Zombified (Episode 2): Yankee Heights Read online

  The flu epidemic had spread to most major cities, but the mortality rate was less than three percent. Matty sifted through some articles about the biological factoids of mutating viruses and suppressed immune systems, eventually landing on a page that showed something new and disturbing.

  Video clips of people having seizures all over the place filled a page entitled "Wave of Seizures Shocks Medical Community". The clips were uploaded by phone and were not part of the original article, but it was an exact replica of the scenario from Matty's previous class.

  The article read: "Seemingly healthy people are suffering from seizures—some of them considered 'Grand Mal' seizures. Health officials are stumped as to the cause of these seizures, and there appears to be no link to the ongoing flu epidemic."

  What kind of shit did they put in the vaccines this time? Matty wondered. He closed the browser and opened the 'Games' folder. An hour of world conquest and dictatorial regimes should make me feel a whole lot better. He popped earphones in and turned up the volume.

  Matty polished both coffees and stacked the cups inside each other. He checked the time: twenty minutes to his favorite class, Philosophy.

  A warning beep sounded from the game: another enslaved city was in revolt. This is how we handle rebels in Mattopia! He clicked on a nuclear icon and plotted the missile launch; the flash of fire and erupting mushroom cloud indicated a direct hit. Booya! Now let's see you revolt, peasants!

  Reveling in autocratic power, he failed to notice the declarations of war piling up in the diplomacy field near the bottom of the screen. As Mattopian troops massacred unarmed rebels in the digital world, his computer-controlled opponents launched a dozen ICBMs and reduced the once-thriving Mattopia to ashes.

  "Sons of bitches!" He yelled out, standing and shaking a fist at the computer screen. His eyes scanned the library, suddenly aware of the silence that he so eloquently shattered.

  "There's no one else here," a brunette with pigtails and neon-pink glasses said from the circulation desk. "Sounds like a pretty intense book."

  Matty pulled the earphones out and smirked. "I was playing 'World Conquests' and got nuked by a handful of upstart countries with no respect for absolutism."

  "Uh-huh." She rolled her eyes and went back to texting, tweeting, or whatever she was doing on the handheld mind-control device.

  "Like you even understood a syllable of what I just said," he murmured.

  Matty powered down the netbook and slid it back into the sleeve. He tossed the empty cups on the way out. Outside the library, the hallway was silent and void of movement.

  He wandered the halls for a bit, peeking into dozens of empty classrooms.

  "Hello?" He yelled out, cupping both hands around his mouth. "Well ain't this a bitch." On his way back to the cafeteria for another round of java, Matty bumped into Dan LaFleur, a fellow nerd and chairman of the computer gaming club: somebody who appreciated digital dictatorships.

  "Hey MJ, what are you up to?" Dan asked. He cracked every knuckle on both hands in quick, rapid-fire movements.

  "I'm trying to figure out what's going on around here? I sat down in the library for an hour to play some conquests and all of a sudden it's a ghost town. What gives?"

  "Dude, classes have been cancelled for the rest of the day!" Dan snorted; it was his special version of chuckling or laughing or… something to do with amusement.

  "Shit. I could've stayed home and slept all day." Matty threw his hands up.

  "Hey, it's all good MJ." Dan stepped in closer. "There's a big party tonight at the Phi Moon Beta house. Everyone is invited!"

  "Are you shittin' me?" Matty gawked. "Everyone?"

  "Well, everyone who isn't in bed sick or, you know," Dan shook his limbs in mock seizure, "having a spasm."

  "At least there's something to do. When does it start?"

  Dan shrugged. "The guys at Phi Moon went to the liquor store. They said it was going to start as soon as they got back."

  "Any desperate freshmen ladies or girls with terribly low self-esteem?" Matty raised an eyebrow. "For your sake, I mean."

  "Aw, real funny asshole!" Dan gave Matty the finger.

  "I'm gonna get some grub, but I'll see you at the party," said Matty. "You want anything special to drink? I'm not a beer guy, so I'll stop and pick up something worth drinking."

  "I already have a couple pints of Jack." Dan gave a thumbs-up. "I'm heading there now, so I might be wasted by the time you show up."

