Death is not an easy concept for the average person to
handle, which is funny because it’s pretty clear that most of us don’t have the
first clue about life either.
Cold was the first sensation he registered. At first he
couldn’t locate the origin of the sensation but as more of his mind regained
awareness it became the input that defined his reality. The cold moved closer
and began to awaken and define the extremities of his body. He could feel his
back and shoulder blades pressed against it. It traveled up his neck and into
his shoulders. Curved around his elbows and brought feeling into his hands. He
could sense it defining the edges of his hips and the bulk of his rear end. As
his legs began to register sensation he could no longer hold back a full body shiver
and his teeth began to chatter. He opened his eyes slowly as he reflexively
wrapped his arms around his torso. Where ever he was there was very little
light and it was diffused softly, he touched his face, but found nothing
clouding his vision. He blinked several times and his vision cleared. He could
now see that he was naked, He was sitting on a metal table, a sheet had covered
him and bunched at his waist when he sat up. Next to the table there was a
chair with what turned out to be a gray pair of sweatpants and a sweatshirt.
It took him almost ten minutes to get the pins and needles out of his legs and make sure they could carry his weight. Once he was sure he could stand he got dressed and
felt the stiffness in the rest of his joints. There was a piece of paper under the
sweat suit. All it said was ‘Room 305’. The room he was in was small, barely
enough room for the table he had woken up on and the chair that held the
clothing. From where he was standing he could almost reach the handle of the
door, which led him into a plain looking hallway that was brighter but still
not fully lit, There was a sign on the far wall that had 300 – 315 with an
arrow pointing down the left side of the hallway and 316 – 330 with an arrow pointing
down the right side of the hallway. He checked his paper again and made his way
down the left side of the hall looking for room 305.
The door to room 305 was open. Soft orange light drew a
rectangle on the concrete floor. He stopped and knocked on the door frame,
taking a look into the room. There was an woman sitting in an old worn
reclining chair. She wore no shoes and her feet were buried in a deep plush rug
that appeared to be nothing more than random sprays of color. She smiled warmly
when she noticed him in the doorway.
“You must be Tony.” She said, waving her hand. “Come in, sit
down.” She gestured to the empty couch across from her recliner.
More than anything the mention of a name caused his
curiosity to override his caution. “I can’t remember anything, why can’t I
remember anything?” He asked, sitting down.
She sat back in her chair and looked at him for a moment,
taking in his current state of awareness. Finally she replied. “Because you
died.”
The answer hit him like a truck. “I what?” He asked in
shock.
She nodded slowly. “It says here” She held up his report. “That
you were stabbed during an attempted robbery.”
His gaze was a thousand miles long as he tried with what
little cognitive power he had to remember something. “I – I don’t remember
anything.” He finally admitted.
She nodded. “That’s one of the primary side effects of the Necrophage.” She handed him a pamphlet that was covered with smiling people in
fun settings. “It’s the medical term for the disease that brings the dead back
to life.” She said.
He looked at the bright green letters screaming this is your
afterlife! At him. He opened it, scanned it, quickly realized he didn’t have
the desire to read it at the moment and closed it again. “I’m a freaking
zombie?” He said in disbelief, mostly to himself.
The woman in the chair nodded. “In layman’s terms.”
He tossed the pamphlet aside in anger. “I don’t care how you’re
supposed to say it. I died and some virus I have brought me back to life.”
The counselor nodded quietly. She readjusted, picking her
feet up off the carpet and sat cross legged in her chair.
He grabbed the pamphlet again and started folding it in
half. “And that's why I can’t remember anything?” He asked.
She nodded. “Side effect of the Virus. Honestly we’re not
really sure why it happens, but everyone that is infected with the Necrophage
comes back to life with almost no memory of their past life. Its one of the
reasons we started this program.” She explained with a softness in her voice.
He looked around the room and held up the pamphlet that had
now been folded and unfolded in different ways half a dozen times. “What is
this program anyway?”
“Catastrophic Personality Adjustment Counseling. Or C.P.A.C. for
short. I’m here to help you assimilate back into society.” She handed him
another stack of papers that explained the program.
He looked down at the cover page where the program name was
printed in bold black block letters. “So, zombie 101.” He clarified.
She shook her head. “We’re not going to teach you how to mob
humans and tear them limb from limb, It’s more focused on helping you discover
what kind of person you are now. Helping you define and understand your new
personality so you can live a pleasant and fulfilling afterlife.” She noticed
he seemed to be blankly staring at the stack of documentation in his hands. “You’ll
want to check those pamphlets out this week, they cover the powers of the Z.R.A”
He looked up at her. “The
Z.R.A?” He asked.
She nodded. “The Zombie Rights Amendment. It’s been the law
for almost ten years now.” She leaned over the side of her chair and grabbed a
book out of a cardboard box on the floor. She then handed the book to him. “This
is your daily personality journal. Try to write in it at least once a day. It’s
going to be one of the most important tools you have In developing your new
personality.” She then grabbed the cardboard box, handing it over as well. “This
is everything you had on you when you came to the hospital. There is a map in
there that will lead you back to your apartment.”
He rustled through the items in the smallish box for a
second until a thought hit him. “Did I have a job?” He asked while looking at
his license.
She nodded. “You do. You have already been transferred to a
different department to make it easier on yourself and those you used to work
with. You start your retraining next week.” She clarified.
With the box in his hands he stood up and looked at the door
to the counselor’s office. “So, do I come back next week or something?” He
asked looking back at her.
She nodded. “And once a week. Until you feel you are ready
to take on the world by yourself.”
He nodded and opened the door, went out into the hall. “I’ll
see you next week then, I guess.” He said as he closed the door.
The counselor went to her desk grabbed his file from a stack and flipped it open to the patient status page and began writing her notes.
