Z Children (Book 1): Awakening (6 page)

“I’ll see if
there’s an attendant.”

“I can go.”

“You can hardly
walk right now, Dad.”

“Hey, I got one
good leg.”

I rolled my eyes
at him. He wasn’t taking getting old very well. He’d always been so active.
“Well, use that one good leg to pump the gas and I’ll be right back.” I walked
toward the small building; large window stickers advertised slushies, candy and
lottery tickets. Tiny decals on the door showed the accepted forms of payment.
They took credit cards, which was good, since I only had ten dollars and some
change in cash, not enough money to fill up the Volvo.

My hand gripped
the long steel handle and pushed hard, expecting the door to open. I frowned,
pushing harder…until I saw the word ‘pull’ written in large red letters. Great.
I’m sure I looked like an idiot to whoever was in the store. Wearing an
expression of chagrin, I pulled the door open and walked in.

At first glance,
there didn’t seem to be anyone in the store. A melted, ten-pound bag of ice was
leaking out onto the floor to my left. “Hello?” No one responded, but I heard a
rustling over near the soda machine. I headed in that direction, first glancing
out the window. My dad was standing by the car, the nozzle already in Bessie,
filling the old girl up. Behind that scene, across the street, were a few
buildings. I hadn’t scanned those before pulling into the station.

The name of the
central building was
Sunny Valley Daycare
. I stiffened, realizing I’d
put my family yards away from a potential Z child hive. “Hello?” I said in
earnest. I was turning the corner around a potato chip display. I found the
store worker, but even if he had wanted to respond to my ‘hellos,’ he couldn’t
have.

He was splayed
out on the ground, his nametag askew on the gray lapel of his shirt. The name
Clark was nearly obscured by blood. The lower half of his face—chin, lip and
jaw—were missing. An assortment of candy wrappers littered the floor around his
body, their shiny wrappings looking odd against his still-red blood. Perched on
his thighs, was a girl. Her right hand clutched an open, half-eaten,
peanut-covered caramel bar coated in blood. Her left hand was wrist-deep in the
man’s stomach, rooting around like a hog’s snout searching for truffles in the
ground.

Her hair was
dark brown with sun-yellowed highlights. I thought I saw bright blue eyes, but
it was hard to tell beneath the milky film that marked the infected. She must
have heard my voice; she must know I was here, but she was too focused on her
task. I tried to back away quietly. Her nostrils flared and she made small
sniffing sounds, but still she did not look at me.

The Z child’s
void face suddenly gave a small jerk, her lips almost pulling up in
satisfaction as her hand extracted a large wet chunk. It looked like the liver,
but I wasn’t sure. I didn’t want to be sure. I backed away a little quicker,
trying to round the corner toward the exit without taking my eyes off the girl.
My angle was wrong.

My body hit the
chip display and it toppled over. I fell with it, landing awkwardly against the
metal stand. The girl’s head jerked up, the loud sound enough to pull her attention
in my direction. Like a wild animal, she crawled up the dead attendant’s body,
her gaze fixed on me with determination. A thin drop of drool left the corner
of her mouth and traveled down her face to hang from her chin. After a moment,
it released its hold on her skin and fell toward the tile floor. The mucous
glistened grossly on the dirty tan surface.

I scrambled,
working my way quickly to a standing position. The Z girl was so close to me,
still moving on all fours. I lifted the display, which was surprisingly light,
and threw it at her. It hit her right shoulder, but she continued moving as if
nothing had happened.
They don’t feel pain, idiot. Just run!

And I did. I
made for the door like an Olympic sprinter, glad that this time I could just push
through and shove the door closed behind me. There was no way to lock it though
and nothing nearby to use as a barricade. I firmly pushed my back against the
door, planting my shoes about two feet in front of me and leaning
backwards. My knees locked solidly, giving me the maximum force to keep the
door shut against danger.

“What’s wrong?”
My dad’s voice carried toward me, slightly alarmed. “Were you able to pay?”
He’d just finished pumping and was screwing the gas cap back on.

My eyes
frantically met my Dad’s and I shrieked as the door pushed partially open,
despite my resolute posture. I reacted quickly, slamming my body harder into
the door to re-close it. The infected girl was trying to get to me, to the
fresh meat.