  "Good idea: start earlier and increase your odds of finding a woman desperate or drunk enough to show you her tits." Matty laughed and punched Dan in the arm.

  "Fuck you, MJ! At least I've gotten laid in the last year!"

  Matty bowed. "You take this round, Daniel-san, but I don't know if your hand counts."

  "Har-har-har," mocked Dan. "You're full of laughs today, funny guy."

  "Hey, it's a fucked up day filled with fucked up news," said Matty. "I have to lighten the load somehow."

  They chatted about the latest games before heading out to the lot; Matty was parked on the opposite side of Dan. Only a handful of cars remained when Matty got to the pick-up.

  He climbed in and started… after a few tries, he started the engine. Matty lit up a smoke and pulled out of the campus, heading for a local sandwich joint to pick-up an eighteen-inch torpedo stuffed with turkey, cheddar and real mayonnaise.

  There were only two other college-aged kids in the shop when Matty arrived. A television off in the corner reported on the flu epidemic, escalating violence, economic woes, and host of other my-life-isn't-that-shitty type of stories, but nothing on the seizures. Even the flu coverage was subdued; maybe it was because he had heard a dozen similar reports in the past, but Matty pushed it to the edges of his awareness.

  "Hey Matty," said the chocolate goddess behind the counter. "The usual?"

  "Yup." He dropped a ten on the counter and tried to not stare at her. She has to be the sexiest creature on this good earth.

  Someone in his mind took a snapshot of her smiling face—sparkling ivory teeth contrasting with rich brown skin—and kept it in a photo album; the imaginary album was filled with synaptic recordings of her voice, almond-shaped eyes, glossy lips, smooth arms, and oh-so delicious—

  "Do you want the change, Matty?" She waved a hand in front of his eyes. "You okay, honey?"

  "Hell no!" He pushed her hand away. "You know I always tip, Kayla."

  "Sure," she said. "Seriously, are you okay? You zoned out or something."

  It's now or never, something inside told him.

  "No, I'm not." His mouth became the Sahara. "All right, here it is: you distract me. I can't think straight around you. Do you wear some sort of pheromone perfume?"

  She smiled that heart-stopping, knee-shaking smile of perfection.

  "Was that a compliment, mister?" She teased, winking sidelong at him.

  "See!" He pointed at her. "You are too damn beautiful to go winking at me. Every time you smile or laugh or… wink, I get jelly legs."

  Good thing there's nobody behind me, Matty thought. The sandwich chef at the workstation glanced over; Matty saw him shake his head. She probably gets hit on all the time. His heart sank. I'm just a number. Matty glanced at his order stub. Number fourteen, to be exact.

  "That's really sweet," Kayla said.

  Here comes the but…

  "Are you going to the Phi Moon house tonight?" she asked.

  I didn't hear a but, he thought. Did she just ask about the party? His mind reeled; his lead tongue sunk down into his throat. Answer her, numb-nuts!

  "There isn't much else to do," Matty replied.

  Well, that's not entirely true, he thought. There is her.

  "Then I'll see you there, okay?"

  "Kayla," Matty said in a hushed voice, "I am madly in love with you."

  She laughed a rich, throaty laugh and slapped a hand to her mouth. "I'm so sorry!" Kayla apologized to the two customers and her co-worker. She leaned over the co
unter and whispered, "You're going to get me in trouble! I'll see you tonight."

  "Yes you will," he replied and gave her a wink. Judging by her reaction, Matty guessed that it came out slightly less seductive and more than a little goofy.

  He picked up the sandwich and avoided eye contact with the chef. Are they called chefs in a sandwich shop? Matty wondered. Originally planning to eat in the shop, he found himself sitting in his pick-up and staring out the front window.

  "Did I just get a date with Kayla Santos?" He grabbed the pack of smokes and fished around inside—it was empty. "I need a smoke." Matty started the truck and pulled out of the cramped lot, heading for the convenience store a stone's throw away.

  He was in such a daze that he barely noticed the police cruiser parked in front of the store, lights flashing. In the back seat, a gaunt-looking woman struggled against handcuffs on her wrists and ankles; her mouth was gagged and she had a feral, animal quality to her eyes. As Matty walked past, she slammed her face into the window, smearing blood over the glass.

