Zombies! Summer Special: Growing Pains

Zombies! Summer Special: Growing Pains

  Copyright 2011 by Ivan Turner

  The people and events in this book are fictional. Any resemblance to actual people or events is purely coincidental.

  ***

  What has come before.

  Zombies are a reality in New York City and the United States and the world. And though the infection has spread, it has not overwhelmed the population. People still go to work. They still share relationships and run their daily lives. Businesses remain open and children still go to school. Governments grind on.

  It’s not the end of the world.

  And yet all of the efforts of the police and the military and the health department have failed to eradicate the threat. While they work frantically to prevent the apocalypse, someone built an underground army of the undead. On a cold snowy day in February, a day that would later be known as the Red Blizzard, that army was unleashed on the five boroughs of New York. Though for many, even in the city, the Red Blizzard was nothing more than a story in the news, for many others it was the end of their lives as they knew them. Or the end of their lives altogether. There are so many stories from that day. This is just one of them.

  ***

  Growing Pains is a short story that takes place during the events of Zombies! Episode 10: State of Emergency. While Abby Benjamin was hiding out and Martin Benjamin was trying to get to his wife… While Shawn Rudd was fighting in the streets… While Lance Naughton and Denise Luco were trying to rescue Zoe Koplowitz from the zombie infection, Dillon Waters, at just ten years old, was leaving his childhood behind in a wave of blood and death.

  This is his story.

  ***

  It was a good time for action figures. There pretty much wasn’t anything you couldn’t get. Dillon was currently running a story that included Luke Skywalker, Anakin Skywalker, Darth Vader (why not?), Cobra Commander, Iron Man, and Moon Knight. The Moon Knight figure had been a real score. His dad had picked it up for him on the street. It was cool when the comic book dealers started selling the action figures, too. They were worlds more expensive than they were in the stores but Dillon was only ten years old and didn’t really know much about the cost of things. The only time it ever really came into play was when his mom told him he couldn’t have something because it was too expensive.

  His dad never told him he couldn’t have something.

  That was both the great and the terrible thing about Dillon’s dad. Everett Waters would give Dillon anything he wanted. He could get toys and DVDs. He could stay up late and have ice cream for dinner. Of course, Everett Waters gave everyone just about everything they wanted. Dillon had often heard his mother complaining because Everett had allowed someone at work to not only pass him by, but step on his face as he did so. It was humiliating. In the contest with the other kids when they were shouting My dad can beat up your dad, Dillon knew better than to get involved. Even if his dad could beat up the other kid’s dad, he never would. No matter what.

  “Get cleaned up for dinner, Dillon,” his mom called from the other room.

  Dinner. Hmm. It smelled like meatloaf and stewed potatoes. That was his dad’s favorite. To Dillon, it was like eating cow turds. The potatoes were okay, but the meatloaf was awful. Maybe his mom had some leftover pasta or something and would let him slide without eating it. It would be better to approach the situation after his dad got home. If he got to his dad first, his dad would make him something else. His mom would be pissed at both of them, but it was worth it. He knew his dad felt guilty for having a favorite meal that Dillon absolutely hated.

  His mom called him one more time. This time Dillon started slowly putting his toys away. That way, if his mom came into his room to get him, he could at least say that he was cleaning up. He was just about to put Moon Knight into the box when he heard the door burst open in the front room. His mom screamed once in surprise and he heard a plate drop to the kitchen floor and shatter. Then his dad’s voice joined his mom’s.

  Something was wrong. Dillon couldn’t make out all of the words but a few phrases slipped through.

  …thousands of them…

  …all over the city…

  …this is the end…

  Dillon crept slowly from his bedroom into the hallway. The light in the hall was off, but he could see the glow from the living room and the kitchen up ahead. Their Manhattan apartment wasn’t big and any one light brought some type of illumination to every part of the place. A figure passed by the end of the hall. Then back again. Then the light came on and his mother rushed back toward him. She didn’t even acknowledge him as she went into the bathroom, turning on the light in there. Dillon watched as she rummaged through the cabinets under the sink, pulling out plastic box after plastic box. Finally, she pulled out the one with the bandages and antiseptic cream in it. It was their first aid kit. She rushed past him again, not even bothering to turn off the bathroom light.

  Coming into the living room, Dillon turned his head and saw his father. He was sitting at their dinner table, just off the kitchenette. His head was back and his eyes were closed. He was breathing. Just breathing. Mandy Waters had pulled up a chair next to him and was dressing a wound on his arm. Dillon didn’t see the wound. It was already covered by a gauze pad. But the blood was soaking through even as his mom wrapped the bandages around it. A tube of the cream lay on the table. It had been squeezed dry.

  “You need to get to a hospital, Everett,” Mandy said to him.

  He shook his head weakly. Though Dillon didn’t understand what he was seeing, his dad was going into mild shock. “The snow’s too thick.”

  Dillon looked toward the front window and saw the falling flakes. Rushing forward, he looked outside. There was a lot of snow on the ground. Treading through the snow three stories below were dozens of figures. There were all different types of people down there. And they were all dressed differently. Some were dressed for the summer and some for the spring. A few had coats, but not many. The snow landed on them and tended to pile up as if they were nothing more than statues. It wasn’t melting on them the way it should have.

