The Age of Zombies: Sergeant Jones (16 page)

He stood face to face with a giant. The same kind of giant that sat before him now on the plane. Lenin still remembered the attacker’s red hair, slack jaw, and black eyes.

The monster had dug his face into the woman’s abdomen, and was ripping shreds of her flesh and guts out with his teeth. The brutal scene shocked the young, bookish Lenin. He was powerless to save her. So instead of coming to the rescue, he just stood there in the dark corner of the garden and watched as the giant consumed the woman’s body. After the attack, the monster ran off into the night, never to be seen again.

The incident left a deep impression on the student’s mind. He gave up the study of literature and instead focussed his energy on archaeology and history. He wanted to explore catacombs and burial grounds for any clue about the monster. Deep down Lenin knew it wasn’t human. He spent his every waking moment studying accounts of giants from all times and places, and the legends that humans recorded of them.

Lenin found that most of the lore involving these giants contained an element of human consumption. The young student was convinced that the cultural phenomenon of zombies was rooted in these myths.

Homer recorded the legend of the Cyclops, who devoured Odysseus’s crew. The Paiutes, a tribe that inhabited the desert southwest, spoke of giant red haired man eaters. The young Lenin read about the unearthing of the Giant of Castelnau in France. The fragments of bone indicated that the creature stood greater than ten feet. Other fragments of legend survived in the fairy tale of Jack and the Beanstalk, the old Hebrew scriptures that spoke of Nephilim and Goliath, and countless other stories from around the world.

Even in modern times, Lenin found the evidence overwhelming. The American frontier was fraught with newspaper reports that claimed giants were buried all over the country. Reports from small town papers to the
New York Times
 were consistent with each other. Giants unearthed by farmers digging into the earth was a common theme. Some were discovered by archaeological expeditions, and the skeletons were passed on to the Smithsonian.

Lenin thoroughly catalogued the evidence of the worldwide phenomenon of giants. He developed a thesis that posited their existence could no longer be ignored. He suggested that a giant race lived side by side with humans, and the two groups had been at odds with each other for millennia. But the academy rejected his proposals. He was laughed out of Cambridge, and made out to be a fringe lunatic by established academics.

Lenin quickly recovered from his dejection. He tossed all his research into a fire pit and booked a one way ticket to New York City. He decided to study business. The most pragmatic human endeavor on the planet. It was in business, he realized, that he’d gain the power to breakthrough and find the truth.

And now here he was, thirty years later, sitting on a decommissioned Soviet passenger plane with these giants. He was close to hearing what their true motivations really were. Every conversation with the Orobu brought Lenin into a greater understanding:

The Orobu were real. They were giants. Their origins were ancient. And they were zombies.

He savored the information. Lenin snapped back to the conversation, as Grantha’s impatience became audible.

“Tell me about yourself,” Grantha said.  

“I went to school in England,” Lenin said. “Soaked up everything English that I could.”

“Makes sense. So anyways,” Grantha said, wanting to get to business. “We have to get to Inner Mongolia within twenty four hours. Is the schedule going to allow that?”

Lenin nodded. “That’s right. We’ve got two aircraft fueled and ready to go once we get to Hawaii. They’ll take us the rest of the way.”

“Don’t suppose we have much time to soak up the sun,” Grantha said.

“Your kind isn’t accustomed to the open beaches,” Lenin said. “What makes you want to go to the beach? You would cause a riot.”

“Foolish human,” Grantha said. “My feet have dug into the sands of nearly every beach on this planet. I am old, very old, fifteen thousand years old. The beaches, the mountains, the deserts, all of it belongs to the Orobu. We are the natural lords of this planet. We established its ancient kingdoms, the stuff of human myth. The Orobu empire was vast. We roamed freely, from continent to continent. Humans, in their once pitiful state, feared us. They offered their sons and daughters up for our appetite and debauch. We were your gods.” Grantha paused and looked out the plane’s window. They were passing over the Rocky Mountains. “I’ve been to many beaches. It’s just been a long time.”

