Original, short version of One Cold Day: A Zombie Story

In a recent bulletin I asked if anyone would be interested in reading some of my writing, and a few of you said you were [thanks!] so below is the original, shorter version of what I ended up publishing as One Cold Day: A Zombie Story (you can read it for free with Kindle Unlimited, otherwise it's about three bucks).

I had this brief idea about the landscaping crew at my job using their various tools to fight off zombies while walking across the parking lot one morning. That thought kept returning to me throughout the... I'm not sure how long now, but I think it was at least a week. I finally decided to write it out in hopes of the idea finally leaving me alone. Once I did, I wondered how exactly such a scene would have started and traced backwards to a reasonable starting place. The only problem was, the scene I had initially envisioned really didn't make sense anymore, so I re-wrote it. Now I was intrigued. Where would this go? Eventually I realized I was writing a story. I got to a point where I wanted to finish it, just to say that I'd written a story. 

I hope you like it.

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It was early. The sun had only been up for a few minutes and the air was still cold. She loved how quiet everything was. No cars, no people on their phones. Just the occasional chirp of a bird, and even that was nowhere to be heard. The jogging she could do without, but there she was, jogging. Sandra made a resolution to get back in shape, and jogging seemed the best choice. She didn't need to pay for a gym membership, technically she could do it most anywhere, and most importantly, she could bear to do it so long as she could jog in the early morning before anyone else would be out and bothering her.

She'd always been a solitary person. She had dated some guys in her time, but they always got in the way. Sure, she enjoyed the attention and the romance, but not as much as she realized how much she enjoyed her space and getting her own way. Hell, she wasn't even working out to look good. She just realized that she could either lose a few pounds or drop several hundred on a new wardrobe. Jogging it was.

So on this morning, not so different from the rest, Sandra was out jogging as she had for the last six months. She let her mind half-wander to something her mother had said the last time they spoke. "Can't you just do this for me? Your brother's a fuck-wit. He'll never be able to make anything of himself on his own. I'm not asking you make him a co-owner or anything like that. Let him sweep the store and wipe the counters. Lift heavy boxes. But just pay him more than normal." As if that's how businesses made money. Sandra's bakery was something she'd always dreamed of owning, ever since she first had one of her grandma's homemade chocolate chip and pecan cookies. Despite her then unknown nut allergy making itself very well known. She was too young to make the connection between the delicious cookie and the sudden itching in her throat. Actually, nobody made the connection that day. Sheesh, how many PBJs did she endure before someone finally figured it out? The light was red, so she started doing the math in her head while jogging in place. She always thought it looked stupid, but she had learned early on how difficult it was to resume jogging after stopping for just a minute. So she bounded in place. "Carry the two...nine... three. Shit. Lost count."

That's when she noticed the homeless man, slowly lurching toward her. There weren't many homeless people in town, so she still had some compassion toward their plight. But she was also jogging, so she carried only her housekey. She didn't want to be rude, so she didn't take off when the light changed. "I don't have any spare change with me right now, but if you'd like something to eat, I could drive back with some sandwiches if you'll be here in twenty," is what she was going to say. He kept coming closer, and she only made it as far as "if you'd like something to eat," when he pounced on her. His grip was strong, but she was slick with sweat and she managed to break free. But only after he managed to scratch a kind of deep gash in her arm. And was he trying to bite her?

She took off like a shot. She cut across a parking lot and through a park. She was breathing heavier than she would have expected. Turning back to see if the bum was following, she saw he was still where she left him. She paused to catch her breath, watching him. Breathing became harder. Pain. Fuck, did her arm hurt. She looked to inspect it and saw that it wasn't bleeding much, but her blood was much darker than she remembered it being in the past. Maybe it was just the dirt from his hands. Sandra looked around and saw a water fountain, walked toward it. The water was cold, and her fingers were clumsy. The blood had already started to congeal. That... that isn't... And then nothing. Sandra ceased to be. Oh sure, there was the form of a woman standing in front of the water fountain. From a distance no one would be the wiser.

"Escuse me, señora. Are joo OK?"

Sandra didn't hear him. Her usual senses had died. The change had not finished. Not yet.

"Señora? Maybe I call someone for joo?"

Paco reached into his pocket for his phone, but realized he left it in the truck. He called out to his crew, asking someone to fetch it from the truck. Diego was the only one not wearing his ear protection, as he was on sweep duty after the edgers were complete. He called back he would, and took off for the truck. Sandra's hearing had returned during the exchange, her muscles regaining some mobility.

