Zombie Fever 1: Origins

ZOMBIE FEVER 1

  Origins

  by

  B.M. Hodges

  Copyright 2012 B.M. Hodges

  Cover Image: (c) chrisharvey / www.fotosearch.com

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please purchase your own copy. Your support and respect for the property of this author is appreciated.

  This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locales is purely coincidental. The characters are productions of the author’s imagination and used fictitiously.

  Chapter 1: And it begins…

  As the plane touched down at Lindbergh Field, Tomas brushed his black locks from his face and leaned forward, looking up and over the ample breasts of the morbidly obese man crammed into the adjoining center and window seat. Glimpses of palm trees and sun-baked stucco buildings whipped past. Shimmering San Diego came into focus as the Air Canada ERJ-190 braked on the runway tarmac.

  Snippets of the conversation he’d had with his mother and stepfather at their last get together flicked through his consciousness as the plane taxied toward the gate.

  There were obvious signs during those last few days that some sort of parental, for-your-own-good speech was in the works. There had been an escalation in the hushed conversations and closed door arguments between his mother and stepfather. He’d sensed that it would come at tonight’s dinner, which was why he was cruising on a couple blues prescribed by the therapist his parental units insisted he visit twice a week.

  He’d found himself yet again having to justify his life, “The situation between me and Jan is a bit tense, but we’ll work it out. We always do.”

  “We just don’t want to see you get hurt, again.” His mother countered, her eyes darting back and forth between her son and his stepfather, Stuart.

  He sat back calmly in the creaky wooden chair and half-listened as they began their planned and well-rehearsed lecture. A tune flitted around in the back of his thoughts and he couldn’t put his finger on the name of the song. It had been bothering him all day.

  Stuart cleared his throat, “Look Tomas, graduating university is a big deal. It’s an event in your life that you should have been preparing for long before now. In two weeks, you’re finished with your finals. Then what? We’d hoped by now that you’d have a job lined up or at least an internship. Living in our basement without a job, savings, steady girlfriend, heck, without a long-term plan for your life isn’t where we hoped you’d be when you finished your degree.” Since their marriage ten years ago, Stuart had heroically assumed a fatherly role with Tomas but always at a distance, taking his cue from Bev’s mothering style.

  “Let’s face it,” Stuart continued. Bev stared at Stuart as he talked. I could see her mouth move as Stuart spoke the words she’d put in there earlier, “now is the time for you to grow up and take some responsibility over your life. There’s no reason you should be in this predicament. You have so much going for you. What with the scholarship and your flair for science. You’ve been given a gift that most people would give anything for…anything. To be able to complete uni before your twentieth birthday; well, let’s just say you have a major leg up on the competition. Then to blow off applying for graduate school and having no plan in the works is…” There was a pause the parental units gathered the courage to meddle in his love life, “You’re squandering the most formidable years of your life on a girl who doesn’t seem to have your best interests at heart. She repeatedly dumps you, ‘dates’ a bunch of men for two or three months then makes nice when she is lonely. You need to end it. Now is the time, Tomas. We want you to try to see it from our perspective.”

  There was that ‘we’ again. It annoyed Tomas to no end that they spoke in tandem whenever they had anything serious to say. It had been years since his mother had actually spoken to him in the subjective “I” when it came to anything important.

  Tomas focused on the speck of thyme sticking to the lip of his empty water glass. Outwardly, the pills kept him calm and serene, but inwardly his stomach twisted in knots as he listened to their critique of his intensely personal relationship with Jan.

  He wanted to jump across the dining table and knock their heads together.

  If one thing was certain, it was that he loved Jan and would do anything for her. He’d loved her since they met at breakfast after a long night of partying during the summer between high school and university. She was wearing a dark blue cotton dress, he remembered, she was so casual and charming, beautiful really. They fell into a rapport, ignoring the rest of the group and made love for the first time that night. Their love-making was electric, sensual and addictive.

