Venice
“Venice sits on a group of 118 small islands separated by
canals and linked by bridges. Located in the Venetian Lagoon it stretches between
the Po and the Piave Rivers. Known for its beauty of setting, its architecture
and its artworks it is listed as a World Heritage Site, along with its lagoon,”
I said to the group of tourist that followed along behind me, my heels tapping
smartly on the pavers as their cameras snapped away.
I was taking them through the Piazza San Marco on the way to
the basilica. “If you will come with me I will show you the Basilica Cattedrale Patriarcale di San Marco,” I said,
pausing to make sure none of my group wandered off.
I waved to
Giovanna across the piazza as she led her group of Japanese tourists. The company I worked for
made sure that there was a guide that could meet every group’s needs. I could
speak English and some Spanish I had learned from my boyfriend Marco.
Unfortunately, what I knew mostly consisted of bawdy songs and swears words. Not
very useful for work. This group was mainly Americans or people from the UK so
there was no need to rely on my feeble Spanish.
As we stepped
into the basilica I began the litany that I had spoken a thousand times. “The
first St Mark's was constructed in 828 and then burned in a rebellion in 976. It
was rebuilt in 978 and consecrated in 1094. Within the first half of the 13th century the
narthex and the new façade were constructed, most of the mosaics were completed,”
I paused to direct their attention to the mosaics.
Just then the
hushed stillness of the basilica was shattered as a scream rent the air
stalling the clicking of cameras. “Madre di Dio,” I whispered my hand going
instantly to my throat to still my racing heart. My group was starting to move
towards the door. I didn’t know what was going on outside, but I needed to keep
them safe. “Please, everyone,” I said, waving my hands at the group so that
they would gather around me. “Please, stay here. I will go see what is happening.
Do not leave the basilica.” They nodded and gave me wide eyes. I walked quickly
to the door, trying not to break into a run at the sound of more screaming.
The wail of
police sirens, raised voices and shrill whistles added to the mayhem I beheld
when I stepped outside. Several of the Piazza Security were gathered around a
man, trying to force him to the ground. He thrashed and yelled and tried to bite
one of the officers. The officer panicked and let go of the man who took that
opportunity to latch his jaws onto the throat of another officer. Blood spurted
into the air, landing like scarlet rain on the ancient pavers of the square.
“Holy shit,” said
a man from my group. He and his wife were on their second honeymoon now that
the kids were grown. His thick Texas accent made him pronounce the word ‘sheeit’.
He was standing just behind me. I should have turned and made them all go back
into the church, but I couldn’t tear my eyes away from the scene before me.
There had been rumors all over the internet about a virus that made the dead
walk and the living act like monsters. I had dismissed them all as nonsense.
Now, as I watched, I struggled to remember what I had read.
The police showed
up en force and cleared the tourists from the area. I took a step forward and
held a hand up to my eyes to ward off the late day sun.
“Ofelia!” I
turned at the sound of my name to see Giovanna walking swiftly towards me with
her group in tow. They followed her like frightened children. The clicking of
their cameras chorused behind her, echoing her steps.
“Giovanna,” I
said, hugging her tight. She was my flat mate and I was glad that she was ok. “Did
you see what happened?” I asked, making sure to speak in Italian so that our
groups would not understand.
“Si,” she said. I could see that she had
grown pale under her summer tan before she turned to her group to speak in
rapid fire Japanese. I presumed she told them to go into the basilica because
they filed in obediently. I turned to my group and tried to do the same. But my
American group was far less cooperative than her group. They had gathered
around the entrance, peering through binoculars at the carnage.
“Zombies,” I
heard a whisper bleed through the crowd. The sound of it plucked at my spine
like a harp cord. My blood ran cold and my breathe left me in a rush. I didn’t
believe the rumors but I had to put a stop to this before things got out of control
and they panicked.
“Giovanna,” I
said catching her arm. She turned towards me once more. I could see the fear in
her eyes and knew that she had heard the word too. “We have to get this under
control. Help me get everyone inside so that we can close the doors.” She
nodded and took my hand.
“Come please,” I
said to my group. “We need to stay out of the way until we have been told we
can leave. Everyone inside.” I used my best tour guide voice and tried to imbue
it with as much authority as I could muster hoping that none of them would
notice the slight tremor.
A woman screamed
high and shrill startling the pigeons who took to the wing by the hundreds. For
a moment the sky looked gray with the flutter of feathers. Frightened whispers
came from behind me. “Hurry,” I said to Giovanna as we grabbed the heavy doors.
It would take us both to close just one.
I made the
mistake at looking back at the crowd. She had been lying on the stones. The red
soles of her designer shoes blended with the pool of blood she lay in. I couldn’t
tell where the blood had come from, or if it was all hers. Her black dress was
wet and shiny. Her lovely hat lay next to her trampled and ruined, just like
she was. As I watched, her hand twitched, then she sat up. Her head bobbed
forward, the ruin of her neck unable to support its weight. Giovanna whimpered, biting her lip to keep
from screaming. I just stood there numb with shock as a woman who should not be alive stood up.
