Lady Judith Jane Geronimo glided up the staircase, ignoring the claustrophobic press of the metal around her and the gallop of her pulse.  Eyes half-closed, she made a game of her worries, as she always did, part of method acting.  She imagined the announcer’s baritone, Voicing Over the soap opera’s opening teaser.

“Today, the role of Constance Carrington is being played by J. J. Geronimo.”

Of course, the soaps were a thing of the past, a dead medium that had sadly taped its final episode in the city of New York well before the current crisis of this new world’s daytime drama.

The announcer in her head added, “Give me your tired, your poor, your huddled masses.  Your hungry—”

“Shut up,” Lady Judith said out loud.

The man moving up the staircase’s tightening throat ahead of her answered, “I didn’t say anything,” over his shoulder.

“I wasn’t talking to you, my Prince,” she said before drawing in a deep breath.  The soap announcer’s voice crackled out, partially driven to silence by a lapse in continuity—that bit about the hungry wasn’t part of the Emma Lazarus poem inscribed on the bronze plaque stories below their present location.  Either way, she had no intention of becoming part of anyone’s dinner plans, yesterday, today, or tomorrow.

Joel Flanders moved into position beside one of the spotters—Lath, a former military associate of the Prince.  Lady Judith still hadn’t learned whether or not the Prince and Lath had actually served time together before the world got cancelled like all of the New York soaps, or if they and the other men and women serving under her authority naturally built that level of trust with one another, like a game of pick-up hoops or softball that instantly bonds the players.  They were serving together now, post-Cancellation; that was what mattered, Lady Judith acknowledged in silence.

“What do we have?” the Prince asked, his voice gruff, direct.

“There’s a body out there, coming in from the direction of Manhattan,” Lath said.  “Eleven o’clock.”

The Prince raised his binoculars.  His muscular arm flexed, and the length of tattoo in tribute to his former Marine unit poked out of the short sleeve of his black T-shirt, the image magnificent.  Lady Judith did her best to ignore the rush of arousal that pulsed through her in counterpoint to her building anxiety as one more crisis was set to play out.  She stole a desperate breath.  Joel’s sweat, fresh and piney thanks to the fast hike up the Colossus’s inner staircase, ignited in her senses, further attempting to distract her.  Lady Judith’s gaze briefly wandered, taking in the Prince’s dark cowlicks, the prickle of five o’clock scruff on his chin, cheeks, and throat at just after eight on a sunny September morning, that amazing male body.  The parts of her that were still, technically, of the masculine gender tingled, as did those transformed to female before the Big Cancellation nullified her chance to change genders fully.

“Dead?” Judith asked.

The Prince shook his head.  “Worse, J.  After-dead.”

An icy chill rippled through Lady Judith’s insides, cooling both halves of the transgendered actress who’d once aspired to do soaps, but had gone only as far as a club act long blocks from Broadway before one massive cast purge and a global falling curtain had led to the biggest gig of her career.  “You know what to do,” she said.

“I’m on it,” the Prince said, and thumbed his radio.  “Starship One, you have authority.  Repeat, Starship One…”

######

The body, what was left of it, turned over on a whitecap.  Hissing, it rolled its eyes toward the distant shore of Liberty Island.  A hum built in the air, a sound from another time.  The body’s hunger surged and it tipped its rheumy gaze toward what its primitive brain translated as sustenance.

One of the six patrol gunboats in their fleet pulled free of its orbit around Liberty Island and streaked across the harbor’s gray water.  A single thunderclap erupted, the gunman’s aim perfect.  The head of the after-dead came apart from the nose on up, fully dead once more, the threat ended.

######

There were days that she swore she could hear the howls of the millions of after-dead in Manhattan, and the millions more in Jersey City, carrying across the water.  Other sounds like sirens, explosions, and the fires that had taken down several landmarks directly following the Cancellation had gone silent, but the chorus of after-dead voices haunted her days as well as her nights, an undercurrent from an unwanted audience vibrating on the wind.  Up this high in the crown of the Stature of Liberty, the dark melody again stung at her ears.

“Do you hear that?” she asked the Prince.

“Hear what?”

Lady Judith blinked.  “I thought…never mind.”

Joel placed a hand on her arm, squeezed firmly, just enough to verge on painful.  Those hands certainly were capable of it.  Instead, they grounded her to the tangible, to a small corner of the world where hearts still beat and lungs breathed air and several hundred living souls prevailed across some forty-three acres between two islands.

######

“We can’t risk them getting so close, J,” he said, her V.P. as it were, her handsome Prince.  “If our food source gets contaminated—”

“I know,” Lady Judith said.  She didn’t voice that she was sick of fish, no matter how many ways the cooks baked, fried, or tried to disguise it under fresh herbs.

Joel drew in a deep breath and then just as deeply let it sail.  “I’m going to recommend we suspend the search and rescue part of your plan.”

Lady Judith forced her gaze away from the panorama visible through the viewing gaps in the coronal crown’s spokes to Joel’s somber expression.

“It’s been weeks.”

Lady Judith nodded.  “Fifty-one days as of today since we rescued anyone alive.  I know.  I’ve counted.”

In a lower voice, Joel added, “We should conserve our resources for defense and gathering supplies.”

Lady Judith’s mind attempted to wander.  “Next spring,” the announcer spoke only to her, “we’ll farm Governor’s Island, too.  After disposing of any after-deads.  Probably infested with artistic types over there.  Perhaps you’ll know one or more of them.”

She willed the inner monologue to hush.  Her Prince was right.  He always was.

“It’s your call.  I trust your judgment.”

Joel nodded and pocketed his shades while addressing the spotters.  “Let’s be sure that swimmer was traveling alone.”

On his way past her, the Prince patted her ass, unnoticed by all save Judith.  A small but powerful act, his touch vanquished the madness brewing within her skull.  Mostly.

######

Going mad.

Lady Judith had worried she would lose her mind and degenerate and give in and collapse before the first winter snow fell, and, surely, there would be winter white in New York. This was a year for storms.  Big ones.  Real shit-kickers.  There had been plenty of lesser, quieter storms raging, too—like the one Lady Judith battled daily, sure that it, like the Cancellation, was going to overwhelm her world and, worse, be her undoing.

Getting onto the right dose of the right medication with her hormones out of whack had been trying enough.  The psych prescription that worked had been expensive even with insurance—there hadn’t been a generic option.  You couldn’t just waltz into any corner pharmacy in the process of being looted—or worse—and walk out with a lifetime supply.

She’d let it go.  Mind over matter.  If Lady Judith heard voices, well…it was just lines of script being run through in her head, she decided.  She took comfort in knowing that most of the 700-plus residents packed onto Liberty and Ellis Islands had gone a little mad as well, given what they had survived, given the cancellation of civilization and the reality of reruns delivered by after-death.  The dead woke up hungry.  A shit storm, indeed.

Mercifully, she had met her Prince, Joel.  Joel was, for the most part, all the medication she needed to stay focused, to stay sane.