  “Don’t take this the wrong way, dear. We think some time away to clear your head is what you need.” Bev reached across the table and took Tomas’ hand, covering up the ‘J’ he’d tattooed on his ring finger his freshman year at UBC right before Jan dumped him the first time. His body was so relaxed that he didn’t even flinch at the unusual physical contact from his mother. She must be serious he thought. “A summer in San Diego with your father may be just the thing to put your life in perspective. He’d love to have you. Imagine the possibilities. You could try surfing. I know you’ve always wanted to give it a go. Besides, you know what it will be like here in Vancouver, pleasant but the same old, same old.”

  He glanced up and noticed an airline ticket stuck on the fridge with a Ski Whistler magnet.

  “But what about flight school? I’m two lessons away from my first solo flight, Mom.”

  She looked at her husband for encouragement and said, “We’ve decided to stop paying for your lessons for now. Getting your pilot’s license when you have no plans to become a commercial pilot is an indulgence you can’t afford at this critical point in your life, Tommy.”

  Stuart piped in, “Listen, Tomas. If you take this summer seriously and come up with a solid five-year plan, when you get back in September, you can pick up on your lessons right where you left off.”

  “We only want what’s best for you,” they said in unison.

  His dreams of whisking Jan away on a private plane to romantic destinations unknown evaporated when he realized they’d boxed him in a corner. He had no choice but to go. Getting a summer temp job in retail wouldn’t cover the remaining costs of his private pilot’s license. His plan to impress Jan and win her back with promises of high flying adventure would never come into fruition if they didn’t pay for it.

  The seatbelt sign switched off.

  Eager to escape the cramped stuffy cabin, Tomas squeezed into the aisle with the rest of the passengers. As he exited the plane, a flight attendant he had flirted with shook his hand and slipped him a note and a wink. Her tag said, “Ginger” and she had hair to match. The note said, “Drinks?” followed by her telephone number. He took out his wallet and shoved the note into the back fold, adding to the other numbers he’d forgotten.

  Tomas strode through the terminal, ego stoked, feeling invincible.

  Against the advice of his stepfather, Tomas had packed his forager steel-framed backpack instead of a standard carry-on. Now he wished he’d taken that advice as he was on the ground and eager to get on with the day. At least having to go to baggage claim made it easier to rendezvous with his father, he thought.

  Tomas spotted Andy right away.

  It wasn’t difficult.

  Just look for the person in the room the least self-aware.

  Andy was standing next to the
baggage carousel but facing the juice bar off to the right, no doubt drawn to the two Nordic stewardesses sitting on high stools drinking smoothies at one of the tables. His father had a habit of wearing sunglasses indoors and openly gawking at people behind the darkened lenses, as if they didn’t instinctually sense his predatory stare. He stood there with his legs spread apart and arms folded across his chest, his authoritative stance comical compared to his slight frame. It was one of those things a child notices about a parent, one of the many sources of unrelenting embarrassment.

  Tomas could see a toothpick darting back and forth between Andy’s thin lips. His father was wearing khaki pants and a shirt that looked like he stole from a rent-a-cop. But he is a rent-a-cop, Tomas remembered. Andy worked as a security guard somewhere near La Jolla.

  For a laugh, Tomas crept up behind Andy and grabbed him roughly by the shoulder.

  His father jumped about a foot off the ground, the toothpick flying out of his mouth and into the fluffy white hair of an elderly woman cruising by on a scooter. Andy flipped around, yanking off his aviators, red with anger at this unexpected physical intrusion. But his demeanor changed when he saw his son.

  “Tommy, my boy!” Andy hollered too loudly as usual, drawing the attention of the surrounding travelers. He grabbed his son in a bear hug, tears welling up in his eyes.

  “Hi, Andy,” Tomas muttered, uncomfortable with the public display of affection. Tomas had always called his father by his first name. Even as a child when his parents were still together. It wasn’t a sign of disrespect, just habit. He pulled away and grunted, “You’re looking healthy.”

  His smiled and ran a hand through his thick black mane, “Still have all my hair if that’s what you mean. But these are fake,” he leaned up close to Tomas’ face and clicked his bright white teeth together. “One good thing about working for a pharmaceutical company, they have excellent dental. These are drilled right into my jaw bone with steel posts, better than the real ones.”

  Tomas nodded and threw some flattery his way, “Well, you look half your age with that tan. How many hearts have you broken down here in So Cal?”