“Suz! What’s
wrong?” my dad called again, his voice more frantic. His eyes widened and I
knew he’d seen the monster kid I was keeping at bay. “Oh my god…Suz!”

“Get the car
started!” I yelled. “I have to make a run for it.”

In seconds, my
dad was in Bessie with the engine running. I was about to relinquish my post
and make a dash when my eyes were drawn upward, past the car and across the
street. The daycare door was now open and children were spilling out, falling
over one another in their zeal to exit. At first, I thought they were normal,
uninfected. Then I saw the grown adult emerging into the sun, her auburn hair
bright against the black blood oozing from a gaping head wound. Her green dress
was ripped in a dozen places, her body covered in small teeth marks.

My dad’s head
turned to look at what held my gaze; my expression must have betrayed my fear.
The door moved under my hold again; that pulled me out of the trance caused by
a dozen Z children coming in our direction. The rabid girl trapped in the
convenience store was actually moving away, back toward the soda machines. Her
right hand opened, letting the empty caramel bar wrapper fall to the floor. The
door’s glass was smeared with black blood and bits of candy. Such a strange
combination.

The daycare
children were halfway across the street and Bessie was moving, my dad swinging
the vehicle around the pumps and toward my position. It wasn’t a far distance.
I closed my eyes for a second, took a deep breath and ran. When I got to the
car, I yanked on the passenger door, but it wouldn’t open. The doors had
automatically locked when the car had started moving.

I slammed my
palm against the window. “Unlock the door!” I screamed.

When the lock
shot upward, I wrenched the door open. The children from across the street were
mere feet away. I sat down quickly, kicking out at a boy that was reaching for
my door. I missed and his hand gripped the frame, his fingers wrapping inward.
I grabbed the door handle and pulled; the boy was yanked forward and as the
door slammed shut, his fingers severed, falling one by one and rolling across
the carpet to settle next to my feet. My heart was racing wildly. Sophia and
Marcel were awake, their mouths hanging open, tears streaming down their faces.

I don’t know
why, but my dad drove slowly down the street and through the mass of Z
children. Maybe it was their appearance; they were still so small. Maybe he
just couldn’t fathom running over any ‘person.’ At this point, I thought I
could. The infected adult was still in the daycare parking lot, walking in circles,
her shoulders slumped, her lips moving as if she were trying to say something.

We made it to
Corpus on that tank of gas. It was a larger city and the streets were littered
with the infected. We stayed on the outskirts, on our way to Padre Island where
the
Nancy-Grace
was docked. I could only imagine what the inner city
looked like.

How had it come
to this? Just this morning…just yesterday, the world had been normal. Now, the
Z children were taking over, attacking and infecting with every nibble.

Sea Ranch Marina
was deserted. We took everything in Bessie to the
Nancy-Grace
in one
trip and my dad made short work of getting us out of port. The boat’s living
area was decorated with dozens of pictures of my mom. I loved seeing her face;
after the day we’d just had, I needed that image in my mind. In one of the
pictures, my mom was smiling softly, her hairless head covered in a pale pink
bandana.

***

We were standing
on deck now and everything seemed like a fleeting dream as the boat cleaved
through the water and away from land.

I thought about
our hasty escape and all the stuff left behind.

I looked at my
children and realized that things could be replaced, stuff didn’t matter.

 Marcel was
smiling and standing next to my dad. Sophia was staring at the water, her mouth
a straight line. Her face was flushed and she looked tired. I thought back to
the black blood on her face and a lightning bolt of worry shot through me, but
then she smiled a sad smile, her gaze still focused on the navy blue wetness,
and the worry melted.

I walked toward
my daughter, ready to offer comfort. But, in the end, my daughter comforted me.
All I needed was her small hand in mine to settle my soul. We sat quietly,
looking out onto the water and admiring the sun as it sank closer to the wet
horizon. Everything was so momentarily peaceful that I startled violently at
the sound of my cell phone ringing in the pocket of my jeans. I’d just turned
the darn thing back on to see if Sherry had called; I’d had it off forever,
trying to conserve the little battery life I had left.

