Zombie Night in Canada: First Period

Chapter 1

September 14th

Constable Dan Simpson’s shift started out like any other, hopping in the cruiser and driving around. Soon enough, he had a domestic quarrel to respond to. Then it was a reported break-in, followed by pulling over some lead-footed smartass teenager in a tricked out Nissan. After that, he rolled into a Tim Hortons and did the usual cop thing –coffee and donuts. There, he met his friend Ed Teller, who was also out patrolling tonight.

It wasn't that Dan or Ed really liked donuts all that much. In fact, Ed hated Tim Hortons. Years ago, when Ed had still been a teenager, Tim Hortons still made their donuts fresh, and now, they came frozen from some factory down east. That made Tim Hortons donuts taste like cardboard – and worst of all, over the past decade or so, Tim Hortons had somehow destroyed all their competitors in Edmonton. On occasion, they might hit an all-night diner, but if a call came in, they usually had to abandon their food and take off. At least in a donut shop, they could grab the donuts and coffee and take it with them. They stopped at Tim Hortons for the same reason cops all over North America did – the mega doses of caffeine and sugar helped them stay alert during long night shifts. Well, that and the fact that sweet fuck all else was open at 4 a.m.

Both of them had been with the Edmonton Police Service, renamed that from the Edmonton Police Department in the politically correct 90s, for just over nine years. They had both been in the same training class, but after graduation, their careers took very different paths. Ed was five foot eleven and one hundred ninety pounds, ran marathons and Iron Man competitions, and was just another recruit who graduated the academy and was sent right to traffic patrol. And there he stayed. He worked four twelve-hour days a week and as soon as he had a half dozen years experience, he started training rookies on the job. It might not have been sexy like the Tactical Team, but it was generally safe and easy, at least as safe and easy as being a police officer could possibly be.

By contrast, Dan was built like a linebacker, weighing in at two hundred and fifteen pounds, most of it muscle, and topping out at six foot three and he far preferred lifting weights to running and swimming. Likewise, Dan’s career was very different from Ed’s. Dan had spent his college years in the Militia, including a tour in Afghanistan, and was pegged right from recruitment to join the Tactical Team.

The EPS had even been willing to waive some entrance requirements due to his military experience and degree in psychology. He was quickly partnered with an existing member of the Tactical Team and mentored for a few years before taking the extra training necessary.

The only reason Dan was back on the road was that he had been married recently and his wife couldn’t stand the thought of him knocking down doors and shooting it out with criminals. Of course he tried to explain that only happened on TV, but she was adamant, so he left the Team and went back to being just a regular cop.

When they got back on the road, they both answered a call to respond to a local clinic about a patient who was acting crazy, biting people and tearing up the place. When they rolled up, they saw a couple dozen people huddled in the parking lot, drinking coffee and, in a few cases, smoking nervously. A few of them were sobbing and a couple others had bleeding wounds.

Who’s in charge here? Dan asked.

I am…Dr. Nathan Edwards. Good to see you, he replied, extending his hand.

So what’s going on? Ed said as he shook the doctor’s hand.

About an hour ago, a female patient came in, bleeding profusely from a huge laceration on her arm. Despite our best efforts, she died. We were about to call the coroner and she got up and bit one of the nurses. Guess she wasn’t dead after all. Edwards chuckled. Betty here tried to restrain her, but the patient was too strong.

Look, I’m not a small woman and I lift weights regularly, but she had more strength than anyone I’ve ever seen. She pushed me aside like I was a child and tore into poor Winnie. I scrambled out of the room and got help. It took four of us, but we finally got her restrained. By then, Winnie was dying. Then she sprang up and started trying to bite us too, Betty said.

We locked Winnie in a storage room and then evacuated everyone out here. Can you go in and take a look? Dr. Edwards asked.

Sure thing, Dan said.

He and Ed walked up to the door, Ed pulling out his pepper spray, while Dan unclipped his baton, opening the door slowly. They walked inside and looked around. The phone was ringing, chairs were overturned, and there was an odd thumping noise coming from one of the back rooms. They advanced down the corridor towards the sound.

Hello, Ed called. Anyone in here?

