Zombies! (Episode 6): Barriers Collapse (5 page)

Now Arrick mumbled assent as he bit into his sandwich.

"Would you like to come along?" she asked.

He stopped in mid bite and lifted his eyes toward her. She could see that he was trying to think of a way to politely refuse, weighing the truth against the lies.

"I'm sorry," she said. "I just thought, since you'd been affected by them, too, you might…"

"It's quite all right," he said around a mouthful of food. "I'm just not the protesting type. I'd prefer to let the authorities do their work."

"You sound like my husband."

He smiled.

"Well, okay, John. Don't be a stranger then."

"I promise," he said.

She got up and went to the front to pay her check. She handed the waitress a couple of bills and left, heading east toward the train station.

***

ARRICK
ate his sandwich in blissful silence. It wasn't that he hadn't been glad to see Abby. He liked her very much. When he'd seen her sitting there, he couldn't help but approach. He'd been desperately curious about Suzanna's affair with Larry and Abby was his best opportunity for ever getting answers. And now he had them and was free to relax in peace. Ever since his encounter with Suzanna, or the thing that she had become, he'd been retreating more and more into himself. He wasn't sure if it was because of Suzanna's illness or his own. Even after a month, he was still expecting to develop an unnatural craving for human flesh. For now, though, the corned beef on his sandwich was just what he wanted.

Arrick was situated so that he was facing a wall filled with pictures of all of the famous people who'd eaten in the deli. He recognized some of them. DeNiro, Pacino, Woody Allen, the Clintons. But most of them were contemporary Hollywood superstars. He didn't really follow the movies. From where he sat, he couldn't see the counter behind him, but he could see the waiters and waitresses coming out of the kitchen. He could see the front door opening and closing. He was just taking another bite when he caught whiff of something out of the ordinary. At first, he didn't know what it was. It was both alluring and disturbing at the same time. Bringing his head up, he looked all around until his focus found the door. A woman was on her way out. She was just a girl, really, barely twenty one, if even that. She was wearing a quilted bronze coat that went to her waist. It was zipped up to the top and the strings from the earflaps of her red knit hat bounced against her shoulders. On his way in was a man in a long knit coat. Arrick could see the expensive pants and the cuffs of the suit's jacket sticking out of sleeves. He hadn't been dead long.

The girl had pushed open the door and was holding it for him to come through. Obviously she didn't smell it. Maybe he'd only been dead a few minutes. Arrick couldn't see any bit marks and the man's face looked almost as if he were alive. But there was no expression and the eyes were empty. The trouble with New York is that no one ever looks anyone in the eye. If she'd looked up at his eyes, she'd have known. Arrick watched as he stumbled into her arm, the one holding the door. At first, she seemed perturbed, but then pointed down and began to say something. Arrick would later see the wound at the man's ankle and know how he had been infected. The zombie grabbed the girl by the shoulders and spun her into the door. Caught completely off guard, she didn't even fight back as he dipped his face and tried to bite through her hat.

The reaction time of the people around the incident astounded John Arrick. No one even really noticed the confrontation until the zombie, frustrated with its own inability to get through the hat, shoved the girl to the floor, ripping at her jacket in the process. As she fell, it managed to expose a portion of her neck and chest and that was where it put its teeth next. The poor girl screamed as it tore the flesh from her throat and sternum. Then the panic ensued.

Arrick took another bite of his sandwich.

He could tell that people wanted to get out the door. They had that rabbit look in their eyes, scanning for the nearest exit. But the exit was blocked and they didn't know what to do. There were no heroes among them. All at once, the customers found their feet and rushed toward the kitchen. No one tried to help the girl.
No one
. Granted, she was beyond help. The bite wound had seen to that. Of course, John Arrick had been bitten and here he was in a Brooklyn deli enjoying dinner and a show.

"Well that's quite enough of that," he said to himself and stood.

The girl was already gone. The zombie had hit an artery and there was blood everywhere. So much for its expensive suit. There were twenty feet between Arrick and the zombie and no one in their way. He didn't want to get bitten. He wasn't sure that he was immune to the disease, nor was he willing to risk his luck by having to fight it off again. But he knew that this situation was only going to get worse and he was the closest thing to invincible in the immediate area.

But how to put down the zombie…

Arrick's experience as a zombie fighter included exactly one fight. And, to be honest, he'd come out with a bite wound that should have killed him so he wasn't exactly an expert. In order to defeat Suzanna, he'd had to bash her head against the bathtub. The opportunity to do so had been a result of their struggle. He couldn't hope for that opportunity again and didn't really care to get that close anyway. When he began looking around for a weapon, he noticed that the entire crowd had gathered behind him. They were looking at him. How had that happened?

Before he knew it, someone was shoving a mop into his hand. A small Mexican man pushed it forward and nodded as if it was going to be tremendously useful. Well, not unless they expected him to clean up the blood. But the man grinned and made a rolling motion with his hands. Looking down, Arrick saw that the head was screwed on. He unscrewed the head and held up the handle. It was better than nothing.

Taking a deep breath, Arrick moved in toward the zombie. It was on the floor, tearing at the girl's chest, probably confused by all of the bone. It didn't even bother to look up as he approached. Stopping just before it, Arrick looked back once at the crowd, then again at the zombie. He was apprehensive and a little squeamish. Timidly, he pushed the mop handle forward and poked the zombie in the forehead. It didn't even take notice, just kept on trying to find flesh around the bone. Arrick poked a bit harder, this time pushing its head back away from the girl. This time, he was noticed. The zombie looked up, reached up, and grabbed the mop handle. Arrick was so taken by surprise that he just let go. Frozen in place, he watched the confused zombie struggle with the thing in its hand. Then its eyes fell upon him. And then the crowd behind him.

