As Haroon bleeds to death on the roof of the hospital, he looks up at the sky. A helicopter flies overhead. A spurt of blood from an artery sprays up into the air. Then he sees his love leaning over him, her pale naked flesh glistening in the light, her eyes no longer narrow.
“At least I got to see you one last time,” Haroon says to her. “My beautiful Nemy…”
The woman bends down to him.
“My name isn’t Nemy,” she says. “It’s Nemesis.”
Then she rips her sword out of his chest, taking his insides out with it.
Scavy and Junko wake in an office on the upper floor of the white-bricked castle. The morning sun shines through on Scavy’s face. His yellow mohawk mostly flat to one side of his head. He didn’t get much sleep during the night. All the screaming and moaning from the zombie crowds outside kept him awake. Junko on the other hand slept like a baby. Curled up under the desk, snoring loudly for hours. He’s surprised her snoring didn’t attract the zombies outside.
When Junko stands up, she stretches and smile-yawns, as if she just had the best night of sleep in her life.
“How were you able to sleep like that?” Scavy asks.
“Practice,” she says. “I slept on the streets of Copper every night until I was capable of sleeping pretty much anywhere, even in the most dangerous sides of town. Contestants rarely get sleep in the Red Zone. Lack of sleep often gets people killed, especially on the third day.”
“Good thing for me we don’t have to worry about a third day anymore,” Scavy says.
“Don’t feel so lucky. It’s going to be damn near impossible to get to the helicopter before those merc punks unless we find some transportation.”
“What kind of transportation can we get out here? Bicycles?”
“Probably not even that. Skateboards maybe, but they would be useless on the street out there even if we knew how to ride them.”
Scavy doesn’t even know what a skateboard is.
“So what do we do?” he asks.
“Get lucky,” she says.
Outside the window, zombies roam the streets. The thickest section of the horde is just below the fire escape they had entered the office from.
“There’s too many of them out there,” Junko says. “We need to find another way out.”
Running down the street, they see a familiar face. Rainbow Cat is dodging through the lumbering corpses, determined to get through to the end.
“Isn’t that the hippy chick?” Scavy asks.
Junko examines her carefully. There is a blood-drenched bandage around her neck, but other than that she looks fine. “How is she still alive?”
As Rainbow moves into the middle of the street, she gets surrounded on all sides. The zombies close in on her. One of them grabs her by the dreadlocks from behind and rips her back.
“Well, she’s not going to be alive for much longer,” Junko says.
Rainbow Cat spins around and flips the zombie over her head. She whips out her machete and severs her captive dreadlock in midair. Then she hacks off another’s arm and then one of their heads. She leg-sweeps three of them, then cartwheels out of the center of the mob.
“Whoa, shit,” Scavy says, smiling. “When’d she get so tough?”
Junko shakes her head. “I knew the bitch wasn’t to be trusted. She probably wanted us to think she was a helpless weak little girl this whole time, so we wouldn’t see it coming once we got to the helicopter.”
A zombie pukes in Rainbow’s direction, but she kicks another corpse into its way to block the green toxic spew.
“Rainbow!” Junko yells to her from the fire escape. “Over here!”
Rainbow looks up and sees them. She gives them a one-minute signal with her finger, then roundhouse kicks the puking zombie over a fire hydrant.
“Meet us on the other side of this building,” Junko yells.
“I’ll be there,” Rainbow says.
Many of the zombies break away from the horde and go for Scavy and Junko. They crowd against the wall, but can’t reach the ladder to the fire escape.
Scavy looks over at Junko. “I thought she wasn’t to be trusted?”
“Yeah, but we need all the help we can get. At least we know where we stand now.”
“Are you sure?”
“Just don’t turn your back on her.”
Junko watches Rainbow carefully as the hippy expertly dispatches zombie after zombie. She wonders if she’s made the right decision letting her come with them. That machete she’s carrying is new. Junko thinks she had to have gotten it from another contestant, mostly likely stealing it or killing the person in order to get it. Although Rainbow will be useful on their trek through zombie country, Junko’s going to have to figure out a way to ditch her before they get to the helicopter.
Scavy and Junko get their equipment together, arm themselves, and prepare to leave the barricaded room. They had not entered through the castle-shaped building, so they have no idea what is in store for them.
“What was this place, anyway?” Scavy asks.
Junko looks at the yellowed papers on the wall and desk. “I believe it’s some kind of indoor theme park, designed to look like a castle from the Middle Ages.”
Scavy doesn’t understand theme parks or the Middle Ages.
“You know, knights, castles, armor, kings, jousting, swords.”
Scavy nods. He understands most of those words.
They remove the cabinets blocking the door and enter the hallway. Much of this area is dark, but the end of the hall is illuminated with sunlight. Junko leads them in that direction. When they turn the corner, they enter a glass bridge overlooking a courtyard. Below them they see a Medieval-themed miniature golf course. At the end of the course, on a platform, they see a large vehicle. It is a hand-built flying device, which looks like some kind of bicycle-powered hang glider.
