Halloween Special: The Ghoul Gambit

The Ghoul Gambit
by Scott Thurlow

Now...

"This'll never work. I keep telling you."

"And I keep telling you-- we don't know until we try. It worked in movies before. And in that one book."

"I know, I know, you said that! But this is real life...and with real zombies!"

"Exactly! And how else can we know what'll work or not unless we try?"

"I...uh...don't...know, alright. I just don't think this is going to work."

"Yeah, that's right. You don't know. You don't know shit. Maybe I don't either. But I can't take this anymore--sitting here, waiting for something to go wrong. Or for them to get in. No one's coming to save us, you know that right? I told you we're on our own. So you can stay here if you want, but this is it. I'm doing it. With or without you."

"But what if it doesn't work?"

"Then I guess we're dead, right? Just like everyone else. Or undead. Whatever. Did we ever decide on that? Not like it'll really matter. Besides, what if it does work? We'll be the first to figure something like this out. We'll be free. Safe. Safer, anyway."

"Alright, alright! I guess there's a first time for everything. Fine. Fuck it. Help me get mine on."

A few days earlier...

"Look-- we can disguise ourselves like them."

"What? How?"

"How? Man, look around us. We're in a goddamn Halloween superstore! There's all kinds of stuff we can use."

"Yeah? What about a gorilla suit? That might confuse the hell out of them."

"You going to try to run in that thing?

"I...uh...guess not."

"I'm serious though. Maybe if we look and act like them, they'll leave us alone. It's worked in movies before. And it worked in that one book."

"It'll never work."

"Got any better ideas?"

Now...

Simon and Nick donned the masks and matching costumes (complete with a concoction of "zombie blood") they had assembled and cobbled together from various outfits and paraphernalia in the store. As fate had it, the place they were hunkered down in was a Halloween chain outlet. Or used to be. They had found it abandoned, though mostly intact, and had been using it as their shelter since stumbling upon it. The nature of the store being the impetus for the "plan" Simon had come up with that they were now about to enact, despite some reluctance and skepticism over its overall possible effectiveness and merits (or lack thereof) on Nick's part.

Before they prepared to leave, they made sure their masks were on straight and the "blood" was properly applied.

"Looks good. Ready?"

"I guess so. Ready as I'll ever be. Let's go before I change my mind."

They exited the store as they began attempting to imitate the noises they had grown so accustomed to during their brief stay, mimicking the gurgling to keep up the charade as best they could. They made it a few yards out unmolested when, overcome by the initial "success" of his plan, Simon called to Nick, "It worked! It actually worked! Ha! I told you! Now hurry up--"

His jubilant statement was never finished, as Nick turned in time to see that the real creatures had sensed their ruse and were rapidly heading towards them.

"Fuck you! I told you this would never work! Why the hell did I listen to you, you son of a--" Nick's final words were also cut off, as the horde caught up. The costumes had been well-designed, though. The difference between both Simon and Nick's appearances before, and after, being consumed was nearly indistinguishable.

Halloween Special: City Kids

City Kids

By Steven Ormosi

Billy walked into the abandoned post office. It had been decorated with all manner of repurposed trash. On the tables were tin cans painted as jack o’lanterns. Old undelivered letters were cut into various shapes such as witches and ghosts. An old mail bag had been labeled “Zombee Guts” and was hanging from a hook.

Billy’s school friends were milling around talking to each other, each wearing a patchwork costume. Mostly they were dressed as characters from shows that had been popular before the end. Billy walked over to Erika who was a pirate, complete with a real hook of some kind and a fake parrot she had poorly sewn to her shirt.

“Hey, sorry I’m late.”

“No problem,” she said, “the party’s just getting started.” She handed him a bottle which he proceeded to swig.

Billy made a face, but managed to keep the vile stuff in his stomach, “What is it?”

“I dunno, I swiped it from my folks, and it’s got no label. Gets you really drunk, though.”

“I bet, how’s the party going so far?” Billy asked.

“It’s goin. It doesn’t feel like Halloween, but nothing feels the same since…you know.”

“I know. Last year we were trick or treating. This year we’re sneaking away from our parents and drinking alcohol we stole from them. Whatever, this is our last year of school. We get to celebrate, right?”

Erika stiffened, “Maybe it’s your last year, I’m going to high school and college when everything goes back how it was. That’s what my parents wanted.”

Billy didn’t have the heart to argue with her again over whether the world was coming back or not, “Well it’s my last year anyway. And my parents don’t care.”

Billy wandered away from Erika and found Silas who was dressed as Freddy Krueger. “What’s up, man?” He asked as he strolled up.

“Not much,” Silas said turning away from the bag he was packing, “Just setting up a little mischief night fun, want to come?”

Billy peeked over Silas’ shoulder and saw the firecrackers in his bag. “Naw man,” he said, “You get caught doing that stuff, they’ll toss your butt into quarantine with the zombies.”

“Oh come on, you puss, adults just say that stuff to scare you.”

A crash at the door ripped Billy’s attention away from Silas. A disheveled man stumbled into the party with an equally disheveled woman, they smelled bad. “Listen baby, this place is safe…The hell are you kids doing here?” he shouted.

“Shut up, you old bum,” someone squeeked back at him.

The bum took a knife out of his pocket and opened it, “You want to say that again, you little shit?”

Billy followed the stream of kids out the door. He idly hoped that being assaulted by vagrants wasn’t a new Halloween tradition as he ran.

When he stopped running he found himself standing by Silas, “Still got those firecrackers?”

“You know it, Billy Goat.”

“Then what are we waiting for?”

LAD Website Original: Sally Sanders' Summer Supper

Sally Sanders' Summer Supper

By Scott Thurlow

Sally Sanders' family had gone on a vacation recently. To someplace secluded in Asia; "The Orient." They wanted to see an exotic locale before they lost their chance (as her parents claimed.) Sally couldn't remember the name of the tiny island they gone to, nor did she much care; she had stayed behind at home. Sally had no real interest in going off to some dirty, third world place with her entire family. No friends, and nothing to do once she got there. For a whole week. Besides, Sally Sanders was fifteen, going on sixteen. Old enough to be on her own, and to take care of herself. Her parents trusted her enough that, while she might cause a little harmless trouble with her girlfriends, they didn't expect her to burn down the house while they were away. Sally didn't. She instead spent a lovely quiet week all to herself. Reading in her room, listening to her mixes, gossiping with her neighborhood friends, and preparing for the upcoming school year. She didn't even really miss her family that much while they were away. But she was still glad to see them all when they returned the following week. (Though she wouldn't admit it too much.) 

It was mid-summer and life was proceeding as it always had. Sally Sanders was enjoying as much of it as possible, preparing for another year in school (just two more left before college!) with all the new classes, boys, and social struggles that would come with it. Everything was back to normal for her. For about two days. On the third day after her family had come back from their first and only trip abroad, Sally Sanders' mother changed.

Sally was hanging out at her friend Bridget's house when she decided she wanted a bite to eat. It was still hot out (despite it rapidly becoming evening) and a cold tuna sandwich with a glass of her mother's lemonade was calling to her. Sally went home for supper, intending to eat quickly and return to lounging around with Bridget for the night.

