Zombies! Summer Special: Growing Pains
Smashwords Edition
Copyright 2011 by Ivan Turner
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The people and events in this book are fictional. Any resemblance to actual people or events is purely coincidental.
***
What has come before.
Zombies are a reality in New York City and the United States and the world. And though the infection has spread, it has not overwhelmed the population. People still go to work. They still share relationships and run their daily lives. Businesses remain open and children still go to school. Governments grind on.
It’s not the end of the world.
And yet all of the efforts of the police and the military and the health department have failed to eradicate the threat. While they work frantically to prevent the apocalypse, someone built an underground army of the undead. On a cold snowy day in February, a day that would later be known as the Red Blizzard, that army was unleashed on the five boroughs of New York. Though for many, even in the city, the Red Blizzard was nothing more than a story in the news, for many others it was the end of their lives as they knew them. Or the end of their lives altogether. There are so many stories from that day. This is just one of them.
***
Growing Pains is a short story that takes place during the events of Zombies! Episode 10: State of Emergency. While Abby Benjamin was hiding out and Martin Benjamin was trying to get to his wife… While Shawn Rudd was fighting in the streets… While Lance Naughton and Denise Luco were trying to rescue Zoe Koplowitz from the zombie infection, Dillon Waters, at just ten years old, was leaving his childhood behind in a wave of blood and death.
This is his story.
***
It was a good time for action figures. There pretty much wasn’t anything you couldn’t get. Dillon was currently running a story that included Luke Skywalker, Anakin Skywalker, Darth Vader (why not?), Cobra Commander, Iron Man, and Moon Knight. The Moon Knight figure had been a real score. His dad had picked it up for him on the street. It was cool when the comic book dealers started selling the action figures, too. They were worlds more expensive than they were in the stores but Dillon was only ten years old and didn’t really know much about the cost of things. The only time it ever really came into play was when his mom told him he couldn’t have something because it was too expensive.
His dad never told him he couldn’t have something.
That was both the great and the terrible thing about Dillon’s dad. Everett Waters would give Dillon anything he wanted. He could get toys and DVDs. He could stay up late and have ice cream for dinner. Of course, Everett Waters gave everyone just about everything they wanted. Dillon had often heard his mother complaining because Everett had allowed someone at work to not only pass him by, but step on his face as he did so. It was humiliating. In the contest with the other kids when they were shouting My dad can beat up your dad, Dillon knew better than to get involved. Even if his dad could beat up the other kid’s dad, he never would. No matter what.
“Get cleaned up for dinner, Dillon,” his mom called from the other room.
Dinner. Hmm. It smelled like meatloaf and stewed potatoes. That was his dad’s favorite. To Dillon, it was like eating cow turds. The potatoes were okay, but the meatloaf was awful. Maybe his mom had some leftover pasta or something and would let him slide without eating it. It would be better to approach the situation after his dad got home. If he got to his dad first, his dad would make him something else. His mom would be pissed at both of them, but it was worth it. He knew his dad felt guilty for having a favorite meal that Dillon absolutely hated.
His mom called him one more time. This time Dillon started slowly putting his toys away. That way, if his mom came into his room to get him, he could at least say that he was cleaning up. He was just about to put Moon Knight into the box when he heard the door burst open in the front room. His mom screamed once in surprise and he heard a plate drop to the kitchen floor and shatter. Then his dad’s voice joined his mom’s.
Something was wrong. Dillon couldn’t make out all of the words but a few phrases slipped through.
…thousands of them…
…all over the city…
…this is the end…
Dillon crept slowly from his bedroom into the hallway. The light in the hall was off, but he could see the glow from the living room and the kitchen up ahead. Their Manhattan apartment wasn’t big and any one light brought some type of illumination to every part of the place. A figure passed by the end of the hall. Then back again. Then the light came on and his mother rushed back toward him. She didn’t even acknowledge him as she went into the bathroom, turning on the light in there. Dillon watched as she rummaged through the cabinets under the sink, pulling out plastic box after plastic box. Finally, she pulled out the one with the bandages and antiseptic cream in it. It was their first aid kit. She rushed past him again, not even bothering to turn off the bathroom light.
