Humanity's Death: A Zombie Epic (21 page)

“No way!”

“Cut him out!”

And sure enough, his head was missing in all the
family photos on the fridge. He still held the fringe handle. Sweat
now beaded on his forehead and he breathed in fast and hard. He
just knew the worst had happened. The only way this day could go
fucking nuclear. He opened the door.

FUCK!!!!!

FUCK!!!!!

FUCK!!!!!

He stared down at the bottom shelf and they were
gone. He fell to his knees and cried silently to himself. How could
anyone be so cruel?

God hates me
.
It’s the only reasonable explanation. He hates me. She
hates me. The girls hate me. She turned my angels against
me.
I could
go get more. No. She’ll beat me senseless if I try to walk out the
door.

The click clash of her high heels came up behind
him. “Yeah, fuck wad!” She trotted up and leaned in close to his
ear and whispered: “I tossed every last fat cake. All those
chocolatey, cream filled donuts—GONE! HAHAHAHAHA!”

He placed his hands on the cold floor. The smell
of her perfumed filled the entire room and lingered throughout the
house. “Me and Simon are taking the girls to a movie. If you’re
lucky. If you’re GOOD! I might bring you home another creamy
treat.” A bright smile crossed her face as she swirled around, took
the girls, and walked out of his life. He knew what creamy treat
she was talking about and it sure the hell wasn't a donut. Simon
was some asshole that she was giving her legal services to. Some
street hood.

In that moment, sitting on the cold floor, tears
drying against his face, he decided he needed a change; and this
time he was going to go through with it; he'd leave and go live
with his brother. He'd file for divorce and let the cards fall
where they may. One more day of this and he'd have to kill
himself.

But he never saw his wife and daughters
again.

The next day the world as everyone knew it came
to an end. The world of bossy, cuckold wives and spoiled daughters
was replaced with zombies and paranormal mayhem.

6

Tasha's last name was Mayer and there was a time
when her step mother and father tried to set her up with Tommy
Ranger. He’d picked her up in an old rusty 85’ Ranger. His real
name was Tommy Mathews; but he’d spit a wad of tobacco at your feet
if you dared call him anything other than Tommy Ranger. It made her
think of Tommy the Green Ranger from the Power Rangers (the
original by god!), save the fact that Redneck Tommy (as she so
fondly enjoyed saying around her POS step dad). Tommy was was as
ugly as a dried plum on a hot summer’s eve roasting away on
scolding concrete, stepped on by little kids, and carried off only
to peel off and fall into the dark and dank sewers.

He was ugly, that’s the point.

She’d never seen him as uglier than on a hot
Saturday in August; right before her senior year was starting. It
was the third date and she wore a funeral black dress with shiny
black shoes, blindingly polished. Dove white stockings ran up her
petite, athletic legs and her hair was pulled back in a skin
tightening pink hair bow. The bow glowed under the sun like a pink
emerald. Moments before, actually two hours and thirty-three
minutes before, she’d sat down in gaming chair and turned her
attention to Left 4 Dead 2. She logged into the Steam servers. It
was in those moments and those moments only, that she found peace,
a sanctuary of fictionalized mayhem. Here she killed, maimed, and
slayed. She found true peace and happiness while playing the role
of Coach, killing her way through the rush of zombies. “Front!
FRONT! Hunter! 12 OCLOCK!”

“I see em! We got it! We got it!”

“Smoker up top!”

“
Oh shit!
Here they come!” The ominous scream of zombies rushed into her
headphones and she and her team took formation, watching each
angle. Nobody was gonna touch her teammates, her
friends
. Novy,
RandyJackson, DETECTIVEJOHNKIMBLE, and of course: FOULSLUT. While
killing as FOULSLUT nothing could stop her. They played advanced
team matches. And if you know anything about the Left for Dead
franchise—advanced team matches are not for weak and cowardly
gamer; its a testing ground for those that wanted to prove just how
premium bad ass they really were.

No cold lockers at school. No shitty rich kids.
No snot nosed prissy whores to deal with.

“Bitches.” She spoke after the match, “Just
dirty whores.”

