The Not So Clinical Trial

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The next thing I remember was hearing, “On three.  One. Two. Three.”  My eyes opened and I saw their faces as they tossed me in the air.  I turned, to see Mander by the elevator door, her face holding the zombies at bay, until I landed in the middle of them and it was feeding time. 

Now, I don’t know if you’ve ever been chewed up by a group of zombies, but it’s not something you’re likely to forget, like surviving a plane crash by eating your parents and five siblings, and then having the Heimlich maneuver performed on you because you were choking on a your twin brother’s pelvic bone, nor is it anything you’d like to experience more than once, like being forced to shave your pubic hair with a blow torch. 

Zombies, by nature, are sloppy eaters without regard for manners or personal hygiene.  I held out a toothbrush and mouthwash, but there weren’t any takers.  Had I thought about it, I would have worn a bib—blood and chunks of my flesh rained on my gabardine reversible t-shirt (I’d won in at a fund raiser for unsweetened shredded wheat workers) and then on to my relaxed fit spandex pants, in essence my entire wardrobe, since I left without packing a suit case.  

Before the zombies could rip out all my intestines, Laura Lee gaily yelled out. “Dinner is served,” and then started taking photos of me getting feasted on.  She looked at her photos on her phone and then, while she proudly showed them to the others, she shouted gleefully, “If you die, I’ll always remember you like this!”   I took a quick glance back at her, she waved goodbye, gave me the thumbs down sign and then happily pushed the elevator buttons.  I saw Mander, next to her, and I thought tears had formed in one of her eyes, but couldn’t be sure if it was a tear or just clear pus, or even if it was an eye that caused the oozing. The elevator doors closed and I was alone and wondered if I’d soon be a member of the horde or just a mound of minced gabardine, spandex and body parts.  I really didn’t think Dr. Bliffover’s cure would work, but sometimes the most idiotic of miracles happen.

The zombies attacked me like a pack of cannibals ending a 43 year hunger strike.  The first zombie, whose teeth were still in my neck, started to rattle, finally letting go of his grip.  Unfortunately he had dentures and they remained around my esophagus. The change began to happen to the others dining on me.  One by one they started to shake, rattle and murmur.  Their once frightening roars had turned turn into feeble minded mumbles –they were becoming annoying humans.  Intestines and other organs that were hanging out like broken VIP ropes were being sucked into their bodies. Eyeballs dangling from threads of muscle reeled back in like the second yo in yo-yo.  Yellowish gray skin, barely strong enough to keep their insides from falling out, transformed into flesh color, some even a healthy tan and with enough tinsel strength to even keep a gut full of alien beings from blasting out.

I was consumed watching their conversion back to human that I didn’t notice I was no longer in pain. The bite marks on my neck, head, shoulders, legs, feet, hands, back, tongue, kidney’s, spleen, enlarged cysts, herniated dicks, canker sores and areas that no medical specialist had gone before (or since), were healing.  Doc’s cure was actually beginning to work.  As zombies healed, their peers would bite them and then they’d heal completely--saving a ton on reconstructive surgery.