The Creeping Dead: A Zombie Novel Read online

  “It looks like she cut it on something when she fell. Maybe the walker,” he said to Honeywell. Then to Mama Sophia, “Did she bite you, sweetheart?”

  Mama Sophia never liked Yost. Who ever heard of a male nurse? He must be a real mama’s boy, and an arrogant jerk to boot. She simply pulled her hand away from his and cradled it in her lap.

  Yost shook his head in disapproval and turned to Bonnie, who had at some point stopped hyperventilating like a dog in a hot car at noon in August. She was sitting still on the bed in her trance, looking at nothing with those blank eyes. “Cancel the code blue.”

  “But Mr. Yost—”

  “Cancel it, Honeywell. Now. Mrs. Tutlidge has stabilized.”

  Stabilized? Mama Sophia laughed at the word. She pointed a gnarled finger at her roommate. “Diablo!” She flashed devil horns at Bonnie, aiming her right index and pinkie fingers at the sick woman.

  “That’s not nice,” admonished Ms. Norton.

  Yost shook his head. “It’s an Italian thing. She’s protecting her. From the evil eye.”

  Norton looked at him, incredulous.

  He shrugged his shoulders. “My best friend growing up was Italian. His grandmother did it to us all the time before we went outside to play.” He sighed. “Okay, let’s get x-rays on Mrs. Russo, here, and let’s move Mrs. Tutlidge to the locked dementia unit.

  Honeywell nodded and left the room to contact the physician to expedite the x-rays.

  Norton ran out into the hallway and returned with a wheelchair. She and St. Charles lifted Bonnie Tutlidge, lowered her into the wheelchair, and wheeled her out of the room.

  It was the last time Mama Sophia would ever set eyes on Bonnie Tutlidge again.

  “We’re very sorry,” Yost said to Mrs. Russo. “She won’t be back in this room. I’ll have the psychologist drop in to talk to you, make sure you’re okay.” He paused for some kind of acknowledgement from Mama Sophia, but she only glared at him.

  “Well, okay then,” he said and left the room.

  “Faccia brutta,” Mama Sophia muttered to herself.

  Yost strode over to the nurses’ station and picked up the phone, dialing zero. The receptionist picked up. “Hi, Yolanda, it’s Mr. Yost. Can you page Dr. Bigelow for me?...Thanks.”

  ***

  Tara stepped into Mama Sophia’s room, where she found her sitting on her bed watching daytime television. It was one of those talk shows that did paternity tests for trashy people, often ending in a fist fight on the stage.

  Mama sat on her bed, a look of profound disgust on her face, but Tara wasn’t sure if it was about the television show or the incident that had just occurred.

  “Mrs. Russo?”

  Mama Sophia looked up at the doctor. Great. Another colored girl. But this one was pretty. “Yes.”

  “My name is Dr. Bigelow. I’m a psychologist here, and I heard what happened.” Mama Sophia grimaced at the reference. “I just wanted to make sure you were all right.”

  This doctor had a kind way about her. Mama Sophia decided she’d answer her questions. “Please. Sit.” She gestured to an empty metal chair.

  Tara smiled and sat across from Mama Sophia, who picked up her large remote with the over-sized buttons for the sight-impaired and turned off the television.

  Tara nodded thanks at the courtesy, as it was one she rarely received from the other residents. She usually had to shout over the television as the resident partially attended to her questions.

  “Thank you,” said Tara. Mama Sophia nodded back. “What happened?”

  “That colored woman,” she said, oblivious to whom she was speaking to, or just not caring at all, “she attacked me.”

  Tara ignored the racial reference. “Did you two have an argument?”

  Mama Sophia shook her head. “No. She looked sick, so I pressed the button to bring the nurse. She needed help.”

  “Oh. That was nice of you. You were looking out for her.” Mama Sophia nodded. “Then what happened?”

  “She grabbed my hand, like this…” she grabbed Tara’s hand in hers, holding it tightly. “Then she tried to bite me. Like animale.”

  “Oh my goodness. So what did you do then?”

  “I pulled my hand away and fell on the floor. She came on top of me and attacked me.”

