Zombie



  ZOMBIE

  Nelson Lynch

  Published by Hogskull Press at

  Copyright 2011

  Republished 2013

  Clip art by Microsoft

  “What happened to George? I saw his name in the obituaries and it said he had been cremated the same day. Was he in an accident that left him horribly disfigured? What was the hurry?” Jennifer, and old friend from college was wiping at a tear. “I would have liked to have seen poor old George one last time.”

  Helen, George's wife for ten years, held out her hand while shaking her head. “George just fell down in the living room and hit his head on the raised hearth. I was watching the whole time. He wanted the remote. I pointed at it on the mantle and said there it is. He was reaching for the remote when he just fell out flat hitting his head.”

  “Oh my God! That must have been horrible. Didn't he say anything?”

  She looked at the ceiling as if trying to remember. “It was. It was terrible. His head went pow-pow. Not a drop of blood. Just a big knot right over his temple.”

  “What did you do? Was he thrashing around like he was having a fit?”

  “No. He lay there completely still. I walked over to him and got on my hands and knees. I said George-George a few times and he didn't even blink an eye.” She paused a moment. “It was scary. He was laying there with his eyes wide open.” She stopped for a second. “He did have a somewhat vacant look.”

  Jennifer wiped both eyes with a clean tissue. “What else did you do? Poor George was probably just unconscious.”

  Helen looked at the hearth. “I don't know. He really hit his head good. His head hit that hearth, pow, bounced up a foot, fell again, pow. Poor George must have cracked his skull in four or five places.”

  “While you were next to him on your hands and knees, did you give him mouth to mouth resuscitation?”

  Helen frowned severely at Jennifer. “What are you saying? Do you think I would put my lips on a dead man's mouth and blow air into him? He may have had a dead man's belch and filled me with poisoned air.”

  Jennifer looked at Helen in amazement for a few seconds. “Why did you have him cremated so fast? Usually if there's nothing wrong, there is a viewing a few days after death and then cremation. Never right away, the same day the death occurred. That's just not done.”

  Helen started to reach for a cigarette. George had strictly forbidden smoking in the house. Smoking was an outside thing he said. He would get highly agitated if he even thought he smelled a trace of cigarette smoke. She stopped and smiled. “I was just following his wishes. He wanted a quick cremation, no frills, no viewing, no sermon and no funeral parade. He wanted a large funeral urn. His ashes and room for mine when I pass away.” She managed a faint grin. “Of course I’m a young woman and that may be a long ways in the future.” This time she smiled widely at Jennifer. “At least I hope so.”

  “Where's George right now? When do you get his ashes?”

  Helen smiled widely and pointed over the fireplace. “There he is, right on the mantle. George loved that fireplace and the mantle he had made from solid teak. He also stipulated that he wanted a big beautiful stainless steel urn. One that would last ten thousand years.”

  “May I look at it? It looks beautiful from here.” She waited for Helen's nod and then walked to the fireplace. “It is lovely. Lots of fancy scroll work that George loved.” She put her hand on urn's handle. “Is it heavy? Can I lift it?”

  “I would advise against it. It weighs sixty lbs. and that's without George. It has a heavy solid base to keep it from tipping over.” She paused for five seconds. “How come you are so late in coming over? George has been deceased for nearly two weeks.”

  “I was on vacation. I got back yesterday. A friend called and wanted to know if I knew about George. So I found George in the online obituary.” She ran her hand over the name and scroll work. “I have to go. If I can't see George, I at least saw his final resting place.”

  Helen waved goodbye as Jennifer pulled away from the curb. She returned to the living room, patted George, and retrieved her pack of Marlboro from the bottom drawer. Next was a stiff drink from George's private stock of double malted imported scotch. She sat in George's favorite recliner, lit a cigarette, leaned back and smiled.

  An hour later she woke from a light nap in the easy chair. She listened intently. There had been a noise like a door being closed carefully. She sniffed. There was a whiff of mustiness and a hint of decay. Someone or something else was in the house with her. She pressed back into the recliner trying to make herself less visible.

  “Helen. Helen. Where the hell are you?”

  She cringed and didn't move a muscle. It sounded like George after a six pack of Bud.

  “Helen, is that you in my recliner?” The raspy voice was closer.

  She heard sniffing sounds.

  “Helen, are you smoking a cigarette in my chair?” The voice paused. “I smell my special imported scotch from the Isle of Skye. Are you drinking my private stock?”

  Helen lay perfectly still for a second. She jumped from the chair and turned around facing the voice. She kept backing toward the fireplace and the urn.

  “Oh my God. It's you. George. What the hell are you doing here? You’re dead.” She looked frantically for an escape exit. But George was between her and the front door.

  He walked over and slumped into his recliner. “Get me a damn drink. No ice cubes. Turn up the heat, it's colder than hell in here.” He shivered and laughed at the same time. “Hurry up, dammit. I'm freezing.”

  She trotted to the kitchen, bewildered and unable to think straight. All she knew, George was here and he wanted a drink. She poured a water glass half full of scotch and ran back to the living room.

  George drained it in two swallows. He handed the empty glass back. “Another and don't be so damn slow. Did you turn up the heat like I said? It cold in here, I’m shaking like a leaf.”

  She was at the kitchen entrance when she stopped and turned around. “It's July, George, it's actually quite warm in here. Are you feeling alright?”

  “Of course I'm not alright, you dumb ass. I've been wandering around lost for two weeks. Dogs chasing after me, kids throwing rocks at me and people ignoring me when I asked for help.” He paused a moment and wiped his forehead. He studied his palm for an instant. “It's a mean and cruel world out there when you're down and out.” He glared at her. “Where's my drink, you idiot?”