When she walked inside her house, Sally thought she could hear her mother snoring from her parents room. Probably taking a nap in the dwindling day.

"Mom?" Sally called out as she went in. "You here? You awake? I'm hungry! What's for dinner? I wanted--"

It was at that moment that Sally Sanders' mother appeared. She came crashing out of the bedroom and through the living room, tripping over the loveseat, while she lunged for Sally with gnarled, outstretched hands. Sally instinctively backed up few steps and stared at her enraged mother, entirely confused.

"Mom...are you mad at me, or something? What's wrong?"

Her mother's only reply was an odd noise that sounded something like a mix between coughing and choking. An unhealthy wheezing. Her mother got to her feet with far more energy and swiftness than Sally had seen her use in years. Her mother had never been much of an exerciser, but now she advanced on Sally without hesitation, reaching for her with every ounce of strength. Sally still was unsure what was wrong with her mother, but she could see it was bad. Very bad. Sally didn't know what to do, so she turned and ran out the door. Her mother followed on her heels.

"Please, Mom! Stop!" Sally pleaded just outside, but her mother took no notice as she bore down on Sally. As her mother's teeth sank deeply into her cheek, Sally collapsed. (It would be one of the very first times such a thing happened in a small town like Sally's, and to a girl like her. But not by any means the last.) When she got back up, Sally Sanders no longer had any concerns about school, dating, gossip, or anything else. She had only one thought left. Sally Sanders was hungry. Incredibly hungry.

Volume 5: Infinite Playlist Part 3

THE HOST FROM THE SOUTH

Ike and Dave’s Infinite Playlist of Music to be Murdered By (Part 3)

by J. Ian Manczur

(Part 2)

Now…

“Ike! Ike! It jammed.” Dave stood pulling on his trigger in hysteria, forgetting every lesson Ike had taught him. He had fired two rounds: one missed, the other simply grazed the zombie. Then, the gun jammed and both it, and Dave, were useless.

Ike tore off his headphones. The zombie slowly rose to face them and Ike braced for the inevitable drench of blood to come from his friend Dave. The zombie didn’t budge an inch. Ike’s move.

Ike shoved Dave out of the way and put himself in the way of the beast, woman. The girl. Blonde. Young. Pretty. Wore the tattered remains of a summer dress. Carved up breast dangled from one of the tears. Intestines swaying out of her eviscerated stomach. Why didn’t she go for the kill? It’s..her eyes. The poor girl had torn out her own eyes while being eaten.

Ike aimed. She howled as loudly as she could. Ike flinched. She charged. Ike fired upon her second step. Headshot. She collapsed. Ike took charge, “We need to move, now!”

Crashes from the outside. She had signaled her brethren. She had sacrificed herself for her fellow zombies. Stairwell. Good, a chokepoint. No, she hadn’t. Bad thoughts. They aren’t that smart. Upstairs clear.

“Dave, Jack, stairwell. Two man hustle, be right back.” Ike ran off.

Jack watched Ike turn into the nearest room and then directed a question at Dave, “Two man hustle?”

Dave took position at the top of the stairs, peering down it with his shotgun. “Yea, I fire, you don’t. I’ll raise my hand like this, I need to reload, you take over. Got it?”

“Yes, sir.”

Ike ran to the nearest bedroom. Armoire? Too heavy. Closet doors. Easy. He heard the first shotgun blast. Door off the slide. He hurried with it to the defensive point and hefted it down the stairs. Perfect landing. Took three off their feet. Settled flat on the stairs. More difficult to climb. Time.

He ran back in the room for the other closet door. Hefted it off the slide. Shotgun blasts turned to handgun blasts. He moved into the hallway. Slid door sideways across entrance to the upstairs. Fit snuggly in between the banisters. Perfect blockade. More time. “We good?”

Dave thumbed up and returned to firing.

With time bought, Ike unzipped his gun bag and started taking out parts. Jack turned his attention to Ike, “What are you building?”

“It’s a prototype carbine manufactured in Germany. The US military is looking to fade out the M4..look, we survive this I’ll tell you all about it.”

“Whew, you carry that thing in your duffle bag?”

“How else would I carry it?”

Jack peered into the bag. “How do you fit so many guns into one bag?”

“Jack, this isn‘t the most appropriate time for banter.”

Dave quipped, “To quote Venture Brothers: It‘s his magic murder bag.”

“Ladies, I appreciate a good gossip as much as the next gal, but we’re on the losing end of this shit stick. Dave, eye on the game, I‘m going to need you as my secondary. Jack, find us an exit.”

Jack hurried and Ike proceeded to unload in controlled bursts on the man in pajamas, the elderly fellow whose glasses still clung to his face, the mother and child he saw earlier, and plenty of others that were once human. Empty. Dave hurried to his place.

Ike reached into his cargo pants and pulled out an extra clip. Dave raced forward and held back the horde while Ike deftly ejected the old clip and reloaded. Just as he heard Dave yell “Out,” Ike was back on the offensive. “Dave, where are we on an exit?”

A few seconds passed. “Jack’s found an attic, or maybe a roof storage.. thing. I don’t know. What do you call it when they have pull down stairs?”

“I think it’s still an attic.”

“Well, Jack is heading up now, I’m following and when I reach the top, I’ll cover you.”

The zombies seemed to be lessening, which promised at least one smooth adventure. Then came the yelling, the tumbling, the shot gun blast, and the ever familiar spray of warmth that could be nothing but blood. “Kid. Kid! What the fuck just happened!”

“I shot him!”

“Who?”

“Jack.”

“Why the fuck did you shoot Jack?”

“I didn’t mean to.”

“No fucking shit.”

“He fell.”

“Is he still alive?”

Dave didn’t have any time to answer. A zombie hopped the barricade in Ike’s distraction. He turned just in time to fire. The zombie’s body flew in multiple directions. Two more had already crossed. They had lost this battle.

“Dave, shotgun, load.” He opened fire, praying they had time. “Dave?”

“Two more.”

Ike unloaded the rest of his bullets. “Toss.” He dropped the gun with a solemn promise to come back for her. Midair, he grabbed the shotgun and let loose on the first zombie. “Grab Jack!”

“Halfway there!”

Six shots left. Five. Four.

“Almost.”

Three. Two.

“There!” Ike turned to the stairs. He tossed the shotgun up before him and dashed up. He felt a hand grab his foot. Pressure on his leg. The zombie tried to bite him. His leather boots stopped the puncture. Ike flailed his leg back, making contact. He hurried up the stairs and dove to the ground. Two were following, but Dave’s shotgun blast sent them down. They pulled up the stairs and were safe for the moment.

Jack laid in a bloody heap on the ground. Ike turned to Dave in fury, “What did he do? Fall onto your gun?”

“No.. actually, yes, that’s a pretty good way to describe it.”

Jack shouted from his collapsed state, “HE FUCKING SHOT ME!”

“That’s been established, Jack. Let’s move on.”

“FUCK YOU TOO, IKE!”

Ike turned to Dave to look for some explanation, when he remembered that he had left his gun bag with the zombies. A realization he quickly shared with Dave accompanied by a string of expletives.

