Occupation

by lazarus Infinity

  “Innocent?” Nicodemus retorted. “B, these mother-“

  “Shhh!” Barabbas interjected.

  “We ask for your mercy and forgiveness as we are forced to slaughter innocent human life in the midst of a city that has either forgotten or neglected its duty to its people. We ask these things in your son Jesus’ name…Amen.”

  “That was beautiful Rev. Francis. Are you done? Can we go to work now?”

  Rev. Francis. The name sent a chill through the body of Barabbas Purify. During his more innocent and carefree years as a child in the ‘Big Easy’, the much-revered Rev. Francis was a man amongst men. He was one of those rare ministers who truly walked in the faith…and taken all too soon up to the new world to come. Barabbas had many fond memories of the man; most important of these was the day he was baptized. Following in the footsteps of his childhood friend Jacob Forlorn, he hoped that he too would one day bask in the light of ‘the upper room’ as the elders referred to Heaven. That was ages ago. Barabbas drew his machete as he grabbed the door handle. He looked back at Nicodemus, who already had his .44 drawn.

  “Conserve the bullets,” he said. “Only if we need them. No need to draw out any more of them who may be lurking around.”

  Nicodemus gave an annoyed look as he holstered his weapon in exchange for his baseball bat. The door easily gave away from the slight force of Barabbas tugging on it. With a careful glance at Nicodemus, the message was clear; someone was definitely inside. They’d come across this on numerous occasions and prepared for the worst. The acrid stench of death and decay marched through their nostrils as a gust of dust blew their way while making it inside. The basement was an empty tomb of dust and debris along with turned over tables and broken chairs. No people. No sounds. Nothing.

  “You know, I’m thinking I could really go for a steak taco right now,” Nicodemus uttered.

  Barabbas glanced back at him.

  “What?” Nicodemus asked. “You know I get hungry when I’m nervous.”

  “Stay focused,” Barabbas fired back. “I don’t want to be in here all day.”

  Slowly making their way through the dimly lit basement, Barabbas took notice of an old, condemned elevator to his immediate left. Both doors were closed. Nicodemus made his way to the other side of the room, baseball bat cocked and ready. Past the mass collection of tables and chairs was the kitchen, where the congregation used to cook dinners every third Sunday. Barabbas remembered those well, as Cherry Forlorn, Jacob’s mother was a constant fixture in the kitchen. A beloved figure in her own right, he remembered her fondly, and could still see her smile beaming out from behind the kitchen window. His nostalgic musings came to a crashing halt at the screech of a chair sliding across the floor. Barabbas looked over at Nicodemus. Not being mindful of his surroundings, the kid nearly tripped over himself.

  “Sorry,” he whispered.

  It was then that it happened. That familiar staggering and shuffling of decrepit footsteps could only mean one thing. They were not alone.

  “Showtime,” Nicodemus said.

  “Alright,” Barabbas replied. “Just remember, no cowboy shit this time. Quick and easy, in and out.”

  “Don’t worry, I got this,” Nicodemus muttered. “Come on out and show that pretty little face.”

  They didn’t have to wait long. Just from out behind the kitchen wall came…one of them. Standing in the doorway, the ‘woman’s’ foul tattered clothing smeared with blood was enough to make one wretch. Her dark, desolate eyes sunk deeply into the back of her head, Nicodemus could see that a side of her face was missing. It had either been cut off…or chewed off.

  “Goddamn, these bastards get more and more revolting every time,” Nicodemus said as he inched closer.

  Barabbas moved in behind him, watching his footing and surroundings. The woman crept closer toward Nicodemus as he readied his weapon.

  “That’s it, come closer baby,” he whispered.

  She reached out to him as she got closer, only to be met with a sharp whack to the head from his baseball bat. Blood and bits of brain splattered everywhere as he took her down. As he knelt down to get a closer look, he never saw a second woman lurking out from the kitchen. Barabbas rushed over and wasted no time in splitting her head with his machete. Nicodemus lurched back from his rapid fire swinging.

  “You wanna give me a heads up next time?” he asked.

  “Were you trying to give her a kiss?” Barabbas replied. “Take them down and leave them laying, just like always. What’s the matter with you?”

  “Alright Pops, I got it,” Nicodemus replied. “Don’t get crazy on me already.”

  Barabbas quickly did a search of the kitchen. A grotesque decay of kitchen equipment, waste and blood was all that was left.