She knocked back a glass of water and two aspirin from her own private supply.  A luxury, true, but one she agreed would benefit her in terms of doing her job.  If she was in the best shape possible, the islands would be as well.

Lady Judith fixed her lipstick—another luxury, but a necessary one—and glided out of her makeshift command center housed within the walls of the former Fort Wood at the pedestal beneath the statue.  It was time to play her role, act in the daily performance of reassuring her audience that all would be okay.  She hoped it was a good day and a great performance.

“Break a leg,” she whispered on her way out to tour the islands.

######

Their small fishing fleet bobbed on the whitecaps, what seemed a thousand miles away.  A pair of the former Homeland Security gunboats watched over the fishermen—the nets had, twice to date, brought up the bloated, reaching corpses of after-dead in their haul.

Judith and Joel strolled down to the pier.  She grabbed a handful of coins from the pink plastic beach bucket hanging on the nearest view scope and aimed the lens toward Manhattan.  As expected, the city’s streets crawled with herds of after-dead; millions, she imagined, undulating in search of live food.  Despite the warmth spilling down from a cloudless sky the color of comfortable denim, Lady Judith shivered.

The chill tumbled, drawing her back again to that day on the ferry.

######

The ferry.

They’d packed her in, along with a few hundred other refugees.  Out of the city.  To Connecticut.  Only Connecticut, like New Jersey, had closed its borders and the updates crackling across the Harbor Patrol cop’s radio said that any attempt to cross the Long Island Sound would be met with appropriate measures.  Blasted out of the water, in other words.

And so they waited, and the air grew so dense and heavy Judith couldn’t breathe.  Scared old ladies.  Kids.  A troop of young males with pants belted halfway down their butts and showing an acre of underwear.  Among them, a six-foot-tall black drag queen dressed tastefully in red leather trench and high heels, her lips looking sharp in her trademark shade of pomegranate, her favorite boots running up to her thighs.

She caught one of the street dudes staring and said, “Put your peepers back in your head—and keep those eyes peeled for anything out there that looks like a slimy network executive!”

“Say what?”

“Reeks of low tide, hungry for human flesh, fool!”

The old lady on the bench beside her began to sob.  Lady Judith wanted to, had wept plenty, in fact, since the Cancellation was first announced in Asia and began sweeping outward in vast concentric circles, making TV channels and whole countries go dark.  She didn’t give in, however; Lady Judith had kept her head level dating back to a time long before the current pestilence.  She’d project her tears onto her fellow cast through this tense scene, let others weep for her, only…

“Don’t worry, Ma’am,” she said, placing a manicured hand onto the woman’s shoulder.  “I bet we’ll be underway in no time.”

The old woman’s sad blue eyes met Lady Judith’s.  “They wouldn’t let me bring Mindy.”

“Mindy?”

“She’s still out there on the pier.  What’s going to happen to her?”

Mindy, Lady Judith saw, was not alone on that length of grubby dock.  Stacked a dozen deep were cat carriers and several birdcages.  A big mutt with floppy ears was tied to a post.  Lady Judith’s eyes widened.

“You,” she snapped at her admirer.  “And your homeboys.  Follow me.”

She pushed through the bodies standing about, stuck in a ferry with no safe destination charted.  A dozen steps later, she realized that none of the young Saggers had followed.

“Hey,” she snapped and clapped her hands together.  The burst of thunder silenced every conversation, even stemmed tears.  “You deaf as well as rude?  I said come on.”

The homeboys followed her out of the passenger section and onto the deck, where they fell under the sites of a dozen drawn weapons.

“Return to your seats,” shouted some giant macho-asshole in full riot gear and helmet.

Lady Judith folded her arms.  “What kind of red tape administrative bullshit is this?  No, not until you let us collect the rest of our peeps.”  She tipped her tweezed chin at the pets doomed to remain on the pier.

“Your peeps aren’t allowed on board, now get your asses back in there!”

Judith narrowed her eyes and shifted her neck from side to side.  “We’re not leaving without Mindy and the rest of the meow-meows and woof-woofs and tweet-tweets, tough guy.”

The Asshole retrained his rifle, a lethal-looking dealer of death.  Lady Judith’s resolve threatened to crumble; it was aimed at her chest.  In a disconnected manner, she heard the homeboys gasp.  One of the armed soldiers standing on the gantry swore.

“Sarge,” the soldier said.

Lady Judith wanted to look, the other man’s deep voice that alluring.  So, too, was his image, looming large at the corner of her eye.  But she dared not blink.

“We’re taking the old ladies’ kitty cats,” she growled.

“The only thing you’re taking, freak, is an early exit.”

The certainty that he was going to kill her rose cold in the grayness of that ugly morning.  The world had been cancelled; the after-death of syndication rose louder behind them, somewhere just beyond the pier.  Gunshots and howls and sirens rose sharply in the breathless moment that would determine whether or not the star of a drag cabaret lived or died.

“Lath,” the other soldier barked, this time louder.  “Lower your weapon!”

The Asshole didn’t, not until the man with the voice pressed the muzzle of his drawn Glock against her would-be killer’s temple.

“Flanders, what the fuck-?”

“Do it,” he said, not to the asshole sergeant but to Lady Judith.  “Collect your pets.  But make it fast.  We’re all about to get seriously fucked, according to the chatter.”

Lady Judith forced her eyes out of their rigor and blinked.  She glanced to the left, to him.  The man in uniform—Harbor Patrol, she saw—was, hands down, the handsomest she’d ever laid eyes upon.  Tall, with dark hair, classic good looks, a day or so worth of stubble, eyes as green as emeralds.  Heavenly distraction.

She woke from the trance and ignored her racing heart before it could distract her further.  “Come on, boys.”

This time, the homeboys hot-footed behind her without needing to be prodded.  They hurried onto the pier, driven to action by the after-death dirge moving closer and the sad mewls and scared chirps and a lone mutt’s whimpers.  A tabby with a patch of caramel color over one eye poked her face at the carrier’s door.

“You must be Mindy,” Lady Judith said.

She grabbed the pet carrier and another, cursing when one of her nails chipped.  Her new friends made fast work of collecting the other pets.  Lady Judith marched back up to the ferry, her heels tattooing a sharp staccato on the gangway.  “Thanks, my Prince,” she said to the handsome soldier.  “Now what?”

No one answered.  Lady Judith waited, shook her head, resumed her course back into the cramped passenger section, where cheers and applause broke out.

Lady Judith set down the cat carriers, then raised both hands, calling for silence.  “Listen up, people.  We have to boogie.  Connecticut don’t want us, nor does Jersey.  But I ain’t no Jersey Girl, never was, and I’ve only been through Connecticut on my way home here.  I’m a native New Yorker.”

More cheers.  The last of the pets arrived, including the mutt, its leash held in her Prince’s free hand.  “We can’t stay here.  Those things just powered past the blockade.”