  "Holy shit lady! Are you nuts?" He traced a circle next to his temple.

  The store doorbell rang when Matty stepped inside. A police offer stood behind the counter, talking with a young Hispanic man; Matty caught something about an assault and pressing charges.

  Behind the second register, a bored-looking guy in need of a haircut watched a couple of kids rummaging through the candy aisle. Matty went to the back and grabbed two bottles of cheap wine and a six-pack of stout ale. He placed it on the counter in front of the bored guy.

  "I'll take a pack of Yellow Spirits, too," Matty said. He pulled out the last of his cash and counted it. "Make that two packs, amigo."

  He had cash left for another coffee. I'll save this for tomorrow morning. When he climbed back into the truck, Matty stashed the three bucks in the glovebox and deposited the booze in the cluttered backseat.

  He slapped the cigarette back on the palm of his left hand; after the obligatory five-pat pack, Matty peeled off the cellophane and pulled one out. As he lit it up, the sound of breaking glass made him jump.

  The psycho woman's head was half out of the cruiser's rear window; bits of glass and globs of flesh and blood clung to her forehead and hair. She pulled back and slammed the shattered window again, blasting the rest of the glass out onto the ground.

  Matty laid on the horn; the cop barreled out of the shop brandishing a nightstick. Writhing like a worm on a hook, the bound woman tried to squeeze through the hole in the back window; her shoulders, arms, and chest were torn open in jagged ribbons. Again and again, the nightstick connected with the lady's head; after a half-dozen shots to the skull, she stopped moving.

  The cop was panting and sweat poured down his face.

  Matty rolled down the window. "You don't get paid enough for that shit, officer."

  He looked over one shoulder and nodded. "No kidding." The cop threaded his baton through a belt loop and shoved the bloody lunatic back into the car. He promptly peeled off his gloves and tossed them in the trashcan.

  "So what the fuck was that about?" Matty asked the cop. "Is she jacked up on angel dust? I heard about a guy that punched through a windshield and didn't feel a thing, even though his hand was shattered."

  The officer shook his head. "I don't know. I just hope she doesn't have any serious disease."

  Matty burst out laughing, smoke billowing from his mouth. "She put her head through a window. I'd call that pretty fuckin' serious!"

  Cigarette dangling from the corner of his mouth, Matty backed out of the lot. He pulled onto the road and headed towards the fraternity house.

  CHAPTER 3

  He rolled past Dan's beat-up coupe and found a spot on the street under an overhanging willow tree. Matty killed the engine and started in on the turkey sub. It was barely dinnertime, but the roller coaster of a hot date followed by a psychotic woman smashing her head through a window worked up Matty's appetite.

  The sandwich was gone and a smoke followed. He fished through the backpack and found a black tactical knife; slipping into his hip pocket, Matty took out the hard case at the bottom of his bag. Rotating the dials to the proper combination, he clicked the cover open and pulled out the blued 9mm pistol.

  "I thought about using you today," he whispered to the gun. "If that nutjob had come at me…" He dropped the clip and cleared the chamber; a quick inspection eased Matty's mind. Ready to rock, he thought. Only his buddy, Joey, appreciated an obsession with cleaning and handling weapons.

  "We'll be back at the range soon enough." He replaced the clip and switched the safety off. Red dead. Matty placed the gun back in the case and reset the combination; he slid it under the driver's seat.

  Reaching behind the front seats, Matty collected the wine and beer and used his foot to shove open the door. He hopped out, kicked the door closed, and ambled across the street and over the lawn of the Phi Moon Beta house.

  Clusters of frat boys sat on plastic lawn chairs, knocking back beers from plastic cups and chuckling at bad jokes. Matty nodded at them and strolled around the back, passing through a half-open wooden gate. An in-ground pool covered most of the back yard, and a dozen people were swimming and grab-assing in the shallow end.

  The sun was setting and subdued orange lights filled the yard, complimented by tiki torches and the glow of a coal-fired barbecue in the far corner. Despite the sub, Matty's stomach growled as the smell of burgers filled the air.

  Clearly hammered, a pair of freshman girls staggered out the back door of the house; they were topless and shaking their tits at everyone, regardless of gender.

