Rico straightened his tie and approached the bar entrance.
The background music grossly mismatched the scene.
I see skies of blue and clouds of white
The bright blessed day, the dark sacred night
And I think to myself, what a wonderful world
When he reached the door and opened it, a man in a dark suit waited just outside. The skin on the man’s face looked like worn leather. His cheeks were sunken giving him a skeletal smile. Rico froze—stunned at the sight of the person’s face. The man in the dark suit appeared to be dead, but that just couldn’t be. That didn’t make sense. In the years he had spent on the force, he had run into his fair share of vagrants. The homeless population was always a little beat up looking. A little rough around the edges. But this man took the cake. His skin looked decayed.
While trying to wrap his mind around what he saw, two other vagrants bum rushed from his peripheral, slamming him against the open door. Rico fell backward into the establishment, landing hard on his butt on the floor. One of the attackers had grabbed hold of him and landed on top. The vagrant tried to pin Rico’s arms to his side during the fall.
Rico had been taken by such surprise that he was lost at what to do next. He had expected to flex his muscles and give a stern warning to the homeless person to end the situation. Maybe it was the booze, maybe the emotions. Whatever it was, he had trouble focusing. The man on top of him writhed and slobbered thick muck. Rico managed to bring his arms up for protection. A withered face peered back at him with teeth chomping into empty air. The officer forced his forearm against his attacker’s throat holding the bites at bay.
The other two assailants had turned their attention to the crowded bar.
The blonde haired woman in the skirt jumped out of her booth, sloshing most of her drink onto the floor as the mayhem began. Several of the patrons screamed and ran by the walls for safety. A few of the younger men, on the other hand, stepped forward to confront the deranged interlopers.
The three men who stepped forward to do something were all very different. One guy was short, looked to be in his early twenties. Height didn’t appear to be a hindrance. His wide frame made him a tank of a man. His pectorals bulged under his white shirt, and it was obvious he chose the tight fit as an intimidation tactic, or as a way to attract the ladies. Of the other two men at his side, one was tall and skinny and looked like he should be working as a tech support nerd at a computer store. He had thick framed glasses and wore a tie. The other man was not as notable. Aside from a small tribal tattoo that peeked out from the sleeve on his left arm, he was just a regular looking Joe. Really though, they were just ordinary people. Just guys at a bar trying to relax and have a good time. They probably were enjoying themselves before the crazy freaks busted into Pop’s and attacked a police officer.
Rico was still on his back, wrestling with the one that had landed on him. Even though the thing didn’t feel like it weighed much, its strength more than made up for it. How was that sick old man able to keep him down?
Shouts and screams echoed out from male and female voices alike.
Louis sang on:
‘I hear babies cryin', I watch them grow’
‘They'll learn much more than I'll ever know’
‘And I think to myself, what a wonderful world’
“Hey, buddy, what the hell’s the big idea?” The beefy short man shoved a finger into the chest of one of the vagrants. His attitude was a powerful as his punch.
The vagrant staggered back. Only these weren’t normal vagrants. It was clear to everyone in the bar these weren’t homeless people. Their body movements were all wrong—robotic—not natural, and that wasn’t ordinary dirt and grime on their faces. The smell that preceded them was beyond sour body odor. It was a musty smell mingled with rot and decay. It was the smell of death. It lingered in the air so thick it burned at the back of the nostrils and found refuge in the throat.
The computer geek put a hand over his mouth. “God, they smell worse than feta cheese.” He muffled a gag.
“That ain’t no shit!” The man with the tribal tattoo agreed, sticking his tongue out like a dog trying to get a bad taste out of its mouth.
“Someone, help that policeman,” a female voice shouted.
The two decaying vagrants continued their slow trek toward muscle man, computer nerd, and tattoo arm. Rico fought for his life, and right now, the odds favored the attacker.
The woman screamed again, “Do something!” The urgency in her cry slapped people out of the debilitating fear cementing them to the floor. It’s been written, ‘All the world’s a stage, and all the men and women merely players.’ Her command acted like a movie director calling ‘Action’ for the scene to start, setting the would-be actors into their roles. This wasn’t a play, or a script from some silly movie. This was real life. In real life, there is no script.
The beefy workout man shoved the smelly bum in front of him again, knocking him back just like before. It caught its balance, as if becoming more comfortable in its new life, and continued its approach with a snarl. Its lips parted, showing rotted yellow teeth. The stench that bellowed out could only be described as coming from the sewage pits of Hell.
“What’s wrong with these people?” the muscle man said with his arms held out at the ready.
The computer nerd opened his mouth as if he was about to say something. Instead, he gasped as if it was his last breath.
The nerd’s outburst distracted the muscle man enough for the bum kept at bay to lunge forward, sinking its teeth into his hand. Blood spurted from his callused palm as the creature mashed its jaws together and thrashed its head from side to side. The man yelled so loud that it hurt Rico’s left ear. His cry ignited the crowd, throwing another wave of panic across the bar. Blood splattered to the floor, peppering the side of Rico’s face.
The creature pulled away with a mouthful of human flesh, its teeth stained with crimson and stuck bits of meat.
Like a magic trick performed by the great Houdini, the muscle man’s hand was missing three fingers. A river of red gushed from the wound down his arm. He held it in front of his face, staring in disbelief, and lost all control of rationality.
“What the fuck?” the tattooed man whispered, his gaze locked on the second ghoul shuffling toward him and the geek.
The zombie—although not described as such until later— continued to chew a bit of meaty fingers in momentary contentment.
“Get outta my bar!” Pop stepped out from around the counter with bat at the ready.
‘Yes, I think to myself, what a wonderful world’
‘Oh yeah!’
Rico, still suffering from the ill effects of the alcohol, kept his attacker at bay with one arm against the throat. The creature gnashed and thrashed on top of him, determined to sink its teeth into any parts Rico was dumb enough to place in its path.
In the few moments he had been on his back, he had come to accept an unbelievable possibility. The vagrants were people, but they were no longer alive. It wasn’t the alcohol playing tricks on his mind either. These creatures were dead—zombies. How they were able to function was beyond his reasoning. God, Satan, or science was responsible. Either way, everyone was fucked.
Rico mustered up his strength and gave a hefty shove, hoping to dislodge the attacker off him. It wasn’t enough to do the job. The creature’s bony arms pushed back, tugging at his tie while keeping a firm grip. The officer grunted, and for a moment, thought he was going to shit on himself. His muscles throbbed as he waited to build enough strength for another try. A second shove and he felt the sweet relief of the dead thing finally lifting off him. He had managed to use his left knee and both arms to shift his assailant off balance and toss it onto the floor beside him.