Lady Judith Jane Geronimo straightened.  She was no longer part of the supporting cast.  No under-five lines.  No backup player.  Show time.

“Prince, tell your men to stow their weapons and hustle their butts aboard, then order the pilot and crew to take us out.  We’re going.”

“Going where?”

“The only place in New York we can.  The last place that’s safe.”

“And just who put you in charge?” another voice chimed in, the Asshole’s.

“She did,” Lady Judith said, and aimed her finger with its chipped nail in the direction of the harbor.

Untimed minutes later, the woman’s colossal head gazed down, welcoming them to the island.

“This is still America, and there are still rules, still liberty,” Lady Judith said to the Asshole.  “Try to remember that.”

######

She ended her trip to the past and faced Joel.  “What did you say?”

The Prince absently adjusted his crotch.  “A shark.  The Dorian Lord just called it in.  A great white, according to her skipper.”

A colony of seals had taken up residence on Governor’s Island where, in the spring, they planned to plant and expand their food supply.  “I’m not surprised.”

At Hotel Ellis—the former Immigration Museum—she fielded complaints, the usual like lack of space and privacy, and one unexpected.

“This place is haunted,” a young Latina named Vera said.  “I swear I saw a ghost.”

######

He lay beside her, one bare leg and big foot hanging out of the blanket.  The gentle sough of the Prince’s breaths post-coitus steadied Lady Judith’s pulse.  She inhaled.  Joel’s scent, male and raw, and hers, exotic from her favorite brand of perfume, blended together, becoming something bewitching.  Energy crackled through her blood.  Smiling, she set a hand on her Prince’s hairy outer thigh.

“What?” he asked, flashing a sleepy grin.

“The dumbest thought.  If the Big Show hadn’t been cancelled, we never would have had this chance to star together in the sequel and attend the after-party.”

The Prince snorted a laugh, even that sound attractive on him.  “You mean that if the world hadn’t gone to Hell, we never would have met.”

“That’s what I said.”

“More or less, Lady J.”

Their eyes connected in the flickering candlelight.  Lady Judith fell into the gravitational pull of Joel’s emerald gemstone gaze.  “The world could be in worse hands.”

“You’re a fine leading lady, J—the finest.”

The Prince took her free hand in his and kissed the palm.  Then he repositioned her fingers from his leg to another destination on his body higher up, and they again made something like love.

And the madness that pursued her, a different but no less dangerous enemy than the things wandering the streets of the dead city, retreated another step, for now.

######

There had been half a dozen infected after-deads on the island, but in the rain of that long ago morning, they hadn’t seen them from the dock.  Mad with hunger, two came strolling out of the mist, alerted to the sound of voices.  The pop and clatter of bullets masked the approach of the others as Lady Judith, the Prince, the Asshole, and two of the military men swept the Statue of Liberty’s pedestal.

“We’ll need to burn those bodies,” the Prince said.

Four other after-deads spilled down from the pedestal.  One slammed onto the Asshole, sending him sprawling across the grass, which had gone wild and weedy over the preceding weeks.  Another landed directly behind the Prince.  Terror surged through Lady Judith’s veins, icy and paralyzing.  But she willed it to the periphery and, in one fluid motion, she launched a kick into the dead man’s gut, driving him into Joel’s gun site.  Wasting no time, she retrieved the Asshole’s fallen rifle and pumped off a single shot.  The head of the Asshole’s attacker came apart.  More gunfire erupted.  Thunder echoed across the island.

“Thanks,” the Asshole said.

The Prince exhaled loudly, his emerald eyes narrowed, intense, but also seeing her fully.  “Where’d you learn moves like that?”

“I took a citizen’s police academy class for a role on a soap opera,” she said.  “I didn’t get it.  They cancelled the soap, and then they cancelled the world.”

“It’s a new world now,” the Prince said.  “A new show.  And it looks like you’ve done plenty of training to lead it.  Now, let’s do this by the book.  No more ugly surprises.”

Joel and the men fanned out.  When it had been confirmed safe, 311 men, women, children, cats, canaries, and one big brown mutt walked off the ferry and onto the soil of their new home.

######

The ratings had dropped.  There were rumors of new writers coming in—shake ups in the creative staff were never a good sign, because in order to put their stamp, their egos on a series, new writers normally began by getting rid of established characters and bringing in new ones.  Comings and goings.  Especially, during sweeps weeks.  A wedding leads to a murder, a funeral, an investigation, a courtroom drama.

The soaps were gone, though.  They’d followed the radio drama, the Western, the detective shows, and the hour-long family variety genres to the grave.  All that remained was Reality TV, a mindless, violent programming schedule of ugliness populated by D-listers.  No, Z-listers.  After-deads.  TV was a dead medium now, like the radio, the Eight-track tape player, the cassette, the record player, the VCR.

Lady Judith jolted awake, sure there was something malevolent in the room with them.  It stood in the dark corner beyond her Prince’s side of the bed, lurking against a section of wall lit by September moonlight; a thing with teeth, claws, and eyes that glowed as red as the night fires they often saw burning far across the water when something exploded and buildings caught fire.

It was coming for her.

“No,” Lady Judith gasped.  She closed her eyes, channeled mind to overcome matter, listened to the voices.

“Today in the role of Leader of the Living World, it’s Constance Carrington,” the announcer cut in.  “Constance Carrington in the role of Lady Judith Jane Geronimo, in the role once played by Jerrel Claxton, a poor girl born in a boy’s body right here in the Big Apple!”

Lady Judith pinched her eyes.  A pair of thick tears emerged, too clotted to fall on their own.  She instead wiped them away.

“Lady Jerrel, in the role of Constance Claxton.  Only what she did with the Handsome Prince of the Islands in today’s episode was anything but ladylike…”

She choked down a heavy swallow, tasting the proof of sex with Prince Joel.  Aspirin would help her headache, but only those elusive psych meds were strong enough to sufficiently vanquish the demons—silver bullets, mustard seeds, and cruciform all contained within one pretty pale tablet.

Lady Judith swore and shook her head.  The horror standing in the room evaporated, slinking back into the shadows and moonlight that had created it.

######

“I’m coming with you,” Lady Judith said.

The Prince dug in his soles.  She was past him by several feet before she realized he’d stopped advancing.  Judith did an about-face.

“I am.”

Fixing her with a stare that was as angry as it was attractive, the Prince bridged half the distance.  “We can handle it.”

“I know you can.”

“Then stay here, where you’re needed, J.  We can’t risk losing you.  If not for you…”

He didn’t finish the sentence, and didn’t need to.  Every day, she and the Prince toured Liberty and Ellis Islands, and saw the scope of the operation that had sprung up in so short a time: a fishing fleet, livestock brought over from farms in New Jersey, thriving patchwork gardens, kids playing in the sunlight, sweet old ladies with their cats.  A tall, seemingly fearless lady looked after them all.

She didn’t tell him about the other monster stalking her.