Struggling to its feet, it shuffled over the girl's body, dragging the mop handle behind it. A terrible moan escaped its blood soaked lips. Frozen in place, Arrick just watched as it came right up to him, brushed past him, and made for the fresh meat at the back. For a moment, he didn't know what to do. He didn’t understand what had happened, why it hadn't attacked him. But now it was headed for the people. Just before it moved out of reach, he grabbed the end of the mop handle. The zombie stopped, unable to wrench the handle free and unable to let go. Apparently stuck, it turned its head and focused on Arrick again. Arrick pulled at the handle and knocked the zombie off balance. Due to some instinct, it let go and spun. This time, Arrick was ready. He brought the pole up and down in a quick fluid motion and hit it in the head. The blow was barely enough to stagger it, but it got its attention.

Recovering as best it could, it finally made for Arrick. He hit it again but the handle was simply too light to be of any use. By the time he was ready for a third swing, the zombie was so close that he couldn't even extend his arm enough to bring the handle around. With both hands, the zombie shoved him. The Scotsman was so surprised by the attack that he lurched back, almost like a zombie himself. The handle fell from his hands and clattered to the floor. The zombie closed further, using its arms like bludgeons to knock Arrick aside. It wasn't fast, but its attacks were aggressive and its strength, like Suzanna's, was surprising. Arrick tried to fight back. He raised his arms to ward off the blows but was ever concerned about keeping the teeth from his flesh. In the end, though, the zombie didn't seem to have any interest in eating him, just in getting him out of the way.

One final blow sent Arrick sprawling over the body of the girl. He went down on his behind, his legs draped over her blood soaked middle. She chose that particular moment to arise. That odd smell in his nose doubled. It didn't smell like death. Her arms came up and wrapped themselves around his legs. But, like the other, she didn't seem to have any interest in eating him. She just tossed him aside and made her clumsy way to her feet. At that moment, the door behind him burst open and three policemen, all dressed in protective gear, entered the deli. The zombies didn't react to the noise, but the officers didn't hesitate. They fired two quick shots and put down both zombies before the crowd could even drop to the floor.

***

SOMETIME
later, after the coffee had been served, Arrick was sitting back at his table and contemplating his situation. Other people were on their phones, calling friends and loved ones. A few laptop computers had surfaced. Many people were still talking with the police. Arrick had spoken with an Officer Henry. He was a tower of a man with a deep voice and a kitten's gentle mannerisms. As he had asked his questions and recorded Arrick's answers, he'd just oozed sympathy over the trauma he had sustained. To be honest, Arrick wasn't even really shaken. At this point, he was just a little perturbed. It was getting close to 8:00 and he desperately wanted to go home. He had to be at work in the morning. When the police finally announced that everyone could leave, he grabbed up his coat and made for the door. Some followed him and others stayed behind to discuss their adventure.

Half a block from the deli, a man caught up with him and tugged on his jacket. He was a small guy wearing flannel, fleece, and denim in layers rather than an overcoat. His pants were dark blue and had some grease stains on them. Mechanic? Janitor? It didn't matter.

Arrick stopped and looked him up and down under the dim light of the street lamps. "Can I help you?"

"I just wanted to thank you," the man said. His voice was deep and gravelly, as if he'd hit discovered his first cigarette in preschool and had been smoking ever since.

Arrick's eyebrows went up.

"No one made a move to fight that thing off," the man continued. "You got in its way with no regard for you own safety. You're a hero."

Arrick laughed. "Which fight were
you
watching?"

The man laughed back. "That's the curious thing though, ain't it?"

"I don't follow."

"You got into it with them. I mean
really
into it. But neither one of them tried to bite you."

Arrick shrugged. "Just lucky I guess."

"Naw." The man shook his head. "I mean they didn't even
try
. It was like you weren't good enough for them to eat."

"I don't know how to take that."

The man chuckled again. "Man, I'd rub skunk shit all over myself if it would keep those things from noticing me. That's the fifth time I've seen them and I just about pissed myself in there."

Five times. And Arrick thought
he
was the expert.

"Look, that's why I stopped you. There's this place in the Bronx, a warehouse. They run the fights there."

"The fights?" Arrick asked. "Fights with zombies?"

Grinning, the man nodded. "You'd be great. If they're not trying to bite you, you can just grab them by the head and bash them against the turnbuckle or the cage."

"The cage," Arrick said skeptically. "I don't know if that's quite the sport for me."

Reaching into his pocket, the man pulled out a dirty business card and a chewed up ball point pen. He quickly scribbled an address onto the card and gave it to Arrick. "This is where they have the fights. The neighborhood's bad but if you go around 9:00, you'll be walking from the train station with a bunch of other people. If you're going to fight, you don't need any money. If you're going to bet, it's a different story.
You
should fight. And if I see you there, I'm going to put every last cent I have on you."

Arrick took the card and looked at the address. He had no idea where that place was.

"I really doubt it," he said, but put the card in his pocket anyway.

"You could clean up, buddy. Trust me on that."

"Well, thanks. Have a good evening."

After that, Arrick beat a hasty retreat from the man. He didn't like being perceived as a zombie fighter. Getting into the ring with one didn't appeal to him as it might to others. He had nothing to prove. So, as he boarded the train, he completely forgot about the man and his crazy idea.

***

IT
was full on nighttime when Abby got off the train. The first thing she did was call the gym to see if Whitaker had heard from Martin. He got all insulted that she didn't trust him but she assured him that she had spent forty five minutes on the train and was concerned that he had tried to call and couldn't get through. This seemed to satisfy him somewhat. Martin hadn't called. As she hung up, Abby wondered how the hostility had grown between her and Whitaker. He was a nice enough kid, but she'd liked him better when he didn't care so much about his job.