EDT II
© Derek Muk

Jill had a window seat on the MUNI bus, looking out at the pedestrians walking up and down Columbus Avenue, at the endless line of cars heading towards North Beach. The whole city is crammed with bloody vehicles, she thought, as “You’ve Taken Everything” by Huang Chung played on her Ipod. The band was her latest obsession. She cranked up the volume as the bus stopped to pick up a few passengers at the edge of Chinatown. It was a sunny June day and Washington Square Park was packed with people sitting on the grass.

Someone tapped her shoulder and she turned around to face a young man with a bulky camera strapped around his neck. “Excuse me, do you know way to Fisherman’s Wharf?” he asked with a soft French accent.

“We’re almost there,” Jill replied with her British accent. “Are you going anywhere specifically?”

He consulted a map. “Uhh, Ripley’s Believe it or Not.”

“Oh, I’m getting off near there. So just follow me and I’ll show you.”

The man smiled. “Thank you. You are from London?”

Jill turned off her Ipod, a little irritated she couldn’t listen to the rest of her Huang Chung songs, but she tried not to show it. She had gotten used to helping tourists. You had to if you worked in this part of San Francisco. They were everywhere. Besides, she was sympathetic since she was a tourist herself when she first came here. Fresh from across the pond, not knowing a soul here. The city and its denizens all seemed so rude and cold back then, not helpful with directions or advice. She secretly hated Americans in those early days, thinking they were all ignorant rednecks. George W. Bush clones, that was the label she coined for them. Not that Blair was any better. Most of the people she associated with had been foreigners like herself. It was like reuniting with long, lost family members ‘cause they knew what you were experiencing and going through.

So when she looked at this Frenchman she saw herself in some ways. She returned a grin, nodding. “Is it that obvious?” she asked, chuckling.

He laughed. “I am good with accents.”

Minutes later, they got off on Jefferson Street in the heart of the Wharf area, bustling with out-of-towners, street performers, panhandlers, and merchants. She led him to the Ripley’s museum and he thanked her. From there Jill walked to the nearby Wax Museum. After pinning her nametag on and putting her purse away she started her shift behind the cash register.

A middle-aged couple approached the counter, both wearing cheesy T-shirts they probably bought at one of the neighborhood souvenir shops. The man’s shirt read: ‘I Escaped from Alcatraz.’ The woman’s shirt had an image of the Golden Gate Bridge along with the caption: ‘I Left My Heart in San Francisco.’

Can’t believe people actually wear those! Jill thought, handing them their tickets.

The man regarded her for a moment longer, turning to his partner. “Say, honey,” he said with a Bostonian accent. “Doesn’t she look like Keira Knightley when she was in Bend it Like Beckham?”

“Yeah,” the woman replied. “Don’t suppose you play soccer too?”

Jill chuckled. “Afraid not. Enjoy the museum.” And they left.

She found the resemblance to the actress amusing, really. With her slender build and short blonde hair, she took it as a compliment.

Moments later, her coworker, Peggy, came up to her. “So we’re still going to go to the movies Friday night, right?”

“Of course. Are Russell and Nina coming?”

Peggy shook her head. “Why don’t you ask that cute guy from your yoga class?”

“I did but he said martial arts films aren’t his cup of tea.”

“You think he likes you?”

“I don’t know. I’m getting mixed messages. The bloke’s much older than me anyway.”

Peggy’s pursed her lips. “Let’s see, who else can we ask to go?”

A customer walked up to the counter and Jill smiled at him pleasantly. “Can I help you, sir?”

“Is the Chamber of Horrors scary?” the customer inquired.

“It is! They’ve added lots of new figures to it, too. Believe me, even though I’ve seen it a bunch of times, I’m afraid to go down there alone!”

“Really? I assume you guys have Dracula and Frankenstein here.”

“Yes. All the classic monsters.”

After thinking a moment, the man forked out some bills and handed them to her. She gave him a ticket in return and said, “Have fun.”

After work on Friday, Jill and Peggy walked on Columbus Street all the way to Chinatown. It was a beautiful, warm summer evening, the skies blue and cloudless. People sat at tables outside cafes and restaurants, drinking wine. Tourists thronged the streets. Back at the crooked part of Lombard Street a couple asked Jill to take a picture of them and she politely obliged.

She and Peggy grabbed dinner at a tiny, hole-in-the-wall noodle shop on Grant Street before heading to the theater a few blocks away. It was one of those old, dirty, smoke-filled theaters that thrived during its heydays in the sixties and seventies showing kung fu movies. They bought their tickets for the seven o’clock screening of a new print of Bruce Lee’s Enter the Dragon.

