I Zombie I [Omnibus Edition] Page 9

  “When did they start?”

  “Just now. They came pretty hard and fast.”

  “Do you have any food allergies?” The doctor had his hands on my throat.

  “None that I―Ahhhh! Goddamn!” All of a sudden, the pain had kicked into overdrive.

  “What is it, Jacob? Where is it hurting?”

  “All over.”

  It was at that point the little green cake decided it had no intention of hanging out in my intestines and wanted to come back up for air.

  “Susan, get some gloves and towels.”

  “What’s wrong with me? Oh, my God!” The pain was like nothing I had ever experienced. I could hear the voices of Bethany, Susan, and Dr. Godwin swirling around me.

  “Doctor, he’s puking up blood. Oh my God!”

  “Quick, Susan, help me hold him still. Put your gloves on first. Whatever you do, do not come in contact with his blood or vomit.”

  “I’ve got him. Jacob, it’s me, Susan. Everything’s going to be okay.”

  “Bethany, I need you to come and grab his arms.”

  “I am not getting near that.”

  “Bethany, I have to get a tranquilizer in him before he does serious damage to himself.”

  “Doctor, he’s―”

  “I know Susan. Please, Bethany!”

  “Doctor Godwin, I can’t hold him much longer!”

  “Bethany, just grab his―”

  “Doctor…he’s stopping.”

  The pain ebbed away slowly. This time I could feel remnants of pain and loss would linger for a while.

  “What was that? And why in the hell did you two act as if that man didn’t just vomit blood and play a rousing game of Exorcist Twister on the floor? I want some answers, and I want them now!” Bethany was standing, angry.

  “We don’t know. Honest.” Susan was kneeling by my side to clean the vomit from my face and neck.

  “Susan, no offense, but I’d rather hear this from the horse’s mouth.”

  “As I have already told you, I created a device that held the promise of an efficient, clean, renewable energy source. I discovered a method of splitting atoms in such a way as to maximize their energy potential while minimizing the typical risks such events pose. But something went wrong.”

  “And does that explain what is going on with our friend Jacob?” Bethany was chomping at the bit for answers.

  “I am not completely sure. Which is precisely why we are here, so I can run a battery of tests on Jacob.”

  “And why not you? Or me? Or Susan? What makes us so special?”

  “I cannot speak for you. As for myself and Susan, we were both immunized against such a disaster.”

  “So you knew something could go wrong?”

  “We knew there was a possibility of side effects.”

  “Side effects? Doc…I hate to say…this feels more…like…more…more than side effects.”

  I recovered from my grand mal, and by recovered, I mean that I was still alive and not puking up what remained of my blood. The only problem was that my being alive came with a few, shall I say, downgrades. My head was now randomly, and sometimes violently, jerking to the side. The doc said it was a form of temporary Tourette’s. He gave it a name, but I couldn’t hold the information in my brain.

  The other fun little feature I acquired was really embarrassing. I was now the frustrated owner of a horrible drooling issue, for which the doc had no explanation. I made a really stupid joke that it came about because of the presence of Bethany. I made that crack while a rather long string of drool was attempting to connect my chin with my chest. The joke didn’t go over so well. I apologized to Bethany by telling her it wasn’t really a joke, and she smiled and thanked me. I returned the sentiment by drooling on her shoes. I realized then that I wouldn’t be getting laid any time soon.

  The doctor suggested we all get some rest. I was in complete agreement.

  Chapter 11: To sleep, perchance to dream

  I woke up in the middle of the night. Well, I assumed it was night; I really had no idea. I was covered in sweat and had been jolted awake by possibly the most disturbing dream I had ever had. I was walking down some street―I had no idea where the street was―when there was a flash of light. A naked woman came up to me as if to kiss me, which is exactly what she did. However, as she was kissing me, she bit me hard enough to draw blood. The woman then vanished.