Dave chuckled at Ike‘s outburst. “Don’t worry about it. Brought it up with Jack.”

Ike sighed in relief and followed with earnest praise. After he settled down, Ike produced his smokes, and lit a Jackal up. Dave didn’t bother arguing.

Their attention turned back to Jack, who was quietly slumped in the corner. Ike assumed he was dead, but went to check anyway. Uneven, hoarse breathing indicated that he was still alive. Ike sat down next to him. “Man cannot be killed. Never seen anything like it.”

“He isn’t resilient. He’s a fucking liability.”

“What are you talking about?”

“You said it yourself: Jack is unlucky and will get us killed.”

“I did say that.”

Jack cautiously drew his gun and took aim at Dave while the two were busy talking. His first shot missed, sending Ike and Dave into a bewildered panic. Jack shuffled on the ground trying to keep aligned with Dave, all the while delivering a labored promise of murdering him. Ike found his senses and wrestled the gun away. Exhaustion finally caught up with Jack, knocking him out.

Dave grabbed Ike by the shoulder. “Now he’s trying to murder us.”

“You. He’s trying to murder you. After all, you did shoot him.”

“HE FELL ON MY GUN!”

“Quiet, you’ll wake him.”

Dave led Ike into the other corner of the attic and dropped to a whisper. “Don‘t defend him. He’s a selfish prick.”

“Elaborate.”

“Imagine you were in Jack’s shoes.”

“Ok.”

“Now what would you do?”

“Probably take a lot of morphine.”

“No! You wouldn’t try to blame your problems on others. You wouldn’t try to wrongfully kill the men who tried to save you. You would do the heroic thing and sacrifice your life to save ours.”

“You’re right, I would do something that noble.”

“I would, too. So, why hasn’t he?”

“That is a very good question. What a selfish prick.”

“I know.”

“I for one, vote that Jack do the heroic thing and sacrifice his life to save ours.”

“I agree, but..”

“There’s always a but with you!”

“Ssshh! One, how do we convince him to do the heroic thing and sacrifice his life for ours? Two, how will him sacrificing himself help us?”

“This was your idea, haven’t you thought it out?”

“Well, it was more the beginnings of an idea. I was hoping you would flesh it out.”

“Ok, then, One, we will sacrifice his life for him. It would be what he would do for us if he were we and we were him.”

“How?”

“By pushing him down the stairs, but to some good tunes; we aren’t monsters, after all.”

“Undoubtedly.”

“Two…I really don’t know how pushing him down the stairs will help us, I mean we will still be stuck in this attic and that’s not going to solve our zombie problem.

“True..”

“But it sure sounds like a swell idea.”

“He was always kind of a douche.”

“Undoubtedly.”

“Well, sir, after you.”

“I insist, my dear friend, after you.” They turned to Jack, but Ike grabbed Dave’s shoulder, “Re-huddle.”

“What’s up?”

“I thought you wanted to save Jack. You were all about how he was such a swell gent?”

“That was before he fell on my gun.”

“Alright, let’s do it.”

They once again turned towards Jack, but this time Dave instantiated the re-huddle. “Wait, what did you mean by playing him music?”

“We’re going to send him off with some groovy tunes, I’m thinking Supertramp.”

“Good music to die to, but I’m not giving up my Ipod.”

“You’re a true humanitarian, kid. After you shot him and all.”

“He fell on my gun.”

“Regardless, no one’s going to have to give up anything.” Ike pulled an Ipod adorned with a gold bow on it from his back pocket.

“You got him an Ipod?”

“Yea, a sort of welcome to the group present. They are a dime a dozen amongst the ruins of our civilization.”

“I thought you hated Jack.”

“Meh, mostly bluster. Guy was starting to warm on me.”

“You’re impossible.”

“Hey, I didn’t shoot him.”

“Neither did I.”

“Yeah, yeah. He shot himself. Well, after you.”

“No, I insist, after you.”

Ike and Dave moved over to Jack’s body and leaned him up against the wall. Jack awoke and began to protest, but all he could hear was a muffled yelp where his voice should have been. Ike clasped his hands over Jack’s head and Jack felt something enter his ears. Ike moved out of Jack’s vision to fiddle with something at his side. Dave was left standing there, eyeing Jack warily. Jack tried to scowl at him, but couldn’t tell if his face contorted the right way. Dave smiled and punched Jack’s shoulder in a sign of friendship. It hurt like a bitch.

A synthesizer blared loudly, but only in his left ear. He could feel some sort of vibration in his right, but it didn’t have any meaning.

It was early morning yesterday, I was up before the dawn.
Ike moved back into Jack’s view and whispered something to Dave.
And I really have enjoyed my stay, but I must be moving on.
They were speaking to him, but he couldn’t hear their words over the insistent music.
Like a king without a castle, like a queen without a throne,
He tried tearing off the headphones, but his right arm was in unbearable pain.
I’m an early morning lover and I must be moving on.
He tried telling them he couldn’t understand. All that came forth was red and yellow.

Now I believe in what you say is the undisputed truth,
Jack tasted blood and bile.
But I have to have things my own way to keep me in my youth.
Ike and Dave had finished talking and moved to his side.
Like a ship without an anchor, like a slave without a chain,
Jack felt himself being lifted up, with disregard for either his comfort and pain.
Just the thought of those sweet ladies, sends a shiver through my veins,
What the fuck were they doing? What the fuck was he listening to?
And I will go on shining, shining like brand new.
Jack felt himself placed down again, but he could not establish his bearings.
I’ll never look behind me, my troubles will be few.
Up again, this time followed by a plunge downwards.

Goodbye stranger, it’s been nice,
Jack crashed face first. The carpet did little to cushion the landing.
Hope you find your paradise.
He rolled on his back and tried looking around, but his neck refused to budge.
Tried to see your point of view,
He was forced to look upwards at the ceiling, at the already closed stairs.
Hope your dreams will all come true.
Jack reached for his gun. It was missing.
Goodbye Mary, goodbye Jane,
It didn’t matter, they were already upon him.
Will we ever meet again?
He tried one last attempt at survival in the form of an impotent slap.
Feel no sorrow, feel no shame,
His last sight was a slowly swinging drawstring.
Come tomorrow, feel no pain.
Jack died.

Sweet devotion, it’s not for me.
Just give me motion and set me free,
And land and the ocean, far away,
The life I’ve chosen, every day.
So goodbye, Mary, goodbye Jane.
Will We ever meet again?

Volume 5: Infinite Playlist Part 2

THE HOST FROM THE SOUTH

Ike and Dave’s Infinite Playlist of Music to be Murdered By (Part 2)

by J. Ian Manczur

(Part 1)

Earlier that day…

A gaggle of zombies. He flipped the coin. It disagreed with his choice of words.

A mother and son.

A congress of zombies. He flipped the coin. Agreed, but that gave them too much credit.

Flesh eating monsters not worthy of a second thought.

A plague of zombies. Yea, that was perfect. Coin disagreed.

Had to be a mother and son. They were dressed in a similar style of wealth. Probably died in church. Only bars and churches were open at the end.

