Instead, these things were replaced by wildlife I’d never before seen in the city. Wild birds tweeted from the trees, porcupines walked the roads with impunity from the automobile wheel and deer mingled in small crowds next to abandoned vehicles. The air smelled fresher and cleaner than I’d ever known it – That was, apart from the stench of decay from the z’s that surrounded me. I hated to admit it, but I could perhaps get used to a world without humans. That’s if I truly was the last human alive on earth, I’d not yet seen anything or anybody to convince me otherwise.
“Car. In. Now.” Drooled the z with a decomposing hand around my neck.
In front was an SUV parked diagonally on the wrong side of the road. The wing mirror hung off, attached by a solitary piece of wire. The windscreen was smashed to bits, the bumper had vanished, the front appeared as though it’d undergone a collision with an articulated crane and judging by the doors, it was obvious they’d been scraped along several brick walls. And from the condition of the roof, these idiots had tried driving a seven foot tall vehicle under a six foot high archway.
“You know, I’ve never been one for carpooling.” Somehow I didn’t think they’d give a shit about my sudden change in commuting preferences.
The hand around my neck tightened and I experienced the sudden urge to throw up. I was dragged toward the trunk, before being bundled inside. The hatch slammed shut and darkness consumed my world. Well, that and the smell of rotting feces from my pants which only amplified due to the confined space. And how was the trunk so damp? What had these imbeciles driven through on the way here?
My body slammed against the side as the vehicle took off at full speed. A loud thud resounded seconds later and I wondered if they’d hit one of the deer that was grazing outside. The engine was deafening, a roaring, angry noise and I doubted if they’d figured out how to change gears. I slammed against the other side as we rounded a tight bend and then my head hit the roof. I assumed the idiots were now driving along the sidewalk.
The lunatic behind the wheel would be certain to crash and kill us all. Then I remembered I was the only one technically living. No wonder he cared jack shit for driving etiquette and courtesy toward his fellow passengers, even though technically, I was kidnapped and not really a passenger. I doubted these queries were in the z’s head right now.
After what I guessed to be several hours, the vehicle came to a stop, when it slammed into something. A couple minutes later, the trunk flew open as brightness stung my eyes. Tracheal Tube reached in and hauled me out to the ground. The rough bastards didn’t give a damn about my comfort. I guess I should have been grateful seeing they hadn’t yet chosen to feast upon me.
When I stood and gathered my awareness, I found stifling a laugh difficult. They’d managed to wrap the SUV around a lamppost. If these aberrations were the next stage in evolution then nature was playing a cruel trick on somebody.
Then it dawned on me where we were. It was the Hollywood Hills, which had taken several hours to drive a little under nine miles - About right for LA standards. It was funny how when everything changed, some things remained the same.
I’d been here before on one of those VIP tours where you get to see all the A-Lister’s mansions. I didn’t know whose mansion we were at but I recognized it from the front from a VIP tour brochure which was etched into my brain. A dozen marble pillars propped up the second and third floors, which overhung the two below. A giant oak door stood in the center of the large whitewashed front. Statues and large fountains were spread liberally around the outside. The whole mansion actually stood in what I knew to be a several minute walk at a z enforced frog marched pace. The place had recently become overgrown for the grass was long and unkempt. I guessed the new z tenants had not yet bothered hiring a gardener. I was in awe of the owner, whoever he was, if he was still alive, which I doubted.
After an hour we arrived at the rear of the property and it became apparent I was headed in the direction of the swimming pool. I screamed like a child. I’d always had a fear of deep water and drowning was the single worst death I could imagine. “No, no, no please. Anything but drowning, please.” Sure, I felt degraded, begging for my life, but surely if I was the last human alive, my life was valuable yes?
To my relief, we sidestepped the pool and then we were heading toward the trees at the end of the vast lawn. A hatch was opened in the ground and eventually I was shoved down a deep hole. My legs gave way as I hit the bottom. It had been dug out in the soil and I feared the ground would give and collapse in on me. Somehow, I doubted these freak’s ability to adequately reinforce, buttress or support the walls.