  I started walking again, and as I did, pieces of me started falling off. As each piece fell off, I picked it up and ate it. As I swallowed each piece of myself, they each regenerated. I did this until my lower jaw fell off. Of course, I couldn’t eat my jaw because, well, I no longer had a jaw to chew with. At that point, I was overcome with shocking pain. I couldn’t even scream. The only sound I could produce was a horrific moan.

  That was when I woke up. Fortunately, my jaw was still intact. I was soaked with my own drool, but at least I could chew.

  I opted to not tell anyone of my dream. The last thing these people needed was to think I was losing what was left of my mind. A Mark Twain quote came to mind: “Of all the things I’ve lost, I miss my mind the most.” Fitting?

  With my secret in check, and my jaw intact, I got up to search for a towel to dry the now-cooling sweat. I quickly found the bathroom, though I bumped into several door jambs as I attempted to write while stumbling around in dimly-lit halls. I was somewhat surprised to find a bra and panties laid out on the towel rod to dry. I couldn’t pull my eyes from the shiny fabric of the garments. I reached out to touch them, and as I did, my head did its thing and jerked to the right. The really sorry aspect of that sad moment was I had a nice, long string of drool hanging from my lower lip. The drool was flung from my gaping mouth and splattered on the mirror.

  The metaphor was not lost on me. Nor was it lost on Bethany, who must have silently crept up behind me while my gaze was locked on her finery.

  “They’re my only pair, otherwise you’d be welcome to them,” she said with a cute smile. “Don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone. I get it, people are into all sorts of things. It’s cool.”

  Bethany reached across me and pulled her undies from the rack. All I could do was watch. I didn’t say a word. For some reason, all wit had left the building. I should have grabbed her hand, and said in my best Bruce Campbell, à la Army of Darkness, “Give me some sugar.” But then, I figured the reference would be lost on the bed-head, sexy redhead.

  Or would that be ‘bed-red-head.’ Or maybe ‘red-bed-head’?

  It didn’t really matter. What mattered was that the drooling Tourette’s boy was going back to his sweat-bed alone. No redhead in the…

  I gave up.

  I grabbed a towel and made my way back to bed. During the time I had spent flinging drool in the bathroom, my bed had dried. Unfortunately, the drying process had left behind a fairly rank smell that was the secret love child of teen locker room and old-man sauna. The smell accosted me, violated me, and dropped me to my knees for a sweet round of dry heaves. Fortunately, the heaves stopped long enough for me to write awhile before giving myself over to the Sandman.

  ~

  NOTE: I’m not really sure where this journal is heading. I keep thinking it’s a Pulitzer-bound memoir of the Apocalypse. But then I don’t know if my writing will ever see publication, or even another pair of eyes. But this journal is helping me get through what is easily the biggest tragedy of my life, hell, my generation. Strike that. The worst tragedy in the history of mankind. Hopefully, someday, someone will find these words and learn something from them.

  But then, who knows? Who really fucking knows? And at this moment, I couldn’t really give a rat’s ass. I’m exhausted. There will be plenty of time to hope for the future…after another attempt at sleeping.

  ~

  Chapter 12: Strange bedfellows

  I was never a sleepwalker. Actually, I was quite a sound sleeper who could sleep through anything the streets of New York could throw at me. But something had awa
kened an inexplicable restlessness, and I found myself sleepwalking into Bethany’s sleeping quarters.

  “Jacob, is that you?” Bethany attempted to not allow the fear to seep through in her voice. It didn’t work.

  Whatever was driving me forward drove me right to the bed Bethany was tucked into.

  “Jacob, what are you doing?”

  I didn’t speak a word. For some strange reason, I couldn’t. I was lost in some other place. I could comprehend what was going on, I just couldn’t seem to react to my own actions, or to the words of others.

  “Jacob, stop it. Jacob, you’re scaring me. Jacob!” Bethany lost it and started slapping me across the face.

  “Wh―what’s going on? What am I…? Bethany? What’s wrong? You look scared.” I knew why she was scared, but I didn’t want her to know I knew.

  “Jacob, get out of my bed. Now!”

