Zombie D.O.A. (23 page)

“Can you go up and get her, bring her down here?”

“Can I….”

“I’m going to get the cellar door open, can you go upstairs and wake Betsy, and bring her here.”

“Of course, I can,” Tom said, sounding lucid for the first time.

“Good. Good, Tom. You do that. Fetch Betsy and bring her here.”

Tom shuffled off and I got to work on the keys. I guessed that the smallest bunch, which had just a cut key and a tumbler key on the ring, would be the one, and I was right. The cut key slid in first time and turned effortlessly. The wooden door sprung open and swung outward.

Behind it, a few steps down, I was pleased to see a sturdy metal-framed security gate, with a tumbler lock. I inserted the key and, like the door, it opened easily.

Just then a sleepy voice spoke behind me. “What’s going on?” Betsy said.

“Betsy, thank God. Look, I need you to get down into the cellar right away. There’s…”

“Where’s Tom?” She asked, half suppressing a yawn, “He
not
out on the porch again? I told him a million…”

“Tom’s not with you?’

Betsy looked quickly back down the passage, fully awake now.

“No, he’s…”

And that’s when we heard Tom’s voice, speaking clearly from the porch, “Friends,” he said. “Welcome.”

“Tom?” Betsy said, and started to walk in that direction, before I grabbed her by the shoulder. She tried to shake loose but I held her, “Tom?” she repeated, sounding frantic this time.

“Betsy,” I said, turning her towards me. “If you want to live, if you want Tom to live, you need to listen to me.”

“Tom!” she screamed, and tried to wrestle free. I used my hand to smother the next scream and was going to tell her again to listen to me, but the look of desperation in her eyes, told me I was wasting my time.

I’d never struck a woman in my life, but right then I had no choice. I landed a punch, holding back as much as I could, square on Betsy’s jaw and knocked her out cold. Then
I lifted her and carried her
to the cellar, placed her gently on the steps, pulled the gate shut behind her, and pocketed the key.

Outside, I could still hear Tom talking, and I headed towards the porch. The front door stood fully open and through it I could see that the front lawn and the fields beyond,
were
now bathed in moonlight.

It had stopped raining, and the Z’s stood, silent and bedraggled, Becka and Billy at the front, row upon row of them behind.

Facing them on the porch was Tom in his
pajama
s and slippers, his voice taking on the dulcet tones of an advertiser of retirement homes.

“It’s not your fault,” Tom was saying. “You didn’t ask to become what you’ve become.”

I crossed the porch slowly, sensing a thousand murderous eyes tracking my every step. I stood directly behind Tom and whispered into his ear. “Tom,” I said, “Betsy needs you.”

“A moment, Chris,” he said, “I think I’m getting through to them.”

“For chrissakes, Tom, we’ve got to get out of here,” I said pulling at his sleeve.

“One minute,” Tom said, and turned back towards his audience. “So friends,” he continued. “If you need to blame anyone, blame the government, blame the military, blame big business. Not yourselves. You are not to blame.”

Looking over Tom’s shoulder I took in the massed ranks before us. They seemed enthralled by what Tom had to say, chastised even. It brought to mind the control Bronson Chavez had exerted over the Zs in New York City, except this was more complete, more absolute.

Tom spread his arms then, like a TV evangelist receiving the adoration of his flock, “Go in peace,” he said, “Go in peace.”

For a moment it was deathly quite, and I almost believed that Tom was right, that he had gotten through to them.

Then Becka uttered a strange sound, like she was trying to clear something unpleasant from her throat. She whipped her head rapidly left to right and then lifted her gaze, until she was looking directly into Tom’s eyes. Her lips peeled back from oversized incisors, and I saw that she was salivating, a thin line trailing down from her mouth like a liquid spider web.

Then suddenly she charged, crossing the short expanse of lawn with amazing speed and throwing herself at the raised porch. I pushed Tom aside and lifted my boot as she dived, catching her square in the chest. I felt the impact, and saw her thrown back. She hit the ground and bounced back up like a rubber toy, and then I was running, dragging Tom behind me.

In my peripheral
vision I could see the
zombies pouring forward, their faces frenzied and hungry. I reached the door and started to pull Tom through. But then Tom did something inexplicable. He shouted “wait!” and grabbed the door jamb.

For a moment everything seemed to freeze frame, my hand on the door handle, Tom’s on the jamb, the door tantalizingly close to being closed, its glass panel imploding to reveal Becka’s rage-filled face.

She grabbed Tom by the arm and before I could react, bit down on his hand. Tom screamed and yanked his hand out of her grasp and it came back with bloody stumps where t
he pinky and ring finger had
been.

I kicked the door shut and heard it click, just as Billy’s head exploded through another of the glass panels.  He started pushing through, oblivious to the shards of glass ripping at his body.  I could hear glass smashing in other parts of the house too, as I dragged Tom towards the cellar. 