  “Well, she was very sick. I’m sorry that happened to you, Mrs. Russo. She won’t be coming back to this room again.”

  Mama Sophia nodded solemnly. “She had the malocchia.”

  “I’m sorry, the what?”

  “A curse. The touch of the devil.”

  “Ah, I see. Well, you’re safe now. Do you feel safe?”

  Mama Sophia nodded.

  “Good. How about I come and check on you every so often? See how you’re doing.”

  Mama Sophia shook her head. “No. That’s not necessary.”

  Tara had a sense of this woman. This was one tough, old Italian lady. She was probably the matriarch of her family, probably raised her children single-handedly, and cooked pasta and gravy for her entire clan every Sunday.

  “Do you have any children, Mrs. Russo?”

  She nodded. “My son, Mario. He takes care of me. He’s a good boy.”

  “Good. Sounds like you did a good job with him.”

  Mama Sophia beamed proudly. “Do you have any children?”

  “One son. Five years old.”

  The old woman smiled. “I like you. You have a nice face. You’ll come back and visit me?”

  “Only if you want me to.”

  “Yes. Come back. Bring a picture of your son.”

  Tara smiled. “Sounds good. One quick question. Please don’t get upset. It’s my job.”

  Mama Sophia nodded, looking somewhat tentative after an introduction like that.

  “Are you going to hurt yourself or someone else?”

  Mama Sophia grimaced again. “Oh, no. It’s a sin.”

  “Good. I’ll come visit again, soon.”

  “You’re a doctor?”

  “Yes. A psychologist.”

  “You’re a nice doctor. You’re the first one I met since I’ve come to this dump.”

  Tara smiled sadly, knowing the woman was probably speaking the truth. “Well, I’m a different kind of doctor. No needles.”

  Mama Sophia smiled and even let a chuckle slip out. “No needles.”

  “That’s right. Well, I’ll see you soon.” Tara extended her hand, and the old woman shook it.

  Tara walked to the door. She paused in the doorway and looked over her shoulder.

  Mama Sophia was pointing devil horns at her back, muttering to herself.

  ***

  “Are you sure no one was bitten?” demanded MacAteer.

  “As far as anyone can tell,” answered Yost.

  “There’s no margin for error on this, Alan.”

  “Listen, Linda, there’s something weird going on with our demented residents.”

  “Ms. MacAteer,” she insisted.

  “Oh, come off it. Your high and mighty bullshit doesn’t work on me. I know your damned secret, and that makes you vulnerable. So don’t think you can wave your title or position over me. We’re in this shit together.”

  “Let’s both calm down,” said MacAteer. “We need to figure this thing out, not cannibalize each other.”

  “No, we’ll leave the cannibalism to the residents on the locked dementia ward.”

  “That’s not funny, Alan.”

  “I didn’t mean it to be funny. This is getting out of hand.”

  “I know. I know. Tell it to Mr. Levitz. He wants full census. Period. Or we’re all history.”

  “Maybe you should tell him,” Yost suggested. “Maybe he needs to know.”

  “He’s not a clinician. He doesn’t care about what’s going on medically with these residents. This nursing home is real estate to him. Nothing more.

  “Besides, they behave locked in the dementia unit all by themselves. They don’t attack each other. That’s why
we don’t staff it anymore.”

  “Members of the staff are starting to notice that. They’re also starting to notice that the food trays are leaving the unit full of food.”

  “I thought you were rotating them frequently.”

  “I am, but they’re not stupid.”

  “Maybe you’re not keeping them busy enough, Alan, if they have the time on their hands to make such observations.”

  “This…illness we’re seeing is going to be a lawsuit. I’ll tell Mr. Levitz. He’ll listen to me.”

  MacAteer chortled at his bravado. “Give me a break, Alan. What, he’s going to listen to you because you’re a man, and I’m a poor, weak, little woman?”

  “That’s not what I meant.”

  “I guess you haven’t grown too accustomed to your nice little kickback you get monthly.”

  “One of these days this is all going to fall apart. The money’s nice, but there are people dying.”

  MacAteer turned away from Alan. She could no longer look him in the eye. “Who, the demented residents? They’re half-dead already. They just don’t realize it. They don’t realize anything at this point.”

