The Final Day: Complete Edition Page 4

  "Shit, he's alive,” the woman cries out. “He's alive."

  "Go get Doctor Kinnelson!" A male voice barks.

  I can feel their anxiety flooding the room like a tidal wave. Panicked voices circle me. I count the voices and, as far as I can tell, there are at least three people around me right now.

  Do I dare even attempt to move my arms and look into the light? Even under cover, it's still blinding. As much as I want to resist, I have to see what's happening.

  The light assaults me as I lift my arms away. Through a white, swirling mist I can make out the silhouettes of two women - nurses, I presume. The third is a tall guy in a Hazmat suit. He must be one of the biohazard dudes I was wheeled by earlier.

  "Where am I?" My voice is scratchy as hell. It sounded clear to me, but I don't think they understood me. One of the nurses, a petite, older lady, leans in and stares at me. I clear my throat and try again.

  "Where am I?"

  This time, she hears me. She quickly raises a finger to her lips and hurries toward the door. Just past it, I can see her frantically scanning the hallway.

  I let my eyes search the room. It's another sterile area. Stainless steel sinks line one wall and on the other... refrigerators? Is this a morgue? I have to get out of here!

  I try to sit up, but that jackass in the Hazmat suit shoves me down. A second later, I can feel the rigidity and constriction of thick leather straps as he straps me down to the gurney.

  "What the hell is wrong with you? I'm not dead!"

  I struggle, but he has me tied down tighter than can be. I can't move an inch without those damn straps digging into my skin. I grit my teeth and struggle some more.

  This is pissing me off. "Damn you! I'm not dead!"

  I wrench my whole body and... nothing. Why are they doing this?

  "Let me loose, godammit!"

  The Hazmat jackass turns to one of the nurses, a tall, uptight, librarian-looking type and waves her over.

  "We need to sedate that thing! Now!"

  Is he crazy?

  "Thing? Fuck you, you sonofabitch! I'm a human being! What the hell do you want to sedate me for? I'm not doing anything!"

  I struggle again. This time, he slams his hands down on my chest and holds me down. I look around past him to see the nurse holding a syringe in front of her face. No way in hell am I going to let her shoot me up with that shit!

  I put everything I have into it, this time. I yell through my teeth as I lurch my body forward and... holy shit!

  The straps snap around me like nothing. Without a second thought, I send both fists at the Hazmat jackass and nail him right in the chest, sending him crashing through a table behind him.

  The nurse charges at me. Pain sears my leg as she jabs the needle through my skin. I reach out and grab her hand, trying to make her drop the syringe, but it must be too hard. I can feel the bones in her hand snap beneath my grip as she howls out, then slaps me across the face with her free hand.

  "Let go of me, you bastard freak!"

  Just as the words leave her mouth, the memory of that guy - zombie - in the park floods my mind. I thought he was going to crush my shoulder and it must be the same with me. I'm hurting her... and I'm not even trying. I don't feel like I'm putting any pressure on her at all.

  It's true. I am turning into a freak, just like... them.

  My fingers open from around her hand. I watch as she yanks her hand away and pulls it close to her chest, sobbing. She didn't do anything wrong. All she's doing is her job. She may not want to, but she has to.

  You're losing it, Michael. You're losing control.

  I feel a tickle in my throat as a wave of guilt falls over me. At least I know I'm still human. If I really was one of them - it's just a guess - but, I probably wouldn't really give a crap.

  "What on earth has happened in here? Michael?"

  My head jerks toward the door and my eyes settle on a familiar face. Doctor Kinnelson is standing in the doorway, mouth agape and staring at me with this incredulous look on his face. He rushes over to me and presses his finger at the side of my throat. After a second, he shakes his head in disbelief, never taking his eyes off mine.

  "I can't believe it." He stares at me, incredulously.

  "Can't believe what, Doc?"

  He raises his hands up in surrender. "You were dead forty-five minutes ago, Michael. I swear it."

  I doubt it. "I don't know what to say, Doc. I don't look too dead, now, do I?”

  "After your... episode earlier, you blacked out," Doctor Kinnelson recounts. "Your vitals skyrocketed for a moment, then fell flat."

  "Do I look dead to you, Doc?"

  "You were dead, Michael. I swear it."

  I stare at him and study his face. He hasn't steered me wrong, yet. I still can't believe it, though. Dead is dead no matter which way you look at it. There is no coming back. Well, actually there is, but I'm not like that, yet. At least I hope not.

  "We tried to revive you several times," Doctor Kinnelson continues. "Then we gave up. If you don't believe me, look at your chest, Michael."

  I look down and gasp. There are two rectangular burns on each side of my chest, the exact shape and size of a set of defibrillator paddles. Each burn is reddened, dotted with blisters. The anticipation of pain makes me cringe as I reach in to touch the burns with my fingers, but –

  "I can't feel anything, Doc. They don't even hurt."

