by Davis, Barry
Tamesha caught up then passed her friend. The two raced around the park until the sun started to go down. Although the park was safe, Tamesha knew that Granny T would worry about her with it getting dark outside.
The two friends rode back to the Altadena Arms. Tamesha said goodbye to Lonneice and decided to take a quick detour to greet 'her' dogs.
She rode around to the back of her building. The dogs weren't there, not a one. Who was there was Mr. Brashear, a not very nice man who lived on Tamesha's floor. He smiled at Tamesha while wiping something red from the corner of his mouth.
"Hey there girl chile. How you be?" The man smiled a wide brilliant smile, brightening the dimly lit back of the building.
"Have you seen any dogs back here?" she asked.
The man let out a loud burp. "Dogs?"
"I used to feed some dogs back here," she replied.
"I ain't seen no dogs back here chile but if'n you wanna get off that bike, I'll sure help you look." He smiled again and took two quick steps toward Tamesha.
The girl, thousands of years of survival instincts kicking in, placed her feet on her pedals and took off.
She shouted a "no thanks" as she rode away but it was doubtful the creature pretending to be Curtis Brashear heard her. He had resumed looking for the last of the strays. He was still hungry and they were the easiest prey.
Tamesha rushed into the apartment and stowed her bike in the large hall closet. She did not go see her granny; instead she quick walked into the kitchen.
She opened the cabinet under the sink and climbed inside. She closed the cabinet door and became very quiet. There, she wept for her dogs, the best friends she had in this world. She knew that she would never see them again.
But she also knew that the monsters had finally arrived at Altadena.
Elias and Mira shared gourmet soul food takeout from Sylvia's at his Harlem apartment. She listened without interrupting as he walked her through his time in front of the grocery store. His work with Manchester Lee had advanced and he was guarded with how he described the zombie mother and daughter and the well dressed heckler. He could not disguise his disappointment in seeing so much of Harlem transformed already, seeing the young girl as a flesh eating zombie.
Elias Turnbull had done the unthinkable – he had fallen in love with this woman. He hoped that she felt the same, that any feelings she harbored would prevent her from turning him in to her boss and his growing security apparatus.
After he was done, she continued to gnaw on a chicken bone so voraciously Elias thought for a moment that she had been transformed, too. Finally she sat the stripped bone on her paper plate and transferred all her attention to his eyes.
"They were probably unhappy people – divorce, affairs, underwater mortgages, nagging mothers, bratty kids. Now none of that stuff matters, Elias. They're dead, they don't feel a thing. Isn't that a good thing, the fact that Wiley is taking away their pain?"
"But, what about that child?"
"Who knows what her life was like. What did she have to look forward to? Early pregnancy? No good men preying on her, knocking her up with kids, leeching all her money, maybe getting her hooked on drugs? I say she's better off." She picked up another piece of chicken and attacked it as aggressively as the last one.
Elias nodded once, then again. "I guess you're right," he managed. She was still a true believer, he thought. He would say no more.
After dinner Mira Hidar put all that fuel to good use and made love to Elias with uncommon vigor.
Afterwards, she held him. "I know you're still bothered," she said. "You have to trust in Ben's vision."
He nodded, kissed her generous lips. "Do you trust him?" she asked.
"I do," he replied and they kissed again. Elias turned over in bed. Soon he heard her rhythmic breathing, the breaths coming soft and low. It was the sound of life. The young girl he met today made no such sounds because undead people don't sleep.
He would hold his tongue despite his growing feelings for this woman. The moment of reckoning for Wiley was fast approaching. When he and Manchester's organization decide to destroy Wiley, would he have the courage to destroy Mira as well, if she stood in the way?
As he fell asleep he realized that he could not answer that question. He didn't know if he could kill her, even to save the world.