  She took her time pouring the scotch trying to think what to do. Should she call the police? Should she call 911? She needed time to think. She had to call someone.

  She handed him the glass and stepped back quickly keeping her back to the urn. She waited until he gulped half of the scotch. “Where have you been? You've been declared dead and cremated.” She moved and placed her hand on the urn. “I have your ashes in here. In your big stainless steel urn, just like you wanted.”

  George shook his head. “How dumb can you get? Do I look like I'm in that thing?” He took a slow sip for a change. “What happened to me? I remember walking to get something and the lights went out. The next thing I remember I was in an ambulance. A man was pushing on my chest. He was yelling that my heart had stopped. A woman leaned over me and placed two pieces of metal on my chest. I couldn't think. Everything was happening so fast. Then she jolted me with electricity. It must have been a thousand volts or more.”

  “The guy was yelling 'no heartbeat, do it again.' She fried me about ten times before quitting. The guy said we were too late. He's gone. Right now he's standing before St. Peter.” George emptied the glass and held it out. “I heard you say something. Do you remember what you said?”

  She shook her head all the way to the kitchen. “It must have been something like h
ow sorry I was to lose you. Something like that.” She handed him the drink and stayed close. “You look terrible. You are gray in places, green in others and then black and blue spots all over.” She stepped back and pointed at the urn. “Who is in there? What did you do? Did you kill someone and trade places?”

  “Don't change the subject. I remember distinctly. I was trying to scream 'I'm not dead.' You leaned over me and you were smiling. You whispered something. I think you said 'so long asshole.'” He took a moderate sip. “What did you say?”

  She leaned against the fireplace. “I don't remember. There was so much excitement and yelling going on, I probably said 'so long darling.'”

  He nodded slowly. “That's probably it.” He grinned. His green lips making him look like the Joker from the old Batman comics. “Come here and feel my forehead. I've got to be running a minus temperature.”

  She didn’t move a muscle. “I don't think I should. You may have some God-awful contagious disease like the Ebola virus or west Nile virus. I think we should call the hospital.” She paused a few seconds. “And the police. You have some explaining to do on how come you are still alive.”

  “Forget the hospital and the police. Feel of my forehead. Maybe a few aspirin will warm me up.”

  She wiped her hand repeatedly on her hip as she walked toward George. She stopped in front of George, both hands behind her back. “I don't think I need to feel of your forehead. I can tell from here that your temperature is below normal. Let me go get a thermometer.”

  He smiled. His teeth mostly brown and yellow. He ran a thin black tongue over his green lips. He shook his head. “Now! Put your damn hand of my forehead and feel the coldness. It's a wonder frost hasn't formed.”

  She wiped her right hand one last time and placed it on his forehead. She closed her eyes and felt the coldness flood through her body. She snatched her hand away. Her palm was coated with multicolored skin particles and strands of hair. She wiped her hand furiously against her hip. “You're cold, real cold. And your skin is peeling off. I'll go get the thermometer.”

  “No need. I know I'm cold, no use in measuring it.” He paused slightly. “Are you sure you didn't hit me and cause me to fall down? I think I remember blacking out before I got to the fireplace.”

  She shook her head rapidly. “How could you even think that?” She backed a few steps away. “You tripped on something and hit your head on the hearth.” A second later, she added, “Very hard.” She backed to the fireplace and touched the urn. “Who's in here? Did you kill someone and trade places?”

  His laugh had a rattling sound like it was coming from the depths of his body. “Why would I kill someone? I was in the morgue and there were plenty of dead people.” He held out his glass for a refill. “They shoved me into a freezer for a while. God, it was cold in there. And it was dark, dark as a dungeon. Finally they pulled me out. I could hear them talking. They were going to cremate me and a few more. They were going to slide me into a furnace and collect the ashes.”

  She handed him the glass filled to the brim with scotch. “What did you do? How did you escape? Everybody said you were dead.”

  “The attendants left to pick up more corpses for cremation. I somehow got strength enough to get off of the thing I was on. I put my toe tag on another dead man.” He took a sip and grinned at Helen. “That guy had two tags. Anyhow I stole a lab coat and walked out. I walked around barefooted and frozen for a long time. Finally some homeless guy gave me some old ragged-ass clothes. I've been wandering around forever. Frozen and shaking like a dog. Today I finally remembered our address. I must have walked five miles to get here.”

  He rubbed his head. “My head still hurts. Did you hit me?”

  “No. Why in the world would I do that? Like I said, you tripped on something and hit your head on the raised hearth.”

  “Maybe so.” He smiled up at her and drank half of the glass of scotch. “I'm so cold. Let's go to bed and warm up.” He nodded toward the stairs leading to the bedroom. “That may cure all my ailments and get my temperature above normal.” He reached out for her hand and missed.

  “Do what! Go to bed with you! Have you lost your mind? You have some alien virus that came in from outer space in a UFO or something similar. Going to bed with you would give me the same thing you have. Forget that.”

  He reached out again and grabbed her wrist. “Don't be bashful. I've been wandering around the city for two weeks.” He clamped down on her wrist. “You should treat your husband a little better than this.”

  Her wrist was freezing, her mind chaotic in thoughts. “Let’s go downstairs to the rec-room. It's warmer there.” She gently led him to the cellar door. “You first. Be careful. Don't fall.” He released her wrist and started down the steps. She raised her foot and gave him a hard push. She looked down. George's was lying still on the concrete floor, his head at a ninety degree angle. “Twice is enough. So long, asshole.”