  “All clear back here,” he said. “Time to check upstairs.”

  The narrow stairway leading up to the church was almost too foul to climb, with its morbid paintings of blood plastered all over the walls. Gnats buzzed everywhere. The closer they got to the top; they could hear random movement about from inside. It wasn’t over yet, as they could hear the familiar ripping of flesh and gnashing of teeth. Barabbas looked at Nicodemus.

  “Ready?”

  “Am I my brother’s keeper?” Nicodemus replied.

  “You damn right,” Barabbas said as they readied their weapons and made their way through the slowly swinging door into the church.

  A gross and beleaguered display of a sanctuary ripped to pieces from its former state of glory, the sight was enough to bring Barabbas to his knees. Overturned pews, broken windows, bloodstained carpet and dilapidated wood were all that remained. His bright memories forever tainted by this horrible image, what came next filled him with dread followed by anger. A pack of decayed men and women were ripping into the flesh of an unfortunate homeless man as if it were their last meal. Bits of blood, brain and bone splattered everywhere. Crows cawed and scurried about before one of them got caught in the clutches of a man who wasted no time in biting its head off.

  “Jesus Christ,” Nicodemus muttered to himself.

  It wasn’t long before the man turned his attention to Barabbas and Nicodemus, slowly staggering his way toward them. His face a pale, distorted mesh of decay and death, blood dripped from his jowls and his cracked, mangled fingers clawed through the air as he approached.

  “Stay together like always,” Barabbas said.

  Nicodemus nodded as he readied his weapon. The man inched closer, his eyes glowing with rage as he snarled toward them. In a flash, they both took him down, swinging away with bat and machete until his head was completely separated from his body. The four individuals gnawing on the lifeless homeless figure now focused their attention on the duo, clawing their way toward them. Barabbas made quick work of one, giving a quick slice directly across the face that took half of the man’s head completely off. Clean kill. Not elegant, but efficient. Fatality. Nicodemus nearly found himself cornered by the other two before leg sweeping the woman as Barabbas sliced away at the other man, taking him down. The woman grabbed at Nicodemus’ collar, reaching for his throat before he knocked her back. In a flash, he mounted the woman and bashed what was left of her face in, leaving a gruesome pool of blood and brain on the carpet. Looking at the figure, he took a moment to catch his breath.

  “Well…that was easy enough,” he said.

  Barabbas nodded in agreement.

  No sooner than he’d uttered the words did the two of them hear a savage growling coming from above. Both looked up at the second floor of the church where a disheveled balcony remained to see two nearly naked and muscular men snarling down at them.

  “Maybe not,” Nicodemus said.

  What happened next couldn’t have been predicted if one tried. Without warning, the two grotesque men jumped from the second floor with the skill and balance of trained gymnasts. Barabbas stood stunned.

  “What the fuck?” he said.

  “Wait a minute,” Nicodemus said. “They’re not sup
posed to be able to do that!”

  The two hideous figures wasted no time, screaming and running toward both of them. Nicodemus and Barabbas both ran as fast as they could, scrambling over broken pews and dead bodies up past the pulpit to the choir stand for higher ground. One of the men quickly caught up with Barabbas, knocking him over and pinning him down in one of the seats. His eyes filled with an almost demonic rage, Barabbas struggled to keep him from inching closer, baring rotten, mangled teeth. Meanwhile, Nicodemus was caught in a struggle of his own trading blows with the second figure. Kicking and swinging wildly, Nicodemus managed a firm kick in the gut that sent the man backward for a moment. He wasted no time in cocking his bat and swinging straight for the man’s head. To his astonishment, the man simply staggered back for a second. Nothing. This fight was not over.

  “Goddammit!” Nicodemus screamed. “This fucker won’t go down!”

  As the man began to approach him, Nicodemus drew his .44 and blasted two rounds directly into his head that put him down for good. He regained his composure as he stared down at the lifeless body, spitting on it for good measure.

  “Don’t start none, won’t be none.”

  “A little fucking help over here would be appreciated!” Barabbas screamed.

  With the second man all over him, Barabbas couldn’t reach his machete in time to defend himself. Nicodemus aimed for the man’s head, blasting away. The man fell limp, directly on Barabbas with his head on his chest.

  “Goddammit, this fucker is disgusting!” Barabbas said.

  “I’m gonna need you to tone down the blasphemy,” Nicodemus retorted. “We’re in a house of mercy.”