“Hey. You got any water? I’m fucking parched down here.” I yelled up at them, suddenly finding my bravado now I was out of their reach.
I didn’t get any water, but I did get a nice helping of orange foam that slathered from their mouths. Then the door slammed to a close. As darkness filled my world once more, the chains jangled above as I was locked in my prison.
The bright lights which illuminated the wall flickered away and I was thrust back into darkness. The hallucinations were thought provoking. It was like I’d been treated to a bird’s eye view of the most important moments of the last few months of my life.
I really was a cowardly piece of shit.
The way I’d scurried like a rat and hid at the first sign of trouble. What would these z freaks want with such a spineless, gutless specimen such as me? How come I hadn’t been devoured on the spot like I was sure had happened to everybody else?
My barren mouth howled out for fluids. I swallowed and an aching, tickling sensation hit me. The inevitable drew nearer.
I remembered the movie Alive where a bunch of Chilean rugby players were forced to resort to cannibalism to survive. They did what they had to do. For the greater good they were prepared to do whatever was necessary to survive. Survival - The most basic of human instincts.
Now I was looking, oh man, I was still looking at a pan full of piss. Man, was I ever parched. I had no clue how much longer I’d still be down here. What choice did I have?
I picked up the pan and swatted away the flies which clung to the rim. The beer swirled around, the sweet smell hitting my breathing apparatus.
Pray God he dull my senses and deliver me from this moment.
I clasped my lips around the rim and tipped the pan back. I downed the fluid quick in the hope that doing so would make it easier. It didn’t. Severe dehydration turns the urine brown. That brown is pure chemical baby. The urge to hurl involuntarily drew up from the pit of my stomach. But I needed to keep the severely limited contents of my gut right where it was. I stifled the vomit, I don’t know how, but I did.
Immediately afterwards the chains from above jangled and the fucking hatch opened up. I was yanked out from the hole by my neck and a z thrust a bottle of Evian in my hands.
Those bastards had absolutely no consideration.
2
Some, Um, Interesting Friends
They dragged me by my lanky frame through the mansion. The place had four floors and three grand stairways that linked them. I wouldn’t hazard a guess at how many bedrooms the place had. I assumed these z freaks had no need for sleep, that’s if they were indeed the stereotypical Hollywood z’s, which I still needed to ascertain.
I needed sleep though. Yet they chose to shove me down a hole while they had free run of the mansion. I wasn’t happy.
“Where the fuck you taking me?”
They ignored me completely. Well at least I was outta that hole so I suppose in some perverse way I should have been grateful.
We reached the top floor and then I was pulled down a long corridor, countless rooms on either side. The walls were adorned with framed movie stills but they were of a range of actors and directors, so I still had no idea just who the heck owned the place.
A large door at the end of the corridor stood imposing and I realized that was where we were heading. “Great guys. What surprises have you in store
for me now?”
When we reached the end, they opened the door and shoved me inside without uttering a word. Seconds later the latch clicked into place.
“Fucking great! I’m a prisoner again.” I shouted, not expecting an answer.
Man was I ever pissed off. I banged on the door. “Hey, I’m hungry. Fix me up a snack you goons.” Or something to that effect, I shouted. “You can’t push me around like this. I have rights.” It was an exercise in futility. Besides, I had no idea what I’d do if they did come back, unhappy I was abusing their new found hospitality.
Somebody coughed from behind. It was one of those real obnoxious coughs you do when you’re trying to attract attention. Ordinarily I would’ve ignored such insufferable rudeness however, in this moment I was overwhelmed with the prospect of having my first human interaction in over three months. I was actually happy with the thought of once again experiencing ‘normal’ companionship. Three months without speaking to a fellow human can do strange things to a man. When adding the fact that I thought there were no more humans in existence then all emotions one feels at that moment in time can be amplified a hundred, no a thousand times. Just who was it who stood to my rear? Was it a man who could provide answers to this ungodly predicament? Was it a Hollywood action hero who’d bust us the fuck outta here? I was almost too afraid to find out. As I stood facing the door, preparing to turn around to discover the man who’d coughed the obnoxious cough, I welled up, full of expectation. That was - Until I actually turned round.