Behind me I heard the front door splinter and give as we rounded the corner into the kitchen. I pushed Tom down the few steps leading
in
to the cellar, then pulled the outer door shut behind me. It was suddenly very dark and very quiet.

I felt around in my pocket for the key, retrieved it, and maneuvered it into
the security gate. I twisted
and it clicked
open immediately
.

In the dark, I heard Tom crying, “Oh my God what have I done. Oh Bets, what have I done.” 

I tried to push the security gate open, but it wouldn’t budge. I’d put Betsy too close to it, and her bodyweight
was
preventing the gate from opening.

In the kitchen I could hear the sound of glass smashing and being trampled under many feet. Something crashed against the cellar door and then I heard furious scratching, like a dog desperate to be outdoors.

Tom was still crying and in the darkness I heard Betsy say groggily, “Tom?” and then, “oh thank God, thank Jesus, you’re okay.”

Something heavy crashed into the wooden door above and I saw a sliver of light shine through as the first crack appeared. I ushered Tom through the gate where he and Bets
y embraced, both of them crying
.

With the gate latched behind us I guided Tom and Betsy down the stairs in the dark.

“There’s a gas lantern,” Tom said, “Next to the pillar at the center of the room.”

I felt my way towards the pillar, found the lantern and got it going. Tom had certainly sto
cked the place for an emergency. There was a well-
provisioned larder, lots of bottled water, two camp beds, gas for light and cooking, a first aid kit, paperback books and board games. He’d even taken the time to plumb in a commode, with a curtain drawn around it.

“We gonna have to take a look at that hand of yours,” I said to Tom, and he gave me a look like I was a 4th grade tattletale.

“Oh my God, Tom, your hand,” Betsy said, and then seemed to understand the implication of it. Her eyes welled with tears and she took Tom’s mutilated hand in both of hers and kissed it tenderly.

“Now, don’t you fret, buttercup, we’re going to be okay, just you wait and see.” She clung to him then and he kissed the top of her head and looked towards me with eyes that seemed fathomless and haunted.

After Betsy had reluctantly released him, Tom said, “There any aspirin in that bag of tricks. This thing hurts like growing pains.” There was aspirin, of course, and anti-septic cream and bandages, so I cleaned and dressed Tom’s wound as best I could with Betsy clucking over my shoulder.

“You weren’t a fighter, you’d h
ave made a pretty good cut man,
“
Tom joked, and we both laughed
louder than the gag warranted.

It had gotten quiet upstairs. “Think they’re gone?” Tom asked.

“I don’t know, but I think we’d best wait it out. At least till dawn, before we…”

“How do we know I’ve got that long?

“Tom!” Betsy protested, but Tom held up a hand.

“How do we know I’ve got that long?” Tom repeated.

“I don’t know, Tom.”

And I didn’t.  I’ve seen transformations that are almost instant, someone gets bitten, they turn right around and bite som
e
one else. I‘ve seen other cases where it takes hours and I’ve heard of cases where it takes weeks. I’ve also heard of bite victims who never make the transformation, who simply die from their wounds, and others who are seemingly immune.

“Tell you what we’re going to do,” Tom said, “There’s a length of rope back there. You’re gonna tie me…”

“No, we are not!” Betsy said emphatically.

“Bets, just listen…”

“No, you listen to me, Tom Riley! We are not tying you up like some, like some…oh.” She started to cry again.

“Betsy, please,” Tom said, “I’ve thought this through, so just listen okay?”

She
looked at him and nodded, then started sobbing again.

“Right,” Tom said, ”Here’s the deal. We can’t have me loose down here, not knowing when I’m going to turn into one of those creatures, so Chris, I want you to tie me to that pillar, so as I can’t harm either of you. Then, when it’s clear upstairs I want you to go and get my revolver from the nightstand. I want you to come down here and finish me.”

Betsy started sobbing louder now, but Tom was determined to say his piece.

“Tom, I…”

“I know it’s a lot to ask, Chris. But I’ve come to regard you as a friend these past weeks, and I’m asking you as a friend. I once told you, you’d have done the same for me. Now, I’m asking you, begging you…”

I looked at Tom, then. This man had saved my life and I knew I couldn’t refuse him. I nodded.

“Thank you, Chris,” he said, as though I’d just given him a great gift. Then he turned to Betsy. “Now, Bets,” he said, “when this is done, I want you to go with Chris, I want you to leave this place and I want you to… “

“Oh no, you don’t mister!” Betsy shouted, “That is the last straw. We had a deal. We go together, remember? There’s no backing out now. So Chris can just shoot me, too!”

“Betsy, I don’t… “ I started to say.

“Hush!” Betsy commanded.

“And another thing Mr. Tom Riley. Don’t go making my decisions for me. We’ll tie you to the pillar if that’s what you want, and Chris can even blow your brains out if that makes you happy. Just as long as you know, I’ll be joining you tout suite!