I wake in the middle of the
night, freezing cold, as I reach down for my blanket. Ugh! It must have fallen on the floor. Instinctively, my hands reach out; feeling for
the soft pile of my bedroom carpet but, instead, I land with a thud on a hard
linoleum floor. The sheet that had been draped over my body flutters to the
floor like an unfurling ribbon. Where the
hell am I? The last thing I can remember was Sarah bringing me soup and
some Nyquil. I look around at the stark, white tiles and breathe in the smell
of disinfectant. Steel tables draped with sheets surrounded me. Sonofa…I’m gonna kill those guys. This has
Chris and Brian’s ridiculous pranks written all over it. EMTs have the sickest
sense of humor. I’m in the flipping morgue! I laugh to myself and wonder if
Sarah was in on the gag too. Did she slip something in my soup? Maybe it was
the tea.
“Ha-ha! Joke’s over. C’mon out here you two twisted butt-heads!”
My voice sounds odd, raspy,
like I had a whole pond’s worth of frogs in my throat. I try to clear out
Kermit and his pals but I still sound rough. Stupid flu! I’ve sounded like an eighty-year-old smoker for weeks
now. Still trying to work the kinks out of my muscles, aggravated by sleeping
on a freezing-cold slab, I slowly shuffle my way toward the center of the room.
Just then, I catch the scent of something, almost like a glorious buffet of all
my favorite foods; my stomach rumbles in hungry anticipation. Enthralled by the
mouth-watering aromas, I pause to savor the scent and wipe the drool from my
chin. After enduring such a ridiculous prank, I am going to insist that my jerk-ball
friends feed me well before I accept their apology. I can’t decide if it’s
going to be a bacon-wrapped filet with a side of wings and loaded potato skins
or lobster ravioli with a vodka cream sauce, cheesy garlic bread and a Caesar
salad but it’s not going to be cheap. Ooh,
maybe a buffet… I struggle to get my legs moving so I can find my pals and
fill my ravenous belly.
“Holy Crap!”
Startling me from my dreams
of all-you-can-eat buffets, I turn toward the voice. A bespectacled man, with
thinning hair and a protruding beer-gut, gasps. His coffee mug slips from his
hand and crashes to the floor, shattering upon impact. He gapes at me, panting,
for just a moment before slowly backing away. He fumbles for the phone all
hospital personnel are required to carry and raises it slowly to his mouth,
never once dropping his gaze from me. He presses the page button and takes a
deep breath.
“Code Zed, I repeat, Code Zed. Code Zed in sector twelve.
Oh, God, help me. Code ZED!”
Code
Zed?
I turn to look behind me, terrified. It had only been eighteen months since the
last of the zombies had been eliminated, or so I’d thought. We were only just
beginning to resume life as it had been before the infection spread like
wildfire all over the globe. The mere mention of “the Z-word” was enough to
strike fear into the hearts of every human being, regardless of race, religion,
creed, or orientation. I look behind me but there is nothing--just the
institutional white-tiled walls and a bank of refrigerated drawers for the
recently deceased. Bewildered, I look back at the man and wonder if he is part
of my friend’s prank. Gotta hand it to
them…Chris and Brian really went all-out on this one. Only, the man before
me is trembling like a leaf while a growing wet spot is spreading across his
crotch and running down his leg. A river
of urine mixing into the muddy pool of spilled coffee convinces me that he was not
in on the gag.
Panicking, I realize if I can’t get this guy to calm down ASAP I
was going to end up with a bullet in my brain.
I try to explain that it was just a practical joke but my voice sounds
like someone had taken a cheese-grater to my throat. I can barely understand my
own words so I can’t even imagine what he must be thinking. As I shuffle toward
him, I accidentally trip on the wheels of the Coroner’s tray table. The
instruments crash to the floor and the table falls onto my foot. That’s gonna leave a mark. I hold my
breath and wait for the pain to hit. Surprisingly, I feel nothing. I look down.
A scalpel is sticking straight out of my foot and a dark, viscous fluid is
oozing onto the floor but still I feel nothing. I reach down to pull it from my foot and
that’s when I notice the band around my wrist. It’s all there: name, date of
birth, time of death, organ donor with a little check-mark after it. Hmm, clever touch. Holding my arm out in
front of me, I am examining the bracelet when something else catches my eye. A
long incision with black sutures stretching down the length of my abdomen looks
awfully real but I try to convince myself it is just makeup. It doesn’t really look like makeup but… Okay, they’ve officially freaked me out now!
“C’mon now guys, enough is en-”
My garbled words are cut off
midsentence as the overhead page bellows, “Code Zed”. I know the drill; within minutes, men with
shotguns will be storming the morgue. Moving as fast as my stiff legs will
carry me, I rush for the door. Somewhere in the inner recesses of my mind, a
little light bulb illuminates. I realize I am not wearing any clothes. I’m
already feeling conspicuous; no need to draw more attention to myself by running
around naked. I snatch a lab coat from the back of someone’s chair and a pair
of scrubs from the shelf. Thanks for the
duds! It seems good ol’ Percy Pissed-his-pants helped me out, after all. My
body is stiff, making it nearly impossible to pull the clothing on, especially
since I keep toppling over while trying to put my legs into the pants. Gotta hurry up before they turn my brain
into Swiss cheese! I swear I can hear the footfalls of boots on linoleum
but, as I peer out into the hallway, there is no one there. It’s now or never! I slip into the
hallway and proceed as calmly and casually as I can. I pause only for a second
to allow a gurney to roll by me. The transporters were too busy chatting to pay
any attention to me. One of them must have tucked their lunch out of view
because my stomach is rumbling.
