“Yes, we’re stuck here, but we are alive and every last person who is responsible for the outbreak is gone, never to return.” Jenkins cautiously made his way down the stairs, but stayed slightly higher than the crowd. He felt powerful.
“That’s not true!” a woman near the front called out. Jenkins recognized her as a fellow NASA agent, but could not recall her name. “They’ll just return once we’re all dead.”
Jenkins smiled. It was the first genuine and joyous smile to grace his lips in eleven months, fifteen days, and a little over ten hours. “They will not be returning,” he said in a calm, almost too serene voice. “In fact,” he went on, “I suspect they will perish long before we do.”
“What are you talking about?” the woman asked. Becky. That was her name. Becky Talbot. The one who always reheated fish in the break room microwave. Becky Halibut was what they called her behind her back. Jenkins would have felt bad about it, but her attitude stunk worse than her lunches.
“I added a care package to Officer Banks’ luggage as a little going away present.”
With that announcement, Jenkins activated the television monitor in the main hall and called up the security scan that he himself ran on Banks’ suitcase.
“If I may draw your attention to the lower right corner.” On the screen, a neon blue smudge sat wedged between a pair of socks and a toothbrush.
“Is that…?”
“Brain Freeze!” Jenkins announced with a hysterical burst of laughter. “Five spores sacs! Four more than Toby Westcott was carrying when Jim Banks blew him out of the sky and doomed us all.”
“But what if it’s discovered before they dock?” a young man in mechanic’s overalls asked. “What if they just blow that ship up and we get a fresh round of radiated debris?”
Jenkins turned off the monitor and smiled once again. “Oh, don’t worry. All of the other ships are going to be too busy with their own problems to even notice that there is something wrong. I made sure each and every shuttle also had a well-stocked pantry.”
He pulled a small canister from his pocket and raised it high above his head so that everyone could see. A collective gasp echoed through the hall as they all recognized the bright blue and yellow P-Monster brand peanut butter logo. In fact, many people shrank back in fear and some went so far as to run from the room. P-Monster had been banned from flights not only because they refused to tighten their contaminant restrictions after the salmonella outbreak at the Sun Spot resort, but also because they used non-GMO peanuts that still contained the allergens that were toxic to a large portion of the population.
“Well,” Becky Talbot said, clearing her throat for silence. “You certainly were thorough, Agent Jenkins, but what now? We’re still stuck on a planet that is overrun with zombies!”
“What now?” Jenkins laughed again, only this time there was a hint of sadness. “My dear, Ms. Hali- er… Talbot, the government is gone. The protected class is no longer. The world is ours, provided we survive. Are you not carrying a sign that says freedom?”
“Well yeah.” Agent Talbot looked up at the sign in her hand. It did indeed say freedom, written in big, sloppy letters. “But shouldn’t we form a plan? Maybe a committee to decide what to do about the zombie problem?”
“Yeah, we should vote on it!” piped up the young mechanic as others voiced their agreement.
Kevin Jenkins just stood on the stairs, staring blankly as his colleagues began taking sides and arguing the best method to deal with the infected, each trying to hand responsibility for the epidemic to the other.
He had solved nothing.
Once again, it became difficult to tell who the true zombies were. They were doomed. He was doomed. The entire planet was doomed. He turned and went back up the stairs, back through the maze of bureaucratic offices to his own, modest office, and sat down, placing the unopened jar of P-Monster brand peanut butter on his desk.
He could fight. He could find an unoccupied bunker and hide out until they all killed each other. Clearly, it wouldn’t take very long if the scene downstairs was any indication. But what kind of a world would be left and who, if anyone, would be left to rebuild with him? Solitude was not an existence that Kevin Jenkins relished.
There was another option.
With a deep breath, he closed his eyes and tuned out the noises coming from the crowd outside. He may not have been able to save the world, but in the end, Kevin Jenkins would yet be able to save himself. Slowly, he opened his eyes and reached out for the jar of P-Monster brand peanut butter, gripping it tightly in his right hand. With his left, he unscrewed the lid, his heart pounding as he heard the satisfying pop of the vacuum seal being released.
He took another deep breath, noting the fresh, wonderfully pungent aroma of non-modified peanuts that his genetic predispositions had previously denied him. Already his throat was beginning to close and the skin on his hands felt as if they were on fire. Quickly, he rooted around in his desk drawer and smiled as his fingers curled around the item he had been searching for: a clean plastic spoon.
The Survivors
Mark Crawford looked out at the dog, who was digging holes in the yard, with love and admiration. To an outsider, Hank’s digging looked like the harmless, though slightly destructive, behavior of an ordinary animal, but Mark knew better. Hank’s holes were carefully placed and well-hidden pitfalls meant to trip and impede anyone who sought to harm Mark or his family. Mark owed his life to this unusual companion.
Twelve years earlier, when Mark was ten years old, a chunk of the infected space debris that began the apocalypse landed in his backyard, striking Hank. At the time, Hank was an elderly dog and Mark’s father had prepared him for the worst. But miraculously, rather than suffer any ill effects, the sixteen-year-old shepherd mix was given a new lease on life. His arthritic gait vanished, allowing him to once again run and chase squirrels in the yard as if he was a puppy. Mark’s father was baffled and slightly worried about the implications, but when the newly invigorated Hank stopped a break-in from turning into a violent confrontation; he let it go as a blessing.