They sat in a middle row. The place was packed. Jill sniffed the air, noticing the seats smelled strongly of cigarette smoke. The floor was sticky beneath her shoes. Before the film began she noticed an Asian woman arguing with a man a few rows ahead of them. She turned around and looked at Jill a couple of times. She looked vaguely familiar.

“What’s that all about?” Peggy asked.

“Don’t know,” Jill replied.

She quickly went to the restroom. When she was about to leave the Asian woman she saw earlier stepped in, almost running into her. The woman didn’t apologize or anything, an anxious look on her face. She had short black hair cut in a bob, was probably in her late twenties or early thirties, and had sort of an innocent look about her.
Jill knew the movie was about to start but deliberately waited until she came out of the stall. The woman looked at her briefly before washing her hands at the sink.

“Are you okay?” Jill asked gently.

The woman looked at her again, this time through the mirror. There was a moment of silence before she finally nodded her head.

“Just checking. . .oh, wait a second, you were in my political science class at City College. What’s your name again?”
“Ming. Sorry about earlier.”
“It’s okay,” Jill said gently. “Listen, if you need to talk or anything my email is on the contact sheet that Professor Hudson handed out. You still have that?”
“Yes. Thanks,” Ming said, and left.

A few weeks passed. Then one morning on the way to work Jill bumped into Ming on the cable car. There was no place to sit so Jill stood and hung onto the railing at the front of the car. Ming sat before her. The cable car cruised up and down the hilly streets of San Francisco and the operator jingled the bell every now and then. Yes, Jill knew this was super touristy but she always got a kick from riding the cable car. A few times she almost scraped against the side of a truck and a bus but she leaned in on time and avoided them. Whew! That was close!
“So how’ve you been?” she asked.
“Okay,” Ming replied. “Where do you work?”
“The Wax Museum.”
Ming smiled. “Oh, nice. I went there when I first came to this country.”
“I hear that a lot from immigrants, and of course, travelers. Where do you work?”
“I’m working at my uncle’s souvenir shop for the time being. I was laid off from my accounting job last year. It’s been difficult finding another job in the field. The economy, you know? So this is better than nothing.”
Jill nodded. “I hear you. So what happened at the theater that night?” She hoped she wasn’t overstepping her boundaries by asking.
Ming clutched her handbag a little tighter, not looking at her. “Oh, it was nothing. My friend and I just got into a disagreement about something. . .I can’t even remember what it was about. It’s not important.”
Jill leaned in again to avoid hitting a vehicle. The operator rang the bell again as they made a turn and cruised down a hill. The views of San Francisco Bay and the Bay Bridge were breathtaking on this sunny day.
Her stop was next, and Jill said, “Well, this is me. Nice chatting with you.”
“I’m getting off here, too. . .would you like to come to a meeting this evening?”
“What kind of meeting? It’s not Amway, is it?”
They were walking down Bay Street towards the Wharf. “No, no. It’s a self-improvement lecture, talking about self-empowerment, positive thinking, that kind of stuff.”
“I see. . .okay.” They arrived at a souvenir shop at the corner. It was one of countless other gift shops in the area that sold the cheesy touristy merchandise that Jill saw day in and day out at the Wharf. Everything from tacky T-shirts, place mats of the Golden Gate Bridge, model cable cars, to refrigerator magnets with different San Francisco locations on them. “I’ll come by and pick you up later.”
“Okay. Come at five thirty.”

The lecture was held at a classroom at the nearby Academy of Art College on North Point Street. By the time it started at six the room was full, with some people even sitting outside the door. Jill and Ming sat in the middle, on the right hand side against the wall. Jill scanned the room, noticing that people of all races and backgrounds were in attendance, from a local bus driver to business suit types.
Seconds passed before a well-dressed man in a long sleeve shirt and black slacks stood before the crowd, smiling. “Thank you all for coming this evening,” he said. “We all know you have very busy lives and appreciate you taking the time to see what this is all about. First off, my name’s Matt. I’ll be talking about how to motivate your life, about how to do the things you want to do, about setting goals, being positive, and passing those good vibes to others. It can be done, folks. If you really set your mind to something, you can achieve it. Trust me, some of my friends didn’t think I could do this, speaking in front of a large group of people, but here I am tonight, in front of you.”
People cheered and applauded.
“Thank you, thank you, thank you,” he said, grinning. “Now, let me give you some background history on Aspiri Meditation.”

