Humanity's Death: A Zombie Epic (16 page)

The possibility that he and Okona would soon
depend on each other for survival, never crossed his mind.

2

“You OK?” Mary Jane was staring at Duras as he came
back to the world around him. He still sat with her on the blazing
roof. A few moments had past, may be a few minutes, may be over an
hour, he didn't know.

Had it not
been for her... for Mary Jane...surely he would have lost what was
left of his mind. The guilt over loving someone other than his dead
wife caused him great pain.
Just lust, that's all. I could never really love
another woman, especially not in this hell.

But he could and he did. He remembered the first
night he realized how much he did love her and couldn’t live
without her. They'd taken a mattress and sheets out to the burning
pits to watch the dead burn in the night.

“I always hated religious scum. But, when the
shit flies, Christianity is an excellent tool. Control and power,
that's the ticket.”

“I know babe. You've told me a million zillion
times.”

“Never gets old.”

“Speak for yourself.”

Her hand had slipped under the sheets and gave a
solid squeeze. She unzipped him. “Does Tommy need a blow job?”

“I'm the leader of the empire, of course I do.
Life is stress.”

She unbuckled his pants and brought him out into
the hot night air. Death blurred in his eyes as the fires burnt the
night. The ashy ruin of the Old World. The Before World. But in
that moment, he felt alive and powerful. He felt he understood his
destiny, as though somehow all this made sense. The rising cloud of
smoke rose as Mary Jane felt the gush of joy running down her
throat.

As Duras
came he watched the bodies burn, not moaning, forcing the pleasure
to stay inside him, sending his eyes to the back of his
head.
Dear
Jesus, thank you for the world. The world where I reign supreme. I
am the giver of dreams, the maker of death. Me and my band of anti
heroes. Together, we...that is to say
I
, Control and Own this rabble of survivors.

He fell over with relief and Mary Jane had laid
her head on his broad chest. She listened to his heart beat. She
felt the warm breeze coming from the pile of burning bodies and
smelled death's sweetness, burning hot in her lungs and filling her
soul with power to march on. She could remember the days before,
but made a special effort to ignore them. Recalling her dead
husband and son always made for a bad day. The memory of her sweet
blue eyed boy. That was always the worst. His birthday. His smiling
teeth. A little boy's dream.

A tear had ran down her face.

“I hear a tear fall.” Duras had said. “Tell me
what's on your mind.”

“My son. I'm alright. I'm just remembering a
time. Me and my husband took him to Charleston for the weekend. He
loves Folly Beach.”

“
Lov
ed
.”

“Yes, loved.

Duras and Mary Jane loved each other. A love
forged in a apocalyptic furnace. A love that would soon be tested
by the Militia; a group Duras had no idea even existed. He would
know soon enough.

3

As his men cleaned the mess up down below, he rested
his chin on the top of her head, and stared out at the blazing sun,
and the blue sky.

“Mr. Poet, would you please quote me something
you dreamt of once.” she said.

“
In the darkest days, there stood a man, without
a plan.

Lost in pain, lost of all hope, ready to die

Then came an angel, from somewhere in the dark,

dark brown hair glimmering, blue eyes shining

a cold and warm glare meant to wake my heart

shake my soul, and loosen my pain”

She stared up at him, and kissed the bottom of
his chin. “You mad devil, you. What do you think will be here in
100 years?”

“A lot of walking dead people.”

“Maybe a good scientist will find a cure.”

“You're the only good scientist left.”

“We really need to go out and get some solar
panels” she said.

“I know. We need to find some. Then find a blue
ray player, a big screen T.V., and all the Star Trek collectors’
editions with all the extras.”

“And we will watch for hours. Tell me, what is
your favorite episode?”

“I’m not sure I have a favorite. But, if I am
forced to choose; I would say, under the circumstances, that the
episode in Enterprise…” She interrupted him with a question. “Yes
that’s the one starring Scott Bakula; and the episode I’m referring
to is during the third season. Archer and his crew find a ship of
Vulcans. But, the Vulcans have all lost their minds; and act very
much like our dead friends out there rotting in the sun.”