Three months later, when a hoard of zombies attacked the family on their way home from the store, it was Hank who protected Mark and kept him from being bitten. Unfortunately, Mark’s parents were not as lucky, but once again, Hank saved the day by keeping the hoard at bay until the entire family was home and safe. The transformation of Mark’s parents was quick, but they never tried to attack him. Mark had Hank to thank for this as well. The clever dog, upon sensing the change, ran out to the yard and returned with several freshly killed rodents for the zombies to dine on, later showing them how to hunt small game of their own in the back yard.
It was only in the last year that Hank too began to show physical signs of the change. His fur, once a majestic coat of black and tan, had thinned considerably, showing patches of deep green skin. Mark hid this with a doggie vest and little boots that would cover Hank’s unusually long claws. From a distance, he looked like a normal, if not slightly spoiled dog, and that was fine. Anyone who got close enough to notice the difference did not usually survive the encounter.
Because of Hank, Mark was free to live in a real house and wake up every morning to sunlight streaming through his windows. Without Hank, Mark might have been forced to go into hiding. Hunkered down in a fallout shelter, eating cans of creamed corn, and wondering how much longer before the water supply ran out. Mark did not fear the zombies. Hank seemed to be able to communicate to the infected that Mark was not a threat, while simultaneously keeping them from becoming a threat to Mark. The bigger threat was from those who were uninfected. Resources were scarce and every so often, someone would try to take Mark’s home by force. When that happened, both Hank and Mark’s parents dined on more than squirrel.
Of course, there would be times when Mark became lonely. Hank was a wonderful companion and his parents, while not talkative, were supportive and grateful, but it had been a long time since Mark had a friend his own ag
e. For that matter, it had been quite some time since Mark had even spoken to someone who could speak back in more than grunts and hand gestures. Looking at the calendar on his now mostly useless cell phone, Mark noticed that it had been well over a year since the last of the uninfected passed by.
This was the longest period yet in which no one had wandered by. Mark wondered if this was truly the end or if it just meant that everyone who wasn't infected had migrated north. He hadn't even thought to check the news in quite some time. After hooking up the rabbit ears to the ancient LCD screen that his parents never got around to replacing, Mark flipped through screen after screen of blank static. The only channels still broadcasting were the automated messages from the government. If the internet still worked, he could have picked up a number of transmissions that broadcast from the space stations. Then again, the stations were never meant for long-term habitation. Without a sustainable agricultural set up, the orbital resorts would soon run out of supplies. Mark wasn't sure he wanted to see a stream of panicked distress messages from people he was powerless to help.
Maybe it was time to move on, he thought. Maybe head north and see if there were others who survived. He shook his head and laughed. Of course, he wouldn't leave. Traveling would be impossible with his parents and he wasn't going to leave them behind. That was just the loneliness talking.
Back outside, Hank had finished digging holes and was perched on the curb, observing a zombie standing in front of his neighbor’s abandoned home. Mark watched the standoff with mild interest. There was something odd about this zombie. He or she, it was difficult to tell, wore a low-slung hat and a large coat with the collar turned up against the nonexistent wind. At first, Mark thought nothing of the standoff, but then he noticed something strange. Something began to writhe under the coat, around the zombie's middle. A sudden flash of grayish green streaked out from under the coat and made a beeline for Hank.
“Hank!” Mark called out, running for the dog.
“Ghost!” The zombie shrieked and ran after the streak that turned out to be a small dog.
“What the heck?” Mark stopped running. Zombies, to his knowledge, were incapable of speaking.
“Oh my god! You’re not infected!”
The ‘zombie’ stood on the curb, looking at Mark in awe. Her hat had fallen off, revealing a girl about his age with tangled dirty blonde hair and perfectly normal green eyes. Up close, he could see that her green skin was nothing more than Halloween zombie makeup and it wasn’t even consistent.
“I’m not,” he replied cautiously. “And I’m guessing you aren’t either.”
“Nope,” the girl said with a grin. “I’m Lisa and this is Ghost. I was thinking about heading north, but I ran out of gas about five miles south of here.”
“I’m Mark and this is Hank. I’ve lived here my whole life.”
“Are there any others?” Lisa asked.
“Um, my parents, but they’re infected. I thought about going north too, but I can’t leave them.”
“You live with zombies? That’s kind of cool. Ghost here seems to have a way with them though. They leave me alone.”
Mark looked at the small dog. It may have been a terrier once, but like Hank, the fur had fallen out, revealing greenish skin. “Kind of like old Hank here,” he said with a sly smile and pushed back the hood on Hank’s vest.
“Wow! I didn’t think anyone else had a zombie dog! That’s so cool!”
“Are you hungry?” Mark asked. “I’ve got a garden out back so no nasty canned food. There’s also a lot of squirrel and other small rodents if Ghost’s hungry. I don’t think Hank would mind sharing.” He glanced at the dogs and shook his head as they sniffed at each other’s rears like normal dogs.