  “That’s cold, Linda. Even for you. We’ve got to get a handle on this. What if this is the beginning of an epidemic?”

  MacAteer wheeled around to look at Yost. “Epidemic? So far it hasn’t spread out of the facility.”

  “That’s not true. There was that nurse who attacked her family.”

  MacAteer waved her hand dismissively. “An isolated incident.”

  Yost pressed. “So far we’ve been lucky. Luck eventually runs out. There’ll be pissed off family members. Our incidents are on the rise, and you know that all has to be reported to the State.”

  MacAteer looked distracted for a moment.

  “Linda?”

  “Speaking of family, who’s the social worker for Ms. Tutlidge?”

  “Renee, I think.”

  “Oh, Christ. Get her in here. I want to talk to her before she calls the son. NOW, ALAN.”

  Yost shook his head and dashed out of MacAteer’s office.

  She sat back in her seat and exhaled deeply, allowing her façade of clinical cool to crumble for a moment.

  It wasn’t that she didn’t think they were doing something unethical. This problem was that the situation was a ticking time bomb that was about to blow up in her face.

  It was just that Mr. Levitz had insisted on a full census. At first she directed admissions to take in anyone and everyone—drug addicts, vagrants, criminals. However, it just led to an increase in reportable incidents, which looked bad for the facility, and an increase in hospitalizations, which led to a decrease in revenue. Medicaid only paid for occupied beds.

  She’d been drummed out of four facilities in three years, not a very good track record. This was it. She had to make it work. If she screwed this up, she’d be almost unemployable as anything more than a unit clerk.

  She was just barely keeping up with her jumbo mortgage, and her deadbeat ex-husband was dodging alimony payments. Now that she thought of it, her entire life had become a ticking time bomb.

  The truth was no one knew what this new illness was. The afflicted residents showed no vitals, yet they were awake. Kind of. They became hyper-aggressive, but they were manageable in the locked unit. Why not hold on to them while they figured it out? In the meantime, they’d keep beds full.

  There was a knock at the door. MacAteer put her armor back on. “Come in.”

  Yost entered with Renee. They both took seats in the chairs in front of MacAteer’s oversized mahogany desk.

  “Have you contacted the family yet?”

  “Yes. I reached Mrs. Russo’s daughter-in-law. Mr. Russo’s in the hospital. He had a heart attack.”

  MacAteer waved that information away with her hand, as if it was completely irrelevant. “Don’t you think you should’ve waited before calling the family?” It was an accusation more than a question.

  Renee was used to the third degree from MacAteer. She was also acutely aware from prior experience that MacAteer didn’t always fall on the side of what was ethical or good practice.

  “I didn’t see the need to wait. Frankly, it’d make us look like we were hiding something.”

  “How did the daughter-in-law react?”

  “She took it well.”

  “I’m glad you got her and not the son on the phone. Sophia Russo despises her daughter-in-law. That much is plain to everyone. Her reaction will be tempered. It sounds like the son, what was his name?”

  “Mario.”

  “Yes, Mario is too preoccupied to kick up a big stink,” MacAteer said.

  “Did she tell her husband yet?” asked Yost.

  “No, she was on the way to the hospital to visit him.”

  “If he calls you, you direct to him me,” said MacAteer. “Am I clear, Renee?”

  “Yes, Ms. MacAteer.”

  “You’re a good social worker,” MacAteer lied. “Keep me posted.”

  “Will do.”

  As Renee rose and left the office, Yost and MacAteer traded knowing glances.

  * * *

  Mike Brunello was waiting outside of Blackbeard’s Pier, keys in hand, for Randy, Vinnie, and Dharma. Funny girl, Dharma. She was a nice girl, a bit capricious, but then again most girls her age were.

  Vinnie always helped Mike put out the Halloween decorations in August. Smuggler’s Bay rolled up the sidewalks after September, so Halloween made an appearance early. It was tradition for Vinnie to help drag out the old spider webs and creepy statues and such.

  Mike was suddenly struck with a kind of depression. What would it be like when Vinnie left for school? He felt guilty about it, selfish. He knew it was good for Vinnie, to get out of Smuggler’s Bay for a bit and broaden his horizons, but that wouldn’t soften the blow of the sudden void in his life.