Eyes wide, I dug
out the phone and stared at the caller ID. It was a Texas area code, but the
number wasn’t in my address book. Not wanting to hope, I pressed the small green
answer icon, held the cell to my face and whispered uncertainly. As I spoke, I
heard my phone ping in warning. The battery was dangerously low.

“Sherry?”

2

SHERRY LELAND

The day had started normal
enough.

Make coffee. Pour
coffee into a thermos- the black, thick sludge smelling like charcoal and
chocolate. Skip breakfast and head into work. I was a little on the heavy side
and always employed the backwards wisdom that a skipped meal equaled a smaller
waist. Given my feast-and-famine metabolism, this mentality was especially
counterproductive.

My stomach
rumbled on the way to work while my bright yellow Neon puttered down the
streets in all its underpowered, four-cylinder glory. I’d once called it daisy;
now I called it a POS.

“Hush, you.” I
patted my stomach when it grumbled again loudly for food. I’d break my
faux-fast and suck down a nasty chocolate protein shake from the mini-fridge in
my office as soon as I got to the shop. Not that those things really helped you
lose weight, despite the obvious names.
Slim Up: waist-shrinking vitamins
and 15 grams of lean protein that will satisfy your hunger!
It’s like fat
chick propaganda- ‘drink me, lose weight.’ Who needs exercise when you can sit
on your duff drinking your way to skinny? That kind of shit never worked. If it
did, I wouldn’t have a closet full of equipment and gimmicks. No one ever went
in that closet… I called it the diet graveyard, where dreams of skinny go to
die. Queen of self-deprecation. Welcome to my castle.

The boutique
windows smiled cheerily at me, decorated for fall with grinning scarecrows
dressed in warm jackets and plaid berets, funny pumpkins with long cornstalk
legs donning fashionable kiddie kicks and one, very comical, felt turkey. I was
quite pleased with the way it had turned out. I loved fall, in all its glory.
Of course, I also lived in a small condo and never had to worry about falling
leaves and lawn maintenance.

As I turned the
key in the lock and pushed open the mostly-glass door of my shop, I was greeted
by the soft jangle of bells and, as if on command, my eyes read the scripted
words across the upper surface of the door- Baby Bliss, for all your newborn
and infant needs. And, just like every other morning, I realized that I needed
to modify the name and slogan. I’d been carrying toddler and big kid clothes
for a long time now. The name-change was always something I put off. I’ll do it
tomorrow. Mostly, I hadn’t changed the name because I liked the familiar.
Everyone in town knew Baby Bliss and what it carried. It just didn’t seem that
important. Not really.

What I should be
concentrating on was…
my stomach; my body interrupted my brain, rumbling madly and urging me fully
into the store and back towards my office. All I could think of now was
chugging down a full can of the slightly-gritty chocolate shake that would shut
my stomach up.

I had about a
half hour before officially opening, but I didn’t bother locking the door
again. Sometimes people showed up a tad early, trying to make a quick purchase
before their own nine to five shifts began. I didn’t mind. Above and beyond to
make a sale, that’s what you had to do when you owned a small business. I’d
just have to quickly swipe away the cocoa milk-stache from my upper lip before
putting on my ‘welcome’ smile and ringing up whatever purchase was too
important to wait until the customer’s lunch break.

Kicking off my
kitten heels, I grabbed a cold can of Slim Up and sat down in my old tufted
chair. It had been my father’s and the cushioning had worn thin enough to make
my butt rely on its own fat padding to be comfortable. If I shifted just so
though, I’d feel the hard outline of a spring press against my right or left
ass cheek. The sensation (as uncomfortable as it was) always made me smile,
made me think of my dad, and the whopper spankings I’d get for sitting in this
chair as a little kid. I’d spin around and around until I was mad dizzy,
tumbling to the floor- the chair almost always falling with me.

My dad was normally
a calm man, caring and loving. But when he’d first purchased the chair, it had
been the most expensive thing in our little trailer on the outskirts of town.
He didn’t take too kindly to me playing spin-the-child in it… especially when
I’d make myself so sick with silly that I’d toss up dinner on the burnt orange,
shag carpet.

