Blood and Biting

Heavy panting filled the sterile room as a host of people pushed a cart into the center. The wheels were barely held together, yet surprisingly well oiled. Several of the pushers broke from the cart to scour the cabinets lining the walls for medical supplies.

"Compress," yelled out a woman who had stayed at the cart. She was standing over an unconscious man no older than 30, assessing the blood pooling in his chest. His shirt had been ripped open.

A boy still awaiting his teenage growth spurt rushed back to the woman with a towel. "I couldn't find anything else," he squealed.

"I got something, Maggie" another woman said from the other side of the room.

Maggie grabbed the towel from the boy and placed it over the pooled blood of the young man laying unconscious on the cart. A single drop of blood fell onto the floor in a silent splatter.

The boy followed the red trail to a gash on the side of the man's rib cage. "Oh no," he muttered.

Maggie's eyes rolled up from the unconscious man, filled with alertness and terror, and shifted to the boy. She followed his gaze to the unconscious man's side and quickly flipped him over. All six people in the room froze in place, staring at the bite mark on the unconscious man's rib cage.

One of the men started to speak. "We have to," he said.

"I know," Maggie interrupted. "I know."

Light shining in through the sole window in the room dimmed as clouds hid the sun, as if nature itself knew what deed Maggie had to perform. A knife was brought to her as the unconscious man rolled onto his back. Maggie grabbed the knife with both hands and slowly raised it above her head. Killing a zombie that had already turned was easy; the gnawing for flesh and rabid pursuit of anything living shrouded whatever humanity was left inside the corpsey shell. Yet killing a bitten human that hadn't turned yet proved difficult for the army medic so used to patching wounds.

As Maggie began to swing her arms down, the unconscious man groggily opened his eyes. He quickly moved an arm up and caught Maggie before the knife had plunged into his skull. The man quickly sobered up with wide eyes staring at the pointed steel an inch away from his nose.

Screams of fright escaped from the mouths of the others in the sterile room. Maggie and the man stared at each other for a moment, both exerting their muscles to the edge of capability. Finally, Maggie let up.

The man rolled off of the cart he had been wheeled in on and shuffled into a corner, his eyes darting back and forth between the six strangers gaping back at him. His heart was beating too quickly for him to think, to form words, to process what had happened. Adrenaline coursed through his veins, sustaining the dangerously high heart beat. The loud thumping against his rib cage reverberated through his bones and into his inner ear, drowning out the sound that he knew must be coming from the moving mouths of the others.

Unable to handle the stress any longer, the man's body finally remembered to breathe. With a loud exhale, his lungs expanded again, bringing in vital oxygen. His brain began to tingle with joy at receiving nourishment and his ears started to work.

"Do you understand us?" asked Maggie.

The man nodded and replied, "Yeah."

The deep voice of one of the men spoke. "What's your name?"

"Frank."

"Frank," Maggie started, "Frank, you've been bit." She gestured at the side of his chest.

Frank looked down at his own chest to see the marks Maggie had pointed out. For a moment, sadness overtook him as he realised his favorite shirt was utterly ruined. "Oh it's nothing."

The others exchanged worried glances. "Does he know?" queried the young boy.

"He has to," chimed in one of the women.

"Frank," Maggie said. "A zombie bite isn't nothing. You're going to turn."

Frank began to squint as the sun peeked through the clouds and brightened up the room. "I've had this for a few days," he replied. Frank's voice felt weird, almost too deep for what he was used to. He suddenly realized how thirsty he was.

"Wait," Maggie exclaimed, "a few days? You should have turned."

The boy took a step back, weaving himself into the arms of one of the adults for protection.

"I'm clearly not a zombie," Frank replied defensively.

"How many is a few?" Maggie demanded. Her face, scrunched up in disbelief, matched the rejecting tone in her voice.

Frank had started to relax. His eyes stopped darting about the room and he had stopped clinging to the two walls in the corner for safety. "Two, maybe three."

"Hours. Over 48?"

Frank nodded. "Yes."

Maggie turned to the gruff man who had questioned Frank earlier. "Tanner, syringe." She held her hand out expectantly, impatiently, until Tanner was able to deliver a syringe. "I just want to take a blood sample, ok Frank?" Maggie began to approach him how one would handle a wild animal.

"Why?" Frank asked in an untrusting manner.

"I'm an army medic," Maggie replied. "Was in pre-med before this hell. The longest incubation period I've ever seen was around 40 hours." She had walked up to Frank and began to roll up one of his sleeves. "If you were bitten over 48 hours ago, you should have turned."

Frank relaxed his arm to let Maggie get a sample of his blood. "So you're checking for the virus in my blood?"

