Zombie Wake Read Online Free Page B

seemed like an atypical animal behavior—at least for a
pelican. Maybe it would appear more natural if the bird were a buzzard, or
seagull even. Often, when I see a circle of buzzards, I hike to the backcountry
location beneath to find a carcass half consumed. If it was anything of
stature, I note my position and return later to collect the bones. Those
situations, while vile smelling, never disrupt my sense of the world’s balance.
They never seemed horrific or contaminated. No animal part could look or be as
wrong as the chunk that tooth beak rolled out of her mouth—a piece of
curved skull, with stings of mucus. It was impossible to distinguish color
under the orange glow of the sodium lights but the hair attached, now matted
with slime, displayed what could have been the same
reverse grey pattern that I had seen on the woman in the bus.
    I wondered if the bus of patients
were the hospital ward residents that my wife had spoken about. Could they be
responsible for this? Three years ago, after the birth of our second child,
Claire quit her position as a scientist at the university to stay home with the
kids. But these last few weeks, she’s been touring the local research
facilities, once again exploring her career options.
    It was after her last walk through
the clinic that she came home baffled. “Things have changed,” she said. Since a
three billion dollar grant to fund pandemic viral research has affiliated the
University with the hospital, the timeline to go from laboratory bench research
to clinical trials has been sped up. The consequence, faster than industry
standards… and she went on to explain the latest trial... Something about using
a genetically modified avian flu virus and there was something about
stimulating stem cell production. The treatment had a rejuvenating effect,
including, if I heard right, grey hair reversal. Despite forcing myself to sit
still and nod, I remember more about the state of our backyard than the details
of the conversation. I only half listened to her that morning while sipping my
coffee and looking out the window at the neighbor’s cat, who seemed to be
stalking our chickens. It took me three rounds of cell biology to figure out
that my ability to tune out the subject was and continues to be exceptional.
And that discussion, as with so many of those conversations, ended with the
plea, “It’s not that I’m not interested. It’s just… you know me and .. .”
    What questions I would ask her now.
Now she is lying in bed ten miles from here—so far away, yet too close to
this zombie ridden pier. The head, remember, the head, I remind myself.
Lowering the rifle once again, I begin to make my stand.

Bullets

8
    Now, I wouldn’t say math was my
best subject but I figure, pretty quick , that with two
magazines for the AR15 (each 28 rounds), and my 40-caliber Smith and Wesson
(three sets of 11 rounds plus 1), I have less than one third the bullets I need
for this event. The pier is filled with… individuals. All look tattered, torn
and decomposed. One, holding an arm severed at the elbow, spits out a finger.
Most are moving forward.
    We are trained that the use of
force is a continuum. You are constantly evaluating the circumstances before
you, and reacting appropriately. The Peace Officer Protective Equipment,
sometimes jokingly referred to as the batman belt, is a toolbox of options. The
most common first line of defense is voice, verbal judo it’s called. “Excuse me
sir, that behavior is unacceptable in this public setting…” that sort of thing.
Then there’s pepper spray and the baton. It is a common public misconception
that the use of force is like a ladder. You have to stand on rung number one
before you got to rung number two. In reality, you are continuously escalating
and de-escalating your response to match your environment. And rungs can be
skipped.
    Now it’s time for bullets—all
of them. As I start shooting, really start, I think, Don’t pick them