothing.  She stared at
the floor and started crying again.  Jeff put his hands on her arms as she
stepped to the side and opened the door for him.

The smell slapped his face again,
waking him up quicker than a cold wooden floor in the morning.  It was the
stench of death and rot, like boiled cabbage stuffed into a big metal garbage
container and left to decay.  He reached in and turned the light on and stepped
inside.

There was no zombie on the floor,
or on the toilet, but there was something moving in the bathtub, behind the
closed curtain.  He could hear it, now, the soft sound of fabric scraping on
the tile, followed by a low and almost inaudible moan. 

For some reason, he wasn’t
scared.  He was more curious, than anything.  He reached out and pulled the
plastic curtain dotted with pictures of cats back and to the side.  Jeff looked
down.

There, in the tub, was an Asian
man, a zombie, lying on its back, its neck cocked at an obscene angle, and a
fat white sock stuffed in its mouth. 

Jeff stared, fascinated and
frightened and confused all at once.  Jenny walked into the room and pulled the
curtain shut.

“That’s Bill,” she said.  “My
boyfriend.”

Jeff looked at her, unsure of what
to say. 

“Go ahead and pee,” she said,
turning to leave.  “I’ll wait for you out here.”

He shut the door as she left,
shaking his head.  It was all so unbelievable, and things had changed so fast,
he couldn't do much but accept it and move on.  He did his business and when he
finished, he groaned in relief and stumbled out, shutting the door behind him. 
He walked into the living room to find Jenny sitting by her computer.  He stood
and watched her a second.

“There’s a fucking zombie in the
bathtub,” he said. 

“I know.”
“We have to get rid of it!”
Jenny looked up at him.  “But he’s my boyfriend.”
Jeff shook his head slowly.  “Not anymore he isn’t.  He’s dead.”
Jenny said nothing, avoiding his eyes.
“What happened?”
“He was taking a shower and he slipped and fell and broke his neck,” she
said.  “He suffocated to death and I couldn’t do anything.”

“Jesus,” he said.

Jenny didn’t say anything for a
moment. 

“He came back about half an hour
later.  I was in here, crying, when I heard him moan and I jumped up and
thought maybe I’d been wrong, maybe he’d just knocked himself out,” she said. 
“But then I found him like that, and I knew he was one of them.”
“I’m sorry,” Jeff said. 

Jenny nodded and started crying
again.  “I guess when he fell he did something to his back because he can’t
move.  He’s just stuck there.  And I didn’t know what to do so I shut the door
and left him.”

“What could you do?” Jeff said,
sitting on the couch.  The entire world had gone crazy.  The dead were walking,
he’d seen one neighbor get torn apart and turn into a zombie and he’d stabbed
the other right in her evil eye.  Then he got rescued by an incredibly
beautiful girl who’d lived upstairs from him the whole time only to discover
she was keeping her dead boyfriend shut away in her bathtub.  And for some
reason, all of it made perfect sense to him.

He must be going crazy. 

And maybe that was the only sane
response.  The entire world, it seemed, had turned upside down and gone to hell
and he was supposed to just be cool with it?  Like everything would be okay?

His face was wet and he realized
he was crying, too.  He didn’t know why.  He looked up and his eyes met Jenny’s
and they stared at each other, both of them sobbing, until she got up and sat
next to him and buried her head into his chest.  He slipped his arms around her
and they both let loose, screaming and shrieking, letting it all out, until,
exhausted, they fell asleep together on the couch.

Jeff woke to the smell of coffee
and a murmur of hushed voices.  He opened his eyes and thought he was back home
in Kentucky, in his old bedroom, and his Mom was downstairs, smoking her
cigarettes and brewing coffee.  And for the first time since he was nine years
old, he wanted that to be the truth; he wanted to be back home with his mother,
even though he hated her, even though she'd gone comatose as a human being.   
He wanted it so bad he could taste it on the tip of his tongue, and it was
bitter and sweet at the same time.

Instead, he saw the laptop was
playing music, soft and low.

Jenny appeared around the corner,
a steaming cup of coffee in hand.  She gave it to him and smiled.  She was
wearing a pair of jeans and a blue tee-shirt, different from what she had
yesterday. 

“I hope you like it. I put soy
milk in it, if that’s okay. I’m lactose intolerant, so I can’t have any milk,”
she said.  She blushed slightly as if embarrassed. 

Jeff took the coffee and smiled
right back at her.  “I don’t mind.”  He took a sip and yelped.

“Careful, it’s hot,” she said with
a laugh.

Jeff smiled again.  “Duh.” 
Jenny laughed and pointed at the chair by the computer desk.  “I got you some
of Bill’s clothes that he left here.  You're about the same size.  I hope you
don’t mind.”
Jeff bounced up from the couch.  “Got tired of me looking so sexy in  my
underwear?” he laughed.  He grabbed the pair of gray sweat pants and a
tee-shirt that said Rutgers and slipped out of his shirt and into them.  They
were slightly big on him, but he didn’t care. 

Jenny got up and went into the
kitchen.  “You want to help me in here?”

He followed and watched as she
opened her cabinets and the refrigerator, showing off their contents.  “We’re
lucky,” she said.  “I just got back from the grocery when it all started.”

The cabinets were filled with all
sorts of food, with lots of crackers and canned soups.  Jeff rifled through
everything, counting the inventory, and when he was done, he reached over,
grabbed Jenny’s chin, and kissed her cheek.

“God bless you,” he said.  Their
eyes met and something flashed between them.  The moment hung there, full and
ripe for something to happen.

The front door rattled as
something slammed against it.  Jenny yelped and jumped back and Jeff spun,
afraid the living dead were about to crash through.  The door hadn't budged,
though.  He held his finger up to his lips and crept to the door.  Whatever it
was hit again and they heard a weird screech.  It was small and beating against
the bottom of the door, like a basketball being thrown against it repeatedly. 

He risked a glance through the
peephole.  He saw something white and fluttering at the bottom of his limited
vision and then it came into view:  a seagull, with its left wing torn in half
and pouring blood.  It was panicked, trying to fly but its equilibrium was off
and it squawked and ran in a circle.  Jeff didn’t understand until a black
shadow fell across it and he looked to his left and there it was, a zombie,
closing in on the hapless creature.

It was a dead man, his clothes
ripped off his body exposing an ash-gray nakedness marked by long divots of
flesh torn out along his torso and legs, like he’d been clawed.  His face was
slack and his eyes blank and focused on the poor animal at his feet.  The man
was otherwise unmarked and Jeff wondered how he’d died.  He saw a great chunk
taken from the man’s left shoulder; a bone stuck out of the gnawed meat
glistened in the fading daylight. 

The zombie bent down and reached
for the seagull, which pecked and squalled. It tore a couple of deep gashes in
the backs of the zombie’s hands but the creature didn’t notice, as if it felt
no pain at all.  It kept reaching and grabbing until it caught the fluttering
bird by its bad wing.  The seagull shrieked in agony.