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Chapter 93


Life is fragile, unpredictable. It can be taken away in an instant. It can change in a heartbeat, for better or for worse.

Growing up with hemophilia, I learned that hard reality at an early age. One minute, I’d be playing, and the next, I’d be bleeding and on my way to the emergency room. During one of my hospital stays, I met another kid with hemophilia. My doctor introduced us; he thought it’d be good for me to meet another kid my age who was like me. And it was, at first. Gary understood me in a way the kids at my school didn’t. I could be myself around him, not Hemophilia Howie, but just plain Howard. We bonded in the hospital and kept in touch even after we were both discharged. This was way before the days of email and texting, but we talked to each other on the phone and even wrote letters, like we were pen pals or something. Gary lived across town, but sometimes his mom would come pick me up and take us both to the arcade. I wasn’t a big fan of video games, but Gary loved them, and while the other kids our age hung out at the skating rink, the arcade was a safe place we could go to have fun. Other times, I’d just invite him over to my house, and we’d listen to my Michael Jackson cassettes and try to teach ourselves how to do the Moonwalk.

Then one Saturday, I called Gary’s house, and no one answered. This was before anyone had an answering machine, so I just kept trying all day, but no one ever picked up. The next weekend, same thing. Finally, I called, and Gary’s mom answered and asked to talk to my mom. I could tell from listening to her side of the conversation that something was wrong. When she hung up the phone, my mom turned to me with tears in her eyes and shakily started telling me what Gary’s mom had told her. Gary had gone into the hospital, not with a bleed, just with a fever and a cough that wouldn’t go away. Everyone had thought it was just the flu, but it turned out to be a lot worse than that. Gary had pneumonia… and not just regular old walking pneumonia, but the kind of pneumonia that people with weakened immune systems get. Like people with AIDS. I hadn’t known it until then, but Gary was HIV positive. He’d contracted the virus from a tainted transfusion, before they knew enough to screen donor blood for it. He went into the hospital with a cough and never came out.

After that, I stopped hanging out with kids with hemophilia, kids who were sick. And as much as it hurt, I couldn’t blame other kids for not wanting to hang out with me. I knew it could just as easily be me next. I wouldn’t die from AIDS like Gary, but a bad bleed, a fall, an accident… any number of things could kill me. Funny, zombies were never on my list.

The world was a dangerous place, and my life seemed especially delicate. But I didn’t die. I’m still alive. I’ve outlived all those kids who used to pick on me or avoid me altogether; I’ve outlived everyone I knew in my old life. And even though the world seems more dangerous than ever, I know now that I’m stronger than I thought.

Life may be fragile, but as a species, humans are hardy. Death happens, but life goes on.

Even when the odds are stacked against us, we will continue to survive.



Sunday, January 13, 2013
Week Thirty-Nine

The miracle came in an armored truck, one unsuspecting Sunday afternoon.

Howie and Brian were on their way back from the communication dome, where they’d been trying, once again, to send messages over the radio. Howie didn’t really think there was any point in trying the radio now, when it was clear from their many failed attempts that there was simply no one left alive to listen. But he couldn’t forget that it was the radio that had summoned Kayleigh and him to MacDill; without it, they’d both have been goners by now. Nor could he blame Brian for wanting to try anything to help his unborn child. Howard Dorough might not have won any prizes for Father of the Year, despite the claim of the cheap “#1 Dad” mug from which he’d drunk coffee when working late in the office, but he knew that fatherly instinct well. Perhaps it was because he hadn’t been able to protect his own child from the apocalypse that he felt bound to help Brian protect his.

So when Brian looked over at him and asked, “You think there’s any hope of finding other survivors this way?” Howie didn’t shake his head.

Instead, he blinked incredulously back at Brian and replied, “Don’t tell me the preacher’s giving up on hope. Of course there’s hope. Miracles happen, don’t they?”

Brian nodded, his expression faraway. Howie didn’t know if he was back to believing or still doubting. He hoped it was the former; he liked the company of the Brian who believed much better than the sullen, angry Brian he’d first met, the one who had renounced his faith. He didn’t want that Brian to return, yet feared he would, if anything happened to Gretchen or the baby.