“What the hell is that?” Scavy asks.
Junko puts her hand on the glass and stares solidly at the flying machine.
“I don’t know. But I think it might be exactly what we needed.”
A man steps out from behind the flying machine, carrying a wrench and spool of wire. He’s short, malnourished, and disheveled. His black slacks are brown in the knees. His white button-up dress shirt is ripped up, missing buttons, and covered in grease. His tie is covered in cigarette-burned holes.
“I guess another contestant beat us to it,” Scavy says.
The small man wipes the sweat from his brow, then exchanges tools from a toolbox and gets back to work.
“I don’t think he beat us to it,” she says, shaking her head. “I think he built that thing.”
Oro was a genius, or at least that’s what he called himself. His father owned the only tobacco farm in Copper. Due to this, his family was one of the most wealthy in the quadrant. Oro, the runt of his father’s children, did not want to grow up to be a tobacco farmer like his large older brothers. He had bigger things in mind.
“I am a genius,” he would tell his father. “I am not suitable for the life of a mere laborer.”
This was always his excuse to get out of doing chores. He was above hard work. He wanted to put his brilliant brain to work on greater things. He didn’t have time to waste on his father’s business.
“You’re a citizen of Copper,” his father would say. “The life you have now is the best you’re ever going to get here.”
“When the world sees my genius they will have to let me into Platinum,” he would say. “Then you will understand my greatness.”
Ever since he was ten years old, this is what Oro used to say. He had nothing to back up his claims of genius. He was only a kid. He was uneducated and was slow even when it came to doing simple tasks on the farm, but his dream was to one day be recognized as a great thinker. So that’s what he spent most of his time doing: thinking. It didn’t matter what he was thinking about. He just thought that’s what geniuses do.
He spent large amounts of time at the dump. The other quadrants
used Copper and the ocean as their dumping ground, throwing out many items that just didn’t exist in Copper. Although nothing worked, Oro thought the items in this garbage were wondrous, magical devices. From toasters, to oscillating fans, to remote control cars. These were items you couldn’t buy in Copper. He believed the people in Platinum were all great inventors. They all had such strange and wonderful devices there. He thought all of them had been invented by common everyday citizens of Platinum. He wanted nothing more than to become an inventor and live in Platinum with other genius minds.
“You’re a simple farmer,” his father would say. “Nothing more.”
“You will see,” said young Oro. “One day you will see my genius.”
He spent much of his time trying to prove his genius by inventing new items out of the scraps found in the garbage dump. If he could only invent something worthwhile the citizens of Platinum were sure to allow him to live among them. But most of what he built were useless collections of machine parts that had no use.
His earliest projects didn’t do anything at all. They were just crude sculptures that he believed were important inventions. After being laughed at by his older brothers, he focused on inventions that actually did something. He was never more proud of himself than the time he created his first working invention, in his late teenage years. It was a collection of gears and machine parts. When started, the wheels on it would spin. That was all it did.
“That’s all it does?” his father asked.
“Yes, but it is self-propelled. Once it starts, it keeps going. It doesn’t require fuel or cranking.”
“But that’s all it does? It’s useless.”
Oro raised his fists into the air. “It’s genius!”
“If you’re such a genius then invent me something useful,” said his father. “Something I can use on the farm. Then I might actually approve of this hobby of yours.”
“That would be easy,” he said. “For a genius.”
So Oro got to work. He spent day and night trying to figure out what kind of device could be used on the farm. This pleased his father, because Oro was finally taking an interest in farming. Within a year, young Oro understood the technology behind farming more than any of his brothers. He even started pulling his weight around there. His father was proud of himself for finally figuring out how to motivate the young slacker.
But then something happened that surprised his father. Oro had invented something that did actually help his farm. The device was a combine threshing machine which used an upgraded self-propulsion system similar to that of his first working invention.
“It works faster than the old one,” Oro said. “But this one doesn’t require fuel.”
His father and brothers just stared in shock, after seeing the demonstration. It seemed too good to be true.
“The money you save should be quite significant,” Oro said.
“This is amazing,” his father was nearly speechless. “It’s brilliant. It really is brilliant.”
“Of course it is,” Oro said, smoking a freshly grown cigar. “What else would you expect from a genius?”
He had been wanting to say that for a long time, and it was as satisfying as he imagined. The look of smugness grew on his face with every compliment he received from that day forward. That is, until his father started receiving complaints for the substandard tobacco he had been shipping into the upper quadrants. Using the new device, the machine didn’t separate the tobacco plants as efficiently, causing bits of the stalk to mix in with the leaves. This created a harsh, bitter smoke that didn’t burn properly. That year’s crop had been ruined and most of his clients wanted their money back.
“I’m ruined!” the father yelled at Oro. “I can’t believe I actually used something you had built. I’m such a moron.”
“The design can be improved,” Oro said. “I’m a genius. I’ll work out the flaws with little difficulty.”
“Do you actually believe I’ll trust you a second time?” His father grabbed him by the throat, tears of anger in his wrinkled gray eyes. “I’ve had enough of you. I don’t ever want to see your face around here again.”