The noise stopped, and a thin, twenty-something woman in street clothes stepped out of one of the rooms. Her shirt was drenched in dried blood and she stumbled towards them, arms outstretched.

Are you okay? Dan inquired.

She growled in response, a low animalistic sound from deep in her throat.

Pardon, ma’am? Ed asked.

She ignored the comment and continued walking towards them. After she advanced about ten feet, Ed commanded her to stop.

Stop right there, ma’am, Ed ordered. Down on the ground.

She kept moving towards them.

Ed raised his canister of pepper spray. Don’t make me use this.

She kept advancing.

Get on the ground now! Ed barked.

Ed glanced at Dan, who nodded. Ed fired a burst of capsicum at the woman. It splashed across her face and down her shirt. She didn’t notice it, or even slow. They backed up a bit and Ed sprayed again, this time dousing her liberally from head to toe. Both officers wrinkled their noses at the sharp, pungent smell of the pepper spray. Again, she didn’t notice and kept moving towards them.

Think she’s on meth?

I don’t know, Dan replied.

Ed clipped the spray canister back on his belt and pulled out his baton.

Ma’am, please stay where you are, Dan asked.

When the young woman got closer, they could see her eyes were clouded over, as if she had cataracts in both eyes. Without warning, she leapt at Constable Teller and he got his baton up just in time, raised, with a hand at either end. Her teeth were wrapped around the baton and she snarled and struggled to bite him. Her hands clawed and scratched, seeking purchase. While Ed wrestled with her, Dan ran up to her and began hitting her with his own baton. Dan rained blows on her arms, legs and torso. She ignored all of them and concentrated on Ed. Reluctantly, Dan pulled back and hit her in the head with almost full force.

There was a sickening crack and her skull ruptured, spraying blood and brain matter all over Ed and the wall. Ed pushed the suddenly limp body off of him and stood up. He wiped his hands on the dead girl’s shirt, then, as a devout Catholic, he crossed himself. Dan didn’t even bother checking for a pulse.

I need a sink to wipe this crap off me, Ed said.

Let’s go find one.

They walked down the corridor, batons in hand. They went around a corner and found a sink, where Ed proceeded to clean himself up.

Was I right to kill her? Dan asked as Ed washed up. When Ed finished cleaning his hands and face, he washed the blood off his baton.

It was either me or her, and frankly, I think you made the right choice, Ed said.

A door at the end of the hall was thumping and both cops turned their heads towards the sound.

I guess that’s where they left the other woman, Ed mumbled.

They walked down the hall, and as they neared the door, the pounding stopped. Dan could hear a guttural growl coming from the other side.

As Ed stepped closer, the person inside hammered on the door. It splintered under her weight and she landed near Ed, biting and clawing. He forced her away with his baton. Winnie advanced on them. Both Dan and Ed tried to stop her with their batons, but she shrugged off the blows.

I hate to say it, but we need to shoot her. We might not get lucky like last time, Ed said over his shoulder.

Say no more.

Dan stepped back, clipped his baton onto his belt and drew his firearm. Ed stepped aside and Winnie lunged at Dan. He shot her three times, all hit centre of mass. The kinetic force of the bullets threw Winnie backwards, dropping her like a stone.

Nice grouping, Ed admired.

Four years on the Tac team, Dan responded.

As Ed looked at Winnie, she suddenly leaped at him and sank her teeth into his wrist. He dropped his baton, screaming in pain. Winnie knocked him down and went to take another bite when Dan brought his pistol up again and fired. The shot knocked Winnie away from Ed. Ed backed away as Dan emptied his magazine into Winnie. She absorbed the bullets, staggering momentarily with each round, but continued crawling towards Ed, who was nursing his wrist.

Dan hurriedly reloaded and fired his first shot into Winnie’s shoulder, knocking her away from Ed again. She turned to Dan and growled deeply. That’s when Dan shot her between the eyes. This time she stayed down. Dan kept his gun pointed at Winnie’s corpse for another minute. When she didn’t move, he asked Ed if he was okay. Ed mumbled something and Dan helped him to his feet. He looked at the bite wound. She had bit down hard and possibly fractured Ed’s wrist, but it didn’t pierce his skin.