  They were zombies.

  Dillon knew all about zombies. His mom had sat him down a few months before and explained to him that there were some sick people who seemed to die, but really got up and walked around. They couldn’t think anymore and were very dangerous. Everyone was calling them zombies but Dillon shouldn’t worry about it. They weren’t like the zombies in the movies. They were just sick people who needed help.

  “Everett, you’re going to get sick if this isn’t treated.”

  “I’m sure it’ll be fine,” Everett said. Another of his better qualities was the way he could completely delude himself into thinking the easier course of action was always the right one.

  Dillon turned and saw that they had left the door open. “There’s someone at the door,” he said.

  Mandy looked up quickly and saw the shuffling creature standing in the doorway. She took two steps toward it, maybe thinking to shut the door and push it out. But Everett cried out and she stopped. The zombie lurched forward and another came in behind it. There was a third in the corridor.

  “What do we do?” Mandy whimpered. “Everett, what do we do?”

  Dillon looked at his parents. His father’s indecision was nothing new to him, but he had never seen his mother like this. She was in a complete state of panic. The zombies had brought with them the stench of death. It was a stench that transcended a simple smell. She smelled her own death. She smelled hell itself. Seeing his mother so powerless had a profound effect on him. He suddenly saw
the world as a place in which there was no one to take care of him. He was the most competent person in the house which made him the most competent person in the world. He was the only one with the ability to act.

  He also didn’t care about his parents anymore.

  Rushing past them, he went straight to his room and opened his closet. He pulled out box after box of toys until he found the aluminum baseball bat his uncle had bought him for his third birthday. It had been the dumbest gift ever. It was bad enough that he had given the bat to a three year old child. It was worse that Dillon lived in a two bedroom Manhattan apartment and had had exactly zero chances to play baseball throughout the course of his life. Now, though, his uncle’s gift looked pretty good.

  As he came out of his room, he saw his parents coming down the hallway. When he saw the bat, Everett reached out for it.

  Dillon went right by him.

  “Dillon, give me that,” he said.

  “What are you doing?” his mother echoed.

  He ignored them. If they weren’t competent enough to protect him from zombies then they didn’t have the right to give him orders or ask him questions.

  The first zombie was already at the mouth of the corridor. Dillon stuck the bat out in front of him and pushed against it with all of his might. He was small and the zombie was a full grown adult. If it grabbed him, he’d never get free. But when it came to pushing and balance, he was going to be the winner. The zombie stumbled back two steps and then fell over the one right behind it. Dillon jumped on top of its chest and brought the bat right down on top of its head. He had never felt anything like it. It wasn’t like hitting a ball. It wasn’t like banging the bat against the floor. There was no sense of satisfaction that comes with the follow through. The skull crunched under the blow; he could feel that. But beneath that was just soft brains. It was like pounding on a foam mattress. The bat was cushioned and stopped. Black ichor oozed out of the thing’s nose and ears. It twitched a couple of times and went still. The zombie behind it, the one it had fallen against, struggled to regain its balance. The zombies behind Dillon, the two people he’d called his parents, struggled to regain a completely different kind of balance.

  Dillon moved forward and took care of the second zombie. A third one had snuck in though while he was occupied. How many of them were there? Somehow, it was almost on top of him. Ducking under its strike, he slid over to where the kitchen began. The zombie pivoted to follow him, but then caught scent of his parents. It had been a big man. It wore a pair of carpenter’s pants and a Grateful Dead t-shirt. There was a two day growth of beard on its face. Of course, it had been a zombie for several weeks and the beard had simply stopped growing. It had been a two day growth of beard for all of that time and would be forevermore. The zombie wasn’t wearing a jacket and snow had collected in its hair and on its shoulders. The snow was beginning to melt in the heat of the room.

  Dillon moved in behind it and swung the bat as it went for his parents. The zombie was too big, however, and Dillon couldn’t reach his head. The bat bounced off of its shoulders. The zombie shuddered once and did a little two-step forward. Its momentum carried it right into Dillon’s hesitating parents. Everett saw it coming and fell backward in terror. Mandy put out her hands to protect herself against it. It grabbed her in a big hug and started to feast. Behind her and on the floor, Everett Waters began to scream and cry. For the first time in his life, he touched his aggressive nature. Finding his feet, he charged forward and engaged the zombie. It was already too late for Mandy, as it was too late for Everett.

  Dillon watched the whole play with little emotion, understanding that there could never have been any other outcome. While the zombie feasted on his parents, he went to the front closet and grabbed his jacket, hat, and gloves. He dressed himself for the weather. Making sure he could still get a good grip on the bat, he moved out the door and into the hallway. All throughout the building there were screams of terror and the sounds of people dying. It occurred to Dillon that it was probably his father who had let the zombies in. After his attack, he’d probably rushed through their building entrance and failed to close the security doors. Knowing Everett, he may have even held them open for the zombies out of politeness.

