me Zombie - 1. me Zombie

me Zombie

Stephen looked down at his left arm. There was a massive chunk of skin and muscle missing from his forearm. So deep had been the bite that the glaring white of bone could be seen and tendons and torn flesh flapped. It hurt like the devil and waves of nausea and fear caused a drop in blood pressure and Stephen thought he’d pass out.

The creature that bit him was now chewing on a lump of Stephen’s flesh, and it shuffled away, slurping and groaning while it enjoyed its meal. Its kind carried a poison in their bodies that was passed on through the blood and so, in their bite. This dawned on Stephen and so did the fact that this was his death sentence.

Sitting down hard, Stephen gasped for air because it was suddenly hard to breathe. He wondered what it would be like as the poison took effect and he slowly became one of the living dead. Fear struck as he thought about his wife and child. What would happen to them when the disease took him from them? He’d always figured that he didn’t need the expensive Bite Insurance, so he’d never bothered to purchase it. Regret, guilt and feelings of stupidity brought tears to his eyes.

The poison wasn’t terribly fast acting, not like was always shown in movies and T.V., so he had a few weeks before the change started to show. He decided he had to make the most of this time of normality he had left and try to say goodbye to his family and make sure they had some money and anything else he could provide for them.

“Sir?” a man asked. He wore a white uniform that said, Z-Control Officer. He carried a small leather case. Stephen looked up at him and the Z-Control officer asked, “Sir? Have you been bitten?”

Stephen held up his hand to shade his eyes from the sun, “Wha … oh, yeah, I have. It’s pretty bad.”

The man knelt beside him, “My name is Tito. Oh, that does look bad. Let me dress it and I’ll give you a shot of Z-Stop. That will help reduce the symptoms a little bit.”

“Thanks.”

“I’ll need your I.D., Sir. You have to register.”

“I know,” Stephen said, resigned. He reached for his wallet and handed it to Tito.

Tito prepared the shot of Z-Stop and administered it in Stephen’s left arm. He then took Stephen’s details and scanned the I.D. card into a small card scanner that Z-Control Officers carried. Tito dressed the gaping, bloody wound.

“So,” Tito glanced at the I.D. card, “Mr. Jacobs, I need you to come with me. I’ll take you to the hospital and a doctor will fix up your arm. Then we can call you family to come pick you up.”

Stephen started to wish that he’d let the creature rip out his throat instead of defending himself. He’d just be dead now, instead of having to go through this.

Why didn’t he just kill himself now? Suicide was illegal even if you were turning into one of the living dead. The government allowed your pensions to be paid to your family in full if you became non-dead. But if killed yourself, or arranged your death—if they found out and they always investigated—then your family lost all that money. It didn’t make a lot of sense, but then not much the government did ever made sense. Stephen decided he’d sacrifice himself to ensure the money would reach his loved ones.

Tito opened the rear door of the white sedan with the Z-Control logo on the sides in red, and motioned Stephen inside. He then slammed the door and walked around to the driver’s side and got in. They drove in silence except for the one call Tito made to the hospital. He’d told someone that he had a ‘freshie’ and that the doctor should be notified. Stephen figured that he was the freshie but he wondered what the rest of it meant.

Two very large Z-Control Officers met the car when it arrived at the hospital. The two helped Stephen out of car and gripped his upper arms tightly. The helped him into a wheelchair and strapped and locked him into it.

“Hey, what is going on?” Stephen looked at the men.

“It’s okay Mr. Jacobs, just procedure.” Tito said. He entered the hospital and one of the giants pushed the wheelchair.

The hall was empty and Stephen wondered where everyone was. “I thought we were at St. Peter’s?”

“We are, Mr. Jacobs. This wing was re-opened to handle victims like you. So there aren’t too many people here.” Tito explained. “We’re going to settle you in one of the rooms so you can wait for Dr. Blenheim.”

“Okay,” Stephen replied, resigned to his fate.

They pushed him into an empty room and helped him out of the wheelchair, into a loose gown and into the bed. Once settled, they strapped him to the bed, both arms and legs. Stephen struggled a little but the giant officers held him while Tito fastened him in.

“Look is this really necessary? Why are you strapping me in?” Stephen demanded.