Coming into the living room, Dillon turned his head and saw his father. He was sitting at their dinner table, just off the kitchenette. His head was back and his eyes were closed. He was breathing. Just breathing. Mandy Waters had pulled up a chair next to him and was dressing a wound on his arm. Dillon didn’t see the wound. It was already covered by a gauze pad. But the blood was soaking through even as his mom wrapped the bandages around it. A tube of the cream lay on the table. It had been squeezed dry.
“You need to get to a hospital, Everett,” Mandy said to him.
He shook his head weakly. Though Dillon didn’t understand what he was seeing, his dad was going into mild shock. “The snow’s too thick.”
Dillon looked toward the front window and saw the falling flakes. Rushing forward, he looked outside. There was a lot of snow on the ground. Treading through the snow three stories below were dozens of figures. There were all different types of people down there. And they were all dressed differently. Some were dressed for the summer and some for the spring. A few had coats, but not many. The snow landed on them and tended to pile up as if they were nothing more than statues. It wasn’t melting on them the way it should have.
They were zombies.
Dillon knew all about zombies. His mom had sat him down a few months before and explained to him that there were some sick people who seemed to die, but really got up and walked around. They couldn’t think anymore and were very dangerous. Everyone was calling them zombies but Dillon shouldn’t worry about it. They weren’t like the zombies in the movies. They were just sick people who needed help.
“Everett, you’re going to get sick if this isn’t treated.”
“I’m sure it’ll be fine,” Everett said. Another of his better qualities was the way he could completely delude himself into thinking the easier course of action was always the right one.
Dillon turned and saw that they had left the door open. “There’s someone at the door,” he said.
Mandy looked up quickly and saw the shuffling creature standing in the doorway. She took two steps toward it, maybe thinking to shut the door and push it out. But Everett cried out and she stopped. The zombie lurched forward and another came in behind it. There was a third in the corridor.
“What do we do?” Mandy whimpered. “Everett, what do we do?”
Dillon looked at his parents. His father’s indecision was nothing new to him, but he had never seen his mother like this. She was in a complete state of panic. The zombies had brought with them the stench of death. It was a stench that transcended a simple smell. She smelled her own death. She smelled hell itself. Seeing his mother so powerless had a profound effect on him. He suddenly saw the world as a place in which there was no one to take care of him. He was the most competent person in the house which made him the most competent person in the world. He was the only one with the ability to act.
He also didn’t care about his parents anymore.
Rushing past them, he went straight to his room and opened his closet. He pulled out box after box of toys until he found the aluminum baseball bat his uncle had bought him for his third birthday. It had been the dumbest gift ever. It was bad enough that he had given the bat to a three year old child. It was worse that Dillon lived in a two bedroom Manhattan apartment and had had exactly zero chances to play baseball throughout the course of his life. Now, though, his uncle’s gift looked pretty good.
As he came out of his room, he saw his parents coming down the hallway. When he saw the bat, Everett reached out for it.
Dillon went right by him.
“Dillon, give me that,” he said.
“What are you doing?” his mother echoed.
He ignored them. If they weren’t competent enough to protect him from zombies then they didn’t have the right to give him orders or ask him questions.
The first zombie was already at the mouth of the corridor. Dillon stuck the bat out in front of him and pushed against it with all of his might. He was small and the zombie was a full grown adult. If it grabbed him, he’d never get free. But when it came to pushing and balance, he was going to be the winner. The zombie stumbled back two steps and then fell over the one right behind it. Dillon jumped on top of its chest and brought the bat right down on top of its head. He had never felt anything like it. It wasn’t like hitting a ball. It wasn’t like banging the bat against the floor. There was no sense of satisfaction that comes with the follow through. The skull crunched under the blow; he could feel that. But beneath that was just soft brains. It was like pounding on a foam mattress. The bat was cushioned and stopped. Black ichor oozed out of the thing’s nose and ears. It twitched a couple of times and went still. The zombie behind it, the one it had fallen against, struggled to regain its balance. The zombies behind Dillon, the two people he’d called his parents, struggled to regain a completely different kind of balance.
