The Zombies of Lancaster

"How do we do that?" Dimmie asked him.

  "First, we will drive around starting at the morgue where they were last seen. Then, we will drive farther and farther out in circles, checking as best we can from the car, even walking behind houses until we find them. Hopefully, they left them in full sight of the town and not in someone's bed as a joke. If that's what they did, we are sunk. Some poor soul will find them, freak out, and call my office, crying and screaming. The story will spread like wildfire. Every small town woman is a natural rumor bitch. The phones will be abuzz like never before."

  "Gotcha, sheriff."

  "Let's get going. It's going to be a rough day, Dimmie."

  #

  Deputy Drimylos Schoenholtz drove his official car through the neighborhood, stopping to speak with everyone he could find outside. He passed hundreds of houses, turned dozens of corners. Nothing. No bodies. No blood. Not even a band-aid.

  One of his girlfriends, Betty Holman, was walking down to the street to get her newspaper. She stopped and waved him down.

  "What's up, Betty?" he asked. "Seen anything unusual this morning?"

  "No, Dimmie. I ain't seen nothing at all. Want to come inside for some coffee?"

  That was normally a real hit with the deputy, but Dimmie needed to finish his investigation of the missing corpses before the shit hit the fan and the coroner looked like a town idiot, so he figured he'd test the waters and just ask Betty for a rain check. Betty was quite sweet on Dimmie. She was a nice lay, and she was already quite partial to sleeping with Dimmie whenever the chance came around.

  "I'm really sorry, Betty. It's not that I don't want to. Don't get me wrong. I'll need a rain check, Betty, because the sheriff and I have got big things going on, today."

  "Like what?"

  "Well, I'd tell you, but if I did I'd have to kill you. So, it might be best not to go there."

  Betty laughed. "Well, I'm always here, deputy."

  "Oh, don't I know, honey. I'll get back as soon as I can. I'm hoping it will be in a few hours."

  The deputy continued driving along, stopping, looking in backyards, and going about his police business. He tried to be an upstanding cop, because he liked his job, and it not only gave him an income, but it also gave him a sense of prestige. The community in Lancaster was close knit, and everyone generally knew everyone else's business, which is about normal in a small town.

  He spent half the day looking for the bodies, but nothing ever came of it.

  #

  Several hours passed and no bodies of the Smith family had shown up yet. The sheriff, the mayor, and the coroner were getting frantic. Dimmie was due his break. He called in and okayed a thirty minute rest from Dolly Kaleston. They jaw-boned a minute, then he got her permission and headed for Betty Holman's sweet little bedroom.

  Inside, Dimmie helped Betty explore nature's gateways, then plunged into deep heaven making the beast with two backs until the two of them reached completion.

  "I gotta go, honey. You know how this damn job is always tying up our sweet love time."

  "Don't I though."

  "How'd I do?"

  "How'd you do? Honey, you was just fine. That's how you did. Just fine, as always."

  Dimmie smiled. "I love you, baby."

  "I know."

  "It doesn't hurt to remind you, lest you forget."

  "I won't forget, Dimmie. You know that."

  "I'll still keep reminding you. A girl needs to know when a man loves her. My daddy taught me that."

  "You had a pretty nice daddy, then. And he was right."

  She kissed him.

  "What's that for?"

  "For you, Dimmie. Getting a little retarded in your old age, are you?"

  Dimmie laughed. "Aw, I'm not retarded. I don't plan on ever being forgetful as long as I live. Can't be a cop and forget things."

  "That's good to hear."

  "I might bring some beer and pizza over tonight," Dimmie said. "That's if you want me to come by."

  "I'd like you to come by."

  "Well, then, we'll do it."

  "Sounds good."

  He stood up and fastened his button, zipper, and belt. Then, he fixed his shirt and tie, and attended to his shoes. "Gotta go to work in the salt mines again, dearie."

  "You ain't never worked in a salt mine in your life. I know you, Dimmie. If the job don't have no desk and no free car, you ain't going there."

  "Pshaw." He was out the door and on his way.

