Pathogen - Chapter 10

Having come up against a zombie rather unexpectedly, Aaron stumbled away from it. However, he was in an unfamiliar place and only succeeded in catching his foot on the bed. Gracelessly  tumbling into the bed, Aaron fought desperately to escape. Rather, he soon found himself tangled in the sheets.

Aaron held his breath and squeezed his eyes shut tight. It would come any moment now, the pain of being eaten alive. He’d really botched things up.

A moment passed. Then another.

Confused, Aaron wondered why he wasn’t being murdered. Not that he was complaining, but there was a zombie in the room after all. He had seen it, it had seen him, and then murder was to be expected. Aaron could even hear the creature snarling and gnashing its teeth at him.

Poking his head out of the covers, Aaron had to see what was going on. Sure enough, the zombie was sitting in the room, snapping his jaw at him. For the first time, Aaron saw the reason the zombie did not pursue him. Tied to an old, wooden rocking chair, the zombie was powerless to escape. Aaron disentangled himself from the sheets, making a fine mess of the bed in the process. He cautiously approached the captive monster for a better look.

Before his death and subsequent reanimation, the zombie had been an old man. The wrinkled codger didn’t have a hair on his head, yet had cultivated a glorious moustache made famous by spaghetti westerns. Judging by the look of him, he must have been at least seventy years old. Perfect white teeth snapped at Aaron, who assumed they must have been his dentures. Apart from the pallor of death, he looked like a pretty ordinary old man. Dressed for bed in his red flannel pajamas, the old man looked right at home in the rocking chair, save for the rope that was rubbing his wrists and ankles raw.

Retreating to the window, Aaron stuck his neck out. Cliff was looking up at him expectantly. No doubt he was waiting to hear from him.

“Dude,” he called down to his friend in a hushed voice, just loud enough to be heard, “There’s a zombie in here!”

“You okay man?” Cliff fought the urge to panic, “Did you kill it?”

Aaron shook his head, “He’s all tied up. Looks like whoever lived here had this all under control.”

Cliff considered what kind of person would tie up a zombie. It didn’t make sense to him. “Okay,” he instructed his friend, “Go downstairs and unlock the back door for me. Keep an eye out for Grace and Steve.”

“You betcha,” Aaron flashed his buddy a thumbs-up before returning indoors.

“Aaron,” Cliff called back up. His friend poked his head back out the window, “Be careful in there, okay?”

Solemnly nodding his head, Aaron returned to the bedroom. He was relieved to know that one zombie had been dispatched in the shed and another had been imprisoned in the bedroom, but he wasn’t ruling out the possibility of bumping into more zombies.
As quietly as he could, Aaron crept across the room, passing inches from the rocking zombie. Reaching out to the door, he unlatched it and pushed. The hinges needed oil badly and creaked in protest. Aaron held his breath, but nothing leapt out to murder him. With a sigh of relief, he released his pent up breath and stepped into the hallway.

He was standing at the end of the hallway, the stairs down at the opposite end. Still creeping as quietly as he could, Aaron wandered to the end of the hall, passing a few closed doors on his way. Everytime the wooden floor creaked underfoot he winced, but kept up his pace. All he had to do was make it down the stairs, meet his buddies, grab some stuff, and then finally they could be on their way to safety.

It would be quick and easy.



Together Steve and Grace stood on the porch, separated from the madwoman’s rifle by a screen door. Steve peered intently into the house. He could see a potted plant behind the old woman, and he had a view of the kitchen at the rear of the house on his right. The stairs leading up started between the kitchen and the front door. Steve struggled to come up with a plan, but it didn’t seem to be any use. If they wanted to get out of this, they’d have to talk their way through it.

“Excuse me, ma’am, I think we got off on the wrong foot,” Steve started to make with the niceties, hands still in the air.

“You’re telling me,” the old lady retorted, “Asking a lady how old she is. Despicable.”