Dillon moved forward and took care of the second zombie. A third one had snuck in though while he was occupied. How many of them were there? Somehow, it was almost on top of him. Ducking under its strike, he slid over to where the kitchen began. The zombie pivoted to follow him, but then caught scent of his parents. It had been a big man. It wore a pair of carpenter’s pants and a Grateful Dead t-shirt. There was a two day growth of beard on its face. Of course, it had been a zombie for several weeks and the beard had simply stopped growing. It had been a two day growth of beard for all of that time and would be forevermore. The zombie wasn’t wearing a jacket and snow had collected in its hair and on its shoulders. The snow was beginning to melt in the heat of the room.
Dillon moved in behind it and swung the bat as it went for his parents. The zombie was too big, however, and Dillon couldn’t reach his head. The bat bounced off of its shoulders. The zombie shuddered once and did a little two-step forward. Its momentum carried it right into Dillon’s hesitating parents. Everett saw it coming and fell backward in terror. Mandy put out her hands to protect herself against it. It grabbed her in a big hug and started to feast. Behind her and on the floor, Everett Waters began to scream and cry. For the first time in his life, he touched his aggressive nature. Finding his feet, he charged forward and engaged the zombie. It was already too late for Mandy, as it was too late for Everett.
Dillon watched the whole play with little emotion, understanding that there could never have been any other outcome. While the zombie feasted on his parents, he went to the front closet and grabbed his jacket, hat, and gloves. He dressed himself for the weather. Making sure he could still get a good grip on the bat, he moved out the door and into the hallway. All throughout the building there were screams of terror and the sounds of people dying. It occurred to Dillon that it was probably his father who had let the zombies in. After his attack, he’d probably rushed through their building entrance and failed to close the security doors. Knowing Everett, he may have even held them open for the zombies out of politeness.
Dillon went to the elevator and pushed the button. It lit up like normal and he waited. Suddenly he remembered that you’re not supposed to take the elevator during an emergency. And this was as much of an emergency as he could imagine. He might get trapped in the elevator by a zombie. There wouldn’t be any maneuvering room in there. He wouldn’t be able to swing the bat. So, with no other choice, he made for the stairs. Once in the stairwell, though, he could smell them. It was the most foul thing he’d ever smelled. It was everywhere. The stairway up looked clear. The stairway down looked clear. He didn’t know which way to go. Down, of course. Go down and get to the street. Would that be much better? What would be the scene in the lobby? Would he be able to get through with the silly aluminum baseball bat that his uncle had gotten him even though he’d never have the opportunity to play baseball? For long moments, Dillon stood frozen in the stairway. He felt like his dad. Then, finally, he decided to move and went down the stairs.
Running at a breakneck pace, he cleared the third floor and then the second floor and then he saw the lobby. He came to a skidding halt on the landing, just six steps above what appeared to be a congregation of various zombies. It looked like they were all in the lobby. There was someone else down there, too. Dillon, recognized Mr. Skolnick, the kind and quiet old man from the apartment below him. Mr. Skolnick liked to sit out in front of the building in a lawn chair and read the paper. He gave the kids lots of candy on Halloween. He never shouted because of the noise. Dillon, and all of the other kids, liked him. Now, he had a big knife in one hand and the other hand was wrapped around the throat of a zombie. He was fighting like an animal. This kind old man who liked nothing more than to relax in peace stabbed at them and squeezed the throat of that zombie like he was trying to get the last drop of juice out of an orange. But for each one that he put down, there was another one. They just kept coming.
They kept coming and coming and coming…
And then there was this one zombie that separated himself from all of the rest. He wore a long coat and he had scraggly hair. He was dirty. He was so dirty. And when Mr. Skolnick swung his knife at, this zombie ducked. He dropped under the knife and reached up to grab Mr. Skolnick’s hand. At that point, Mr. Sklonick didn’t know what to do. He was astounded by this miracle, this terrible, dark, stinking miracle. What was he to think of an undead creature that could fight back?
