My Unlife: Rebirth Page 5

  While she couldn’t stop moving he by contrast was perfectly still. From the little she could see, he had absorbed a lot of the impact with the back of his head. Worse still, her panties were clearly ruined with cross dressing thug blood.

  The sight of him bought her back to reality. Steve and another of his crew would be down from the apartment within minutes, she knew.

  Grabbing her shoulder with her left hand, Emma nearly passed out from the pain it generated. Still though, she managed to start roughly yanking it forward in an attempt to put the ball back in the socket.

  Anger fuelled her and Emma grabbed on to her shoulder even more tightly – with an almighty tug she felt the ball roughly jam back into place.

  Looking up, vision still swimming from the previous waves of agony, she saw Steve rounding the corner into alley less than one hundred feet away.

  “Give me a break,” she yelled at him, exasperated, and staggered to her feet, turning unevenly towards the other end of the alley and the park beyond.

  Still groggy from the pain, Emma loped rather than ran back in the direction of the park. Her muscles were like jelly and she felt like she would fall with every step but sheer bloody-mindedness kept her on her feet and running. How long that would last though was anyone’s guess.

  Turning a bend, Emma saw a panacea ahead, a police officer clad in the customary blues walking down the path at a sensible pace towards her.

  “HELP!” she screamed, and his gaze instantly snapped towards Emma and the two men closing the gap behind her.

  In a quick motion, the policeman had pulled his gun and pointed it at her attackers, who were unfortunately directly behind her. With two thoroughly pissed off, vicious thugs chasing her and the formal end of a 9mm pointed directly at her face Emma did not like where this morning was heading.

  It was then that Steve did Emma the massive solid of tackling her, taking her down and out of the potential line of fire. The policeman didn’t hesitate, putting a round into the shoulder of the other man who had been chasing her.

  Unfortunately it barely slowed the bull of a man. He rammed into the policeman with a move stolen straight from a football lineman, sending the officer sprawling. A kick to the big cop’s side was the last thing Emma saw before a twisting Steve rolled, throwing her out of the line of sight of the other fight.

  Down and tumbling on the ground, Emma quickly realized she had at least one advantage working for her, one of weight. The slender Steve felt lighter than her - normally this would be fuel for an early New Year resolution but right now she would take it and thank her lucky stars and birthing hips.

  They ended the roll with her on top. She gave a sharp jab to Steve’s face and watched satisfied as his head snapped back. Oh yes this is much more like it! She thought to herself and punched him again across the cheek.

  Steve wasn’t defenseless though, he was not the biggest of men and was used to being outweighed and outmuscled in fights. A leg came up, snapping into Emma with astounding force that left her with no recourse but to let out an awkward squawk. Using the distraction he rolled her off of him and - still lying on his back - snapped another kick into her side that left her defensively rolling away.

  Getting to her feet winded, she found Steve had beat her to it – a roundhouse slipped past her half-hearted guarding forearm and smashed her cheek followed by a punch into her stomach that winded her even further.

  Emma noted Steve’s shift to offensive but was unable to respond effectively to it. Up close her sloppy style had been forgivable but standing and fighting he could counter anything she threw. The proof of this was immediately evident when she lashed out and had her wrist grabbed. He slammed a fist into her elbow that bent it so far forward she was amazed it didn’t break outright, as was he if she was any judge of expression.

  As it was, it just hurt like hell.

  Steve contented himself with twisting and sending her flying through the air. As she sailed majestically, Emma regaled herself at the missed opportunities to learn Karate. When she landed – on her face - she mused that Judo would also have been fine. A crick in her shoulder chimed in that yoga would have been a start.

  Kicking wildly backwards she managed to connect and half trip her attacker but he recovered so quickly it barely slowed him. She rolled over preparing to fend off whatever kicks she could but was surprised with a gunshot.