  Doctor Kinnelson lowers his head, resting it in his hands, defeated. He reaches into his shirt pocket and pulls out the little white notebook and his pen, then feverishly jots several notes onto the paper before finally raising his head to look at me. Yet, he doesn't say anything. His silence is killing me.

  "Doc, what's going on?"

  "Your condition is advancing far faster than I thought it would," Doctor Kinnelson tells me, then takes a direction I never would expect someone of his profession to take. "The whole thing pisses me off. In all of my years studying medicine there has never been something I could not treat, could not cure. Then this... godforsaken aberration came along."

  This is not what I want to hear. "Are you saying you can't help me?"

  "At this point," Kinnelson begins. "I don't know. I don't know what this is and I can't treat something if I don't know what it is. It masks so many different things, Michael... so many different things. I see parts of rabies, parts of any common virus, parts of H1-N1, a part of AIDS. There's not just one thing that we are dealing with, here."

  That's easy. "So, why don't you mix a concoction of everything you have and shoot me up with it? What is it going to hurt?"

  "I'm not going to use you as a guinea pig, Michael!"

  It's a little late for that. "Why the hell not? I'm as good as dead already, anyway! You already told my wife that I'm dead! What do you have to lose?"

  "A patient and a human being, Michael," Kinnelson snaps at me. He's clearly frustrated. "I'm a doctor, Michael, not some half-assed witch doctor. Besides, I never told your wife anything. She is still in the waiting room."

  I laugh, more from disbelief than anything else. "So, what were you planning on doing - leave her sit there forever?"

  "Have you ever told someone that one of their loved ones has died?" Doctor Kinnelson snaps at me and it takes me completely off guard. "It's not that easy. Hell, maybe I should just tell her that you're dead! That's where you're going to end up - where we're all going to end up - anyway!"

  The severity of this is getting to him. I’ve never seen a doctor do that before. Doctors aren’t afraid of anything. At this point, what would it hurt for him to at least try it? For Heaven's sake, I've already come back from the dead once, or so he's told me.

  I prod at him a little more. "So that's it, huh? You're just going to give up?"

  "No, Michael," Kinnelson exhales deeply as he regains a bit of his composure. "I'm not giving up. We will beat this. I know it. I just need a little time."

  "Well, sorry, Doc. I think time's one commodity that's ru
nning a bit short for me."

  My own mortality hits me like a freight train. I bury my head in my hands and sob. All of this shit happening over the last few hours hasn't left me much time to think clearly about much of anything. I'm going to die, no questions about it. No - scratch that - it's going to be much, much worse than that. I'm going to be one of... them.

  I stand and begin pacing the room. In all my life, there has never been anything that I have not been able to control. This is the first time in my life that I feel completely helpless and, as much as it scares the shit out of me, it pisses me off, too. A few weeks back, when my pastor said in church that we should accept what God gives us, good or bad, I don't think he had becoming a mindless, flesh-eating cadaver in mind.

  I stop in front of him and stare. "Why don't you just try it? Take whatever medicine you think will treat whatever shittin' disease you think makes this up and blast me with it."

  "Michael, I don't think that's a good idea."

  "Why the hell not?" I don't believe this. "It's the best idea we've had since I got here. If it doesn’t work, we both know that I'm pretty much dead, regardless. Jack me up with the shit. What's the worst that could happen? If it kills me in the process, then my suffering will end. All the better, I say! Then I won't have to change into one of those mindless fuckers!"

  Kinnelson just stares at me. I get the feeling that he wants to do it. I'm sure of it. Something's holding him back, though.

  "What do you say, Doc?"

  "I don't know, Michael," Doctor Kinnelson debates. "I'm a doctor, a scientist. This goes against everything that I have ever been taught."

  "C'mon, Doc, just do it. If it doesn't work, no big loss, right? I'm dead, regardless," Now, I turn on my best persuasion tactics. "But, if it does work, you will be a hero to millions - no, billions - of people!"

  The silence is killing me. He's seriously thinking about it, now. I can't read his face, though. He's good at this game. I crouch down in front of him, place both my hands on his shoulders and stare right into his eyes.

  "You know this is the only way, Doc."

  He closes his eyes and exhales hard. I start to gloat before I even hear him speak. Thank God for ego!

  "Alright," Doctor Kinnelson surrenders. His voice is a whisper. "But, it's not happening right now."

  Not what I wanted to hear. "We're kind of running out of time here."

  He checks his watch. "My shift ends in about an hour. I want you to go home with your family. Find somewhere - anywhere - that they can use for a safe haven and send them there immediately."

  "Yeah, sure - but, why?"

  "Aside from killing you, I can see only two other outcomes for this," he wagers. "Either it will temporarily cure you, maybe even completely, or it will escalate and accelerate the... zombification process."

  I bust out laughing. I can't help it. "This is unbelievable. I feel like there should be a film crew around us, taping this shit."

