CHAPTER 10: DOCTOR FEELGOOD
August 2, 1993
Harlan squinted in the dark as it rained outside, his leg was still throbbing, but now his head hurt as well. Slowly, he roused himself and unlocked his bedroom door. Doors stay locked until, well, Harlan really didn't want to think about that.
Downstairs he found Anthony resting on the couch and eating popcorn, his curly brown hair pinned by gauze and cotton balls.
"Hey," he offered, sitting up.
"Hey yourself," Harlan shot back.
"How are you feeling?"
"I've been better, headache," a dry laugh, "What time is it?"
"Almost noon. I made pancakes, the rest are in the fridge."
"Oh, thanks."
Harlan ate his meager breakfast standing in the appliance's glow. Despite the pain shooting through his leg, his stomach felt fine. He dared to have a shred of hope that this would pass. He cracked open the back door as a gust of wind swept through, sending a sheet of rain into his face, and promptly slammed it.
"Yeah, the same thing happened to me." Anthony lazily called from the living room, shoveling a fistful of popcorn into his mouth and crunching.
"Any idea when this will pass?"
"Nah," another fistful of popcorn. Harlan rolled his eyes and went back upstairs and into the bathroom. A quick rummage of the medicine cabinet provided him with painkillers, which he liberally popped. He looked at himself in the mirror, his goatee was lost in the whiskers that have grown since he last shaved, since the world ended. His hair was another tragedy, greasy and tangled, but was somewhat sorted by a thorough brushing.
Back downstairs and feeling a bit numb, Harlan threw himself onto the armchair and flicked on the TV. Bars and tone. Anthony retched.
"I hate this episode, what's on Turbo?" Harlan fiddled with the remote for a minute, just more bars and tone. Looking at the remote, Harlan started hitting random buttons hoping for something to happen. Whoever lived here, they sure got swindled on this fancy light-up box.
Then he hit "INPUT" and the screen went blue for a second, some internal clunking, and the TV's speakers crackled to life. Both men looked at each other, then back to the screen as the set's electron gun painted a picture of someone's birthday party.
A little girl sat in front of a cake as people around her and off camera sang, she blew the candles out, slices were served, and everyone was happy. The video cut to her opening gifts, first a new doll, then a science kit, and finally a brand new bicycle. Somewhere in his head, Harlan wished he got stuff like that even once. The tape ran out and the screen returned to blue, matching the duo's mood.
"D'you think she lived here?" Anthony asked as Harlan sunk into the chair, those pills were starting to work their magic.
"She doesn't anymore."
"Harsh."
"Life's harsh," Harlan lifted his leg in emphasis.
"You didn't change your bandages?"
"I did last night."
Anthony's turn to sigh.
"Harlan. Harley, if I may," Anthony lifted himself off the couch and fetched the first aid kit from the kitchen, "You don't know how to take care of yourself."
"I know plenty!" He sat back as Anthony put his field training to good use. He thanked him when he was done.
"How's your stomach?"
"It's uh, not too bad," Harlan looked at his hands, "I don't feel much of anything right now. I found some pills."
"What kind of pills?"
"Vike and Ike's, baby!"
"How many?"
Harlan held up three fingers.
"Well, not like we were gonna be productive today anyway."
Harlan laughed.
"Hey," Anthony turned to him, "Are we still gay if we don't fuck?"
"Is this your first time taking Vicodin?"
"Yeah, huh."
"Let's get you back to bed then." Anthony stood as he spoke, looping an arm under Harlan and loosely pulling him back to bed. He could feel the smaller man was burning up in his arms. As Anthony turned to leave, Harlan grabbed him.
"I know I fucked up, I know I'm fucked up, but-" a crack of lightning, "But I like you, Tony, I like you a lot."
"I know."
"I wanted to tell you in case I don't make it."
"I know."
"I don't wanna die a virgin." Anthony's eyes went wide for a moment, "I'm fuckin' with you."
"If you touch those pills again I'll kill you." Anthony leaned against the wall as Harlan loafed around in his bed, blissfully doped up like a '50s showgirl. "Lock up after me, okay?"
"Hey, why do we lock the doors if zombies can't open them?"
"Sleep tight, Harlan." Anthony felt the door click shut behind him and he pinched the bridge of his nose. He opened the door again, catching Harlan mid-step to lock up. "Hey, uh, is there a doctor in town?"
"Dead. Dead dead dead." Harlan mumbled.
"But there's a doctor's office around here?"
"Yeah, kinda."
"Yes or no?"
"Yeah."
"Thanks." Anthony closed the door again and felt Harlan fumble as he locked it on his end.
Downstairs, Anthony grabbed his bat and bag and stepped into the harsh weather. At the very least it would give him cover as he hopped the fence and crept into the courthouse. Inside was dark, something gurgled out of sight, and Anthony slammed the door as he left.
Around the corner he could see a large parking lot to one side, shops in the middle, and main street on his right. Upright figures were scattered among the cars. Not a whole lot, but enough to make him upset. He flipped a coin from his pocket and kept his hand clenched. Heads, behind the shops. Tails, main street.
He opened his hand.
Tails.