“I’m really sorry about the misunderstanding,” Steve’s genuine apology was only slightly tempered by the gun in his face, “I only asked about the switchboard thing because you seemed to know a lot about phones. And besides, I thought they kept using switchboards through the 80’s, which was only about thirty years ago.”

“Smooth,” Grace commented, dripping with sarcasm.

“Listen to your lady friend, Steve,” the old woman spat, “You’re certainly not doing yourself any favours.”

Steve figured he’d try another tack, “Ma’am, you have me at a real disadvantage here.”

“Sure do,” the lady cooed as she squinted down the sight of her rifle.

“What I meant,” Steve added quickly, “Was that you know my name, but I haven’t had the pleasure of learning yours yet. So let’s start fresh here: I’m Steve,” Steve slowly planted his palm on his chest, careful not to make any sudden movements, before gesturing towards Grace, “And this is my friend Grace.”

“Nice to meet you,” Grace offered weakly.

The old lady sucked on her teeth, considering for a moment. Finally, she relented, “You can call me Mrs. Withers.”

“It sure is nice to meet you, Mrs. Withers,” Steve smiled, “I suppose I owe it to you to tell you why we’re here.”

“Oh, I know why you’re here,” Mrs. Withers glowered, “You’re here to burgle me. To leave me with nothing while there’s all this mayhem going on out there.”

“Excuse me,” Grace spoke up, “If I may, but if we were going to rob you, why would we ring the doorbell?”

Mrs. Withers hadn’t considered that, but she old, and with age came her stubborness. “You’re the flim flam artists,” she barked, “Why don’t you tell me?”

“We simply came to ask for supplies,” Steve explained, being sure to leave out the bit where they were, in fact, planning to burgle her if she wasn’t home, “But if you don’t have any to spare, we can go. No trouble, we’ll just try somewhere else.”

Steve held his breath while he scrutinised Mrs. Withers’ face. he could tell she didn’t have murder in her heart, that she only wanted to protect her home. Since he’d given her the option to let them leave, he knew that she could feel proud that she had scared them off. Then they could run back to Vernon, and wait for Cliff and Aaron to come back.

Suddenly, Steve remembered that Cliff and Aaron were skulking around the house. If Mrs. Withers caught them, they’d probably end up shot. He desperately hoped they wouldn’t try to break in, or to show their faces until they had squared up with Mrs. Withers.

To his dismay, Steve saw Aaron sneaking down the stairs. Fighting every urge in his body, he struggled to keep his jaw from hitting the floor.

Mrs. Withers noticed his consternation. “What are you looking at back there?” she asked as she turned around.

Aaron froze like a deer caught in the headlights of an approaching vehicle. Then he saw the gun raised in his direction. He fled back up the stairs as a deafening report erupted from the rifle. The muzzle flashed, and a hole appeared in the wall near where Aaron’s head had been.

“Burglar!” Mrs. Withers screamed as she threw back the bolt and ejected the spent shell casing, “Miscreant! Hoodlum! Criminal! Hooligan!”

The time for talking their way through this was over. Steve reached for the latch of the screen door. Finding it was locked, he planted a foot firmly against the frame and pulled with all his strength. The lock groaned, then suddenly snapped, sending the door wide open and Steve tumbling backwards down the porch steps.

Grace wasted no time in breaching the front door. She dashed through the now open screen as Mrs. Withers was rounding on her with her rifle. Snatching up the gun by the barrel, the pair struggled over control of the weapon.

Spittle flew as the old woman roared in the young lady’s face, “Let it go, you slatternly tart!”

Wrenching the gun out of her hands, Grace seized hold of the firearm. She hefted the weapon, slamming the butt into Mrs. Withers’ face. A sickening crunch sounded as her nose broke, followed by another when she fell hip first into her potted ficus.

“My granny told me that if you didn’t have anything nice to say about someone, not to say anything at all,” Grace chastised the old woman who lay bleeding on the ground, “Nobody calls me a ‘tart.’”