  #

  Dimmie drove seventy-five blocks, stopping now and then to mark his progress on a map. He turned past a single family house. Suddenly, Dimmie saw four people bent over on the lawn. As he parked the police car, he noticed they were covered with blood and seemed to be tossing someone's guts into the air along with splatters of blood. "What the fuck!" He turned on his siren and pulled onto the property's lawn with his gun raised. The four of them stood up and stumbled toward the police car, crawling atop the hood and moving their bloody hands across the glass. Their eyes were discolored, and parts of their body were hanging lose. He recognized them as the Smith family.

  "Holy shit!"

  He rolled up the windows and locked the doors.

  "Hello, sheriff," he said on the phone.

  "Yea, Dimmie. What do you have."

  "Found the Smiths."

  "Where?"

  "On a lawn."

  "So, tell me more."

  "You aren't going to believe this, sheriff."

  "Well, try me. I'm always in for new surprises, Dimmie."

  "They are alive, sir."

  "Repeat that. I must not have heard it correctly."

  "You heard it right."

  "But they are dead."

  "Yes. They are dead. But they are also moving, sir. They don't seem quite right in the head, either. There's something really wrong with them. Right now they are blood covered and crawling all over my vehicle trying to get in and kill me."

  "Every girl in town wants you, son. Why would the Smiths be any different just because they are dead?"

  "Well, that isn't totally true. There's probably one or two that don't. But the Smiths want me in the most sinister way, sheriff. What do I do?"

  "Shit," the sheriff said.

  "Did you say shit. sir?"

  "Yes I did say that. By the way, Dimmie, you haven't been drinking, have you?"

  "No. But as soon as I'm off duty, you can believe I'll be tying on a big one on account of all this bullshit I'm experiencing, sheriff."

  "Stay there. I'm coming."

  "Hurry, or, like you said, I will shit."

  "Out..."

  Dimmie watched the crazed dead eyes of the Smith family as they clawed as his window to get in and wondered how the tourist trade was going to handle this. Would the trade die off out of fear, or would heavy metal bands book the park's band stands, and drag thousands of vampire fans, gothics, and black lace metros to Lancaster like the sheriff said? He watched their zombie hands smearing erratic blood-stained finger paintings across his windows and listened intently to the growls and coughs coming from their mouths.

  After awhile, he heard the siren announce the arrival of Sheriff Wilson.

  #

  “Holy shit!” the sheriff yelled. He pulled the Smith’s father off the car and handcuffed him to the house porch. All the while, the guy was trying his best to bite him. Next, he did the same with the other three. They were frantic biters as well. He was afraid he’d be bitten. That would be very bad news. He was careful not to be bitten, because the droolers were snapping at him. From the looks of the partially eaten people on the ground, the family had been having lunch when they were jumped by the Smiths. The sheriff looked at the four Smith crazies he’d handcuffed to the porch. The little New York bastards were looking in his direction and biting at him as fast as they could move their choppers up and down even though he was twenty feet away. What a bunch of crap. The bullshit just never seemed to stop once it started, did it?

  “Want to eat me, d
o you, you little bastards?” the sheriff yelled at them. “It ain’t going to happen! Got it?”

  This was certainly becoming a bigger and bigger crock of shit. The Smiths were dead, yet they were alive at the same time. Now, the little assholes were covered with blood from head to toe, and their mouths still continued biting at him without let up. The world was totally nut-covered, and it seemed to be getting nuttier every minute.

  The sheriff went back to Dimmie’s police car. It was so blood covered, he couldn’t see inside even. He took out his handkerchief and cleared a tiny keyhole spot in Dimmie’s window. He bent down and peered inside. Looking back at him less than an inch from the sheriff’s own eye was Dimmie’s eye. The sheriff was startled at its glare. It was wide open, because Dimmie was obviously scared to death.

  “Are you going to be okay, Dimmie?” the sheriff asked.

  “Yes,” Dimmie stuttered.

  “The coast is clear, son. No need to be afraid any longer, Dimmie. I have them secured out here. They are handcuffed to the front porch. Don’t go near them, or they’ll bite you. They seem a little hungry.”