Whether it was pure coincidence or the divine result of God’s impeccable sense of timing, Howie didn’t know, but in any case, the miracle came mere minutes after he had mentioned miracles. He was just about to make the turn off of Bayshore onto Bridges, when Brian said, “Hang on! Do you hear that?”

Howie braked to a stop, mid-turn, and listened. He heard it, too: a horn honking, somewhere in the distance.

He looked over at Brian in disbelief. Brian’s blue eyes were wide, mirroring Howie’s expression. Without a word, Howie took his foot off the brake, jammed it down on the accelerator, and swerved their pick-up truck back onto Bayshore Boulevard. They headed north toward the main entrance to the base; the honking had to have come from that direction.

“Do you think-?” Brian started to ask, then trailed off.

Howie understood, but didn’t answer. Neither of them wanted to get their hopes up. But as they sped along in silence, they sure hoped that they would find the vehicle that had honked, and that it was a living person and not a zombie that had pressed the horn.

As they approached the gate, it appeared to them like a mirage in a desert: a small, armored truck, idling just on the other side. Howie could hardly believe his eyes, but he could even see the driver, sitting behind the wheel. And the driver could see him; he put down his window and waved wildly, sticking his head out to shout something.

Howie looked over at Brian, wanting to ask, “Are you seeing this??” but he didn’t need to. Brian saw it, too; he was already opening his door, ready to jump out. But they weren’t the only ones.

As soon as Brian flung the door open wide, Howie was hit with the familiar stench of decaying corpses, carried in on the breeze. It assaulted his senses, stronger than it had been in months, and Howie knew what it meant; he smelled them before he saw them…

Zombies.

A small horde of the undead, drawn by the sound of the honking, emerged from behind the armored truck, swarming hungrily around its sides. “Shit,” swore the pastor in the passenger seat, and before Howie could react, Brian had already sprang out of the pick-up and was sprinting toward the gate, waving his arms over his head and screaming, “WATCH OUT!”

But it was too late. Before the driver of the truck had time to look in his side mirror and react, a large zombie – probably male, from the size, though it was hard to tell anymore – had grabbed his head, its skeletal hands closing around fistfuls of his hair, which it used to pull the driver further out the truck window.

Howie could make out another person in the passenger seat, trying to pull him back in. He saw the glint of a gun barrel as the passenger raised a firearm, but there was no room to get a clear shot from that angle. If the zombie was to be taken down, it would have to happen from the outside. But Brian, who was already approaching the gate, was unarmed. So Howie flung open the glove compartment and snatched the small, loaded handgun that was stored inside. He knew he’d never make it in time, but he also knew he at least had to try and help.

He jumped out of the truck and raced toward the gate, where Brian watched, helpless, as the man was attacked. His truck was completely surrounded now, the area outside the gate swarming with zombies, zombies that would get back inside the base if Brian dared to open the gate. Howie would have to take his shot through the gate. But he’d never been good at distance shooting, especially with a handgun. He raised the weapon anyway, trying to steady his arm as he took aim and fired.

The first shot missed, wide right, though it did take out a zombie behind the one that was still clawing at the struggling driver. In the time it took him to line up a second shot, Howie watched in dismay as the zombie’s frenzied, flapping jaws finally latched onto living flesh, as it sank its exposed teeth into the man’s neck. “No!” shouted Howie, and he squeezed the trigger.

The second shot was low; it missed the zombie’s brain, but hit its shoulder with enough force to knock it sideways. It tore off a chunk of the driver’s flesh as it fell, and blood began to spurt from the man’s jugular. The passenger pulled him back into the vehicle and put up the window, but the man just slumped against it, already fading fast. Howie knew if they didn’t act quickly, he was going to bleed to death, and his companion would be trapped, as the smell of his blood drew more and more of the undead.

The companion seemed to know it, too. Howie watched a struggle ensue inside the vehicle, as the passenger pulled the driver out of the way, climbed over him into the driver’s seat, and opened the window a crack again, just enough to be heard shouting, “Open the damn gate!” Howie was surprised to hear a woman’s voice – throaty, English-accented, but unquestionably female. The bright sunlight bouncing off the windshield made it hard to see inside, but with her features hidden behind a large pair of sunglasses and her hair tucked up under a bandanna wrapped around her head, he’d mistaken the passenger for a man. “For God’s sake, open the gate, please!” she screamed, her voice shooting up an octave with panic.

