Mike got his answers.
He was in a banquet hall. A long wooden table was dominant, running down the entire length of the room. A wood fire burned at the side, above which span a large carcass on the spit roast. The most striking thing was the silence, as a hundred zombies sat on chairs around the table, stopped and looked at the fresh meat that had arrived through the door. Mike walked further inside and now saw the dozens of people, men, women and even children lined up against the wall. They wore rags, enough only to conceal their genitalia and were chained together, several wearing crowns of herb leaves dotted with cloves of garlic and bulbs of onion. They looked to the floor, dejected, defeated and dirty. Mike turned to the banquet table. The zombies sat and watched him, aghast, angry their meal had been interrupted. Their platters consisted of arms, legs, hands, even heads were on the menu. Several body parts, Mike couldn’t even distinguish.
His eyes moved along the table, to the far end, the guest of honor. He recognized this zombie. It was Hugo Chavez, complete in trademark red beret, who gaped, open mouthed with a portion of colon in hand.
Mike had his answers. Zombies had gained intelligence enough to realize that their food supply would eventually run out. They were breeding humans for food and the women were doubtless kept in a separate section. What’s more and perhaps most depressing of all, they had willing human traitors who sold their souls to collaborate with them.
Mike never turned toward the footsteps behind. Thirty seconds of intense pain were all he had to endure while the black-clad zombies unmasked and ripped through his flesh with their teeth.
Eleven
Sarah awoke. The sound of currents flowing through what had to be a zombie filled her head.
When she opened the door and peered at the fence, she froze to the floor.
She counted six zombies. They were determined and intent on breaking through the fence. They were larger, more excitable and probably hungrier than any she’d ever seen before.
Usually, they would wonder up to the fence and just stare inside. An occasional zombie would shake it to see if it could somehow push it over and every once in a blue moon one of them would try biting through.
Today, all six were going crazy. The fence was being shaken so hard it visually vibrated for several sections in each direction. For the first time ever, Sarah actually felt frightened at the thought the fence may not hold. The stench of burning flesh filled the air like never before as wisps of smoke rose from hands and burning hair.
Sarah held her robe tight about her body. Where were the so called Guardians? They’d better be quick.
The tall zombie at the end stood out to her. It wore a leather jacket, had long burning hair and several gold teeth that glimmered in the morning light. It wrapped its mouth around the wire and bit down. Its face contorted as thousands of volts passed through it, yet it continued to gnaw on the wire.
It bit through.
Then it thrust an arm in the breach just as one of the other zombies completely charred into dust. It wrapped its mouth round another section of wire. Thick red liquid fell from its opened mouth to the turf, igniting small fires in the grass. The other zombies continued shaking the fence, making good on the hole that had already been wrought.
For the first time, Sarah noticed the blacked out vehicle, parked only a matter of yards from where zombies threatened to break through and enter the county.
More wire was worked through and now that same strong, fierce, indestructible and truly terrifying zombie forced its torso through the incision. As dead, burning hands clawed and pulled back the wire, forcing a body sized gap in the fence, Sarah finally ran back inside and bolted the door.
From the upstairs window, she looked outside just as the blacked out vehicle reversed over two zombies. The sound was horrific, yet the back of the vehicle, built like a tank, seemed unscratched. The zombies were trapped beneath the rear wheels, struggling to free themselves. The two front doors swung open in unison and Sarah watched two Guardians emerge. They dragged themselves toward their foes, semi-automatic weapons in hand then raised their rifles and unleashed a flurry of fire that tore into the zombies as they squeezed through the fence. Their aim was terrible, coordination just as bad. Still, and only due to the sheer volume of rounds spent, two dead zombies lay, torn apart on the ground. The Guardians lugged themselves toward the final zombie, the leather jacketed, gold toothed giant who now banged on Sarah’s door. The fire swept toward it in a horizontal hailstorm, tearing through flesh, bricks and mortar indiscriminately.
From upstairs, Sarah heard the destruction being brought on her house below. It was a true nightmare situation for her, but she needed to keep her head. It wasn’t just her life that depended on the outcome of the very fluid situation unfolding outside. She always kept a knife by her bedside table, on account of the fact she lived so close to the fence. She now looked at the knife and hoped she wouldn’t need to use it.
The Guardians dragged the shattered corpse off the front porch and dumped it in the trunk with the others. They returned to their seats, closed the doors and reversed over the two zombies that still lay struggling to move beneath the wheels, crushing their skulls into the turf. They lay flat, motionless and Sarah watched as the blacked out vehicle roared down the road, leaving the horrific mess in front of her home.
A sloppy job carried out by the so called Guardians. Sarah looked at the gaping hole in the fence.
Now was her chance.
Twelve
Her litter was due in less than two weeks. If she didn’t act now on this Guardian given opportunity, then she would be unlikely to get another chance.
Through her bedroom window, it was clear that the gap those zombies had created in the fence was large enough for even a pregnant person to slip through. But if she didn’t hurry, then it was likely the Guardians would return, clean up the mess outside and patch up the hole. Then her chance to escape would be gone, perhaps not forever, but certainly for the foreseeable future. Worst of all, her litter would be born and taken immediately away and she couldn’t allow that to happen, not again.