Fuck - It was Costner.
I’d met Costner on several occasions. We didn’t get movie stars in the Hollywood Studio Bar & Grill. We got Costner though - Never tipped.
I gaped at him as he stared back at me and the frustration I experienced in that moment caused my arms to shake and I doubted it was from malnutrition and dehydration, a lethal combination that paled in significance to the present company I managed to find myself.
Several seconds went by – Very slowly. It was obvious from his open jaw that I was also the first human he’d seen in God knew how long. He’d lost a lot of weight, was skinny as Trevor Reznik in The Machinist. His hair was long, straggly and gray. But it was the beard that caught my attention the most, for it was brown at the ends yet gray at the roots - Clearly he’d undergone hell recently, perhaps enough shit to give my story a run for its money. Strangely, he wore a tuxedo - Or what had been a tux, for it was covered in filth, was torn to shit and stunk out the grand reception room we were in. I wondered how long he’d been stood there, without the good sense to open a window.
“What the fuck happened man?” I finally broke the silence as he looked on the verge of breaking down.
His lower lip quivered, it clearly pained him as he searched his memory bank for an answer. Finally, he spoke. “I was at the Golden Globes when it all began. A horde of fucking creeps stumbled in and began attacking anybody and everybody. At first I thought it was some fucked up terrorist organization, trying to make a name for themselves. But then I saw Ben Stiller get his throat torn open by a girl in a Wendy’s uniform.”
His story went on for what seemed like forever. The poor guy had been through a lot, he didn’t miss a single detail. He’d escaped the Beverley Hills Hilton Hotel by inserting himself in the center of the crowd as they ran for the fire escape. He regaled how he’d trampled over Paula Abdul to gain leverage. Then out by the red carpet, he’d snatched a cab from Patrick Stewart. It was at that point in the story he broke down, sobbing into his filthy, weather beaten hands. He had in the days that followed beaten himself up over pushing the 73 year old to the sidewalk before speeding away to safety.
“I’d played tough guys like Lieutenant John Dunbar, Frank Farmer and Robert ‘Butch’ Haynes. I’d always dreamed of playing the tough guy. Yet when it came down to it and I had the chance to be the hero for real, I folded. I folded like a cheap suit from China man.” The tears flowed faster and I wondered just how much I actually had in common with this fellow coward.
They were headed toward the San Antonio Mountains, where he owned a ranch. Only, he’d had a nervous breakdown in the back of the cab, started losing it real bad and so the cab driver kicked him out. It was the dead of night and he was alone somewhere on the side of the freeway, scared shitless.
He’d bedded down in a ditch, where he remained for weeks, feeding off scraps of chicken wings and McDonald’s hamburgers people had thrown from car windows in the previous weeks and months. Then the z’s found him and brought him back to Hollywood.
I exhaled - It was real awkward. His story had dragged on for a long time and I was thirsty again. I hated to do this to him, but I was through being tactile. Besides, what had Costner ever done for me? “No - Um - I meant what the fuck happened to the career man?”
He gave me a look. I didn’t know what it was meant as. You’d think an actor would know how to betray his emotions through facial expressions. He didn’t.
Man, how had it come down to this? I was glad my father couldn’t see me now. My father was a proud man, always the bigger guy in any given situation. He’d die if he saw the state I was in and the state of the guy I was speaking to. To think only an hour earlier I’d drank my own urine. My father would have died rather than do that.
The lock rattled and we both spun round to face the door.
What next? Would they take Costner and me into some unseen torture chamber complete with stretch racks and thumbscrews, or would they do me a favor and just take me?
The door swung open and a man was pushed inside.
Shit.
It was Hogan.
This was just too surreal.