Howie looked at Brian, who was squinting through the gate, eyes narrowed, jaw set, sizing up the situation. A second later, Brian looked back at him. “Gimme your gun,” he demanded, holding out his hand. “You open the gate and take cover in there.” He gestured to the guard’s station. “I’ll defend the gate. Close it again as soon as they’re through.”

They were taking a chance, risking the undead coming back across their borders for a pair of strangers, but Howie knew it was the only chance the injured man had. And if these were the survivors they’d been seeking, people who could help them in return, it would be worth the risk. So he didn’t hesitate. He tossed Brian his gun and darted into the small building that housed the security controls. He found the button that opened the gate and punched it, praying it would still work. Electricity was unreliable when it came from back-up generators that were running low on fuel, and it had been a long time since anyone had attempted to open any of the gates. If they tried to open it by hand, the zombies would be all over them before they got it closed again.

But to Howie’s relief, the gate rumbled slowly open, and the woman guided the truck swiftly through it, leaving little room for any zombies to squeeze past. But there was no way to reverse the gate until it was all the way open, and once the truck had cleared it, the undead began to flood through the wide open entrance. Brian started shooting, as Howie smacked the button to close the gate, but it seemed to be taking forever. He felt like a coward, huddled inside the guard’s station, safely out of the way, while Brian defended the base alone, but what else was he supposed to do? Foolishly, they’d only brought one gun between them.

This is where Kayleigh died, Howie realized, as a sick feeling of trepidation caused his stomach to lurch.

Then, all of a sudden, Brian wasn’t alone. The armored truck lurched to an abrupt stop, and the woman who had taken over driving leaped out of the cab, gun in hand. She shot a spray of bullets into the sea of zombies, taking down several in one fell swoop. At the same time, the back doors of the truck burst open, and out leapt two more people. One was an older, Asian man, armed with a long, sharp-looking spear. The other was a younger, red-haired man who carried a strange, wooden sort of paddle; Howie couldn’t be sure, but he thought it might be a cricket bat. The two men entered the fray, stabbing and beating back the zombies that the bullets missed. Their defense was more efficient than it looked: within minutes, they were surrounded by dead bodies, no longer moving.

“Wow!” Howie exclaimed, finally venturing out of his safe haven. “That was incredible! Where did you guys come from?”

“No time to explain,” the woman blew him off brusquely. “If we don’t do something now, Giorgio’s going to bleed out. Do you have medical supplies? Sutures? Bandages? IVs?”

Howie and Brian looked at each other. Brian’s eyes were wide and hopeful. “Yes,” he said quickly. “Let’s put him in the back of our truck, and we’ll take him to the medical center.”

The woman, evidently the leader, looked at her other two companions. “Get the first aid kit from the truck.” Then she turned back to Brian and Howie. “You two – help me move him.”

They followed her obediently to the cab of the truck. The driver was slumped across the seat, unconscious. His clothes were saturated with blood, and the upholstery beneath him was sticky with it, too. Howie could feel its warm wetness as he helped drag the man out and carry him to the back of the pick-up, where the other two were waiting with the first aid kid, the tailgate already lowered for them. They pulled the man into the truck bed and lay him flat, while Brian ran around to the driver’s side and slid behind the wheel. As Howie climbed into the passenger seat beside him, he had a bad feeling about the man’s fate. He’d lost a lot of blood already, and as a hemophiliac, Howie was all too familiar with the symptoms of hypovolemic shock. The woman, whoever she was, was right: if they didn’t get him some help soon, he was going to die.

And if he wasn’t immune to the Osiris Virus, as AJ was, he was going to come back… as one of the undead.

***

“I miss Jo,” Howie muttered out of the corner of his mouth, as he and Brian stood out of the way, watching the three strangers work to save their injured companion.

The woman seemed to have some idea of what she was doing, but the way she barked out orders was completely different from Jo’s calm and quiet leadership. The redhead bumbled and fumbled around in response to her commands, putting pressure on the dressings she’d applied to the unconscious man’s neck wound. Clearly, he was clueless, but the older man appeared to have some medical knowledge as well. He had rummaged through the cabinets in the room where they’d brought the man and found what Howie recognized as an IV kit. He’d had enough transfusions to know.