  "Agreed," Doctor Kinnelson sighs as he tosses me his little notebook. "Jot your address down."

  I snatch the pen from his hand and quickly comply. "What time should I be expecting you?"

  "Well," he checks his watch again. "As long as I don't get caught jacking vaccinations and medication, I should be no later than ten or eleven o'clock. Now, sit tight for a moment. I'll prepare the release paperwork and you'll be on your way."

  I nod and shake his hand. Emptiness envelopes me as I watch him walk out of the room. I don't know what is going to happen. Am I going to live or die? I know the latter is imminent if nothing is done, so I drop to my knees and do the only thing I can imagine at a time like this…

  I pray.

  7 PM

  HOUR SIX

  I can't take my eyes off Kari, sitting in the driver's seat, beaming over the complete line of bull crap that I just handed her. I've never lied to my wife before this and I honestly can't believe that she bought any of it. How can she? I'm sure I must look like complete hell right now.

  A clean bill of health, Michael? Seriously, how do you plan to keep this charade up until Kari and the kids leave?

  I silently tell my conscience to go get fucked, then begin debating the very same thing. How long am I going to be able to keep this up? Look at how much has happened over the last few hours. I went from happy family man to zombie lunch to "oh, boy, I'm going to be one of them" in no time flat. Sometimes, I wish I could just reach in and strangle my conscience for not clueing me in on this shit sooner. The more I think of it, though, my conscience may be the only thing that has kept me human for this long. It's kept me on target so far, giving me a swift kick in the ass when I really need it.

  I wonder if everyone else that has been bitten has gone through this same thing. Has everyone struggled like this with their lives? Maybe I'm one of the lucky ones who may actually have a shot at survival. Maybe the other ones turned instantly and didn't have a chance

  to debate their situation. Poor bastards.

  It scares the shit out of me, though. I want her to know the truth, but I don't want her going off on me like Charlie did. For Christ's sake, Charlie has been my best friend since grade school! I never, in a million years, thought he could turn on me like that. Call me selfish, but I cannot bear to go through that again.

  "Michael!" Kari yells at me. I must have been spacing out.

  "Sorry," I look at her. The beaming smile's gone. "What's wrong?"

  "Are you sure you're okay?" I huff and lie... again. "Yeah, I'm just really, really tired. That's all."

  "Well, we should be home shortly. Then you can - holy shit!"

  She slams on the brakes and lunges me forward toward the dash. I wince as my face closes in on the windshield. Suddenly, all of the air is pounded from me as the seatbelt locks against my chest. The kids scream in the back and the wail stabs my head like a dagger.

  The Expedition skids to halt on the side of the freeway. Kari slams the shift lever in park and stares out the windshield, in horror. My chest and head are throbbing and my eyes are blurry. I can't see a damn thing. I hurriedly rub my eyes and stare ahead, trying to focus. Moving blobs of image dance around, slowly focusing as my vision gradually clears... and then I see them.

  Two, maybe three, hundred yards in front of us and getting closer every second, there are these two guys hauling ass down the middle of the freeway. A whole mob of those slavering fuckers are chasing after them. I squint harder at their faces and shake my head.

  "Are they serious?" Kari begins. "They're fucking laughing!"

  I can't believe it. If I was them, I sure as hell wouldn't be laughing. "Look at that! He's running down the road in his boxers and flip-flops!"

  I watch them sprint toward us. They look like they're probably in their early twenties - college guys, maybe? The tall one on the left is wearing a pair of Family Guy boxers and a pair of sandals. The one on the right is at least a little more respectable. He actually is dressed. I look harder at them and realize that what I dismissed as laughing a second ago is an undeniable expression of severe terror and urgency. When I look out past the oncoming stampede, the answer is plain as day.

  At the apex of the hill behind them, a school bus is lying on its side. Light smoke is billowing from the engine and, through the haze I can see someone pulling bodies out of the bus. I grab Kari's shirt and point to them.

  "Do you see that?"

  She raises her hand to her brow and squints hard. "Oh, my God."

  That's all the affirmation I need. The bodies being hauled out of that bus are children. They must have been going home from school or on their way back from a field trip or something. Those guys are sacrificing themselves to lure the flesh-eaters away from them.

  A lot of good that will do, Michael. Did you happen to see anyone there to rescue them? Didn't think so.

  I jump into the driver's seat of the Expedition and fire it up before Kari can even turn around.

  "Get in!"

  Kari whips around and drops her shoulders. "
What the hell are you doing?"

  "Just shut up and get in!" That was a bit harsh. Too bad.

  My fingers are gripping the wheel so tight that my hands are starting to cramp. The anticipation has my heart thumping in my chest like a damn war drum and it feels like she's taking forever getting in the truck. Even though I want to check, I can't look away from the bus sitting on its side past the battalion of approaching corpses.