  Dillon went to the elevator and pushed the button. It lit up like normal and he waited. Suddenly he remembered that you’re not supposed to take the elevator during an emergency. And this was as much of an emergency as he could imagine. He might get trapped in the elevator by a zombie. There wouldn’t be any maneuvering room in there. He wouldn’t be able to swing the bat. So, with no other choice, he made for the stairs. Once in the stairwell, though, he could smell them. It was the most foul thing he’d ever smelled. It was everywhere. The stairway up looked clear. The stairway down looked clear. He didn’t know which way to go. Down, of course. Go down and get to the street. Would that be much better? What would be the scene in the lobby? Would he be able to get through with the silly aluminum baseball bat that his uncle had gotten him even though he’d never have the opportunity to play baseball? For long moments, Dillon stood frozen in the stairway. He felt like his dad. Then, finally, he decided to move and went down the stairs.

  Running at a breakneck pace, he cleared the third floor and then the second floor and then he saw the lobby. He came to a skidding halt on the landing, just six steps above what appeared to be a congregation of various zombies. It looked like they were all in the lobby. There was someone else down there, too. Dillon, recognized Mr. Skolnick, the kind and quiet old man from the apartment below him. Mr. Skolnick liked to sit out in front of the building in a lawn chair and read the paper. He gave the kids lots of candy on Halloween. He never shouted because of the noise. Dillon, and all of the other kids, liked him. Now, he had a big knife in one hand and the other hand was wrapped around the throat of a zombie. He was fighting like an animal. This kind old man who liked nothing more than to relax in peace stabbed at them and squeezed the throat of that zombie like he was trying to get the last drop of juice out of an orange. But for each one that he put down, there was another one. They just kept coming.

  They kept coming and coming and coming…

  And then there was this one zombie that separated himself from all of the rest. He wore a long coat and he had scraggly hair. He was dirty. He was so dirty. And when Mr. Skolnick swung his knife at, this zombie ducked. He dropped under the knife and reached up to grab Mr. Skolnick’s hand. At that point, Mr. Sklonick didn’t know what to do. He was astounded by this miracle, this terrible, dark, stinking miracle. What was he to think of an undead creature that could fight back?

  The creature pulled Mr. Skolnick away, out of view. Dillon stood frozen again, wrapped in indecision. Mr. Skolnick had fought the way Dillon wanted to fight, the way he wished his father had fought. But Everett Waters had not been equipped to survive this. So Dillon made up his mind not to be his father’s son. Hefting his bat, he took a steadying breath and was about to move when something came at him from behind. He spun but the zombie was too close for him to take a swing. He tried to step back but his foot missed the stair. He stumbled down two steps and collided with the wall. The bat fell from his hands. At that point, Dillon didn’t know what to do so he turned and he ran. He ran down the stairs, right into the waiting throng of zombies. They met him with open arms and open mouths, all gnashing teeth and hunger.

  When he hit the ground floor, Dillon ducked. He weaved through them, looking for any opening. They were too slow to reach down and grab him, though they tried. Those he passed through turned in an attempt to grab him. Through their clumsiness, they tangled themselves up with the others that were just noticing him. They made a big mess falling all over themselves trying to get to this one small boy, this tiny piece of meat that dared to move among them.

  When Dillon burst free of the group, he caught sight of the scraggly zombie in the long coat. Despi
te everything, its movements, its apparent intelligence, ability to think, he never doubted what this creature was. When he tried to get past this one, he was overmatched. It was able to bend and match Dillon’s movements without the clumsiness of his brethren. It turned and snatched him up by his arm. Dillon kicked and screamed. He fought like a wildcat. He punched it as hard as he could but he dared not scratch it or bite it for the same reasons that he himself didn’t want to be bitten. And, surprisingly, it didn’t bite him. He didn’t know why. Then he was thrust into a small storage closet just to the right of what had once been a reception desk and the door was slammed shut behind him.

  Dillon had known about the closet for a long time. Every day, he was in that lobby two times, four times, six times. Whenever he left his apartment he went through the lobby. Whenever he came home, he went through the lobby. And there was always that door. Because he was just a child, a closed door was a burning mystery. He knew it wasn’t an apartment. So he’d always wondered what was inside. It wasn’t just that he’d seen the door on his way up and down from his apartment. After a while, he’d had to know. So he’d snuck in.

  And it was just a storage closet.

  But it was also a discovery. He’d made good use of that closet for two years or more. He’d gone in a few times with friends. Once, he’d gone in with Katy Vazquez. That had been, what, last spring? It had been before there had been any such things as zombies. They’d played a little. They’d kissed a little. It was all very innocent, just two eight year olds experimenting. He missed Katy just then. He supposed he would never know what happened to her. Of course, he could guess.

  There were other people inside the closet with him now. It was a tight fit, but the scraggly zombie had managed to shove six people inside. They looked haggard and frightened under the one small fluorescent light. Mr. Skolnick was one of them. He was nursing a wound on his arm. Dillon supposed he’d been bitten and, if that was the case, it was all over