“I respect your race,” Lenin said. “Believe it or not, I really do. I’m fascinated by what you are, and what you mean to the future.”

Grantha was skeptical. He never trusted a human. “Humans and Orobu will never get along,” Grantha said. “But your curiosity is noted.”

Lenin sipped on his cocktail. “Who’s to say we won’t get along? From what I gather, your race has been blessed with unique longevity. You have seen human empires rise and fall, wiped out like sandcastles on the shore. Surely there’s some wisdom in all those years that you’ve tallied.”

Grantha grunted, and took a swig of bourbon. “Wisdom? These thousands of years have taught me to live with carefully, with honor. Humans have the luxury of giving up this life after such a short time. You can bring destruction on your own kind and not live to see its full impact. The Orobu live together in honor, because we don’t have the luxury of dying naturally.”

Lenin contemplated Grantha’s response. There was plenty of truth to it. The human race was, on the whole, incredibly nearsighted in its dealings with each other. But Lenin was more interested in the Orobu themselves; not on any particular insight the Orobu could give about humanity. “And tell me, Grantha. How does that work? You living so long?”

“I see what you’ve done,” Grantha said. “You’ve gotten me to open up. Well, I’ll tell you, because we have become so close in these plane rides of ours.” Grantha took another swig of bourbon. “It’s in us, in our every cell, our DNA,” he said. “I can’t divulge every detail, but I will say this. Our power is derived from another place. Another world. Another race. The Orobu were chosen as, how would you say it, vessels. We were chosen because of our strength and willingness to kill. Back then, we weren’t much different than you. But that was long ago.”

Lenin finished off his gin and tonic. He started to pour another. He scored a golden nugget of information. He didn’t want to pressure Grantha into sharing anything more. But he was still incredibly curious. “Want one?”

Grantha nodded his head yes.

Lenin handed the giant a drink and paced around the spacious cabin. “You command a group of soldiers,” Lenin said. “So you must have some power, some special knowledge that the others don’t have.”

Grantha downed his drink in one gulp. “Not precisely,” he said. “I’m just really into killing. I love ripping up a human body, the sound, the texture. The whole process. My devotion to death is renowned.”

Lenin contemplated those words for a moment. This was the last giant he wanted to cross. At any moment, and for any reason, Grantha could kill him without any regrets. But Lenin didn’t have any fear. At the moment his services were necessary, and thus he had little to worry about. “So your leaders,” Lenin said. “They must be more powerful than you.”

“That’s right,” Grantha said. “There are Orobu with great power. Zoruth, for example. Each Orobu has a special relationship with him. As a human, you wouldn’t be able to understand. Maybe one day, but not now.”

“The supreme leader? Zoruth, right?”

“He is the center of our entire race,” Grantha said. “Never met him. But I feel him. He is the hub of the Orobu.”

“The engine that drives your race,” Lenin said.

“It’s much more than that,” Grantha said. “But these are matters that should not be discussed with a human.”

Lenin had picked up little tidbits here and there of this force that Grantha alluded to. From what he could gather, it was a force that operated unseen, but hand in hand with the biology of the Orobu race. It was an attribute of their DNA, which united the race under one central mind, the mind of Zoruth. Lenin didn’t know anything about the actual mechanics of the force. He knew nothing of its origin or evolution. For all he knew, it could have been a myth.

“I respect your boundaries,” Lenin said. He smoothed out his silky black hair and straightened his tie. He poured himself another glass of gin and tonic, this time with twice the booze, and sat back down across from the giant. “I realize that my role in your race’s operations is one of support, not of intelligence or management. I don’t expect to know what motivates the Orobu. I just want to be along for the ride.”

Grantha withdrew a cigar from his jacket pocket. “Rolled in Havana,” he said. “Fine tobacco.” He walked over to a cabinet and pulled out a butane torch. He sat back down and lit up the cigar. “You are a curious man. I understand that you got into business with Joru Logistics because of your interest in the Orobu. I can appreciate your gumption, and your imagination. The Orobu race isn’t simply a hedonistic bunch of brutes bent on cannibalism. That is what humans wish we were. That is the stuff of zombie books.”

