The Creeping Dead: Book 2 Page 10

  Tara frowned. “Sounds uncomfortable. Even at school?”

  “Yup. I’m always on edge, like I can never relax. It’s like I’m always waiting…”

  “For them to come back,” offered Tara.

  Vinnie knew who she meant. “Yeah.”

  “And this incident with the little girl has you worried?”

  “We didn’t get them all. Many were washed away in the storm.”

  “So?”

  “So, they don’t drown. They have to be roaming around out there, somewhere.”

  “I see,” said Tara. “And that’s what keeps you up at night.”

  “Exactly. My parents talked about possibly moving, but my dad says it’s difficult starting over. He’s got everything invested in the pizzeria.”

  “Vinnie, there’s something we in psychology call an ‘assumptive world.’ Do you know what that is?”

  Vinnie shook his head.

  “It’s the way we view our world around us. You got up out of bed this morning, right?”

  Vinnie nodded, unsure of where she was going with this.

  “Well, were you worried about slipping and breaking your neck?”

  “No, of course not.”

  “Is it possible for that to happen?”

  Vinnie thought for a moment. “Unlikely, but I guess it’s possible.”

  “You left your house this morning.”

  Vinnie chuckled. “Obviously. I’m here.”

  “Were you worried about getting hit by a car or attacked by a dog, or mugged even?”

  “No, I wasn’t.”

  “Are these things possible?”

  He laughed. “Yeah, I guess so. What’s your point?”

  “The point is, statistically there are lots of things that can happen, some more likely than others. Things that should keep us home under our covers in bed. But, we look past these things, assuming that these things won’t happen. We operate on that premise.”

  Vinnie’s expression grew serious. “I see what you’re saying. But, the reality is that the zombie attack did happen. I saw it. Friends of mine died. Horribly.”

  Tara smiled. “Vinnie, people get into car accidents every day. In fact, statistically, you are way more likely to get into a car accident than attacked by a zombie.”

  He smirked again. “That probability has increased recently.”

  “But, it’s still much less than getting into a car accident, or choking on food. Vinnie, you could drop dead right now from a brain aneurysm. A terrorist could blow us up where we sit. The world is a dangerous place.”

  “Jesus, Doc. This how you’re trying to make me feel better?”

  Tara sat up straight and leaned in towards Vinnie. “What I’m trying to say is you don’t think of all these very possible things because they haven’t just happened to you. You witnessed something terrible and traumatic. We all have.”

  Vinnie looked down for a moment, feeling awkward again.

  Tara noticed. “What’s wrong?”

  “I feel strange talking about this with you.”

  “Why is that?”

  “Here I am complaining, and you lost your husband during the attack. You almost lost Tyrell.”

  Tara paused. Although two years had passed, the wound wasn’t fully healed. Wounds like this never did. They eventually became mental scars tucked away to the back of one’s awareness, always lurking on the periphery, occasionally itching. It reared its ugly head at inopportune times—on quiet nights, lonely mornings, in the middle of the supermarket. “I killed what was once my husband with my bare hands. If I didn’t, Tyrell and I wouldn’t be here.”

  “Do you get nightmares?”

  “Sometimes. Sometimes I dream that Marcus is coming after me in the house, chasing me from room to room, snapping his jaws at me. Other times I dream that we’re all together on the boardwalk, walking, holding hands, Tyrell between us. Then I look over, and Marcus is one of those monsters, tugging Tyrell towards him.”

  Vinnie grimaced. “Jesus.”

  Tara nodded. “I try to pull Tyrell towards me, but Marcus’ grip is too strong. I wake up just before he sinks his teeth into his neck.”

  “How do you go on, dealing with this?”

  “I have to. Tyrell needs me to. I want him to have as normal a life he can after all that.”

  “Do you think it’s possible?”

  “People carried on after 9/11. There are floods, tornadoes, and wildfires that destroy homes and entire neighborhoods. People always rebuild.”

  “So, what should I do?”

  “Try to live your life as best as you can. Don’t let fear or pain hold you back. You survived a zombie attack and a superstorm. Your life is a gift. Don’t squander it.”