  “Fuck you,” Barabbas replied as he struggled to get out from under the man. “You mind telling me what the hell just happened here? I never came across one that moved that fast!”

  “I don’t know,” Nicodemus said. “I’ve never seen them move like that either. Something’s not right.”

  “Let’s get the hell out of here before we lose sunlight. I need a damn drink,” Barabbas groaned as he struggled to pull himself together.

  Minutes later, the duo exited the church and surveyed the street one last time before getting into the car. All was quiet except for the lone figure of a single man, staggering in the street, slowly turning in their direction.

  “You know…come to think of it, I think you may be right,” Nicodemus said.

  “About what?” Barabbas asked.

  “I’m starting to think maybe Felipe’s really does put crack in that queso. Fuck it, let’s get cleaned up and head over to Juan’s. I could use a burrito.”

  Barabbas nonchalantly shook his head as they retreated to the car. As the engine revved, showing off its aggressive 4-liter prowess, the sound was soon accompanied by the radio changing stations to Pop radio…again. The MINI made a quick U-turn as the lone figure of a man slowly staggered toward the car. As it crept closer toward them, the hand of Nicodemus Jackson stretched out the window, holding his prized .44 cannon. One shot to the head dropped him. Clean kill. Not elegant but efficient. Fatality. The MINI then sped off into the waning hours of daylight as swiftly as it came.

  ***

  When the ‘apocalypse’ as it was called occurred, very few saw it coming, and the news reports as to why it occurred in the first place were murky at best. Some say it started in Miami. Some say New York or London, but no one really knew for sure. What was paramount was the fact that the world at large was now caught in the grip of something terrible. Something devastating. Something that threatened to change the course of human history, as we knew it was now upon us. Human beings were suddenly…changing, turning into mindless scavengers of flesh and blood and killing everything in sight. The media and pop culture had a name for the epidemic sweeping the planet, although few could actually bring themselves to think that such things could actually exist beyond the realm of film and television…zombies.

  Eventually, word spread of mass riots taking place throughout the world. Bristol, Tottenham and London were plagued with civil unrest and stories soon followed of a deadly virus spreading. Martial law had been declared. BBC news reports were shoddy and inconclusive at best in those days and the U.S. media fared only marginally better. Soon, rumors began to spread out of Miami of a brutal attack on a homeless man brought on by a drug commonly called ‘bath salts’. Allegedly once the drug entered a person’s system, it infected the internal organs in such a way that the victim would suffer painful convulsions. Coupled with an extremely high blood pressure, the victim would become overwrought with extreme rage and inhuman strength. It didn’t take long for the word ‘zombie’ to be uttered in mainstream media after gruesome photos surfaced of the homeless man’s face completely chewed off.

  In the months that followed, more mysterious attacks occurred. Fort Lauderdale. Port St. Lucie followed by Jacksonville, parts of Atlanta and Alabama. Whatever it was that caused this…thing, it was spreading throughout the country fast. As the first rumors spread throughout the Alabama/Mississippi borders, stories began to pop up throughout New Orleans of a possible quarantine. Certain areas of the city designated as high crime zones were cordoned off, for what reason we were not made aware. What is known was that as a seemingly civilized society, I now witnessed the systematic slaughter and destruction of innocent men, women and children. Lives were irrevocably ripped apart under the guise of National Security while the city of New Orleans carried on as if the madness and destruction did not exist. Beyond the bright lights and decadence of the Quarter, far beyond the idyllic majesty of St. Charles Avenue, a profound and horrific stench was gripping the land. And now on the heels of both Mardi Gras and the Super Bowl, the powers behind the throne of government continued to lull its citizens to sleep in order to preserve its tourist based economy. What caused this madness? What caused this destruction? Was it really this ‘bath salt’ excuse that we were being fed, or something far more sinister? A new wave of mental illness? Something in the water? Chemtrails? Lafayette once said, “A hidden hand is guiding the populace.” On this I agree. On this I do agree…

  ***

  “Man will you please turn that thing off and give it a rest for once?” Nicodemus demanded.