At least I don’t need a rabies shot! Ed muttered.

They walked back out into the parking lot to find the group of doctors and nurses scattered amongst the cars, hiding.

Hey, what’s up? Ed shouted.

There’s another of those things out here! Be careful, Dr. Edwards shouted back.

This time they both pulled their guns out and began moving between the vehicles. They found Dr. Edwards a few feet away.

One of the nurses who was bitten went crazy and started trying to bite everyone. Fortunately, she moves quite slowly, so we were all able to get away, he told them. I think she headed off that way, Dr. Edwards finished.

They moved off, searching for the injured nurse. They found ‘Betty’ in a ditch, tearing apart a man and stuffing bits into her mouth. Dan put a bullet through her head, and then, when the man started to stir, he fired one through his head, too. They climbed back up the side of the ditch to the parking lot and called Dr. Edwards over.

We’re going to have to seal this area off. CSI and the coroner are going to want to know what happened here, Ed told him.

Turning to Dan, he said, What the hell did happen here?

--------

The score was tied and it was the final few seconds of overtime. The faceoff was in the attacking zone and the other team was down a man. Xander Barnes stood well back of the face-off circle, on the blue line. His team’s best centre, Johnny, put his stick down, and then so did the opposition’s centre. The linesman glanced at both centres to make sure they were positioned fairly, hesitated briefly, and then dropped the puck. Johnny won the face-off cleanly and scooped the puck back to Xander.

Xander got the puck and looked at the net. No shooting lane. He passed to Shaun on the other point. Shaun sent it into the corner, where Mark, the left wing, fought off a big defenseman and pushed the puck behind the net. Johnny was there, skates flashing. He came around the far side of the net and ran into the other defenseman. He smoothly slid the puck to Rick, the right wing on the boards, who then shoveled it back to Xander.

Xander teed up and hammered a blistering shot towards the net. The shot was going wide when Johnny appeared in front of it, having slid around the defenseman, and tipped the shot. The puck skipped and flew through the goalie’s five hole and into the net. The red light flashed. Game over.

Xander skated to the net to congratulate Johnny, who was already getting slaps on the back from the other players. They all skated off together and headed to the dressing room.

Looks like you’re finally earning those big bucks, huh, Xander? Mark said.

More like Johnny saved your ass again, Rick chimed in.

Yeah, man, what the hell was that? Five feet wide? 10? Adam said.

It went in, didn’t it? Xander shot back.

Because of Johnny, Rick replied.

How many goals against were you on the ice for? Oh yeah, all of them, Xander said coolly.

We won and that’s all that matters, Johnny interceded. Let’s go get some beer.

They all walked down the hall to the locker room. Mark, the first one inside, walked over to the cooler and opened it. Beer?

Everyone chorused, Hell, yeah! He handed one out to everyone, most of whom were already half undressed.

Xander peeled off his equipment, listening to the banter everyone was taking part in. He walked off for a shower, letting the hot water cleanse away the sweat and grime from the game, and stood there thinking about how his life had turned out so far.

He was a typical Canadian hockey player, big, strong, and very tough. An inch above six feet, he had played hockey for most of his life. He had spent winters away from home since he was a teenager, first playing major junior, then playing for the national junior team in two consecutive years. His first year, Canada won silver and the effort was considered by many Canadians to be a waste. He had loved every minute and when he was called upon to be one of the leaders in his second year, he never hesitated. His competitive edge and natural leadership skills were a perfect fit for the role. He, more than anyone else, had pushed and coerced his teammates to come up with the winning effort. Of course, all the glory went to the forwards and the goalie, but everyone in the know knew who had made Canada’s gold medal a reality. Built in the mold of Dion Phaneuf, he was big and tough and had a pretty hard shot. Unfortunately, it wasn’t as accurate and he wasn’t as fast a skater. Xander was more of a stay-at-home d-man, with an edge and some scoring ability, the kind of solid defenseman every team needs to win.

After two solid years on the national junior team, he’d been drafted in the third round of the NHL entry draft. In his first season of pro hockey, while playing for the Vancouver Canucks minor league affiliate, he tore his ACL and that pretty much ended his hockey career. After close to a year of rehab, he left the pros and got a job as a shipper receiver in a warehouse back in his hometown of Edmonton.