“Shut the doors,”
I whispered. And then yelled more urgently. “Help me shut the doors!” The Texan
and his wife ran over along with a couple of the Japanese men. Together we
pulled on the massive doors shutting each one with a resounding thud. Through
the crack, just before they shut, I saw the woman turn and look at me. Her lips
drew back in a snarl as she grabbed the medic that came to attend her. Yanking
his head back by the hair she bit into his throat. The sounds of his
pain-filled scream rang in my ears long after the doors shut them out.
*****
Three days later
we were still hiding in the basilica as the world outside descended into chaos.
Those that had been injured had risen from mortal wounds and infected others,
who in turn took that virus home to infect their loved ones. We had been lied
too. The news reports, unable to deliver the truth, had told us falsehoods in
the effort to forestall panic. All it did was make sure we died just like the
sheep they thought us all to be.
There was a
cafeteria in the back for the staff so we had some food, but it was meager and
running low. Several of Giovanna’s group had decided that they would brave the world
outside in an effort to get back to their hotels and then home. I had cracked
open a side door to let a group of them go and watched a man, a woman and their two young daughters get
run down under a horde of the infected. The zombies fell on them like a pack of wolves
and ripped them limb from limb. I don’t know if any of them rose afterwards I
hadn’t bothered to watch.
Evidentially, the
virus had been in Italy for weeks, but no one had said anything. We were all in
denial, unable to fathom such atrocity we hid our heads in the sand and
pretended that life was just fine, and that this too, would pass.
I lay on a pew
looking up at the beautiful ceiling of the basilica wondering if today I would
die. It was my birthday. I was 23. I had my cell phone and had tried to call
Marco that first night, but there had been no answer. By midmorning of the
following day cell service went down and the power failed.
The emergency lights
flickered on, harsh and red casting a morbid glow on all that they touched. As
the hours passed more and more of our group decided to leave. I let them. Who
was I to stop them? They could see as well as I what was happening. If they thought they could get home safely I
wished them the best and said a prayer for each one. Not one of them lived, but
most of them walked.
"Ofelia,” Giovanna
said kneeling beside me. “Mr. Watkins said he can get us out of the city. He
has a boat docked not far away.” Watkins was the Texan I thought as I lay
there blinking at her. He had not flown in, but chose to sail to Italy and then
tour the Mediterranean. It seemed like a pretty idea. Pity they had been met
with death.
We had been
unable to leave due to the police presence, but now as they died out there was
nothing to keep us here. They wanted to leave, I wished them well and continued
my perusal of the ceiling.
“Ofelia,” she
said again shaking me, trying to rouse me from my stupor.
“If’n you are
just gonna lay down an die, I spect I can’t stop you, but it seems a terrible
shame. And a bit yellow if ask me,” Mr. Watkins said, his head suddenly
appearing over the edge of the pew. His big cream colored cowboy hat was hallowed
in red from the lights. I swallowed and tried to rouse the urge to care. I
couldn’t seem to find any.
Giovanna reached
over and twisted the sensitive skin of my underarm painfully. I screamed and
sat up with a stream of Spanish curses. Mr. Watkins chuckled and stepped back. “I
knew you had it in you girl. Now come on, I don’t plan on dying today,” I
glared at Giovanna as I rubbed away the crescent marks her nails had made. She
grinned at me like a loon and then leaned in to hug me tight.
“We have to
survive this, I don’t think I’d look good as a zombie,” she said solemnly. For
some reason that made me laugh. I swallowed a sob at the end as that laughter
turned a bit hysterical, but it got me up and moving.
There were seven
of us. The Watkins, me and Giovanna and three young Japanese students that had
been part of Giovanna’s group. Two boys and one girl with long dark gossamer
hair. She blinked at me with solemn eyes. I blinked back. We understood each
perfectly.
Together we packed
everything we could get our hands on that looked like it might be useful. All
the food, medical supplies. I was trying to decide if I wanted to take the sacramental
wine when I heard Mr. Watkins yell. I jumped and dropped the wine. The glass
shattered on the stone floor, a sea of purple spread as the aroma of fermented grapes
filled the air.
I took a deep
breath and ran towards the shouts. It didn’t sound like anyone had been hurt,
instead they sounded happy. In the back of the church was a small garage. And
sitting there was shuttle bus that was used to ferry supplies or tourist. I
said a quick prayer and then smiled when the engine rumbled to life. We had all
been wondering how to get down to the pier and then the boat without being killed.
The van increased our chances significantly.
There was room
for the seven of us and supplies. Now that we had transportation we could take
some things we had planned to leave behind. Things like pillows and blankets.
Nice things to have, but not worth weighing you down when you needed to be
fast.