  “Bethany, did I do something?”

  “It seems you were about to.”

  “About to what?”

  “It―it looked like you were trying to bite me.”

  “No! Oh, my God! How did I get in here? I must have been sleepwalking. I’m sorry, Bethany. I didn’t mean to scare you.”

  Bethany stared at me for a long while. The silence we shared spoke of both apologies and forgiveness. “It’s okay. I don’t feel exactly myself either.”

  Another silence danced between us.

  “Jacob, would you―and don’t take this the wrong way―but you would sleep in here with me tonight?”

  I could have argued with Bethany that I and my condition wouldn’t make for good bedfellows. But, to be perfectly honest, I really needed the warmth of another human. And it was quite nice, just sharing the same air with another, no pretension to get in the way, no concern for sex. It didn’t hurt that I would be sleeping with a beautiful woman. It would do me and my ego a lot of good.

  No pretension.

  The next morning, before Bethany awoke, I sneaked out of her bedroom. I made sure to turn my pillow over so she wouldn’t have to look at the great stain my drooling mouth had created. I slipped silently back to my own, cold, stink-riddled room, my room in a secret underground military installation, created for the purpose of surviving a maniacal, genocidal attack on the human race. What in the hell had the world come to?

  Moaners and screamers. Jesus-fucking-Christ.

  Chapter 13: Testing, round one

  The sounds of knocking assaulted the door to my room.

  “Jacob, time for some tests. I want to get them in early to expedite the results. Testing Room A,” Godwin’s voice greeted me from the other side of the door.

  “You’ve got to be kidding me! God, let me fucking sleep!”

  The doctor must have already moved on and been well out of earshot as there was no response.

  I hated mornings, fucking hated them.

  I pulled myself out of yet another sweat-soaked bed, cleaned up a bit, and made my way to Testing Room A. The room was the stereotypical examination room, with the exception of having a lot more high-tech equipment. I’d seen inside plenty of doctors’ offices, and none of the instruments in this room had ever graced the walls, floors, counters, and cabinets of any standard medical practice. Shit, what had I gotten myself into?

  As I was nosing around some of the tools, I saw a few that I prayed were not to be used on me. Said tools looked more like they belonged in a snuff film than a doctor’s office. Saws, drills, stainless steel hypodermic needles…devices I could only describe as a means to a very painful end.

  Of course, the doctor did say he was only testing, not sawing, carving, piercing, burning, grating, or drilling. So, I was more than likely safe.

  At least for the moment.

  “Here we are, Jacob.” Doctor Godwin’s voice was chipper. And why wouldn’t it be? For this one moment, his life had some semblance of normalcy; there was a patient in need of a doctor. To Lindsay Godwin, that was all the comfort food necessary.

  “How are you feeling today?” He was snapping on rubber gloves. The snapping sound reverberated in my skull a bit too loudly. I felt like nothing more than an experiment.

  “No different, really. Still jerking and drooling.” I wanted there to be some humor in the moment, but when the words stumbled over my soggy lips, I realized just how pathetic and sad the whole situation was. Very little humor in that.

  “You haven’t felt either too warm or too cold? Too cold being the more important indicator.” The doctor asked the question at the precise moment he placed a gigantic tongue depressor in my mouth. I had never understood why they did that. Doctors and dentists. Sick bastards.

  I shook my head as the doc continued to probe my mouth. When the urge to jerk my head bubbled up, I fought it hard. Just as the doctor pulled his rubbery fingers from between my teeth, the urge overpowered me, and my head snapped to the right like an overwound steel spring.

  “I am going to take some blood from you. With fairly high certainty, I can tell you that anything that may be seriously wrong will show up in your blood. Fortunately, I have all of the equipment I need for blood tests.” As Godwin spoke, he tightened a rubbery strap around the base of my bicep. A large dollop of drool dropped from my mouth and landed on the gloved hand of the doctor. Ever the scientist, he grabbed a microscope slide and did a smear of my drool. The man was going to get up close and personal with my bodily fluids. I just hoped it ended with the drool.