A horde of zombies. Classic. Nixed by the coin. No reason given, but he trusted its opinion.

Maybe not. Feasting on the flesh of a child. Zombie adoption. Or maybe child on woman. A zombie family unit. Stop. Dangerous thinking.

An anarchy of zombies. Coin liked it. He did, too. He scribbled it down in his notepad.

He heard a tap on the glass of the sliding door. Dave poked his head out with a smile, waiting for permission to interrupt. Ike waved him through. Dave approached with a cautious, yet undeniably cheerful step, “Hey buddy, what are you thinking about?”

The answer was simple and concise. A mixture of what the best collective noun would be for zombies and a deeper philosophical.. theory on how best to view the creatures. Just say it, damn it. “Nothing, really.”

“Sure looks like you’re thinking about something.”

“You know what a collective noun is?”

Dave thought for exactly one second, “Nope.”

“Never mind then.”

“I’m interested,” Dave prodded, earnestly.

“It’s really not that important, just thinking of some of the grander questions in life.. and a number of less important things.”

“Come up with anything?”

Ike flipped the coin one last time. He stared at the result. Dave moved closer to see what the outcome was, even though he didn’t know the question. Ike had already closed his hand. With a sigh of resignation, Ike turned to Dave, “Not really.”

Dave pulled a chair to sit next to his comrade. They sat in silence for awhile, until Ike stubbed out his cigarette and pulled out his pack. He offered one to Dave, who politely rejected.

“Sorry, old habits.”

“Don’t worry about it.”

“Mind if I have one?” Ike spat through gritted, teeth as he lit another.

Dave nodded in acceptance. Again they fell quiet, Ike lost somewhere and Dave not knowing how to reach him. “Everything’s almost ready. And I made a pre-travel snack.”

Ike didn’t answer, so Dave repeated. Ike responded with a distracted, “Heard you, kid.”

“What’s eating you?”

“Poor choice of words.”

“Fair enough. Ok, you are obviously bothered by what you are thinking about, so…” Dave gestured with his hand, signaling Ike to complete his thought.

“Alright. I’m worried about how we view zombies. I mean, we all have our preconceived notions about what we’re facing, but what do we really know?”

Dave shrugged in response.

“Exactly. Hear me out. We are running around killing humans--people, or are we? How do we view them? How should we? Do we see them as monsters or who they used to be? Which one is better?”

“I’m not following.”

“Ok, come over here. Those two by the stop sign, see them?” Dave nodded. “What are they?”

“Zombies.”

“Yes, but.. describe them to me.”

“Ummmmm, zombies.”

“A little more,” Ike added with a hint of aggravation.

“Creatures that hunt for my flesh? I don’t know. One used to be female, the other was just a kid.”

“So you view them as monsters, first and foremost?”

Dave shrugged in agreement. “How do you view them?”

“I’ll get to that in a second. Part two, have you ever had to kill a zombie that used to mean something to you?”

“Like a family member?”

“Yea, or a friend, teacher, any person you had an emotional attachment to.”

“Not really. Killed a guy who used to run a shop that I used to go to, but beyond that, they’ve all been strangers.”

“Now, what happens if you run across someone you care about?”

“Kill them?”

“You’d have to, but would you hesitate.”

“I don’t know.. maybe.”

“You may, you may not, but what if you do? Heat of battle, zombies swarming, can’t afford to hesitate. Therein lies the dilemma. Now, how do you solve the emotional problem?”

“I‘m beginning to regret asking..”

“I don’t know, either.” Ike stood and started rounding Dave’s chair, cigarette firmly grasped between fingers. “This is what I’ve been debating. Now, I’ve never studied the psychology of war.”

“You‘re not the only one.”

“But, I’ve been thinking. It’s sort of like a civil war within our species. Do you get my meaning?”

“Go on.”

“It’s brother against brother. I think, in order to survive day to day, I need to remember that. I need to see each zombie as what they were and are. The friend, the lover, the family member, the brother I never had but could have had, if the world remained sane. It is easier to forget, to see them as monsters. But, what happens when we get that one remembrance of what they are, what they were? If I make it harder for me, if I numb myself, then I can kill those who were because I am so used to killing those who might have been.”

Dave didn‘t know what to say in response, so instead he just offered, “Well, I’m depressed.”

“Sorry for that, kid.”

“Ah, it’s nothing. It‘s important to think these things. Just, they’re beyond me.”

“Yea.” Ike said dejectedly, as he fell back down in his seat. He stared off into the anarchy, finishing his cigarette while Dave watched.

“So, you ready to leave after lunch?”

“Yup. Jack ready?”

“He is.”

“Ipods up and running?”

“Fully charged.”

“Well then, let’s eat.”

They hoisted themselves out of the chair and moved back in the house, Dave first and Ike trailing behind. Dave stopped short and Ike almost crashed into him. He twirled to face Ike, “Go back outside for a second. I totally forgot I have a surprise for you.”

“Yeah?”

“Let me get it.” Dave ran inside, leaving Ike out on the porch. Ike returned to his seat and fished out another smoke. “Take a look at this.” Dave produced a handgun from behind his back.

“Now, where did you find this?”

“House next door while I was scouting yesterday.”

“Let me take a look at it.”

“Oh, no, no, no and no.”

“What?”

“Every time I find a gun, you take a look at it and end up keeping it. I want a gun of my own.”

“I have more experience handling firearms.”

“Yea, and you’ve taught me. I got it.”

“But..”

“I’m going to keep this one. I‘ve checked it out like you showed me and everything works fine.” Dave was firm on his stance.

Ike paused to contemplate. “Alright, you’ve showed enough competence to make me believe you got this one. Just please, one favor, don’t make me live to regret this.”

“Don’t worry, you won’t live to regret this.”

“Also, one of my fears.”

“Trust me.” Dave shoved the gun into the front of his belt.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa! What the fuck do you think you’re doing!”

“Don’t worry, it’s not loaded.”

“What‘s the first rule?”

“Never point a gun at something you don’t intend to shoot.”

“That includes yourself, kid, especially your baby-makers. Devil likes to load empty guns. I have a holster inside, should fit it.” Ike stopped at the threshold, “You made sure it works?”

“Yes, Ike.”

“You should really let me take a look.”

“Trust me.”

“Alright, I trust you, kid.” Ike sighed. “Shall we?”

TO BE CONCLUDED…

Volume 5: Moral Dissonance

Moral Dissonance
by Steven Ormosi

The street seemed very quiet these days.  It had been two months since Abe had died.  Julia was in mourning, refusing to come outside and Jacob just sat at home for long stretches without doing anything but thinking.  He was the keeper of all the secrets now.  He was the guardian of Abe’s reputation and not only that, he knew things that could break this city down.  Jake and Abe, Abe and Jake, they’d always been a team.  Now, one stupid mistake and the entire weight of it was heaped onto Jacob's shoulders.  He had to stop thinking about this before he went crazy.

Jacob walked to Abe’s old place to check on Julia.  She hadn’t been eating.  He opened a can of tuna with his knife and made her eat with him.  She was silent the whole time.

