by Arthur Stone
No, the city of Bismarck just ended here, right on the eastern riverbank. The concrete that had been visible across the river was missing. The paths that lovers and mothers with strollers had frequented were gone, too. In their place stood some breathtakingly boring bushes backed by a stunted forest. A large, dilapidated shed stood in the space between them. It was at least a hundred years old, but he swore it had never been there before. Leland would’ve noticed it.
The developments, the housing projects, the stores, the malls, all gone.
The river had changed, too. The Missouri flowed right through Bismarck, some miles south of the Dakota Access Pipeline’s original route before it had been rerouted to Standing Rock. They claimed the pipeline plans had been modified to keep Bismarck’s water clean, but this river before him had always been utterly, irreversibly filthy. Endless expanses of ugly algae had concealed its putrid waters, but they were all gone now, replaced by fish, which hadn’t lived here since the times of the Great Flood. Perhaps “fish” wasn’t even the right word—one specimen Leland saw splashing in and out of the water more resembled a dinosaur. If caught, it would be the cherished capstone of any fisherman’s collection.
He swung around. The city still rested on the eastern bank, its buildings standing where they had always stood. Everything seemed in good shape, except for an unhealthy-looking smoke rising far in the distance, off to the left. The blaze burned hot, but Leland guessed the city fire brigade was too busy with this year’s Cannibal Day Parade.
He turned back towards the river. As before, none of the city extended across the water. Still the ancient shed, the world’s worst bushes, and the pitiful forest.
Leland’s mind could have accepted pretty much anything. Radioactive ruins, eternal conflagrations, aliens, even endless concrete running all the way to the horizon. He had acknowledged that unknown aggressors had wielded some brand of malevolent miracle weapon that turned all the residents into zombies. But he could not accept the overnight planting of that sorry forest, those damned bushes, and that sickening shed. Nothing could have replaced the buildings, roads, and factories that had been here with these miserable stand-ins overnight.
Either I’ve gone completely mad, or something so extreme has happened that the zombie invasion pales in comparison.
His headache was now unbearable. This was more than a simple concussion. He needed a doctor, and perhaps he was hallucinating, as the cityscape across the river hadn’t disappeared at all.
His brain was playing tricks on him. That would explain it.
He moved about five hundred feet forward, trying to use the bushes and trees for cover, and approached where the bridge used to be. Well, it was still there, but only part of it. It now ran out to its first support pylon, then abruptly stopped, severed by some giant cosmic knife.
He had to test his hallucination hypothesis, which meant stepping out into the open. Upon reaching the edge of the cut, he sat down and carefully felt around. The asphalt was cut clean, the metal rods inside the bridge cut with it. His sense of touch agreed with his vision: there was no way he could cross here.
There was zero probability that two of his senses were lying to him in the exact same way, right? It was true. Or, it could all be a grand hallucination. He could still be lying near his destroyed Jeep, his panicked mind conjuring all of these images.
Hordes of zombies, strike drones of unknown origin, half of the city missing—this sounded like isolation-worthy schizophrenia.
But like any respectable psycho, Leland was hesitant to admit he was insane. He was holding onto his life plans as much as he could. He refused to stop fighting his raging desire to go lie in a hole somewhere, howl in endless pain, and briefly quench his thirst by downing liters of water.
So much for the government district. It had vanished into the underworld along with the whole other side of the city, which was where Leland’s house had stood. Time to find a new destination, but what other location would have a weapon? He might have trouble with marauding bands of raiders. Alas, he didn’t know too many places you could get a decent gun, and those he could find were probably all stripped clean.
He had only one course of action: stock up on food and water, and find somewhere to rest in the hopes that his body would heal itself.
First, a place to rest. He couldn’t carry much—he could barely carry his own weight, in fact—so the best option was to barricade himself in a food mart. But not a big grocery store—that would be too noticeable. It would attract raiders, and Leland doubted they were all as kind as those four. His head pounded still, and each pound brought his spirits down closer to the grave.
