Most of us piled out of the room, bombarding Amber with questions, Ben being the only one to stay behind.
"Who is he? Where is he? Is he a zombie?" All blended into a single sound as she stepped back under the assault.
Ben, who had stayed in the break room half asleep, stated loudly, "Tell him we’re doing the dishes, to come back later."
Amber just ignored his comment. "I just saw him for a second," she explained. "I don't even know if he is really a he at all," she said, clarifying her first statement.
We decided to take a peak. The person was at the front door, so we used all possible stealth as we approached the glass entryway. Each of us took a quick peek around the receptionist's desk to assuage our curiosity. The person was, in fact, a woman. Her tan pantsuit was covered with the leftover liquids from her last meal as well as, possibly, from herself.
She was standing at the barred doors looking in as if ready to pass through and enter the building. It was really quite eerie. She did not look intimidating and if we didn't know better, we would have let her in and tried to administer some type of aid.
We knew better. She was definitely undead. If we had let her inside, she would have turned immediately on her would-be assistants. We would have fallen victim to whatever it was that caused her current demise.
As a group, we watched and waited. After what seemed like a good half hour she just as mysteriously turned and walked away. Her shuffling gait left a telltale path of blood, marking her passage.
"That is really interesting," Hank remarked offhandedly.
"What do you mean?" I asked.
"It all seems to fit," he responded in his puzzled, yet clinical, way.
"Fit what?"
"Her response seems to indicate a pattern," he explained. "I have observed this pattern before. I will have to add this to my notes."
"Your notes?" I cried out, grabbing his shirtsleeve. "You have been taking notes?"
"Yes, er... of course. Why wouldn't I?" he stammered.
I couldn't believe it. Was he trying to tell me he was studying the life cycle of these undead? "What do you think you are doing?"
"I am trying to figure out why the undead are really undead. What is causing this outbreak. Why they act the way they do. Survive."
I couldn't believe it. He was actually working during a, as Dean had called it, zombie apocalypse. I knew my husband was obsessive about his work, but I couldn't believe he was this far gone.
"I think I have some valid hypothesis about the cause of the outbreak and why the dead are acting the way they do," he added.
"And?" I asked, prompting him.
"I have nothing concrete, mind you, but it looks very much like some type of parasite is the cause of this whole epidemic," he answered. "I won't know until I have conclusive evidence."
Everyone in the hallway stood shocked, totally silent. We stood staring at him in disbelief; unable to process the mere fact that he had spent this whole time he was fighting for survival studying the creatures. Observing the undead while fighting for his life.
"Are you saying that you think there could be a cure for them?" I asked, thinking of poor Ned.
"Oh, by no means, no," he responded. "They are quite dead, but something is controlling them."
"The news said that it was a virus or maybe cosmic radiation," Dean added, somewhat shocked, himself.
"I assure you, it is no form of radiation," he soothed. "As for a virus, I wouldn't imagine that was possible, either. A virus certainly controls a person, but this is different. A virus might trick you into sneezing, but one wouldn't kill the host as readily as this does unless it benefitted its offspring."
Stunned silence followed his answer. We had no idea where he was going with this train of thought, but we all wanted to hear what he was thinking.
"This seems more like a parasite," he continued. "Although I am not certain why it is choosing to kill its host. I do have good reason to believe that a parasite is gaining control of the human population."
"Why would it do that?" asked Frank from the back of the crowd.
"Many parasites have the ability to control their hosts. They may need the person to be dead in order to gain enough physical control to make them act the way they do."
"Are they trying to take over the world?" Ben asked, voice high and shaking.
"Oh my, no!" Henry assured. "We are the only beings concerned with the world and material goods. They probably just want to assure their existence. I do have a few thoughts on why they need us to be dead, but I am fairly certain why they want to devour us."
No one spoke. We all wanted to hear the answer, but it seemed no one wanted to voice the real question. Luckily, my husband did it for us.
"Humans would be a great source of protein and through biting us, they not only gain vital sustenance, but they can also transfer and possibly propagate their species."
We were all stunned. My husband had us spellbound. He could have told us the parasites were from Mars and we would have lapped up every word of what he was saying.
Amber spoke up hopefully, "Does this mean you can make a cure?"
Henry actually stumbled at this inquiry. He wasn't stumped, or even considering it. I just don't think he wanted to answer it. "It may be a while before there is a vaccine, if a vaccine is ever created! For now, just don't get bit," he answered gravely.
"The news said the CDC was working on a cure." Dean shot back, trying to begin a debate.
"Sure they are. When do you think they assembled the team?" Hank answered calmly.