“It’s good to be alive isn’t it?”

“It’s better to be in charge.”

“No doubt.”

They held each other, and the day warmed. Down
below the sound of the bodies being shoveled made its way up over
the roof tops, and into his ears. Then, quite drunk, Vice stumbled
through the roof’s gray entry door, holding an even drunker Mary
Ann around her thin waist.

“You rascals!” Vice started. “The sheep below
are hungry for your words of wisdom.” His words came out in a
drunken ramble.

Duras stood up and stretched. “Join me
dear?”

“Of course, Sire.”

Him and Mary Jane made their way to the stair
case.

4

He hummed an old war tune his father once sang; but
he didn’t know the words, or the name. So he just humed, and the
sound echoed off the walls of the zigg zag stair case. The metal
stair handles were cold to the touch, like a dead man’s hand. Vice
and Mary Ann had stayed up top, because he claimed it was his turn
to do nothing and bask in the great glory of the sun and enjoy
watching the ants work below. So down, and down some more he went,
down the stairs until he reached the bottom where two metal doors,
both with silver knobs, stood waiting his arrival. Then he noticed
it. How had he missed it before now? Had they just built it? My
god! What glory! In the corner of the door, right at the top right
edge was a nest of blue jays.

“Oh! How marvelous!” his dear Mary Jane
proclaimed in one very excited voice. “I shall bring them worms and
anything else they need!” she said.

“I'll have the men dig you up as many as you
need.”

He stood, holding her close, there in the dark
at the end of that long stair way, and watched the light flickering
in that small corner where the birds lived peacefully, chirping
away. “I will make a decree. This right side door shall never be
opened!” he said.

She jumped into his arms and kissed him firmly.
“You doll! You wonderful, courageous doll!”

Eventually he stopped staring at the chirping
birds, and pushed open the left side door. The hot sun beamed down
onto his face, followed the foul stench of a thousand rotting
corpses. In front of him was the town court yard, covered in blood
drenched cobble stone. The feet of his men plodding against the
stone, and he watched as they heaved the bodies on the backs of
pickups that then carried them away in a sputter. He suggested it
was time to deal with the sheep; so with his dear lady on his arm,
he marched with his chest held out, trying to enjoy the smell of
death.

The flock had moved to the main cafeteria, and a
set of guards protected the entry doors. Inside, hungry faces
devoured soup and bread; and Ron John the chef gave Duras a wiggly
wave with his skinny black arm when he saw him enter. Then the
people all waved, and forced smiles on their faces; but the fear,
confusion, and anxiety leaked through their worn expressions.

Duras kissed Mary Jane on the cheek and launched
himself onto a table, causing it to rattle. He held both hands high
in the air, palms out, “Listen up! I know you are all scared. But,
this is nothing more than a test. A test of our faith. There are
faithless men and women in those trees out there, and occasionally
God has to let them hurt us to make sure we are still his servants.
But, those that die in the name of God, receive a bountiful award
in heaven.” Their eyes watched him intensely, and they had little
choice but to want to believe enough that they forced themselves to
accept his words. Fear is a powerful motivator, never forget that.
Fear has helped war lords and great national leaders control their
populations since the dawn of civilization.

“We have come a long way.” He continued, looking
down for a moment, and contemplating his words. “When we first came
together we were all famished. But, I gave you a promise then, and
I give it to you again now. Stand with God, and a place in his holy
cathedral will be set aside for you in the next life. This is the
Tribulation. There was no rapture and there never was going to be.
That was nothing more than the hopeful ramblings of men that
thought they knew God, but did not. Look at your plates, and thank
God for the food we have.” The sheeple were taking his speech well.
“Rest assured. We will march on the godless heathens that live in
those woods. They are vermin. They are retched animals! And, it is
our duty as God’s chosen few to march into those dark trees, and
burn every last one them!”

“Do it for Bobby!” One sheep shouted

“And Sandra!” Another tossed in.