When law and order perish from the world, the weak and sickly are the first to follow.
So where could he go to recover? This area featured a number of shops, but it wasn’t his neighborhood, so they were unfamiliar. There was one place just up the street, a little larger than a corner stand. It was unremarkable and thus might have slipped by all the looters. It was worth a shot, and Leland lacked the strength to look further. He was growing weaker by the minute.
He started back toward the city.
* * *
Leland prayed he would make it to the store unmolested. As he wearily ambled down the street which ran into town from the river, he could see the store and its sign. He could also see the zombies roaming around it, but instead of looking at him, they were looking off to the left. Some glanced that way and started walking the opposite direction, as quickly as they could manage.
One look to the left sufficed to witness what the public deemed so fascinating. His long wait had come to an end. At last he saw a creature strong enough to tear car doors clean off.
It was, beyond doubt, a zombie, but unlike any he had encountered so far. Standing six feet tall, the creature had inhumanly broad shoulders—though one swelled much larger than the other—and its skin hung flabby and gray, undergird with asymmetrical muscles and unsightly bunches of tendons. An angled forehead dehumanized its face, along with its sparse patches of hair, unnaturally wide jaw, and eyes that shone impossibly angry, though not lifeless. It was a raging beast, with little resemblance of human qualities. No clothes, either, not even a scrap. Just filthy, naked flesh.
Its physique looked supremely strong and fast, with huge shovels for hands and massive nails—no, claws—at the tips of its fingers.
Very sharp claws, an astute observer might add.
Leland held on to a shred of hope that this Mr. Hyde of a man suffered the clumsiness afflicting the ordinary zombies. He slowly retreated a step. Then another. Then another.
The monster bolted from its perch, like a stone released from a slingshot. Leland couldn’t have matched its speed at his best, but today even a deliberate mosey had proved intolerably laborious. He had no hope of escaping a pursuer like that. Nevertheless, he wasn’t the type prepare for his anticipated introduction to those claws by contemplating his navel. He spun around and summoned his last ounce of strength to order his feet to flee, following the slow, struggling zombies who had commenced their flight before him.
He wouldn’t make it. He couldn’t make it. The road was too wide, and the prey comprised of his tasty flesh lingered in the center of it, far from any building. He had no chance. Unless, perhaps, he got inside a car. There was a car. Its door was open, suspicious dark spots adorning its paved resting place. It was a junker, and little as far as cover, but it was his only option.
Leland hurled himself inside, turned, and saw the monster closing on him like paparazzi on a royal. He slammed the door so hard that the owner of the car, had she been within earshot, would have scolded the careless passenger despite the present danger.
The beast chose a different path. It leaped onto the roof, landing with such force that the thin metal sheeting began to buckle. The windows protested, and the creature’s clawed limbs seized the top of the doors and yanked upward, causing the whole car to creak wildly. Within seconds, the car’s frame was hopelessly defor
med, swollen like a bubble anxious to pop.
And Leland knew it would pop soon. It had no chance of withstanding such force. Soon an improvised sunroof would provide the car’s only passenger one last view of the sky. To this monster, it would be like sliding the lid off a candy box.
Leland clutched his pathetic piece of steel rebar and waited. He would have to fight the monster any moment now.
The fight would be brief.
The junker proved more helpful than it had first made itself out to be. The windows had shattered, and the roof continued to buckle, but it still clung to the frame of the car like a stubborn lid on a poorly made pull-tab can.
Then the ferocious claws cut through it like aluminum foil, creating a hole. Perhaps not the size of sunroof Leland had ordered, but it served the same functions. The beast grabbed the inside edges of the gap and pulled it open, ripping the car open like a can of tasty tuna.