"What are you saying?" Drew asked suspiciously.
"I just don't believe everything they tell us."
Dean crossed his arms over his chest. "Why not? The government could have choppered them in at the beginning. What could they gain by not leveling with us?"
"Do you remember what the government said when terrorists were using anthrax?"
Dean shrugged at the question.
"They told the public to get plastic drop cloths and duct tape. They suggested that Americans make a sealed safe room," my husband responded. "What do you think that would have done? Nothing. If it were sealed tight enough, it would have suffocated the occupants. It was a placebo. Nothing more."
"You’re kidding me," said Drew, shocked. "I still have eight rolls of the stuff. I'll never go through it all."
"Why did they lie to us?" asked Amber.
"I believe it was so we would feel in control," Henry answered. "That the government had an answer and we were going to be ok."
"So we're going to die?" Frank said to himself. We all felt the same. He only stated what we all were thinking.
"No!" I spoke up in a loud, clear, passionate voice. "We are going to live. I will not lie down and become one of them. I refuse to let those zombies chew on me until I turn. We're going to survive, and maybe even thrive."
The atmosphere changed abruptly. Our group, who had lost hope a moment ago, rallied to my challenge. Hank had been wrong. He shouldn't have divulged what he knew. We were all walking a fine line between survival and just plain giving up. It would have been easy to sit back and drink some Kool-Aid together, to end it all in this world of despair. But I had come too far.
The gathering seemed to break up after that. Some people wandering about the warehouse, while others returned to the lounge. I cornered my husband.
"What are you trying to do?" I asked curtly.
He looked back at me, shocked and clearly not understanding. I ushered him into a dimly lit office.
"You have to give them hope," I explained. "They need something to hold on to. That is why the government told the people to get duct tape and plastic. It may have been a placebo, but it was the best they could do. Would you rather they had given out sugar pills?"
"I can't lie to them," he said in a low voice. Henry seemed almost ashamed. H
e was actually trying to squirm past me to avoid my line of questioning.
Cornering him, I explained, "You don't have to lie, but you also don't have to tell them everything."
His mouth moved, but nothing came out. I know he hadn't considered that. In his career, people shared ideas. He never held things back from me. But this was different. He needed to consider his audience.
I could see that he understood, so I let him past. He quickly disappeared toward the other offices. I left him alone. He deserved a respite.
It's funny. Through the years of our marriage, Henry shied away from the forefront of almost everything. With anything except his career, he had no interest in being a leader. Now, though, Hank was a different person. He was strong, confident, and in control. He was a true leader. I don't know everything that happened on his way to my rescue, but he was now truly heroic. He was my knight in shining armor.
My speech seemed to boost the group's morale, but the time we spent cooped up inside the factory drained the effect daily. Occasionally, what we thought were probably former workers would approach one door or another and make a feeble attempt at entry. The undead would paw at the barred opening; then, after a while, they would just as inexplicably leave.
The third day, I found my husband setting up an office desk in the middle of the loading dock. He had enlisted the help of the men.
"What are you boys doing?" I asked as the men grunted and groaned with the heavy oak furniture.
"Right now, your hubby is trying to give me a hernia," Ben responded as they pushed the desk around to have better light.
"Shouldn't it be a hisnea?" Frank joked good-naturedly.
"I need a place to work," Henry replied, ignoring the comedy routine. "I was trying to use one of the offices, but it was way too dark in there. I was getting eye strain."
"Work?" I shot back, completely taken off guard. "What could you possibly work on?"
He looked a little embarrassed. Head down, he mumbled, "I was in the middle of compiling my notes. They're a mess. Half of them are covered with grime, or worse."
My rage subsided. I actually stood nearly dumbstruck. "And?"
"I came across some things I had nearly forgotten. I firmly believe it's a parasite. I won't be sure until I gain a subject and can get specimens, of course, but from all I have observed, well, it all indicates the presence of a parasitic life form."
"You want to capture a subject? Are you crazy?" I challenged as my rage returned.
He looked shocked this time. "How else will we positively verify my hypotheses?"
"What good would it do?"
"How else could I develop something to stop this?"
He said this as if he was telling me what he wanted for dinner. His tone was calm, if not a little meek.
"A cure?" I asked hopefully.
"No, but maybe something to stop someone from becoming one of them."
We spent the rest of the day trying to devise ways we could block off different sections of the factory. It was Frank's idea. He thought it would be a good idea if we had areas we could secure in the event that we would have to fall back; a contingency plan in the event we are ever overrun.
We took the heavier palettes from the loading dock and piled them up to block off different doorways. The forklifts remained parked beside openings to aid in moving the heavy objects. This way, they could be put in place at a moment’s notice.