Tito dismissed the big men and looked at the man in the bed. “Mr. Jacobs it’s procedure. We can’t have you running around. Even though you don’t have symptoms, you’re blood carries the toxins.”

Stephen lay back and stared at the ceiling, “Can I call my wife?”

“No, I’ll call her now and tell her what’s happening. I’ll let her know when she can come and see you,” Tito explained to him. “You need to be examined by the doctor first.”

Stephen nodded and Tito left the room.

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“Hello?” Heather Jacobs answered the telephone. She held the receiver to her ear, while trying to see down the hall to the living room keeping an eye on Jon.

“Mrs. Jacobs?”

“Yes, this is she. Who’s calling?”

“Mrs. Jacobs, my name is Tito Rivera. I am a Z-Control Officer …”

Heather Jacobs screamed and dropped the receiver. It fell with a clunk as it hit the wooden telephone table. She stood there staring at the phone shaking her head.

Tito spoke into the phone loudly, “Mrs. Jacobs? Mrs. Jacobs, please … you need to listen to me. Hello? Hello?”

Hand shaking, Heather picked up the receiver and held it to her ear and whispered into the mouth piece, “Ah … ah … I’m sorry. I dropped the ….”

“Mrs. Jacobs, your husband Stephen is here in the hospital. St. Peter’s. He has been badly bitten by a zombie. He’s going to live and we’ve taken all the precautions we can but well, you know what is going to happen.”

“Yes.”

“Mrs. Jacobs, I need your verbal okay to perform an experimental procedure on Stephen. We have been working on a medication that may ….”

Heather interrupted, “What about his pension? I have to think about that. I have never worked. Stephen was an excellent provider. If I say yes, will I still get the money if he … if he dies?”

“Yes, ma’am, you still qualify for those funds. When you come down to sign the releases, you can see for yourself.”

Breathing deeply, holding back sobs, Heather hated to reduce all this to money. She knew Stephen would want her to. She’d always told him to buy the Bite Insurance, but he was never in the zombie infested areas, so thought he didn’t need it. Where had he been and how had he been bitten? She remembered the phone, “I’ll come as soon as I find someone to watch my son.”

“Do we have your permission to start? It’s important to start as soon as possible,” Tito said with urgency.

Nodding, Heather replied, “Yes.”

After saying goodbye, Heather called her mother and asked her to hurry over to watch Jon. She burst into tears when her Mom asked why. Her mother said she’d be right over and would hear the reasons then.

Jon, who was eleven walked slowly down the hall when his mother had screamed. He heard his Mother’s side of the conversation and figured he knew what had happened to his father.

“Mom? Is Daddy a zombie?” Jon whispered.

Heather kneeled down and opened her arms to her son. As he stepped into her embrace she said, “Oh baby, no. The doctor called and they are going to give him some special medicine to help him.”

With his head buried in her shoulder, Jon said, “Mom, there’s no cure. I’ve heard them say that on TV.”

“Baby, the doctor called and said they have some new medicine to try,” Heather held Jon away by his slim shoulders and said, “We have to be positive that this will work.”

Jon stared at his mother with his green eyes, and felt her desperation. He knew in his heart that his faith and agreement was imperative so he said, “Okay mom. I hope the doctor is right. I want Daddy to come home. I don’t want him to be a zombie.”

Hugging her son close, so he wouldn’t see her tears, Heather said, “Me too Jonny, me too.”

When her mother arrived, Heather quickly explained what had happened and ensuring that her mom and Jon would be alright, she drove herself to the hospital.

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Dr. Harold Blenheim, spoke briefly to Tito and then entered Stephen’s room. He picked up the chart, reviewed it, initialed it and replaced it. Stephen was awake and he lay quietly in the hospital bed.

“Mr. Jacobs, I’m Dr. Blenheim. I’m here to see if we can help you.”

Stephen smiled ruefully, “Help? We all know there isn’t a cure, doc. How are you going to help?”

The doctor sat down on the corner of the bed. “Mr. Jacobs, we have an experimental drug that we are hoping will stop the progression of the transformation.”

Stephen blinked and asked, “Have you tested on anyone before me?”

“Yes. However all those attempts are considered only partially successful” the doctor explained.

