Humanity's Death: A Zombie Epic (18 page)

“He’s going to make it.” Mary Jane said to her
sister.

“God. I still love him so much.” Her sister said
with thick and drunken sobs.

And he did survive, much to the blood thirsty
crowd's disspointment. Vice killed each one with precision. He then
stood proudly. He mocked the crowd. They jeered back at him. He
laughed.

Then the next gate creaked open. Ten heavily
armored dead men marched out.

In the same fashion, Vice ended each one. As he
reached the final dead man, he gave the crowd the middle finger and
swung with a victorious scream.

10

Later on, Vice celebrated with the rest of the men.
Sarah Ann sat on his knee and held onto his neck. A long and fat
blunt dangled from his lips and a shot of whiskey sat in front of
him.

Duras stepped into the old run down bar and was
greeted with thunderous drunken applause. “Here! Here! Duras has
joined us!”

The men danced around him and shouted a song of
triumph.

“We fight and we dance at the end of the world!
Nothing can kill us now! We dance, we prance, and we chop off their
fucking heads!”

Mary Jane followed behind him and wrapped her
hands around his waist. He turned to her. She stared into his eyes.
A warm breeze blew through the open doors. She looked up at him,
“Never forget this moment. This is a great moment.” she said.

“A glorious moment.” he said.

She kissed him. He kissed her back. And they
danced, drank, and smoked till the sun came up.

11

A few hours after dawn, Duras woke with a jump.
Screams and then a loud siren shot through his ears. “Jesus! Can’t
I have one day! Just one fucking day!”

Vice stood above him, “A few of the people made
off with a large stash of food and slit the throats of five
men!”

“Fucking bastards!” he rose fast. Sun light
glistened through the bar’s windows and burned into his eyes. He
rubbed them. Rhino came charging in with his Springfield, gave it
to Duras, and out the door they all went.

“Gas up the jeeps! We’ve got some thieves to
kill!” He charged through the streets and joined a group of his men
at the front gates. He loaded into a Jeep Wrangler. The previous
owners, now long dead, had been kind enough to install a lift kit
and massive wheels. Rhino drove, Vice sat in front, and Duras and
Ice Man took up the back seat.

“The fucking fools! I’ll gut them before this
day is over! I want them alive gents! I want to make them
suffer!”

They charged forward in the Jeep. The air was
hot as it blew through the open windows. The seat fabric was warm.
Duras stared out into the world. The sky was blue with a few
clouds.

He saw them. Sure enough their they were. In the
wide open, hauling the food on their backs. “You would think they’d
have a better escape plan!” Rhino said while he laid on the
accelerator.

They saw them and turned. They dropped the food
and whipped out pistols. Rhino slammed on the breaks and brought
the Jeep to a skidding halt. Duras jumped out and aimed his rifle.
A gun shot pelted the side of the Jeep. He saw one of their knee
caps in his site and pulled the trigger. The guy went down with a
scream.

Rhino blew the brains out of one of the others.
“Fuck! I didn’t mean to kill him!”

“Can’t win em all!” Duras said. Vice took out
the legs of two others and Duras finished off the final one with a
well-placed shot in his lower torso.

“Tie em to the top!” Duras said.

The sun burned hot against his back as he boot
knocked one of them unconscious. The guy fell to the ground with a
lifeless thud. Blood oozed out of his hip. He wore handmade pants.
It reminded Duras of what the outfits Star Trek characters wore
when visiting prewarp societies—medieval, but not anything that
anyone wore during the medieval ages…just something the costume
crew was told to come up with in order to avoid looking like
anything anyone had seen before. The guy's hair was long and dirty.
His chin sharp and his face underfed. Dirt and blood smeared across
his cheeks.

One of the other ones looked like he used to be
fat. He had stretch marks down his neck. Duras was surprised he
made it this far. Most of the fat and out of shape people died
early on. His eyes were closed from where Rhino had knocked him
cold. He wore the same homemade clothing as the other guy. His hair
was chopped short, probably with a knife.

Vice punched out a third. He was skinny as a
rail. His hair was black and filthy. His pants did not fit well
enough around his waist, so a handmade rope was used as belt. It
looked like a poor excuse for clown pants. A long, nasty scar ran
down his face. His chin had a dimple.

“We’ve got company.” Vice said.

Duras looked up and a herd of zombies moved
their way. He took his rifle and aimed. He saw what looked like an
old business suit. A bloody money clip clung to a black leather
belt. He blew his head off.

The next one wore a blood stained yellow sun
dress. She had blond hair. He saw her earrings. The diamonds hadn’t
lost their sparkle. Maybe she was the manager’s wife. He put a
bullet through her skull. Her head exploded and she tumbled to the
ground.