“Judith,” the Prince said, bringing her out of the fog and back to the moment.  He only rarely referred to her by her full first name.  She was always ‘J’ or ‘Lady J’—and other names, private ones, in the bedroom.  He seized hold of her wrist.  Their eyes locked.

“I’m going,” Lady Judith said.

“J…”

What she wanted to say was that in killing the physical threat moving ever nearer, she hoped the mental one would follow suit.  But the words died on her tongue.

Lady Judith Jane Geronimo accepted a semi-automatic from the man who’d once been an Asshole and now was simply Lath, and boarded the gunboat.

######

“We spotted them an hour ago, swarming over the docks.  Thousands of them,” the Prince said.  “And then, for no clear reason, they started diving in.”

Lady Judith checked her weapon.  “Well, then, let’s hope we brought along enough bullets.”

She gazed up at the fractured skyline of a city that had inspired her from an early age in a time when she was someone else, a different person entirely.  But wasn’t that the nature of being a true actor?  Being able to perform as other people, other characters, even other genders?  When Granny Louise and Aunt Netta and the ladies from the neighborhood gathered around the TV in the afternoon to watch their soaps, when there were soaps, that younger version of Lady Judith had vowed one day to be on them.

“You’ll see me on TV,” she—he—had pledged.

Aunt Netta was gone, Granny Louise years before her.  The soaps were gone, too.  The world had been cancelled.

It was a new show now, with a good cast of players on the islands, people and their pets who depended upon her and Judith’s handsome Prince, her wonderful Prince, who loved her in equal doses of the pure and filthy.

“Thousands of them, diving into the drink!” someone said.

“That one we nailed…it was a scout,” the Prince said.  He raised his binoculars and trained them on the distant waves.  “Fuckers know we’re out here and are trying to reach our islands.”

“That ain’t gonna happen,” Lady Judith said.

“Thank God or whatever’s up there that those stinking, dead fucks float.”  This, from the former Asshole.

“There’s something at port, maybe a hundred feet ahead,” said Prince Joel.

The gunboats were moving so quickly that they reached the target a second or two after Joel’s declaration.  The body was enormous, gray-skinned.

“Shark,” Lady Judith said.

She recognized the great white’s fin, and one other telling fact as they rocketed past, headed to face the real threat to the islands—the monstrosities driven so insane with hunger in their after-death that they’d swarmed into the sea.  For an instant, their eyes crossed glances, and Lady Judith was certain the shark’s wasn’t black but milky-white, that of a dead fish.

If the after-dead had been trying to swim across New York Harbor, and the sharks chasing after sea lions had eaten of their diseased flesh…

“Prince Joel,” she started.

But another, louder voice in the gunboat proclaimed, “There they are.  Christ, look how many there are!”

Lady Judith took aim and fired.

 

END.

by Gregory L. Norris

www.gregorylnorris.blogspot.com

“I’m sorry Donovan,”
I knew she was. I could see it in her eyes, even as mine were finishing their necrotic glaze, I could still see her sorrow. I shambled a little closer, and leaned my head onto the point of her revolver. I couldn’t speak; I couldn’t tell her how much I had realized she meant to me. I was too far gone, my vocal chords were shot, but I hoped my gesture told her everything, everything I had realized too late to matter.

 

It had been a rough mission, we’d lost two men. The new guy hadn’t been out from the walls in almost six months, and I’m not sure how he ever survived outside in the first place. He panicked, broke formation, opening a hole and Cedric got bit because of it.

Once we’d finished the mission, I put him down myself, hardest thing I’ve done in a while. I waited as long as I could. Doc says we basically have  24 hours after we reanimate before we become full on flesh eaters. Cedric was getting sicker by the hour, and would have died any minute. So I looked him in the eyes and pulled the trigger. The least I could do was look him in the eyes. We’d almost been friends.

We lost number 22 a few days later. You have to be on patrol for three months of outside time before I even wanted to know your name. It’s easier that way, easier to put the nobodies down when they get bit, easier to insulate myself. 22 was grabbed by one of the sealed ones.

A few weeks into the chaos some general somewhere decided to start catching zombies, and sealing them in wax, metal, and shellac. They never decomposed, and with a little armor they were perfect infantry. They were completely expendable, and harder than hell to kill. Probably was a great strategy for taking shit from other people, but now five years in, the generals are all gone and those of us that are left have to deal with the sealed ones. 22 had walked away from the dune buggy to take a leak, and we think it bit his dick off. We can’t be sure, we heard him scream, and then two shots, one into the dead’s head and the other into his own. I made the newbie grab his gear, and burn him. You had to burn your dead outside of New Hope’s walls. If not then the zombies, or the scavengers, or the cannibals would dig ‘em up, and well that just ain’t right.

“Four score and seven years a go,” the voice recorder said as honest Abe reached from his chain to try and grab number 12.

“Why do you always stare at this one sarge,” 12 asked me.

“I just find him funny. What’s not to find funny, honest Abe a fucking flesh eater. He freed the slaves and here he is chained putting on a show. It’s ironic 12 and funny, not much else is anymore.”

“I dunno, maybe, but I can’t get past Colonel Tom’s voice on the recorder.”

“That makes it funnier, and besides at least the Colonel is trying to brighten up things.”

“Zombie go go dancers behind bulletproof glass and celebrity zombies chained to the wall isn’t what I’d call cheery.”

I looked around the Zombie A Go Go for a second. There were four dancers on stage. Dancers, well that’s what the Colonel called them. They mostly just swayed in time with the music, “Psycho” by the Sonics, I thought. Every so often a drunk would get too close to the glass and they’d try to break loose and get some, but the chains were strong, so it never happened.  Chained to the wall, teeth pulled, were Marilyn Monroe, Elvis, the fatter version, and honest Abe each one with their own audio track.

‘It’s better than outside.”

“And you’re buying, right Sarge?,” number 12 gestured towards the bar.

“For the fallen, and their memory.” I walked towards the bar, Louie was working, he wasn’t bad, but the dead were probably smarter than he was.

“Tell your fat boss to get out here I’ve got some trading to do.”

“I can trade, Donovan.What you got?” Louie asked.

“It’s above your pay grade.” I pulled a fancy bottle of tequila from my pack.

“Sweet,” said Louie. “Too bad no one around here can afford to drink that.”

“That’s why it’s above your pay grade. The colonel will want it for himself, and I aim to make him pay for it.” Louie walked off towards the door behind the bar, and briefly stuck his head in.

“The colonel says he’s not interested.”

“Bullshit,” I said, grabbing a decent bottle of Scotch and an even better bottle of Bourbon.

“Hey, leave those be, those aren’t yours.”

“Yes, they are, and that’s just for starters, every second the colonel makes me wait the price goes up.” I continued reaching under the bar, I pulled up a jar of olives.

The colonel stepped out of his office he wasn’t a tall man, but what he lacked in height he made up in girth.

