Zombie Ascension (Book 1): Necropolis Now

by Vincenzo Bilof

  "Don't do this to me," Jerome's bottom lip quivered, and warm tears rushed to the corners of his eyes. "I ain't that bad. I just ain't that bad."

  "I worry about you. How will get through the day?"

  "I know where I can get some. I can do it by myself. I don't need you!"

  "You'll find a place where you can feed your beast for a little while, but it'll run out, and you'll be all alone. I can help you. You'll never have to worry about it again. I know how scary the world is, and I know how good it feels to shut it all out, to shut yourself down, and shut the door."

  Mina appeared behind him, a macabre display of gore. Her voice seemed as if it were an echo in a cave. "You can have me, it's okay. Jim's going to help me find Patrick today. He promised. But I think you're a nice guy, and maybe you can help, too. It won't hurt that badly. I'm used to it."

  Mina casually removed her ruined gown, revealing a chalk-white figure clad in bone and hair.

  "It's okay," Mina repeated. "It's just sex. When you're done, we'll go out and find drugs for you, and we'll also find my boyfriend. Everything will be okay."

  He could feel his body surrender to the possibilities. Jim was right on too many levels, but what would Desmond say if he were around? Jerome used to think about it whenever he slid the needle into his arm, but the guilt only made him want it more.

  In the end, Desmond had been selfish. He only cared about Jerome's well-being because otherwise, he would feel like a failure. He needed Jerome to create a sense of balance for himself. Jerome was nothing more than a reminder that the possibility of failure always lingered. The junkie brother's life honored the ghost of the mother they wanted so desperately to love.

  Mina dropped to all fours and pointed her pale ass at Jerome. She tossed her hair back and looked at Jerome. "I want to help," she said. "You might even have a good time. It's all up to you, of course."

  It was going to be so easy. Mina was more than willing to let him do it. He had to believe the part about eating her wasn't going to happen. He couldn't imagine sinking his teeth into human flesh.

  His fingers made the decision for him, fumbling over his belt buckle while he removed his jeans. He slid them down around his ankles and found that he was more than willing to complete the task.

  "I'll be thinking of Patrick while you're in me, so I'll be happy," Mina said.

  Jerome looked up at Jim, who crossed his arms over his chest and took a step back. "Don't disappoint me. I wish to see you at your lowest point. I want your suffering to inspire me."

  He tried not to think about what he was doing. Mina was compliant enough, moaning "Patrick" with each thrust, although Jerome wasn't too interested in prolonging the experience. He kept looking up at Jim for approval because he wanted to finish. The man was a maniac and could have been lying to him about the fix, but Jerome was desperate and couldn't take his chances. He was used to robbing and mugging to put together just enough cash to buy more. Having sex with a woman who was willing was hardly as bad as the other things.

  "You continue to disappoint me," Jim tilted his head and his eyebrows deepened. "Bite into her flesh."

  Jerome shook his head. "No. Please, I can't."

  "It's okay," Mina continued to buck her hips, her hair bouncing beside her face. "Let me know how I taste. If you don't eat me, the dead will. Do you want me to beg?"

  "I can't do it," he sobbed. "Don't make me do this. Just help me. You've got to help me!"

  Jim had the axe in his hands. He lowered the edge just above Mina's neck.

  "Have you ever seen a chicken lose its head?" Jim asked.

  "No!" Jerome screamed. "Don't do it!"

  "It might be funny!" Mina turned around and looked at him with her glassy green eyes.

  "I recommend you get back inside her," Jim said while tilting his head toward his other shoulder.

  Mina's hand slipped in Rhonda's blood.

  He used to count himself lucky for never stooping to do sexual favors for his fix, and here he was. He was always so lucky to have big brother around to buy his candy for him.

  But he couldn't do it. He couldn't imagine eating human flesh. He closed his eyes and clenched his fists. There had to be a way out. Desmond would never have put himself in this position. It was shameful and disgraceful.

  Jim could make the guilt go away. If only he took a bite.