After dinner he tried to make small talk with her.  “You should get outside, Jules.  It would do you good.”

“I’d rather stay in,” she said.

“Well at least try doing something.  You need to get your mind off of everything that’s happened.”

“I’m fine.” She said wearily.

Jacob sighed, “Alright, well I guess I should be getting back.  Are you ok here?”

“Yes, I’m fine,” she said.

He made his way towards the door, “Jake,” Julia stopped him.

“Yeah, Jules?”

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome, Jules.  See you tomorrow.”

Jacob made his way towards the bazaar to trade for some food and supplies.  He really needed a few patches for his shirts.  When he arrived, there was a commotion at one of the stalls.  It looked like a few government officials were up front.

“What’s going on?”  He asked a woman standing nearby.

“They’re having a sign up for some damn fool scheme to go and explore what’s outside the walls.”

Jacob thanked her and pushed his way to the front.  There was a man in a suit speaking.

“…could be one of the most important explorations in the history of the world.  Whoever signs up will be joining the ranks of Christopher Columbus, Magellan, Sir Francis Drake.  We need volunteers with the skills to survive and the bravery to combat the unknown!”

There were protestors everywhere.

“You’ll lead them back in here!”

“You’re sending our citizens to a certain death!”

“The Zeds will be on them in no time, it’s a suicide mission!”

Jacob walked up to the booth.  “Where do I sign?”

For Jacob, it was a win-win situation.  He needed to get away for a bit.  To worry about something other than how he’d put a bullet in his best friend’s head.  If he lived, he’d be a hero to the people.  If he died, all his secrets died with him and then he didn’t have to shoulder their burden any more.  The only drawback was Julia, but he couldn’t look out for her forever, and the trips to see her had become increasingly frustrating of late.  She was slipping away and he was afraid he’d spiral out of control with her.  He’d have someone make sure she was eating while he was gone and hopefully, without him there, she’d be forced to come to grips with the situation she was in.  It was selfish of him, but he couldn’t stand the silence anymore.

He told her the next day.  He had expected her to be unaffected, but she was actually angry.  She showed real emotion for the first time since Abe had died.

“How can you do this to me, Jake?  I depend on you.  You’re the only good thing in my life.”

“They need people to help, Jules.  And to be honest, I didn’t think you ever cared whether I was here or not.  I’m going crazy here, thinking about…what happened.  Over and over and over again.  I need something different or I’m going to go nuts.”

“What about me, Jake?  I’m already nuts.  I know it.  You think I don’t realize what a lunatic I’ve become?
The realization is the worst part.  I’m a crazy old shut in lady who has one thing in life to cling to, and now that’s leaving me too.”

“I’m not leaving you.  Think of it as a business trip.  I’ll be back to bug you in no time.  It’s just going to be a couple weeks.”

“When are you leaving?” Julia asked.

“Not for ten more days.” Jacob responded.  “I’ve actually got to start making preparations for the trip.” He got up to go.

“Not today, Jake.  Please, just stay here with me today.”

He walked over and put his arm around her, “Ok, I’ll stay for a while, Jules.”

The next day, Jacob returned home to find someone waiting at his door.  It was a man, tallish and stately.  He looked a little nervous.

“Can I help you?”  Jacob asked.

“Are you Jacob?”

“I am.  And you are?”

“I’m uh…the mayor actually, Ed Jenkins.  I’m visiting to talk to you about what you’ve volunteered to do when you signed that paper yesterday.”

“Mr. Mayor, I’m sorry for being rude.  Please come in,” Jacob said, opening the door.

“Thank you.”

Once inside, Mayor Jenkins began, “I’ll make this brief, I’m sure you are preparing to leave.  I looked into your history, or whatever I could find of it.  What I found out was that you led twenty people here from a nearby town including your neighbor, Abe and his wife.  I’m sorry about your friend.”

“Thank you.”

“I need someone who can be a leader for this group we’re sending out.  It seems you are the most qualified for the position.  I need you to keep everyone together.  There will be six of you out there.  You will meet your team later, but before we send you out, I want to make the situation very clear.  We will not be sending anyone out after you if you get into trouble.  There is no cavalry.  You will be on your own.  You’re going to have to think on your feet.  You’re going to have to make sure your squad is self sufficient.  I know it’s unforgiving out there, and you’ll have to take that into account as well.  Any humans you find are to be inspected for infection, then if they are found to be clean, they are to be given safe transport back here.  Any infected are to be either avoided, or if that is impossible, put down quickly and quietly.  Be sure you do not bring more of them back here to our walls.  We have enough already.  There will be a scientist with you.  His objective will be to observe any living or dead specimens in the wild and also to take note of the state of wildlife and the world outside the city.  This will absolutely not, in any way, be allowed to affect the safety of the team.  You are to make sure of it.  Listen, if you want out, now’s the time, after this, you are bound by law and your word to go and lead this team.  Are you up to it?”

“Yes, sir, I believe I am.”

“Good, and if it means anything, I believe you are too.  I will give you a more thorough briefing the day before you leave.  Thank you for your time, Jacob.”

“You’re welcome Mr. Mayor.  I’ll see you soon.”

“That you will.”

Jacob, let his new responsibilities sink in for a moment.  He was leading the team now.  He was responsible for the lives of five other people.  He took a walk.

When he arrived back, he was surprised to find himself not at his own house, but at Julia’s.  He opened the door and went inside.

“Hey, Jules,” he said into the silence.

She ran out of her room and hugged him.  It was the most excited he’d seen her since Abe had died. “Hey Jake, I was hoping I’d see you tonight.”

“Why’s that?” He asked.

“I don’t know, we just don’t have much time left.”

“You’re acting like I’m marching off to my death.”

“You’re acting like it’s a walk in the park.  The non-zombie-infested park.  Jake, what you’re doing is dangerous.  I’m scared that once you leave, I won’t ever see you again.  Or if I do, you’ll be one of them.”

She shuddered.

“I’ll be fine, Julia.  I have to come back here.”

“Why’s that?”

“Because if I didn’t, whoever Ed Jenkins has keeping an eye on you will go crazy, and I can’t have that on my conscience.”

Julia took a step towards Jacob, reached up and caressed his cheek.  She grabbed him by the back of the neck and pulled his lips down to hers.

Jacob snapped back, startled.  “Jules, we can’t.  Abe...”

“Shut up,” she said, “I don’t want any regrets,” and pulled him back in.  He didn’t struggle again.

Volume 5: The Haggard Hazards of Haggling

The Haggard Hazards of Haggling for Renders, Jackals, and Whores Named Amber

Or: Letting Off Some Zombo Steam

by Scott Thurlow

Some fucker recently had the balls to say to me, he found the zombos' horking, "tolerable." Almost as if they were calling back, perhaps even--singing, in some way. I had to laugh immediately in his fucking face. My immediate inquiry was-how the fuck he thought his dead grandmother had pulled a pseudo-Lazarus trick? And, further-- what had she "come back" to "tell him?" That she's going to fucking murder him? I went on to inform him that, if he ever felt like talking, or singing, back to them, that, just keep in mind, they're zombo-sirens. They aren't really “singing” for you, or to you, are they? Finally, "Fuck off," I said to him.