Leland threw himself back on the reclining seat and swung the steel rebar, refusing to go down without a fight. The monster was balancing on the remnants of the roof and appeared in no hurry to begin its feast. It froze and growled with bloodlust, perhaps devising a more creative way to extract its prey.
Then came a sound like a tomato shot from a tall roof to a splattering end nine floors below. The beast’s left eye flew out of its socket, hanging by a short, bloody string. Its carcass heaved a heavy sigh and began to fall onto Leland. He managed to move partway towards the driver’s seat but snagged his leg on the gearshift. The beast’s collapse onto his legs was nearly substantial enough to force a cry from his lips.
And that was the end of it. No one tore into Leland tooth and claw. The monster lay motionless, like an exhausted man curled up and napping in the passenger seat. A short metal arrow shaft protruded from its muscular neck.
Somebody knocked on the car and asked, in a voice that was at once indifferent and wary, “Anyone alive in there?”
“Maybe,” Leland replied, striving to free his limbs from the monster’s bulk.
“Hah, I knew this thing was occupied. Otherwise this raffler wouldn’t have been trying so hard to rip its roof off. They’re actually lazy, you know, and won’t go hunting when there’s no prey. So, who are you?”
Leland knew it wasn’t his name the man was looking for.
“I don’t know, but some other guys were calling me an ‘immune.’”
“We’re all immune here. Those who aren’t—well, they don’t tend to talk much.”
“They said I was a newcomer, too.”
“Oh man, you poor soul. First day here and you get in a fight with a raffler? Well, unlucky enough to fight, maybe, but lucky enough to win. Come on, your car’s not going anywhere. It really needs some work, actually, unless you’re looking to sell it for scrap. Maybe insurance’ll cover the damage.”
“I’d love to get out, but my legs are pinned.”
“Alright, push. I’ll help. Just put that steel bar down, okay? I’m a man of peace—in fact, I hate violence of any kind. I don’t even like the thought of it.”
At that very moment, Leland finally freed his legs. The door had taken his captivity as its final mission, and having failed, it gave up the ghost. With a great grinding sound, it fell to the pavement, and Leland went with it, trying valiantly not to strike his head. It didn’t work. The world began to swim around him. He didn’t lose consciousness, but the blow didn’t knock his senses back into him, either. He recovered to see a stocky man of about forty by his side, sporting a well-worn camo jacket, clean (maybe even new) jeans, and a black baseball cap with visor sunglasses. He held a sturdy crossbow, and something looking like an ax handle jutted up above his shoulder.
The stranger’s face was uncomplicated and open, yet somehow cunning at the same time. His smile shared the same qualities of its anatomical parent.
“So you got out without my help. Good. Nobody’s a fan of extra work. So how do you feel, rookie?”
“Like taking a trip straight to the morgue.”
“Makes sense. What I meant is, can you walk on your own? Or you need somebody to give you a piggyback ride?”
“Will the ride cost me?”
“I give good discounts to newcomers. It shouldn’t ruin you.”
“Do we have far to go?”
“We’ve got to get out of the open. If we stick around here, who knows who might show up.”
“There’s a store nearby. I need water, and there’ll be water there.”
“Alright, to this watering hole it is. Where is it?”
“Just over there,” Leland pointed.
“You rest up and come to your senses. I’ll go get whatever’s worth getting.”
The man threw his crossbow behind his back, drew an all-metal hatchet from his belt, exhaled with unexplained reluctance, and climbed inside the car. The sorts of sounds you might hear from a busy meat market followed. This incomprehensible fuss continued for several minutes, and Leland turned his head to watch the zombies. They did not circle around the car as he expected. In fact, they paid it no mind. Some had come from far to locate fresh man meat, but they ultimately stopped short, turned, and hurried off.
Leland’s rescuer exited the car, adjusted his backpack, took the metal hook from his belt and slammed it against something inside the vehicle, and then turned. With a satisfied smirk, he showed Leland the head of the terrible creature, fixed on the hook. “Ready. Now we can go shopping. Come on.”