“Don’t let em bother ya!” DETECTIVEJOHNKIMBLE
said in a thick southern accent. The all caps were on purpose.
“Life’s a dance, ya learn as ya go. What do ya say we finish up
with a round of Survival?”

“OK. I’ve got one more then I’m out.” She
said.

“Prolly means at least two more.”

“No, I’ve an appointment with my destiny. At
least my parent’s version.”

“Yo! You gotta mop that shit! Finish the floor
with his face!” Said RandyJackson. Yes, that Randy Jackson; the
famous consumer of that doo doo weed; though on this particular day
Andrew was not over to enjoy it with him; and though Tasha new
Randy lived close by, they'd never actual thought it was necessary
to meet in person.

“I know.”

“GODDMAN! Fuck, yo! I hate when girls be frontin
with rednecks! Uh! Uh! Uh!” He mocked the southern accent then
blurted, “but yeah, you better drop that fool. You know yous my
wife.”

“No way cowboy! She’s ridin back into my
stable.” DECTECTIVEJOHNKIMBLE said.

“Oh Jeez le weez… boys… I’m totally not worth
it.”

“Shit! You da bomb!”

“My heart jiggles every time you speak.”
DECTECTIVEJOHNKIMBLE said.

“Jiggles?! WTF, YO! Retarded hillybilly!”

The only sound that came back over the speaker
was harsh coughs, caused by a bong rip of some of that doo doo
weed. Then, “FUCK YEAH, LETS DO IT! SURVINAL BITCHES!”

And, as always, Novy was silent and mostly
ignored. Most of the time, they forgot she was even there. All that
mattered was that she kicked some serious ass once the game
started.

Tasha sat staring at screen as the next map
slowly loaded. She took off her head phones and let them fall over
the back of her neck. She reached over and took a glass of
three-hour old Mountain Dew and drank it in gulps. The green liquid
streamed down her gullet and filled her stomach with the sweet
nectar of gamers: caffeine.

The doorbell
rang. She looked at her watch. Grim agony clutched her soul. She’d
forgotten all about Redneck Ranger. He was right on time. She
groaned loudly and rose from her chair like a dead girl standing.
Downstairs, the sound of Riker Mayer (
oh, THIS is my beloved stepdaddy, I’m
pretty sure he wants to fuck me!
) opening the door and greeting his chosen man with a firm
handshake and a stupid joke (
you know what a probate is? A professional
masturbator! HA! HA! HA!
).

Not this
time. This time the animated redneck, with spittle flying into
Redneck Ranger’s face, said: “Gonna make me proud son?” He spoke
with eloquent perversity. The Redneck Ranger had looked shyly at
the floor for a moment, cheeks glowing red. “Oh hell boy! I’m just
fuckin with ya!” Riker moved in close. “But just in case...” He
strangely and erotically forced a Trojan condom into Redneck
Ranger’s tight jean pocket. The younger boy forced himself to let
the man shove the condone deep, with two fingers. Then felt the
fingers slip out. The boy looked more than embarrassed; he was red
as roses. Redneck Ranger shivered while Tonya watched. She wondered
to herself:
Gay. Oh yes. Which one is gayer? Step dad.

She
reconsidered:
may be a tie
.

She walked
over to the upstairs bannister and shouted in a modest and
temperate tone, “I’’ll be down in just a minute Tommy.” She heard
Riker crack another joke before erupting in caricature like
laughter, probably overcompensating for a lack of
something
. She’d
monitored his pornography use regularly. The old man loved, well,
HER. At least if the only qualifier is a cute, petite body, aged
18. She’d thought about turning him in; but the porn wasn’t
illegal; only perverted and he’d never laid a hand on her, only his
glaring eyes. Like the way he’d watch her while she went for a
glass of milk only in her towel. She could feel his dark and hard
eyes examining her, wanting to shred of her virginity. He never
touched her though.

The knowledge of a forty-five-year-old man
wanking while fantasizing over her dripping wet, freshly showered
body—kinda gave her the creeps. Better to monitor and feel puky,
then not know what those crazy old man eyes viewed every night at
ten o clock after her mother had gone to bed.