He saw a black man with a blood stained
Rastafarian haircut. His eyes burned white hot and his face had
went from black to a pale gray. His cheeks sunk in like pot holes
and half his chin was missing. Duras pulled the trigger.

He saw a young boy. His shirt said SKATER FOR
LIFE. His face was a grayish green and his eyes burned hot white.
He still wore a black helmet with stickers stuck to it. Duras aimed
for the middle of his face and fired. He went down.

A fat dead man with a Grateful Dead shirt on
came into view. Duras fired into his stomach for the hell of it.
Blood and guts poured out but he kept moving forward. The next shot
removed half his head.

He saw a little girl. Maybe she was five when
she turned. Her dress was torn and bloody. Her blond locks dangled
from a loosened scalp. He'd shot many kids since this world turned
dead. But every time hurt. Every time it was like watching humanity
die all over again. Who would she of been had this not happened?
She would be in school right now. She’d be saying the pledge of
allegiance. She’d be studying basic geometry. He pulled the
trigger.

“You OK boss?” Rhino asked.

He let the tear drop down his chin and fall to
the earth. He raised his rifle and put the final dead man down,
“Let’s get them loaded and get back.”

They did not put up much of a fight as they
loaded their bleeding bodies on the roof. Rhino and Ice Man tied
them down real good with thick nylon rope. As the Jeep drove down
the road, Vice pushed his head out of the window, “The worst is yet
to come boys!” He shouted up to the people strapped to the
roof.

This was all that was left of humanity. The four
of them in this Jeep. The people back at the compound. The people
in wilderness. Who else was out there? What was left? Anything? Did
any other country do better? Where were they headed? What did all
this mean? Questions with no answers. That was all that was left. A
world of decaying corpses walking around eating what was left of
the living. How long did they have before all that roamed was the
dead? Months? Years? Days?

The hot wind whipped through the windows and he
stared out. Nothing. Nothing at all. No wonder. No joy. Only death.
Sweet deathly misery.

“Don’t think so hard.” Said Vice as he reached
back and slapped Duras's knee. Duras forced a slight grin and
turned away.

12

Back at the compound, a large gathering of people
waited at the front entrance. It was a personal D Day welcoming
party. Shouts of victory roared.

It was nearing mid-day. The sun was hot and the
sky was clear. The humidity dripped down Duras's neck. His head
hurt. He forced himself to ignore it.

He helped unstrap the bleeding fools from the
top and hauled them down.

“Crucifix! Crucifix! Crucifix!” the crowd
shouted.

Hatred, pain, and sadness covered their faces.
Bankers, lawyers, and school teachers screamed for the death of
these men. Did they ever believe they would come this far down the
evolutionary ladder? It happened so quickly.

Barney drove up in the Gator with crucifixes
tied to the back. The faces of the prisoners were sullen and
drained. Blood oozed out of their gunshot wounds. The crowd pelted
them with pebbles.

Holes were dug for the crucifixes. Duras took
some large nails from the back of the Gator and a hammer. The first
one screamed bloody hell while Rhino and Ice Man held him down and
Duras hammered the first nail through his wrists. The next two
begged for mercy and forgiveness as the hammer nailed them. The
final one looked Duras in the eye. “You're not Christian. God's
gonna treat you to some serious hell fire!”

“May be. Too bad He can't save you though, uh?”
He said while he drove the nails into him.

They rose up into the sun. Their bodies dripped
with blood. The cries lasted throughout the day, but began
smoldering out as night came. The entire town was out to see the
spectacle. Lawn chairs were brought out. Food was being cooked. It
was a celebration for the lives lost and the redemption brought in
their names.

Duras sat staring at their dying bodies. They
would turn soon and he would finish them off. A warm hand touched
my shoulder then rubbed the back of my neck. “Hard day at work
hun?” Mary Ann said.

“Just another day at the office.”

“The office of the dead.”

“At least I get to work outside now.”

“Comic book store owners didn’t get to work
outside?”

“Not so much.”

“What’s for dinner?”

“I think Barney is cooking some pork.”

“The white meat.”

“That’s whats for dinner.”

“We buried them while you guys were out.”

“I heard.”

“Sarah Ann sang a song.”

“Was it good?”

“Dreadfully appealing. Some Celtic tune she
learned while studying in Ireland.”

“History. Is she still keeping that
journal?”

“Everyday.”

“I’m sure she has painted me as tyrant.”

“Would you have it any other way?”

“Who the hell does she think is going to be
around to read it?”

“I guess it helps her from losing her mind.”

“That and the wine. I can’t count the amount of
dead men and living I have had to kill in order to keep enough wine
for her to drink.”

“Everyone has their sins.”

“What’s yours.”

“You of course. You and your dungeon hideaway I
have to keep up with.”

“Listen.”