"Precisely," Maggie replied.

Frank looked in every direction but his arm; he hated needles. Even the bland grey and shiny chrome of cabinet laden walls was better than staring at the needle piercing his arm. He could see the tension had started to dissipate from the onlookers.

"Maggie," a teenage girl called out from the doorway. "Something's wrong at the front door. They're amassing."

Immediately the rest of the people began opening drawers and pulling out bags to pack up supplies. "Shit," Maggie muttered. "Alright. We practiced this. Medicine and trauma supplies first." She turned back to Frank. "Time to escape." Maggie quickly stabbed into Frank's arm with the syringe needle and pulled out a sample of blood. She noted an odd rusty color to the sample as she packed it up and shoved it into the nearest bag.

Frank looked down at his skewered arm as blood pooled in the crook of his elbow, barely visible against the backdrop of his ebony skin. He closed his eyes for a moment to compose himself; his discomfort with the sight of blood had become an extreme liability.

"Here," Maggie yelled at him as she threw a towel at him. "For the blood." Frank caught the towel and began to wipe away the blood that had become sticky on his chest. As the caked red liquid was wicked away, Maggie glanced over to see that there were no wounds on his chest. She wondered if it had been the blood of another person.

"I gotta go," Frank mumbled as he clutched his arm with the towel.

"What do you think we're doing," Maggie shouted back as she shoved plastic-encased tools into her bag.

Frank began to shuffle towards the door. "No, I gotta go. I got family."

Out of the corner of her eye, Maggie saw Frank starting to leave and put down her bag. "Hey," she said as she grabbed Frank by the shoulder. "Today, right now, we're your family." She turned Frank around to look him in the eye.

Frank dropped the towel he had been holding and snatched Maggie's wrist, who instinctually lifted her wrist into the air and broke his grip. Everyone in the room stopped their packing to look at the commotion as Frank and Maggie glared at each other.

"Get back to work," Maggie calmly ordered. She let her arm dangle to the side in an attempt to hide the pain in her wrist. "Frank, there are two ways out of this building and one is overrun by zombies. We'll get you out, we'll get you safe. By tomorrow morning you can go look for your family."

Frank surveyed the room, buying time to think. He glanced out the window as clouds once again overtook the sun. "Ok," he muttered.

"Good," Maggie chirped and turned back to her bag. "You can help by grabbing these full bags and bringing them down," she called out to Frank.

Frank picked up one of the stuffed, black duffle bags and threw it over his shoulder. He bent down to pick up two more and headed out the door. Walking through the hall of what looked to be an office building, Frank saw doors on either side of the hallway that hid secrets behind their grimy windows. As he neared an intersection, a pair of people jogged by.

One of them stopped and turned to Frank. "Hey, new guy?" he asked. Frank nodded. "Supplies go that way," he said as he pointed down the hallway he had just ran from. "When you get to the end, turn right." He began to run to catch up to the other person he was with. "Oh, and new guy, don't look left."

Frank turned right and continued to walk down the hallway per the instructions he had received. For what he thought was an office building, the hallways seemed to be excessively long. Yet Frank continued to trudge towards his destination with a quick, steady pace. As he neared the end of the hallway, he saw a large room open up in front of him.

Frank stepped through the open double doors into a large plaza and glanced left in spite of the recommendation not to. At the far end of the room, he saw 5 men in what appeared to be full riot body armor holding towering metal shields in front of them. The shields appeared to be welded together with little rectangles cut out to allow the wielder to see through. Tennis balls were attached to the bottom of the shields, not unlike a walker given to the elderly. Each man was poking through the hole in their shield with a small knife or sword, skewering the amassing zombies on the other side. Frank quickly turned to his right and saw a makeshift loading dock with a handful of people bustling about in preparation to leave. With his eyes wide in surprise, Frank walked to the dock and set down the duffle bags.

"Thanks," shouted a woman as she walked over to collect the gear. As she lifted one of the bags, she began to grunt and strain. "Oof," she muttered. "Hey, these came from Maggie?" she asked.

"Yeah," Frank nodded.

"Why don't you go help her with the rest? And tell her she's out of time." With a quick nod towards the shield line, she added, "As you can see."

Frank started to head back to Maggie, walking slowly to see the shield wall defend against the shambling horde as it slowly pushed its way forward. He had spent so much time panicking and running any time he saw a zombie that a well coordinated defense seemed almost holy. However, Frank's curiosity was quickly satiated and he headed back to assist Maggie with the rest of the medical supplies.

"Help the Sams," Maggie ordered as Frank approached her in the hallway.