We found generators but decided against using them at the present. Just knowing that they were available made us all feel a little more comfortable.
The next day, we divided up into teams and searched the area. Finding nothing threatening outside, we stretched a tarp into a circle, leaving the top open. With one group watching, guns at the ready, we shot a stream of water into the air, only to have it mist down inside the enclosed circle. We had made an outdoor shower. Soap from the bathrooms assisted as we, two at a time, scrubbed the grime from our bodies and clothes.
Amber and I went first. When we finished with the icy shower, our clothes were still soaked, so we decided to exit the enclosure in our wet bras and panties. I was a little shy about it, but after some coaxing, we exited. I quickly saw that I had nothing to worry about. All eyes were on Amber.
I thought Drew was going to pass out. Amber's eyes immediately sought his out and when she found his, she actually flushed a deep red. She strutted right up to Ben and snatched the hose from his shaking hands.
"Next!" she announced.
After a bit of a delay, another group broke off and we repeated the process. I had to seek Hank out. He was busy recopying his notes onto new paper.
"Time for a bath, stinky boy!" I said like I was his mother.
"Aw, Ma! Do I have to?" he answered in a not so convincing, childlike act.
"Everybody else is doing it!" I urged. "You really stink."
Henry set down his pen and reluctantly followed me outdoors.
Joining the others, I took Amber aside and asked, "Do you have a thing for Drew?"
The young woman blushed again and answered, "Does it show?"
I nodded, "Just a bit."
"I have a thing for nerds. He's so cute," she said, staring at the soaked comic book shop owner. The wet Batman shirt left nothing to the imagination. It clung to his obese form in a most unflattering way.
I looked back at the young beauty. Her hair, already dry from the sunshine, lay perfect against her flawless skin.
"Sure," was all I could say in response to her comment. I guess it took all kinds.
After our clothes were dry, we broke down the tarps and put everything back in the truck in the event we had to leave in a hurry. We wanted to stay outside and enjoy the sunny day. Heck, we wanted to have a barbecue, but calmer heads prevailed and we decided to get back out of sight so we didn't draw any attention.
It was early evening and we were all sitting in the lounge, still reveling in the feel of being mostly clean. Jokes were flying back and forth. Then, Dean, who was on duty watching the front door, burst into the darkened room.
"There's a man outside!" he said, words tumbling out as one.
"Just make sure it doesn't get in," Ben answered, waving him off.
"I think he's alive!"
We all leapt to our feet and followed him to our vantage point behind the receptionist's desk.
"I don't see him," Frank squealed, leaning far beyond our hiding place.
"Out there, in the brush line," Dean explained, pulling the lanky fellow back behind cover.
"I see him," Amber agreed. "He's behind the huge oak."
We all turned our attention to the massive tree. There, in the shadows, was what looked like a man. Even from this distance, he looked ragged, clothes mismatched and hanging from his form. He continued along the tree line, headed toward where we parked the fire truck.
"Tell me you locked the storage compartments," I begged Drew. His blank look told me he hadn't. "Let's give him a few minutes and we'll follow the old sot."
When the allotted time had elapsed, the men slipped out the front doors and after we had secured them, Amber and I raced through the factory to the bay doors. We collected Henry on the way.
Putting our ears against one of the metal garage doors, we heard voices, so we opened the enclosure and saw our friends surrounding what could have been an animated corpse.
Covered in dirt, it was wearing mismatched clothes covered in patches. The only thing that gave him away as being living was that he spoke. He slurred words, but we hadn't, at this point, found an undead that could speak.
"I just saw yer water spout and follered it up here," he said through brown teeth.
"What's your name?" I asked.
"I already told them there fellers," he answered. "It's Box Car Bill. Pleased to meet ya, ma’am," he removed his floppy, sweat-stained hat, displaying a mostly bald head fringed with
greasy gray hair.
"Melissa," I answered. "This is Amber and Henry."
We invited him inside. He didn't seem comfortable being indoors. His eyes darted to the high windows and doors. We made a rough circle of chairs near my husband’s work area. We didn't yet know enough about him to bring him any further inside.
We spent the rest of the evening exchanging stories and news with what we later learned was a hobo. Bill lived near the tracks that ran up to the factory. He wasn't always alone. A few days ago, his friend, Jumbo, had gotten attacked by a group of townspeople. He had fought them off and escaped but was badly injured. Bill explained that this wasn't strange behavior toward his kind, so he'd thought nothing of it.
Jumbo had gotten worse. He couldn't eat and his skin became really pale.
