Zombie Waltz (Book 1) Page 5

  “It seems that you are pleased then?” I say with an annoyed inflection in my voice.

  “It is a good sign; in fact I think that it is healin g faster than your other wounds.” She says. Her teeth are delicate and white –almost perfect- except that one of the ones just to the side of her incisors is turned slightly. It gives it a sharp dangerous look. Her smile is beautiful but obviously unsure as it quickly wavers and her lips close over her teeth. Again her look changes, morphing back to the caring physician as she takes a final clean wet-nap and wipes around the egg on my forehead.

  Afterwards she looks back into my eyes smiling, not with a beaming toothy grin, as before. It is different, still a beautiful smile, but it’s meeker and seems forced. “Is something wrong, Faith?” I decide to try.

  “What is your name?”

  “It's Les.”

  “Oh, that is a nice name.”

  “Leslie Monroe, but you can just call me Les.”

  “So that makes us Faithless. Perfect.” She says and laughs. “You know in the Hollywood couple’s sort of way?”

  I don’t think the joke was that funny at all, but her laugh is and I join her. She finishes looking over my wounds cracking big grins and giggling a bit but once she’s finished she breaks out laughing again. We laugh together. It hurts too, but not as bad as not doing so.

  She has a funny laugh, but it is also cute; it is pure and contracted with gasping little hiccups. At least it is not nasally shrill or hideous in any of a thousand other possible ways. I stop laughing first, because the pills she gave me are kicking in. I lie back dreamily staring at her. When she notices, she stifles another laugh and then yawns big and slow.

  “That just won’t do; we should get nicknames.” She says, positively beaming although her eyes are nearly closed.

  “You are exhausted, why don't you get some sleep? Have you even slept in the last...how long was I out, again?” I ask with my best and hopefully most charming smile; though I realize that there’s no way I could be attractive and probably just look ridiculous. I am glad there isn't a mirror in here anymore. I’m glad I am a painter and not a model.

  “You were out for almost three days.” She says her eyes growing more closed by the second, like the remaining moments of a rapidly setting sun. “I’ve been going on adrenaline mostly; I’ve been so wired that I don’t think I could’ve slept…without a sedative anyway. But…I think…I could risk it now.”

  With that she walks back around my bed and over to the glider by the closet. She sits and digs out a small orange and brown crocheted blanket and drapes it over her. She looks back at me with tired eyes, and a very sad look on her face. “I need to tell you about that wound on your head. The bump?” She gestures at her forehead, indicating the gross goose egg on my forehead.

  “What do you mean?”

  The look on her face only hardens. Angry, she looks formidable even dangerous- so I wipe the grin from my face. “I did that to you.” She points at my head this time. “I mean I was so angry...” Her eyes well up with tears, “When you fell I ran at you screaming my stupid head off. I have no idea why. But I kicked you in the chest so hard I hurt my foot. Then I took...I took…” She breaks down and wails for a while. I sit on my bed upright, stoic, taking in the things she said. I don't feel angry; I feel depressed, lonely and just sad for her.

  She compo ses herself then finishes, “I took the butt of this shotgun and...” she lightly caresses the barrel of the gun leaning against the wall next to where the closet door used to hang, “…smashed it into your forehead.” She breaks down again for a moment but talks loudly through the tears. “That is probably the biggest reason why you have been out for three days. I had to have given you a bad concussion. I am so sorry.”

  “You need to sleep. You haven't slept at all have you?” I say with a reprimanding paternal tone, and I have no idea where it came from.

  “A few cat naps here and there. This rocker is really the only usable furniture I could get in here besides your bed. I used most of your blankets to get rid of the body, and all of your towels to wipe up the blood, even the pillow cases and dish rags. You should have seen the pile of blood-stained glass that I had to get rid of. I don't sleep well sitting up anyway, but it is okay.”

  “That’s nonsense, I’ll switch you and…I don’t know… keep watch for a while or something. I’m not really tired.” I try to get up too quick, and fall back gritting my teeth.