Nowadays, he had to make do with men’s league hockey. He had enough left on his knee to be the league’s leading scorer if he wanted to, but he wasn’t interested in taking the hits that he’d have to, to do so. He had no intention of walking with a cane before he was thirty. So, for now, he was content playing solid hockey and chipping in where he could. He had had his taste of glory with the world juniors, and no trophy in men’s beer league could ever match that.

What, are you jerking off over there? Rick grumbled. Fuck, man, there are others here waiting, you know.

Xander grabbed his towel and soap, wandered back to his seat and quickly changed into his street clothes. He packed up his bag and headed for the hallway.

He stepped into the hallway where several other players were already standing, talking to each other or their wives.

Johnny walked over, beer in hand. Don’t let Rick get you down, man. He’s just jealous you played for the Juniors and he never did.

Yeah, well, he would have made the team if he knew how to play on a team. It’s always about him. He never passes to anyone except you.

Here, have another beer, Johnny said as he passed Xander another cold one.

Thanks.

You up for a bite?

I’ve got nothing else to do.

After a quick conversation, everyone agreed on a nearby Boston Pizza and headed off.

When they got there, it was more of the same, some bullshitting about plays people made or didn’t make. Others watched NHL highlights on the big screen TV. Rick tried several times to get his verbal jabs in, but Xander just ignored him. They drank beer and munched on all manner of deep-fried snacks for a couple of hours. One by one, people left for home, citing work the next day or spouses at home. In the end, only Rick, Xander, Mark and Johnny were left.

They paid the bill and all piled into Johnny’s car.

You okay to drive? Xander asked.

You okay to drive? Rick mimicked sarcastically. What are you, his mother?

I’m fine, Johnny replied, glaring at Rick.

They all got in and after a few minutes, pulled up in front of Xander’s condominium. He hopped out, while Rick slid into the front seat. The trunk popped and Xander grabbed his stuff.

See you guys Sunday, Xander said as he walked away from the car, waving.

Johnny waved, Yeah and took off down the road. He turned the car around a corner and in the middle of the road was someone stumbling down the middle of the street.

Look at this drunken asshole. He thinks he owns the whole goddamn road! Rick said.

Yeah, the least he could do is stumble down the sidewalk, Johnny replied.

Hey, Rick, toss your beer bottle at him as we go by, Mark said.

Alright!

The car moved closer and Rick rolled down his window. The car swerved and the bottle sailed out the window, hitting the drunk in the shoulder, shattering into dozens of shards. The drunk slipped and fell, rolling into the gutter.

Awesome! Rick yelled.

Direct hit! Mark yelled back. They all started laughing and Johnny gunned the engine.

In the gutter, the infected homeless man moaned angrily at the rapidly disappearing car.

September 15th

Dr. Pierre LeRoux was busier than usual this weekend. The emergency was full of the usual: those needing real emergency care, like the three car crash victims from Devon and a seven year-old boy hit in the head during a hockey game, as well as a variety of elderly patients, those who should have gone to a clinic to treat their minor ailment and, of course, plenty of hypochondriacs.

As one of the best medical facilities in Western Canada, the University of Alberta Hospital had an excellent reputation, which meant that everyone and their little brother came here when they got sick or hurt themselves. Well known in the medical world for its research into heart surgery and heart disease, it also had top-notch oncology and pediatric departments.

Today, as most days, LeRoux was being run ragged. His day started at 6:30 a.m., and the emergency reception area had already been filled to the brim. By 8 a.m., it was standing room only. Like most emergency departments, the hospital used a triage system to quickly diagnose patients and decide who got treated in which order. A Level One meant the patient needed immediate care or they would die, while a Level Five was along the lines of, Why the hell didn’t you go to a clinic near your home? Those were the people subjected to fifteen or twenty hour wait times in news reports.

At about 10 a.m., he was sitting in a side room draining a cup of black tar that a nurse swore was coffee when the intercom blared, Code White! Code White in Emergency! Code White was hospital lingo for a patient with violent behaviour, much in the same way Code Blue was for a patient in cardiac arrest.