I’d grown up watching Hogan and at one time had been a huge fan.
As he stood there, towering over me, I noticed how different he looked without all the oil covering his torso.
Hulkamania? Megalomania more like. He still wore a bright yellow t-shirt with red letters emblazoned ‘HULKAMANIA.’ At any moment I expected him to rip the thing off and jump into character. He also donned his trademark yellow bandana, perfect white hair flowing from underneath.
He looked well. Surprisingly well in fact. The end of the world had arrived and Costner and I could have been the last two humans on earth for all I knew. We looked it too in our emaciated, shit like states. So how had Hogan not just survived, but survived in surprising good form? How had a bunch of z’s managed to kidnap this giant of a man, a professional wrestler who I used to think of as a God? Just what was Hogan’s story?
“Hey there brother.” He held out his hand which I took, the grip nearly breaking every bone in my hand. “What’s your name?”
“Todd Baywater. It’s a pleasure to meet you Hulk.” I glanced at Costner and gave him an intentional look of displeasure. He’d spoken of himself for so long without even asking my name, yet it had been the first thing Hogan had done. Even in times like these, it never harmed to be polite. “You look surprisingly well, all things considering…” My final word trailed off and I deliberately raised the pitch of the last syllable. Damn right it sounded like a question. I needed to know his story.
Hulk had been bench-pressing on muscle beach when his spotter, Adam Copeland, Edge, attacked him. Hulk was straining with the effort of the lift yet somehow managed to aim the bar directly at his attackers face. Copeland bit the bar, cracking several teeth. Hogan knew something wasn’t quite right. “I got up and I used my 24 inch pythons on the son of a bitch. I clotheslined him to the floor, brother.” Only, Edge had gotten up. Which was precisely when Brock Lesnar stumbled toward him with a hole through his chest.
Hogan took flight and ran.
Venice Beach was by that point in a state of panic and he’d soon found himself inside a refuge with sealed doors and armed guards. There were a few hundred people in the refuge, which had actually been a school gym. Food, which was strictly rationed, had been aplenty. As long as the refugees remained disciplined and ate only the severely restricted rations that were assigned, then
they could hope to hold out for many months.
Only, the 300lb Hogan took issue with the rules. He’d received his first warning after getting caught rummaging through the dry food storage room. “I’d gotten away with helping myself for six weeks before they discovered me, brother.”
After that he’d taken to intimidating children and stealing their meager rations straight from their plates. “I needed it more than they did, brother.” It had been weeks before Hogan had finally been reported. That had been the last straw. Security made him leave.
When the z’s later picked Hogan up, he was looting a dumpster round the back of the Hard Rock Cafe. At first he’d put up a fight. He’d found some scraps of a hotdog which he didn’t get time to finish. Hogan claimed he’d back dropped a z as it came for him, then body slammed another through the window of the Swatch store. He’d only given up all hope of fending off the z’s after delivering the ‘big leg’ signature move, which the z got up from. That had never happened in Hogan’s entire career.
Now he was in a mansion in the Hollywood Hills with myself and Costner.
“Just wait till those pale freaks come back here brother. I’m gonna wrap the largest arms in the universe round their skinny throats, man. Everybody knows that Hulkamania is the strongest force in the universe.” How much of Hogan was a character and how much was real? He seemed exactly the same in person as he did at Wrestlemania all those years ago.
Still, I was glad to have him here. From Costner’s demeanor, he appeared on the verge of suicide and I was worried it’d rub off on me. At least Hogan would provide some light entertainment and above all, protection in case the shit hit the fan, a scenario I fully expected to happen.
Something was off about the whole situation though. Why were the three of us spared when the rest of the population had either changed into flesh eating z’s or been ripped apart by our new z overlords? What were they planning for us? And there was something about Hogan’s story that didn’t quite add up. He was the last guy I’d expect to be taken prisoner by a bunch of physically inept z’s. His belly growled constantly and I hoped he’d allow me some food if and when we were ever allowed to eat.
Zombie Revolution Page 38