“He needs blood badly,” the woman announced. She looked up at the Asian man. “Can you do a direct transfusion?”

The man gave a single, solemn nod.

“Shaun!” the woman snapped, and the redhead jumped. “Find another gurney. We’ll start with you.” As Shaun scrambled into the hall, she turned her attention to Howie and Brian, acknowledging them for the first time since they’d arrived at the medical center. “Are there any other survivors here?” she asked.

They nodded. “Eight of us,” Brian answered.

A brief smile flickered over her otherwise grim face. “Brilliant. One of you needs to go get them, all of them, and bring them back here.”

“I will,” Howie quickly volunteered, anxious to get away from that room. The sight of blood didn’t bother him, but its metallic smell was starting to make him feel sick.

Brian didn’t look thrilled to be staying, but he nodded and dutifully took Shaun’s place at the man’s bedside, applying pressure to his blood-soaked bandages.

Howie started to leave and was forced to jump out of the way, as Shaun barreled back into the room, practically riding the gurney he was bringing in. Curiosity caused Howie to pause and watch, frowning, as the woman positioned the gurney right next to the one on which the man lay and motioned for Shaun to lie down on it. As the other man came forward with a length of IV tubing, Howie realized they were going to attempt to transfuse blood straight from Shaun into the dying man. This seemed like a terrible idea to Howie, who was familiar with the risks associated with blood transfusions, having faced them himself ever since he was a child, before the AIDS crisis, before donor blood was screened for HIV. He knew all about blood-borne pathogens and transfusion reactions that could result from receiving the wrong type of blood. But he also knew that critical situations call for desperate measures, so he said nothing as he backed out of the room and ran for the pick-up truck.

As he sped back to the house he shared with AJ, Kevin, and Gabby, Howie didn’t know which was racing faster, the truck or his pounding heart. There was so much to tell the others, he wondered where to start. He supposed the most important thing was to bring them back to the medical center, though he wasn’t sure why all of them were needed. They’d have to squeeze into the Hummer, and he could fill them in on the rest as they drove.

The tires squealed as he swerved onto their street, honking the whole way up it. By the time he’d pulled into the driveway, Kevin had already come running out of the house, Gabby hot on his heels. “What happened?” Kevin demanded, as soon as Howie opened his door to get out. “Where’s Brian?”

“Oh God!” Gretchen had emerged from the house next door, just in time to hear Kevin’s question. She clapped her hand across her mouth, like she was about to throw up. Her face was ashen, like she was about to pass out.

“Brian’s fine!” Howie said quickly. “But something’s happened. Something big – something good and bad, I guess you could say. We need to go to the medical center – all of us. I’ll fill you in on the way.”

By then, Nick and Riley had come out behind Gretchen, and even AJ crutched his way out onto the front porch. They pelted Howie with questions, but he ignored them all, insisting they get into the vehicle before he answered anything. They piled into the Hummer, Gabby squeezed between Howie and Kevin in the front seat, AJ sprawled across Nick’s, Riley’s, and Gretchen’s laps in the back. It wasn’t a comfortable ride, but no one seemed to care. They were all eager to hear Howie’s news. He talked a mile a minute while Kevin drove just as fast, telling them about the arrival of the armored truck and the four survivors it had delivered to their base.

But when they reached the medical center, there was no time for introductions. “He’s losing blood faster than we can give it to him!” was the woman’s way of greeting Howie upon his return, and her dark eyes flashed as they panned across the rest of the group. “We’ve taken about as much as we can out of Shaun. Who’s next?”

The others exchanged bewildered glances. “What’s his blood type?” Kevin asked, on behalf of them all.

“B positive,” answered the Asian man in a soft, heavily-accented voice. “Same as all of yours, I presume?”

They nodded, stunned into silence. So it did have something to do with blood type, thought Howie, as to the reason they had all survived the virus. But what? How?

“How did you know-?” Gretchen started to ask, but trailed off when the man shook his head.

“Time is short, and the story is long,” he whispered apologetically.

“In other words, Giorgio’s dying, and we need blood now,” interjected the dark-eyed woman, turning to glare at them again.

