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Authors: Carl S. Plumer
Tags: Zombie Apocalypse
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his head. The man hesitated, then pivoted back to the door, as if contemplating leaving. Then, having weighed the pros and cons, rushed past Donovan. He slammed the gray half-door behind him after entering the last stall at the back.
Donovan stared after him and then continued to clean himself. After a bit more washing, the thin brown paper began to shred apart. Donovan grabbed another handful from the dispenser.
A teenager came in. He scrutinized Donovan for a moment. The boy had long hair, dyed jet black. There was a silver ring in his nose. A tattoo on his arm said something about anarchy. Donovan held the paper towels under the water, not breaking eye contact.
“What’s going on, man?” the kid said on his way to a urinal.
Donovan waited for a second, not wanting to talk to anyone, but said, “Nothing,” and turned back to the mirror.
The kid came back from the urinals. Donovan rinsed his hands in the sink and wiped them off. A loud flatulent blast echoed from the stalls. This was followed by a double-flush and a nervous cough. Ignoring the drama from the back of the room, the kid grabbed some paper towels, blew his nose, and left.
Donovan rubbed his hands under the blower and let out a deep breath. There. Much better. As the guy in the back exited the stall, Donovan departed, leaving the man staring at the mess Donovan had left behind. Water dripped off the sinks. There were puddles on the counter and the floor. A few wads of wet brown paper towel sat on the ground like anxious toads.
* * *
The man groaned and clutched his stomach again. He turned back toward the stalls, but before he could reach them, he fell to his knees. And then flat on his face, dead. A trickle of blood oozed out his lips on to the tile floor. The pool of blood grew slowly larger, until it was the size of the man himself. A blood-red shadow.
The dead man lay motionless, not breathing. His heart had flat-lined.
All was quiet for a minute, and then two. Then, he moaned. A dark, steady, deathly moan. He stood up, the paper towel wads on the floor now darkened with his blood.
Chapter 26
Outside, Donovan found the night warm and sticky. Stars twinkled in the blackish sky. Donovan crossed the street, headed for the Dunkin’ Donuts. He had no idea where he was going or what to do next.
A car stopped, presumably to drop someone off. Donovan stepped back to give them room. As they pulled up a little too close to him, both rear doors of the car swung open and two men jumped out. They grabbed Donovan by the arms and threw him into the backseat. Then they jumped back in. The car sped away before Donovan even had time to yell for help.
Inside the car, the two thugs grabbed his arms and held him in place. A fire hydrant with feet sat across from him. Her plastic nametag read, Mirka Aballona, Assistant to the Assistant. She had vacant, sunken eyes and a straight line of red to indicate a mouth. She squinted at Donovan as if looking into the sun. She seemed preoccupied, as if she was trying to remember something. Like some reason to hate him. She abruptly brandished a hypodermic needle and a cotton ball from the bag at her side.
Donovan struggled, but the thugs held him fast. The squat woman rolled up his sleeve and dabbed his bicep with the cotton ball. Then, gleefully, she jabbed the needle into him.
“You sons-of-bitches,” Donovan said. And then, the effects of the drug already swimming through his veins, he said, “Or is it sons-of-a-bitch?”
Those were the last words Donovan spoke, as the world around him twisted to black.
Chapter 27
So what happened next, Dr. Portanova?
Well, Zoë, our experiments proceeded as hoped, at least from Egesa’s point of view. He was able to reanimate his clients’ heads. This was the crucial part of his agreement with them before they’d died. He would freeze their heads immediately after physical death, with the promise that they would be reanimated one day and
Donovan stared after him and then continued to clean himself. After a bit more washing, the thin brown paper began to shred apart. Donovan grabbed another handful from the dispenser.
A teenager came in. He scrutinized Donovan for a moment. The boy had long hair, dyed jet black. There was a silver ring in his nose. A tattoo on his arm said something about anarchy. Donovan held the paper towels under the water, not breaking eye contact.
“What’s going on, man?” the kid said on his way to a urinal.
Donovan waited for a second, not wanting to talk to anyone, but said, “Nothing,” and turned back to the mirror.
The kid came back from the urinals. Donovan rinsed his hands in the sink and wiped them off. A loud flatulent blast echoed from the stalls. This was followed by a double-flush and a nervous cough. Ignoring the drama from the back of the room, the kid grabbed some paper towels, blew his nose, and left.
Donovan rubbed his hands under the blower and let out a deep breath. There. Much better. As the guy in the back exited the stall, Donovan departed, leaving the man staring at the mess Donovan had left behind. Water dripped off the sinks. There were puddles on the counter and the floor. A few wads of wet brown paper towel sat on the ground like anxious toads.
* * *
The man groaned and clutched his stomach again. He turned back toward the stalls, but before he could reach them, he fell to his knees. And then flat on his face, dead. A trickle of blood oozed out his lips on to the tile floor. The pool of blood grew slowly larger, until it was the size of the man himself. A blood-red shadow.
The dead man lay motionless, not breathing. His heart had flat-lined.
All was quiet for a minute, and then two. Then, he moaned. A dark, steady, deathly moan. He stood up, the paper towel wads on the floor now darkened with his blood.
Chapter 26
Outside, Donovan found the night warm and sticky. Stars twinkled in the blackish sky. Donovan crossed the street, headed for the Dunkin’ Donuts. He had no idea where he was going or what to do next.
A car stopped, presumably to drop someone off. Donovan stepped back to give them room. As they pulled up a little too close to him, both rear doors of the car swung open and two men jumped out. They grabbed Donovan by the arms and threw him into the backseat. Then they jumped back in. The car sped away before Donovan even had time to yell for help.
Inside the car, the two thugs grabbed his arms and held him in place. A fire hydrant with feet sat across from him. Her plastic nametag read, Mirka Aballona, Assistant to the Assistant. She had vacant, sunken eyes and a straight line of red to indicate a mouth. She squinted at Donovan as if looking into the sun. She seemed preoccupied, as if she was trying to remember something. Like some reason to hate him. She abruptly brandished a hypodermic needle and a cotton ball from the bag at her side.
Donovan struggled, but the thugs held him fast. The squat woman rolled up his sleeve and dabbed his bicep with the cotton ball. Then, gleefully, she jabbed the needle into him.
“You sons-of-bitches,” Donovan said. And then, the effects of the drug already swimming through his veins, he said, “Or is it sons-of-a-bitch?”
Those were the last words Donovan spoke, as the world around him twisted to black.
Chapter 27
So what happened next, Dr. Portanova?
Well, Zoë, our experiments proceeded as hoped, at least from Egesa’s point of view. He was able to reanimate his clients’ heads. This was the crucial part of his agreement with them before they’d died. He would freeze their heads immediately after physical death, with the promise that they would be reanimated one day and
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