Zombie System: Ruling The Apocalypse

003 - Perhaps a cure

Jonathan wanted answers. He knew he was human. He knew what zombies did to humans. Even the just begotten ones that he had named the Greens.

He looked at them, and they didn't attack him. He realized he wasn't filled with the urge to attach the ones within.

He wanted answers and he knew somehow, they would tell him something.

He placed his hands on the door and then fumbled with the latch outside. He pulled it, and the door gave way.

“Oh my God!” He heard the woman talk. “This one is different.”

Different? He heard. He stepped in, and the soldier cringed as he pulled the woman behind him. They both retreated into a corner of the van.

He wanted to speak, to articulate the whirlwind of questions swirling in his mind, but only a wet, gurgling sound escaped his throat, followed by a cough that brought forth a spray of dark, viscous blood.

The greens outside, a silent, shuffling throng, looked on with an unnerving stillness. It was as if they were waiting, their vacant eyes fixed on him, anticipating a command he didn't know how to give.

Suddenly, the static-laced cackle of the van's radio cut through the eerie silence. "Who’s alive in there? This is Bravo-Seven. Report your status!"

The soldier, who had been slumped against the far wall, jolted awake. His eyes were still wide with a mix of fear as he darted to the radio, which was close to the driver's seat, with his eyes still on Jonathan.

He scrambled to grab it, his hand trembling. "This is Agent Miller, Bravo-Seven. I'm with the President's daughter. We're stranded. Everyone else is... gone." His voice cracked, raw with grief and exhaustion. He paused, his gaze flicking to Jonathan, then quickly back to the radio. "And I'm staring at a zombie who didn't... totally turn. He's in the van, and he's staring at us."

Jonathan remained silent, his gaze fixed on Miller. He needed answers to his questions. A new one added as the "cure" echoed in his newfound conscious mind. He needed to know. Was there a way back? Or was this his new, grotesque reality?

The radio crackled again, a different voice now, sharp and authoritative. "Kill him. He's mutating. Make sure you kill him."

Jonathan heard every word. ‘Kill him!’ ‘Mutating!’

“Agent... you're bleeding!" The woman's voice, soft and trembling, broke through the tension.

Miller looked down at his shoulder. “Fuck!” He barked.

There it was, a raw, angry bite mark, already ringed with the tell-tale greenish discoloration. Just like the one in his hand.

"Fuck," he said again and paced across the room.

Jonathan watched him, a morbid fascination taking hold. He could almost see the life draining from Miller, the rapid cellular decay, the irreversible transformation. He knew, with an uncanny certainty, that Miller would soon be one of them, one of the greens.

Suddenly, Miller coughed. He dropped to a knee and began to convulse. His body contorted and his limbs wiggled uncontrollably. “Stay away, miss,” Miller urged the woman.

With a sudden, detached impulse, Jonathan reached into the far end of the van, grabbed Miller by his collar, and dragged him out onto the asphalt.

The woman screamed, a high-pitched cry of terror. "No! No, please!"

Jonathan slammed the van door shut. He heard a scream, and then growls. Then there was silence, only the tearing of vests and flesh. He looked out through the window and saw that Miller was surrounded. He won't even make it to be a Green as what's left of him won't walk.

He turned to the woman. She jolted to the other side and picked up Miller's rifle. “Don't!” She said.

Jonathan raised his hands in a placating gesture, willing her to calm down. He opened his mouth to speak, but another mouthful of blood gurgled up, forcing him to cough it out. He wiped his chin with the back of his hand, leaving a smear of crimson.

Then, with immense effort, he managed to force out two words, distorted and guttural: "Ca...calm down."

The woman's eyes widened in a mixture of disbelief and terror. She whimpered and recoiled. Taking a step back whenever Jonathan stepped close.

The radio cackled again. Jonathan looked at it, then at the woman, who was also staring at the radio.

"I won't hurt you," he rasped again, another spray of blood escaping his lips, making the woman cringe and shrink further into her seat. He wiped it away impatiently.

He moved closer to the radio, and then the woman jumped away from the area, keeping the distance between them.

"Hello? Agent... is dead." He paused, then, a new, perplexing thought forming, "What's wrong with me?"

