Bitten! Another zombie nightmare

Zombie mom is always prepared

My husband and I are home alone, as my son is visiting my parents out of town.

I wake in the morning to find that he is all ready out of bed. I get up and go down the stairs into the living room. The whole apartment is dark. I look to see if he has fallen asleep on the couch, but he is not there. Maybe he is in the kitchen.

As I turn toward the kitchen, I can see him just standing in the little hallway that T-intersects between the living room, bathroom, and kitchen. I think that maybe he's sleepwalking, though I've never known him to do that before.

I approach and gently say his name. If he is sleepwalking, I don't want to startle him. If he reacts badly, he's in the one spot in the downstairs where he is most likely to impact a corner.

He turns toward me when I say his name. He holds his hands out to me, and I think maybe he is upset about something. I put my arms around him.

That's when he bites me. He sinks his teeth into my shoulder, not like a cute little love-nibble, but hard. He draws blood. The act startles me into jumping back away from him. I switch on the light and he shies away from it, looking at me and growling. His skin is pasty and pale, his eyes red-rimmed. He is drooling like a baby, and there is blood running down his chin. There is a huge, festering bite mark on his arm.

As I am backing away, I see a mangled body on the kitchen floor, and boxes stacked high in front of the sliding door. He sort of zones out a minute. I run for the door. As I reach it, I hear his feet pounding behind me. I open the door, turn the button lock, and practically throw myself outside, pulling it shut behind me. It's locked now. I don't know if he can get out, but no one will get in.

I hear the rattle of the handle as he tries to open the door. It rattles two or three more times, then stops. There is nothing after that. The lock appears to have flummoxed him long enough to forget what he was doing.

It's starting to get light outside. I look around quickly, but I don't see any other people. What has happened begins to dawn on me. My husband must have come downstairs after hearing a noise, fought an intruder who turned out to be a zombie, and been bitten in the process. Now, I've been bitten. I have to warn my friends, before they are taken by surprise.

I realize my phone is in the apartment, but I'm sure he is probably just inside the door. There is no way for me to get in there and get it. I look around. There is a lady with a bunch of kids coming out of the building next to mine. A little bus comes and they all get on it. The side of the bus says something about evacuation. The driver motions for me to get on and I shake my head. He looks at me like I'm nuts, until I show him the bite on my shoulder. His eyes widen, and he nods, quickly shuts the door, and drives away.

I know I don't have time to walk or drive to my friends' houses. Instead, I jump up into the air and think about remaining up. It works, and I am able to rise above the trees. I know that as long as I have the cognitive ability to do this, I'm not dangerous yet. I fly straight over the nearest friends' back yard, over their house, and land on the sidewalk. The front seems more like a store front than a house, with a big display window.

I run up the front steps and knock on the door. The youngest lets me in. I tell her I have to talk to her parents right now and to go get them immediately. She brings her mom, who has been my friend since college.

I tell the kids to go play. I don't want them to hear what I have to say. My friend notices my serious look, and sends them both out of the room.

I show her the bite. I tell her what happened, and that there is an evacuation in progress. She asks how long I have, and I tell her, "Until you shoot me."

We have an agreement about this. It's something we talked about one night years ago, when we were staying up late and just gabbing. It was just a dumb conversation between kids with ridiculous what-if questions about impossible scenarios, but it was also kind of serious, and I had made my thoughts pretty clear.

If I ever became irreversibly dangerous, and especially deadly, to others, and I would be unable to control my behavior, I would rather be killed than contained. In my right mind, the most horrifying thing that could happen to me would be if I were to lose control and hurt someone. I would never want there to be any risk of that. I'm scared, and I don't want to die. There is a feeling of dread weighing heavily in my gut. But I want even less to hurt anyone, and to me the choice is clear. I can't let myself become a monster.

She asks me if I'm hungry yet, and I say no. I'm not even feeling it yet. The bite is a little red, but it doesn't look bad. I tell her it would be best to do it now, and get it over with, before I have the chance to hurt anyone. I ask her to call my mom when she makes her calls, to give my family a chance to make themselves safe. She says she will. Everything about her is calm except her eyes. She's not crying, but if I say the wrong thing, like anything emotional or mention of my son, I can see that she will.
I don't. I need her to do this for me, and I mustn't do anything to make it harder than it has to be.

This is the part of the conversation that her husband walks in on. We've been buddies since they got together. He has kind of adopted me as a kid sister, which is funny, because I am older than he is. He is a good guy, but he's a bit more sentimental than she is. She's the disciplinarian in the house. He looks tough, and would kill to protect his kids, but when it comes to his loved ones, he's a big softie. He is appalled that his wife is going to shoot me just because I asked her to. He brings up the possibility of a cure, and says I should come with them so they can get me medical attention.