"Ay. Are joo bleeding?"

Paco moved to get a better view of her arm. Sandra moved to get a better view of his flesh. She pounced, well more of a quick fall in his direction. Paco's reaction was slow, he'd eaten too much for breakfast, not had enough coffee yet. But he managed to catch her before she hit the ground. She repaid his kindness with a kiss. At least, that's what he thought was happening. The pain was delayed for a second, and then it erupted. Blood dripped from his cheek, her mouth. He screamed out for help, loud enough to get his earmuffed crew's attention.

Memo looked over and laughed. He got the rest of the crew's attention. It looked like Paco was trying to get lucky. Jokes were traded until Paco managed to pull away and everyone saw the blood.

"Oh chit, wuh the fuck?"

Meanwhile, Diego was back at the truck. Oh sure, he'd found the phone, but he figured he could sneak a quick cigarette before heading back. What was two minutes? He stubbed it out and looked for a trash can to toss his butt. While trash pickup was handled by another crew, he felt a little guilty giving them work. It didn't matter that there were probably twenty cigarette butts on the ground in front of him, he wasn't going to contribute to the problem. He considered putting it in his shirt pocket, but then pictured Esmeralda giving him mierda over the smell of his dirty laundry. Shaking his head lightly, he dropped the butt on the ground.

Diego realized he'd taken long enough and should get back. He grabbed the phone from the cup holder. Turning back to the crew, he thought he heard a scream. He picked up his pace, and then slowed down. By this time Paco was on the ground, though the blood was not visible. The lady was on the ground too, with Memo standing over her. Kicking her? What the fuck changed so fast?

He could just slip back to the truck. Smoke another cigarette. Claim no knowledge of how that lady ended up with broken ribs. But that wasn't Diego. He realized he needed to be the voice of reason. Where the fuck is David? Must've gotten scared and ran off.

Diego called out to Memo, asking why he was trying to kill that lady. Memo stomped down on her stomach once more, before turning to face Diego. Shaking with anger and fear, he pointed to Paco on the ground. Diego came closer and saw his boss bleeding from the neck. The woman's face was smeared with blood, but how much was her own versus his boss, he could not know.

Memo tried to explain that Paco and the lady were kissing, but not kissing, and then there was blood. So much blood. Diego was in shock. He looked down at the phone in his hand, but he couldn't figure it out. Memo was in no hurry to call 911 himself.

“Ai! Chinga tu madre!"

Diego snapped to and saw that the lady was biting Memo's leg. Memo tried to yank his leg free, but her bite was solid. He lost his balance, falling awkwardly onto the ground, her mouth still firmly attached. He tried kicking her away, and finally they separated, with a good chunk of his calf in her mouth. Memo scrambled for the tools, and found the hedge shears first. Sandra crawled/dragged herself after Memo. An X-ray would show that her pelvis had been broken by Memo's stomp, assuming someone found a way to hold her down long enough to do one.

"Mang, call la policia! This beetch is crazy. Back! I'll fucking keel yoo!" He tried to wield the shears in front to show he meant business. If she noticed, she didn't let on. Memo tried to stand, but the pain was too much. Scooting backward was difficult while defending himself. And Diego was not helping. Sandra reached out and grabbed ahold of Memo's foot. He tried kicking, but he was getting weak. She pulled closer and snapped at him, getting his arm with her teeth. He swung the shears, but the blows did little.

He fell onto his back, unable to fight off this woman. His pride would be wounded, but that wasn't... he couldn't... where...

Memo stopped fighting. Sandra took bites out of his neck and face. Diego took off running for the truck. Had he seen Paco sit up a minute later, he might have tried to help and that would have been the end of Diego.

Reaching the truck, he realized that he didn't have the keys. He remembered that a spare key had been screwed in behind the license plate. He ran to the back of the truck and threw open the toolbox. Finding a screwdriver, he quickly removed the license plate and grabbed the key. He threw the plate in the passenger seat and sped away.

It was still early. No other cars were on the road. Diego drove. Aimlessly at first. He ran a red light, but there was no cop to ticket him. Seeing a liquor store open, he suddenly wanted a drink.

Only the clerk was present. He was a heavyset man, probably in his fifties. In the background was playing a recording of an old baseball game. Baby somebody was up to bat. Diego walked over to the refrigerators and looked absent-mindedly at the beers. He turned to the counter and pointed to a small bottle of tequila.

The register read $6.83. Diego pulled out some crumpled singles and laid seven of them on the counter and walked out opening the bottle. The clerk yelled something to him as the door closed.