  “No, you need it more than me. Please…you need to rest for your strength.” She argues.

  “Well, there is an alternative...” I trail off. I don't think she will go for it. But let no one tell that I was not a brave fool for trying anyway. “Do you want to share it? The bed I mean.”

  “No. I couldn’t.” She says throwing the quilt off. She gets up and walks over to the dresser.

  Faith blows out all of the candles then walks back to her chair and retrieves her blanket. I can still see her. She sits demurely in the dark and covers herself with the blanket and kicks off. The chair rocks in a slow slight drift. I close my eyes.

  Suddenly a disturbing thought occurs to me. I open my eyes and look towards Faith. “Don’t people that are bitten die from it?” I ask. It’s quiet for a while. I shut my eyes thinking surely she’s sleeping.

  “Yes, but I don’t think it is all that simple. Most of the people I’ve seen died from injuries and blood loss.” She responds.

  “I don’t know. What if I turn into one of them? I don’t know if you’re safe with me.”

  “I think you’re going to be fine, as long as we stay away from any more of them.”

  “But what if I…”

  “I don’t think it’s going to happen.”

  “How can you know that? What if I change in my sleep? What if I attack you?”

  “I’m prepared!” She says with finality, and just a little loud.

  I don’t respond.

  “I don’t think you will. I thought you were going to die at first. You were close for a while. Had we been at the hospital they would have induced a coma to do all the things I had to do to you. I just kept pumping medicine into you. Slowly, you started to look better.”

  “So, I’m healed?”

  “You’re healing. You need time to get well. If you rest, you should fully recover from your wounds.”

  I look around at the pathetic little room, “What was it like while I was unconscious? Boring probably.”

  “It was strange. You talked in your sleep.”

  “What did I say?”

  She’s quiet again for a moment then says, “Mostly, it was just babble. I don’t really know.”

  We don’t talk any more. Eventually, I drift off again.

  Chapter 2: A Fine House Indeed

  Crashing thunder wakes me. It’s still dark; pitch black, except where a sliver of moonlight penetrates the crevice between the mattress and the hole in the wall. Faith stirs in the glider. I look over and though I can’t quite tell, I think her eyes are wide open.

  Another thunderous crash booms outside. I sit upright. I am disoriented. At first thinking the thunder is from my dreams, but Faith stares hard at the barricade of mattress and dresser.

  She slides out of her chair and grabs her shotgun. She slams the heavy wooden bedroom door shut and leans against it. My pulse quickens when I hear more terrible sounds all around the bedroom. Some of the sounds might be coming from inside the house too. There is a crash of glass in the distance. Then the thunder hits us.

  The dresser lurches. I can hear a noise coming from outside, an odd noise maybe gurgling and scratching mixed together, which does not sound like anything natural.

  Faith sneaks around the corner of the bed and presses her small frame against the dresser’s side mumbling, “Not again” and as if on cue the dresser moves. This isn’t the first time she’s had to defend this room.

  The dresser inches backwards. The sound of it scraping across the wood floor is terrible. Three arms emerge fro
m the side of the mattress. All the limbs have to belong to different people because they are all the same arm; lefts. I can’t help but think of a haunted house staring at those arms. Whoever’s shoving them through is pressed up against each other.

  Faith slides across the floor towards the clos et, “I don’t know what’s attracting them.” She says shoving back on the dresser with all of her might. “This hole is a problem. If they get in then we will need to get out quick. In that case, we’re probably screwed…with the condition you are in.” She looks oddly at me for a moment and then adds, “No offense…”

  “None taken…” I whisper back at her , not certain if she even hears it. If so she doesn’t take much time to consider it before she continues.

  “I just mean there’s no way you can run and this gun only shoots one at a time. Maybe I can hold them back though.” There is another violent spasm and the dresser slides a few inches making that same hideous screeching. “Shit! But I don’t know for how long.”