  The end of summer was always a period of mourning for Mike. It meant that the kids were back in school, parents were back at work, and that insidious chill began to creep into the air. He’d hunker down. The holidays kept him busy—Thanksgiving, Christmas, and New Year’s. After January, his life in Smuggler’s Bay came to a screeching halt and time dragged until Memorial Day.

  Maybe he’d become friends with Dharma. They’d both be missing Vinnie when he would go off to New York. It was something Mike and this girl had in common, and they might even bond over it.

  “Sorry I’m late,” said Dharma, startling Mike out of his thoughts.

  “Only by a few minutes.”

  “Where’s Vinnie and Randy?”

  Mike smiled. “Randy always arrives when he means to.”

  Dharma smiled at the reference. “Well, let’s get started.”

  Mike winked. “That’s the spirit.”

  He fished his keys out of his pocket as the ocean breeze tussled his gray hair. It was a warm breeze, and just before noon it was going to be a hot breeze. He opened the door and flipped on the lights.

  Dharma followed him inside the arcade and drank it all in. “Kind eerie, isn’t it?”

  Mike looked around the dormant arcade, his eyes resting on the darkened carousel. “I’ve been doing this for years, and I never can get used to seeing it all dark and empty like this.”

  “So where are the decorations?”

  “They’re in Nancy’s office.”

  Mike gestured for her to follow him, and they made their way behind the vintage shooting gallery. Mike flipped on the light switch, and a lone, hanging, bare bulb illuminated the short corridor.

  Mike toggled through his keys and found the one to open Nancy’s office. He opened the door and flicked on the lights. Nancy’s office was filled with cardboard boxes labeled ‘Halloween.’

  “I think it’s really cool she does this for the kids.”

  Mike snickered. “Trust me. It’s for the tax deduction more than anything else. Plus, it’s a captive audience to pump more money into the rides and games. It’s win-win for her.”
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  “Still, it’s pretty cool. I remember going to this when I was a little kid.”

  Mike strained his memory to see if he could remember a younger Dharma, in costume, eyes wide, holding out her plastic jack-o-lantern to receive all kinds of goodies. He was disappointed that he could not.

  “Grab a box and bring it to the carousel. We’ll start decorating once we’ve got them all out.”

  “Hey, guys!” said Randy, causing Mike and Dharma to jump out of their skins.

  “Jesus, Randy, you trying to kill me?”

  “Sorry, Mike. Didn’t mean to startle you.”

  “Randy, this is Dharma. Dharma, Randy.”

  They shook hands. Mike saw the look in Randy’s eye. “Don’t get any ideas, Randy. This one’s spoken for.”

  Randy looked confused.

  “Vinnie’s girl.”

  “Oh, cool. Nice to meet you.”

  “Right back atcha,” said Dharma.

  “Bwahaha!” shouted Vinnie, jumping out from behind Randy, startling all three of them.

  “All right,” said Mike, “the gang’s all here. Enough bullshittin’. Grab a box and make yourself useful.”

  Vinnie shrugged his shoulders sheepishly, and all three kids grabbed a large cardboard box to haul out to the carousel. With three strong backs, it only took a few trips to empty the office of all the boxes.

  “Okay,” said Mike, “Randy and Vinnie, you decorate the arcade. I’ll decorate the carousel.”

  “What about me?” asked Dharma enthusiastically.

  “You, my dear, will decorate the Classics Room.”

  “Cool.”

  Randy grabbed a box and dragged it over to the games behind the carousel.

  Mike opened a box and began to pull out decorations, stringing the plastic skeletons, skulls, and spider webs on the railing.

  Dharma carted a box to the back right of the arcade, under an elaborate doorway fashioned in 1980s futuristic style, and into the Classics Room.

  She flicked on a light, which revealed a labyrinth of original cabinet arcade games and pinball machines. She recognized some old favorites. There were others that she’d never heard of, but she knew her parents must’ve.

  She opened the top flaps of her box and began to pull out bags of used, dusty spider webs. She sneezed from the dust as she removed the gray cottony clumps from their cellophane.