  Arching her head backwards she saw the police officer standing awkwardly, blood staining his torn jacket and shirt, over the downed body of the second attacker. His second shot had been much more effective – it was to the head.

  “I said - “ he intoned, pointing the gun a little shakily at Steve, sweat beading on his forehead “Freeze!”

  Steve paused for just a second then jumped at the cop, crossing the five feet before he could even take a shot. The blooded policeman tried to bring the gun down on Steve’s head but was rewarded with nothing but air as the slippery zombie side-stepped. This left the perfect opportunity for Steve to lean forward and bite ferociously into the stupefied cop’s shoulder.

  A look of surprise came over his face as he sank to his knees, the deadly virus working its way through his veins and robbing him of any strength he had. The gun fell from his hand and skittered to a halt a foot away.

  Steve, victorious, gave a knee to the policeman’s face and then turned to find the gun pointing at him once more for Emma had scrabbled instantly across the ground and picked it up. Firing wildly, a round carved a furrow into Steve’s upper arm, not a big wound but carrying just enough force to throw the arm backwards.

  Wasting no time, he turned and ran. As much as Emma would have liked to riddle him with bullets, she was just relieved to see him go. Her experience with guns extended a full twenty seconds in the past and frankly she was astounded to have hit him at all even from only three feet away. If her Carnival Game experience was any judge, she should have missed repeatedly and then drowned her sorrows in funnel cake.

  Down on his knees with his legs spread out uselessly at angles, the man in blue looked scared. Emma remembered the sensation well, the nausea and vertigo. She had honestly thought she was going to die and she could see the same range of emotions crossing the man’s face. Painfully taking a knee beside him, she rested her forehead against his shoulder.

  “Thank you for saving me,” she said earnestly, closing her eyes. “I wish there had been someone to save you.”

  After a moment of silent comfort, Emma got up and strode (limped) over to select a big rock from the landscaped area separating the path from the grass.

  Circling behind the body of the policeman, Emma could almost pretend he was already dead.

  “You deserve better than this,” she stated awkwardly and bought the rock down on the back of his head.

  Chapter 7

  Emma was a homebody, pure and simple. Every day when she came home from class, she would walk through the door and feel a portion of her cares melt away. There was something magical about returning to her apartment, her safe-house against the world outside.

  This was not one of those times.

  Scuttling through the door, Emma stopped moving and listened intently for a few seconds - listening for creaking floorboards, intake of breath or anything that said Steve might have returned here after their recent outing. She doubted it though – both times he had attacked her had been with superior numbers. She suspected this was because he didn’t take chances.

  Her elbow gave a warning throb, a dash of pain that radiated all the way down to her wrist and almost up to her shoulder. The newfound pragmatist in Emma insisted she hurry, in case Steve discovered a wild streak and came back tonight, flunkies be damned.

  Moving first to the bathroom, Emma had a moment of panic when the floorboards creaked. Ducking she scuttled to flatten herself against a wall until she realized a second later that the creaking was because of her. Feeling foolish she straightened back u
p – had they always made so much noise?

  Looking in a hallway mirror, Emma didn’t think she looked any different - the same mousey face looked back at her as always. Finishing her trip to the bathroom she risked a quick step on the scales to play out the hunch.

  “Twenty five fucking pounds?!” Emma yelled, indignant at this massive weight gain. Running back to the mirror she looked at herself again, her eyes searching for pouches of fat. Fat that just wasn’t there.

  Thinking about it though, her arms felt heavier. Her muscles felt tighter too, not bigger just more dense - everything felt more dense actually, not just her arms. That explained the park though; she had been surprised to feel that she had the advantage weight-wise against Steve.

  She resolved to completely abuse her college’s facilities to get an MRI scan at the first opportunity.

  Taking a last inventory of herself in the mirror, Emma quickly bound the elbow Steve had bent backwards with a bandage to restrict movement and give it a chance to heal.