Grantha puffed on his cigar. The end of it was seared, lit up cherry red. “The Orobu are an intimate fixture of human genetic memory,” he said. “With that said, humans project their deep seated, unconscious fear of the Orobu onto themselves. The zombie apocalypse is a way to obscure the fact that the Orobu have lived side by side with your race for thousands of years, and could at any moment take back our natural dominance of this planet.”

“So that’s what this is about,” Lenin said with curiosity. “The Orobu are ready to rise again. At least I’ll be ready for the zombie apocalypse.”

“Let’s hope so,” Grantha said. “You’ve done us many favors.”

Lenin was pleased with himself. He appreciated the compliment. “I’ve fed the Orobu well.”

Grantha ashed his cigar in an elegant glass tray that was shaped like an egg. “In a way, our need for human flesh is a curse. It’s a weakness. We are much stronger than you, and much more cohesive as a society, but we do not possess the individual cunning for innovation that the human race possesses. We admire that, but for a long time now, we were forced onto the sidelines. We watch human power from afar.”

“Human innovation has always been driven towards killing,” Lenin said. “Progress has swept untold millions of lives into the dustbins of forgetting.”

Grantha puffed on his cigar. “That’s right,” he said. “One on one, the Orobu can take on any human. But your race is inventive. You invent strange ways of killing, extending them far beyond the reach of what we do. If I was to interpret the history of the world, I would say that the human race is a much greater threat to itself than the Orobu.” He blew smoke rings towards Lenin. “Maybe humans turning to zombies and destroying civilization isn’t far from the truth of things after all.”

Lenin eyed the giant and thought back to his comment about the changes. “But you kill with such disregard for decency.”

Grantha let out a peal of laughter. Smoke from the cigar clouded his vision. “You’re right,” he said. “And it’s for good reason. I’ll be frank with you, Lenin. Most Orobu walking the earth right now never knew a time when our race was free. They live as slaves to the darkness, hiding from humanity. Yes, we do have power and influence in your elite circles. But we must stay hidden for fear of being spotted by the masses. To put it bluntly, we’re pissed. And we’re ready to be ourselves again.”

“And everything you’re doing now,” Lenin said. “Kidnapping the kids in Kansas, the war in Syria, Iraq, shit, almost every major war in recent history. The Orobu thinks that pitting humanity against each other is going to free your own race?” Lenin poured another drink. “Nevermind. Don’t answer that last question. I know what humans are capable of, especially when it comes to something as strange as yourself.”  

“Who knows what the end result will be,” Grantha said. “I do know that things are changing. The details are fuzzy, but we’ve been mobilized for something. It’s been many centuries since the last time we’ve been summoned like this.”

“And the last time was?” Lenin asked. He was surprised at how open Grantha continued to be with him right now.

“The Mongols didn’t operate alone,” Grantha said. “They were aided by Orobu forces. I mean, we conquered half the world in less than twenty years.”

A light bulb went off in Lenin’s mind. It made perfect sense. The conquest of Genghis Khan was unprecedented. The aid of the Orobu in the endeavors of the Mongols fit perfectly. “Even in Russia, the medieval monks painted the invaders as dog faced giants who escaped from the pits of hell. Red heads, too. Soulless gingers. No offense, of course.”

Grantha laughed. “None taken.”

Lenin was curious what caused the Orobu to lose the gains they had made with the Mongol invasions.

Grantha seemed to have been reading his mind. “There was an intervention,” he said. “Zoruth called off the operation at the height of the conquest. If we would have continued, the world and the human race would’ve been ours. Nobody knows why we were called to stop. Only Zoruth could answer that.”

Lenin was fascinated by the power that Zoruth wielded over his clans. “So this time, the attack is for real. The Orobu won’t be stopping.”

“Like I said, who knows.” Grantha snuffed out his cigar. He took another pull from the bourbon he had opened earlier. He stared into Lenin’s eyes. “I just take orders.”