Oro broke out of his father’s grip.
“Very well,” he said. “I’ll leave. I am a genius. I have more important things to build than equipment for your pathetic farm.”
“Get out of my sight,” his father said.
“I will. You don’t deserve one ounce of my greatness.”
“Get out!” His father said, hitting his fist onto the useless threshing machine so hard that it sliced open his knuckles.
While his dad was bandaging his hand, Oro gathered his things, swiped several boxes of his dad’s favorite cigars, and left home. From that day on, he lived in a shack near the garbage dump, trying to invent something of value. He invented other self-propelled devices. From sewing machines to power drills to motorized roller skates to transportable elevators.
Once a year, an executive from Platinum would come to see his inventions. This man was always looking for new devices that would improve the lives of the citizens of the upper quadrants. He was even willing to check out the devices of some pathetic wretch living in a junkyard with atrocious hygiene and delusions of grandeur. Every visit, the executive would look over each of the items and then shake his head.
“No,” he’d say. “None of these interest me.”
“But they are genius!” Oro would say. “Each and every one is brilliant. Nobody else could have invented them but me.”
“But I can’t use any of them,” the executive would say. “None of them would be of any use to the people in Platinum. You’re going to have to try harder than that.”
So Oro tried harder. He built vehicles that did not require gasoline. He created a dehydrator that could preserve meats for years. He invented a one-man airplane that did not require fuel. If he could get just one of these inventions accepted by the executive he would be able to move to the Platinum Quadrant. But none of them were ever good enough.
“I am a genius!” Oro would cry, as the executive returned to the gates of Silver. “Why can’t you recognize that!”
“Genius isn’t enough,” the executive said as he passed through the gates. “I need something that’s going to sell.”
Oro fell to his knees, exhausted. He had constructed great devices, many which would better the lives of everyone on the island. They were recycled from the waste of the upper quadrants and could easily be mass produced with very little expense. But his ideas were all shot down. Nobody recognized his genius. But he would keep trying. He would fight to his last breath to prove his genius to the rest of the world.
Out of the corner of his eyes, Oro sees the other two contestants on the sky bridge behind him. He doesn’t let on that he knows they are there, pretending to be too busy working on his latest creation: the glider-cycle. It wasn’t easy getting all the parts together, but it’s almost completed. He will be the first one to arrive in the evacuation zone because of this machine. His genius is too great for him to fail.
He steps over to his tool chest and takes it around the back of the glider-cycle, keeping his eyes locked on his work. He stretches and yawns, then slowly places his toolbox on the ground. By the time Junko and Scavy figure out what he’s doing it’s already too late. Oro jumps for his weapon—a rocket launcher—and aims it at the bridge.
“Nobody’s winning this contest but me,” he says, as he fires a rocket directly at them.
Oro had a plan from the moment he awoke in the hotel at the beginning of the previous day. He knew he was going to build a vehicle that would ensure his safe arrival to the evacuation zone before anyone else. He refused to team up with any of the other contestants. They were inferior to him. He had no use for lesser minds.
“I deserve to win this more than anyone else,” he said to his reflection in a hotel room mirror. “I am a genius. I cannot fail.”
But there was one major setback. The weapon he had been given was a rocket la
uncher. With only seven rockets in his pack, it was not the most useful means of defense. The launcher itself weighed nearly 40 pounds, which wouldn’t be that much if each rocket didn’t weigh 17 pounds each. Since Oro himself was such a petite man, his pack ended up weighing twenty pounds more than he did. He could hardly even drag the pack, let alone lift it.
When he left the hotel with everyone else, he dragged the large pack one inch at a time until he got past the wall. When he saw the weapon he had been given, he groaned with frustration. He believed the show’s producers were playing a very cruel joke on him. They probably thought it would be funny to see such a small man lugging around such a large weapon.
Oro had to ditch all but three of his rockets just so that he could carry it on his back, and even then it was slow going. Luckily, he left on the safer side of the building that was nearly free of the living dead. He left with some innocent-looking young lady named Wendy, who tagged along without his consent.
“I don’t need a puppy dog following me around,” he told her.
She looked up at him with puppy dog eyes.
“Get lost.”
Then he threw rocks at her until she ran away.
After a few blocks, Oro was able to get a shopping cart at a dilapidated grocery store which made wheeling around the rocket launcher much less arduous. He was also able to get several supplies for the machine he planned to build.
He decided not to use the rocket launcher against the undead. That weapon had only one use, to kill the contestants who got in his way. For the zombies, he had only one defense. Since he couldn’t run very fast with his shopping cart, he used a variety of chemical sprays on them. While at the grocery store, he grabbed cans of bleach, ammonia, drain cleaner, and bug poison. He grabbed some pepper spray as well, but the aerosol had long left the containers, rendering them useless. He used simple squirt guns to deliver the chemicals, which were still functional even though the cracks in the plastic leaked chemicals over his hands.
Zombies and Shit Page 22
