Zac awoke on a guerney, back in Angelina’s lab. He was cold and the room seemed silent. Somehow, he knew he was naked, covered by a thick white sheet. There was an intense pain in his chest and abdomen. He wondered how he got here and tried to remember last night’s events. Was it last night? A window near the ceiling told him it was dark out.
“You’re awake!” Angelina shouted, her face popping into his field of vision, suddenly. “Oh, I bet you have some questions for me. I know, I know, you’re mad at me. You have every right to be but these are desperate times.”
She disappeared from his sight. He could barely hear the sounds of her skittering around the lab. He tried to move his head in vain. He moved his arm but it took a great effort.
“Stay still,” she commanded. “You’re still a zombie and I need you to be still just for a moment.”
Looking towards his feet, through his eyelashes and past his nose, he could see her holding his arm, a hypodermic needle was poised to deliver its payload into the vein of his left arm.
With a giggle, she said, “This won’t hurt a bit. Nightie-night.”
He could see the needle going into his arm but he didn’t feel it. Slowly, he became aware of a tiny bit of liquid inside his arm: it burned. It seemed to be liquid fire and it was growing. It spread in both directions from his elbow to his fingers, and to his shoulder. The pain was intense.
He tried to scream but all he could hear was a muffled groan. He wondered if the sound was coming from him. The pain spread to his brain. He felt his entire body convulse and spasm. His spine tried to leap off the table but was held down by his young body. Flames seemed to engulf his entire body. He tried, again and again, to scream, hearing only groans, then, finally, a change in pitch before he passed out.
When he awoke again, daylight beamed in through the window. This time, he sat bolt upright. He noticed his body was different, he felt…alive! Still draped in the white sheet, he moved both his legs beneath the cover. His hands went to his chest where the bullets struck him. To his amazement, he was completely healed. Holding up his right wrist, he ran his fingers over the place where the handcuff had scraped his skin off.
“Hello,” a voice said behind him.
He swung his legs around, holding onto the sheet to maintain his integrity. He was hit in the chest with a some clothes. It was her. He groaned and the sound of it felt good in his throat. Every nerve in his body tingled, his muscles were relaxed and rested. His brain, however, was spinning. He was so confused. His instinct told him to run but he didn’t like how that turned out last time, so he just sat there, holding the clothes against his body for warmth.
“I guess I owe you an explanation,” she began, dressed in a white lab coat, blue jeans and sneakers. “I hesitate to give you the full truth because I believe men can’t handle the truth. You’re likely to run out and get yourself shot, all over again. I had to pull a lot of strings to get you back. Get dressed, and please, please, listen to the whole story before you bolt out of here like a bat out of hell.”
Zac stared at her, dumbfounded, then began putting on the clothes which seemed to Mexican, or Latin American, in origin: a t-shirt, underwear, heavy, white wool pants and a thick wool shirt.
While he dressed, she continued her story. “First, the Boolean Glue I used to heal your wrist, it is an invention of mine, synthesized from a South American moss, called hyacintho mortuus musco: 'blue moss-dead' man in Latin, ‘zombie moss’ to the locals. I discovered it on a dig near Machu Picchu. I used it, first, on my dog, Einstein. He was old and had severe arthritis. I put some glue on his back but he died, came back to life and kept trying to eat my leg. I couldn’t sleep with him in the room or I’d wake up to find him chewing on my toes.”
She hoisted herself up onto a table with ease and proceeded with her story, “I realized, too late for Einstein, that the application of the glue needed to be a two part process: Boolean Glue for the wound, followed by a special testosterone serum after healing had been achieved. To make it easy for your one-track mind: the glue turns you into a zombie and the serum brings you back to life.”
“It takes seventy-two hours for your body to complete the zombification process. In that time, you were pulled from the river, declared dead and sent to the morgue, where I retrieved you for organ donation. Your parents were quite surprised, and, despite their obvious remorse, were quite proud of you, being so selfless with your remains.”
Jumping off the table, the female chemist walked about the room and carried on with her explanation of events. “The zombies are from Argentina. I believe they were kidnapped as part of Operation Independence, in the 1970s, by the right-wing government of Isabel Peron. They were imprisoned in a place where zombie moss grew. “
“This zombie moss is strange and seems to empower, or program, its victims to seek retribution, or at least that is my conclusion. How else do you explain their appearance, here, in Philadelphia: a city with a large Italian demographic, and, coincidentally, the suspected hiding place of the criminals who ran Argentina during the late seventies and early eighties.”
“I’ll bet you’d like a nice hot cup of coffee.” She offered.
To Zac’s surprise, he found this incredibly appealing.
“That’s one of the side-effects,” she said, “an insatiable desire for caffeine.” She walked over to a coffee maker, something he hadn’t noticed before, and continued talking while preparing the brew in a large, white Styrofoam cup. “Sugar, too, but both cravings will subside once the medicine wears off and your normal body functions resume.”
“You’re probably wondering who I am. I am Doctor Angelina Martire. I graduated summa cum laude from Harvard, with dual degrees in medicine and chemistry, at the ripe old age of eighteen. Under the tutelage of the famous Russian archeologist, Svetlana Petrovic, I worked on the team to examine the mummies of Machu Picchu. It was there I was introduced to zombie moss, zombies, and, yes, even vampires.”
“There is more, and it is even more unbelievable than what you’ve just heard. It involves Mayan Blood Gods, the Zombie Apocalypse and a man called ‘Mad Max’, but allow this to sink in for awhile. There is a tango class beginning in a half an hour. You are going to need to eat first, and, I’ll bet you’re incredibly horny, another side-effect I’m afraid. There are some cupcakes upstairs and I can help you with that other thing.” She pointed to his pants.
At that moment, Zac realized he was now so aroused he couldn’t even blink; his erection was pulling on the rest of his skin. There was a huge tent in his pants and he had the most profound craving for chocolate icing.
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