And soon the one hundred strong group were in
high spirits encouraging him to go with God’s speed and destroy the
barbarians hiding in the murky forest. And, for days after that,
their spirits rose. The bodies were finally disappearing, and the
streets were getting cleaned. He helped pull the metal fencing from
the storage buildings, and helped rebuild the fence. A few dead
people strolled by, but nothing a few bullets couldn’t handle. Then
after two weeks went by, the City of God was getting back to
normal.

5

Then, like a reminder that life is never safe, a
massive hoard came down and pushed hard against the northern side
of the perimeter. The New World as a never ending supply of
zombies. Where do they all come from? It never ends. At least one
thousand of the dead bastards groaned their way against the metal
links. He didn’t sleep very much for days. Killing, killing, and
killing some more. Is it really killing when they were already
dead? Who cares.

The fence held. And, he began assisting his men.
One rotting corpse after another was loaded onto the pickups and
driven to the fire pits. At the pits, the fire burned high,
bellowing blackened gray smoke high into the air. When night fall
came, the hot black smoke became visible against the backdrop of a
full moon. He sat Indian style on cooling grass, his hands resting
in his lap, and stared motionless at the rising plumes. There was
no escaping the smell of scolded and melted flesh. Some of the men
sat on the backs of the pickups, smoking cigarettes and drinking
moonshine. Others continued to dump the few remaining bodies on the
smoldering pile. The night sky was clear, and stars shined. He laid
flat on his back, and listened to the bones crackle in the flames.
It felt surreal. He could not help but think, for just a moment,
that none it was real. And, then he thought, as his eyes met the
big dipper above, that somewhere out there might be life. Maybe
they could see them. Maybe they watched them, and laughed at their
situation. Or maybe they did not notice them at all. It wasn’t that
long ago that those stars gave him goose bumps, made him dream of a
marvelous future—commercial space flight, trips to the moon, and
one day, surely, even if long after he had died, his species would
populate even the farthest of star systems.

He let out a long sigh.

That future is now dead. Dead as them. Dead as
all of them will be. Dead. Dead. Dead. No life. No hope. No joy
left. No promises to keep. Nothing. An endless wandering. A joyless
march into the abyss. That’s all. All that’s left. No stars. No
ships. No greatness. No glories. No humanity. A dead species. Gone.
Gone forever. Never more. Never was. Never will be. A forgotten
memory. Where are they? Dead. Forever dead. Don’t think. Need to
sleep. Need darkness, nothingness, a place to rest.

Walking away from the fence line, back into the
city streets, feeling the cobblestones and hearing the click of his
boots; he saw Mary Jane walking towards him, with hopeful glee
shining in her eyes.

He did not look her in the eyes, and brushed by
her. She ran behind him, and grabbed him by his shoulder. “Don’t do
this again…” She said.

He pulled his shoulder away, and ignored her. He
walked back to his castle home, and stared up the length of the
Gothic architecture. The door clanked open and he walked down the
long hallway, up some winding stairs, and stepped into a dark
hallway. The clicks of his footsteps echoed off the marble walls.
Along the walls, torches burned. His shadow flickered in the flame
light, and the dark magonay door of his room came into view down
the broad hallway.

His chamber door clanged shut behind me. The
room was dark as night, save for a dash of moon light beaming
through a window and streaking over his bed.

He sat on his bed’s edge, and that was when he
stared. He stared at that picture bathed in moon light. There she
was. There they all were. Smiling and happy, because that was the
day when he'd taken them to that tropical paradise, down in the
heat of Miami, where the sand was so white, and their skin all got
burned. Where he laughed with his boy, and sang stupid songs with
his girl, and put them to bed, made love to his wife, that
wonderful woman, so bright and so sweet, like a flower in bloom, or
sweet honey suckle on a spring’s eve, and they'd loved all that
night, and drank cold red wine, and felt the warm ocean’s breeze,
smelled the salty sea, and danced on the balcony, under the moon
and the stars, with the low rumble of the waves crashing not far;
and he will never forget those cool white sheets, and the morning
after when that brilliant boy, and that beautiful girl, came
running in, waking them up, and begging to play; and down they all
went to the ocean and—