  Looking around the apartment, Emma grabbed a bag and started to pack the essentials she would need for who knows how long. She knew now without a doubt that Steve would not go quietly into the night.

  Chapter 8

  Emma woke, looked up and saw a crack in the ceiling. The ceiling is giving way! She thought and rolled out of bed onto her weakened elbow.

  Yelping and holding her arm to her, last night slowly came back to her. She was staying in a cheap yet surprisingly uncomfortable hotel across town from her clean and convenient apartment – all because of that dick, Steve.

  Emma was tempted to try for “Sleep II – the Sleepening” until she remembered this morning held what was previously her least favorite Biology class – Forensic Science. It was only the sixth week of the semester and she had already thrown up twice.

  Now though she doubted it would affect her the same way – and more importantly she might learn some skills she could use.

  Unwrapping her elbow to look at it, Emma was almost surprised that it wasn’t broken. There was a big, ugly bruise but the pain had mostly subsided and her range of movement was much better – though the joint popped with each rotation.

  Re-wrapping her arm with more first aid supplies unearthed from their previous final resting place in her apartment, Emma was suddenly tempted to wrap her head in bandages and pretend she was a Mummy for the day.

  Not only is that the wrong form of undead she chastised herself It is also very odd. Being a Zombie is a big enough flaw for a girl on the dating market, you don’t have to compound the problem by having a weird sense of humor.

  * * * * *

  One hour and eight Tylenol later and she was watching an actual autopsy. Standing only a few feet behind the Doctor performing it she was able to see everything and was frantically taking notes – though she was not at all helped by having to take them left handed. Her elbow was bound too tightly to write.

  “So how do you crack the ribs open like that?” she asked the instructor, Professor Wilson – or as he insisted, Dan. The cadaver had come in what she mentally referred to as ‘Open Box Item’ condition – meaning the ribs were already parted and the organs were jumbled like the pieces of a particularly morbid jigsaw. Probably the result of an earlier class she added mentally. Obligingly, the Doctor performing the autopsy showed her a crank which could be used to spread them open.

  “I can’t believe you peeled yourself from the back wall,” Stacy – one of her bitchier classmates – quipped. Emma shot her a glare.

  “Well,” replied Emma “I couldn’t very well learn from back there. I am actually thinking of changing my focus from Genetics to a more practical application.”

  She turned to the instructor. “Is there any way to earn extra credit by helping assist autopsies?”

  “We do those programs from time to time,” the Doctor nodded while talking. “Honestly, we do not get many undergraduate applications,” he laughed.

  “Honestly I can’t believe Heaving Emma is the one asking,” Rob joked. That annoying bitch Stacy laughed hardest. Emma added her to her emergency food source list before remembering that she shouldn’t have one.

  Walking back from class later, Emma reflected on her change of priorities. She had not been lying about her newfound interest in becoming a practicing Medical Doctor as opposed to a lab monkey. It was weird that she now held no fear for the messier aspects of medicine – though she resented her classmates for bringing it up. Was it fear that had held her back before?

  Confronting death always led her back to memories of her sister. She suspected it was the fear of confronting these shades that kept her away from the subject altogether. What lengths do I go to, just to not feel or think about anything sad? She wondered.

  That was a lot of baggage. How have I survived carrying that around? By not truly allowing myself to be a person she decided, sadly. I have been an automaton, drifting through existence. Living just to obey the commands of my master, the ghost of someone long dead. Living up to the ideal set not by my awesome sister but an unrealistic memory of her.

  Now though, Emma felt the strings had been cut - or if not cut at least loosened.

  Plus while working as an assistant during autopsies there HAD to be opportunity to swipe spinal fluid from the cadavers. Her unique dietary requirements might never be a problem again!

  Emma’s phone rang and she nearly jumped out of her skin. Mentally shoving her heart back down out of her throat she answered it – it was a local number after all, less chance of bullshit telemarketing.