“That’s disgusting, man,” Leland protested. “Just leave it!”
“But, but, I want it! Please can I have it? Please? Hah. Come on. I have good reason to bring the head along.”
There was no point to arguing, and why should Leland care if this guy wanted the creature’s head? Maybe it’s, I don’t know, fashionable to carry a head around. How should he know?
The headhunter set off, whistling some simple melody as Leland staggered on behind him, dizzy, nearly fainting, and concluding in despair that there was a deeper reason for his difficulties. He felt like he was gradually turning into one of them. Into a brainless zombie. And strangest of all, that failed to scare him in the slightest.
Chapter 6
The stout man dragged something up against the door, a table that a hundred pre-zombie shoppers had yesterday placed their items on as they checked out.
“Those beasts are studies in stupidity,” he explained with a smile, “that they’ll pull at the door, then just stand there, staring at us through the glass. They can handle simple doors, sure, but throw them any kind of curveball and they’re stuck. But we’ve got our raffler’s head here, anyway, and the smell of its blood is the world’s best ghoul repellant.”
“So that’s why you carted it along.”
“Not quite, but it is the best way to get them to stay away. Our raffler here requires a lot of food, so it consumes any weaker thing it can find. Those empties may be stupid, but they understand a raffler’s voracity, so the smell terrifies them. What kind of drink do you want?”
“Just water.”
“Here you go.”
“Thanks.”
“I should be the one thanking you.”
“Wait, what? Why?”
“You distracted the raffler for me while he was trying to rip you out of that oversized sardine can. He didn’t look around much. Stupid beast, and very distractible. And now, very dead. But you know, I had been keeping an eye on you for a while, actually. Saw what was happening and figured I’d step in. Slipped up behind quietly, took aim, boom. So anyway, you helped me out. I owe you.”
“I accept payment in headache pills and tablets.”
“Head hurts, eh? All newbies get that. Nausea too, I’m guessing.”
“Turning my insides out.”
“You should take better care of yourself, scrappy. Speaking of, your sense of fashion really isn’t your best quality, far as I can tell. Who dressed you up with blood and bruises like that?”
“First the accident that got me stuck outside
the city yesterday. Almost got hit by a car, fell off a bridge, banged my head. Then in the morning my Jeep got rocket blasted, and I barely escaped with my life.”
“Whoa.”
“Doubt me if you want, but I swear it was a strike drone.”
“What’d it look like?”
“Like a flying cross with an engine soldered onto it. Its missiles were pretty weak. Took two to take out my Jeep.”
The man’s interest grew. “Where’d you see it?”
“Big intersection near the zoo, south of here.”
“Where 810 crosses A4?” The man relaxed.
“Uh, A4? What’s that?”
“Yeah, how should you know. So you got in an accident, sailed headfirst off a bridge, and got hit by a bomber, then this beastie tried to tear you to pieces, and the day’s not even over yet. Lucky bastard.”
“Right, just what I was thinking. So very lucky.”
“Here, drink up.”
“More water?”
“Even better, trust me.”
Leland accepted the flask, unscrewed the top, and sniffed.
“Yuck! What the hell is that?”
“‘Yuck?’ Hah, you’ll get over it. It’s what they call lifejuice, or lifewater, my special recipe, in fact. Drink! That stuff outdoes any pills you could find, so much so that you can forget about pills altogether. This is your new life, and it’s a life free of drugs and enemas.”
Leland grimaced even more, but he started to drink. His head felt like it was a swelling balloon, ready to burst into a million bloody scraps any minute.
“So, how do you like my ambrosia?”
Leland was struggling to keep it down, not relishing the thought of vomiting yet again.
“Corpse got your tongue? Enraptured by that flavor? It’s good, right?”
“What is this made from? Socks worn six years without washing, marinated in sweat?”
“Wow, on the very first guess! You’re a clever one, alright.”