The voice on the other end, now joined by others, erupted in a chorus of panicked shouts. "Oh, fuck! He has her!"

Suddenly, a blinding flash of pain erupted in Jonathan's head. He felt a dull, resonant bang. His eyes swirled, and the world tilted precariously. He stumbled, falling dizzy to the ground. He heard the van door open, and then the frantic scrambling of the woman as she rushed out. He didn't care.

He heard the familiar growls of the greens, then the woman's desperate screams as they chased her up the street. He pushed himself up, his head throbbing, but his internal compass remained fixed on the radio. "He…hello?" he rasped, his voice still thick with blood. "Can I be o-kay?”

He heard a hushed conversation from the other side, voices overlapping, hushed and urgent. "They're not meant to have brains... they're not meant to process or talk... this one is..." The rest was lost in static.

Then, a clear voice emerged, firm and decisive. "Keep the girl with you safe, and you shall get your cure."

The word "cure" resonated deep within him. It was a lifeline, a promise. He rose to his feet, and a renewed sense of purpose propelled him forward.

He went after her, walking as fast as he could. He found her surrounded in a warehouse, cornered by the shuffling horde.

He watched as she grabbed a heavy metal bat and began to beat down the Greens. One fell, brains out. Another had its leg twisted at an unnatural angle, rendering it useless. Another had a hand mangled, unable to grasp. The last, though upright, hobbled on a crushed ankle.

On the floor, they kept moving towards her, growling, till she scrambled into an empty drum and pulled the lid shut.

He could have saved her immediately, but a strange thought, a product of his reawakened brain, held him back. He wanted her to learn, to see that he was safe and that without him, she was not. He wanted her to understand the new dynamic between them. After a moment, he opened the lid. She shrieked.

"Calm down!" He simply said. He was familiar with that word.

He merely looked at the greens, and they paused. He extended a hand and kept looking at her. She cringed in the drum and whimpered.

“Please don't kill me,” she said.

He wished he could say more words. To tell her… “I would have killed you if I wanted to…”

He simply offered a hand and after a moment of hesitation, she took it. Shivering, so much that he could feel her vibration.

He pulled her out, holding her hand firmly.

"Please, don't kill me," she begged, her voice trembling.

He shook his head, knowing the futility of trying to speak more words. Everything he uttered brought forth more blood. He held her head gently, then, guiding her, dragged her back towards the van.

The streets were still teeming with Greens. He wondered if there were any other survivors, any other living humans besides them. He looked at her eyes; she seemed to be resisting him, yet her gaze was fixed on him, a strange, desperate hope glimmering within them.

The Greens looked like they saw a miracle. Jonathan too. They looked like they were on a roll call, waiting for an order.

Back inside the van, he sat opposite her. The radio crackled again. He lunged for it, but she was faster, grabbing it and turning to face him.

"Eleanor? Are you safe?" A man's voice boomed from the speaker.

"Yes, Daddy! Please, come get me!" she cried, tears streaming down her face.

"Stay with him. Make him keep you safe.”

“Stay with him? Is he... safe?" She asked.

"For now," the voice on the radio replied. "He will bring you to us and get his cure."

“Give him the phone," the voice commanded.

Jonathan stood as he heard this, a jolt of anticipation coursing through him. The woman cringed, cowering and shifting further into her seat. She hesitated and then, with a tremor, held out the radio.

"He-llo," Jonathan managed.

"Oh, thank you!" The voice on the other end was thick. "Bring her to the Vet Crescent. A chopper will be there to get her."

"Get her?" Jonathan asked, a single word, sharp and clear despite the blood.

"You too. Make sure you protect her with your life from the zombies and other survivors. We'll bring you to the lab and give you the cure," the voice said, and then the call dropped.

Jonathan wondered. Protect her from other survivors?

He looked forward to it, to the lab, to the cure. He prayed it was possible. He prayed he wouldn't be betrayed as always. But then his thoughts were broken by the voice.

"Thank you."

He turned to her. He wanted to smile. He thought he smiled. But Eleanor only cringed, shifting away, her fear still palpable.

He was still a zombie. A Green.