He dropped his cup in the trash and stuck his head out the door just as a pair of burly security guards ran by. He followed them into the ER, which had descended into chaos. Everyone was screaming and pointing at an elderly man who was shuffling around, trying to bite anyone who got close to him. He had already bitten the bald man who had been sitting beside him in the neck. Several orderlies and a pair of security guards surrounded the elderly man and tackled him. In the process, he sank his teeth into one of the orderly’s arms, causing him to emit a bloodcurdling shriek.

The other men subdued him and restrained him on a stretcher, while LeRoux examined the man bitten in the neck. A nurse had put a dressing on it, but it was still bleeding. Luckily for the man, the bite had missed his jugular. If it had been punctured, he would already be dead. LeRoux helped the man into a wheelchair and one of the other orderlies wheeled him to one of the examination rooms so he could get stitches.

Meanwhile, LeRoux went to look at the orderly’s bicep.

He barely broke the skin. I’ll get a nurse to find some antiseptic and she can clean that wound out and dress it. After that, you take the rest of the day off and rest, LeRoux said.

Thanks, Doc, the orderly grunted.

LeRoux went over to examine the elderly man on the stretcher next. The elderly man strained to reach LeRoux with his teeth and hands. LeRoux pulled out his pocket light and shined it in the man’s eyes, which were cloudy as if both had cataracts. There was no response to the light at all. He grasped the man’s wrist to take his pulse. That was strange, nothing at all. He pulled out his stethoscope and pressed it to the man’s chest. No raspy breathing sounds, no heartbeat, nothing at all. And yet the patient was thrashing and squirming in his restraints.

Orderly! LeRoux shouted.

An orderly popped into the room. Yes?

Take this man upstairs to quarantine and see that they follow procedures strictly, LeRoux said, and make sure you do, too! LeRoux tossed the orderly a box of rubber gloves.

Yes, sir, the orderly replied curtly as he pulled out a pair and slipped them on.

LeRoux picked up the phone and called upstairs.

Dr. Miller, please, Leroux asked the nurse on the other end. Hey, Harvey, I’m sending up a strange case to you. A homeless guy went code white on us and bit a couple of people down here in the ER. When we got him strapped down to a gurney, I couldn’t find a pulse or even him breathing. Actually, all of his vitals were flatlined. Take a look at him when he gets there and let me know how it turns out, okay?

He wandered over to the examination room where the bald man was being treated. The nurse cleaned his wound and prepped him for stitches. An anesthesiologist administered a shot to freeze the area so LeRoux could put in the stitches. In a clinic, LeRoux would have given the shot, but here in the hospital, everyone had a union and union policies to deal with. The bald man didn’t even flinch when the needle went in.

Wow, you must be pretty tough, not to even notice a needle in such a sensitive area, LeRoux commented.

What do ya mean, Doc? the bald man replied.

LeRoux glanced down at the man’s chart, and said, Well, Mr. Campbell, the neck has a lot of nerve endings and you should have felt something when it went in.

I always had a high tolerance for pain, Campbell grunted.

LeRoux poked the area around the wound and said, You sure you don’t feel anything?

Nope, not a thing, stitch away, Doc.

LeRoux sewed slowly and carefully, making sure each stitch was done correctly. After a couple of minutes, he was finished.

There you go, after it heals you shouldn’t have too much of a scar.

Thanks.

Here’s a prescription for some painkillers. Trust me, high pain threshold or not, you’ll need ’em in a couple of hours.

He sent the man on his way and continued on with his day, which, from then on, was rather uneventful. It wasn’t until several days later that the event popped back into Dr. LeRoux’s mind, and by then, it was already far too late to put the pandemic genie back in the bottle.

Chapter 2

September 17th

Scott Johnson was doing what he usually did most mornings, holding a small press conference prior to his daily council meeting. As the mayor of the City of Edmonton, his job entailed lots of public speaking, ribbon-cutting ceremonies and such. He had won the last two elections rather handily, defeating his closest opponent by a wide margin in each. Like many politicians, he had been a lawyer previous to running for office and came from a wealthy family,