“You can have mine,” AJ volunteered, limping forward. Looking back at the others, he shrugged and added, “Least I can do.”

Howie understood. AJ had been feeling helpless lately, hobbled by his injured leg. This would be a way of making him feel useful again.

“We’ll all donate,” Kevin offered, as AJ traded places with Shaun on the gurney. “Except Howie; he’s a hemophiliac. And Gretchen shouldn’t; she’s pregnant.”

Howie felt his face get hot as the woman looked between Gretchen and him, frowning briefly before she nodded. “We should have enough. Can any of you suture? We’ve got to close the wound.”

Kevin cleared his throat. “We lost our nurse a few months back. None of us have any medical training.”

“What about you?” Howie asked her. “Aren’t you in the medical profession?”

“I was a pharmacist.” The woman shook her head. “This man needs a surgeon.”

Kevin cleared his throat again. “Howie here says he was bitten. Forgive me, ma’am, for sounding insensitive, but are you sure it’s worth the effort? What if he turns?”

“He won’t turn,” she answered matter-of-factly. “He’s immune, same as all of us.”

“But how do you know for sure?”

Her eyes flashed as they met his. “Trust me. We know.”

“I got bit, and I didn’t turn,” AJ spoke up from the gurney. “I say we do everything we can to help this guy and hope for the best.”

With a grim smile, the woman nodded her agreement.

But their efforts were in vain. Despite the blood transfusions, despite their best attempt at stitching and dressing the man’s massive neck wound, it soon became clear that the bite had done damage beyond repair. As the donor blood joined what was left of the man’s blood in a puddle on the floor, his heart gave out, and after several unsuccessful attempts to revive him, the woman was forced to give up. Howie could tell that she was the type of person who hated to admit defeat. She punched a tray of supplies out of the way and bowed her head over the gurney, heaving a massive sigh. He wasn’t sure if she was praying for the dead or simply collecting herself, but when she straightened up again, her eyes were dry.

“I’m sorry,” Brian was the first to offer, placing a comforting hand upon her shoulder, “Ms.-?”

“Selena,” she said shortly. “Just Selena.”

“Selena,” he repeated her name. “I’m Brian.”

A round of introductions followed. The older companion of Selena, Shaun, and the dead man, Giorgio, introduced himself as Dr. Kwak In-Su. “Doctor, huh?” AJ challenged. “If you’re really a doctor, why couldn’t you sew up this guy’s neck?” He flung his hand toward the body on the blood-soaked gurney.

The Asian man bowed his head regretfully. “I’m sorry, but I am not the kind of doctor to treats such traumas. In my country, I was a biochemist. I worked in a laboratory.”

“And what country is that?”

He seemed to hesitate a few seconds before answering. “North Korea,” he said finally, looking down. “I come from North Korea.”

His body language made Howie frown. When he looked at the others, he could see that they were equally suspicious.

Kevin took over the interrogation. “And what is it y’all know about the zombie virus that we don’t? How do you know for a fact that we’re immune?”

“And how did you know we were all the same blood type?” Nick added.

Howie didn’t miss the dark look that passed between Kwak In-Su and Selena. But it was their companion, Shaun, who spoke up. “We’ve got loads to tell you, but this isn’t exactly the place for it, is it?” For the first time, Howie noticed that he, like Selena, spoke with an English accent. “Is there somewhere a tad less bloody we can go for a chat… and perhaps a pint as well?” He smiled hopefully at them, catching Howie’s eye. Howie winked.

Nick laughed, easing the tension in the room. “I’m gonna like this guy; I can tell already,” he announced. “Let’s take ‘em to the lodge.”

“What about Giorgio?” asked Brian, looking solemnly down at the deceased, whom they’d covered with a sheet.

“We’ll give him a proper funeral,” Kevin promised, looking at the newcomers, “but first, I think we need to have a conversation. Can we agree on that?”

Selena gave a short, single nod. “Yes. Show us the way. We’ve got a lot to talk about.”

***
Chapter End Notes:
"Song For The Undead" have been nominated for the Felix Awards! It's up for Best Thriller/Suspense, while Julie and I are up for Best Collaboration Authors. :). Vote HERE and check out the other categories we're up for with our solo stories :).

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