When the lecture was over a clipboard circulated around the room, asking for contact information. When it reached Jill she jotted it down and handed the board to Ming.
“Well, what did you think?” Ming asked.
She nodded. “Interesting. Are you going to sign up for the course?”
“It’s kind of expensive but I think I will. I need some focus and confidence. Want to join me?”
They walked down the dark street. Jill thought about it. “I’m not sure. . .let me think about it. I’m kinda on a budget these days.”
She had a window seat on the bus ride home, watching the nighttime world go by as Huang Chung’s “I Don’t Believe a Word” played on her Ipod. She looked behind her shoulder and caught a pale man with glassy eyes staring at her. He was sitting alone at the back of the bus. Jill quickly turned around. When her stop came later, she disembarked at the back door and saw the man still staring at her with those spooky eyes. As she walked away she saw him heading down the aisle to get off the bus.
Jill walked faster, turning off her Ipod. When she reached the corner of California and Drumm she turned around and saw the pale man in the trench coat lumbering after her. She ran past the Hyatt Regency and a long line of cabs, heading towards the Embarcadero Center. The shopping complex was all closed now except for a few restaurants. Not a soul in sight. . .until a few seconds later someone called her name.
“Jill!” a male voice said, echoing from every direction it seemed.
She looked around, confused. It took a moment for her eyes to adjust to the darkness and finally she saw a dark figure standing near the shopping center’s legend. The person approached her slowly, his face coming into the light. He was a middle-aged Asian man with a mustache and beard, and bespectacled. His skin was pale just like the man in the trench coat, and his eyes had that same spaced out look.
“Patrick!” she said, backing away.
“Wait! Please don’t go. Just listen to me.” There was desperation to his voice. “I can explain everything. I don’t know what happened to Erin, what kind of metamorphosis she went through. I transformed, too, but my body is fighting it. It hasn’t conquered my brain. I don’t know, maybe my immune system is stronger than hers. Point is, I need help.”
Jill eyes widened when she saw the pale guy in the trench coat shambling towards them. She took Patrick’s arm and said, “C’mon!” They ran through the quiet, empty shopping center until they hit Justin Herman Plaza. The large concrete fountain with its abstract design loomed ahead, water spouting out endlessly. A few kids were skateboarded but that was it. Looking over her shoulder she saw trench coat still following them with his characteristic limp, his arms stretched before him. Jill grabbed Patrick’s arm and they raced across the plaza, around a corner past some tennis courts and down a street until they arrived at a tall apartment building. She fished her keys out of her pocket, fumbling with them nervously, dropping them once. She looked ahead but trench coat hadn’t appeared yet. . .finally, she found the right key and got them in. They jumped in the elevator and she punched a button. Before the doors closed she looked out the glass of the front door but did not see the man in the trench coat.
Jill sighed, running her hand through her short blonde hair. “Is he one of them?”
“Yes, I don’t know his name, but I’ve seen him before. It’s interesting, some people change completely from normal humans into these zombie type beings. There’s no reversal. But like I said earlier, my body’s resisting it. I don’t know how much longer I can hold it off. . .I’m frightened I’ll lose and will become this monster.”
“I’ll help you as best as I can.” They got off on the eighth floor and went to her apartment. “Make yourself at home. Want some water or tea?”
“A glass of water sounds nice.” Patrick sat down on a love seat, looking out the window at San Francisco Bay. The lights shining from the Bay Bridge were pretty. She handed him a glass and he took a drink. She sat next to him, still cautious yet sympathetic to his situation.
“What happened to Erin?” Jill asked.
He didn’t look at her, taking another drink. “I don’t know. . .we drifted apart, she went with another group of zombies and I went solo. . .that’s why I held her at bay so you could escape.”
“Thank you for saving my life. I owe you big time. Maybe there’s a vaccine that could reverse the effects on you.”
“Maybe,” he replied, trying to sound optimistic.
“Do you know of others who are infected and are trying to fight it?”
Patrick shook his head, drinking more water. “I’ve never seen anything like it. It’s like a new disease that mutates you, disfigures you. Twenty times worse than H1N1.” He chuckled.
“Any theories as to where it came from?”
“Who knows? It could be some super virus from outer space for all we know, or some experimental monstrosity created by the armed forces or the CIA. Something for biological warfare. Sounds far fetched but in this day and age anything’s possible. From what I observed it hasn’t infected a lot of people, only certain pockets of the population. Seems like it’s still just random, isolated incidents so far.”
Jill nodded, telling him about the lecture she went to tonight.
He immediately turned to her, his spooky eyes looking at her. “Stay away from them! That meditation thing is just a front for E.D.T. I did some research and seems like E.D.T. uses different covers to recruit members, be it meditation, self-improvement, new agy groups, fraternities, sororities, country clubs. Usually they’re esoteric, private organizations.”
Her brow furrowed in thought. “Hmm. Then I’d better warn Ming about them.”
“That would be wise.”
She patted his knee gently. “In the meantime, you’re welcome to stay here until this thing blows over.”
“Thanks. If it blows over, that’s a big ‘if.’ I hope to God I don’t look like this for the rest of my life.” He laughed and realized it relieved a lot of his tension.