  The door opened. Dimmie emerged. “It smells like five day old rotten chicken out here, sir. It's those day old bodies, isn't it?”

  “Indeed, Dimmie. It certainly does, and they are a day old now.”

  “I told you.”

  “I know. Forgive me for thinking you were nuts. The really good thing is this. Now, we are both nuts.”

  “The mayor is not going to like this one bit, sir.”

  “No. He’s not. He’s going to have his little pink panties in a bunch, son. That’s for sure.”

  “I think we should transport them to the hospital.”

  “Good idea. That way, we won’t have to look at them anymore. They are certainly the ugliest dudes I’ve ever laid my eyes upon.”

  “You got that right,” Dimmie said.

  “Were you scared in the car?” the sheriff asked him?

  “Want the truth or a lie, sir?”

  “Well, let’s see. Just to put you in the best light, why don’t you just lie to me about it.”

  “Well, I guess I’ll do that. Let’s see. Okay. Here goes, sir. To be honest, sheriff, I thought it was pretty darned cool.”

  The sheriff smiled from ear to ear like a Cheshire Cat.

  “Ah. Very good. Very good, indeed, Dimmie. I like that answer a lot.”

  #

  The Lancaster Hospital's emergency room had never seen anything like this. The prisoners were in restraints which kept them pinned to their beds. As the physicians worked on them with rubber gloves, the Smiths chopped their mouths at the staff as though they were attempting to bite them."

  "Hungry little bastards," Doctor Philips noted. "Doesn't the police department ever feed you?" he called to them.

  "I fed them," the sheriff said.

  "What do they eat?"

  "You."

  Doctor Philips looked at the sheriff. "You have a lot of nerve bringing these things here. Hey, this isn't a joke, is it?"

  "Nope. Not a joke. This is my deputy, Dimmie," the sheriff said. "Dimmie, Dr. Philips. They kept Dimmie penned inside his police car for almost a half hour, Doc."

  "Sweet."

  "So, what's the prognosis?" Dimmie asked.

  "They are dead," Dr. Philips answered him. "All I need to do is fill out the death certificate or allow the coroner to do it, and they are free to go."

  "But they are still alive," the sheriff said.

  "Technically, they are dead. Their bodies are cold, their organs are either shut down or the coroner removed them and sewed them back up inside. That's what it looks like."

  "They are moving, hungry, and aggressive," Sheriff Wilson said.

  "Yes, that's true. But they are dead, and since I'm not a licensed mortician, I'm going to give them to the coroner for disposal."

  "He can't contain them, Doc. They broke out of the morgue last night. Since then, they seem to have killed quite a few of our citizens."

  "That, sheriff, is your problem. It's not mine." He signed all four of the death certificates, copied them at the duplicating machine, and handed the copies to the sheriff. "These are yours. I'm done with them. Now, if you don't mind, I have a hospital to run."

  An hour later, the Smiths were sitting in their jail cells, banging their heads against all of the walls, chewing on their beds, and staggering back and forth across the cell's floor erratically.

  The coroner took samples from them and headed for the lab.

  "Do you want them back?"

  "I think not, sheriff."

  "So, what do I do with them? Any suggestions?"

  "Yes. A bunch of suggestions."

  "Like?"

  "Get rid of them before they kill us all."

  "Any others, coroner?"

  "One."

  "And what might that be?" He had to hear this one. He was certain it would be choice.

  "Enjoy."

  The coroner was gone in a flash, leaving the sheriff to admire his new prison population.

  By the time, the sheriff got back to the crime site where the Smiths had eaten a family in their own side yard, the victims were gone, and more corpses were showing up half eaten all around town. Others were themselves disappearing and stumbling through the town. Later that day, several Amish showed up drooling and eating the town's people, and that was just the beginning.

  This was the worst day the sheriff had ever experienced.

  "What should we do?" Dimmie asked.

  "I say we should make another pot of coffee while the shit hits the fan some more," the sheriff said. "Then, we'll know better how things are developing."

  "Good idea. Let the photograph resolve in solution, so to speak."

