Don looked down at the address to make sure he had the right place, although he didn’t really need to, 5932 Applewood Street was the only house on the with metal shutters over the windows, and a dirt moat with a drawbridge made of old pallets. Don pulled over to the side of the road and sighed. “Here we go again…”
When the zombie outbreak finally happened, everyone was surprised, most were caught off guard, but some were prepared. There was a certain percentage of the population who were always ready for disaster, although most would say they were overly prepared. Stockpiling food, weapons, ammunition, and gasoline was their stock and trade, and many of them actively rejoiced when they finally had a chance to make use of their skills. While everyone else tried to go about their daily lives hoping the government would solve it, these people got to work zombie-proofing their homes and shuttering themselves inside their new defenses. As it turns out, the government was brutally efficient in shutting down the outbreak, and the little epidemic that started in Nowheresville, Kentucky was ended within three weeks. Most people rejoiced and happily carried on with their lives, but some of the survivalists weren’t quite ready to move on. Don’s job, was to help integrate these people back into normal life.
Don stepped out of the white, windowless van onto the cracked sidewalk. He carefully made his way up the walkway, avoiding various bear traps and tripwires until he stood at the raised bridge to the stake-filled moat. With his foot, he deliberately rattled the tin-can alarm system which surrounded the house.
Metal shutters in one of the windows snapped open. Don gave the friendliest and least zombie-like wave he could manage. “Hi there!” he called, beaming with a disarming grin. “I’m looking for Harold?”
There was a slight pause and a rustling, then husky voice yelled back, “You bit?”
“No sir,” replied Don, rolling up his sleeves and spreading his arms wide, “not bit. And,” he said, predicting the response, “I left my weapons in the car.” Don executed a slow spin. He, in fact, didn’t have any weapons at all, not in the car and not on his person, but he knew from experience that no survivalist would trust a man who didn’t carry a weapon during the ‘apocalypse’.
“Fine,” said the metal blinds, apparently happy with Don’s performance. “What d’you want?”
“I’m just here to deliver some news,” Don lowered his hands. “The outbreak is over, contained, and eliminated.”
The voice scoffed. “You know how many people’ve told me that already? I don’t believe nothing I ain’t seen with my own eyes.”
Don nodded. “That’s reasonable, I don’t either. That being said, I have something here that’ll change your mind. Proof,” he gestured, “that this is all over.”
The man behind the blinds was silent for a moment. “I don’t believe you.” There was a pause. “Besides, I got no reason to want this to be over. My life before this was terrible, nobody gave a damn about me. As soon as the virus spread enough for people to take it serious, I stopped being a ‘gun-obsessed hoarder’ and became the most important person on this street. The virus was the best thing that ever happened to me.”
Don nodded. “It feels good to be respected.”
“Damn straight.”
“Look, why don’t you come see what I’ve got? We’re putting together a program to educate people on how to prepare for disasters. We could really use a guy like you,” Don looked around, “you clearly know what you’re doing.”
Although most of them needed to tone it down a little, nearly all of the precautions these people took for the outbreak were easily transferable to other emergencies. The position Don had mentioned was half to introduce people like Harold back into normal life, half to make use of their precautionary skills.
The voice hesitated. “...Alright, what’ve you got?”
Don smiled, and started walking towards his van. He called back over his shoulder, “It’s in here!”
The shadow behind the blinds disappeared, the pallet-drawbridge descended, and the metal door groaned open. A thin, scruffy man with salt and pepper hair stepped blinking into the sunlight. He was very pale. Raising an arm to shield his eyes from the sun, he followed Don, sidestepping bear traps and tripwires and barbed wire. The wind gently tousled his hair. He stepped off the curb and turned to Don. “Let’s see it then.”
Don nodded, and, unlocking the double-wide rear doors of the van, threw them open. Inside, behind a thick plexiglass pane, was a man-shaped creature standing unsteadily on two legs, a ragged lab coat draped over its pallid frame. It stumbled towards the two men, shriveled arms outstretched, cracked lips drawn back to reveal rotted, gnashing teeth. Cloudy eyes spun in their sockets as the wretched creature pressed its withered face against the glass.
“WHAT THE HELL!?” exclaimed the Harold, a handgun materializing instantly from under his shirt. Before Don could say anything, he emptied the clip, leaving eight shallow pits in the plexiglass wall centered around the creature’s head. The grouping was impressive. Chest heaving, he turned to Don. “I thought you said they were all GONE!”
“It’s all right,” breathed Don, “they are. Watch.” He produced a black remote from his pocket, and pressed a button.
Inside the van, swirling clouds of clear gas came hissing out of pinholes in the walls and ceiling. The creature collapsed facedown, writhing on the ground. Boney hands clawed, scrabbling at the metal plated surface of the van floor. Then it lay still. The Harold leaned forward, staring. The outstretched hand of the creature shuddered once, then relaxed. The flesh around the fingers swelled slowly, stretching out the tightly withered skin. The skin itself seemed to become springy and elastic, gradually taking on a healthy glow. All over its body these changes were taking place, a time-lapse decay in reverse. Finally, haltingly at first, then more fluidly, the figure rose. It was no longer a creature, but a man.
It groaned, then spoke.
“That’s it Don, no more.” The man in the ragged lab coat rubbed his neck and stretched. “No more, I’m done. Seriously this time, find someone else to be your example, I’m sick of it.”
Don grinned. “Robert, Rob, c’mon. You know I can’t do this without you! These people need to see the cure to believe it. We’re a team!”
Robert rolled his eyes. “You always say that.”
Don laughed. “And you always agree, that’s why I always say it!”
“Next time I’ll give the explanation, and you can be the example. We’ll see who’s laughing then.”
Harold’s mouth had been hanging open since the transformation. Regaining his senses, he spoke up. “The cure is real!?”
“Yep,” both men replied.
“And you’ve been infected before?” inquired Harold suspiciously, turning to Robert.
“Well, I’ve never been bitten, but we had to figure out how the virus works before we could cure it…”
Harold cut him off, “So now you got the virus and the cure.”
“Pretty much.”
Harold whistled and furrowed his brow.
“Believe me now?” said Don with a grin, turning to him.
“Well… ...yeah. I guess I do.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “That job offer still open?”
“Sure is.”
The image of a news anchor appeared on the screen, a concerned look on her face. She clasped her hands and stared at the camera. “Most of you remember the inception and subsequent eradication of the Zeius virus nine years ago, when humanity closed the book on what could have been an explosive epidemic. Well, it seems the story isn’t over. Earlier today there was a fire at the Center for Disease Control. Much of the wing dedicated to the research of the Zeius virus was destroyed, including all known samples of the cure. Security footage revealed an Emergency Preparedness Officer using his security card to gain access to the lab. Additional footage from inside shows the man removing samples of the original virus. Sources who identified the man as Harold Reams, aren’t sure what his plans were with the samples, but report overhearing him talk about how he, ‘didn’t feel respected’ at his current position. If you have any information on this man, please don’t hesitate to contact your local officials.”