Slurping down
the only-mildly-satisfying drink, I dug my cell out of my oversized hobo bag
and started texting one of my closest friends, Susan. I was having one of those
‘friend-tuitions’ I got ever so often, the one that nudged at my brain and
center-belly until I picked up some mode of contact and sent out a quick
‘how’re ya doing?’ message.

I was nearly
done typing, when I heard the front door bell jingle.

“I’ll be right
up!” I called loudly, dropping my phone on my desk reflexively and quickly
drinking the last dregs of chocolate diet drink. I crumpled the empty can and
dropped it into the wastebasket on my way out of my office. I gave the trash a
forlorn look… if only they made those cans twice as big with half the calories.
Then, maybe my belly would feel slightly satisfied instead of still-hollow and
sloshing uncomfortably.

Coming into the
merchandise area, my eyes found Deb Vincent and her eight year old fraternal twin
son, Marty. The boy’s shirt was covered in foamy vomit. I could make out little
chunks in the fluid… cereal fragments maybe?

“Sorry to stop
in before opening, but Mart got sick on the way to school and I don’t have time
to rush home for clothes. He says he feels okay now, thank goodness. I’m all
out of leave from work and can’t afford to take time without pay. We’re all
going to be late no matter what.” Deb sucked in a breath and I opened my mouth
to speak, but before I could, she started rambling again. “Izzy threw a fit,
because I was supposed to have her at school even earlier today for her field
trip to the sheriff’s station. It’s dumb to plan a school trip before school
even starts!”

Deb looked
exhausted, rubbing at her eyes roughly and making the dark purple half-moons
beneath them worse.

“It’s no—” Two
words. I’d been able to speak two words before Deb had interrupted me. The
woman was always a talker, but this was ridiculous.

“I’ve got Sam
and Izzy in the car with a movie on. She’s not feeling well either, which has
made her even more irritable over missing her field trip. I just don’t get why
they got sick this morning. We just had our yearly checkups yesterday and they
were fine last night. Izzy got several shots and sometimes those make her feel
poorly, but Sam and Mart weren’t due any this year.” The woman sighed heavily
and I could tell she was sorely in need of a nap.

“It’s no
problem, Deb. Grab a cup of coffee and sort through the racks. One shirt on the
house today.”

“Thanks, Sherry.
I’m sorry for rattling off like a lunatic. I love being a mother, but
sometimes…” Her voice trailed off, but her face said it all.

I nodded. “I
wouldn’t know from experience, but I imagine it can be a challenge at times.”

“A challenge,”
Deb scoffed. “Understatement of the century. Try having the flu while all three
of your kids have the flu and your husband is away at a convention.” She turned
away from me then and I nearly sighed in relief. Deb’s voice was both
high-pitched and nasal, a particularly grating combination.

 I turned
my attention to the little boy, who was smiling (sort of), but still appeared a
bit green around the gills. “Let’s get you washed up and out of that shirt.
Okay?” Marty nodded at me and took my hand when I reached for his. He walked
with me toward the small bathroom reserved for customers and Deb began riffling
through the rack of boy’s shirts.

As I removed it
to keep vomit from getting in his hair, I thought he was going to be sick
again. I couldn’t blame him; the throw-up on his shirt smelled terrible… sour
milk and too-sweet cereal mixed with acidic bile. Marty’s cheeks puffed out and
his nostrils flared. I could see the panic in his face.

“Marty, do you
need to throw up again?”

The little boy
pointedly shook his head ‘no’ and swallowed hard; I could see the lump of
rebellious vomit slide back down his throat. “No, I’m okay.”  

“Buddy, if
you’re feeling sick, you shouldn’t go to school. You need to tell your mom.”

“No, I’m okay. I
have to go to school today.”

“Why’s that?”

“It's
show-and-tell day and I’ve got Louie in the car. And we’re watching a movie
after recess. I really want to see it. It looks funny. And Louie said he wants
to see it too.”

“Louie will
understand that you’re not feeling well.”