She and I exchange a look. I know they have an escape setup in the basement. They will be safe. I didn't come here to be rescued. I came to warn them. If they aren't going to stop me from becoming a mindless, ravenous, cannibalistic beast, I'll go back out the front door and try to find some other way to prevent it. If I can still focus enough to fly, it should be easy. I dread the thought of dropping myself, though. That might hurt a lot. Shooting would be quicker and less painful.

She tries to explain to him what is going to happen to me. I chip in with how horribly I fear hurting anyone, especially my loved ones. I tell him that denying me a quick end would force me to live out one of my worst nightmares. He argues, "not if we can get you to a doctor so you can be cured."

There is no arguing with him. He has put his foot down. I prepare to leave, but when I look out the window, I realize that there is a huge crowd outside now. They are all walking in the same direction, moving as if still asleep. These are not evacuees... they are zombies. I can't open the door, or some of them might try to come in here. They could get my friends.

I tell my friends, "You have to go now. They're everywhere." I know that their escape setup will take them out of the neighborhood, and anyone entering the house will not be able to find how they got out.

My buddy insists on taking me with them. I am not going, but I have to let him believe that I will, or he won't go until it's too late. My friend grabs her bug-out bag, her purse, with her cell in it, and a gun. My buddy grabs his phone and another bag that sounds like it has medicines in it. I follow them all down the stairs to the basement, where there is a huge boiler with pipes going all over the place. It takes up most of the area near the stairs. We have to go around it to get to the rest of the basement, where there is odd living room furniture made of layers of big square cushions.

The escape route is behind the bottom of the couch. There is a tunnel that leads out. I don't know were it goes, but I know that once they get out, they'll be ok. We raise the front cushion, remove the cushions from under the "seat" cushion, and send their dogs crawling in, and the kids behind them. My buddy goes next, followed by my friend. I quietly tell her I'll find a way to deal with this, and that I'm not coming. She nods, and we exchange a sad look. I tell her to go. She gets moving, and I put all of the cushions back into place, making sure no one can tell the difference. Had I been going with them, there would have been a way to do that from the inside, but since I didn't, it's not necessary.

I go back upstairs and get the key to the house. Then, I make a 911 call from their phone. A recording tells me about the evacuation. From the message, it sounds like the infection is mostly in the Virginias, southern Ohio and northern Kentucky. That is followed by a list of phone numbers to call under various circumstances. I write all of them down. I call my husband's ex. She does not believe me. I give her numbers to call, then call my older stepdaughter and tell her the same thing. She agrees to call the numbers. Even if the ex doesn't take care of things, my daughter will. She is smart.
I hang up and call my parents. I tell my mother what is going on, and give her the list of numbers. I call my husband's parents, and tell them the same. I tell both sets of parents, if you think I'm nuts, call the numbers. Everything will be explained. I tell them that then, they need to call the rest of the family.
I call a couple of other friends, give them the list, and charge them with calling as many of our other friends as they can.

In my family calls, I get teary disbelief from the other end of the line, but I don't have time to be human about it. I'm not hungry yet, but I'm really scared, and just a tiny little bit hopeful. The last number is to call if you are infected. There is mention that the military is working on a cure and is close. They need volunteers.

When I hang up with the third friend, I decide that is enough. I call the military number. I am asked a series of questions, including how long it has been since I've been bitten, how the bite looks, whether or not I am hungry, am I having to swallow more frequently than normal, and am I starting to feel any confusion or "brain fog."

Looking at the clock, I realize it's been nearly half an hour since I was bitten. The bite is an angry red, but it's not swollen up like my husband's bite was, and it hasn't produced any pus, like his had. I'm still not hungry, and I'm not drooling. My thoughts are flowing just fine. The person I am speaking to seems surprised that after the amount of time it has been, I'm not showing any symptoms. He tells me that the virus has been acting faster than that on most people. He asks for a description of how my husband looked, and I give it.

I am asked about our health history, and I give that, too. I am asked the address where I am, and I give that. I tell him that I came in here to warn my friends, but they were all ready gone. I used my key to get in and double check, but the house is empty. They must have left with the evacuation. The agent I'm talking to seems to buy that.

He tells me to wait there, and an ambulance will come to pick me up. He says my condition is unique, and I may be able to speed the process of creating a drug that eliminates the condition. I am momentarily happy about that, but then I wonder what will happen if it doesn't work.