  “Hello?” asked the voice from the other end, posing the question like they had managed to contact the other side and were tentatively ready to talk to some spirits about this thing called Death.

  “Hi!” she answered, injecting a note of the upbeat into her answer “Who is this please?”

  “This is Professor Wilson, you just left my class.” Emma mentally facepalmed for not recognizing his voice. “I don’t mean to jump on your offer of assistance almost immediately but I just got called in to perform an emergency autopsy and the postgrad who usually assists me in these things has Strep. The patient might be beyond worrying but I am not, so I was hoping for someone a little more able bodied.”

  * * * * *

  Thirty minutes later, Emma was walking up to Professor Wilson outside a big glass building.

  “Glad you could make it!” He said loudly, the wind taking his words and throwing them back towards him.

  “Wouldn’t miss it for the world,” Emma replied, shaking his hand “I must confess I am confused though, why are you performing autopsies for the police and why aren’t they using their own coroner?”

  “Because being a professor pays bupkis,” answered her teacher honestly, using a word Emma had not heard since childhood. She was so amused rolling it around in her head that she nearly missed the rest of the sentence.

  “I am doing the autopsy because the body is being held by the CDC, not the police,” he finished. “The CDC is headquartered in Atlanta, so they tend to hire local whenever they have suspicious materials that need examining.”

  “Whoa! The Center for Disease Control?” Emma asked, forcing concern into her voice – she had a feeling deep in the pit of her stomach that she knew what disease they were hoping to control. “Is everything okay, should I be concerned?”

  “Doubtful. I get a few of these a year and they have yet to be anything serious. Standard MO is the suspicious body is transferred to a quarantine area in the nice FBI building.”

  He dutifully pointed to the glass building “and an outside consultant is bought in. Taadaa,” he finished with a flourish.

  “One time, they had me dissect a duck,” he confided.

  Noting her incredulous look he shrugged “They can’t transfer a diseased bird – contagion risk – so even with an animal the autopsy has to be done locally.”

  “I still think mentioning over th
e phone that a Hazmat suit was appropriate attire would have been courteous,” Emma grumbled.

  “And scare the patient, are you mad?” asked the professor, a trace of Scottish accent in his voice as he held a scandalized air. For a moment, Emma could see the Celtic heritage but just as quickly it was gone. “Come on,” he added, putting an arm around her shoulder and hugging her roughly, as one might a good friend. “This is work experience that means something. You’ve been on the job for one afternoon and not only will you get to see your first fresh dead body but it could have something exciting and communicable too!”

  “I thought you said these always turn out to be nothing,” Emma replied, still suspicious.

  “Well I can always dream can’t I?” Dan said wistfully, opening the door to the building and leading Emma through.

  Within minutes, a stony faced FBI officer led them to a room and stood impassively. Looking through a small porthole on the door Emma could see three bodies lined up for them to inspect - though it was hard to make out details through sheets of plastic that ensconced the center of the room.

  “In all seriousness, should we be suited up?” asked Emma. She had wanted to say suited up since she watched Ghostbusters as a small child. Dreams do come true! She squealed inside with glee.

  “We have tested the air, the contagion does not seem to be airborne,” the agent replied in a calm voice. The man could be stoic for his country.

  “But yes,” added Dan, glaring at the agent. “You always wear a suit when there is risk. That is why numbskull here -” the agent had the decency to look annoyed “ - is opening doors and not doing the autopsies himself.”

  “Because the contagion – if there is one - could be gestating, or liquid contact or only present in a certain organ. What if he had a mutated Ebola virus and his entire insides have liquefied to the consistency of a milky paste?”

  “Good lord could that happen?!” asked Emma honestly, genuinely horrified for the first time in DAYS. Well a day anyway.

  “Fortunately it hasn’t yet,” Dan replied, pulling a couple of suits from a locker.

  Turning back to the agent, he asked. “Well shouldn’t you be opening doors or something?” and the man left without a word.