Crimson Awakening

Chapter 6

Jenkins listened to the voicemail, noting that the guy’s name was Reynir Halldor. Slowly, he recalled long forgotten memories of a NATO exercise with the Icelandic Special Forces. Tall, blond, and extremely powerful, Sergeant Reynir could have been the poster boy for the Viking hordes of Middle Ages when setting Europe ablaze. Jenkins had met the impressive sergeant during a contest between troops when Sergeant Reynir had won the first-place prize for deadlifting over a thousand pounds.

Jenkins shivered at the recollection. The guy was a war machine, and anyone who dared go against him would be instantly FUBAR’ed.

He grabbed another beer, settled on the couch, and called Rey.

“Jenkins, thanks for calling back. Did you watch the news?” Rey’s voice boomed through the speaker.

“Hey, Rey. Yeah, s**t is crazy, man.” He paused for a beat, thinking back to his own zombie encounter. “What can I do for you?”

Rey shared with Jenkins the zombie attack on his wife that ended with her being locked in the trailer.

“Sorry to hear that, Rey. Gabi was—is—a great woman. But what can I do?” Jenkins sighed.

“Yes, she is a great woman. Listen, I got to deliver a paper load in California. I can stop by so maybe you can take a look at her. I hope you kept up with the infections, viruses, and whatnot.” Rey held his breath, waiting for Jenkins to reply.

On the other end, Jenkins’ stomach lurched. He stayed silent, wondering how to answer the guy. In normal times, it would have been interesting to examine such an abomination, but these were not normal times, and he wasn’t the man he used to be. All he cared for was his little boy, Joshua. The rest could go to hell. He, himself, was on the way there anyway.

Sighing, Jenkins decided to come clean. “I’m not a doctor anymore, Rey. They kicked me out ’cause … I’m a drunk,” he whispered the last words, ashamed of himself.

On the other end, Rey’s hopes crumbled. He clenched his fists in desperation.

He was outside of Eve’s earshot, pacing around the trailer. He looked in the distance at the smoke columns swirling thickly into the sky. Long columns of cars occupied both lanes on the other side. A horrified population was desperately trying to get away from the big cities.

“Right …” Rey was a bit surprised at the sudden confession. “But you still have the knowledge, Jenkins. Just take a look … please?”

Jenkins sighed. Half-curious and half-wanting to help, he debated for several seconds. He’d had a passion once, believing he could do good in the world. Beaten down by life, a cheating wife, and a mountain of debt, he had abandoned his dreams and had searched for new ones at the bottom of liquor bottles.

Maybe there was still time. Maybe he could still make a difference. These were remarkable times, and he was a remarkable guy, despite what everyone else thought of him. Then he decided, f**k it. I can’t go to Florida anyway. And as long as Josh stays put with his mother in the hotel room, he’ll be okay.

“Okay, here’s the deal. I work at Sylvania Labs. Come there. I don’t have any way of researching this infection from home. I’ll give it a shot.” He then gave Rey the address for the lab and ended the conversation.

Chico sat at his feet, looked up, and whined.

Shit. I gotta feed him.

Jenkins picked up a bag of dog food and a water bottle. He walked to the hallway leading to the backyard where he filled Chico’s bowl. Then he emptied the water into another bowl.

Chico stopped by the blob of blood and puss on the floor. Out of the corner of his eye, Jenkins saw the dog examining the excretion closely.

“Get away from that s**t, Chico,” yelled Jenkins, striding toward the dog. Chico ignored him, and Jenkins yelled again, “No!”

Chico cried and retreated, flicking his tongue over his muzzle.

“You damn, stupid dog,” Jenkins mumbled, looking closely at the putrefied blob. The smell made his stomach churn.

He grabbed a paper towel, cleaning traces of infection. Then he used plenty of bleach to destroy every spec of it.

He walked into the garage and, after a few minutes of searching and cursed words spat under his breath, he found his microscope. It was an old thing but still in good shape. He brought it to the living room and set it on the coffee table.

Expertly, he worked for over an hour, analyzing the zombie blood and puss found at the back door, making notes on a yellow pad. Every time he looked through the lens, he found himself making little noises of amazement.

Jenkins consulted several books stored in boxes in his bedroom. More notes were added as he filled many pages with his findings. He always loved the research, and getting back into it was like riding a bicycle—once you learned, you never forgot.

He walked to the fridge, grabbed another beer, and then settled on the couch, reading through his notes. This is really messed up.

Jenkins needed more information. He picked up the phone and called Rey.

“Did you find anything?” Rey asked, breathing fast in anticipation of good news.

“Describe to me the scratch on Gabi,” Jenkins said, skipping Rey’s question.

“About six inches long, starting between her shoulder blades and terminating on her neck, just under the third vertebral segment,” Rey said, quick and efficient.

“Is she still bleeding?”

“No idea. I haven’t seen her since she got infected,” Rey said, almost apologizing for neglecting his wife.

“You may want to check. Also, I need information about Gabi’s medical history,” Jenkins said.

“Appendectomy at seventeen, child pregnancy at twenty-four, and the seasonal flu every so often,” Rey rattled, as if reading a menu.

“Great, but that tells me nothing. I need bloodwork.”

“Jenkins, I’m not carrying her medical file with me, man. When we get there, you’ll have plenty of time to do your own.”

