“Coming!” Stewart drew her pistol from her belt and moved towards the doorway, followed closely by Max. They saw two men making their way towards the clinic.
The first man was a big Caucasian and wore a faded denim jacket, blue jeans fresh and crisp from a store shelf somewhere and ‘shit’ kicker cowboy boots that looked about as old as his jacket. He worn a red bandanna around his neck and carried a backpack and what looked like a shotgun in his hands. A baseball bat was strapped to the backpack with the tip of the bat resting in one of the water bottle holders of the pack. He was followed by a jumpy, smaller man of Hispanic descent, he too carried a shotgun and a similar backpack set up. His white long sleeved shirt was clean and his blue jeans were faded at the knees and one leg looked a bit ragged. Both men were constantly scanning the street and cars and the vegetation near the edges of the clinic’s parking lot.
They had seen Michael and Whitney and their weapons were pointed specifically away from the clinic doors as they approached.
When they were about thirty feet away the lead man stopped and called out, “Mind if me an’ Juan come in?”
Michael answered, “Sure thing, where you two from?”
The men moved closer, Michael, Whitney, Stewart and Max kept them under an intense gaze, so much so that the lead man raised his hand in a kind of ‘Wagons Stop’ sort of gesture and said,
“Take it easy people me an Juan, we are normal people, not zombie-folk. I know, I know some of ‘em are running around shootin’ their mouths off and such, but that ain’t us, right Juan?”
“Si.” answered the Hispanic man.
“Juan here, he is the brains behind this outfit and we are headin’ over to the gun shop on Mariposa, a couple miles of hikin’ from here, to try and find some handguns, we got these over and under models from the big warehouse over off of Julip, but in a close in fight, well Juan wanted something to put them zombies down and not much works better than a blow to the head with a bat. Lets start this slow, okay? My name is Hank and this’n here is Juan.” Said Hank, hitching his thumb back at the man behind him, “What’r you folks called?”
“I am Michael, Mike, this is Whitney, then there is Jane and behind her is Max.” said Michael, never taking his eyes off the men in front of him.
“Well Michael, I can tell you ain’t zombies, don’t know how, I just can. How many others you got in there with ya?” The man behind Hank tugged on his shirt, Hank leaned over a quiet, quick conversation took place, “Ah, yeah, Juan here is right, none of my damn business. He smells coffee though and would love to have a cup if you don’t mind? Here you can hold our o’ver-unders too.” As he said this Hank and Juan held out their rifles to Mike and Whitney.
Michael looked at Whitney, shrugged and declined to take the guns, “No go on in, Jane has coffee made, we only have little cups though, plenty of coffee you just have to refill the cups a lot.”
“That so? Well Juan don’t mind, me either for all that. Thanks Michael.”
Stewart and Max backed into the reception area followed closely by Hank and Juan. Whitney and Michael stayed to watch the front door.
Max saw Lauren standing quietly in a doorway down the hall, all but invisible in the shadows as she watched the group, probably waiting to spring the alarms if she needed to. Max sat back on the arm of a chair, he could not get himself to bend to sit down, despite the pain medicine. Stewart gestured towards the coffee and Juan quickly poured cups for himself and Hank, putting sugar in his and cream and sugar substitute in Hanks.
“Well where did you folks come from? Is one of you a police officer? I saw the car out front.”
Max realized then that Stewart was out of uniform, in new clothing undoubtedly salvaged yesterday when they were out gathering supplies.
“Yeah that’s me. Officer Jane Stewart.” said Stewart extending her hand to Hank, who looked at it a moment, then shook it. Juan put his hand out to shake too, before settling into an office chair to observe the conversation.
“Figured as much, you got the holster an all. So you want to spill your story or should we go first?”
Stewart said that Max should tell their tale and she would fill in the pieces he missed, Max did so telling what had happened over the last two days since he arrived at work and leaving off only the plans to get to his house and get his wife and kids.
Hank and Juan listened intensely, then Hank asked, “Well, well, what about your wife Max, that must be next on your list, right? Arvada is quite a ways away, a long walk unless you got a way to clear the streets? I know where the city keeps their snow plows, all two of ‘em. They would run though and could probably push the cars outta the way.”
Max gave a short laugh, “No Hank, I think we got it covered, but we might need both snowplows if we all want to get out of the city sometime.”
“Get out? Hm, never much considered leaving, this is our home here, me and Juan and no flesh eating zombie is going to make us leave, right Juan?”
“Si.”
"Take it for what it's worth, but me and Juan did a little thinking about this the other evening, ain't that right Juan?"
"Si."
"So, we're sitting there, me and Juan, listening to the sounds of the city, staring up at the stars when it hits me, us. Well Juan really. It is so dang simple. What we have here is a case of good science gone wrong. Isn't that how it always happens?"
"Si."
"I wasn't talking to you. Anyway, at first we thought it was probably those A-rabs and some kind of terrorist plot. But come on, you expect them to concoct some virus that makes people turn into zombies and start eating each other? Not a chance, they're not smart enough. So, who is smart enough? Us?"
"Si."
"Let me explain it ok?"
"Si."
"Anyway, us, it had to be us. Not me and Juan, but the good old U-S of A. So, the next question we asked ourselves was, why? Why would we come up with some sort of magic potion to make someone into a zombie? I mean, what's the point? It's not our style is it? Juan, you be quiet. No, when we want to fight we're all about bombs and sending our good old boys over for a face to face ass kicking. So then how did it happen? That's when Juan came up with the idea about good science gone bad, right?"
"Si. Some sort of mad scientist or something."
"We got to thinking, probably some guy in a white lab coat trying to find the cure for cancer, aids, the common cold and bam! The next thing you know he's got lab rats eating one another. Now, this is where it gets interesting. Juan says to me, 'Hank, I'll bet you a cerveza that these zombies have got special powers. Like super human combat powers.' and I says to him, 'special powers? Like superman? I don't see any of them flying around.' and he says to me, 'no, not flying around but seeing stuff we can't see, like x-ray vision. Stuff to make them faster and stronger. For fighting.' So, Juan's idea is that these zombies can see our heat, or life or something that separates us from them, kind of like that movie Predator where Arnold fights that alien in the jungle, seen it?"
"Si."
"Not you. I know you've seen it because we saw it together. Take a look at how the dumber ones gather around the lights at night or things that radiate heat during the day. Something attracts them to it, eh?"
"Si Heat vision maybe or infrared."
"You want to finish explaining our hypotenuse or can I? Thought so. Okay, long story short, the zombies have a special zombie vision and they can heal themselves by eating us and the more they eat the stronger they get and the smarter they get and the smarter ones can control the not so smart ones by using some kind of zombie mind control and…and did I leave anything out?"