Anthony shrugged to no one in particular and clutched his bat as he crossed the courthouse's driveway. Sticking to the walls, Anthony was able to avoid the majority of them as he scanned for any signs of a doctor's office. His bat took care of the handful that locked onto him.
At the end of the block, he found himself stuck. A small group stood in the street between himself and the next commercial row. As if on cue, a bolt of lightning roared across the sky illuminating the crowd. Anthony felt every nerve and muscle in his body tighten, fuck this, he thought.
"HEY YOU!"
Two of the deadheads turned to him, a woman in a torn pantsuit and a teenage boy missing both his arms. The woman went down with a sickening crack, Anthony shoved the mutilated boy to the ground.
"He's armless folks, he wouldn't hurt a fly!" He yelled, drawing the attention of the others and swiftly dispatching them before taking care of the boy on the ground. The rain purified Anthony of his blood-soaked beatdown.
He ducked into the Zippee Mart corner store, stuffing candy and crap into his bag before perusing the magazine rack. He grabbed a map and opened it on the store floor, illuminated by his flashlight. After figuring out where he was, Anthony was elated to see he wasn't but two doors down from the nearest sawbones. Back out in the elements, he quickly sped down the street and grabbed the door to Rosewood Medical.
Locked.
Fuck.
Anthony tried again, no dice.
He tried again, rattling the door loud enough to raise the dead that were inside. A woman in scrubs stood up from behind the front desk and hissed, a very tall man in a bloody coat materialized from the dark hallway with his arms outstretched towards the door. As the deadhead got close, he saw dried blood trailing from where the zombie's eyes used to be. Anthony's heart beat fast enough to burst then and there.
Both zombies fought for their place at the door, swiping each other as they tried to break through. Anthony didn't stick around very long, diving down an alleyway and coming out behind the shops. He tried the first door.
Open.
Anthony flashed his light inside and saw nothing. The door closed behind him, silencing the torrential rain. He stood there for a moment, flashlight in one hand and his bat in the other, just listening. He could hear them if he focused.
Shuffling upstairs, not sure where.
Gurgling behind the door at the far end of the hall, sounds like a nasty surprise.
Distant banging through the door front of him, at least he knew what he was walking into.
Anthony gripped his bat and swallowed, he was parched. He gripped the knob and turned it as slowly as humanly possible, cursing as it clicked open. The banging was much louder, it sounded like more than two now. He crept forward past a supply closet and peered around the corner.
Yup, now there were four of them at the door.
Double-fuck sundae.
Undead fists collided with the shatterproof doors like lawn darts against a tank, both distracting and occupying them while Anthony skulked around in the shadows. As quietly as he could, he swiped every pill bottle that didn't look empty. Gauze, rubbing alcohol, needles, IV bags, everything was scavenged without mercy. Anthony gave himself a pat on the back as he left the final observation room. He rounded the corner and froze.
The doctor was in.
Or, the person he assumed was the doctor stood in the middle of the hall, half-lit by the faint light outside. A terrifying six-foot-eight-inch tall zombie loomed before him, bald, glasses caked in rust covering empty eye sockets.
Anthony couldn't breathe. A vice closed around his chest as he deflated like a cheap parade balloon. Doctor Deadhead couldn't see him, but he could hear him. Another footstep echoed as the giant man approached him in the shadows. He wasn't moaning or hissing or even gurgling.
Frozen in time, Anthony watched as the doctor silently lumbered next to him and towards the observation room. Old habits die hard?
He didn't even turn his head to watch, fearing the doctor could hear his very neck muscles twitch and tighten. After a moment, the doctor disappeared into the darkness. Whichever lobe was in charge of logical thinking began screaming at Anthony to hurry up, and he listened.
His legs sprung into action as he bolted down the hall, the doctor moaning behind him. He saw the other zombies at the door turn to chase him, but he was already one step ahead and out the back door.
Like a man possessed, Anthony sprinted down the parking lot and across the street and past the courthouse and finally over the fence. He splashed down in a puddle of mud and sat there, laughing. The rain kept falling, the sky as dark as ever, but Anthony felt as light as the air he breathed.
Once inside, Anthony tore off his dirty clothes and brought his bag of medicine upstairs. He was down to his skivvies as he knocked on Harlan's door.
"Hey," gently at first, "Hey, you there?"
Nothing. He knocked a little louder. "Hey!"
Rustling.
Moaning.
Oh god.
Anthony's stomach dropped as he heard heavy footsteps lumber to the door. There was a bang, then the doorknob jiggled.
"Fuckin' thing," Harlan muttered through the door.
Anthony felt the wind return to his lungs as a bleary-eyed Harlan swung the door open.
"What-" Harlan looked Anthony up and down, "Okay, look, it was a joke." Anthony held out a packet of antibiotics. "Oh."
"These'll work better than, what did you call them?"
"What'd I call what?"
"You took Vicodin. You called them something stupid." Anthony watched Harlan dry-swallow the first dose.
"Oh Christ, yeah, Vike and Ike's."
"That's almost clever." Anthony tried to reign in his smile as Harlan flipped him the bird before closing the door and returning to bed.
[A/N: Thanks for reading this far! Next chapter might have some explicit adult content and I'm debating how uh… intense it should be. If you happen to feel strongly about it one way or another, I'm all ears.]