A plaque on the wall shows
an arrow pointing left for the “staff exit” and I have to suppress the urge to
run for it. I just want to put this whole mess behind me and get back to
normal. Sadly, I suspect that it will take more than a long, hot shower before
I feel like my old self again. Again, the air is rich with a smorgasbord of
succulent treats and my stomach roars its protest.
No, sir, the morgue is all clear. Nothing except the
dead. We are expanding our search to include the entire floor,
sir….Understood.”
I’m nearly jumping out of my
skin. A buff man with combat boots and a massive shotgun storms by me while
shouting into his cell phone. I keep my head down, silently praying he won’t
notice me or my bare feet. Three others,
strongly resembling the first man, breeze down the hall with their guns ready
for the next uprising of zombies. Damn,
Chris and Brian are going to be in serious trouble when the hospital officials
report this to the police. I have no time to worry about my friends. Right
now, I need to get as far away from the hospital as possible. Finally, my
wandering ends and I find the employee exit. “Thank God”, freezes on my lips when the door flings open and a
mountain of a man steps inside. From the top of his crew-cut hair to the tip of
his combat boots he’s wearing black. Even the lenses of his sunglasses appear
black. The terror-filled voice inside my head screams, “Oh great, his black rifle
has a matching bayonet attachment”. Certain that I am going to meet my
maker in the next few seconds I say a silent goodbye to my beloved, Sarah and
my belly rumbles in agreement.
“Oh, sorry, Dr. Hamilton. Here, let me hold the door for
you.”
I grunt a barely
intelligible “Uh-huh” and stroll through the door. Clearly, the dark lenses of
his sunglasses teaming with his switch from the bright sunshine outside to the
darker, florescent lights of the hallway prevented him from seeing me clearly
but I am not complaining. The nametag hanging from my borrowed lab coat has a
picture of Dr. A. Hamilton and I look absolutely nothing like him so fortune
smiled on me for the first time since I woke up in the morgue. Once I am safely
on the opposite side of the door, my fear abates. I owe one to the good doctor
for my escape; my only regret is that I cannot seem to run once I am through
the parking lot. I make my way through the wooded trails behind
the hospital and head for home.
Ah, home. The
sight of my house fills my heart with longing. I may never speak with Brian or
Chris again and, right now, I do not care.
I just want to hold Sarah in my arms and forget about everything else. I
cut through the alley to get home faster. I catch a glimpse of my reflection in
the window of my neighbor’s dilapidated pickup truck and I look like death
warmed over. I shake my head at my whey-faced reflection; if I wasn’t so sore I
probably would have flipped it the bird. It takes me by surprise but the grass
in my backyard is wildly overgrown. I
know it’s been raining a lot lately but, man, this is crazy. Wasn’t the lawn
guy just here the other day?
“Loki! C’mere boy!”
My
golden lab comes barreling out through the doggy-door but he freezes on the
spot, growling. Assuming there must be
someone behind me, I turn around but there’s no one. Crazy animal! I am calling him, assuring him that daddy is home but
he won’t come near me. He even nips my hand as I try to pet him.
“Loki? What’s wrong, baby?”
Sarah
opens the door and Loki tears inside, nearly knocking her over.
“I’m sorry about that. I don’t know
what’s gotten into-”
Sarah
cuts off mid-sentence and shrieks like a crazed banshee. I can hear footsteps
from inside the house rushing to her aid. I really wish they’d cut the crap
already. There is such a thing as taking a joke too far. I can see a protective
arm wrapping around Sarah’s shoulders.
“Mom? I didn’t know you were coming for
a visit.”
There’s
no way she could possibly hear me over Sarah’s screaming and the dog’s barking.
I can tell she’s been cooking; the aromas coming from inside the house are
heavenly. My stomach grumbles eagerly. Mom’s face pales and she runs away
sobbing. Angry now, I go inside. Our living room looks like a damned florist
shop. Only then, when I notice the “With Sympathy” cards on the flowers and my
brother calling 911 do I realize what has happened. Apparently, I’d died and
now I came back.
I am torn, do I allow the cops to show up and put a bullet in
my head so that my family can move on or do I run? I’m not even thirty years
old; yet, it’s hard to imagine willfully waiting for my own execution. I did
what any rational man would do…I ran. More like, I got out of there as fast as
my atrophying legs would take me but I was long gone before the police showed
up. I have no idea how long I walked. The sun had gone down but, still, I walk
on, untiring. By the time the sun rose again, I was far from the city limits,
forsaking the streets for greener pastures- literally. The wildflowers and
weeds grew waist-high as I shuffled toward the tree line.
There is a certain peacefulness, being at one
with nature, and far from the delectable scent of living, human flesh. Here, in
the woods, I will live out my final days- alone. Squirrels are leaping
gracefully from tree to tree while all sorts of wildlife scurry about their
business. I envy them their sense of purpose. Other wildlife is scampering
across the forest floor, most do not even notice my presence.
“It’s just you and me Mr. Bunny…we’re
on our own out here.”
Just
then, a twig snaps and I feel fear rising up inside of me. Surely, whoever is
behind me will put me out of my misery once they find out I am a monster. Perhaps
it is for the best. Without Sarah and my family, what’s the point? I feel a
comforting hand cup my shoulder.
I am
not alone. There are others, just like me, seeking safety--far away from the
living. Like all living things, viruses
evolve. Once mankind learns to eradicate one strain, another rears its ugly
head, seeking to overtake the world. This time, we are not mindless eating
machines. We think. We remember. Even worse, we have no way to let them know we
mean them no harm. This time, the
hunters have become the hunted.