“Partially successful?”

“I know how that sounds, Mr. Jacobs,” the doctor replied. “But you must understand that the previous subjects had been much farther along in the transformation process than you are. That’s why I am asking for your immediate consent to start the drugs.”

Stephen ran his hand through his hair, “I see. Well I’ll say yes because I’m going to die anyway aren’t I? I need to know if my family will still get my pensions if I participate.”

“Mr. Jacobs, your family will still receive those funds and they will also get the funeral paid for if necessary by our department and also a one-time payment of $50,000.00.”

“Well, that seems generous. Did you get hold of my wife?” Stephen asked.

Nodding, Dr. Blenheim said, “Yes we did. I understand that she is on her way now. While we wait for her, I’m going to have them take you to a consult room and I’ll fix up that arm.”

“Okay, Doc.”

Tito returned with a wheelchair and moved Stephen to the consultation room. Dr. Blenheim was there in a hazard suit. He gave Stephen several shots to numb his arm and began the process of stitching it up.

As the Doctor attempted to stitch Stephen Jacob’s arm back together, Heather Jacobs pulled into the parking lot of the Zom-wing—as it was becoming known—of St. Peter’s Hospital. She’d been directed there by the armed security guards who manned the first defensive wall that kept zombies from entering the hospital grounds.

<><><><>

The Walker's Virus—named after the successful television series, The Walking Dead—had been created as a ‘limited’ use, chemical warfare agent. Unfortunately, one lab technician exposed himself accidentally when he rushed to clean his station. After leaving on vacation, he ignored the flu-like symptoms and then bit several people before becoming a zombie a few weeks later. Thus the spreading of the virus began.

Victims didn’t die first and come back to life as a zombie. They first got ill, then for reasons unknown craved fresh blood and flesh and then became semi-dead stumbling creatures that could no longer speak or understand. They just walked along trying to find food. A single bite or scratch from a zombie was enough to pass on the virus, but it could be several weeks for victims ceased looking like normal human beings, so it was easy to be attacked.

While they had created the virus, they hadn’t yet created a vaccine, however the new drug Reverzol would, they hoped, stop the progression of the virus which is why doctors needed newly bitten victims to experiment on.

Zombies didn’t die of the virus and it wasn’t known how long they could live, as once one was discovered a Z-Control Officer used a penetrating captive bolt pistol to put them down. The bodies were cremated in special high temperature furnaces.

<><><><>

After Heather entered the hospital and spoke to her husband, they met with Dr. Blenheim and decided to sign the permission forms which allowed the hospital to treat Stephen.

Back in bed, Stephen, wearing special protective gloves, held Heather’s hand while the doctor administered the first injection of Reverzol. “There we are. You shouldn’t feel any change really, but if you do, please ring for Tito.”

Once the doctor left the room and the door closed, Heather kissed Stephen through a special membrane Tito had given her. “How are you?”

“As well as I can be, I guess.” Stephen replied. “I’m so sorry, hun.”

Heather started to cry but wiped the tears away. “Oh Stephen, this is a nightmare. Where were you? How could you be so careless?”

“I … I just stopped for a bit of a rest after driving back from the meeting. I didn’t know they were there honey.” Stephen squeezed his wife’s hand. “I bought a soda and then suddenly it was there and ….”

The couple sat holding hands, in silence, each considering their future.

Stephen remained in hospital for several weeks. He continued to be treated with Reverzol and the virus within seemed to have been stopped. After two months Dr. Blenheim said that they could safely reduce the dosage of Reverzol to once a month.

Things at home were mostly normal. Little Jon was happy to have his daddy home. Stephen seemed fine other than he had a tendency when tired, to lurch when he walked.

It was a lovely Saturday morning and Stephen had slept in. Jon and Heather were in the back garden looking after the vegetables.

“Jonny can you go into the house and get my gardening gloves, please?”

“Yes mommy.”

He returned after a few minutes and handed his mother her gloves. “Mom?”

“Yes, my darling?”

“Dad was sitting at the kitchen table having a snack.”

Heather pulled on her gloves. “Was he?”

“Is he really okay?”

“The doctor said so. Why my love?”

“Cuz he’s cutting lumps off tomorrow’s beef roast ….”

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