"Bubblicious" by David Lapage, Jr.

Bubblicious

by David Lapage, Jr.

I stood there with a gallon of paint in one hand and a brush in the other, touching up the large 'Y' in the Mercy Hospital ER hallway. Someone had scratched the logo to shit, ramming a patient into the wall with a gurney. I don’t know why anyone bothers coming here. With this staff, it’s a coin toss whether you leave healed or more messed up.

As I was finishing up my painting, I felt a stirring in my stomach. My girlfriend had recently been making comments about the beer belly that I was carrying around with me. In an effort to drop a few pounds, I’d switched to lunchtime salads, though the sudden influx of kale was really ramping up my personal methane production. I took a quick look around to make sure I was alone and let it rip. It was a doozy. I’m definitely going to need to check for collateral damage the next time I step into the restroom.

Just then, Beth came around the corner, saw me, and walked over. “Hey Steve” she said, as she popped some chewing gum into her mouth. Beth was the kind of girl you could take home, but absolutely not the one you’d introduce to Momma. She was blonde and built with a figure that made her uniform look like a temporary barrier. Those scrubs were only one sweet line away from landing on the floor. The makeup she wore was slightly too bold for the hospital—a clear sign she was always ready to punch out and start the party. “Whatcha doing?” She blew a small bubble and let it pop. 

I held up my hands which contained the paint can and brush. 

After a moment to process, she nodded her head. “Okay. You wanna know a secret? It was Don who scrapped the wall. I saw him do it and…” She paused wrinkling her nose. She looked at me questioningly. I used the brush to point at the can. “I think the paints stale.” She looked doubtful and was going to say something when we were interrupted. 

A tall skinny man was stumbling towards us. He groaned and I could see spit dripping from his mouth. His shirt was torn and there was blood on his chest near the right shoulder. He looked like he’d been in an accident, but this is a hospital, and accident victims are just the norm.

Staggering more than walking, the tall, skinny man headed towards Beth. She was staring at him pretty hard, maybe assessing his date potential, as he reached out for her. Beth, still sizing him up, slapped his hand away. "Don’t touch me," she snapped. Her demand was too late. His other hand shot out, snagging her arm and hauling her against his chest. He lowered his head and took a big bite into her neck. Beth gasped, the effort sending her gum straight down her windpipe. 

I stared at this scene like I was watching a movie with great special effects. As he tore into Beth, it struck me that this thing was a zombie. A real-life zombie. Damn! It ripped a huge piece of her neck off and started chewing. Beth’s body hung limp, supported by the man’s, err zombie’s, arms. Then the zombie paused. It tilted its head, a confused look on its face, and spat something out onto the tiled floor. It was the pink, chewed-up blob of Beth's gum. Maybe the undead prefer spearmint?

This thought made me snort with laughter. Big mistake. The zombie looked at me and then at Beth’s lifeless face. Then its eyes returned to mine and at that moment, we reached the same conclusion. Zombies like living flesh. 

I turned and bolted for the ER’s main doors just as the zombie dropped Beth’s body. The zombie moved as slow as that DMV sloth, so it wasn’t hard to outrun him. I raced through the doors and towards the stairs. I should have taken the handicap ramp, because as I reached for the handrail to support myself down the stairs, I realized I was still holding painting supplies in each hand. My right foot missed the top step, and I tumbled ass over nose to the pavement. 

I woke up outside covered in blood. 

Or at least that’s what I thought at first until I got a whiff of the paint fumes. The red paint was now decorating me and the pavement, thanks to my clumsy escape. I sat up onto my elbows and looked around. The hospital was on fire, smoke  curling from a broken window. Inside, I could see shadows of people racing back and forth. Suddenly, a police car pulled up, almost running over me as I scrambled out of the way. The blue and red lights blinding for a moment. The officer jumped from the vehicle and ran inside. I heard shots a few seconds later. 

A soft moan pulled my attention from the sirens. I turned around to see a woman dragging herself towards me and instantly I recognized that blond hair and figure, even with her throat torn out. It was Beth. Then it all came flooding back to me. I was in the opening scene of a zombie apocalypse.

I hauled myself onto my feet. The world had officially changed, and I needed a survival strategy. I came up with a brilliant, three-point plan: First, hit the apartment for essentials. This included several cans of baked beans, a fresh pack of condoms, and Michonne’s katana from The Walking Dead (It was just a plastic replica from a convention, but it was still pretty strong). Secondly, I would head south to warmer weather.