Zombies Read online

  Zombies

  A Record of the Year of Infection

  Field Notes by Dr. Robert Twombly

  Publisher’s Note

  What follows is a found manuscript. The author/illustrator of this book, Robert Twombly, was a blood specialist native to Seattle, Washington. Dr. Twombly witnessed the worldwide necrotic infection that, as we now know, began suddenly on or around January 7, 2012. The infection lasted approximately one year, and during that time all known zombies either decayed enough to succumb to their physical limitations or were destroyed by pockets of human survivors.

  Dr. Twombly’s journal is a unique record of the time of infection in that it seeks to understand the undead by living among them. It is also the record of the author’s day-to-day experiences at a time when such records were not commonly kept.

  The manuscript was found inside an empty cottage in the town of Churchill, at the edge of Hudson Bay in northern Manitoba, Canada. The whereabouts and the fate of the author are unknown. His notations have been reproduced here in their entirety.

  January 5, 2012

  Saw a flock of Black-billed magpies, 6 or 7 adults in the trees by the lake today. Very strange to see them this far west!

  January 12, 2012

  For the record, my name is Dr. Robert Twombly, age 32, Specialist in hematology-oncology at the Northwest Blood Treatment Center in Seattle, Washington. The NBTC lab occupies the top floor of a seven-story building adjacent to Lake Union. These are facts, and I record them because everything else right now is impossible to believe, and we need to start with the facts. I have my birding journal here, ink, etc. “Here” is I’ve barricaded myself in one of the lab rooms. Outside there’s some sort of infection. It happened fast. I’m hoping that if I record as much as I can, and others are doing the same, we can I don’t know, cure it? I don’t know what IT is. No one seems to know what’s happening. It feels like the end of the world.

  Some of the headlines from the news, before the internet went down

  Sudden Illness Fells Thousands

  * * *

  Global Pandemic Freezes Commerce

  Airport, Shipping, Border Lockdown

  * * *

  Terrorists Lay Claim to Bio Weapon

  Experts Deny Capability

  * * *

  CDC Emergency Summit

  Conflicting Theories, Few Answers

  * * *

  Is It In the Air?

  Contamination of Water, Food also Questioned

  * * *

  Attacks Reported Among Infected

  Guard Mobilized to Secure Hospitals

  * * *

  On January 7, the first signs were the “breaking news reports” that people all over the world were getting sick. According to news reports, major cities have been hit hardest. Military units were mobilized to help, but of course there’s no reason why soldiers would be any more immune to illness than civilians. Breathing filtration systems have not been helping. There is no help. When casualties vastly outweigh medical personnel— when treatments are, so far, ineffective—fear spreads even faster than disease. At first the reports of “attacks” weren’t clearly it wasn’t clear that people weren’t just killing each other in a panic of some sort, and the details were, I mean they had to have been censored or restricted, at least at first when that was still possible.

  Estimates of the infection rate kept going higher before the news shut down, and it’s difficult to figure by our remaining staff—though here where we might be able to help, more than anywhere else, people kept coming in rather than bunkering down at home—but it looks like downtown Seattle has a 90% infection rate. If the rest of the world is affected at anywhere near that. . . I don’t know that a 90% infection rate is survivable, in terms of overall population. For the other 10%, is it just a matter of time until symptoms manifest?

  I have no idea why I’ve been one of the fortunate ones, or if I’ll remain that way.

  Here’s where the infection stood on January 10.

  I have to assume it’s worse now.

  Hospitals have been at maximum capacity since day one, with patients spilling out into the streets. Same here in Seattle. What caused this? Doctors like myself have been working around the clock to find out. Blood samples from infected patients from Harborview were rushed over here and we’ve been running all known tests, but the results are coming back negative for everything—no identifiable bacteria, virus, or parasite. Yet people are stricken with severe aches and pains all over their bodies—“like knives sticking into every muscle.” And then things got worse.

  My lab is down to a skeleton crew as many of my team have been hospitalized, or are in line waiting to be. I feel helpless. At this point we’re doing such research as we can, but I’ve also just been making up tests out of thin air, figuring if I get a result I’ll backtrack to the scientific method later. Like stick an electric wire in a blood culture. Anything? Nothing. The power’s out now, backup generator too. I ran a paperclip from a 9-volt battery. What does that prove? Nothing.

  Everything’s falling apart.

  In the first few days of outbreak, horrific instances of suffering were broadcast on television and the internet, but mostly just short of the last stage of infection. But I’ve witnessed all of the following stages firsthand among fellow colleagues. Physical symptoms at the onset of illness can be categorized as follows:

  Onset Physical Symptoms

  Eyes: The sclera become enlarged and bloodshot.

  Ear canals swell shut, creating a tremendous pounding sensation.

  Nose and mouth: Tissues engorge with fluid. Severe constriction of nasal passage and throat.

  Chest: Chest area “feels tight, like a squeezed sponge.” Breathing becomes short and rapid. Lungs struggle for oxygen.