  Andy drank it in then lightly punched Tomas in the arm when he realized he was being pandered to. He rubbed his hands together and looked towards the carousel, “How many bags you got? We need to hurry. I have to drop you off and get to the office. I’m on the night shift these days. You’re going to be on your own quite a bit while you’re here. Something important is going down at the facility and everyone’s pulling overtime. But I’m sure you won’t mind. It’ll give you some time to chase the foxy ladies.”

  They waited a while until the carousel began to turn. Tomas’ backpack was the second piece of luggage through.

  Andy drove a fifteen-year-old pearl white Roadmaster. It was a behemoth, one of those automobiles built for the WWII generation who coveted the styling of tank-like autos from the nineteen fifties. Andy was in his late fifties, but driving a car meant for his parent’s generation made him look that much older. They cruised along I-5 towards La Jolla at a brisk ninety miles per hour, a rate dictated by the speeding traffic around them, the dynaride suspension making it feel as though they were riding on giant marshmallows.

  The vehicle reeked of stale cigarettes and Tomas had to lean against his open window to catch outside air streaming through so he wouldn’t gag. Andy had this peculiar habit of smoking two or three drags off a cigarette then snubbing it out and lighting another. In the ashtray below the climate controls, reeking half-smoked menthols were stuffed tightly together like candles on a centenarian’s birthday cake. And there were half-empty packs strewn across the floor and half-empty forgotten cartons strewn across the backseat amid checked ties, gym shoes and fast food wrappers. Tomas noticed a couple butts from ladies slims with smears of lipstick on the tip in the ashtray of the passenger side armrest. Andy’s been randy, Tomas thought.

  Smoking wasn’t the only bad habit that Andy had. Andy had been living alone for two decades and had developed unconscious behaviors and ticks extremely irritating to anyone sitting with him in confined quarters. Tomas listened as Andy sucked air through his teeth repeatedly like a high pressure toothpick, then murmur and cackle, glance over at Tomas when he realized that he’d made a noise, then grab the arm of his aviator sunglasses and bob them up and down on his nose. Truth be told, Tomas loved his father, but these annoying ticks were a significant factor why Tomas always found an excuse to say ‘no’ when his father invited him to stay down in San Diego. He hadn’t been down to visit for eight years. The guilt of his selfishness bubbled to the surface for a moment when Tomas thought about how lonely Andy’s life must be.

  “Remember when you used to think that was Disneyland?” Andy asked, nodding towards the gaudy Mormon temple looming menacingly over the side of the San Diego freeway.

  “Now I think it looks like Superman’s fortress of solitude,” Tomas replied, knowing it would please his father. Andy slapped his leg and laughed his crazy hee-haw laugh.

  Traffic began to grow thicker. Andy shifted lanes to the far right one and when the rest of the cars slowed to a crawl, he eased onto the shoulder and kept driving, oblivious of the fist shaking and obscene gestures from the drivers stuck in the masses too law-abiding and sane to try such a maneuver.

  His father was the most reckless driver he’d ever know. Tomas gripped the armrest and leaned forward slightly to check the tension of his seatbelt. It was a miracle Andy had held onto his license all this time. He knew if he popped open the glove compartment there would be a stack of tickets ranging from minor traffic violations to reckless driving.

  The Sorrento Valley exit appeared and the Roadmaster glided off the freeway. Instead of turning right towards I-805 and Mira Mesa as Tomas remembered, Andy went left, explaining as he turned, “May as well show you where I work.”

  It only took a minute or two until they were thick inside an industrial park. Tomas watched as they drove past nondescript buildings made for car wholesalers and chemical plants, plastic furniture manufacturers and auto collision specialists. Andy turned onto a side street. The road was empty until they reached the end. Hunkered down at the bottom of the cul-de-sac was an imposing red brick wall topped with razor wire and an iron wrought gate in the center. There were no guards, but there were two poles positioned on each side of the gate with three industrial strength security cameras mounted on the top and sides. Through the gate, the road disappeared down a hill. All Tomas could see were four identical roof tops bunched together, their style similar to the non-descript buildings back along Sorrento Valley Road. To the right of the gate there was a small bronze sign that said, “Vitura Pharmaceuticals, Inc.”