Frank peered around Maggie to see the two children, the teenage girl and the young boy, lugging a bag together. Frank scooped up the boy, holding him in one arm, and grabbed the duffle bag with his other.

"Wow, you're strong," Sami exclaimed.

Frank smiled at the girl. "Everyone gets stronger when a zombie horde is near," he quipped. He escorted Sami down the hallway as they all made their way to the loading dock.

"Quick," yelled a face poking just around the corner of the building plaza.

Maggie picked up the pace, closely followed by Tanner and the other adults. Frank and Sami, having just turned the corner into the long hallway, began to run to catch up.

"Come on, push!"

Frank could see the back end of one of the shield bearers and a group of people run up to the wall.

"Push! Push!"

As Frank made his way through the doors, he saw the horde had pushed right up to the brink of the hallway. He guessed about thirteen men and women had gone to the shield line to push back the zombies and leave Maggie and crew a way out. Just as he went to turn towards the dock, the shield wall split apart and let several zombies tumble through.

"Shit," shouted one of the men. It was followed by a blood curdling scream. Frank dropped Sam and the bag and turned around to join the wall. He and Maggie both ran at the zombies that had broken though. Maggie pulled out a knife and lunged at the nearest zombie, slipping her blade through the cheek and into the brain of the monster just as it was grabbing someone. Frank, without a weapon, grabbed the nearest shambler and tossed it away with enough force to splatter it against the wall, smashing the zombie's head into mushy goop.

The defense was able to keep the horde in check as the last of the carts were loaded with the medical bags. "We're good," a voice called out.

Frank was still pushing against the shield wall when everyone but the shield bearers had run back to the dock to escape. A tap on his shoulder surprised Frank, despite the surrounding chaos.

"Get to the dock, we'll handle the rest," one of the shield bearers shouted to Frank.

With Frank safely on the cart with Maggie and the Sams, the shield bearers quickly abandoned the line they had been holding, dragging the shields with them and filing one by one onto the cart. As soon as the last one was aboard, the wooden platform of the cart pulled away from the dock, leaving the zombie horde scrambling for a dinner far out of reach.

Exhausted, Frank turned around to see a wide wooden cart being pulled by a pair of horses. He sat down by the edge of the platform and leaned back to catch his breath.

"You did good," Maggie said, joining Frank on the floor with a small smile forcing its way onto her lips. "Thanks for saving the Sams."

"I have a confession," Frank said with a stupid smile.

"You better not tell me you got that bite recently," Maggie replied.

"I don't got family."

The smile on Maggie's face suddenly grew exponentially. "You're in the army now. We're all family."

The dark, open sky blew fresh air across the caravan as it sat in a field, camped for the night. Sentries with flash lights patrolled along the border, killing the odd zombie on occasion. Frank noticed a tent had been set up and began walking toward it, hoping to find food. He pushed open a flap to see Maggie bent over a microscope.

"Your blood is weird," she stated.

Frank looked at her quizzically, wondering how she could know it was him. "Um, thanks?"

The inside of the tent was littered with stacks of black crates while Maggie stood at a folding table with her eyes firmly planted on a microscope. A power cord ran from the machine to a makeshift, battery-powered outlet. One of the duffle bags sat on the far end of the table.

"You've definitely got the virus, but it, I don't know. It isn't doing anything." Maggie finally turned from the table to address Frank. "You're also extremely rare."

"Again, thanks?"

Maggie chuckled. "I mean your blood type. You're O-, which is already rare in general. But it's even more rare in blacks."

Frank rolled his eyes and the corners of his lips turned up. "Why is it always about race?"

"Oh shut up," Maggie teased. She picked up a box of tissue paper and threw it at Frank. "I need that though," she begged with outstretched hands, "so give it back."

Frank walked the box of tissue paper back to Maggie and handed it back to her. "So?"

"So," Maggie began with a sigh. "So I'm pretty sure you're immune to the virus. Or, something. Like I said, your blood is weird." Maggie turned back to look at the microscope again. "By now, your blood sample should be inert. Dead," she added. Maggie reached up to move the sample slide about to analyze other areas of the sample. "But your blood is still moving. It's sluggish, but definitely still alive. The virus is normally incredibly virile, able to stay alive for hours on its own. That's why we burn the dead bodies; even if they're dead, they could still be contagious for days. But the virus in this sample is inert."

Maggie stood up from the microscope and looked at Frank, trying to decipher the puzzle. "And then there was those bags."

Frank raised an eyebrow. "What about the bags?" he questioned.

