* * *
Before they started off again, Norm very, very slowly extended his stump of an arm and turned a wobbly circle while staring up at the moon and stars. He couldn’t see any stars, and the moon was nothing but a blob, but he felt better for knowing they were up there. He was free again, free to make his own decisions.
Norm started away on shaky legs. He was a long way from the plump human he’d been. His last meal had been at his father’s house thirty-three days ago. The new zombie, Jim, could probably count Norm’s ribs through his shirt.
Made him wonder, would he waste away until he lacked the muscle to raise his arms? Then… would he die, or would he remain forever an inch from death?
So long as there were interesting people around him, Norm didn’t mind.
They’d walked for about another hour, Norm guessed, when Jim stopped at an abandoned car. There were a few around. People tended to drive toward the front lines and then either run or stagger away from them.
Jim opened the drive’s door. “Keys are in the ignition,” he said.
Good for a quick getaway, Norm said.
“Good for us.”
Jim managed, after a while, to bend Norm into an appropriate shape to lie across the back seat, then drove them through the abandoned streets. “So what is it about brains?” Jim asked. He’d clearly been thinking about asking for a while. “Why not crave… arms, or cattle, or socks?”
I don’t know. Why do you crave food? Norm asked. Brains were a boring topic. So what’s this prophecy?
Jim relayed what he knew, which wasn’t a lot, and what he guessed, which was. As he did, they started passing zombies on the streets. None ran over to the car or banged on the windows, taken by the brainlust; young Jim clearly wasn’t a zombie like Norm. His voice didn’t arrive in Norm’s mind like the others, it came through his ears. And he wasn’t decaying, or losing motor control, and he didn’t have the brainlust.
Was he a new kind of zombie? Did he have something to do with the prophecy?
Any leads on the demon? Norm asked. Because I’d like to shake the hand of the man who’s going to save the world.
Jim sighed. “Norm, if you met him you wouldn’t shake his hand, you’d try to eat it. And then where will we be?”
That was a fair point. Jim parked the car and helped Norm out of the back. They were deep in zombie territory now. In fact… that was the city hall, where the massacre had happened. Zombies drifted toward it, as did some cows, and Norm joined the flow. Jim waited near the car. For a moment Norm thought Jim would get back in it and drive off, which was the sensible thing to do if he really wasn’t a zombie.
Then he shut the door and ran after Norm.
Inside the old hall, zombies tried their best to sit on seats. Many failed, spewing chairs and breaking bones that would never heal.
“Oh Three-God,” Jim said.
What? Norm asked.
“Where do I start? The blood? The unburied bodies? The smell?” Jim shook his head. “I’ve seen corpses before – mostly animal carcasses – but… these are people! Torn apart, left to rot, stuck to one another with their own blood!”
You get used to it.
“I don’t want to!” Jim yelled.
What did Jim expect them to do? The zombies could hardly give them a proper burial. Also, why were burials considered “proper”? What was improper about letting them stay here, where they’d died? What difference did it make? They were just meat.
Ah, Norm! someone said. How are you?
Norm turned to find Mayor Baldwin, minus his pointed dentures, not that they made a difference to how he talked these days.
Fine, Norm said.
Who’s this? Baldwin stepped forward and squinted at Jim, who stepped back and looked toward the door.
This is Jim Paddington, Norm said.
So it is. You’re not here to arrest us for loitering, are you, detective? Baldwin laughed.
“Try murder,” Jim said, with a long glance at the stage.
Baldwin raised his hairless eyebrows. He’s a right laugh.
Give him a break, he’s still in denial, Norm said.
Well, there’s a place for him. The council could use a policeman.
Jim nodded, but now he wasn’t staring anywhere. “The zombies have a government… Of course they do.”
We didn’t when I left, Norm said. What had changed? Why?
People need organising, Norm, and now I’ve got the Law on my side.
“So no other policemen have been… uh… zombified?” Jim asked, snapping out of wherever he’d been.
None from the southern station, Baldwin said. Rumour is that Sergeant Paddington and Constable Appleby are doing a good job leading the resistance, but the only reports we can get are the screams of those already taken by the brainlust.
That seemed to satisfy Jim for the moment. At the front, a few zombies lumbered onstage and commenced the nightly performance of The Bill.
Norm swept his head heavily toward the door. Come on.
“You have a drama club…” Jim said, pointing back.
Norm was getting a bit sick of Jim’s perpetual surprise. So? Did you think we’d all be senseless, mindless drones?
“Well, yes.”
Zombist.
Bovicide, Zombie Diaries, and the Legend of the Brothers Brown Page 52