I ask, "They won't just let me exist as a zombie if they can't cure me, right? I don't want to be like the people outside." The agent assures me that the cure is at hand, but in the "unlikely" even that it does not work, the back up plan is "termination." I won't be forced to live as a flesh-eating zombie. Relief floods over me. Whatever testing they are going to do might hurt, but at least I will be helping to solve the problem. In the process I will likely be cured, and find the cure that can save everyone else. I just have tough out whatever comes next.

I give the agent a rundown on the neighborhood situation. The street is populated by moving zombies, but they all seem to be headed toward the downtown area. There are not as many now as there were before, but there are still some. Behind the house is an alley, and there doesn't seem to be anything out there. There is a six foot chain link fence around the back yard, with a big gate. The gate is broken, so it only looks locked. They can come in that way, close the gate, pick me up, and get out quickly without confronting a horde.

By the time I hang up with him, there is a big truck outside. It has ambulance lights and markings, but it looks more like a moving truck. Some men in military gear get out. They have a straight jacket and a mask like the one worn by Hannibal Lecter in Silence of the Lambs. I step outside, lay on the ground, and put my hands behind my head. I tell them to hurry, and to keep quiet so the zombies won't come around the back, but they've been attracted by the sound of the truck and are rushing the fence. I say that I'm not hungry yet and will comply with any instructions I'm given.

The guys grab me and quickly drag me into the truck, where I put my arms into the sleeves and let them wrap me up. I tell them to go ahead and put on the mask just in case it happens on the ride "there." I don't know where there is. They are treating me with caution, but they don't seem scared. One says, "you're really not hungry yet?" I'm still not, but I can feel that I have a fever, and I tell him that. I see hope in their eyes. The truck starts moving, and I feel myself falling. A pair of hands catches me from behind. I hear someone say, "This might be the one. She's infected, but she's fighting it."

As I wake, the thought occurs to me that maybe I am fighting the virus better than others because my immune system was changed by my experience with a predecessor of West Nile from a mosquito bite in 1985. Then, I wonder if maybe I got a weakened version of it because my husband's white cell count has been elevated by a gout attack . I want to ask the men, but I'm surfacing from the dream, and I can see my room. I realize that I have been dreaming. I'm not infected with anything.

I laid in bed for a moment, thinking about the dream. The buildings and topography didn't match reality, but that is pretty common for my dreams. The apartment doesn't border directly on a street. We face the parking lot. It has a street name, but it isn't really a street. It's private property. 
There is no alley behind my friends' house, and there is no escape tunnel in the basement, and their backyard fence is nowhere near as tall as the one in the dream. It's just a fence. There isn't even a couch like that. Then again, the layout of their house was also different. The building was almost like a downtown store instead of a house. The window was huge. Were the situation real, the zombies outside most certainly would have seen us and attacked. Also, it's Monday, a school day. My son is at home, not at my parents' house.

The people kind of matched, but not totally. My husband would have defended against an intruder, and when he discovered there were zombies, he would have blocked off the sliding door, but he would not have stayed in the apartment after being bitten. He would have left to avoid infecting me. The kids never would have just willingly let themselves be left out of the conversation, either. The would have hidden in the hallway and eavesdropped.

The memory of the conversation where my friend and I promised to not let each other live as unthinking, cannibalistic or otherwise deadly monsters was a real memory. It is also true that her husband, my buddy, wouldn't have the heart to follow my wishes before I started showing symptoms. However, my friend is protective enough of her family and caring enough of my wishes that she wouldn't have argued with him. She just would have shot me as I asked her to, and faced the consequences later. We have a pact. I would do the same for her under the same circumstances.

He doesn't have all of his meds in a bag he can just grab and go, either. On waking, I thought, what if there is some kind of natural disaster we all have to get away from? I'm going to point that out to him and suggest he put them in a bag to take into the basement with him if there is a tornado, or to to take away with him if there's ever any other kind of area threat that causes an evacuation.

Flying is something that happens in a lot of my dreams. It's so frequent that it no longer even clues me in to the fact that I'm dreaming. Most of the time it happens in good dreams, but like this time, it also happens during nightmares. It usually involves an escape, though.

The dream was disturbing, but it didn't leave me with quite the bad feeling that some of my zombie nightmares have caused. I woke feeling hope that not only I, but all of the infected could be saved from the disease. I felt that the process could be reversed. I was expecting painful tests (biopsies, blood tests, and tests with drugs or serum to see if it kills the virus) but I felt that it would be worth it. As I woke, I was in the process of calling on my willpower and inner strength to psyche myself up and steel myself against the coming experience, not dreading it. As a result, I feel really ready to face whatever comes along today, despite being exhausted and in pain from an extra long and challenging work shift yesterday. 


On a side note, this is the second time I have had this dream.