7

Gun blasts and what sounded like artillery shells
snapped Tasha and the rest of the Comic Warriors out of whatever
day dream slumber they were in. They immediately grabbed their
weapons and armed themselves. The sounds were coming from a little
way off. Somewhere in the dark trees a war had started.

Chapter Eight: Militia Interference

1

If Duras knew that a blood thirsty militia was
planning on cutting him down after he left the safety of his city;
he may have thought hard and long about not chasing after revenge.
But ever since Okona first stepped into his life, Tommy “Duras”
Morrow had wanted nothing more than to kill the guy. His sleek bald
head, his narrow, intelligent eyes, his youthful smugness
infuriated Duras.

Now, loading
the Humvees up with ammo, he had a moment of hesitation. A
feeling
. It only
lasted a moment; but in that moment, Duras felt like he was
stepping into a gulf that would swallow him and all that he loved.
He shrugged the feeling away and focused on the job at hand. He
knew where Okona was laid up. High in those fucking trees just
waiting to be burned out. The old hate resurfaced and the thought
of Okona's burning, charred corpse brought a delightful smile to
his face. He was going to clean the past and create a new future. A
future without bald and arrogant assholes. And who knew? After he
finished today's task; he might just marry Mary Jane. He'd though
about it quite a lot. More than he'd ever tell his men, that's for
sure. His wife was dead and was never returning. And he loved Mary
Jane. He thought it a bit pretentious to have an apocalyptic
wedding. On the other hand, why should romance die? Just because
the dead walked and ghosts roamed? He'd even found a diamond to
give her during a food run. It was in a Zale's jeweler store.
They'd raided the Waccamaw Mall and came away with a nice load of
dried food goods from the food court. Raiding malls proved
dangerous business these days, since so many of the walkers seemed
to congregate at them—drawn there by some lingering instinct from
the Old World.

Duras pushed the memories out of his mind and
focused on the current moment. “Lite the fires boys! Lets bring em
hell!” Duras stood, one foot standing outside the Humvee, the door
angled open. They'd driven up to the edge of the wilderness. The
sun was lowering and darkness began to shroud them in ghostly
shadow. The tree line stood tall and crookedly ominous, like giants
threatening to pounce. They charged into the woods head strong,
moving swiftly yet stealthily. Duras led from the front. He wanted
to taste Okona's blood. He'd wanted this moment since the first
time the bald bastard showed up in his parking lot. Make em pay
with blood. On his left ran Vice, armed with gasoline soaked arrows
(minus the sparklers). On his right was Rhino and Ice Man, armed
with automatic pistols on either hip.

In another group, many of his other men moved
like black shadows. The City of God was left undefended.

The night grew dark as they moved through the
trees, getting closer to the wooden fortress. The ground was soft
from the long heat of day, but the air was cooling around them as a
storm front approached. The trees caste night's darkness around
them like a nightmare. The wind whipped around them and blew their
unkempt hair. Hoots and howls came from all directions, dark voices
in the night echoing malcontent and hatred. The wind now came from
all directions, a screaming hell.

“Not far! The gates are close. Take up position.
Vice! Lite em up!”

Before Vice could soar his first burning arrow,
the Militia's artillery shells turned the world around them into a
thunderous hell. Most of the other group of men were turned into
hamburger in the first volley. Their shrieks unheard over the
falling shells.

Then the zombies came in full force. A tidal
wave of death. Another volley of artillery shells crashed into a
large oak near Duras. A thunderous roaring of branches came pouring
down.

A massive, burning branch fell on top of Duras,
trapping him under flaming wood. His mind went blank as he lost
consciousness.

2

Okona heard the sounds of the artillery blasting in
the distance, but his attention was lost, caught in a dream state.
He stared at his wife's painting like a magnet glued his mind to
it. Something was moving in the painting. He didn't believe it at
first, but as he stepped closer, he saw it more clearly. It wasn't
something, it was someone. Someone moving in the painting. His
heart beat hard against his chest. Somewhere behind him, Tasha
yelled his name. She sounded a million miles away.

What is moving in the painting? How can this be?
He stepped directly up to it and stared hard.

Can't be. No. My dear god.

3

Vice, Rhino, and Ice Man moved with speed. They
felled the dead beasts one by one. They fought side by side, back
to back, and killed their way to Duras.