  "It will all be over soon," Jim announced coolly. "We no longer live in a world of martyrs and saints. Trust in me, Jerome, and I'll deliver you from pain."

  Jerome pressed his lips against her shoulder blade and applied pressure with his teeth. He nibbled and she grinded her body against his stomach. He nibbled harder, and she tossed her hair back and gasped.

  "Patrick never did this," she said.

  He bit down harder, and he could taste the warm blood filling his mouth. Her smooth skin tasted like old leather, and he was reminded of his experiments with cough syrup as thick, coppery liquid slid into the back of his throat.

  "Wow!" Mina bucked against him. "Please, do it! Stop teasing me! Oooh, I've never… I think I'm about to feel…"

  Jim clapped his hands and recited a poem, though Jerome heard nothing more than a soundtrack to his own unraveling.

  But he was sick of being a slave to his own needs. Without Desmond, he had a way out.

  A long time ago, his brother should have shunned him. It might not have changed Jerome, but he was a lost cause.

  He couldn't let Traverse change him into a living monster. He was better off dead.

  He stopped biting her shoulder and slipped out of her. He was back on his hands and elbows with Mina's blood all over his chin and chest, and he stared up at Traverse.

  "I won’t be a parasite," Jerome said, amazed at his own strength. "I'm done with this. I'm done with everything!"

  He dashed out of that bloody kitchen, zipping up his jeans as he stepped past Derek's corpse again. There was only one person who could save him; there was only one escape from his damaged condition.

  Bright, early morning sunlight caused the biblical scenes that were displayed in stained glass to glow; hours ago, this church was supposed to be a haven, a sanctuary against evil and horror. It was the bastion of hope that Desmond had died for.

  Jerome pushed through the doors and emerged into the silent street, and was dumbstruck by the crowd that waited below the steps. He spat Mina's blood out of his mouth and looked upon the dead. They were nothing to him. For most of his life, he had been no different than them, and it was too late to change. There was only one cure for his affliction.

  "Desmond!" he cried out for his brother and fearlessly pushed through the crowd. Their heads turned to him, and he didn't look up into those malignant, unnatural faces.

  He could feel the sun against the back of his neck, and he knew it was going to be another hot day, one he would have spent indoors on a couch with a needle in his arms.

  Jaws opened and closed. Fingernails raked across his arms and neck.

  "Desmond!"

  He didn't fear these beasts. They were nothing to him. There were the faceless crowds that adhered to a standard and stuck to it. Jerome spent his entire life hiding from the eyes of the majority and the expectations of adulthood. He pushed them aside. Hands and arms waved over his face and blocked out the sun, but they didn't deter him. Not now, and not ever again. He would defeat them for all time.

  He made it across the street, dragging hundreds of corpses on his trail. He stumbled through them and nearly lost his balance several times. He could smell the blood and the feces of the dead, and still, he pushed on.

  Standing by himself with strips of flesh hanging from exposed muscle and bone, Desmond waited for Jerome. Most of his face was missing, but the lawyer's eyes were unmistakable. He leaned awkwardly over a fleshless leg, and his necktie swung over an exposed, gory stomach from which the contents had been removed and devoured.

  "You bastard!" Jerome tackled his brother's corpse and dragged him to the ground. "This is yo
ur fault! You should have let me die!"

  He grabbed his brother by the collar of his shirt and slammed his head against the pavement several times.

  "You want to save me, you selfish bastard? Save me! Save me, damn you! Save me save me save me save me…" Jerome shouted while a thousand hands grabbed his shoulders. He reached into his brother's pocket and removed the cell phone. A sudden thought seized him: he should call Bella and tell her what happened, that Desmond had died while trying to do everything he could to make Jerome safe.

  The phone came loose in his hand, and he couldn't feel the teeth of the dead while they dragged him into the depths of Hell.

  GRIGGS

  They were doing all they could to keep Vega awake, and Bob was having a hard time carrying two heavy guns. They walked in through the front door of a dark house, closed the door, and sat in the shadows while their lungs and hearts struggled to slow down.