"He was my only friend," Bill explained, tears running down his cheeks.
"Is that when you got bit?" Henry asked in a clinical voice.
Our entire group’s eyes collectively widened in alarm.
Bill didn't miss a beat. "He was really sick. I went to put some more wood on the fire. My back was only turned fer a few minutes. That's when he chomped down on my leg."
Bill bent over and pulled up his right pant leg. It was then that I noticed the large stain. His pants were so many colors that it was hard to make out at first.
A dirty handkerchief bound an angry red wound. Black veins surrounded the immediate area of the injury.
"May I examine it?" Henry asked gently.
"Sure. You a Doc?"
"Yes," Hank assured him. “Dean, can you get the flashlight from my bag?
As Dean rummaged through the duffel, Henry tenderly helped the old man onto the desk. He pushed small piles of papers to one side, clearing a spot for Bill to sit. Ignoring the leg, Hank had the gentleman remove his coat. The stench was nearly unbearable from where I was, but my husband didn't even blink. He produced a pair of rubber gloves from a drawer and, after pulling them on with practiced hands, felt Bill's glands at his jaw, under his ears.
The rest of us left, except for Dean. We wanted to give them some privacy. Our group retreated to the lounge in a melancholy mood. No one spoke. The only thing that brightened my mood was when I saw Amber, who was sitting on the couch with Drew, take his hand in hers.
A short while later, Henry appeared at the door. He slumped down in a chair next to me and hung his head.
"Well?" Frank asked from his reclined position on the couch. He looked quite comical, his long form on the diminutive sofa.
"I believe he is infected," he answered in a whisper. "What troubles me is that he hasn't turned yet."
"What should we do with him?" Drew asked, hand reaching for his shotgun.
"Dean is watching him. We made a bed for him and he went right to sleep."
Frank sat up. "Should we… you know?"
"Kill him?" Henry finished the thought. "At some point, I believe we will have to. But not quite yet."
"We can't just let him live here with us!" Frank shot back.
"We need to study his progression."
"I say we end it now!" Frank encouraged, rising to his feet.
"Go ahead, Frank!" Henry dared harshly. "March right in there and kill him now, in cold blood! Can you do that? Huh?"
The room fell silent. "Or maybe you want to turn him out; let him die outside. Then he can attack us at some point when we're not aware." There was a long pause. My husband sat calmly, waiting for someone to act. When nothing happened, he continued, "I didn't think so. I think it's best if we keep him here, in a controlled environment. We can study the progress of this... disease, for lack of a better term. Then, maybe we can have some answers."
"Is he contagious?" Amber sheepishly asked, as if afraid to incur Henry's wrath.
"By his proximity, I don't believe so. I think it is passed on through an exchange of fluids. But I have no conclusive proof."
We spent the next day on edge. Two people watched Bill at all times. My husband rarely left the room. He found some sterile Pyrex test tubes in the nurse's quarters and a few unused syringes. With these he took samples; puss, blood, and spittle. Each one, he meticulously labeled.
"I need to get to a lab!" he said. "Without the proper equipment, these samples are useless. I can't even refrigerate them. I don't know if they will be any good."
"The closest lab is at the university," I said, stating the obvious.
"I know," he said sullenly. "I just can't figure out why he hasn't changed yet."
I was looking over his notes. "His breath smelled like alcohol."
"Yes," he answered. "He said he was drinking squeeze. I believe it is some type of drink made from Sterno."
I gave him a weird look. "That's funny. My boss, Thaddeus, got drunk when he was bitten. He didn't become one of them for a long time."
Hank grabbed both of my shoulders roughly. "How long did it take?"
"More than a day."
"Why didn't you tell me sooner?" His hands loosened their tight grip somewhat.
"I didn't think it was important." He dropped heavily into his chair. It squeaked under his weight. "I am such a fool!"
"Why," I asked, free of his grip. "What's wrong?"
He sat in silence for a moment, letting the full impact of my words hit him.
"I didn't interview each of you. I was only working from my accounts of the outbreak. Everything happened so fast. I just didn't think of it."
Henry spent the remainder of the day interviewing and, at some points, interrogating us. He only took the occasional break to examine Bill. The line of specimens grew as his patient slipped away. In the late afternoon, the guys bound the unconscious man with duct tape, securing him so he wouldn't be able to move much at all.
Later that night, Bill passed away. The corpse became a struggling, animated copy of his former self. Before Hank and Dean dispatched him, my husband extracted some final specimens. Only Drew remained present, to help if anything went wrong. In a far corner of the loading dock, they put the undead hobo to rest. A single gunshot signaled his demise.
Chapter 26
Henry