She ransacked her home, searching for anything of use and stuffing them in a backpack. She packed bottled water, small bags of oats, pasta and a few items of canned food she grabbed randomly from the cupboard. She rifled through the wardrobe, underwear and warm clothes went straight in the backpack. She took a camping sleeping bag which was rolled up tightly in a pouch, then wrapped herself tightly in her extra warm overcoat.
Sarah was scared. She was about to venture into the great unknown of Terra Incognita. She’d been taught at school about the evils and horrors that lay out there. But she would much rather take the chance out there, than stay and give up her fourth and final litter to the Guardians. When she thought about it, the fear of what would happen to her litter far outweighed the fear of the unknown that was running through her mind.
She thought about the impracticality of a heavily pregnant woman being alone out there. It would be hard but there was no choice.
She heaved the backpack over her shoulders, left the house and closed the door. She saw the two corpses in front of her, motionless on the floor. Beyond them lay the wide gaping hole in the electrified fence which led to Terra Incognita, unknown land. She could see the wide, open fields that stretched on into the vista for eternity. Long grass covered everything, it swayed with the breeze. It looked peaceful, yet terrifying.
She looked back towards Clinton County. Everything was beautiful, organized, ordered. It was all she had ever known. Her friends were here, her entire life was here.
Where were the Guardians? Why had they not come? The fence was dangerous and open, zombies could walk through at any minute. She realized for the first time in weeks, there was no blacked out vehicle watching her. What was going on?
All the thoughts, doubts and fears she experienced recently; were they justified? Were they all just in her head? Out of everybody she knew, she had been the only one to experience such se
ditious thoughts. They wouldn’t teach anything in school that wasn’t true, would they? Movies don’t lie, do they? Surely, the system couldn’t be organized only to suit those that govern it, could it? It all seemed so implausible now she was staring at the outside.
She didn’t have much time. What really were the chances that they were taking all litters away for some self-serving, perhaps evil purpose?
No way – It’s just not plausible!
She looked at the open fields, at the hole in the fence.
Then, Sarah turned round, looked at her bullet flecked house.
She walked back inside. Back to the warmth. Back to the safety and security of what she knew.
Thirteen
They didn’t look up, not even for a second, while feasting on Mike’s corpse, to notice Doctor Weinberg standing in the threshold, a cord clasped tight around his neck. He juddered forward as his face contorted.
“Not one word or I’ll garrote you.” It was Nestor who had the skipping rope wound about the runt’s throat, taken from the gym when the mutants shambled away to the sound of alarm, leaving Weinberg unguarded and exposed. Nestor had acted on instinct. “Mike?” He shouted, but it was futile and he felt his grip tighten. “You’ll die for this you treacherous little shylock.”
Weinberg choked, his tongue poking out involuntarily between teeth as a wet patch formed on his pants, preceding the yellow pool that enlarged by the second at his feet. “Hyeh…Hyeh.” The air fought to leave his mouth and Nestor eased the pressure.
For the first time, Nestor surveyed the gruesome, ghastly scene, trying not to focus on his mauled friend by his feet, but instead on the table of zombies feasting on human flesh. His stomach lurched but he battled to keep from throwing up – There’d be time for that later.
Children screamed from the far wall and muttered in some foreign babbling, perhaps even pre-human tongue. They’d probably been kept separated and had thus never developed the means of speech. It was obvious why they were here, it all made sense now.
Nestor pushed Weinberg forward as his pulse quickened and he shouted out to the hungry demons. “You’d better stay away, I have your scientist, and by God I will break his neck, don’t bet against it you monsters.” He’d guessed, hoped even, that Weinberg was too indispensable for them, that he was imperative for their food source and would act as the perfect human shield. It wasn’t as though a zombie was educated in the art of artificially inseminating a female human and, scanning the faces of the stuck zombies, it was working so far. They mainly sat and ate, some with eyebrows pulsating, others banging fists against their neighbor, making all kinds of ungodly noises, and hey, there was Hugo Chavez, which was a surprise, at the head of the table with what could only be a colon dangling down his chin. “Make quick.” He spat and kneed the doctor in the back for good measure.
His skin turned blue, but Nestor didn’t ease up. “What…where…where are you taking me?”
In truth, Nestor hadn’t thought that far ahead. What options did he have as he stood in a room full of zombies all desiring his vitals? In the short term, the door in the corner was a no-brainer. For he didn’t fancy going back the way he came, past Mike and the large zombie with a caved in skull – Mike had done a good job with that thing. Beyond the door ahead, which seemed to shine with the sun from the outside, Caracas beckoned. And from there he could hope to commandeer a boat. Nestor could sail, having grown up near the Rio Caroni, and it was only a matter of finding a craft that worked, with enough fuel to skirt up the Antillean Islands. He’d survey the coasts and decide as he went, if it was safe to pull in, for there was no way of knowing how the many islands had faired the last few years. The end goal? It had to be the United States, as the original plan. Nestor found it his duty to find Mike’s children and tell them their father died a hero. And it couldn’t be helped, if somewhere along the way, Weinberg, who’d be chained to the boom in the meantime, would accidentally fall overboard with a cracked skull.