Their horking still had not ceased to remind me of that guy from work. And right now that made me upset. Usually it made me chuckle about how so very fucking dead and/or fucked he probably was, but I was becoming increasingly perturbed with these fucking council shenanigans. As I predicted, more and more assignments had come through, and hardly ever anything exciting.

The monotonous menial work mounted up. Each job we got was exponentially more mindless than the one that came before. And all the while, we were supposed to be fucking marching cheerfully back and forth through these Sisyphean series of assignments. I did find a few miscellaneous articles here and there on some of the missions, but not much of note. It was enough to get by though, so I suppose that was enough. Enough is enough, right?

I was still hoarding the booze. I had one Ripps bottle and a quarter of the Hydra left. I’d been saving the Ripps for either another special occasion or a truly stupendous trade offer, and dipping into the Hydra on my free time. While that was all fucking well and good, it allowed me to let off a little bit of steam, just not enough. A fucking teapot whistle, comparatively. There was another kind of steam I was looking to let off that I hadn’t quite been able to yet. It was a debate upon which I had been considering greatly. So greatly, in fact, that I was actually also considering asking Jimbo’s opinion on the matter. So I fucking did.

“Do you think that it would be more worthwhile to trade the booze for the bullets, or her?”

Jimbo’s obvious reply: “Hrm…bullets, booze, or whore?”

“Kindly. Fuck. Off. I would not like to hear it, at the moment.”

“Why not both?”

“It might cost all my booze, to get as many bullets, of the type which I want.”

“So go with a cheaper whore, or cheaper bullets, what’s the problem?”

“The fucking problem is, I do not wish to go with a cheaper either. Fucking quality only, around here, buddy. I am attempting to live comfortably in an ivory tower above the ZOMBPOC, but must account for the tide of shit that constantly laps at its walls.”

“What’s the difference, man? Or should I say to you: Wherein lies the difference upon which this matter is ‘clear’ or not, to you, dickwad?

“Because I insist upon quality living in the ZOMBPOC. If I must suffer, I will do it in fucking style.”

“Are you still using that ZOMBPOC thing? What about that busted phone that you found in the car after that fight?”

“Of which fucking phone are you speaking--ooohh….Oh shit!”

Jimbo grinned his Jimbo grin at me again and shook his head. Mother. Fucker.

Thanks to my good pal’s good-natured prodding, I stomped back to my room to find that exact fucking phone of which he reminded me. No longer would I be forced to decide upon such a ridiculous choice, and phrase. Instead my options now were of where and how to acquire enough rounds of some quality ammo, and the roughly equivalent hooker [one: Amber Shanahan] as well. While searching, I noticed that I seemed to be running a bit low on Jackals. Where the fuck was that phone? Ah, there it was, in my spare shoe pile, in the corner. I had stashed it quickly away that time, and forgotten it in all this drudgery. But now, it seemed my problems were about to be solved. Armed with the phone, and the bottle, another trip to the market was called for. I rushed out to it.

First, it was finally Larry-time. Time to pay the leering piper. Exchange a bone or two with him.

Get rid of this fucking phone. I don’t particularly need or want it, but this guy definitely would. It was all favors for favors. Exchanges involving money had become “bad news.” Bones, or credit, something you agree upon to do for some other fucker [rendered at an acceptable time/occasion] were the current currency. Larry of course probably didn’t have any bullets himself, but he was likely owed by another who did [at least I was fucking hoping.] Please let this geezer keep to a minimum of squawking. Just tell me what I need to know, old man. I sought out his stall and after explaining what I wanted, I implored him, with the absolute utmost of urgency, “Listen Larry, just tell me who the fucking guy is, and where to find him, please. Thank you very fucking much.” Yes, thanks, asshole. Saying “thank you” to people in the ZOMBPOC [my newest revision] isn’t the same as saying you trusted them. Still, I always made it a point to thank the fuckers whom I thought were completely, well…as I said. I thanked everyone, actually. My point, however, remains.

I found the fucker’s stall Larry had directed me to and explained the deal. I cashed in Larry’s owed favor for a three-quarters box of top-tier Renders rounds. Where this Mr. Box O’ Bullets had got these babies from and how he had managed to keep them so far (he must’ve owed Larry a big fucking bone) I had no fucking clue, but when I thanked him, I meant it more sincerely than I had throughout the day so far. With that complete, I set about seeing if I could gobble up some more Jacks from someone or somewhere before moving onto the next stage of byzantine bone bartering.

A stop by Strizzy’s was pretty much obligatory. I considered trading the booze back to him, that’d be fucking hilarious, but actually he had a better idea. This was one major reason I kept up my dealings with this fucker; it usually paid off. The count of times I had to inform him what a serious fucking caffeine fiend he is was probably as innumerable now as my zombo no-shit reminders. Over another cup of what I had to admit, was damn fine coffee he had here in the ZOMBPOC, Strizzy laid out the plan. The election was rapidly approaching ahead, and some of Kelly’s underlings were asking quite politely for citizens to support this certain Jenkins fucker. Since a bullet was as good as gun to me, now that I had both, I quickly agreed. Get on with the fucking show.

Next step was to get the most bones worth out of the Ripps. Strizzy again had the answer, and it involved dealings with Kelly and co. Since one of their “establishments” was a hotbed for local activity, it would be fucking beneficial to all to share the wealth, for once. Sunny, Al , and his crew of cohorts had their system precisely defined and refined so they could most efficiently track your bones, and time on the girls. With my record, and since Capt. Ripps was in fact, as I have noted earlier, well-known for being fucking good shit, [and Strizzy being the superbly slimy salesman he is] Al and co. had agreed that it was worth a solid uninterrupted hour’s worth of “my girl’s” time. Plus twenty bones worth of credit to start. More than fucking fair. So I acquiesced, for once.

With everything in its right place and all transactions accounted for, I could now head into the main event-- Al’s All Singing-All Dancing (And Gaming) Playhouse. It was a converted old church hall, the perfect place to restore the saloon-style resort of yore. Just inside the doors there was a sign that read:

Registered Whores and Gambling Gentlemen, Only

See Al or doorman

Beyond this point: there is no: Zombs, fighting, dying, or killing, etc.!

This means you!!! Take it outside, asshole!

A guy named C. Dog happened to the working door tonight. He also fulfilled the role of bouncer and maître d’. I believe he was another known “cousin” of Al’s. He wrote up the bone note for me and sat me at one of the dusty, musty, felt tables. I started with a wager of five and rolled the shells. Come on you bastard…fuck! All zomboheads. A fucking fail. I placed ten on a second try and rolled again. This time—victory! Humans rule! And this one wins! Zombos can suck it! I began to order drinks. One complimentary, spiked with some of my own former rum [tasting richly of irony] while I tossed the shells and won and lost bones back and forth for a bit, in the miniature battle game version of Us. Vs. Them. I was still trying to somehow convince Al and the rest to call it “Humans Rule!” but they wouldn’t. They did however, let me yell it out fairly fucking frequently, or whenever I won. After a bit, I had had enough of rolling for Us Against Them, [haven’t we all, though, at some point?] and was ready to see Amber-fucking-Shanahan. She was surely ready for fucking me.