  “That should do it.” The doc held aloft a newly filled syringe of my blood. “Once I get started, it should not be long before we have some much-needed answers.” Lindsay smiled and turned with his new prized possession. He was like a child with a new toy; only to him, the gift was in the mystery.

  “So, Doc, is there any way we can monitor what’s happening up there in what’s left of civilization?” The thought occurred to me without warning.

  “Take a look in Room Seventy-seven.” Dr. Godwin was obviously too deeply involved in my blood to discuss the idea further.

  I really had no idea what was driving me to want to know what was happening outside our contained little world. Perhaps secretly I was hoping to open some electric eye and see that everything had miraculously returned to normal. I would have even settled for a quick disappearing act of all moaners and screamers.

  God, I had forgotten about the screamers.

  “Shit!” Another head jerk and drool fling. That new ‘feature’ of mine was quickly becoming quite annoying.

  “Jacob,” Godwin called out from his desk. “There is one more thing I need to check before you go.”

  Hesitantly, I sat back down. I had no idea why I had hesitated. Probably, I just didn’t enjoy feeling like a specimen under a microscope.

  “I can’t believe I haven’t taken a look already, but I want to examine the wound on your cheek.” The doctor walked over to the examination table where I sat. “So you say you fell and landed on a piece of broken glass?” I nodded. “I am going to remove the dressing, if you do not mind.”

  “Are you sure that’s necessary?” I protested, possibly a bit too strongly.

  “I cannot do a thorough exam when gauze is between my eyes and the wound.”

  He had a point, so I relented.

  The doc gently pulled back the gauze. I was afraid the material would be stuck to the remaining gore underneath. Fortunately, it peeled away without so much as a single snag.

  “Oh, that is certainly interesting.” The doctor’s voice had that tone patients hoped to never hear. He might as well have said You have two weeks to live.

  “What is it?” My anxiety was bubbling to the surface. I hoped I could survive this ordeal without resorting to self-medication. I had never been prone to such behavior, but the end of the world brought about odd behaviors in everyone involved…which included yours truly.

  “The flesh around the wound has gone necrotic.” The matter-of-fact tone of the doctor’s voice did not in any way match the verbiage used.

  “Necrotic? As
in dead?” My tone, on the other hand, perfectly matched the severity of the words. I tried to act surprised, but I had already witnessed that firsthand almost immediately after the incident. I should have told him. I should have, but for some odd reason I hadn’t.

  “The very same,” the doctor said as he picked up a long, thin pair of tweezers. “Close your eyes, please.”

  I complied.

  “Can you feel this?”

  I couldn’t. I shook my head.

  “Can you feel this?” That time I felt a tugging sensation on my head, but I couldn’t discern where it was coming from. I told him as much.

  “Open your eyes,” the doctor instructed.

  When I opened my eyes, the doctor was holding the tweezers in front of my face. On the business end of the tool was clamped a small chunk of what looked like rotten, hardened meat.

  “Do you see this?” I nodded. “This was part of your cheek. You could hardly feel me tearing it off. What you should have felt was searing pain. You did not. That obviously concerns me.”

  We stared at one another in silence for far too long. It was almost like some secret information was being passed between us. I could tell, in the moment between two heartbeats, that he knew something, something he wasn’t telling me.

  “You may go now,” Godwin said, using his I enjoy my work way too much tone of voice.

  The sudden dismissal took me by surprise. “Is that all? Do you have any idea what’s going on?” I just had to press the issue. What was worse was that my voice had risen to somewhere between concern and anger.

  “What is going on is that I do not think you were completely honest with how that wound came to be.” The doctor’s eyes bored deadly holes into my soul. He knew. But how? How in the hell did this lunatic scientist know I lied? And even more important, why was it so important?

  I supposed the chunk of cheek that looked surprisingly corpse-like might have been a dead giveaway. It should also have given me pause for concern. It did. And I knew I had to confess the truth…or at least, it seemed I should confess the truth.