  "Exactly. I figure in a few more days, if any of us are still alive, we will know what's going on here better. Right now, I'm just wondering why it is that I have a sudden and overwhelming desire to gnaw your face off as a snack."

  "Nothing like father time," Dimmie said, sipping his cup of coffee and ignoring the sheriff's last comment entirely.

  "Exactly. Good old father time. He does his work well." Wilson tipped his coffee cup at Dimmie. "Enjoy."

  Dimmie tipped his back at the sheriff and touched their cups together.

  "Indeedy, sheriff," Dimmie said, smiling through his teeth.

  #

  "Our prisoners seem restless," the sheriff said.

  "Indeed they do, sir," Dimmie agreed.

  "What should we do with them?"

  "Shoot them."

  "Might be illegal."

  "Any other suggestions?"

  "Let's donate them."

  "Donate them? Are you serious?"

  "Call the Penn State Medical Center. I bet they'd give their eye teeth for these guys."

  He was right.

  Later that day, Penn State sent four ambulances for the specimens.

  "You sure you can handle these?" the sheriff asked. "They might have killed quite a few people, you know."

  "We'll keep them restrained, sheriff."

  As they disappeared into the parking lot, the sheriff heard one of them talking.

  "These guys remind me of my worst girl friend," one of the techs said.

  "Oh. So, you dated her, too."

  "Yea. I did. What of it?"

  "I didn't think you were that stupid."

  "Well, you didn't warn me."

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Restaurant

  When Darrell got off the bus in downtown Lancaster, he staggered over to the restaurant. The smells of food were everywhere. Food made Darrell sick. What he wanted was flesh and blood. It was the new hot cuisine of his crave. He could smell both humans and infected zombies and detect the difference. What he needed was a fresh human, because the dead ones tasted like shit.

  A woman came by and stood for a moment in front of him. He was sitting at a small table trying to hide his dead face, because he looked even stranger when he was standing
.

  “Look what the cat drug in,” she said. “Honey, you must have had one good fucking night. That’s all I can say.”

  Darrell lunged. She was caught off guard. His jagged teeth dug into her tee shirt, slicing deeply into her splitting guts. His jaws clamped down and pulled until the shirt let go in a series of rips, and her stomach exploded in a gusher of bloody intestines. This was the most delicious blood flow he’d ever tasted. He reached inside her with his trembling hands and began ladling her steamy guts into his hungry mouth. It was a sensation. People on all sides of the restaurant’s aisles began screaming and running outside where they transmitted cellphone pictures of the scene to their friends, but Darrell didn’t care about them right now. All he wanted was her fantastic innards.

  #

  The girl's name had been Teresa Quinley. The last thing she remembered was a strange black man named Darrell biting her in the restaurant where she was a waitress. Teresa awakened on the floor. She could hardly get up. Once she did, Teresa staggered from the restaurant's back door into the narrow alleyway. Miss Quinley found it difficult to keep her bearings, much less to walk. Her gait was suddenly frail like that of an old woman. She lurched down the alley. Crossing the street was difficult in her new condition. Once on the other side, she entered the little drug store with her hands stretched out in front. Inside, by the cosmetics, she grabbed a cute young man named Danny Griswold by his shirt. Then Teresa bit through his stomach tearing an eight-by-eight-inch hole into it which was just big enough for her hands to reach inside and pull out his guts. He sighed, and collapsed as she tore at his innards and swallowed as much of him as she could. His wallet contained his name and pictures of his girl friend. He had been called Danny Griswold when he was alive. Now, he had no name at all.

  #

  Danny Griswold woke up a few minutes later and stumbled to the back of the drug store. He vaguely remembered Teresa Quinley gobbling his intestines as he screamed. What a sick bitch! Now, he felt sick himself. No one was left inside, and he could hardly remember who he was much less what had happened except the pain of it. Then the darkness. When he reawakened, Danny was disoriented. His eyesight was dim. It looked like little more than a fog around him in which nothing was in focus. That's why he reached forward with his arms and shambled from side to side. He had no balance, no vision to speak of, and nowhere to go even if he could even move. Everything was difficult. He was a child again taking his first steps, but his mind was so blanked he didn't even know what being a child was.