  “There it is, one head of an enigmatic and powerful beast,” Andy chuckled conspiratorially as he turned the Roadmaster around the cul-de-sac and back towards the main road. He pantomimed zipping his lips together, “If I had a nickel for every time they remind me about the company’s confidentiality clause…”

  “Why, what’s the big deal?” Tomas asked. “What do they do in there? Have they discovered the cure for cancer or are they creating bio-weapons for the government?”

  “Something along those lines is definitely in the works,” Andy replied mysteriously. “So, want to grab a burger before we get home? We can hit the IN-N-OUT drive up near the apartment.”

  “Sure.” Tomas hadn’t eaten since his breakfast with Jan that morning. He’d begged her to meet at their favorite café in Stanley Park. ‘The least you could do is see me before I go,’ he’d said knowing she’d feel guilty if she didn’t. She’d reluctantly agreed though they were still on the outs at the conclusion of the meal. The breakfast was uneventful and bland. Jan had sat there stone-faced, eating a dry blueberry muffin then insisting on splitting the bill before she sped off in her jeep.

  With a sack of burgers in hand, Tomas sat patiently while Andy navigated through the maze of apartments that were Majestic Estates. When Tomas used to visit his father as
a child, he used to think of Majestic Estates as a sunny paradise of endless cobalt skies and swim parties. These days, however, the two story apartments were showing their age; web-like cracks spidering up the blue-tinted walls, the rusted rain gutters hanging limply along the roofline. Andy read his expression, “Management doesn’t give a damn about the condition of the place, just collecting rent checks and enforcing eviction notices. You remember Belle from 8B? They threw her out on her ear when she got behind after emergency hip surgery. Real shame. She was a couple months away from qualifying for Medicare when she fell. A real shame.”

  They passed the central swimming pool, once the jewel of the complex and now empty, the bottom coated in a brownish slime.

  Tomas prodded his father, “So why don’t you move? You have to be making enough to afford better than this place. You could be nearer the coast, away from the constant roar of those insufferable military planes. Yeah, I remember the planes.”

  But Andy was very sensitive about his financial affairs. Back in the day he was making six figures as an engineer. That was before computers and the internet took over and ol’Andy had failed to keep up. Pagers and XP were the height of his technological savvy. “Let’s just say that my money is tied up in investments,” he replied.

  They pulled up next to Andy’s block. He shut off the engine, pulled the keys out of the ignition and took the apartment key off the oversized key ring, “I’m running late, Tommy. Go ahead and make yourself at home. Probably want to stay in for the night. This area has gotten dangerous after dark. There’s a six pack in the fridge. Have a few, I won’t tell your mom. I’ll see you in the morning.”

  Tomas took the key, hesitating for a moment, “It’s good to see you again, Andy.”

  Andy’s face softened and he smiled warmly with those big artificial teeth, “You too, son. I’ll try to get back around eight and we’ll have breakfast on O. B. Pier like we used to. Run along now.”

  A musty smell of bachelor living mixed with household cleaning supplies wafted out the door as Tomas entered the two-bedroom flat. It was obvious from the hint of ammonia and bleach that Andy had spent most the afternoon cleaning up for his arrival.

  Tomas tossed the sack of burgers onto the circular glass dining table and walked down the short hallway to his former weekend bedroom from back when his parents shared custody. He opened the door and was stunned to discover that everything was in the same place he’d left it after his last visit eight years ago. The new boogie board still in its cellophane was leaning against the mirror beside the junior-sized chest of drawers. Posters of surfers and the ’98 Padres World Series still hung on the wall, the corners curling from age. On the card table, his advanced Kem5500 chemistry set with its professional grade test tubes, alcohol burner and highly dangerous chemicals was set up just as he’d left it. He remembered the pride he felt when he got it as a Christmas present at ten, knowing that the label on the side said, “For Teens 14+.”

  He set his backpack on the bed and removed his bathroom kit. The two prescription bottles for his diagnosed, yet non-existent anxiety prescribed by the family shrink had been filled the day before his flight. He took out two blues and a green, went to the kitchen, opened a beer and swallowed them with a swig of micro-brewed lager.

  Chapter 2: Disappearance