The creature pulled Mr. Skolnick away, out of view. Dillon stood frozen again, wrapped in indecision. Mr. Skolnick had fought the way Dillon wanted to fight, the way he wished his father had fought. But Everett Waters had not been equipped to survive this. So Dillon made up his mind not to be his father’s son. Hefting his bat, he took a steadying breath and was about to move when something came at him from behind. He spun but the zombie was too close for him to take a swing. He tried to step back but his foot missed the stair. He stumbled down two steps and collided with the wall. The bat fell from his hands. At that point, Dillon didn’t know what to do so he turned and he ran. He ran down the stairs, right into the waiting throng of zombies. They met him with open arms and open mouths, all gnashing teeth and hunger.
When he hit the ground floor, Dillon ducked. He weaved through them, looking for any opening. They were too slow to reach down and grab him, though they tried. Those he passed through turned in an attempt to grab him. Through their clumsiness, they tangled themselves up with the others that were just noticing him. They made a big mess falling all over themselves trying to get to this one small boy, this tiny piece of meat that dared to move among them.
When Dillon burst free of the group, he caught sight of the scraggly zombie in the long coat. Despite everything, its movements, its apparent intelligence, ability to think, he never doubted what this creature was. When he tried to get past this one, he was overmatched. It was able to bend and match Dillon’s movements without the clumsiness of his brethren. It turned and snatched him up by his arm. Dillon kicked and screamed. He fought like a wildcat. He punched it as hard as he could but he dared not scratch it or bite it for the same reasons that he himself didn’t want to be bitten. And, surprisingly, it didn’t bite him. He didn’t know why. Then he was thrust into a small storage closet just to the right of what had once been a reception desk and the door was slammed shut behind him.
Dillon had known about the closet for a long time. Every day, he was in that lobby two times, four times, six times. Whenever he left his apartment he went through the lobby. Whenever he came home, he went through the lobby. And there was always that door. Because he was just a child, a closed door was a burning mystery. He knew it wasn’t an apartment. So he’d always wondered what was inside. It wasn’t just that he’d seen the door on his way up and down from his apartment. After a while, he’d had to know. So he’d snuck in.
And it was just a storage closet.
But it was also a discovery. He’d made good use of that closet for two years or more. He’d gone in a few times with friends. Once, he’d gone in with Katy Vazquez. That had been, what, last spring? It had been before there had been any such things as zombies. They’d played a little. They’d kissed a little. It was all very innocent, just two eight year olds experimenting. He missed Katy just then. He supposed he would never know what happened to her. Of course, he could guess.
There were other people inside the closet with him now. It was a tight fit, but the scraggly zombie had managed to shove six people inside. They looked haggard and frightened under the one small fluorescent light. Mr. Skolnick was one of them. He was nursing a wound on his arm. Dillon supposed he’d been bitten and, if that was the case, it was all over for Mr. Skolnick. Still, he looked strong. He still held his knife. At first, Dillon didn’t understand why the zombie hadn’t taken it away from him, but then realized that it didn’t make a difference. What would he do with it in a room full of people? And what would he do with it if he left that room and entered the lobby full of zombies?
Mrs. Dumpot was also in the room. She sat in the back corner, huddled down within herself. She always wore these dresses that made her look twenty years older than she was. They always had blue checks or green flowers or some terrible ugly pattern like that. They all looked like they came out of the 1920s. She always wore this thing on her head, too. She wasn’t trying to cover her hair or keep warm. Dillon didn’t know the significance. It just made her look like an old maid. She was crying, her face buried in her hands. She was alone in the room despite the other people. Dillon knew that Mrs. Dumpot had a big family. Where were they now? What were they now? They were gone, of course. Of that he was certain. Probably everyone in the building except these six people and himself were gone, either eaten by the undead or become undead themselves.