  Stomach: Severe stomach cramping and constipation reported. Subjects are unable to digest more food, experience vomiting and diarrhea.

  Arms, legs, back: Complaints of muscular aches similar to flu symptoms. (No evidence of viral infection.) These symptoms accelerate acutely, causing intense physical pain.

  Hands and feet: Extremities become cramped and it becomes difficult for victim to walk or use hands in a functional capacity. At this point, the subject becomes bedridden and immobile.

  Illness was only the beginning. People succumbed. And died. But within moments of death, really, just shortly after “death” was noted, the bodies snapped back into “life” as though something someone? a switch was flipped. The bodies didn’t even get to the morgue. Patients went from flatline to animation, though completely deranged. There is no scientific explanation. There may be a religious explanation, but—look we’re going to have to figure this out, I think we have to try to stick to the science.

  Once there is brain death, a person is—should be—dead. Yet function, I guess that’s what it is, is reported to return among the “risen.” The corpse becomes animated.

  Post-Mortem: Physical Symptoms

  Eyes: Red sclera darken further, then blacken over time.

  Nose and mouth: No visible respiration. The mouth is drawn wide open, in what

  looks like a biting—or an anticipatory biting—position.

  Chest: No physical change, but no rising or falling of the breast. No heart activity.

  Reanimated subjects hooked to cardiac machines display terminal flat line.

  Arms, legs, back: Movement returns to the muscles, albeit with a jerky, random rhythm, as if the dead subject is impossibly fighting against something, some organism?, animating him/her from within.

  Hands and feet: Basic, primal function has been restored to the extremities: the dead subject can again walk and grasp things . . .

  Once reanimated, the infected patient shows— I almost wrote “a single-mindedness,” we r
eally don’t know what if any brain activity is happening in their “minds.” No one can get close enough to one of the dead to really understand much because they seem . . . angry. Violent. It was hard to accept this from the last broadcasts before the blackout—the reports that the dead weren’t just attacking, but actually trying to to eat the living. And then I witnessed it for myself, and I can’t deny what I’ve seen, even though it’s almost too awful to believe.

  Our power’s out and judging by how dark the city is, it seems like the power is out on every grid. Internet access has been down for two days, along with cell phone reception. I can only guess that the same thing is occurring worldwide. We take for granted how much we rely on technology for information. I suddenly feel blind . . .

  Only three of us remain in the office, and for all I know the entire building: the head of our lab, Dr. Carla Wilkins, my assistant, Paul Jenkins, and me.

  January 13, 2012

  Paul and I had to lock Dr. Wilkins in the cold storage locker.

  She attacked us. I have known Carla for three years. Wife, mother, excellent researcher. She’s been with us here 24/7 for several days now, as long as Paul and I have. She’d left early on to check on her husband and son but came back within hours. It happened suddenly. She hadn’t been sick. I don’t know if she was infected, or how.

  Paul and I had to repel her with the only thing we had—chairs. We pushed her back into the locker and wrangled the door shut on her flailing hands. I can still hear her pounding. I don’t know how much of this I can take. Paul’s downstairs, looking for something to treat the bite he sustained in the scuffle.

  January 14, 2012

  Paul’s dead. I killed Paul.

  We tried treating his arm, but didn’t think about what we were actually treating it for. It’s clear now that the bite communicated whatever had infected Carla to Paul.

  His “zombification” took a matter of hours.

  He—whatever I killed, it was no longer Paul. It came at me fast. I fended it off with a chair for long enough to look around the lab and grab a bottle of Hydrofluoric acid, which I shattered on its face. I don’t know if it has brain function, but it seems as though a strike to the brain will kill—deanimate?—it. I’m drawing this in case the nature of the wound I inflicted on it is of any use later.

  January 15, 2012

  Climbed up onto the roof today. Since the lab is on the top floor, I only had to go half a flight up to reach the service entrance. I am purposely avoiding accessing any lower floors, as I have no idea what could be waiting for me. I also have reinforced my barricades of all seventh floor doors. I have heard no signs of life from below, but that’s little comfort.

  On the roof, I was able to get a view of the city. Quiet like a Sunday morning. Debris everywhere. Smoke in the distance. At first no signs of life other than a lone Pine Grosbeak calling. Then the sound of a car approaching, an SUV with what looked like several people inside, some supplies strapped to the roof. I tried to shout and wave at them but couldn’t get their attention.

  The car turned the corner of the building and I heard it driving away, then accelerate hard, then I heard the crash. I ran to the other side of the building and saw that the SUV was on its side, it had flipped—or they had flipped it—and the passengers were being pulled from the car and being attacked, eaten, by a crowd of the living dead. The screams were horrible, echoing. I can’t get the images out of my head.

  January 16, 2012

  Details and observations about the creatures' capabilities:

  Strength: The dead seem to possess less-than-average strength. With no heart function there’s presumably no blood flow, which must decrease muscle ability. But being DEAD should decrease muscle ability 100%, so I don’t know what applies anymore. It’s unknown if the corpses go through a rigor mortis period, though that might account for some diminishment of ability. However, with enough of them—and I’ve seen hundreds on the street below the lab—they possess enough strength among them to overturn heavy objects and smash windows.

