Red Death

It took me over three days to clear out the research center of Zombie scum. (By the second or third day, everything began to blur so I actually don’t remember the date.) There wasn’t that many Zombies left. Once their food supply had run out, many had managed to escape the building and go off in search of greener hunting grounds.
I also took the time to gather up whatever remains were left of my first family. This is when the hard work really started.
I found my way to the outside of the facility and was greeted by bluest of skies, big white fluffy clouds, and rolling golden plains. In the distance, near the horizon, thick plumes of black smoke filled the sky.
The air was crisp and refreshing in my lungs. I stood for a moment and let it all soak in. I’d never felt the real sun touch my face before. I’ve never felt a true breeze kiss my face. It seemed almost ridiculous that the world was going to hell in a hand basket and yet the weather was so wonderfully agreeable.
“Hello,” it was saying to me, “Hello and welcome my new child.”
Not wasting another minute, I picked up a shovel, and began to dig a personal grave for everyone I had found, including Dr. Markus – it was the least I could do. There weren’t many bodies left. Most were only mangled remains…spare parts you could say. Of those whom were still mainly attached, I placed a bullet into their heads, just to make certain that they couldn’t come back to life.
Grave after grave I dug. Body after body I buried. Prayer after prayer I recited.
By the time I got to Dr. Matthew (I saved his burial for last) my hands were bleeding and my fur covered palms and fingers were covered in painful blisters. I threw down my shovel in exhaustion and then sat down beside Dr. Matthew’s body. I had thrown a bandana over his faceless corpse so that I could try to pretend that maybe he was getting a facial or just sleeping peacefully.
“Here we are,” I whispered to him, looking from him to my booted feet, “It’s the end of the world.” The words left a bad taste in my mouth and I turned my head to spit, “Didn’t see that coming did we?” I felt my throat thicken as tears built up in my eyes, “I’m sorry you died…I’m sorry that I couldn’t save you.”
I closed my bleeding hand around his cold stiff one and felt tears form in my eyes. I looked down at his body with a sad smile.
“I’m going to try and make it all right, Dr. Matthew. I’m going to make you proud of me.” I reached up to his splintered neck and with a powerful tug, yanked off his rosary, “I’m sure you won’t mind me taking this…I need something to remember you by…something to remind me to pray when there is nothing more left to do.”
The facility didn’t force any type of religion upon me. There’s no way that they could’ve done it without starting a fight. After all, Dr. Markus was an atheist, Dr. Matthew was catholic, Dr. Sarah was Buddhist, and so on and so forth. Somehow, someway, I ended up some sort of Christian though I held no real ties to any specific form of religion. All I know is that while I was growing up people told me of God and I learned to believe in him. I learned to pray.
I slipped the rosary around my own neck, fingering the worry worn beads, “Just so you know…I loved you.” I said, feeling a pathetic, sorry laugh escape my throat, “I truly did. You were the closest thing to a father I had and I appreciate everything you ever said and done for me.”
I stood up and taking a deep breath, unceremoniously dumped Dr. Matthew’s body into the shallow grave – I was tired so don’t even think about patronizing me. I’d like to see you dig up over 20 graves in one day.
I picked up my shovel for the last time and began to throw dirt over Dr. Matthew as I recited the Lord’s Prayer, “Our Father, who art in Heaven. Hallowed be thy name. Thy kingdom come. Thy will be done, on Earth as it is in Heaven. Give us this day our daily bread. And forgive us our trespasses, as we forgive those who trespass against us. And lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil. For thine is the kingdom, and the power, and the glory forever. Amen.”
My shovel became Dr. Matthew’s headstone. I smeared my bloody hands against my dirt covered jeans (it’s the end of the world – you can’t expect me to be hygienic all the time) and then retrieved my bags. I grabbed them, slinging them over my head and shoulders, and stood over looking my sad graveyard. Stones, sticks, and blood splattered books made up the unmarked tombstones. I hoped that if anyone were to happen upon this facility that they would be respectful of the dead that lay here.
Pulling my hood over my head, I blew them a kiss, “I'll miss you. I promise to make everything right.”
Then, without another look back, I picked up my crossbow and pushed my way past the torn down metal gates. I looked towards the smoking horizon.
Where there's smoke there's fire, I thought, People would be there...at least, what's left of people.
This was the direction I chose to go. From what I could tell, I was in a dessert of sorts. But, being winter, the late afternoon air was chilled and I was thankful for my fur and double layer of clothes. I walked for about nine miles (three hours) before I finally came upon signs of civilized life.
It was a four way intersection and I found myself staring at a tall, rusted metal post with several flat pieces of marked metal bolted to it. I recognized it as a sign, though I didn't know what it said. But, there was one with an arrow pointed towards the direction I was headed.
That's when I heard a loud blaring sound; it reminded me of a roar of sorts. At first, stupefied, I looked down at myself and patted my pockets, trying to figure out where the sound was coming from. The sound came again, closer this time. My head shot up.
There was a motorcycle barreling straight towards me. My pupils dilated and then constricted in fear and I stepped back, pressing my spine against the sign. Brakes screeched as the bike, a large black Harley Davidson, skidded to a halt in front of me.