“Put those down Donovan. We ain’t agreed yet,” he said with his slight southern drawl.

I turned the tequila around, “Forty years old before the fall. I figure that means it’s at least fifty now, and never been opened.” I could see him salivating as he licked his lips. The Colonel had lots of vices, but food and good tequila were his biggest.

“I’m listening,” he said.

“We lost two this time, Cedric and another one. I’m taking what I’ve got here, and you’re giving the rest of the crew whatever they want.”

“Except the upstairs.’

“Including the upstairs,” I said starting to rip the plastic seal from the bottle’s top.

“You don’t even like tequila, Donovan. You won’t drink it.”

“No, but I’ll gladly pour it on the floor, just to watch you lick it up.’

“Now, Donovan, my friend, there’s no need to be extreme. Of course your friends can have the upstairs. Least I can do for you boys, our first defense and all.”

“Everyone. Everyone but the newbie. He got Cedric killed. He gets nothing.  And I need Cherry for the night ” I took my stash with me as I walked towards a table at the front. I never liked the go go show, but tonight I needed the entertainment.

“You’ll need a glass for that,” Cherry said. ‘And probably company too.” She was a waitress, and sometimes companion, upstairs. I liked her, she was honest, and still had an air of the time before the fall about her.

“I need the glass, but you may want to bring two.”

“Oh you’re buying drinks. What’s the occasion?”

“Just bring the glasses.”  I loved scotch. The bourbon was for her. She’d been Cedric’s girl.

She returned with the glasses and I poured us each a double. I told her what had happened, except the part about the newbie. She’d have killed him if she’d known. I didn’t really care if he died, I almost killed him myself, but I cared about her. She didn’t need to become part of this world, the killing, the fighting. Like I’d said, she’d kept an air of the old world around her. We needed that. I needed that, to know there were still some dreamers left.

She cried and we drank until the bottles were empty.

“I need some air Donovan,” she said as she stumbled up from the table. I tried to get up with her.
“No,” she said. “I need to be alone for a few minutes, don’t worry I’ll be back in a few.”
I fell back into the chair, almost missing it entirely.

“Sarge?”

I looked up. The newbie was standing in front of me.

“You don’t get to call me that. You don’t get to call me anything!”

“It wasn’t my fault. I mean…”

“You’re damn right it wasn’t your fault. I never should have let you out there. You weren’t ready. It was my fault.” I stumbled as I tried to stand. The newbie caught me.

“Why’d you even want back outside.” I asked him.

“I needed to prove I could. When you found me with my other group, they were all dead. I’d fallen asleep on watch and we got overrun. I needed to make up for that.”

“By getting Cedric killed,” I took a big swing at him, only connecting with the air. He returned the favor and connected with my gut.

“I hope you enjoyed that,” I said while heaving my guts up. “In the morning I’m removing you from the patrols, you piece of shit.”

There were only two rules at the Zombie A Go Go, no fighting, and no puking. I’d just broken both of them. The Colonel’s goons would throw me out the back door, before I could even get off the floor. I could hear them rushing towards me, when I saw Cherry’s face in mine.

“Donovan, I need to show you something.” She tried to help me up, but we both kept falling every time we almost got our balance. She kept trying to talk to me, but her words were too slurred, too desperate to understand.

I could fee Tiny’s boot on my hand. “Get her upstairs, and get them out of here.” Several arms grabbed me and I could feel myself being dragged towards the back door. I could hear the bar lifting from the door. I swung as hard as I could. A goon’s fist cracked against my jaw.

“You’ll stand a better chance if you don’t fight. The fresh blood will only rile them up if they’re out there.” The city was surrounded by a series of barriers, we called rings, the back door opened to the outer ring. It wasn’t zombie proof. We’d decided to give them access, they get in through the open arch and wander around impaling themselves on traps we’d left. The few times we’d been attacked by marauders, a patrol had gone out the back door of the club, and shut the arch. If the marauders got in the outer ring acted like a zombie moat. You didn’t want to be in the outer ring  ever, let alone drunk and at night.

I could feel the air rush in carrying the stench of decay and death with it, as I felt myself  hurled outside. The newbie landed next to me as I heard the door slam shut.

“What do we do Sarge,” the newbie asked.

“What we always do, survive,” I stood as best I could, and the newbie helped steady me.

“Cedric and I buried a gear pack in an old refrigerator four buildings to the left.” I gestured as best I could to the end of the alley. The full moon lit the ring fairly well. In the afternoon, I’d tell the council and suggest we put up some tarps to block out the moonlight, no need letting potential invaders have a good view.

“If we move quietly the dead might not hear us.” Newbie nodded in understanding. We stumbled down the alley. He was ready to turn the corner when I stopped him. I wished I’d still had my gear, but the goons had taken my pack. I peeked my head around the corner. Of course there was a zombie in front of the fridge. I reached into my pocket. They hadn’t taken my pocket knife.

I pulled back from the corner. “If we move slowly towards it, it may not notice us until we get close.” I showed him my knife. “I’ll shank it before it even knows we’re there.”

“What if it does notice us?”

“I’ll run towards it, when it moves for me you run for the gear. Grab the crossbow and shoot it, If I haven’t taken it out already.” I was a fairly simple plan, the dead weren’t that smart, so one zombie would be easy. We turned the corner and started staggering towards the zombie. We were halfway there when it turned towards us and started moving our way.

“It knows we’re here,” he whispered.
“No, they move in herds. It probably just wants company.” I could see him shaking as we inched closer. It let out a yowl as we got closer. It didn’t want company, it wanted dinner.

“What do we do,” he shouted.

“Keep your voice down, and stick to the plan.” I pushed him out of my way as I charged the zombie.

“Shit.”

“What?” he said as he dashed towards the refrigerator.

“He’s sealed. Get the axe before the bow, I need to bash this fucker.” The zombie grabbed me and we rolled toward the building wall. There was no way I was getting my small blade into his skull. I could keep him at bay, even drunk, but I needed to get that axe. I looked at the fridge. The newbie had the door open and the pack out. He grabbed the crossbow.

“The axe, not the bow. I need the axe.”

“Look behind you, we need everything.”

“Shit,” I had forgotten to look both ways. I flipped my dancing partner towards the wall and could see at least three more shambling towards us. I started stepping back towards the newbie. As long as he stayed put, he could hand me the axe when I got there. I tried jabbing my knife through the zombie’s throat, but the sealed skin was like leather and refused to budge. I heard a bolt fly through the air. It struck one of the approaching ones in the neck. The second hit its eyes and it fell. They weren’t sealed. The next few bolts whizzed into the night, as I reached my hand behind me feeling the axe handle. With a quick swing the sealed one fell as the axe split his head like an overripe melon.

I could see several more in the moonlight, trailing behind the ones almost on top of us.

“Give me the crossbow, I’m a better shot.” There was no answer. I turned quickly to see the newbie running into the distance carrying all of the gear with him.