“Don’t. I understand.”

“That’s why I love you.”

“Love. Is that a new word?”

“I just made it up. Do you like it?”

“I’ll let you know tomorrow.”

She reached down and kissed the top of my head.
“You would use a bath.”

“Me? I can smell you from here.”

“Hush you. I smell like roses.”

“Dead roses.”

“Everyone is dead.”

“We are all dead, yes.”

“Dead and dying.”

“Cold and alone.”

“Hollow as stone.”

“Is stone hollow?”

“Why not?”

“Sure, why not.”

“Rhyme, meter, and meaning do not matter in the
day of the dead.”

“Fried chicken. I used to love it.”

“Here comes the pork.”

They ate the pork side by side and said nothing
as the night grew older. The stars shined bright and the world was
at ease for a few hours. The prisoners had turned and were growling
for flesh.

Mary Ann grabbed his arm, “Not yet. I want to
watch and listen to them for a while.”

“Getting sentimental are you?”

“The moans of the dead will do that to a
woman.”

“So I hear.”

“I hear God’s hell in their moans. It’s what
awaits us.”

“You know better.”

“Yeah. This is hell. This is hell and heaven
combined.”

“Maybe it will snow this winter.”

“Winter? Aren’t you becoming the optimist?”

“A man has to dream sometimes.”

“Be realistic. May be fall will come.”

“The dying of the leaves, the turning of the
season, nature’s symbolism at work.”

The night moved along and a few clouds blotted
out the stars from time to time. The dead men growled from their
crosses as the moon cast their shadows along the pebbled streets.
The streets were empty now. Everyone was gone. Only him and Mary
Ann now. She held his arm, “Not yet. A little longer. Do you think
they dream?”

“I don’t think they sleep.”

“You don’t have to sleep to dream.”

“Just about flesh.”

“May be more. When there is no flesh
around.”

“Then they just moan and groan in large
groups.”

“What will be here in ten years?”

“Just a lot them.”

“The dead inherit the earth.”

“That’s a fact.”

The night continued to dwindle until the early
sun started to rise.

“I wonder what’s happening in China.”

“A lot of little dead people.”

“Don’t be racist.”

“All the PC squads are dead.”

“I’m still here.”

“I’m sorry. I love you little Asians.”

“And we love you.” She kissed his cheek. “Now
come on, I will help you finish them off.”

Together, we gave them the final death and
carried the bodies to the burning pits. As the sun continued to
rise, the gasoline caught fire with the match I threw in. “What do
you say we go up to my chamber.”

She looked at him, “You know I love it when you
talk medieval”

“It’s time we let the dead rest.”

Chapter Seven: The Incredible Okona and His Comic
Warriors

1

The Lowlands greenery is a vast landscape shadowed
in darkness. Hot fog clings to the trunks of trees. A hot summer
night breeze blows. The stench of death rides the breeze; the death
is always there now; like the lingering smell of a dead rat; the
smell of the dead mixes with fresh flowers, oak, hickory, ash, and
the sweet honey suckle. Okona dreams of better days. Days when the
world wasn’t a ruinous asshole. When he woke every morning to the
sounds of children. The sounds of his wife washing her hands in the
bathroom. Her warm night gown taking shape over her petite body.
Her blonde hair flowing down her back. The way she hooked her hips
to the left as she brushed her slightly coffee stained teeth. The
soft smell of her skin as she rubbed HotMoon lotion over a healthy
body. Her hands bony, but strong, feminine yet assertive. Proud but
always wise. Well… almost always. She had the (eventually fatal)
habit of caring more for others more than for herself. The old, the
young, the disabled, the mentally ill, retarded, and so on. She
lived in a world of volunteerism, where self-sacrifice was the name
of the game. He remembers her. Happy thoughts pity his soul and
darken his nightmares. Sitting under a green canopy, he remembers
her well. The day he met her. She was fourteen, him sixteen. She a
dancer at Miss Prancy’s Dance Studio and him a rich, nerdy kid from
the George Town. The memory isn’t as vivid as he wishes; such are
things when recalling old teen memories. The feeling of seeing her
for the first time. The soft texture of her skin looked surreal to
him. Her dancer abs and her dancer legs, her long blonde hair, blue
eyes, and bright white smile. She was proud of her body. Okona, a
youthful, thin and lanky boy, who wore Abercrombie and Finch like
it was going out of style. He wore the designer clothes in a
awkward kind of way, like they made his skin feel strange. Like he
didn’t quite belong in them. He wore them anyway, because that’s
what everyone else wore and that’s what the girls liked. At least
the hot preppy girls, whom he truly enjoyed seeing in their hot
nighty tighties. And Aquiel was all that and bag of chips. Her
family might have been Jewish, but they were pillars of the coastal
community.