Dropping the now empty bottle in a trash can, Diego figured he should get home before the booze hit him. A quick look around showed no cops. Hopefully the clerk wouldn't call 911 on him.

He made it to his block without incident. At least, as far as he could tell. His breakfast had been too light for so much alcohol. Whatever, he was safe, however that happened.

Some of the neighbors were already at work. He wasn't the only one to have the early shift. Now he was seeing the later shift of his other neighbors leaving for work. Normally he only saw them in the evenings, when they arrived back at home. For a moment, it felt like he was seeing something he shouldn't be. It wasn't guilt, but he definitely felt... something.

As he neared his home, the second smallest on the block, he saw his wife talking with a neighbor. She was in her workout clothes, the baby's jogging stroller next to her. It had cost so much money, but she convinced him it was worth it. She would get back in shape much easier if she could take the baby with her on morning jogs. Jogging, what a weird thing to have gotten so popular. Hey, wasn't that crazy lady dressed like a jogger? He better talk to Esmeralda about being careful.

Diego realized he should probably get out of the truck, as he'd been sitting there for several minutes. Of course, he kind of wanted to wait for Esmy to jog off with the baby. No need for her to know he'd been drinking so early. Thankfully, she finished her conversation and departed the direction opposite of where he sat. He waited until she rounded the corner and then got out of the truck. Swaying slightly, he made his way into the house.

He stumbled when his foot caught on the rug in the hall. He realized he really should have called the police from the park. He shouldn't have left like he did either. He also knew that he was in no shape to explain anything at this point, so he might as well get some sleep. He could always call later. Right now he needed to close his eyes.

Diego slept hard. Once his eyes closed, nothing would open them until he was ready to waken. They kept smelling salts in the nightstand, just in case the house caught on fire or something. Of course, that would require someone like his wife to administer them. Sometimes he dreamt, though often he would not remember the images he saw.

He saw Memo bloodied, the woman feeding on him. It all happened so quickly. She bit their necks one by one. Vampire. That's what she was. Diego ran to aid his crewmates. He pulled his crucifix out from under his shirt so it was visible. After running for what felt like hours, he was a mere three feet closer. The woman laughed a vile cackle as she drained the blood from each of the fallen men. She licked her bloody lips as she fixed her eyes in a narrow gaze on his throat. She rose slowly, anticipating the kill. Diego held the necklace forward, thinking it would shield him. Suddenly, she was running toward him with the speed of a cheetah like in one of those nature shows he would sometimes watch. She leapt upon him, fangs bared...

Diego awoke, sweating, heart pounding. He was afraid, but he wasn't sure why. He looked over at the other side of the bed and saw Esmeralda was not there. His panic heightened. He bolted from bed and realized he was already dressed. Slowly he remembered that he had gotten drunk this morning. He looked at the clock and realized it was 2:00 PM.

He fished his pack of cigarettes from his shirt pocket. They were crushed from sharing his bed. He shook the container out into his hand, discarding the loose tobacco into a wastebasket, and found three cigarettes in decent enough shape. He selected one at random and made his way to the porch. He didn't see or hear either Esmy or the baby, but figured maybe she decided to visit a friend after her jog.

Just before opening the front door, he got a taste in his mouth and went back to the kitchen for a beer. He stopped to light up on the stove, and was startled by a banging at the door. He thought it might be la policia, come to question him about his co-worker's brutal end. He was in no shape to speak to anybody about this morning, but he knew he couldn't avoid it forever. Especially with the company's truck parked not too far away. Diego took a swig of beer, a drag from his cigarette, and another swig.

The banging continued. He never had any run-ins with the law, so he was unaware of how their knock might sound. This sounded urgent enough, so why wouldn't it be them? He reached for the handle and turned.

Some people swear your life runs before your eyes, like some sort of movie. But how would they know? Probably from some movie somewhere. Or maybe some con-man with some religious crackpot story. Like the way some people say that if you die in a dream, you die in real life. According to who?

No, for Diego there was none of that. He saw his beautiful wife of six years greet him with passion not seen since they first started dating back. He could tell she wanted him, and it renewed his spark for her. He didn't even notice the blood on her shoulder under her long hair or her un-recognizing eyes. No, he only saw her reaching for him, and he returned the embrace. But he did feel the bite at his neck, the tugging and tearing at his flesh, and the blood running down his chest. And just before he lost consciousness, he saw someone drive off with his company's truck, running over a bloodied man in the process.