NINETEEN
OAKLAND CALIFORNIA – DECEMBER 2011
The creature born as Elwood Delavan Sills strutted around the perimeter of the Altadena Arms housing development in Oakland California. The head of Ben Wiley's security apparatus – officially HUD Director of Special Events – wore a Bluetooth and communicated to his team. He completed his circuit of the exterior of the sprawling development and found it secure. Just like when he was pimping, Mookie knew he needed to 'check up on the bitches', in this case his highly trained security agents.
Inside the main doorway he was greeted by Wiley's new favorite human pet, Rebecca Singler. A clock ticked in Mookie's head, measuring the amount of time the boss played with human women and this one was definitely on overtime. Not only that, she seemed to not just be a sexual plaything but a trusted aide. That irked Mookie – he was no longer the only one whispering in the boss' ear. Not only could she whisper in his ear but do so while her generous, creamy tits rested against Wiley's chest.
"We're ready for the winnowing," she said. Becky Sings was excited – this was her idea come to life and that too pissed off Mookie. The girl had mad skills.
The winnowing was the next stage in the 'Wiley Way'. Hundreds of zombies were being created daily. They didn't need to consume a human a day to survive but they did need to eat human meat periodically. Long term there would be a need to raise humans as you would chickens or pigs.
Today's winnowing process would separate meat for northern California's hungry and growing zombie population from humans capable of breeding, to create future meat. A small number of zombies would be left behind to populate the housing development at a minimal level. Those Wiley Warriors could continue the important work of harvesting what they considered to be the dregs of society – the criminals, the lazy, the homeless and drug users – to provide fresh meat for the undead.
Singler had worked with Wiley's undead in the West to convert hundreds of farmers and ranchers. The plan was to transform dozens of their operations to places capable of securely housing and feeding hundreds of human beings. The initial location – the Golden Bar ranch located about fifty miles northeast of the Four Corners in Colorado – was ready for its first one hundred residents. Bungalows have been built to house the breeders and their offspring. There were ample recreational facilities to keep the meat happy and healthy. There was even a fully equipped hospital to keep the food healthy until they could be butchered. A second location nearby – a former cattle slaughter house – has been converted to a location designed to butcher and package human meat.
The cover story for these people was that they were moving to Colorado to get away from high crime Oakland. Wiley's Silicon Valley undead have created software that will automatically provide updates to the breeders' Facebook and Twitter accounts. Most of their friends and family will be satisfied to stay 'in touch' via social media. Who actually talks to anyone anymore?
The handlers at the Golden Bar will periodically take pictures of the happy breeders for posting online. And the residents will be happy – Wiley's cadre of physicians and chemists has made sure of that. The food and water was chemically enhanced to maintain everyone's happiness. That same chemical stew had been added to the Altadena housing complex's water for the past two days, making the winnowing process a smooth operation. It has been field tested and the chemicals were not detrimental to the undead – in fact, they give the meat a garlicky flavoring.
The double electrical fencing that surrounded the human ranches was not there to keep the residents in; it was designed to keep unwanted attention out. A significant canopy of trees had been planted with great care to eliminate unwanted v
iews from above. Becky Sings had thought of everything.
She led Mookie into the complex's recreation space. Secretary Wiley met his two closest advisors at the door. "How are we doing outside?" he asked Mookie.
"All is secure, Ben," Mookie responded. His boss' eyes glowed with anticipation. This was the fulfillment of his vision of the new world order and Mookie knew how important this moment was to him.
"Are you prepared, Becks?" Wiley asked but he knew the answer. Becky Sings was ready always.
Wiley began to walk through the happy crowd and the two matched his pace.
Becky nodded. She was confident but nerves tugged at her stomach. She wanted so much to please this man it sometimes caused her physical pain.
"We have the tables set up – one with red t-shirts, one with blue t-shirts and the other with black t-shirts. The individuals you designate as food will receive a red t-shirt and then be herded to building A. There are seventy of the undead awaiting their arrival."
"Are they prepared to clean up after themselves?"