  Oh boy, Matty thought, it's gonna be one of those parties.

  He cracked open the wine and drank straight from the bottle; the six-pack of stout was in his right hand. A few of the frat boys greeted him as Matty entered the house, but most of them were too busy sucking face, playing beer pong, or taking pictures with their phone to notice his presence.

  Matty passed by a mirror set atop a polished oak desk and frowned at the reflection. You're lookin' shabby, Matthias. His ratty jeans ended in frayed edges and the faded 'Star Wars' tee shirt had a couple of holes; the short-cropped hair was manageable, but the mountain-man scruff and gnarly goatee was in serious need of attention. Why the hell would Kayla want to hook up with you?

  He headed upstairs, chugging the wine along the way, and investigated the dozen or so rooms in the house. Having never been in a frat house, Matty was dumbstruck by the size and opulence. Daddy's money is going to a good cause, he mused.

  Most of the doors were shut, and the sounds coming from within gave an obvious explanation: moans, squeals, and the occasional "Fuck me harder!" filled the second floor. Somewhere in the back of his mind, Matty heard: In the jungle, the mighty jungle… o-weema-wum-a-way… o-weema-way, o-weema-way…

  He found the upstairs bathroom and stopped in to take a leak. The toilet was full of what Matty guessed to be vomit. "That's nasty." He turned to the tub and aimed for the drain. "It's going to be one of those parties, also."

  By the time he came back downstairs, the bottle of wine was empty. He placed it on the oak desk and winked in the mirror. You're starting to look a little better. A few beers and you'll be a fuckin' stud!

  Forty or so guys and an equal number of girls—give or take a dozen—filled up the downstairs area and the yard. Given the university population, it was a telling sign of how many people had caught the latest epidemic of flu.

  Matty weaved a path to the barbecue and snatched a plate from the rapidly disappearing stack; he stood next to the grill and checked the menu.

  "Hey chef, hit me up with two of those well-done ones," he said.

  "Sure thing, bro." It was one of the basketball guys; Matty couldn't remember his name because basketball took a far backseat to the gridiron. "Cheese and all the other goodies are over there." Chef Point Guard gestured with the spatula.

  Matty slapped a couple slices of cheddar, some onions, and a healthy dose o
f relish on the steaming beef. He found an unoccupied lawn chair across the yard and plopped down. Cracking a stout, he chowed down on the quarter-pound, sesame seed bunned circles of dead cow goodness.

  The topless chicks made their rounds, stopping in front of Matty and presenting him with a bong. One of them sat down on his lap and offered the water pipe. As he took a rip, she started grinding against his crotch. He leaned back and blew out a big cloud; the girl took the pipe and slid off, moving on to the next guy.

  "That ain't right, girl!" Matty called after her. "You can't leave me hangin' like that!" When she didn't respond—or even look in his direction—Matty returned to the rest of his burger, washing it down with a second bottle of stout.

  All at once, people started sparking up joints and blunts, passing around the weed; a haze of thick yellow-white smoke rose up from the yard. Through the haze, Matty saw Kayla approach. She had a slim smoky bottle in one hand and a plastic cup in the other.

  "Kayla!" Matty yelled and waved. A little overzealous, dude. He put his arm down and watched her walk… every step sent chills up and down his back. She wore a tight-fitting yet tasteful purple dress, and her hair was bunched up at the top, with a few loose strands hanging down near her cheeks.

  "Hey Matty!" She glanced at his pants and then up to his eyes. "I dressed up, what's your excuse?"

  Matty shrugged. "I don't own any nice clothes and I never, ever dress up."

  "Does that make me your arm candy?" She winked and poured some of the clear liquor into her cup.

  Damn that wink! Matty shivered. If we both get drunk, that wink is going to be responsible for whatever happens.

  She killed the shot like a pro, emptying the cup without a flinch.

  They hung for most of the night, dancing a little bit to the pulsating beat of some nameless techno DJ, and the alcohol worked its magic: sometime around midnight, they staggered upstairs arm-in-arm.

  People were passed out on the landing, the stairs, and in heaps on the furniture or floor—wherever they could find space, they landed.