Upstairs, in her room, my last brew was rapidly un-cooling while a half-smoked Jackal slowly burned itself out from an ashtray resting on her candlelit bedside stool. But I didn’t really mind all that much, as Amber’s tits more than made up for that. Her ass too. What a fucking ass. This girl, was definitely top fucking class. Double barrel. Double kill. The guns and the bullets, buddy. Best of both worlds. Fully loaded six-shooter in your fucking face, with fucking fireworks.

She lay mostly naked next to me now. I feasted my sight upon her gorgeous, glossy, gleaming auburn hair, and pale, supple skin. Hidden in her body’s nooks and crannies, like Easter eggs, were the most adorable fucking freckles. She tasted and smelled ever so slightly of a sickly sweet flavor of vanilla. Amber was oddly nuts about bed-biting too, often leaving bunches of bruises on my arms. Her eyes sparkled and glimmered hazily between shades of aquamarine and emerald-green, that I could never quite remember which they really were afterwards. When they looked into me, they said, “Hunt…? I’m gonne fucken eat ye’ alive…” It was infinitely better than the zombo alternative.

Yes, Amber was a truly magnificent bitch. Whatever it was that we may [or may not] have shared together during these times, it kept me going. And definitely this fucking time. If the zombos got me, my last thought would be of her. Or fucking her. Possibly they would just be, “Fffuuuuccckkk mmmeeeeeeee…” Only one way to find out. But here and now, I was lending my ears towards her lilting voice, and burying myself in her bosom, praising it, as her words floated out from her delightfully dimpled mouth. I could never really tell for sure if her accent was real. She once “secretly” told me her actual surname was “Winters,” but, that she was truly Irish. Either way, I fucking liked it. It was soothing in a hauntingly melodic and familiar way. Quite the opposite of the zombos’ horking hit single. How I hated their “song.” But conversely, how now I loved Amber’s tight little thong [the pair decorated with dancing, yes, unicorns. Whom, as I told her it appeared to me, were not riding on top of, but rather, shitting out, rainbows.] At least the zombos still had that going for them. The color of her underwear perfectly complimented that of her ever-shifting irises. Green, or blue? Goddamn!

Indeed, all of Amber Shanahan’s [or Winters’] womanly ways and many sensuous charms were well worth the parting with of my beloved booze [Farewell, Capt. Ripps! Bon voyage, sir! I hope he understands.] And the cost of tossing shells [also, I suppose my pledged support to Strizzy and his minions for…who the fuck was it again? Jenkins! Right?] Though women may be the fucking rake in a place like this; [all the other girls fucked more or less the same. Imagine being asked to describe your favorite flavor of sprinkle, what’s the fucking difference?] a certain Ms. Shanahan-Winters could rake the fuck out of me, any day. Sometimes, she did.

The hour went fast. Just fucking fast enough. Enough fucking, was eventually, enough. Amber was fan-fucking-tastic though, make no mistake. Mark my words, and rest fully assured, of that. We shared a few more of the Jackals I had managed to snatch earlier, throughout. She was one person in the ZOMBPOC that could convince me to willingly part with them. Not many people could get away with that. But as always, sooner rather than later, we had to sweetly and sorrowfully part ways, Amber Shanahan [Winters] and I.

“Time te’ go, love-y. Off with ye’ now,” she said with her signature wink and crazy kitten smile, as she rolled out of bed to scurry me out of her room. She could be so very fucking cute in her casual callousness, as well. Like all great whores, she was deceitful, manipulative, and heartless-- possessing an astoundingly cruel beauty. It was why I may have fucking loved her. At the very least, it was definitely why I loved fucking her. Time for me to go, Love-y. But I shall return, at a point in the very near fucking future. Have no doubt of that. At the end of the day, the unavoidable fact remained that we all had jobs to do. Additional remaining facts: Zombos don’t shit. And They have not got me yet. There is truly no fucking peace for the wicked.

I trudged back downstairs and traded back five of the remaining bones on my note for a final drink. I happened to run into a Watch guy on the way out. I traded whatever else I had left to him and told him keep me in mind. He mumbled something about Jenkins and I hastily nodded, promptly thanked him for the reminder. I’d heard through the [Strizzy] grapevine that there was an open tower spot via some very bad fucking shit going down. I never had anything against the guy who gave it up, I’m guessing unwillingly. But I still had high hopes for eventual life in the ZOMPOC, and I thought it best to keep my options open.

After departing Al’s Playhouse for the night, almost all of my personal interest tasks were crossed off the list. The plot was close to being concisely wrapped up into a pretty little package. My destination had moved to the final planned stop for this night. Along the way, I paused to add a few variations of phrases that Amber and I had thought up to the wall art. It was another pastime of ours, during breaks, as she might say, “from ‘tweens’t th’ fucken’ sheeets.” I quickly scribbled: You can't give a blowjob to a dickless zombo! [Mine.] And added: What about handjobs to (H)armless! [Hers.] My personal top pick however: Go lick a zombo’s ass! At least it won’t taste like shit! But I digress. This was mere distraction. There was one last thing to do.

Sneaking over to the spot of my faithful and trusty “Fuck You” sign, [true friend] I thanked it for being there still. I then lit up one more Jackal. Had to fucking smoke, right fucking now. I peered out over the gap and listened. That noise. That fucking noise. It has to stop. But it cannot, will it? It will never fucking stop. Fat fucking chance. Not fucking likely. That'll be the goddamned day. Not a fucking chance in ZOMBPOC hell, will that noise, ever stop.

Same with the council. First that older guy, now this Jenkins fool [even though Strizzy said he was solid, so maybe he’s not such a scumbag after all. It remains to be seen] I just wanted to get some fucking peace and quiet. But both they and the zombos kept saying, “NOOOOOOO.” [Well, not the zombos verbatim, but…] They would not, in fact, could not, ever fucking relent. They were incapable of it. Did not know the fucking meaning of. I would have said, “Fuck ‘em all! Let God sort ‘em out! Because I can’t take this shit anymore!” But, it seems, in the ZOMBPOC, neither could God. Either he quit, or he got fucking fired for being incompetent. Goddamn zombos ran ‘Em right ‘outta business. Whichever, seems now it’s fallen on me do the job at hand.

I steadied my rifle, with its freshly inserted Renders, and held it at the ready. Exhaled some smoke then tossed the Jackal. In that moment, I focused all my annoyance at the recent drudgery. How none of it approached what could be considered even close to any kind of fucking fun, at all. And in that second, I decided that: I have had it up to fucking here, with all this shit! Never, ever, is this shit going to fucking fly! Not on my time, buddy! Not in my fucking ZOMBPOC!

I fired the shot off. A split-second later, I was satisfied as all hell to see it score a direct headshot. The round sprayed the zombo’s brains and bloodshit all over the side of a far part of the outer wall. POW, motherfucker. Gained the lead. Practice makes fucking perfect, it would appear. Now, for real, that’s enough. The steam has been let off, in every possible way. All out of steam, for now. Time to head back to base for bed [and maybe a shot of the dwindling Hydra.] So long, and thanks to the ZOMBPOC for all the fucking zombos, for headshots with Renders, and last but definitely not least, for girls like fucking-Amber-Winters/Shanahan.