“Yeah … problem is I don’t have access to that area of the lab, and I doubt anyone would be so kind as to help us while the damn zombies roam around.”

“You work at a lab, don’t you?”

“Yes, Rey”—his tone fizzled to a murmur—“as the janitor.”

Rey stayed silent. He had not expected that. “So, you do have, in fact, access to a lab …” Rey dropped the hint.

Jenkins had to admit that the guy was right. And with all the zombie hubbub, he doubted anyone would bother coming to work. He could just break into the area of the lab where he would test the blood. Question was: how would he get there?

“Okay, Rey, I’ll figure out a way. Just get here as soon as you can. By the way, when will that be?”

Rey recalled the few encounters he’d had with zombies. Most likely, he’d have more. “If all goes well, I’ll be there tomorrow night. Day after, at the latest.”

“Fine. I’ll prep the lab.” Jenkins clicked off and thought of Joshua for a beat. He dialed his number. On the third ring, the kid answered.

“Hey, Dad, what’s up?”

“What’s up with you, big guy? What’s going on there?”

“Mom is going crazy. Rick was called in. Want to talk to Mom?

“Sure, but first … are you okay?”

“I’m okay, but—oh, here’s Mom …”

Sounds of the phone being handed from Joshua to his mom followed, and then Bridgette’s voice erupted in the speaker.

“Fred, what the hell is going on? This is crazy. Rick got called in—”

“Yeah … I don’t really care what that … Rick is doing, okay?” Jenkins replied, wanting to call Rick something else but changed his mind at the last second. Annoyed, he pushed the phone closer to his ear. “Is Josh safe? Are you safe?”

“Yes, they told us to stay inside and lock the doors. What’s going to happen to us, Fred?”

Jenkins stared at a spot on his carpet and suddenly heard shuffling at the back door. Scratches and bangs followed. Again? These f*****g bastards …

“Bridgette, I’ll have to call you back. I gotta do something.” Without waiting for an answer, he clicked off the phone, grabbed his shotgun, and stuffed his pockets with shells.

Tiptoeing toward the back door, in the dim light of the hallway, he saw the door flap pushed in and a disfigured head sticking through it. With it, a pestilential stench spread into the hallway.

Jenkins aimed the weapon toward the zombie’s head and debated for a split-second if he should shoot or find other means to get rid of the intruder. He realized the buckshot about to discharge would severely damage the door, and he had nothing left to fix it with.

He slowly opened the door to the garage and reached behind the corner. He knew he had left a shovel there, back when drinking wasn’t a problem and he had enjoyed doing more pedestrian things, like gardening.

With the shovel in one hand, he propped the shotgun against the wall then moved closer to the back door. As the zombie turned to him and began to growl and gurgle, Jenkins lunged at the creature with the raised shovel. He brought it down with all his might and cut the head off the body in one clean swoop. The zombie’s head fell inside while the body wiggled and contorted outside. More noises of shuffling and snarls came from behind the door.

Jenkins picked up the shotgun then slightly moved the blanket that he had nailed over the small window that opened to the backyard. Two silhouettes moved aimlessly behind the door.

Jenkins covered the window back up, crouched down on the floor, and thought for a minute on how to get rid of the two zombies. Bursting through the door, g*n blazing, might not be the best idea, but he had nothing else.

Chico walked toward him, and Jenkins put his finger to his lips. That’s stupid. The dog doesn’t know sign language.

“Sit. Sit, damn you,” he whispered.

Chico lay down and growled softly.

Jenkins looked at the dog then to the small door with the flap cut into it. What if …?

He didn’t finish his thought as he crawled to the door. He listened intently, and when one of the zombies approached, he pulled the trigger. The shot flung the flap outward, and he heard a thump and more shrieks, which he hoped came from a zombie without legs.

When growls came from the left, he pulled the trigger again, figuring the spread of the buckshot might have taken both legs of the second zombie, as well.

Dual shrieks followed shortly, and Jenkins realized they were not coming from high above, as before, but from the ground level. Then he stood up, squeezing the g*n with white fists. f**k it, I gotta see it.

He cracked the door open just enough to peer outside with one eye. I was right, he jubilated, staring at two bodies thrashing on the ground.

Jenkins opened the door, took a couple of steps toward the zombies, and blasted a shot in each head without hesitation. Dark blood splattered around, and chunks of mucus and bone landed on his running shoes. Son of a …

He walked back to the house, taking his shoes off before he entered and throwing them into the yard. Then he spat toward the mangled bodies sprawled on the lawn. “I hope you walk in hell with my sneakers, you f*****g bastards,” Jenkins muttered under his breath.

Chico erupted into a mad bark but didn’t dare step out of the house.

Jenkins turned. At the corner of the house, two more zombies approached him at full speed. He instantly realized he had to reload his shotgun and had no time to do it … unless becoming zombie food while attempting.

Headfirst, he dived through the open door and into the house. One of the zombies was right behind him and appeared in the doorway. Jenkins had the smarts, and just enough time, to kick hard and slam the door shut in the creature’s face. f**k me, that was a close one.

Outside, jaw clacking and teeth chattering followed. The back door whined under the zombie’s weight, and Chico continued his wild barking, more agitated than ever.

Jenkins ignored the barking, although it drove him nuts, and looked around, searching for something to cover the door. He found nothing. I’m royally f****d now …