“You fucking coward. I’m getting you thrown out in the morning.” I charged the zombies, as long as they weren’t sealed the axe was all I needed. The first two fell easily under the axe. I stopped in front of the backdoor alley, catching my breath, as the other three approached. I was sure one was sealed. The spiked football pads and helmet were a sure sign it had been someone’s infantry.

They surrounded me. I pushed them away with the axe and my free hand. The infantry man raised its head lunging for me. I swung with all my might at his neck. The axe stuck for a moment, but then his head rolled to the ground with a thud. With him gone the other two were quick work.

I stood straight, fuck exile. I’ll kill him myself, I thought. That’s when I felt a sharp pain in my chest and everything started spinning as I fell to the ground. “The fucking coward shot me,” I thought, as everything went black.

I woke up face down in the dirt. I must have killed all the undead, before the noob shot me, since from what I could tell nothing had taken a chunk out of me. I couldn’t believe he shot me in the back. If he had managed to kill me I would have turned. No one does that to a person. When I find him I’m going to kill him slow.

I staggered a little getting to my feet, and started brushing myself off, when I snagged my hand on my chest. It didn’t hurt, but my hand was clearly stuck to something. I looked down. My hand was stuck to the tip of the crossbow bolt sticking out of my chest. I froze.

“Shit!” I stood still for a moment, then pulled my hand free.

“Shit!” There wasn’t any blood. I grabbed my wrist with my other hand.

 

There wasn’t a pulse.

“Fuck!”

“I’m dead.” I turned slowly around looking at the outer ring. Everything moved in slow motion. It was crawling with zombies, a herd must have moved in last night after he killed me. With this many zombies the city would be on lockdown until the clean-up crews came to thin the herd.

“Shit.”

They’d kill me on sight if they knew I’d turned.  I had a few hours until I’d really start to turn. Right now, I’d risen, but I still looked alive and could speak. According to Doc, it took twenty-four hours to go full on flesh eater. I grabbed the bolt and pulled as hard as I could. It made a sucking sound as it exited my chest. Next I needed something to cover my wounds. I looked around. I didn’t think my fellow undead would mind if I borrowed some of their clothes. I saw a biker a few buildings down, still decked in his leathers. It’d be a new look for me, but the gloves would cover my hand, and the vest my chest.

I walked through the zombies with ease, occasionally taking one out with the axe. From what we knew they hunted by smell. I could do whatever I wanted because I didn’t smell alive.

Thunk. I could hear the bar on the Go Go being moved.

“Shit,” The cleaning crew was coming out. I grabbed the biker by the shoulders, he almost looked shocked as I spun him around taking his vest and one glove. I was fighting for the other one as I heard the door fully open. No time for stealth now, I thought. I smashed his head with the axe handle and started dressing. I could smell something faintly in the air, like iron mixed with raw meat. I could smell the cleaning crew, and so could the herd. They all started moving towards the door. I could hear 15 sparking the flame thrower, and 22 muttering.

I watched the herd fill the alley, there were too many for the cleaning crew. There were  at least two other crews coming out other doors, the watchers would have seen how big the herd was, but they weren’t going to get here nearly in time.

“Hey you dead fucks! Over here!” I yelled banging on the old refrigerator. The back of the herd turned towards me breaking off from the alley.

“What the hell?” asked 15, as he turned the flame thrower too high.

“Is that you, Sarge?” I could hear 22 grunting as he thrust his pike into a few dead heads.

“Who else would be dumb enough to be out here with the herd?” I swung for the nearest zombie taking the top of his head with my axe blade.

“We looked for you when they called for clean up.” I could hear the gravel and broken asphalt crunch under their feet as they moved forward into the herd.

“I puked last night. Tiny threw me out here. Sobered up just in time to hide in the fridge.” I started swinging harder, taking several with one blow. If they’d had expressions, they would have been confused. After all, I was one of them.

We met where the alley opened into the outer ring. 15 turned the flamethrower off, not wanting to burn me, and we took the remaining ones out with our blades.

“New look, Sarge?”

“Yeah, I told you I puked. This smelled better than what I was wearing. Or at least I think that’s why I changed, some things are a little blurry. Have you guys seen the noob?”

“No I heard he got tossed, when we were upstairs. Tiny was busy,” said 22.

“I thought he got tossed with you Sarge,” 15 said as he looked me over.

“Yeah, a lot of things are blurry.” I said as I turned towards the ring. “How many crews they send out?”

“Just us. Herd was pretty centralized here.”

“You sure they threw the noob out with me?”

“That’s what he heard.”

“You guys can go back in. I’ll circle the ring once to see if I can find him, or at least what’s left.” 22 started for the door. 15 paused, like he knew something was up.

“You sure, Sarge?”

“You haven’t been with us long enough to know an order. Let’s go,”

“Listen to him 15. Thanks Dan. Cedric has me shook up a little. I just need to clear my head.” 22 smiled. I’d never used his name before. I knew I was going to get put down before him, so distance didn’t seem so important anymore. I walked away into the outer ring. I needed to find the noob, so I could put my axe right between his eyes.

I followed the ring, heading in the direction he’d ran from me. There wasn’t a trail. The herd and the breeze had muddled the tracks. Every so often I’d see a zombie with a few bolts in him so I knew I was going the right way. I walked a few more meters, and in the distance I could see the crossbow on the ground. He’d dropped it. Why? There were plenty of bolts in the bag, from what I’d seen he didn’t use them all.

I looked ahead I could see a dumpster, and the gear bag besides it. The dumpster was right on the other side of the alley where we’d started. I hadn’t noticed how far I had walked. I guess being undead, distance had no meaning. I could see from the tracks in the dirt the dumpster had been moved at least a few times recently.  

I pushed it to the side. There was a hole in the wall, just big enough for a person without gear. He’d dropped the bag, and the bow, when he saw the tunnel, and crawled in.

The outer ring was supposed to be secure. It was when we built it. Someone had opened this tunnel into the city, but who? I wanted to know, but more importantly I wanted to find the coward. I backed into the tunnel, really more of a crawl space, and pulled the handle welded to the back of the dumpster closing it as I backed in. Normally I wouldn’t back into anything, but what was the worst that could happen? I was already dead.

I crawled downwards a few meters when the space suddenly opened into a room. I stood up turning around in a very dim light.  Looking up, I could see I was in an old basement. The windows on the floor above were mostly boarded up. I could see them because the floor above had all but collapsed, leaving some studs and rotted floor boards. There were a few doors at the tops of stairs along the walls leading up to the ground floor. They were crudely made, and had obviously been made after the fall. Most were dusty and hadn’t been used recently.  Two were cleared. One lead to the Go Go, and it was closed. The other was slightly ajar. He’d gone through that one.

The stairs creaked as I climbed them. I could hear the music blaring from the other door. They must be opening early today, I thought. I opened the door slowly. It lead into a storeroom, probably the Colonel’s but I didn’t know for sure. I could see a partially covered window past the boxes and clutter.