  "Is she your girlfriend or something?" Griggs asked casually.

  Bob didn't answer. Instead, he stomped around the house to make sure the original owners weren't lingering. Griggs would have done the same, but he was content to sit on the sagging couch and watch the zombies outside in the street.

  "I like your gun," Vega said quietly with her eyelids falling heavily over her eyes.

  He stared at the Desert Eagle in his hand and felt compelled to agree with her. "It was a Christmas present to myself a while back."

  Bob reappeared in the living room and sat down on a squeaky, threadbare recliner. He ran his fingers through his long white hair for a moment, and then stood up again, clearly restless.

  "We're wasting time," he said while pacing through the kitchen.

  "Take a load off," Griggs said. "We've got all the time in the world."

  He could feel the soldier's eyes bore into him, and he was more than willing to meet the older man's gaze. They held no illusions about one another: they were two men who were willing to do whatever it took to stay alive.

  "Why don't you see what's in the fridge while we're sitting here?" Griggs said.

  Bob stared at him until he finally said, "That actually makes sense."

  "Make me a sandwich while you're up," he said and then looked to Vega. "You want anything? I'll order it for you."

  The light from the fridge was extremely bright, and Bob lingered for a long time with a middle finger up for Griggs.

  "They might not be able to hear us, but they can see that light," Griggs reminded him. "Make it snappy, asshole."

  He glanced over his shoulder through the window to see if any of the zombies noticed, but they minded their own business, twitching and shambling, tripping and falling.

  A small projection TV sat on a metal cart beneath pictures of an African American family depicting a smiling, gap-toothed woman clutching a tiny boy to her mountainous body. Paint had chipped from the walls and the damp, musty smell of carpet that had been pissed on by a household pet had stained the air forever. Comic books lay scattered across the floor and dishes remained in the kitchen sink over which ants roamed freely. The windows were closed, imprisoning the stale air.

  Vega lay across the sofa like a forgotten mannequin, her arms bent awkwardly and stiffly, her head locked in place. She snorted sudden laughter as words tumbled through a delirious voice, defined by her struggle to stay conscious. "Yeah… just eating sandwiches. Got nothing better to do. Zombies are walking around. That's funny, you know? Zombies… sandwiches."

  "Watching the dead gorge themselves has kindled my appetite," Griggs said. "Why should they have all the fun?"

  "It's a miracle I found bread," Bob said. "There's meat, and cheese." He stopped and stared at the food in front of him.

  "Those sandwiches aren't gonna make themselves, Bob!" Griggs said.

  "Make yer own damn sandwich," Bob grumbled and returned to the living room. He sat down in the recliner with his shotgun on his lap. The assault rifle that had belonged to the rapist was perched against the stove in kitchen.

  "Look at them," Vega stared through the window. "They're more civilized than we could ever be. No memory of all the pain they've endured, no identity to protect, no bills to pay, no fucking reality shows to watch."

  Griggs walked into the kitchen to make sandwiches for himself and Vega. He listened to the silence outside, and wished he could crack open one of the windows for a tiny bit of air.

  "All the monsters have come out to play," Bob said absently.

  Griggs shook his head. "The monsters are going to live, too. We're not the best people, if we're having this conversation. We should be dead, but we’ve done something we weren't supposed to do to stay alive. Isn't that the truth?"

  "So why'd you save Vega?" Bob asked. "Did you want her for yourself?"

  "The guy had a big head, so I shot it. Thought he was a zombie. Got a little bored watching all the fireworks. Figured I would shoot something. Maybe it was my cry for attention."

  "What if you knew it wasn't a zombie? Would you have saved her?"

  "Sure. Whatever."