Of the other four people, only one was child. Younger than Dillon, the child was maybe five or six years old. He didn’t know her name. She was clinging to the arms of a man who did not look like he could be her father. Then again, who knew? Dillon didn’t know the man either. He was tall and thickly built. He wore his hair in classic Jamaican braids. A stern look covered his face and a bloody tank top covered his chest. Dillon understood why the girl was clinging to him. He appeared strong. He gave the impression that he ate zombies instead of the other way around. Of course, if that were true, he wouldn’t be locked in a storage closet with them. He’d have cleared the building and saved all of their lives.
The last two people in the closet were two girls. Dillon knew them by site. They shared an apartment on his floor. One of them was named Giselle but he didn’t know the other one’s name. He didn’t even know which one was which. They wore matching flannel pajamas, which he thought was weird. The stood together near Mrs. Dumpot, but completely separate from the older woman. They were frightened, but mostly keeping it together.
“Why did they bring us in here?” asked one of the girls. She might have been Giselle or she might have been Giselle’s roommate.
The Jamaican man just shook his head.
Mrs. Dumpot cried more loudly.
“For later.” Mr. Skolnick’s accent was thick. He’d come to the United States in the seventies. He’d been looking to escape religious prejudice in Poland. And now he’d found a completely different kind of prejudice. Prejudice against the living.
Dillon decided he didn’t want to be a meal for later. He didn’t want to be a meal at all. Let the zombies have someone else. He turned and put his hand on the knob. One of the two girls screamed. It wasn’t Giselle. Or maybe it was. It wasn’t the girl who’d asked the question. Startled, he withdrew his hand quickly, as if he’d been burned.
“If you open that door,” said the girl. “They’ll get us.”
“We should wait until they’re gone,” said the other girl.
“They’re always going to be out there,” said the man with the Jamaican braids.
Suddenly there was a pounding on the door. Everyone jumped back in surprise. The pounding grew louder and the door shook in its frame. The zombies outside had discovered them and wanted in. There would be no saving for later. Zombies didn’t think about dinner or lunch or a mid-afternoon snack. If there was flesh to be consumed, then the zombies would have it right then and there.
“What’ll we do? What’ll we do? What’ll we do?” cried Mrs. Dumpot over and over again.
The pounding grew ever louder. A hinge bent in and they all gasped in surprise. The zombies were going to get in. They could only imagine how many of them were behind the door. The lobby must have been wall to wall dead. The ones nearest pounded on the door. Those further away pounded on the ones in front of them. All together, they would eventually be more than a match for the door that held closed the storage closet.
Dillon looked up at the faces one more time and made his decision. He didn’t care about these people. There were none that he knew very well and even if he had… Well, look at what had happened with his parents. Mr. Skolnick looked down at his wound again. It didn’t have to be a bite wound. It was long and thin, as if he’d cut himself with his own knife, the knife that had already been slick with zombie gore. It stood out against his flesh, burning red.
Enough was enough.
Reaching for the knob, Dillon turned it and pushed against the door. It was no use. Outside, the zombies pushed back. Idiots. Giselle screamed again, but he wasn’t startled this time. He heaved with all of his might, but he couldn’t do more than bounce the door in its frame.
“Help me,” he said.
“Are you crazy?” Skolnick shouted.
“I’ll distract them,” Dillon offered, the idea appearing in his head like a brilliant light bulb. “I’m small so I can duck underneath them. When they go for me, you guys can sneak out behind.”
The five adults in the room looked at one another. Even Mrs. Dumpot stopped crying long enough to have a glance. Could it really work? Desperate, they seemed willing to cling to this small hope. No one thought twice about sending a ten year old boy into the midst of a zombie horde. That was irrelevant. If he could save them, then they would let him be their sacrificial lamb.
All at once, Skolnick pressed himself forward. The other man, the strong looking one, detached himself from the little girl and joined him. Together, they pushed against the door, while Dillon held the knob. The two Giselles (only one of them was really Giselle) lent their might as well. Shortly, the door moved slightly. A hand came through and nearly snatched Dillon by the leg. Mr. Skolnick stabbed at it and fresh red blood began to flow. The zombie was fresh. Mr. Skolnick was stabbing a neighbor. But the hand would not recede and was soon joined by another.