  Vinnie grinned.

  “Wow, I actually got you to smile,” said Tara, pleasantly surprised.

  “No, it’s not you, Doc. It’s Dharma. She’s been bugging me to go to the bonfire tonight.”

  “You don’t want to go?”

  Vinnie shrugged. “I dunno. It seems kinda silly.”

  “After all we just talked about, do you still feel that way?”

  He pondered this. “No, I guess I don’t. I guess I should go.”

  Tara nodded. “This is your community, pulling together in solidarity after two natural disasters that nearly wiped the town out. I believe you should be there. And, for Christ’s sake, have some fun. Tyrell loved it last year.”

  Vinnie smiled. “He’s a brave kid.”

  Tara placed a hand on Vinnie’s shoulder. “He told me what you did for him today.”

  Vinnie’s face flushed in embarrassment. “I…uh…well, he was really upset. He didn’t know what to do.”

  “Thank you, Vinnie.” She sighed, pushing down her annoyance at the situation. “Marie means well. Different people react in different ways to crisis. Some reactions are healthier than others.”

  “Mrs. Russo said that she’d leave him alone,” said Vinnie. “I believe her.”

  “I do, too. It’s not like I don’t appreciate everything she’s done, watching Tyrell at her store. He enjoys working there. He loves Sal and Alessandra.”

  “Yeah, they’re great.”

  “He looks up to you and Dharma, you know.”

  “Really?”

  “Yeah. He kind of sees you as a big brother, and Dharma is like a big sister.”

  “Wow, I never realized that. That’s pretty cool.”

  “Yes, it is. So, you gonna be okay?”

  “Yeah, I think so. How much do I owe you?”

  Tara stood and placed up a hand. “Don’t worry about it. This really wasn’t therapy, anyway. You are a friend to me and Tyrell. A good friend.”

  Vinnie smiled at that. Hearing her say so made him feel better about things. He hadn’t realized that other people, people he would’ve never thought, actually needed him.

  He stood as well. “Well, thanks again. I have a bonfire to get ready for.”

  Act II

  Tipping Point

  Chapter 6

  The small auditorium in town hall was overflowing with locals, the seats filled with various business owners and, in some cases, their families. There was much discussion and debate, and the meeting hadn’t even been called to order yet.

  Mayor Vitulli checked his watch and stepped up to the podium, adjusting the microphone, causing a bit of feedback. At the sound, the room began to settle, and the din died down.

  Mayor Vitulli cleared his throat. “Thank you all for coming to this meeting of the town planning board. I would like to call this meeting to order.”

  He waited as the room fell quiet. A baby babbled out loud, and his mother cradled him, looking up at the mayor expectantly. “Thank you. Tonight’s agenda is a busy one, so I appreciate your attention.”

  Nancy looked around, confused as to why the agenda would be so involved. As far as she knew, they were only going to discuss the proposal for the rave. She recognized the town’s deputy mayor and event pl
anner, the board all seated in folding chairs behind the podium, and Captain Larson and Lt. Becky Michaels of the police. She did not, however, recognize the rather officious-looking men, one a gray suit and the other in a black suit, seated next to Becky by the podium.

  Vinnie and Dharma sat together, next to their parents. Vinnie looked around the room and caught Nancy’s eye. He smiled and nodded. She returned the nod, but she didn’t smile.

  “First, I would like to introduce to you Dr. Klein from the New Jersey State Department of Health and Mr. Reinbeck from the Office of Emergency Management.” Mayor Vitulli stepped aside, and the man in the black suit stood first. He was tall and thin with thinning gray hair. There was whispering and murmuring in the crowd.

  The man walked over to the podium and adjusted the microphone as he was taller than the mayor. The room fell silent. “Good evening. My name is Mr. Reinbeck, and I’m from the Ocean County Department of Emergency Management. As many of you have undoubtedly heard, there was an incident on Blackbeard’s Pier earlier today.”

  The crowd stirred again. Nancy heard the words dead, zombies, and attack bandied about as the din rose again.

  Reinbeck waited until the room settled. Although the room quieted, it didn’t fall silent this time. He continued anyway. “There has been a confirmed incident of a six-year-old girl who tested positive for the Z Virus.”