  She puts both her feet against the foot-board of the bed and pushes until I can see a vein throbbing in her forehead. It’s no good, they will get through. I know I won't be much help to push them back either. I am still sore all over my body and it hurts to even move a little, but I feel like I have to do something. Faith continues sliding back as the mattress swells out of the hole as if it were the chest of some monster expanding as it draws breath. If they get in here then we’re cooked.

  “Hell No You Mother Fuckers!” I scream. That’s it the gloves are off.

  I push up from the bed, and it hurts. Registering the pain with a message saying, ‘Hey buddy you can do that now, but you are going to be punished when this is all over.’ I stand in the space next to the wall, wobble and lean on the bed to stabilize myself while my aching legs accept my weight. I lumber to the mattress and put my hands on my hips a moment staring at the wriggling insanity and nonsensical flailing arms. I can see Faith’s face out of the corner of my eye. Eyes wide in panic.

  My mind runs away in the scene for a moment. I see them come through and grab Faith; blood-soaked mouths gaping. Their ugly and broken brown-stained teeth sinking into her perfect skin. The rage boils over. AND what if I had turned while she was waiting for me to wake or die? It is terrible to do, but I can’t help but play the same movie in my head again: In this one she is still getting attacked only by me in the starring role of MONSTER. Hopefully she shoots me without thinking about it first…if that happens.

  Fear, at least perfectly rational fear for my own safety, is gone. My muscles feel like shredded cheese but the adrenaline pumping through me won’t let me slow down.

  I snap out of it and grab onto one of the arms with both hands; a girl’s arm. I really don't know what I am going to do, but I need to take some of the pressure off of Faith. I look directly at her for a moment with the struggling arm in my hands. Then I close my eyes and pull with all my might.

  My bicep burns in the fire. I ignore it, not daring to release my grip. “Wait...wait...no don't!” Faith shouts.

  The girl slides through the crack. Her head, shoulders, and arms are torn open from the glass and other sharp edges of the barricade as I pull. She ignores it all, flinging around and wildly snapping at me. She is wearing a white and blue cheerleader’s uniform with an anchor on the front and big gold initials: S. H. S.

  I stop pulling but do not let go of her arm.

  Faith shouts again, “Let her go! Don’t! She will bite!”

  Ignoring her warning I maneuver around the girl ’s flailing body and snapping jaws trying to avoid getting my hands close to her mouth. The rage still runs through me, forgiving my every prejudice, every bit of humanity I thought I had, and forcing me to let it out before it erupts. I roar at the former cheerleader whose face, gray and stained with old dried blood, is pretty much intact.

  I have no weapons; for a moment I don't know what I am going to do. The cheerleader wrenches even more furiously and starts to emerge further through the crack pushed from behind.

  I angle my head at the center of her face, whip it forward, burying her nose into her face with my brow. I must have hit her just right. It doesn't even hurt a little, but makes the sound of a hammer driving a nail into a board.

  Her writhing stops as she goes limp in my grasp with her mouth opened in a tragic O. It makes her look like she is very surprised. It’s almost funny. The pounding continues behind her. The other arms that have come through the crack continue to swipe and grab. They push on her; smashing her into the crack, but the pressure comes off. Faith stops pushing on the dresser and sits back.

  I let go of the limp wrist and climb slowly over the bed; the adrenaline subsiding. I move to the opposite wall by the closet behind Faith. She looks back, “Sit in the glider.” She says, sitting cross-legged on the floor with the shotgun aimed at the shuddering breathing mattress. She does not move; not even a blink of the eye.

  A high pitched scream from somewhere not far away catches our attention. The other arms retreat one by one. All at once, the mattress stops moving and I can hear the thunder of their feet as they stampede off after a possible victim. There had to be a lot of them out there; maybe twenty or so if I had to guess. But now they are all gone. That just leaves the three of us; Faith, me, and the horrible smelling, blood puking dead cheerleader who has been smashed into the wall. This house is a fine house indeed. “We need to get the hell out of here!”