“Push harder!” Dillon shouted and the adults responded. At last, there was just enough room for him to sneak out between the legs and grabbing arms. With the smell of death surrounding him, he pushed through and was free of the closet.
The zombies noticed him immediately. The scenario played out as he had described it, which was not necessarily what he wanted. All of the dead turned in his direction and reached for him. There were more than before. Many more. They stepped away from the closet and that’s when things turned around. The door flew open and Mr. Skolnick and the man with the Jamaican braids tumbled into the lobby. The zombies’ attention was diverted from Dillon and they turned. They all but forgot about the tiny meal that was scampering away. There was a much larger meal that was ripe for the taking.
The zombies advanced.
Skolnick tried to get the door closed, but he was too slow in rising and too slow in grabbing the knob. The man who looked like he ate the zombies was, in fact, completely useless in a fight. He screamed and wet his pants as the zombies grabbed him and began to pull at his arms and legs and belly. Giselle and her roommate fought hard but they were no match for the dozens of undead. For each of them, it was over after one bite. They fought a little less hard each time one of them was wounded and were eventually overcome. Poor Mrs. Dumpot sat in her corner in her ugly dress and didn’t move or fight, even as the zombies made a meal of her. The little girl… Well, she disappeared almost instantly.
Only Mr. Skolnick fought with vigor. Even after sustaining several bite wounds, he swung the knife. He cut arms and chests and necks and heads. Like before, when Dillon had been watching him from the top of the staircase, he showed himself to be a formidable opponent. But there were too many of them for him to fight now and he, too, was eventually overcome.
Dillon had just about made the front door when that zombie, the scraggly one, appeared. Reaching down, he grabbed the boy up as easily as the boy had evaded the other zombies. Lifting Dillon high, he seemed about to toss him to the ravenous pack. But a second zombie, this one a large black man whose skin had faded to a chalky brown, grabbed hold of the scraggly zombie’s arm, shoved him, and forced Dillon free. He said something, but the boy didn’t stick around to hear what it was. He didn’t bother to process the incredible thing he had just witnessed. Two intelligent zombies were working together. And one of them had shown him compassion.
He rushed from the building and into the blinding snow.
The street was silent. There were a few in a few windows and there were the street lamps, so he could see all right. But the road was filled with snow. There were no cars or trucks. Even the plows hadn’t come by yet. There were some zombies out there on the street, but there was so much space that they were hardly a problem for the lithe boy. He ducked through them and weaved around them. Though the deep snow made it hard for him to move, it was harder for the zombies. Before long, he’d cleared the block and was free of them altogether.
And what now?
He wasn’t sure that this was the end of the world. He wasn’t sure that it wasn’t. But if it was, he was determined to be one of its survivors. Everyone else could go to hell, for all he cared. In ten years, when the survivors were busy building a new civilization, Dillon would be out there in front. He would be their leader.
For now, though, he was on his own. He had family he could go to. There was his grandfather and his uncle. But he chose to disregard them. Let them think he’d perished in the nightmare that was his apartment building. For the first time in his life, he felt free. So, with good spirits and a hopeful eye toward the future, Dillon marched down the street in search of a new home.
***
Dillon Waters is one of several new characters that will be featured in Zombies! Series 2. Living on the streets and in the subway tunnels, he will have a unique view of what happens in New York City under the cover of darkness and behind the eyes of those who carry on with their regular lives.
Join Dillon and the rest of the cast of Zombies! when they return September 26th, 2011 in Zombies! Episode 2.01: Knight of the Living Dead.
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Zombies! Series 1 was a much greater success than I ever dreamed. I and the fans of the series communicate through facebook in the Zombies group and every once in a while through twitter. I’d love for you all to get involved.
Feel free to contact me with any comments either on facebook or at gnrlwoundwort@gmail.com. Also, feel free to review this and the other episodes of Zombies! Reviews help get books noticed.