  Griggs was already annoyed with Bob, though he could see the old warrior was likable enough. Bob was one of those people who wanted to get things done quickly and didn't give a shit about how it got done, which was respectable. The man was obviously tired and his mind was warped. Vega, on the other hand, was something to look at. Her long eyelashes were the product of exotic breeding. He wasn't sure if she was Indian, Arabic, or Mexican. He stole glances at her whenever he could, but he had no illusions about her. He wanted her to want him—if she desired him, then it would be worthwhile.

  The idea that he left the truck behind stung him for a moment, and then he realized how insane the notion of personal possessions was. He could walk out into the street and take any car he wanted. He was standing in somebody else's kitchen and eating their food, but the smiling mother and her little boy were likely dead. They might be outside, prowling through the ruins of a silent ghetto.

  He opened the cabinets and filled two cups with tap water. He returned with a ham and cheese sandwich for himself and Vega. He walked back into the kitchen and grabbed their water glasses, handed one to her, and slumped into the couch next to her.

  Around a mouthful of old ham, Griggs said, "Well, the way I figure it, if Traverse is still alive, there's a chance he has my girlfriend, Mina. What makes you think he's here? You have a lead?"

  Vega answered the question after gulping down water. "Bob has a hunch. Tell him, Bob."

  Bob shook his head. "The guy's a killer, and this is a killing ground. He wouldn't want to go far, because he would miss all the action."

  Griggs didn't hold back the important questions. "He might already be dead."

  "This guy's not just a loon. He's ex-military. Ex-Special Forces. He's a badass, and we've got to bring him in alive."

  How would they get Traverse out of Detroit? Bob and Vega didn't seem to have a coherent plan, considering that all their fellow soldiers just got their asses kicked.

  Bob proceeded to tell him about their mission and everything they encountered, and Bob admitted he was only telling him because there was nothing else to say about the world and its current epidemic of violence. Griggs stopped him once to ask why they didn't steal a car, and Bob explained that it would be pointless when all the roads were choked with cars and corpses. Griggs told him they could still commandeer a car; he knew the side streets and alternate routes.

  Vega was asleep by the time their conversation ended.

  When a helicopter thundered overhead, Bob immediately went to the window and looked out.

  "It’s military," he whispered. "They're probably looking for my partner, whose head you blew off."

  Bob played with his communication equipment for a moment, and then glanced back outside. "Everything's scrambled all to hell. If they're looking for us, it can only mean one thing."

  "Going to leave me hanging?" Griggs asked.

  The bearded veteran sat back down on the recliner and looked down at hi
s lap. "They want to blow this whole city. Our mission isn't official, but the same people who hired me can also pull the strings just enough to keep everyone waiting to make the move. There're a few idiots who think they can still cure this thing, but they're just delaying the inevitable."

  "You're so sure of that?" Griggs asked.

  "They told me what they were going to do. The mission was only supposed to take an hour at the most. Someone gave us the benefit of the doubt. But time is ticking."

  Griggs chuckled uneasily because he couldn't believe what he heard. "So even if you find your man, how're you getting him out?"

  He didn't answer the question, but rocked in the chair and yawned."You going to shut your eyes for a minute?" Bob asked, his voice grainy from exhaustion.

  "And miss the excitement? Not for a minute, not for a second. This is something we can tell our grandkids."

  "You have kids?"

  "Two. They're both old enough to hate me and pretend I don't exist. It's easier if I do my part to reciprocate. Most guys who work in homicide end up divorced, but I deserved mine. You?"

  Bob was silent for a moment, his eyes briefly glancing over at Vega. He lowered his voice even further, and Griggs barely heard him at all. "There was someone. There's a kid, too. Somewhere."

  Griggs sat back and watched orange sunlight awaken over the rooftops outside. Bob had just explained that they were doomed, and there wasn't a thing they could do about it. They could just start making a run for it out of the city, but he could sense Bob's fatalism, and he knew that he was on the same page. If he couldn't get Mina, there was nothing else to live for. He wouldn't have a chance in his lawsuit against the state if she was already dead.

  Like everything else that happened in the last twelve hours, the idea that the entire city would be blown to hell hardly seemed possible, or real.