  The din rose as people muttered and gasped, whispering in excitement.

  “Unfortunately, she had to be neutralized, and her bite victims have been identified and quarantined.”

  “Neutralized!” Marney Traub’s husband was standing, his right hand clenched in a fist and raised in front of him. “The police shot my daughter in cold blood! They murdered her!”

  “Please, Mr. Traub, I ask that you reserve your comments for the question and answer period to come later.” The crowd hummed with disapproval at the coldness of Reinbeck’s remark.

  Mr. Traub trembled with outrage. “My daughter was murdered by the police! What have you done to keep her safe? My wife is in quarantine. They won’t even let me see her!”

  Reinbeck remained stoic. “Mr. Traub, I understand your grief, but if you would allow me to continue, if you all would allow me to continue, I can provide an explanation as to how we plan to keep you safe.”

  He made to speak in retort, but a woman next to him—Marney’s friend, Trisha Vance—placed a hand firmly on his arm. He looked down at her hand as if it was an unwanted spider that had landed on his arm, but he stayed his tongue. He reluctantly sat, glaring at the official up at the podium, as if he could burn a hole through his chest with his gaze.

  “Thank you,” said Reinbeck, putting in little effort to look sincere. “What happened to your family is terrible, but we are taking measures to make sure it doesn’t happen to anyone else.

  “The State Police and National Guard have been called in. They will be setting up a staging base in the abandoned King Arcade on the boardwalk tonight. There will be increased patrols of the beach and bay areas, as it is believed that the subject that infected the young girl and killed her grandfather came from the shoreline.”

  “She has a name!” blurted Mr. Traub. “Her name is April!”

  “Yes, Mr. Traub. I know.”

  “I want to hear you say it,” he insisted. This time, Trisha made no move to silence him.

  “I want to hear you say zombie,” said Nancy.

  Everyone turned around and looked at Nancy, who was now standing, fists balled. No one dared place a hand on her arm for fear of losing it.

  Reinbeck squinted his eyes. “Nancy Rizzuto, owner of Blackbeard’s Pier.” He knew her name because he dropped by the arcade to supervise the pier’s sterilization.

  “Yes, that’s right,” snapped Nancy. “You can say my name, but I noticed you bending over backwards not to say that this is the work of zombies.”

  “Ms. Rizzuto, that’s not the proper terminology employed by myself, the Department of Health, or the Department of Emergency Management.”

  Nancy crossed her arms. “So, you bombard us with euphemisms, like ‘young girl’ and ‘subject.’ Why don’t you call things what they are? Her name was April, and what infected her was a zombie.” Mr. Traub nodded at Nancy from across the room in acknowledgement. “Now,” Nancy continued, “I believe you were going to tell us about what you were going to do about the zombie problem.”

  “That’s just it,” interjected Mayor Vitulli, running up to the microphone. He leaned over Reinbeck, speaking into it. “It’s not a zombie problem.”

  Reinbeck shot the mayor a look, and he withered. Reinbeck then cleared his throat. “What the mayor is trying to say is that we can only confirm the existence of one subject zero…or zombie…the one that infected April. We are taking measures to spot any further zombies so that they can be dealt with quickly and the spread of infection contained.”

  “What about this so-called Protocol Z?” asked Marco Cantone. “How will it be employed so that any more zombies will be taken out quickly?”

  Reinbeck nodded. “There is a different Protocol Z for each phase of readiness. The one for Code Orange, which is a heightened state of alertness after a sighting, employs a more expedient protocol involving body language, much like Israeli airport security screening. In this case, we would look for unusual gait in the form of staggering, high-pitched screeching, and vomiting blood and digestive fluids.

  “For confirmation, we have darts containing an enzyme that becomes luminescent when coming into contact with the Z Virus. Once infection is confirmed, we shoot on sight. Headshots only. A clean-up crew would then sweep in and place a second headshot at point-blank range to ensure complete neutralization.”

  The crowd stirred.