The rider wore a tinted helmet. I couldn’t see the person’s face. Before I knew what was happening, I found myself looking down the barrel of a Winchester rifle. I swallowed nervously and held up my hands, being sure to keep them covered with my hoodie sleeves.
“Are you bitten?” I heard a warm, rich, dark voice ask me from behind the helmet.
I recognized the accent. It was a pure southern drawl. The owner of the voice was from Alabama. Dr. Joey had the same accent and he was very proud of the state he’d come from. I remember having a major crush on him just because of the way he talked.
“What?” Then I remembered it was a Zombie Apocalypse, “Oh! No, no. I'm not infected…are you?”
My fingers twitched as I slowly, half lifted my shoulder holding the crossbow, showing the stranger that I too was armed; Such a friendly way to make a first impression, Kitty.
The barrel came down about two inches, pointing at my nose now instead of my forehead, “I'm bite free.”
“Protocol requires me to ask you strip.” I blurted out, my training taking over.
My face burned in humiliation and I felt like I was going to die of shame. I hung my head, shaking it back and forth. I almost gave a crazed laugh.
“Excuse me?!” The driver pushed down his kickstand and removed his helmet as his stood up.
Holy shit! – My jaw dropped a little.
Now that this man was standing I saw that he was wearing the heavy black Kevlar and thick leather armor of a military officer. Pinned to his chest was a small, golden cross. And, to make things worse, the man was strikingly attractive and handsome.
(Shove off, Eugene! Yes I wrote that…Ouch! Don’t pinch – you told me to write my version of the story!)
He was fair skinned, with only the lightest of traces that maybe he had a tan. He was of average height; I'd guess about six foot one. He also had a slightly above average build.
Though slender, his chest was broad, shoulders strong, and hips narrow. His body was fit, athletic, and strong; muscles well defined from years of physical labor. His hair was a natural dark brown, wavy, and cut short so that it fell into his eyes in a ‘devil-may-care’ style. At the end of his chin was a scruffy goatee. His eyes were an astonishingly light blue.
“What did you say to me?” He asked, rifle still in his hands but barrel pointed towards the earth.
I breathed a sigh of relief and lowered my hands, “I said that protocol requires me to ask that you strip. That way I can search you for bites and scratches; to guarantee that there isn’t any source or risk of infection.”
You idiot! You don’t tell a man you’ve just met to strip naked!
My voice was not my own. It was emotionless, cold, and calculating. I always sounded like that when I was recalled the rules and protocols and whatever else the facility had taught me. In a sense, it was a robot voice.
“You with the government?” He asked, a brown eyebrow raised and chapped lips a firm, emotionless line. “Military?”
“Uh...in a sense,” I squirmed; his blue eyes (which in my opinion were much to light in color) made me uncomfortable and yet he refused to look away from me.
“If that's the case, why are you out here in the middle of nowhere instead of there,” he pointed towards the burning skyline, “helping?”
“I could ask the same to you. You’re military, yes?”
He didn’t answer me. His lips pressed themselves into a firm line. I didn’t pry farther. It wasn’t my place to put him on the spot. Nor did I want to push him away.
“Uh, where is here actually?” I asked, waving a sleeve covered hand vaguely at the sign behind me before adding, “I just spent the last few days digging up graves. I had to bury a lot of people. I’m not too sure on the day even.”
“You're 30 miles outside of Las Vegas and it’s the seventh of December.” He did me the honor of not digging deeper into what I'd been doing; I could tell from the way his shoulders had sagged at my words that he too had suffered a loss or even losses.
“Las Vegas...cool.” He heard the uncertainty in my tone.
“Are you lost, Kiddo? And you're not really from the government are you?”
“I'm not lost,” I said, but I kept my eyes looking down at my feet, “I happen to have a very good internal compass. I just can't read. And, I told you, in a sense that I am with the government. They own me. Also, for the record, I'm not a kid. I'm 17 going on 18 here in the next few weeks.”
He lifted his gun again, pointing it at my chest; I rolled my eyes. I was getting tired of looking down the barrel of a gun.
“The government doesn't own people.” He drawled, “I should know. I am military…or was.”
“Well, I'm not people,” I yanked my purple hood down, exposing my face to him, “now am I?”
“What in God's name...” His face held horror, awe, and wonderment.
To my surprise he came towards me, gun barrel back towards the ground. My muscles locked up and I stood frozen in place, eyes wide and fearful. My fight or flight instincts had stopped working. He stopped about a foot from me, pale eyes taking in me features.
“Makeup? Plastic surgery? ‘God’s Cure’?” He asked in rapid fire.
I shook my head and lowered my ears. This made him crack a crooked smile. He reached for me and I stayed still, letting him do as he will. So much for my instincts to preserve myself, let me tell you. I stood as still as a statue. I barely even allowed myself to breathe.
He stroked one of my ears, letting his fingertips wander from the base to the black tip. Then he lightly touched my curly hair, which was clearly human. His fingers then caressed my cheek, fingertips softly feeling my fur.
“How are you even real?” The horror had been replaced with amazement. “This must be a dream.”