"No offense, but you don't look like you work out all that much." Maggie lifted herself onto the foldable table and sat on it, leaning backwards. "But those bags were heavy. I've been in the army for 4 years, the men on my team shouldn't be any weaker than the average adult male. We all struggled to carry one."

Frank pictured the escape in his head. He could see Maggie jogging with difficulty as she held one of the duffle bags in her arms. Looking into the next few moments, Frank could see the other adults each carrying just one bag.

"You muscled up three of them and it didn't even look difficult," Maggie said. She passed a moment after seeing Frank snap out of the memory. "You good?"

"Yeah, sorry," Frank apologized. "Was just remembering the escape."

"I'm only pre-med, but I think your immunity to the zombie virus somehow has given you incredible strength." Maggie studied Frank's face for a reaction, yet found the same stoic lack of emotion.

Frank leaned against a stack of crates. "Maybe. But I don't feel any different, any stronger. Wait, immunity?"

Maggie nodded. "I think so. We can test, if you'd like. This field is bound to have a stray zombie or two."

Frank scowled. "You want me to purposely get bit? What if I'm not actually immune?"

Maggie shook her head. "Not how it works. You ever wonder why the zombies don't just eat each other?"

Frank's scowl morphed into glare of confusion. "Actually, no. Hadn't thought of it."

"They can detect the virus," Maggie replied. "If I'm right, the virus is still alive in your system, but it just doesn't affect you. So a zombie should treat you like one of its own and ignore you." She hopped off the table and started to walk for the tent flap. "You down?"

Frank and Maggie walked out of the tent and went to search for some of the patrol team to assist with Maggie's experiment. After finding a pair of crossbow-wielding volunteers, the party of four set out into the field to find a suitable zombie. The thick green grass swayed in the windy moonlight as the sound of distant crickets chirping brought back a sense of normalcy. Approaching a thick oak tree, they found a jittery zombie wobbling near the tree.

"Go ahead," whispered Maggie. She nudged Frank in the kidney to prod him forward.

Frank began to walk toward the tree, coming up on the back of the zombie. He glanced back at Maggie with a look of hesitation illuminated by the moon. The two crossbowmen were ready with bolts loaded and trained on the monstrosity.

Frank crept to within a foot of the zombie without so much as a hint of danger. Preparing himself to run, he reached out and poked the dirt-stained shirt of the creature. When it didn't react, Frank loosened up. He stood tall, almost joyful, and walked in front of the zombie.

Maggie tapped the arm of one of the crossbowmen as she watched Frank begin to talk to and push the zombie. "See? I told you," she gloated. "He's immune, and zombies won't even notice him."

Suddenly, the decaying arm of the zombie raised up and swatted at Frank. Startled, he jumped backwards and swore. Yet the zombie didn't move toward him or give any indication it was going to attack.

Unwilling to press his luck further, Frank walked back to the team. "Did you see that? It attacked."

Maggie shook her head in response. "No, it looked more like an animal, a pet telling its owner that it had enough. I think it was almost instinctual."

"Either way," Frank gushed, trying to catch his breath as adrenaline pumped through his veins, "I'm good for now."

Maggie slowly developed a mischievous smile. "Hey guys," she said and turned to the crossbowmen, "think you could nab me a specimen?"

They looked at each other and surveyed the open field. "Yeah, I think so." The two crossbowmen circled the tree at a wide distance until they could place the zombie between them and the tree. On a silent count, they both shot bolts at the zombie and began to reload. The first volley pushed the zombie back into the tree and pinned one of its shoulders against the trunk. A second volley caught the free forearm and the stomach, pinning both to the tree. As they approached the zombie, they pulled out long hunting knives from hip-mounted sheaths. With one in each side of the zombie, they began to dismember the creature until all that was left was a torso and head.

"Gross," Frank uttered, as his stomach churned at the sight.

"Oh come on, it'll still live, and it's mostly harmless now," Maggie teased. She playfully slapped Frank's arm with the back of her hand and jogged over to the tree to assist.

Back at the tent, Maggie pulled out a second slide and displaced Frank's blood with this new slide. Leaning over the microscope, she brushed her red, shoulder-length hair to one side. Frank leaned against the same stack of crates he had chosen earlier to wait. After a moment of observation, Maggie straightened up and turned to Frank.

"So, I'm rare too," Maggie prefaced. "I also have O- blood. Before you got here, I had a hunch and added some of your infected blood to mine. It all looks the same," she said, trailing off.

"What does that mean?" asked Frank.

"It means the immunity is in the blood," Maggie responded. "It means I should be immune too."

Frank finally understood. "That's why you wanted to capture the zombie. To test pure virus on your blood?"

Maggie nodded. "This could be huge."