* * *
Camp Vix was a smaller installation than the famed Fort Leonard Wood. With a country in chaos, military law ruled the day. Each Camp or Fort secured itself with the local talent on hand. Meaning, the price of salvation was that you became army property. The military provided you with weapons, shelter, food, and safety. You in return served if of legal age—sixteen. Children aided the cause by mending and cleaning uniforms. When different teams ventured forth on scavenger hunts, children accompanied them to collect uniforms and weapons from fallen soldiers.
They told Zora of the massive push of zombies into the area. Small towns with no sign of zombie activity were overrun within hours with no warning. Zombies were everywhere.
The leader of Camp Vix described her farm to prove her family hadn’t survived the slaughter. With great reluctance, she dismissed all attempts at leaving for an eyewitness account. She had her brother and would keep her remaining family alive at all costs. That meant serving, so she served.
Two weeks later, Zora walked her area with her rifle on her shoulder. Simon came out of the mess hall with another boy his age. The two were doubled-over, laughing. Zora’s spirits soared. She immediately left her post to be with her brother.
“I got a good one,” said Simon. “Why did the zombie go to the orthodontist?”
“I don’t know, why?” asked his friend, grinning.
“To improve his BITE!” Simon opened his mouth as if to bite the boy. Both laughed.
“I got one,” said his friend. “What's eighteen inches long, red, yellow and makes women scream?”
“What?”
“A zombie baby chomping the head off the family parakeet.” Again, they laughed.
Zora saddled up next to Simon. “Very funny. Hey Timmy, how are you?”
“I’m okay, Zora.”
“Do you mind if I borrow my brother for a minute?”
“No, go ahead. I’ll see you in a few, Simon.” Timmy held up his hands and howled like a zombie. Both laughed and then he walked off.
“Zombie jokes?”
“They’re funny.”
“Zombies are serious business.”
“Come on, Zee!”
“Never mind, just hug your big sis.”
She gave him a tight hug as if she hadn’t seen him in years.
“Baker!”
“Shit! Oops, sorry!”
“You better go, Zee.”
“I’ll see you tonight.”
“See ya.”
Zora took in a deep breath and turned. Just as she feared, Sergeant Welch stood next to Private Jones, both glaring.
“Front and Center, Baker!”
She ran and stood in front of Sergeant Welch, saluting and rigid. “Yes, sir.”
Welch’s fists were clenched. He flexed them, but they returned to their clenched position. His face was more of a scarlet than cherry-red. She chose not to look at Jones or any of the others gathering for another round of humiliation.
Ever since joining or drafted into the army, she got into trouble because every time she saw Simon, she would stop what she was doing and run to him. He was all she had and she needed him.
Zora stood, waiting for the hammer to fall. Welch looked her up and down with disgust. “What is your problem, soldier?”
“Nothing, sir.”
“Marching in place didn’t do the trick. Does anything penetrate that thick skull of yours?”
“Yes, sir!”
“No, Baker, I think not! You are a head case. You are a subpar soldier with no intelligence. Maybe being with your own kind might prove fruitful.”
“Yes, sir.”
Zora began to be hopeful. Welch was a decent sort and took time to train her. If he was relieving her of duty and discharging her from the army, she would be grateful. She would be with Simon day and night and not these crazy sadists. Her eyes drifted while she stood at attention. She saw the water-hosed sadists that sprayed her all night long while she marched in full gear. He is probably mad he won’t get the chance to torture her again. But he wasn’t sad, he was grinning. So were the others. Something was wrong, terribly wrong.
“Donovan!” Welch eyed her while the man approached.
“Sir?”
“Escort Private Baker to the stockades.”
“Yes, sir,” said Donovan. He saluted then turned to Baker with a smile. “You know the way, Zee Zee.”
“Don’t call me that.”
“Give ‘em hell,” screamed one of the soldiers at her back. Zora never turned or replied. She kept her eyes at her feet and walked to the stockades.
An MP opened the door and she marched into an empty cell. The cell slammed shut and she was left alone with her thoughts, something she detested.
Later that night, a woman was brought in and placed in the cell next to hers. It took some time to figure out the woman had been bitten and was in transition. All night long Zora watched her, afraid she would be strong enough to break the bars between them and make her a chew toy.
From above, a crackling noise came, then a hiss. Zora covered her ears, then heard a voice. “You want to hug, Simon?” shouted a voice from an overhead speaker.
“What?” she looked up for clarity, but received none. Thirty minutes later, the recording played again and continued to play at that interval nonstop.
She would not understand the meaning of it until later.
The next morning, she was on the floor and her bunk was gone. The woman turned during the earlier hours and had her back to Zora. She knew something was wrong by the way the woman shook and made strange noises. Zora’s suspicions were confirmed when the woman turned around and ran at her, howling. The woman’s killer arms swung wildly at her.
Zora screamed for help, no one came. After that, her wall shook with force. Before she knew it, her wall started moving. “No! No, no, no, no!” the wall was moving toward Zora and pushing her forward into the bars. She was moving directly into the grasp of the zombie.
The zombie howled even louder, reaching for her. “Stop it! Please, stop it!” at that, the wall stopped.
“You want to hug, Simon?” asked the voice.
Zora got it now. “No, no. I don’t!” she shouted at the top of her lungs.
The wall moved an inch closer. “You want to hug, Simon?”
“No!” she pressed against the wall with all her strength, as if she could actually move it.
The wall moved an inch closer. “You want to hug, Simon?”
Almost crying, Zora shouted, “you bastards.” She pushed at the wall and watched her feet being pushed along the floor as it moved closer. With each lunge of the zombie, she smelled its putrid breath. ‘Death warmed over’ doesn’t do justice to the smell of the creature that kept lunging with glee for a trapped meal. They wouldn’t do this to her would they? They couldn’t, she thought, she was a United States soldier. “Please, stop!” her strength was gone. She could feel the wind behind each lunge now.
“You want to hug, Simon?”
“No.” Zora collapsed to the floor with her back against the wall. She looked into Zombie Woman’s eyes and saw no mercy, no reasoning. This was it. If the wall moved again, she would have her in her death grip.
Recognition came to Zora. The situation wasn’t hopeless, she forgot about her feet until Zombie Woman went for them. Zora quickly moved them sideways. If nothing else, she would go out literally kicking and screaming for all she was worth. But maybe, maybe she wouldn’t have to. She looked up at the light in the cell, pleading in silence.
With a hope and a prayer, she waited for the wall to move its last time. Zora hadn’t completely given up, though she was close. She was considering lunging at the beast; maybe she could somehow take it out. If not, she hoped it would be quick. She stood and prepared by holding her hands in combat stance.
“I get it, you bastards! I get it!” With her limited training, she readied for her assault.
To her surprise, the wall retreated. Zora raced to catc
h the retreating wall and glued her back to it, watching Zombie Woman in case her wall moved forward. It didn’t.
Two soldiers entered the stockade. They were covered like firefighters and held flamethrowers. They opened them up on the zombie and Zora felt their heat. She crunched against the base of the wall and covered up as tightly as she could, making sure to cover her nose. The smell would be terrible. She huddled at the wall while they burned the zombie, listening to a looped tape of “hug Simon, hug Simon, hug Simon, you want to hug, Simon?”
Zora learned a valuable lesson. Some of these people she could call friend, but in the end, they were army and played the part well. Never again would she desert her post. As the flames seared the creature, it seared that lesson into her core being.