Free Byron : A Zombie Tale (Part 1) by Scott Wieczorek Page B

Evan with his shotgun at the ready. His face was white as ash and, more importantly, so was the knuckle on his trigger finger. He was ready to unload another round of shot at me.
    I stopped dead in my tracks, but stood my ground. I knew that if I had tried to speak first there was a chance that I could startle him, which would unleash hot lead death upon me. I could see John standing behind him. “Evan,” John said, “it’s all right, buddy. He’s okay. Byron is not going to hurt anyone.”
    Evan was shaking violently. I continued to hold my tongue. John, on the other hand, argued my case. “Evan, seriously! It’s Byron. You know, our brother… the same guy who sat next to you in physics last year. The guy who has been buying you drinks for the past few semesters because your parents cut you off.” John put a soft hand on Evan’s shoulder, “C’mon, Bro… put the gun down.”
    “You’re dead,” was all that Evan said. His voice was barely a whisper and in it I could hear great sadness. If I ever had to choose which of my brothers I was closest with, I would have said that it was Evan. We had a strange bond that neither of us could understand. It was always as if we weren’t just Frat brothers, but real brothers as well.
    “Yes, Evan,” I said as calmly as I could, “I am. I don’t know what happened, or why I’m still walking around, but given everything I’ve been through since I woke up in this hell I have to agree that yes, I am dead. But, I am not going to hurt you. I’m not a mindless killing machine, or a monster, I’m just me – Byron.”
    Evan lowered the gun a little and then pointed it toward the floor. He backed out of the hallway being sure not to expose his back to me. I knew that it would take a while to gain his trust. But, it was a hopeful sign that he at least seemed willing to try.
    John waved me back into the front room where we had congregated before they started launching blood-filled balloons into the night. Within a couple minutes we had all gotten ourselves comfortable and were sitting around the walls of the room facing each other. Pam sat directly beneath the windows with John sitting opposite her; and, I sat opposite of Evan who kept the shotgun resting across his lap. I had a feeling he wasn’t going to give that up easily. It was his safety net – the only measure of control he could have over such a terrible situation.
    “So,” John began, “who wants to start?” He looked around to each one of us. Nobody was clamoring to have first bid at explaining their stories. Instead, it looked like everyone was staring at me. Apparently, they wanted me to be the first to go.
    What could I say? How was I to proceed? I didn’t know much of anything about the present situation. I was probably more clueless than the rest of them – especially since I had been sealed inside a body bag in a morgue until a few hours ago.
    “Well,” I began, “I guess the big thing I’d like to know is: what happened?” I figured that starting it off with a question and inviting a dialogue with everyone was better than just soliloquizing my short and unbelievable tale.
    I had figured that John would be the one to start, but it was actually Evan who spoke first. He didn’t once look up from his shotgun as he spoke; his finger tracing the trigger guard repeatedly. “The last time I saw you, you were dead. Before that, I last saw you walking out of the campus pub to return to your dorm. Your roommate Cole called me the next morning when he had returned to campus to tell me that there was something wrong. He didn’t know what to do – if he should call the campus police or not; which he ultimately did when you sat up and started talking to him.” I could hear Evan’s voice cracking in spite of his best efforts to hide any emotions welling within him. He was hurt and confused – not knowing just what to think.
    Evan continued, “Cole thought you had fallen out of bed and broken your neck.