  Reinbeck cleared his throat. The din fell to a low murmur. “Keep in mind that there has only been one infected person, and she has been neutralized. Any suspected of being bitten have been identified and are being quarantined and treated. There haven’t been any other sightings since this morning.”

  “How can you be sure that you’ve caught all of those bitten?” asked Frank McCarthy, an ice cream shop owner.

  “We cannot be one hundred percent certain,” said Reinbeck. “Which is why we have representatives from the Department of Health and the Smuggler’s Bay PD here to explain how we can facilitate rapid detection response to infection.”

  He stepped aside from the podium and waved Dr. Klein, Captain Larson, and Lt. Becky Michaels over. Dr. Klein took the lead. He nodded to Reinbeck, who stepped aside, and took his place at the podium. Captain Larson and Becky stood next to him.

  Dr. Klein placed papers onto the podium, shuffling them around for a moment as he organized himself. He looked up. “Good evening.” He adjusted the microphone to his smaller stature. He was a thin, beady-eyed, bespeckled man, looking like someone who worked in a lab. “My name is Dr. Klein from the Department of Health. I would like to thank Mayor Vitulli for having me here, and I commend his police department’s speedy response to what could’ve been a much worse scenario without their efforts.”

  There was some limp applause that died out quickly. Mr. Traub sniffed audibly.

  “An important question was just raised,” continued Dr. Klein. “What if we didn’t identify all those bitten? That is a very real concern, and although we expect those undetected to be at a minimum, the fact of the matter is that there may have been a few that were missed.

  “So, what should you, as residents, do if you think someone is infected with the Z Virus? First, don’t panic…” There were snickers and chortles coming from the seats. “…I want you to remember the following acronym: R-E-C—Recognize the symptoms, Evacuate to a safe distance, Call nine-one-one.

  “What symptoms do you need to recognize? A pale, sickly pallor, dark discoloration under or around the eyes—we call it raccoon eyes. In the prodromal phase, before the virus manifests itself completely, the subject will exhibit strange, uncharacteristic behavior. Visual hallucinatio
ns—they will react to things that aren’t there. They can become belligerent, crude, and even engage in self-injurious behavior, such as biting off one’s own appendages…”

  “We know the signs,” shouted Marie Russo. “We’ve seen them first hand.”

  Dr. Klein appeared rattled by the interruption. “Yes, well, I understand that. However, I don’t see the harm in reviewing…”

  Marie stood, defiant, shaking her fist for emphasis as she spoke. “All I know is that I’m prepared, if the zombies were to return, as all of us should be. Last time, the police were quickly overwhelmed. I’m not waiting for their response this time.”

  Dr. Klein was stammering, looking down at his notes, shuffling papers around, not sure of how to respond. Captain Larson made to take the podium, but Becky whispered something into his ear, and he deferred to her.

  Instead, she took the podium. “Ms. Russo, I know who you are, and I know that you’ve armed yourself in the event of another attack.”

  “Damned right,” said Marie, her two children sitting next to her, holding her chin high. Salvatore smiled, proud of his mother. Alessandra looked like she wanted to die. “I know my Second Amendment Rights.”

  Becky nodded, keeping her composure. “While I agree with you and support your Second Amendment Rights, what we don’t need is panic.”

  “Who’s panicking?” retorted Marie.

  Becky traded uncomfortable looks with Larson. “What I’m trying to say, Marie, is that if there are any further sightings, we need to clear a path for first responders, keeping lines of fire clear. We want to minimize friendly fire and accidents.

  “No one is saying that you shouldn’t protect yourself. Arm yourself, stand your ground. But let the police and National Guard get first licks. Keep your children back, out of harm’s way. Then, if the zombies get to you, have at it.”

  Marie looked as if she wanted to respond, but Becky’s appeal seemed to have registered with her. She nodded and remained silent.

  “Which brings us to the E and C of R.E.C.,” said Dr. Klein, stepping in. Becky let him retake his place at the podium. “Evacuate to a safe distance, as Lt. Michaels has just indicated. Keep your loved ones out of danger. Then Call 911. With increased manpower and patrols, we have ensured faster response time. You are our eyes and ears. If you see something, call us. Even if you are unsure.”