The children wailed and then the adults spoke in some strange dialect, jangling their bonds, pleading and crying as though the large hero who’d calved up the room was their only chance for salvation – Which it was.
Nestor’s fist clenched but he resisted the urge to murder Weinberg right where he pissed on the floor. He couldn’t be sure his safety would be guaranteed if he did what he wanted. “The lock…Release them, now.”
They were chained together with a large padlock holding three clasps in place in the center. It was a combination lock which wouldn’t undo their individual chains but would free them from each other and the wall. Their individual bonds could be picked apart later, at least now they’d have a chance at survival.
Weinberg hesitated, received a knee in the kidneys, then set about the lock with a rare speed. It clattered to the floor and the kids immediately bolted for the exit.
That was good enough for Nestor, it was just a tragedy his friend wouldn’t be accompanying their hasty escape.
He readjusted his grip on the rope, shoved the wretched doctor toward the door and turned back for one final look at the man who’d been leader for much of his life. “Socialism…I bet you had it in hell too!”
Afterword
Compliance is to date the most philosophical and perhaps “deep” zombie story I have written. The story will probably mean different things to different people.
As humans, we breed all kinds of animals for food. This is easy in the most part because the animals we breed lack intelligence. We have the luxury of being at the very top of the food chain.
But imagine a world where we weren’t top of the food chain. If zombies really did take over, then surely they would be above us. Imagine a situation then that zombies actually possessed intelligence. They would soon realize that if they ate humans at every available opportunity, they’d eventually deplete their food sources. They would have to devise a plan to breed humans on an industrial scale in order to ensure their survival.
However, because we humans also have intelligence they would struggle with this task. They would have two choices: Either act like barbarians and force us to breed against our will, something which I don’t think would be easy. Or else, they could do the easier thing, separate the genders (what we do with cattle) and condition us to believe we were actually doing the right thing, helping ourselves, the state and our offspring.
I wanted the reader to think about how a superior being would go about mass producing humans for food.
But more than that, the real meaning behind the story is unfortunately a little more sinister and universal. What it is really about is the dangers of being a free thinking person, how they are marginalized because society conditions everybody to think and believe in a certain way. Those free thinkers who step outside the acceptable boundaries that are dictated to us are disproportionately targeted, smeared, ridiculed and in many cases imprisoned or worse. It was Nestor who said it best, “A free thinker is dangerous!” This is true no matter which country or era you live in.
Even when you have your beliefs, which may well differ to the mainstream, what you are conditioned to believe from a child and have reinforced to you hundreds of times every single day, the vast majority of people will always choose to keep their errant beliefs to themselves. It is after all, easier to fall in with the crowd and play it safe than to risk marginalization and heaven forbid, actually upsetting somebody.
Unfortunately, for poor Sarah, that is exactly what she chose to do. Life was reasonably good for Sarah and comfortable, which is probably why in the end she chose the status quo and it will be her future children who will suffer for it.
The most dangerous man, to any government, is the man who is able to think things out for himself without regard to the prevailing superstitions and taboos. Almost inevitably he comes to the conclusion that the government he lives under is dishonest, insane and intolerable, and so, if he is romantic, he tries to change it. And even if he is not romantic personally he is apt to spread disco
ntent among those who are.
H.L. Mencken
Author’s Note
Hi there and thanks for making it this far.
I love you too much to put you through reading this story, which despite the awesome cover, is far from my best work.
My advice is to skip this one, unless you’re a glutton for punishment, and go straight to the story after.
You’ve been warned.
Best.
K. Bartholomew
One
Oh my God, it was happening.
I mean, it was really fucking happening!
It was so much more than a mere dream come true, I’d waited my entire life for this and now it was actually fucking happening.
Zombies!
Talk about a breaking story, the last few hours the news had been all about fucking zombies, taking top spot from the general election, and I had a feeling this would be the big story for a long time. The coverage had been rolling and constant with some of the big talking heads so it was truly possible that this was the real thing and not just a sick joke or some prankster having fun on his last day. I mean, they couldn’t fake footage of an old woman having her entrails coiled out from an open wound in her belly, right?
Still, it was all so hard to fucking believe and so I plunged my face in the sink, fully expecting that when I brought my head out the water the TV coverage would again be the Prime Minister muttering to simpletons about the state of the NHS. The water bubbled around my cheeks as I slowly exhaled and just as I was on the precipice of drowning, I threw my head back, gasped for air and flicked the water from my hair. When I opened my eyes, I was elated to find a group of zeds were now tearing into a paperboy and I could only gape at the screen while copies of the Sun were strewn about the street, his BMX lying on its side a few steps from where hungry fingers scooped out his brains.
Zombie Revolution Page 15