  Speed: Decreased muscle function results in slower speed of movement. I haven’t yet observed them running. This may or may not be within their capabilities.

  Appetite: They seem to possess a voracious appetite. But for what purpose? They are dead and need no nutrition? Yet they seem driven by this hunger. I watched six of them tear the stomach out of a struggling woman. Almost like lions would a gazelle. Many predators first tear open the stomachs of their prey, as it is soft flesh that leads to vital organs. Is it the same with the undead?

  Socialization: I’m not sure what draws such a group together. It’s a bad sign.

  January 17, 2012

  Cold and dark in the office. My food supplies have dwindled. Since I tend to “live” at my desk during the week, I keep a supply of nuts, dried fruits, and some instant soups. They’re gone. I have pillaged the desks of my fellow coworkers. Considering they’re doctors, their eating habits are appalling. I don’t know how long I can make it on their cache of gummy bears and fruit roll-ups. I could really go for some baked beans. The office kitchen doesn’t have much—mostly condiments and coffee creamers. A few cases of bottled water . . . I won’t go thirsty.

  I’d used a can of paint that I’d found in maintenance to write HELP on the roof, and hung a HELP sign out of windows on each side of the building, but I don’t think help is really on its way. So I can stay here, and eventually starve, or I can try and leave and fall victim to a flesh-eating horde. And go where?

  “Carla” stopped pounding on the door of the cold storage locker. I didn’t notice exactly when, I’d basically just accepted the sound as part of the new reality. When I went down to check, I found her still animated, and definitely still interested in attacking me, but it could barely move—its muscles and joints seemed to have stiffened. So cold seems to have a similar effect on the dead as it does on the living.

  January 18, 2012

  I woke up to the sound of banging. At first I thought it might be coming from the storage locker, but that specimen was slower still than the last time I’d checked. I followed the low, rhythmic sound to the break room down the hall from the lab. Not about to stick my head around the corner of the doorway, I used a compact mirror that I found in a coworker’s desk.

  Mitch Parsons, a security guard at the lab, or whatever now passed for Mitch Parsons, was thumping on the front of the vending machine. I once saw Parsons do that—while living—after he paid for some licorice and it had gotten snagged on the wire coils inside. Why would a flesh-eater attack the machine? Surely they don’t crave candy. Do the undead retain behavioral traces of their former habits? The elevators have been out since the power went, but I saw the door was open now. Is that how Parsons go on the floor? Did the door just open, or did Parsons open it?

  I was able to barricade a door between me and the break room. Parsons didn’t seem to hear me. I’m not sure about their aural function. I checked the barricades on this side of the break room but can’t really check the others.

  January 19, 2012

  Food’s gone. Up on the roof today trying to plot an escape route out of the city. Everything’s smashed. Abandoned cars. Bodies out in the open. The dead wandering in larger numbers, generally in groups of several or more. A somewhat larger group is in front of the lab’s main entrance intent on getting in. They can’t be after me——suddenly? How would they know? I’m thinking, okay so this is what it’s come to, I’m thinking that my best hope for finding a car is to look for a situation below where someone had been pulled from their car and killed—-the keys would probably still be nearby.

  Running. There’s running in the stairwell.

  So the group in front of the lab wasn’t after me, they were after Ryan Frances, a 27-year-old intern at the Seattle Mercy Hospital on Capitol Hill. He had seen my sign on the window and made it here. We think he managed to barricade the doors downstairs after getting in and it’s holding. The dead still seem to be milling about outsid
e, like hungry sharks. He seemed (seems) clearly human and I let him in based on his running and shouting, something they don’t seem to be able to do. I’m recording his story here:

  * * *

  “A day before the outbreak, we were swamped with people coming into the ER. Everyone had the same symptoms—aching joints and muscles, burning eyes, stomachaches, rapid heartbeats, and shallow breathing. None of our treatments worked. There wasn’t much we could do but try to calm them. We were on a skeleton staff as many of the doctors and nurses were now patients in the hospital, too. We had some medics from the National Guard, but it wasn’t enough. Then the dead started coming back to life.

  The hospital was just about the worst place in the world to be since it had the most infected people in one concentrated place. I hid in the cafeteria with two coworkers. Juan left after a few days to try to find his family, something we were all thinking about. Nancy and I finally decided to leave a few days after that—gotta do something. We hoped the dead had moved on and thought we’d try to get to my houseboat. I share it with my girlfriend on Lake Union. We found what was probably Juan scattered outside the hospital. The dead found us pretty much right away. As we made our way down the hill, Nancy was attacked on the corner Bellevue and Denny. There was nothing I could do. I hate to even say it, but that gave me a chance to get to here. There are a lot of them roaming around out there, but they’re not that fast if you start out with some distance between you and them. If they’re right up on you though . . ."