“For real? Everyone I ran into along the way threatened me off with a shotgun.”
“I’ve got plenty to share and to be honest, you’re welcome to stay. I wouldn’t mind the company.”
“I guess I could always go north later,” Lisa said with a shy smile as she followed Mark through Hank’s minefield up to the house, absently scratching at a large and rather itchy mosquito bite on the back of her neck.
Evolution
They called themselves Homo sapiens. Given that homo was their word for same, this could not have been a more inaccurate moniker unless they called themselves Peaceful sapiens. Early Humans held no common values, had no common language, and varied widely in appearance. They accepted no universal truths and divided the planet along imaginary lines, creating hundreds, if not thousands of territories, each with their own governing bodies, laws, and code of ethics that varied wildly from those of their neighbors. As they were divided along political borders, so were they divided in their spiritual and secular beliefs.
Each of these factors are believed to have been the cause for their many and frequent wars. Each cloister believed their own values to be absolute and deemed others to be inferior, subversive, or outright wrong. There were, at times, areas where two or more cultures coexisted together within one political border. While this would appear to an outside observer to be a sign of progress, evidence exists to show that these areas were the most volatile. When they weren’t at war with their neighbors, wars broke out within their own borders. Inequality and prejudice against those different from the majority was not uncommon.
Given that their hostility toward one another ran deep, even when meritless, it comes as no surprise that they brought about their own extinction before ever reaching the apex of technological advancement. That is not to say that our ancestors did not strive to better themselves, only that their evolutionary progress was slow and often stifled due to opposition by their so-called moral leaders.
Nearly all cultures claimed to hold life sacred, but within the recorded archives, we have yet to find an example of any culture which truly practiced what the masses preached. When they weren’t killing each other, they were poisoning their own bodies with chemicals and processed byproducts of what we determined might have at one time been nutrient rich foodstuffs. By the time the apocalyptical events of their demise began, their scientists had estimated that less than one percent of the planet still housed unspoiled natural resources.
We do know, based on the sheer volume of debris that they left in near space, that they were at least evolved enough to discover jet propulsion, though it is believed that the fuels they used to break free from the atmosphere did even more environmental damage. Despite their clamor to leave the planet’s surface, it seems that they never even attempted to explore beyond the nearest neighbor and even then, they sent robotic drones (which, again, they left to decay with no regard toward their environmental impact).
Interestingly, interstellar travel was a concept which had occurred to them. At least, it existed in speculative fictional accounts that seemed to be popular forms of entertainment. Despite the fact that many of these seemingly fictitious tales relied on practical scientific theories that we would later prove feasible, scientists of their time were unable to discover this for themselves mainly due to a lack of funding by their respective governments, who felt the funds were better allocated toward war efforts.
Although it does sound as if our ancestors were quite awful, we have discovered, among the archived volumes of information, proof that there were occasional collectives who broke boundaries. Without these brave individuals, our ancestors may never have made it to an age with electric light, let alone near space travel. But most unfortunately, many of these discoveries frightened the masses of the fractured societies, who were ruled by superstitions and confused definitions of morality, and ultimately led to punishment or even death for those who would dare to be forward thinkers.
It is believed that our own evolution was both documented by the science minded and misunderstood by the superstitious. Our emergence was the result of the same catastrophic mistake in dealing with a perceived threat that brought about their extinction. Exposure to a rare substance removed all societal inhibitions and granted th
ose exposed with the ability to act on what they instinctively knew was necessary to survive. Unfortunately, the majority of the infected seemed to have at their core an overinflated sense of superiority and a taste for extreme violence, causing them to turn into what many would describe as the mythic creatures known as zombies.
The subsequent worldwide war on the infected would not only wipe out their entire species, but also leave our precious few predecessors at a disadvantage. Nearly all of the infected gave in to their primal instincts. Of those who didn’t, only a handful had the presence of mind to seek shelter until the war came to an end. Were it not for these few and resourceful individuals, the war may have continued until there was no one left to carry on and become the great and enlightened people that we are today.
Still, there were many hardships. In the beginning, many of the territorial instincts remained, and our ancestors warred again for dominance. Though at last we were homogenized in our appearance, it would still be more than a millennium before a common language would develop. From there, it would be another several hundred years before we gained the technological advancements required to unite the planet into a single race of harmonious beings.
Looking at our evolutionary ancestors, and their many mistakes, we might easily feel a sense of shame as a society. That we were once barbaric, hateful creatures that feared those who were different certainly puts a damper on any pride we may take in our current endeavors. But knowing our history allows us to further evolve.
Perhaps one day, we too might allow our feelings of superiority to get the better of us. It is possible that we may meet a race of beings which does not conform to our universal views. When faced with uncertainly, we may even be tempted to start a war or prove our dominance in some way. After all, history suggests that we are predisposed towards violence and domination.
But knowing our history, shameful or not, and remembering the consequence of our ancestor’s actions, might very well be the only thing that prevents us from making the same mistakes again.
Going Green Page 7