We decided to
leave in the middle of the night. The cold seemed to slow them down and their
dead eyes couldn’t see very well. I imagined that they could detect movement,
but not much else. I was born and raised in Venice. I knew every street, every
bridge and every canal and I knew I could get us to the pier even in the dark.
As night fell the
groans of the dead softened. The living screamed in pain and frustration.
Helicopters that flew by day, shooting those that walked were quite now. The city
was erily dark, even the canal lights were out.
The two Japanese
boys pulled the garage doors opened and then quickly climbed in the van. Mr.
Watkins drove, I would tell him where to go. We kept the lights off hoping to
be as inconspicuous as possible. Even still, we were unprepared for the press
of bodies that ran towards us when the engine started.
It was late
August in Venice and hot. I could barely smell the sea over the stench of the
dead that filled my nostrils and turned my stomach. I saw a man run towards us.
His joint gave out and his leg came off. He fell to the ground with a meaty
slap and proceeded to use his hands to claw his way towards us.
Others groped
for the van leaving behind slimy trails of putrescent skin and hair and other unnamable
bits. “Fuck this shit,” Mr. Watkins said. He flicked on the lights and pressed
on the gas. The van was new and happy to move. We sped through the city as fast
as we dared go, plowing through crowds of infected and over bodies of the dead.
It only took us
fifteen minutes to reach the docks, but they were the longest minutes of my
life. Our drive through town had stirred up the zombies. They knew we were
there and they wanted us. Driven by whatever made them possible they pursued us
relentlessly and with a hunger that could not be described.
Skidding to a
halt beside a beautiful yacht. Mr. Watkins didn’t even bother to turn the van
off. “If y’all all want to live, you’d better hurry before that horde gets
here.” We didn’t need to be told twice. There was no one to let the rope ladder
down, so we stood on the top of the van and jumped aboard. Unsure if we would
be greeted by an undead crew we paused, the sound of our breathing harsh in the
night.
I heard a scream
and saw a group of living running towards us. They must have heard our engines
as well and ran towards the sound of escape. A women ran ahead of her group.
The stragglers fell under the herd that soon feasted on their flesh. I watched
her hoping she would get to us. In her arms she held a blanket. I could see a
tiny fist sticking out.
“Hurry,” I
screamed, though I don’t recall if I said it in English or Italian. She ran towards
the van and then stopped. There was a ladder on the back of the van, she
climbed up, and shoved her child at me chattering away. I glanced at Giovanna
who stood next to me. She shrugged, unable to understand the woman either.
‘I don’t understand,”
I said as she forced the child in to my arms. She stepped back then and yanked
the shirt from her shoulder. A hunk of meat and muscle was missing. The blood had tried to clot but was still oozing. With no light, save the stars, it
looked like a stream of blank ink trailing down her arm.
Once she was
content that I had her child, she jumped down off the van and dove into the
water. Breaking into a swimmer's rhythm she headed out towards the sea. I
doubted she intended to find safety. She was infected and knew she was dying. I
suspected that she intended to wear herself out and then drown.
I heard a woman
crying and then I realized it was me. “C’mon now, girl,” Mr. Watkins said
taking my hand and leading me aboard. I followed his wife below decks and laid
down in a bunk like she told me to, holding the baby close to me. The rumble of
the engines soothed me and I slept.
Dawn trailed
liquid gold fingers through the small window above my bed, but that is not what
woke me, though I could not say what had. Just a sense of unease. The notion
that something was wrong and sleep was no longer a good idea.
I sat up.
Giovanna slept across from me, her arm flung out. The gentle rise and fall of
her chest assured me she was among the living. I glanced down at the baby. Her skin
had a bluish cast, and unlike Giovanna she was very much dead.
I shoved my fist
in my mouth to stifle an animal groan of pain and injustice. Her mother had
done all she could to keep her safe, and still her baby had died. I sat there
for I don’t know how long crying silently into the blanket. A ray of sunshine
found me and warmed me, reminding me of what needed to be done.
Quietly, I
grabbed a blanket and wrapped the little girl up. Her mouth was closed, full
lips and long eyelashes hinted at the beauty she would have become. Life is so
cruel I thought as I covered her face.
Slowly, I made my
way on deck. One of the Japanese boys was in the control room. I could see Mr. Watkins
asleep on the floor behind him. I nodded to the boy, who took a look at the
child I held and nodded back.
I walked to the
railing and sat down, letting my feet hang over the edge. We had sailed so far
that Italy was nothing but a haze on the horizon. We sailed towards America
with no idea what we would find there. But what was certain was that what lay
behind us was only death. I held her in
my arms and wondered if the virus that was inside her was even now working its
magic. She held death inside her tiny body, and for the sake of the rest of us,
I could not hesitate.
It seemed wrong
to just throw her in like a stone. So, I tied a rope around her and gently
lowered her into the water. She bobbed like a cork in the wake of the yacht. As
I watched a tiny fist moved, fingers so small they were translucent waved at me
just before they sank beneath the waves.