"We have them in the basement. The floor is concrete but we have covered the floors and walls with a double layer of painter's drop cloths. I have instructed them to destroy the drop cloths and all personal effects in the building's incinerator.'
"Very good. And the other colors?"
"Blue t-shirts are given to those you select as the breeders."
"Have our physicians completed their medical exams? Do we know who is and who is not capable of fathering or bearing children?"
"They have, sir. The adults capable of reproduction were told to keep on their medical bracelets. Of the one hundred and thirty-seven adults present, eighty-nine or sixty-five percent are capable."
"The black t-shirts? Those we convert?"
Mookie spoke. "Yeah. I have enough globes to convert the whole building if that is what you decide."
"I won't, but I'm happy you're prepared for every contingency old friend." The two zombies exchanged smiles and Becky Sings felt excluded momentarily.
"Are you ready to proceed with the winnowing, sir?" she asked.
Wiley nodded. Becky asked the residents to line up against the wall and Ben Wiley began to determine who would live, die, or die and live again.
He reached a very heavyset woman. The woman smiled in his face and Wiley shook her hand. He looked her over – she retained her medical bracelet – and finally sent her to the table with the blue t-shirts.
Mookie looked disappointed to see all that meat walk away. Wiley and he made eye contact as they appraised the next resident, a tiny hawk of a woman. "We need breeders more than we need another meal, Mook." Mookie watched the heavyset woman struggle into a 4X t-shirt. It ripped under the arms as she put it on.
"In this society, that woman will never get impregnated. She'll die childless and alone. In her new home we will have dozens of men happy to have sex with her. Why, she can have a dozen children, maybe more as we perfect our ability to generate multiple births. She will be happy, surrounded by her numerous offspring and eager lovers." The woman grinned from ear to ear as she joined the others with blue shirts.
Wiley quickly sent the birdlike woman to get a black t-shirt. Older women made the best Wiley Warriors.
Mookie nodded - he understood but that didn't prevent his stomach from growling. He was very hungry and wanted a meal badly.
The winnowing complete, Wiley joined the feast in the basement of building A. Mookie said that he would join him but he first had to supervise the conversion of the forty-one residents that Wiley had chosen to be Wiley's Warriors.
It had been months since Wiley and his trusted friend had shared a human body – Wiley missed his friend's comic enthusiasm for a pair of generous buttocks.
Rebecca was on her way to Colorado with the excited group of one hundred and nine men, women and children. The caravan of luxury motor coaches would arrive at the ranch in less than two days.
The less than lucky red t-shirt residents were in the basement. They happily discarded their t-shirts and the rest of their clothing. Jewelry was removed also, all to enable better digestion by the zombie horde.
Set on top of the pile was a heart shaped pendant.
The zombies themselves wore slick coveralls and Wiley climbed into his set as well.
After a brief greeting from Wiley, the feast began. Wiley tore the head off an older man and laughed as the body flapped its arms before expiring on the covered ground. He was munching on the man's diseased organs – he had cancer of the liver - when his cell phone vibrated. He removed the phone from its cradle with a bloody hand. The caller ID said that the call was from The White House.
He answered. "Secretary Wiley?" a voice asked.
"Yes." He had to speak loudly to he heard over the sound of heavy bones being crushed.
"Hold one moment for the president," the voice replied.
In a moment Barack Obama was on the line.
"Ben," he said.
"Mr. President," Wiley replied. He reluctantly wandered away from his kill but he had no reason to worry, the others wouldn't dare eat their leader's human.
"There's a lot of noise, Ben. What is that?"
"I'm in a daycare, sir. The children are eating." Wiley smiled. Indeed they were.
He stepped inside a storage closet and shut the door. "Is that better, sir?"
"Yes. They must be a bunch of sloppy eaters. Listen, I need your help."
"Anything, sir."