When I got to it, it was locked. He hadn’t gone out this way. I stepped back to see the rest of the room. The boxes were medical supplies and junk food. The Colonel had been holding out on the rest of the city. I could make out something slumped in the corner. I sniffed the air. Raw meat and iron wafted from whoever it was. It had to be the noob.

I could see the cowards head peeking out from under his coat. I raised my axe. I could split his head open and then eat him. Fitting, since he’d killed me. I’d probably turn immediately.

The doc said giving into the urge and feeding, probably made the process speed up. One of the goons would find me and put me down later. I raised the axe higher and then put it down. I cleared my throat instead. If the goons didn’t find me I might get out into the city, and hurt someone who mattered. I cleared my throat again.

“Do you always take a nap after shooting a man in the back?”

He jumped to his feet. “Holy shit you’re not dead.” He smiled wide. He was glad to see me? He wasn’t a coward, he was fucking nuts. I raised my axe. He looked startled and started to retreat.

“I found you face down in the dirt, no pulse. Are you dead?”

“Undead,” I said lowering my axe. He wet himself as he started shaking. “You didn’t kill me did you?”

“If you’re going to eat me, get it over with. I can’t imagine I taste good.”

I started laughing, “What’s your name noob?”

“Michael,” he stammered. “Why?”

“Because I always name my food. Last burger I ate was named Chuck.” He started crying a little. I think I smiled, but I can’t be sure because I was losing feeling in my face.

“I’m sorry Michael, but you have to admit it was a little funny.” He looked me in the eyes.

“Cherry was in here when I found the room, at least I think it was her, they beat her up bad.”

“Are you sure?”

“No, she didn’t say anything, she was unconscious. I heard Tiny and the goons coming up the stairs so I hid. They dragged her off.”

“Then you fell asleep?” I was beginning to think I was going to have to kill him again.

“I couldn’t go back to the ring, there was a herd coming in. I couldn’t go to the Go Go, and I can’t get out of here. I sat down waiting to die. Must have dozed off.”

“How’d you get in here?”

“After I found your body I started running back into the ring. I don’t know why, I just ran. I saw the dumpster and the tunnel. Some of the goons were coming out of it. They didn’t see me. So I dropped the bow trying to shuffle like I was dead.” I slumped down next to him. My body was starting to stiffen, and even though I couldn’t feel much, I hurt.

“One of them saw me. He was about to shoot when he heard the herd. They threw some bags of stuff in the dumpster and crawled back in.”

Odd I thought. We reused everything. No one was making anything new. We didn’t throw things away.

“What was in the bags?” He shuffled his feet, like he was searching for an answer.

“I don’t know. I waited as long as I could by the dumpster and then crawled into the tunnel. The goons were better than the herd, I thought. I’m not sure anymore.”

Why did the Go Go goons have a secret passage?  Who shot me? Michael wasn’t  going to be much help, so I decided to go back to the tunnel.

“Noob, you got two choices. Since you didn’t shoot me I won’t kill you.” He looked relieved and somewhat surprised.

“Decent of you.” He smiled a little bit.

“Don’t smile. I’m less than a day from eating your face off. Not much to smile about from my end.”  He jumped to attention like I had just called a drill.

“You want to go out the tunnel and see what’s in the bags, or watch for goons at the entrance?”

“Neither,” he mumbled.

“Fine I guess I could just eat your face off now,” I reached for him. “Stand still, dammit I’ve got to get used to this.”

“The herd’s dead, right?”

“Deader than me.”

“Fine. I’ll dumpster dive.” He started for the door, as I struggled to stand.

“Michael give me a hand.” I reached out for him. Ten minutes ago I was going to kill him, now he was my only life line. That was irony. Not Abe irony, but still irony. He gently grabbed my arm, and started to pull.

“It’s not going to come off damn it. Well not yet. I think it takes a while to rot.” We walked from the storage room into the basement, and it was clear. He started to crawl up the tunnel. He was about half way up, when I heard the Go Go door start to open. I ducked under the stairs as fast as I could. I could smell the raw meat and iron. This time was different, than last, I could taste the meat, and it tasted good. I could hear the footsteps as they came down the stairs. I held still, even though every instinct I had told me to lunge, to feed, to feast.

Tiny walked past me first, not seeming to notice. Like the colonel he was a man of many vices, food being the most obvious. He weighed at least 350, and he used that weight to demolish anyone in his way.

“Why can’t we keep the fucking chips in the bar?” He muttered to himself as he started up the second set of stairs. “I’m getting tired of the stairs.”

He entered the other building. I moved to under the other stairs. I could smell meat again, but different than people. I scanned the room to see what else was here. I could hear scurrying sounds in the wall behind me, as dust began falling on my face. I looked up, as a rat poked its head from a hole, and the rest of it followed. It dropped on me.

Being dead was an advantage. It could crawl on me all I day and I couldn’t feel it. It crawled around my chest sniffing the vest. Maybe the biker had some food in his pockets. It stopped on my chest looking up at me. Maybe I had a pet. Then it bit me. I was the food.

The door opened above. I could hear the boards creak under tiny’s weight. I grabbed the rat, pulling it away from my face, Tiny thudded down the stairs. The rat squirmed in my hand, as Tiny reached the bottom. The rat started to squeak, I squeezed it. Blood burst from its mouth. I could smell the blood, it smelled delicious. It smelled like life. It smelled like salvation. I thrust the rat’s head into my mouth and bit. Its head tore loose from its body and it crunched in my mouth. I tried to savor it, but I could feel the frenzy coming.

“You’ve looked better, Sarge.” Tiny was standing over me holding a gun in one hand and a half empty bag of cheetos in the other. “I guess I’ll finish the job now.”

“Hey Sarge, you gotta see what was in the dumpster.” Michael shouted as a duffle bag slid down the tunnel. Tiny turned and I leapt as fast as I could, which wasn’t very fast, but Tiny was slower. I pushed him to the ground. I wanted to eat him. I need to tear into his flesh, but I maintained control as we grappled for his belt knife.

“Finished?” I couldn’t get the rest of the words out, my vocal chords were stiffening.

“Oh, this is going to be fun,” Tiny said as he used his weight to crush me to the ground. “You ain’t full on zombie yet. Never did like you.” His fist slammed into my face. I grabbed again for his knife.

“Why?” He looked down at me, puzzled.

“Colonel said you knew too much.”  He slammed his massive hand into my face again.

“Watered down booze? Mugging passed out drunks? I don’t care.” I almost got my hands on his knife. He pulled back a little laughing.

“You didn’t even fucking know?” His belly rolled with his hard laughs. I grabbed for his knife again.

This time I got it, and thrust it into his fat belly. He started punching harder. I heard my nose snap, and then I saw the axe split his skull. So much blood, so much delicious blood. I wiggled the knife trying to free his guts.

“Sarge, snap out of it.” I looked to see Michael standing over me, Tiny’s pistol pointing at my head. “Sarge, you still in there?”