Volume 5: A Midday Connoiter

A Midday Connoiter
by Steven Ormosi

That’s mighty kind of you gentlemen, mighty kind.  Since you’re walking me out of this rat trap, I might as well tell you the story of the time I rode a Killer Whale from California to Hawaii.

What?  Sick of my bullshit stories?  Well that’s just plain rude is what it is.  First off, not a single story I’ve ever told is bullshit.  There may be a little embellishment, sure, but they’re always rooted in the surreal and sad reality we’ve all faced and if you don’t believe that, well you’re no better than the gloomy ostrich stickin’ its head in the sand.  Luckily my brother ain’t as judgmental as you two or I’d surely be dead by now.  You know, I was told he’s sending me out on an expedition into the wilderness.  Most likely I’ll be seeing more whacked out scenes than I bargained for out there.  I tell you what, when I get back, I’ll regale you guys with all new stories of the great unknown.  Maybe you’ll learn to appreciate people that have seen more than you.

You’re right, probably not.  But I’ve never given up on anyone yet, and I never will.  People need to hear these things.  The news needs to spread somehow.  No internet anymore, hell we don’t even have a telegraph.  It’s word of mouth again, the simplest answer.  That Occam fella knew what he was talking about.

Anyway, it looks like this is where I get off.  Thanks again, it’s been a real pleasure talking to you.  I hope you don’t hold a grudge for me saying this, and it’s no offense meant to you, but I’ll be glad if this is the last time I ever see this place.  Now it’s off to connoiter with my kin.  I do believe he’s asked to see me personally.

Oh, don’t give me that shit.  It is most certainly a word.  If it wasn’t, how would one ever reconnoiter?  Honestly.  Goodbye.

---------------------------------------------------------

Brother, so good to meet you at last.  I’m sure you have questions, but let’s stow those for a while.  I’ve got much I need to tell you.

First and foremost, I’d like to thank you for saving me from a fate worse than death, the pomp and circumstance of an execution.  As much as I love being the guest of honor, I hate somber parties and if I had to make a walk while everyone was giving me their serious, angry face I would have flat out freaked.  I’ll tell you right now that I didn’t kill those children.  I never would.  Children are our future.  You don’t have to believe me yet, though.  I know we’ve only just met.  So, let me tell you a little about myself.

I was raised by our father in Massachusetts.  It was a normal childhood for the most part.  He remarried and didn’t have much time for me, so I spent most of my early years exploring the town we lived in.  I think that’s where I picked up my penchant for vagabonding.  There were so many secret places that I knew.  I befriended a small group of the town kids and we would just scoot around town all day long playing games, tag, hide and seek, and so on.  Naturally, because of my afore mentioned surveying, I always won.  I actually spent a day and a half stuck in a small tunnel, hiding from the seeker, a red haired boy named…oh what the devil was his name?  It doesn’t matter, we all called him Red, anyway.

Later, in high school, all of my exploration afforded me the prime hideouts for drinking and smoking a little reefer as everyone knows is a beloved past time of all high schoolers.  We would sit for hours in a deserted section of the town park, just getting high and talking about what we would do when we grew up.  Once, we were on a water tower and a good friend of mine fell off and hit his head.  He didn’t die, but he was never the same.  He would just mutter for hours, always the same thing.  “I’m Peter Pan, I’m Peter Pan.”

Please, brother, Ed, don’t interrupt.  I know you’re the mayor now, but I’ve been thinking about what I’d say to you for a long time and I just want to get this all off of my chest.  Where was I?  Oh yes.

Then we grew up.  People went to college.  Others got jobs.  Some of them got married and had little kiddos of their own.  That wasn’t for me.  I left.

Dad died a year later.  I was in London, barely surviving and couldn’t even afford the trip back.  I’m told it was a nice, small funeral.  I spent years, puttering about Europe and Asia.  Never knowing what I was looking for.  Maybe I wanted to be Peter Pan, too.  Maybe I just wanted to go to Neverland.  Not Jacko’s though.  That guy was a few pages short of a novel, if you know what I mean.  Anyway, I saw lots of things.  Things most people wouldn’t believe.  In fact I was being told I’m a bullshitter just before I came in here.  I’m not a bullshitter though Ed, people just don’t want to believe what doesn’t fit into their worldview.  They’ll believe that a man can walk on the moon, but not that a man can move things with his mind.  Short sighted, is what it is.  Everything evolves, Ed, everything.

I came here to look for more answers.  I’m sure you heard the report from the sheriff or whoever that was that took my statement.  You saved my life.  You were my god from the machine.  I thank you for that, from the bottom of my heart.  And I’m more than willing to go out there, into the untamed wilds to see what I can see for you, because you’re my brother and that’s what brothers do.  They help each other.

When I was in Australia, there was a man who came back to life after being dead for nearly a day.  It was hailed as a miracle.  When he woke up, he said that he’d been given visions of a plague that would destroy the world.  The doctors just attributed it to brain damage, but I believed him.  I believed him because after experiencing something impossible, one has earned the right to speak one’s mind.  Don’t you think?  Anyway, it looks like he was right.  I wonder if he’s still alive.  Probably not, most people only get one miracle.  The sad thing is, the vast majority of us don’t even notice it when it happens.

Anyway, I went and spoke with him afterwards and he told me that he knew there would be one final bastion of humanity, where we made a stand.  He told me to seek my kin.  I thought he just meant fellow human beings at the time, you know, a vague reference to the brotherhood of mankind or similar drivel, but now I know that he meant you.  And thank god for that.

I had some dark thoughts while I was rotting in that cage, Ed.  Contemplating your own mortality will do that, I guess.  But listen, the one thing that got me through was that I knew you’d save me from the pain.  I knew you were here and you wouldn’t let me go down for something that I didn’t do.  I won’t sugar coat it, I have done some bad things in my life.  I killed a man once, for money.  I shot him right between the eyes because he was cheating on his wife and she offered me twenty grand to do it.  I’m not that guy anymore, though.  I never took pleasure in doing those things, but I did what was necessary to survive.  Like we all did when the end came.  Only difference is, I needed to survive earlier than that.

So, brother mine, I will go and face down the beasts for you.  I will help make this world safe again in whatever way I can, because now we’re fighting for everyone’s survival, not just our own.  That’s something that makes a man humble.  It’s something that I can get behind.

Speaking in confidence, which I think I can do with you, I’m not sure we’ll be very successful on this mission.  What is there out there for us anymore?  I think we’ll be met with fire and brimstone.  Hell on Earth is all that waits outside the gates of our humble paradise.  But we must be optimistic, right?  It’ll be a cold day in Texas when I don’t wake up with a smile on my head just because I’m alive.  Optimistic realism, that’s what that is.  The optimists die for lack of preparedness and the realists die for lack of hope.  Combine them both and you’ve got me.  I toe the line, I sit on the fence, and I realize that it’s the only way to survive.  Now, what were you going to say, Ed?