  Faith stands watching the barricade. I sit as blood drops off my forehead from what sprayed out of the cheerleader’s nose. Blood pours from the dead girl's mouth and nose onto the floor. Already it is starting to turn black.

  “We can’t leave now. You need rest to regain your strength. It will take time for these wounds to heal. You are still very weak; also you could injure yourself further. It is terrible out there…you know.” She says then adds, “I don’t mean to be so bossy. I just want you to heal. We are going to need you healthy. Trust me.” With her shotgun slung toward the barricade she has a look about her that makes me know it’s true. It’s silent while we wait staring at the monstrous blockade that was once the wall of my room.

  “Well we can’t stay here much longer anyway. The walls are coming down; not to mention the smell.” I say.

  “No, you’re right; we can’t sta y here forever not even for very long. It’s just that I want you to rest as long as possible…as long as possible.” She repeats. “Besides, what if a rescue is coming…I mean…I know that it’s probably not, but what if this is isolated? Someone could come and save us…get you to a real hospital. We could be rescued and taken back to a place that is…like it used to be. We should stay put don’t you think? Wait?”

  Rather than answer her I get back into bed and lie down. It is still very dark; the middle of the night. I want to go back to sleep and not think of any of this anymore. The sleep wants to return but I hold out, “It might be safer if you lay beside me. I won’t touch you. I promise.”

  Faith comes over to the bed, leans the shotgun in the corner and sits next to me. “Okay…I will. You’re probably right. If we need to get out I may need to help you and it would be good if the gun was close to us both. But please…” She pauses and turns towards me. I can see her eyes in the moonlight. “…don’t touch me.”

  Exit

  It is approximately one minute later when the dresser slides across the floor, away from the mattress. The mattress falls in leaving the hole gaping open. A thin older looking man with all the skin ripped from his lower jaw steps through and over the body of the dead cheerleader. More follow. Faith grabs the shotgun and rolls over me to land on the other side of the bed. I sit up and gingerly slide my legs off on the same side she is on. My legs still burn, but I run past Faith in the fastest shambling sprint possible.

  Just as I do, the man grabs for me. Faith swings the shotgun around and smashes the stock into his fleshless jaw. Two others move around the edge of the bed. They are both larger women with totally ruined blackened faces
that must have been burnt recently because smoke still rises from the singed ruin of their bald heads. Their arms outstretched and their jaws hung open. But something looks even more wrong. Their eyes are burnt out; their ears are burnt to nubs. They both look like 8-balls now as if their heads were both just blackened skin drawn over a laughing skull. Even so they move and seek us. That is what is so wrong with them. They have no eyes but they see...

  We exit the room.

  Faith slams the door behind us and then she helps me to my sectional couch and we both duck behind it as the first thumps hit the closed door. THUMP “Did you see them? Those ladies; like someone burnt their faces off.” THUMP

  “I…did…I saw.” She answers. THUMP

  “How can they…” I start but realize that what I am going to say is pointless. Because how can they do any of this? This is all impossible and happening all the same.

  They never get through the door. It’s pretty heavy and they don’t have the brains between them to turn a doorknob apparently.

  We sit silently staring at the door, too rattled to attempt to lie down or sleep. Thump THUMP THUMP THUMP THUMP THUMP THUMP

  Fortifications

  In the night as we slept, the zombies in my room must have gotten distracted and left. They didn’t really mess anything up. Just pounded on the door for hours and then strolled back out the way they came in.

  After we drug the mattress off of my bed and laid it on the floor in front of the couch, I took a moment to marvel at all Faith has done to fortify us in here. All of the windows in the living room and kitchen have been boarded up. My roommates’ door has been nailed shut and the kitchen door has the stove and kitchen table stacked in front of it.

  We got all of the other stuff we wanted from my room. I got a few spare tee shirts out of the closet, changed pants, and Faith pulled one of my tee shirts over her dress. We took the candles from the dresser and the TV tray to sit them on.