“No dream…aren't you scared of me at all?” I said, voice a squeak.
He looked down into my yellow eyes and dropped his hand, “Not...at the moment.”
“Good,” I said, relief flooding through me; first human outside of the facility and he's not running for the hills; I mentally patted myself on the back, “I'll tell you the story if you let me hitch a ride.”
“Give me your name first.” He demanded.
I frowned, “Kitty.”
He laughed, short and loud, “Seriously?”
The irony wasn’t lost on me.
“It's a nickname.” I mumbled, shrugging my shoulders.
“No real name?”
“That's none of your business.” I snarled, lifting my lips to show off my fangs.
“Gonna make me earn that right, huh?” He held out a strong hand towards me; I just realized that his fingernails were painted a bright lime green. “Name's Miguel by the way.”
I took his hand and his warm fingers engulfed mine, “You don’t look like a Miguel.” I blurted out.
“What do I look like then?” He asked, arching an eyebrow again.
“You look like that guy from that old Disney movie Tangled…Eugene Fitzherbert, AKA Flynn Rider – or even that Duke guy from that TV show rerun Haven.”
“Well,” he gave me a dashing smile, “if you want to call me Eugene or Duke, then you can go right ahead and do that, Kiddo.”
With that, Eugene (call it an inside joke but also his designated nickname; I tried very hard not to call him Miguel) led me to the bike and handed me the helmet he’d been wearing. I waved it away but he insisted.
“Safety first, Kiddo.” He said, as he reached behind me to grab something. “I’ve got a spare.”
“I’m not a kid.” I said.
He ignored me and instead showed me the spare he’d been carrying on the back of the bike. While I was struggling to put on my helmet, Eugene took my bags and somehow latched them to the saddlebags of the motorcycle. I shouldered my crossbow, having been defeated by the helmet. It lay useless in my hands.
“Here.” Eugene picked it up with a chuckle and helped me into it, buckling it beneath my chin. He was careful not to crush my ears. “Never been on a bike before?”
“I don’t know much about modern technology and such – other than the occasional movie I was allowed to see. I was taught basics; horseback riding and the likes. The Zombies were created with a desire to destroy power plants, dams, gas stations, etc. Within a week the world will be without electricity and running water for the most part.” I explained as I, to my surprise, took the back seat of the bike and didn’t fall off.
“Bummer. I’m gonna miss having lights. People still ride horses?” I had to give him credit for still trying to make light of the Apocalypse. He took his seat in front of me, “Hold my waist.”
I did as asked, wrapping my arms snuggly around him. His body was warm and beneath his clothes I could feel that his body was as tough and solid as it looked. The engine roared to life and Eugene shifted into gear, lifting up the kickstand all in one swift movement. The motorcycle turned left, taking us west; away from my first home and away from the burning city of Las Vegas.
“No need to squeeze so tight, Kiddo. I still need to breathe.”
“Sorry.” I said, loosening my grip as I rested my head against his shoulders. “And I’m not a kid.”
It seemed that ‘Kiddo’ was designated to be my own personal nickname that he alone used.
“Are there any more like you?” Eugene asked, yelling above the roar of the bike’s engine.
Time for the questions, I thought with a grim smile.
“No.” I yelled back, not liking the fact that I had to shout to be heard.
Then I proceeded to tell the soldier my life story. Eugene was (is) a good listener. He asked questions and I answered to the best of my knowledge. I explained why and how I had been created. I told him of Markus and Matthew and the others.
I told him what went wrong. What I failed to mention was that I was humanity’s last line of defense and only hope for survival. I was going to save that bombshell for a later time. I expected him to lay blame upon me. But, surprising me once again, Eugene only listened and stayed neutral.
“So, you're immune? To them…the Zombies or whatever they are? Immune to their bites?”
“Me and the animals. Humans and metalheads are not.” I said, “I can get bitten as many times as possible and still not turn.”
“Must be nice,” there was bitterness in his voice.
“No.” I said, growing defensive. “It's unfair. But, the facility and scientists never did anything half-assed. I am...perfect.”
Eugene blow a sharp puff of air out at this, “Prefect, huh?”
“Prefect in the eyes of my creators,” I snapped, my tone harsh and taunting. “Not yours, Eugene.”
Eugene shot me a sidelong glance and I locked my eyes with his even though both our helmets were tinted. His gaze fell upon my, Matthew’s, rosary.
“You believe though.” He said lightly, “In the ‘big man’.”
It wasn’t a question.
“Yes.” I said, “I have faith. I pray when I can and I do the best I can…under circumstances. I believe in him even if he doesn’t believe in me.”
“Doesn’t believe in you?”
I laughed darkly, “He had no say in my creation. He didn’t make me – humans did.”
He shook his dark head, “You and I should have a deep conversation about God and the way he thinks someday. Now, however, I think it’s safe to say that God is standing at the sidelines at the moment so I’d rather not go into it.”
I lifted my arms above my head, stretching. I was starting to feel very cramped riding bitch on the motorcycle. My back popped in three places and I let out a yawn that I couldn’t stifle. I rubbed my eyes beneath my helmet and re-wrapped my arms around his waist.