Aaron poked his head out from around the corner, “Are we cool here?”

Grace nodded, training the rifle on the old woman, “Yeah, we’re cool.”

“Cool,” Aaron nodded as he jerked his thumb over his shoulder, “I’m gonna go ahead and let Cliff in. He’s probably losing his mind out there.”

Indeed, he was disturbed by the commotion. Cliff had run around the front of the house, and saw Steve sprawled across the steps. “Steve,” he called to his friends as he sank to his knees and cradled his friend in his arms, “I heard the shot! Where are you hit? You’re gonna make it through this, buddy!”

Steve’s eyes fluttered open. “I know I am,” he said through a grin, “She didn’t shoot at me. Nothing hurt. Well, except my pride.”

Cliff and Steve disengaged from each other. Suddenly aware of the awkward moment they’d shared, Cliff wasn’t even going to help his friend up. Steve climbed to his feet and dusted himself off.

“Let’s take it inside, gentlemen,” Grace barked orders over her shoulder, “We’ve got work to do here.”

The two boys stepped inside, and Cliff saw the old woman for the first time. “Oh my goodness,” he declared, “Has she fallen and she can’t get up?”

“Fuck you,” a pained voice shot back from the floor.

“Hooray,” Grace cheered with sarcasm, “She’s still conscious.”

Aaron returned from the kitchen, gleefully munching on an apple he’d found in a bowl on the counter. “So let’s talk about the elephant in the room,” he managed between bites, “And when I say ‘elephant,’ I’m really talking about ‘zombie.’”

“Where?” Grace asked in bewilderment, scanning about for the unseen threat.

Taking another bite from the juicy, red apple, Aaron pointed upstairs. “Bedroom,” he explained with his mouth full, “Tied to a chair.”

All eyes turned to Mrs. Withers on the floor. “My husband,” she sighed by way of explanation, “That’s him tied up there.”

“Ah, loved one,” Aaron chewed, “That explains why you didn’t bash his head in.”

“Don’t you touch him!” she screamed from the floor, “Norm and I have been married for fifty years, and I’m not going to let a snot nosed hooligan such as yourself take that from me!”

The gang shared an awkward moment as Mrs. Withers broke down sobbing. None of them could imagine the pain she was experiencing, and nobody wanted to be the first to say something.

However, somebody had to speak first, and Steve was the one to break the silence. “I feel bad for her,” he admitted, “Maybe we can take her with us?”

“She shot at me,” Aaron pointed out as he casually tossed the apple core to the floor.

Grace shook her head, “She isn’t going anywhere with a broken hip.”

“I don’t want to go anywhere,” Mrs. Withers gasped between sobs, “I want to be with Norm.”

Dropping to one knee, Cliff lowered himself to Mrs. Withers’ level. He gently scooped her up. She was a tough woman, who didn’t protest at the physical pain she must have felt, but she was scrawny too. Cliff was able to carry her with ease up the stairs as he left his friends questioning below.

Cliff passed by several doors before he spoke. “Which one is it?” he asked as gently as he could manage.

Mrs. Withers pointed down to the end of the hall. He brought her there, and eased the door open with his foot. Carefully, he carried her over the threshold, and past the old man tied to the rocking chair.

“Norm,” Mrs. Withers whispered as they passed.

Cliff laid her in the bed with the utmost care, then made up the covers around her. She let out a soft ‘thank you’ as he left without another door. Gently, he shut the door behind him as he left.

“You know, that’s not her husband up there anymore,” Aaron greeted Cliff as he descended the stairs, “It’s just some monster that wants to eat her face now.”

“I know,” Cliff agreed, “And I think deep down, she knows it too. But all she wants is to spend her last moments with her husband, and I’m not going to be the one to take that from her.”

Together they stood in silence, listening to the old woman sobbing softly upstairs.