Jill went to the souvenir store the following morning and spoke to Ming.
“That’s the craziest thing I’ve ever heard,” Ming said, sweeping the floors of her uncle’s shop. “That stuff only happens in horror movies.” She laughed.
“Ming, please trust me on this one,” Jill begged. “Something strange is happening. I’ve seen it with my own eyes. I was almost attacked by one of these beings if it hadn’t been for my friend. Please, just stay away from that self-improvement group.”
Ming shook her head in disbelief. “I think you’ve been watching too many thriller movies. . .oh, you know something else? That night at the theater, before the Bruce Lee movie, my friend and I were arguing about this very topic. He told me not to join such a group because he heard weird things about them, things like you mentioned. That’s why I got mad ‘cause he’s always telling me what to do. I told him he was nuts and that I could do whatever I wanted.”
Jill looked straight in her eyes. “He not crazy and neither am I. I have evidence that what I discussed is factual.”
Ming continued sweeping the floor. “My uncle’s calling me. You’d better go.”
“We’ll talk later,” Jill replied but Ming ignored her.

Weeks later, after finishing her shift at the museum Jill went to the souvenir shop but Ming wasn’t there. Her uncle said he hadn’t seen her in days.
“If you find her tell her I want to talk to her,” he said irately. “That was very irresponsible of her to just abandon her job like this. No phone call, nothing! And I’m family. You’d think I’m entitled to some respect.”
“Did she mention anything about wanting to join a self-improvement meditation group?”
He looked at the ground, thinking. “No. Is that what she did?”
“That’s what I think.” She told him about the lecture.
“Oh, great. Now she’s part of a cult. She probably shaved her head and will stop eating meat now.”
“Could she be staying with friends? A boyfriend perhaps?”
“She doesn’t have a boyfriend. Ming’s a loner. Not too many friends. Know what I mean?”
Jill nodded. “Well, thanks for your time. If I find her I’ll let you know.”
As she rode the cable car home she was thinking worse case scenario. That Ming had turned into one of these zombies, too. Feeling upset at herself for not having tried harder to prevent this from happening she cranked up the volume on her Ipod, Huang Chung’s “Hold Back the Tears” blaring from the earphones.
When she arrived at her apartment she saw that Patrick was asleep on the love seat. She tip-toed to her room, putting her handbag on the floor. Looking out the window at the bridge, she pondered what to do next. She sat before her laptop, surfing the Internet for any recent reported cases of bizarre diseases or super viruses and strange goings on involving zombie-type behavior and appearance. There were a few articles detailing people who had undergone complete personality changes, turning into subservient, shambling beings who feasted on other people’s pets, and in some instances, other humans. Each article mentioned the pale skin and creepy eyes. But these incidents were random and rare, it seemed. But could they be growing? She then checked to see if there was any information about a vaccination or cure for this infection. There was a posting about laboratory mice that exhibited these zombie symptoms and how they had been successfully treated with a new, experimental vaccine. But so far, no human trials had been done. She printed out the posting.
When Patrick woke up later, she showed him the article. He rubbed his chin as he read it. “Well, that’s promising. . .I’m going to get this medication.” There was confidence in his voice.
“But we don’t know that it’ll work on humans. No tests have been conducted.”
“Anything’s better than this. I mean, look at me! I’m a freak! I can’t go to work like this, can’t see my family, coworkers, my students. . .I want my life to be normal again.” Again, the confidence.
She nodded. “I know. It’s bloody awful what’s happened to you.”
“Then help me get this vaccine.”