"Mahmoud Ahmedinajad wants to do the 'Fidel thing' and take a tour of Harlem after his UN speech. Our enemies from repressive regimes always want to speak in Harlem. Do you have any idea why?"
"Perhaps they feel that both they and the residents of Harlem are oppressed by the same power, sir."
"Right. Well, Madame Clinton is not happy but I want to make it happen. Maybe we can turn this guy around. And I want you to lead the tour."
"Yes, sir, no problem."
"This guy has to stop bashing Israel and back away from the nukes. Help him see the light, Ben."
Benjamin Wiley smiled. The brilliance of his teeth nearly lit up the dark space he occupied.
"I will do what I can, sir," he said and Obama unceremoniously clicked off.
In fact, he would make Mr. Ahmedinajad one of Wiley's Warriors, his first foreign convert.
An aggressive regime like Iran with nuclear weapons was untidy, a potential roadblock to Ben Wiley's plans for global domination. He had to eliminate the threat and Barack Obama had just provided the opening he needed.
Conversion of the lucky forty-one complete, Mookie walked the complex one last time, searching for any witnesses or stragglers. On the second floor, as he passed a corner apartment, he though he heard sobbing sounds.
The apartment door was unlocked and he pushed it open. He listened again and the sound of crying was more distinct. As he stepped inside, the warped linoleum floor underneath his feet creaked loudly.
All became quiet in the apartment.
Mookie Sills was experienced searching for people, especially weepy eyed hoes who didn't have Mookie's cash money. He closed the apartment door. He took a straight backed chair and jammed it underneath the doorknob. He commenced his search. After a couple of minutes he reached the kitchen. The child – likely a girl – had to be hidden there. He looked about the room. He opened a tall pantry cabinet and found nothing but dry food. As he closed the cabinet door a blue and white shape darted out of the cabinet underneath the sink. The girl child – maybe twelve or thirteen years old – struggled to dislodge the chair Mookie had placed underneath the doorknob. She was screaming and there were tears flying.
Mookie sauntered across the apartment. His voice was gentle, at least as calm as a former pimp's voice could be. "I'm here to help you," he said. Mookie Sills was used to calming upset bitches but this was a little black girl and little black girls aren't bitches, are they?
Men like Mookie Sills have a clock in their heads – black girls don't become bitches
until they're at least seventeen. After seventeen all black females were bitches and hoes. At least that's what Mookie's rap and hip hop heroes used to tell him every time he turned on their music or watched a video.
The girl looked at the man who loomed over her. He certainly had a nice, wide smile. She took her hand off the chair. He took the chair from underneath the doorknob and asked her to sit.
Mookie knelt in front of the girl after she was seated. He wondered why the building's tainted water had not made the girl docile like the other residents. He glanced back into the kitchen and his eyes lit on the empty bottled water containers lined up near the girl's hiding space. He looked back at the child with comforting eyes and a soothing smile.
"My name is Mr. Sills, what's yours?"
"Tamesha Holloway."
"Pleasure to meet you Tamesha," Mookie said. He extended his hand and the girl reluctantly grasped his fingers and gave them a quick shake.
Mookie's stomach growled as he crouched in front of the girl. He was so very hungry. He imagined all the wonderful meals that had been served in this apartment.
"Why were you hiding, child?"
"My granny said that the monsters were coming to get us. Are you a monster?" The tears had stopped and she viewed the creature knelling before her with clear brown eyes. She wore blue jeans and a light blue blouse. Her hair was braided and pulled back from her face. Her grandmother had loved her and cared for her well.
He ignored her question. "How did your grandmother know that monsters were coming?"
The child shrugged. "She just kept saying that she felt them coming."
Most people have some level of psychic ability, thought Mookie. He would have to make Wiley aware that some humans may be able to sense their coming, no matter the disguise they employ.
"How long have you been hiding in this apartment?"
"Since yesterday morning. Granny told me to stay here until she came back for me." She looked over Mookie again. "You're not one of them monsters are you?"
