Heroes and Zombies

Prologue

The laboratory was nearly dark at that hour. Orange evening sunlight streamed in through high windows, illuminating patches of the spotless floor.

Joseph noted, with some irritation, that the men and women who worked in the lab had, yet again, left some of their chemicals and whatnot out, a few vials sitting around, full of indescribable substances. He neglected to touch them, or attempt to put them away, since he knew nothing of how they were supposed to be stored. 

Sure, he thought, they're all geniuses. But too spoiled to pick up after themselves, that would be too much to expect.

The elderly janitor, dressed in a gray-blue uniform, sighed as he tugged his yellow mop bucket behind him, swinging around the tables with ease. He made his way towards one of the refrigerators in the back of the giant room. Joseph was holding a heavy red toolbox in his unoccupied hand, full of the necessary tools.

He stopped in front of the large industrial device, noticeably silent compared to its companions on either side of it.

"So," He said softly aloud, setting down the toolbox with a quiet clang. "What seems to be troubling you, hmm?" Joseph crouched down, pulling in a hissing breath as his back and legs complained. He was getting too old for this job, to be sure. But someone had to pay the bills, didn't they? 

He opened the dented red box with hands calloused from years of this type of work, a slightly shaking hand retrieving a few differently sized wrenches.

Thankfully, someone had the common sense to move the fridge so its back wasn't against the wall, but so it was more to the side, the back exposed to him. There was no way Joseph would be able to move it on his own, even if he wanted to.

He slowly climbed to his feet, using one of the tables as a support, and walked to the back of the refrigerator, retrieving a flashlight from his utility belt and shining it on the complex workings of the machine.

As he worked, his mind drifted, longing to get home and be able to sit near the heater. Only then would he be able to get the ever-present chill from his hands and feet. Maybe some tea, or coffee if he was feeling adventurous. Perhaps his wife, Mary, had gotten some cider, like he'd asked? But he wouldn't put it past her to have forgotten.

She hadn't aged well, Mary, not in the head. He still thought she was as beautiful as the day he'd met her, of course. She would always be beautiful to him, even with her declining mind. Thankfully they'd been able to find an affordable day-nurse, since Joseph had gotten increasingly worried as his wife, the woman he'd been married to for forty years, had started to act strange. It started with cooking, forgetting what she was making or not remembering a common recipe.

Then, their four grandchildren were forgotten. Then their own children, Charlotte and Nathaniel. Alzheimer's, the doctor said. He'd shook his head, tutted like he'd seen it every day. 

Sometimes, Joseph wondered if Mary remembered him.

It didn't take long to fix it, since the only real problem was a few screws coming lose. Joseph figured they had turned it off, since those loose parts would cause an irritating rattle. "Spoiled kids." He huffed, stooping to return his tools to their case.

Turning to leave, but then thinking better of it, Joseph walked in front of the refrigerator. He thought he could hear a humming coming from it, but he wasn't sure. His hearing was beginning to fade, he could tell.

Carefully, he opened the metal door, hand nearly slipping on the polished metal of the handle. Instantly, a few vials crashed out, glass shattering on the floor and a clear substance spreading with it. Joseph stepped back in confusion, standing shell-shocked for a few seconds as a thin, wispy fog rose up from the spilled liquid. Almost as quickly as it appeared, it was gone in the murky gloom that had encased the laboratory. 

Cursing under his breath, Joseph quickly got to work, mopping up the fluid. No labels seemed to be present on them, not that he could see, so he figured whatever had fallen was unimportant. Probably, he decided, a prank from those irritating young scientists. He had seen quite a few little pranks in his days, usually from interns. 

So this was nothing. It was easy to sweep up the glass, after turning on a few overhead lights so he could see better. Really, nothing to worry about. He toted his cart, reminding himself yet again to oil that one squeaky wheel, and the heavy red toolbox back to the janitorial closet.

Then, after a quick look-through of the labs, making sure no one was making mischief around, Joseph packed up for the day.

He headed home, taking the quickest route as usual, since he didn't want to dawdle outside of the home. It would be pointless. There was nowhere he would want to be besides with Mary. Joseph pulled up and walked inside, smiling as he dismissed the day nurse, who had just finished helping Mary make dinner. He gave his wife a gentle hug and ignored the confusion evident on her face as he kissed her on the forehead, how she looked at him as he smiled and tucked a strand of white hair that had fallen from her bun behind her ear. 

Mary quickly went to bed after eating, leaving him to finish his meal in silence and then to move to his easy chair near the heater. He sighed contentedly as he sunk into his chair, leaning back and enjoying the hot air on his feet. 

Joseph thought nothing of it, really, as he coughed a bit, figuring he might be catching a cold. It happened, after all, to people his age.

The next morning, a young man ran into the lab, breath coming in quick gasps. He held thick, dark glasses to his head, brushing locks of dark brown hair out of his eyes as he dodged and weaved around tables and stools in his made dash to the refrigerator.

He stopped just in front of the one fridge that was askew, the back tilted out but the doors still accessible. 

Taking a deep breath and wiping his hands nervously on his khaki pants, the man opened the door, looking through the neatly labelled vials. Though at first the movements of his baby blue irises were slow and calm, they quickly picked up speed.

"No." He whispered to himself, stepping back from the fridge and closing his eyes. He brought his hands up to his face, shoulders hunching.

"No."