Jill returned to the EDT offices but they gave her the cold shoulder. But she demanded answers. “I’d like to talk to someone about the services you offer,” she said.
The receptionist flashed her a plastic smile. “I’m sorry, we don’t have any appointments available at this time.”
“Bullocks!” Jill snapped, watching a customer service agent escorting a client through a door. The two stared at her like she was the plague. “I see people going in and out of this office all the time. Your ads are all over the web.”
“Please calm down, Miss.”
“I am calm!”
“Again, I apologize but we don’t have any appointments at this time.”
“I want to see someone in charge.”
The receptionist maintained her polite, Stepford wife grin. “Sure, one moment please.” She made a phone call and then turned back to her. “My supervisor will be out shortly.”
Minutes later, a short woman with long, coppery hair came out with the same artificial smile on her face. “Hello, I’m Mandy. How can I help you?”
“I’d like to talk about your services.”
“I’m sorry, but we have no appointments available at this time, Miss. But please feel free to check with us in six months.”
Another customer service agent escorted another client through the doorway.
“I can’t wait six bloody months! I don’t have much time.”
The fake grin was still on Mandy’s face. “Oh, I’m sorry to hear that. But like I said-”
“Nevermind!” Jill said, and stormed out of the office.
She jumped on a BART train headed towards the East Bay. When she reached the West Oakland station she got off and walked several blocks to an industrial area. On Mandela Parkway was a warehouse with a sign out front that read: Parkes Laboratories
There was a security guard at the gate reading a book. She approached him, smiling. “Hi, I have a job interview with Mr. Benson.”
The guard returned a friendly grin and buzzed her in. Once inside, a receptionist asked her what was the purpose of her visit and she told her. She picked up a phone and said, “Mr. Benson, your eleven thirty appointment is here.”
Moments later, a wiry framed man with grayish hair and wire rimmed glasses came out and shook Jill’s hand firmly. “Nice meeting you, Brenda. Find us okay?”
“Yes.”
“Good. Follow me.” They went into a small office and he closed the door. “By the way, what part of England are you from?”
“London.”
“I love Britain and I love English accents. I’ve been there fifteen times.”
She raised her eyebrows. “Wow! That’s a love affair, all right.”
He laughed, rolling his shirt sleeves up to his elbows. “Well, again the position we’re interviewing you for is the entry-level laboratory assistant one. Here’s the job description with the salary we’re offering and the benefits included,” he said, handing her a sheet of paper.
“Thanks,” she replied, looking it over briefly.
Half an hour passed and Jill was out of there, but not out of the warehouse. Once she was out of Benson’s line of vision she snuck into a restricted lab area and snooped around. She saw two scientists in white lab coats examining specimens under a microscope. Another scientist was entering data into a computer. Jill hid behind a tall bookshelf. All three had their backs facing her and she tip toed past them and went into another room with numerous tiny bottles. She quickly looked at the labels. Minutes later, she found the vaccine, grabbing a batch of them. Then she sneaked past the scientists again. Once outside of the restricted area she waited until the receptionist turned away before bolting out of the front door.
With the guard things were a little more difficult. He was reading a book but never turned away from the front. So she went in the opposite direction, weaved her way through some bushes, and climbed over a fence.

When Jill returned to her apartment Patrick was watching TV. She gave him the vaccine, skeptical look on her face. “Sure about this? What if it doesn’t work?”
“It’s a worth a shot. What do I have to lose?”
“Your life.”
He chuckled. “You mean this miserable zombie life?” He filled a syringe full of the vaccine. Then he rolled up his sleeve, cleaned a part of his arm with an alcohol swab, and then placed the needle over a vein he selected. He took a deep breath and said, “Here we go.” He punctured his arm, administering the drug.
About forty, forty five minutes later his pale, living dead countenance vanished and he was his normal self again.
Jill’s jaw dropped open and she said, “Oh my God! It worked!”
He went to the bathroom mirror, touching his face happily. He jumped up and down, beaming at himself in the mirror. “Yes! Thank you, Lord! Now, there might be side effects so maybe I shouldn’t be celebrating so soon. But I’ll worry about that later.”
She looked at the batch of bottles. “You’re the first guinea pig, no pun intended. So should be start curing other people now? We could start with people we know and work from there.”
He appeared thoughtful, rubbing his chin. “That’s an idea. I wish I knew where Erin was. We could begin with her. Or what’s your friend’s name again?”
“Ming. But I’m not one hundred percent sure she transformed.”
“Right.”
“So are we like zombie hunters now?”
Patrick laughed, pushing his glasses up his nose. “Wanna start a new reality TV show?”

_____________________

Derek Muk is a writer and social worker. His short stories have appeared in various small press magazines. His short story collection, "The Occult Files of Albert Taylor" is available now and his website is:
http://theoccultfilesofalberttaylor.wordpress.com/