“No, he won’t.
He’s not very nice.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah. Last
night, he pushed my dinner plate off the table and broke it. Mom got so mad.
Then he just laughed at me as I stood in the corner in time out.”

“Marty…” I
paused, wondering if I should push an impressionable child into realizing his
imaginary friend was just that, imaginary. “Maybe if Louie is mean, then he
really isn’t your friend.”

“No. He’s my
friend. He’s my best friend. And mom said I can’t get rid of him, because
Grandma gave him to me for Christmas.”

This puzzled me.
Imaginary friends- sure, I’d heard of those, but being gifted an imaginary
friend? Not so much. “What is Louie?”

“He’s my pet
dinosaur. He’s almost three feet tall. Grandma ordered him special.”

“Ah, well,
you’re pretty much cleaned up. Let’s bag up this shirt and see if your mom has
found a new one for you.”

As I turned away
from the boy to toss the wet and soiled paper towels into the trash, I frowned.
Strange kid. Nice kid… but strange. Marty held my hand again as we walked out
of the bathroom.

Sam and Izzy
were in the store now. If Marty looked a little under the weather, then Izzy
looked downright deathbed candidate. She was pale, her eyes glazed over with a
film that reminded me of the time Susan’s kids got pink eye. I remembered
helping her hold down Sophia as she rinsed the gunk from her eyes and applied
the medicated drops. Marcel, on the other hand, he was always a breeze, even
when he was super sick. Funny how twins could be so different. Same with Sam
and Marty. The only things similar about those two were the dark gray eyes and
the dirty blonde hair. The face shapes, bodies, personalities- totally
different.

It took me a few
seconds to realize that Izzy had hit the floor. She lay flat on her face now,
with little Sam standing over her, not knowing if he was supposed to laugh or
yell for help. Regardless, it took a second, a second longer than it should
have, to active my legs and yell for Deb.

Deb somehow got
there before me, a mother’s response system in hyperdrive I guess, and I
couldn’t help but notice the large and fresh stain on her nice white shirt.
Obviously the coffee in her hand had been forgotten as she’d bolted toward her
daughter.

“Izzy, baby, are
you okay” Deb gently rolled the little doll over and screamed

Izzy wasn’t Izzy
anymore. Izzy was an animal. She was a rabid, vicious little creature with
snapping jaws and pale death in her eyes. Her natural, beautiful irises were
obscured by a milky film. Purplish lines decorated her face along the hairline.
I was frozen for a moment, surprise and confusion paralyzing my limbs. Once I
came to my senses, I tried to intervene, tried to do something… anything, but
it was too late. By the time my hands lashed out in a push which sent Izzy
sliding across the floor, Deb’s nose was missing and a massive stream of blood
was flowing down her already coffee-stained shirt. As she cried, the steady
stream began to gush, threatening to spatter me with bright red fluid. I
scrambled backwards, swallowing a piercing scream. Safety. I needed to get to
safety.

I wasn’t brave.
If I was brave, even possessing a morsel of courage, I would have tried to
fight, to help Deb and her boys. I was frozen though, in fear of my own
mortality.

Chaos. All
around me now.

Snarling and
screaming tore through my once organized shop. Clothing, shoes, and infant
accessories were scattered across the tiled floor. I watched in horror as the
little girl attacked her mother again and then turned her attentions to her
older brother, Sam. The young boy tried to protect himself, but his little
sister… if that’s even what she was anymore… was faster, more deliberately
brutal. My eyes were opened wider than was natural, watching the scene in
horror, still concreted to a singular spot, immobile in my confusion and
terror.

Izzy slowly turned
away from her now injured brother and stalked toward me, a thick trail of
spittle dangling from her mouth. Behind her, nose-less Deb was motionless, her
eyes open and staring vacantly at the ceiling; Sam held his bleeding neck,
tears streaming down his face as he yelled at his mother to stand up. He was
scared. Hell, I was scared.

I kept telling
myself Izzy was just a child, just a child… and I couldn’t hurt her. But then
she lunged for me and I grabbed the only thing in arm’s reach to protect
myself- a metal accessory tree, home to a variety of baby slings and diaper
bags. Child or not, I wasn’t letting the little brat take a chunk out of my
face.