I spit a piece of Tiny’s flab out of my mouth. “Barely,” I growled.

“You’re not too far gone yet? The blood must be triggering you.” I hoped he was right. He kept the pistol pointed at me. “As long as you’re still good you need to see this.” He opened the bag, dumpling it out. I looked at the stuff, books, and sketch pads. Michael was pointing at a charcoal of me and Cedric.

“That’s you.” I nodded.

“Who’d draw a picture of you?” I struggled to push the last of Tiny off of me.

“Cherry,” I struggled for the sounds, “drew it.” What did they do to her? I could feel my flesh lust residing a little, but my blood lust was raging. Michael helped me to my feet. I ripped the picture from her sketch pad folding it as I put it in my pocket.

“I need to go into the Go Go. I need to find Cherry, and settle a score.” He looked sympathetically at me. I paused for a minute, words were getting hard to find.

“I won’t be coming out, but I could use your help.”

“I owe Cedric, Sarge. What’s the plan?”

“We walk in the door, and go straight for the colonel.” Michael handed me the axe, which I tucked into the back of my jeans, then started to hand me the gun. I waved it away. “Shoot me if I try to eat anyone that doesn’t deserve it.” He nodded, putting the pistol in his jacket pocket.

“You look like a fucking zombie, Sarge. Won’t get ten feet.” I felt my face. Tiny had shoved my nose half way into my head.

“Here use this,” Michael said as he tied his do rag around my face. Having them think I might rob them would get me further than them thinking I was a zombie.

I opened the door into the Go Go. The music was blaring and the dancers were on stage, but the club was empty, other than a few goons at the bar. No colonel. As long as the goons didn’t look up we had the advantage. I glanced at the dancers as we walked by. There was a new one, she started grabbing at me.

We were halfway to the bar when a goon turned around. “We ain’t open yet. How the fuck did you get in?” I grasped for a response.

“Tiny let us in, special show upstairs,” Michael said. The goons settled a little, as we walked towards them. There were only three. We could probably take them if we could get close enough, and Michael didn’t panic.

We were close enough now I could smell their meat. The goon turned towards me.

“Which girls?” I grabbed my axe and swung.  He fell before the other two could even move. Michael shot one in the stomach. His aim still sucked. The other one lunged at me thrusting a knife into my side. I tried biting him but the bandana got in the way.

Michael quickly pulled him off of me, before I could bite him.

“Where’s the Colonel motherfucker,” Michael hissed as he pushed his pistol into the goon’s temple. I pulled down my bandana, ready to bite.

“Right here,” the colonel said as Michael’s brains splattered all over my face. I could smell them, and the gunpowder from the Colonel’s shotgun.

“Damn, Donovan. You’ve seen better days haven’t you?” He walked around the bar keeping the shot gun aimed at me. The goon moved, closer grabbing his knife sticking out of my side and twisting it.

“I can’t feel it you moron.”

“Too bad,” he said stooping to grab Michael’s pistol. I brought my knees into his chest as quickly as I could, pulling him between me and the shotgun barrel. He stood up just as the gun went off. The blast ripped through his chest pushing me backwards. As I fell, I ripped the knife out of my side, slashing it towards the colonel. He dove for the pistol, but I grabbed it first.

He looked at me as I oriented the gun between his eyes. “It was nothing personal Donovan, just business. Without the dancers I don’t have a club.” I waved the pistol gesturing him towards the dancers.

“I,” I moaned, “Don’t… know what… you’re talking about.”

“Sorry to hear that, you always paid your bills.” We reached the stage glass, and he unlocked the door. The dancers stopped dancing. I could smell their blood, and their meat.

“You sick… fuck… they’re alive.” As he walked over towards the girls, all of them cowered away from him, as much as their chains allowed, except the new one. She was mumbling and grabbing towards me. I kept the pistol on the Colonel as I shambled towards her. I pulled her blonde wig off as I peeled back layers of sealed zombie flesh from her face. Cherry. The Colonel started to run. I shot him in the leg as I stripped the rest of the undead from Cherry. He’d sewn her mouth shut, except for a small opening in the middle. I looked at her and turned to him.

“They had to eat Donovan, but I couldn’t have them talking.” I ran towards him, shoving the pistol in his mouth. I couldn’t pull the trigger, and I knew that. All the blood and brains I’d turn on the spot. I’d eat him, but then I’d turn on Cherry and the other dancers. I couldn’t risk that. “Keys,” I said pulling the gun from his mouth. He fumbled in his pocket pulling the key out and trying to hand it to me.

“You do.” I gestured the gun towards Cherry. He waddled towards her unlocking her chains. With her free hand she gave him a right cross that made Tiny seem weak. As he fell to the floor she grabbed the key and finished unlocking herself. I kept the pistol trained on him. Cherry unlocked the other dancers. I could feel myself getting weaker. I tried to say something. “Arrghwa dalt,” is all that came out.

“He’s turning. Kill him now!” the Colonel shouted. Cherry walked towards me and gestured for my knife. I handed it to her. He was right. She took the knife and I closed my eyes.

“Fuck you asshole,” she said. I opened my eyes to see Cherry and the others girls attacking the colonel more savagely than any undead.  I put my hand on her shoulder. She turned quickly to face me. I could see the broken stitches hanging from her mouth.

I pointed at the colonel with the pistol and gestured towards the back door. She pulled the other girls off of him,

“Let’s get him up girls.” The dancers yanked him to his feet. And dragged him to the door, he was barely conscious and started to cry. I pried the bar off the door, and they drug him outside.

“Please don’t do this,” he sobbed. “Don’t leave me out here. I don’t stand a chance. I can barely walk.” He got to his feet and showed how he couldn’t put weight on the leg I’d shot. I walked over to him pointing the gun at his head.

“Thank you Donovan.” He closed his eyes waiting for the kill shot, that wasn’t coming. I pointed the gun down quickly and shot him in the gut. The gut shot would immobilize him, and I knew any deads in the outer ring would hear the shot and come for him. Besides, all the fat drenched blood smelled delicious.

I could feel the frenzy coming on- the sweat, flesh and blood. I tried to put the gun to my head. I couldn’t bring my arm above my waist. I was losing control fast. I lifted my hand towards Cherry, the pistol loosely dangling from it. She took the gun, stepping back, and pointed it towards me.

“I’m sorry Donovan,”

I knew she was. I could see it in her eyes. Even as mine were finishing their necrotic glaze, I could still see her sorrow. I shambled a little closer, and leaned my head onto the point of her revolver. I couldn’t speak. I couldn’t tell her how much she and Cedric had meant to me. I was too far gone, my vocal chords stiff. I reached into my pocket and gave her the folded piece of paper. She opened the sketch she had made of Cedric and I. I couldn’t say what I was feeling, but I hoped my gesture told her everything.

I shut my eyes. I could smell the gunpowder as everything went black.

END.

 

By DS Maiorca




















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