  Holding the recorder with a slight reluctance, Barabbas finally relented. Documenting their exploits along with the recent developments gave him a slight sense of purpose. Hopefully at some point in the future, someone would be able to make sense of all this…just in case. The sweaty glass of Don Julio Blanco cheered him up a bit as he took a sip. It was quite refreshing, but not enough to get his mind off what had occurred earlier. Juan’s Flying Burrito, a home away from home for Barabbas, and also home to some of the sexiest waitresses Magazine St. had to offer. Forget supermodels, actresses and rock stars. There was something about an old school Irish Channel woman that drove Southern men naturally accustomed to appreciating such works of art crazy. Forget tanning salons, hair extensions and breast implants. Real women with real curves, tattoos and personality were where it was. Yes sir, there was nothing like a New Orleans woman. Nothing at all…not for anything in the civilized world. Nicodemus could barely concentrate on his Corona with his attention distracted by the miles of legs prancing under tight skirts and aprons that moved about to and fro.

  “How long we’ve been doing this Nic?” Barabbas asked. “Six months?”

  “Six months to be exact,” Nicodemus replied. “What you driving at?”

  “When was the last time you saw one of those things move like that?” Barabbas asked. “You really buying this bath salt nonsense?”

  “Hey man, it’s Florida,” Nicodemus argued. “Between all the coke freaks and meth addicts, there’s no telling what other kind of poisons they’ve got down there. Anything is possible. I tell you one thing, I’m damn sure in no hurry to go back down there and find out.”

  Nicodemus had spent some time down in South Florida a few years back and hated every minute of it. He said he wouldn’t go back even if Jesus Christ
was down there signing autographs. With all the stories about Florida in general and now this, Barabbas was inclined to agree.

  “What I do know is we need to be more prepared than usual if we’re going to clear more churches and storefronts,” Barabbas said. “No more going out without shotguns, especially after today.”

  “Jesus Christ B, how many times am I gonna have to apologize for this?” Nicodemus asked. “I’m bending over backwards here. I told you Gabriel will hook us up, no problem.”

  Gabriel was a family friend that had looked out for Barabbas and Nicodemus since their junior high school years. An admirable man, one of those few old school types left in the neighborhood that was also a remarkable musician. From his humble beginnings as a trumpet player in the historic Treme area, Gabriel rose to national fame and prominence. Years later, a tragic twist of fate left him a bitter and lonely shell of his former self, forever living in the past and nearly senile. When the apocalypse hit, Gabriel took to stock piling arms and personally looking out for Barabbas and Nicodemus as if they were his sons. With all the rampant violence in the city, he was led to believe that the weapons were for protection. For years before the slaughter, New Orleans had an extremely violent history. Once dubbed ‘the murder capital’, the city was slowly eating itself away from the inside. With its police department and many figures in political circles corrupt, the citizens of the city were often forced to defend themselves by any means necessary. Considering the events of the past few months, the ruse worked on Gabriel. Pretty long in the tooth in his golden years, the old man rarely suspected a thing.

  Mapping out areas of the city where the most zombie activity occurred, the duo along with many others in the city took it upon themselves to stake out and destroy any zombies lurking about. Abandoned churches, stripped down storefronts and other closed down grocery stores were usually prime targets where zombies could be found in droves. There was one glaring exception though. No one, no matter who they were, was ever allowed in the designated ‘high crime zones’ which were the former neighborhoods known as the Calliope, St. Bernard, Melpomine, St. Thomas, and Magnolia Housing Projects. These housing developments, the Magnolia especially, were some of the most dangerous neighborhoods in the city’s history. Now they were strictly quarantined areas. No one got the full story, but everyone had his or her suspicions. There was only a matter of time before the truth would come out. As for the kills, some teams went out, destroyed a few ‘nests’ as they were called before nightfall and would later celebrate a ‘good days’ kill’ at a local club or strip bar. It was a little too surreal for Barabbas’ taste. Here they were, makeshift vigilantes, knocking off former family members, friends and the like for sport and having beers and laughs later. Some teams even compared scores of how many kills they made, if one could consider such a thing a sport. The ultimate goal of this systematic purging of sorts was to never allow the infected entities to spill out in the other parts of the city. It was quite scary actually. Years ago, the citizens of New Orleans never dreamed that a major storm would ever break its levees and change the course of its history. Yet here we were years later, and it seemed as though a storm of a more tragic nature was now upon us. Not sufficient with destroying mere homes and other buildings, this storm seemed intent on destroying our very souls. Ernest Hemingway once said, “The world is a fine place, and worth fighting for.” In these dark days that were now upon us, it certainly did not seem so. With the very nature of humanity itself degenerating to such a disastrous state, at times it was uncertain as to who the real threat was-them or us.