Part One

Jessica was set on giving her kids the best summer of their lives. Dave had reservations and hidden jealousy, so he decided that he should go to prep weekend alone. He would return to his eager family with his story and a decision.

On the north shore of the lake, the woods wrapped around the pockets of mixed development like a shawl around a grandmother. None of the forestry was thick or beautiful but sadly sickly. Dave hadn't navigated areas like this in years. No map could capture the twisted layout of three roads that never exactly intersect or merge except by an unmarked patch of blacktop.

An hour and a wrong turn later, it was dusk. The evening cold creeping through the cracks of his vehicle and caressing his extremities, he parked at a sign finger-painted in blood which read LIVOR DAY CAMP.

He stepped out to a large gravel lot, dotted with the corpses of aging trailers and converted campers arranged in funerary rows. A lone cabin with solar panels on the roof started the row. Dave approached the cabin, calling a hoarse, "Hello?" He could tell no one was inside the single room, so he continued down the lane, which shifted from gravel to sand to cold mud as the woods became more near. He heard the gurgle-putter of a generator not far away and a chorus of guttural sounds with a distinct human male huffing louder than the din. The darkness taking over, he noticed light in the same direction. He considered returning to his yellow SUV and driving home, telling the wife it was unsafe, telling the kids he'd find an even cooler camp. This isn't a damn movie, he told himself.

The woods were five hundred feet from the final camper. It was just like the brochure promised-grey, dying, sparse, and wet rot. In this small clearing was a chain-link pen, the source of noise and artificial light.

A red pickup truck idled at the pen's only gate. One burly man wearing arm-length nitrile gloves was unloading moaning, stiff corpses from the truck's bed. Dave watched noiseless at the man's adroit movements. He was using a tarp system to drag the bodies across the bed to a gurney at the tailgate. After a body was loaded in grunting stages of torso and limbs, it was pushed to the near center of the pen and shoved to the ground. Dave stared at the row of discolored bodies and his thoughts drifted into speech, "Why can't they move?"

The man jumped, "Who the fuck is there?" He had unholstered a small pistol and aimed it into the darkness where Dave stood.

"I'm human, man," his voice cracked. "I'm a parent. Came to check the place out."

"I can tell you're human," He was now pointing the gun directly at him. "Why are you here at night? The tour was in the day, buddy."

"I got lost. I'm sorry, man. I can go. I've never seen these before, you know. I didn't know what to say or if it would distract you and you might get bit," his voice was shaking.

He put the gun away. "They still have rigor."

"What?"

"Rigor mortis. That's why they're stiff. They just died. Couple of them are going to be up in an hour or so. I could use help with the last few. I don't want to have to put any down early this year. So, uh, if you can hack it, there's more gloves in the cab."

Dave, in a state of minor panic, lumbered to the cab. "Are they going to try to bite me? There's so much misinformation on this stuff. You know, internet and sensationalized mainstream news and such."

"Because of the aforementioned rigor, their jaw muscles are ineffective right now," the man called back. "The gurgling is crepitus, serious crepitus. We think their diaphragm still has some flexibility right now, so there's also minimal passage of air over the vocal cords. These are whimpers, though. They'll be howling in the morning."

Dave trembled, hesitating to move the many piles of papers and notebooks on the passenger seat. Dave heard the man shout, "Gloves in the glove."

The man was staring at a large body in the middle of the bed that he didn't want to move on his own. Dave approached, holding up his purple gloved limbs for approval.

"You're making out alright if you put them on properly. The first day of camp is teaching the kids how to do it. Corpse in the pile is a dentist's and it can't put these on anymore even though he did it near daily for most of his life."

"I'm Dave, by the way," he extended his arm, smiling in a trained manner characteristic of the oversocialized.

"I suppose we could shake hands. The benefits of immediate social bonding might outweigh the risks of bacterial transfer considering the task at hand. You're going to be handling a few of them anyway. My glove has considerably more bacteria and as yet, there's no reason to doubt the efficacy of this material. I'd just advise you not make contact with your eyes or mouth until we wash up after. Also, my name is Hudson."

Hudson's firm grasp finally contacted Dave's in a thwack of rubber.

"You may have read the brochure and understand me as the 'camp wrangler'."

"Uh, my wife does all the reading in the family. I saw you in the promo video. They didn't say who you were."

"Well, this is a federally funded research institution with multiple private and public duties. I function as onsite program director, occasional head researcher, but there are many head researchers that pass through. The camp is my pet project, designed as educational outreach."

"So the kids don't run from the zombies in an obstacle course or learn to shoot?"

"Yeah, they do that," Hudson pulled on the tarp, motioning to Dave to do the same. "But we spend the first week on education, getting them acclimated, but not comfortable, with the presence of the ambulant deceased."

The body of an elderly woman was inches away. Hudson laid a tarp on the tailgate.

"We have to move her just lift up evenly beneath the calves. I'm holding the bulk of the weight up here."

The task done, Dave turned to retrieve the gurney.

"Gurney right behind you."

Hudson was gazing upon her swelling, blue face and he addressed the aether.

"She was my neighbor for fifteen years. She used to cook for me. Often. Especially after my wife divorced me. Well, left in the middle of the night and sent papers months later. "

"I can give you a moment alone if you need it."

"No, I had that moment when I collected the body. She knew she was dying. She volunteered her body for this program when I told her about my work some months ago. I'm sorry if I'm disclosing too much personal information."

"It's okay, man. I'm going to trust you with my kids for six weeks. I think it's only par for the course that I hear about your divorce. You're going to find out that Liam's still a bed-wetter and Olivia is in that phase of adolescence where she hates everything."

"Olivia was her name too," Hudson's voice was still distant.

"That's a hell of a coincidence don't you think?"

"No. Names are cyclical. You or your wife probably thought Olivia sounded classic, which it is, that you were breaking with convention by giving your daughter a very common name. You're on legs again."

One coordinated lift and the body was on the gurney. Dave strained under the dual weight of mental and physical exertion.

"Uh, something like that," Dave was out of shape, sweating and breathing heavy. "My wife also thought it was pretty and unusual."

"Well, as I just said, it's not unusual."

They walked silently to the row, appearing like pallbearers of nightmare.

The corpses twitched like they had developed ataxia.

"Help me lower her, please. One last dignity."

Continued