THE HOST FROM THE SOUTH
A Walk in the Park III
By J. Ian Manczur
Breathe. Breathe. Ok. Oh, God. He’s coming over. Oh, God. I am going to die. I am going to die. He’s coming straight for me. For the love of God and all that is holy, don’t tell me your fucking name! Oh, God, he’s going to tell me his name. He’s killing me! Oh, God! I‘m so dead.
“Hiya, I’m Steve Little. A pleasure.” Steve was delightful and outgoing with a firm handshake and a friendship-winning smile. John had never hated anyone as much as he did Steve in that moment. Yet, the knowledge of his imminent death was no excuse for a lack of manners, thus he feebly shook Steve’s hand and muttered his own introduction. Steve accepted and continued with polite, sociable conversation, “I’m surprised we haven’t met before. I thought I met all the other-”
John had stopped listening. Oh, God. Breathe. Ok. We’re already in formation. What to do? What to do? Swap partners! But who? AJ! Don’t see him? Don’t see him. Damn, he’s probably already over the wall. Malcolm? Eh, who else? Eric! He’s partnered with Chris, no breaking that up. Other Dave? Not if my life depended on it, which it does, but…Malcolm it is!
Steve was still talking when John abruptly interrupted with, “I can’t do this. Sorry, but I can’t go into the park with you.”
Steve laughed good naturedly and his smile broadened, “I know, being on the ground sucks. But, I’m sorry to tell you, you can’t stay here. We’re all going to have to go over eventually. Might as well sooner than later.”
“No, no, no. You misunderstand me. I can’t go over with you.”
Steve looked hurt, confused and dejected, “But why?”
“Because you’re black,” John realized what he had said, “I mean, not like that. I’m not racist! It’s just… you’re, you know…black.” Steve looked skeptical. “I swear I’m not racist!” A little.. too loud. “See, there are zombies. And you are…well, you’re you. Zombies plus black people equals disaster for good old John here. You have to understand.”
“Ah.” Steve nodded, clearly not understanding in the least.
“Horror movies.” Simple explanation, he’ll have to understand.
“Horror movies?” Maybe not. “Are you suggesting that because I happen to be black, I’m going to die? I’m like bad luck or something?”
“Exactly, but not like, you are bad luck. And you’re going to die. And you are going to get me killed in your death throes. It’s simple really. And not racist at all. Understand?”
“Oh, I get it: the old horror movie cliché.” Finally. “That’s the stupidest thing I have ever heard. Frankly, I’m surprised you are still alive. And, on top of that, you are racist.” Ouch.
“Little! Morris! Stop flirting, you’re up!” Hurley was standing atop the wall, waving them on. Steve and John scampered up, across the plank and over the park gate. They argued all the way. Steve hit the ground running. John followed after losing a brief battle with gravity.
They resumed bickering immediately, “I‘m not racist!”
“The hell you aren‘t. Name one movie were the black guy dies first.”
Piece of cake. “Gremlins!”
“Another one.”
“Scream 2.”
“That doesn’t count. Parody of horror films.”
“Leprechaun in the Hood?”
“But..”
“And Leprechaun in the Hood 2: Back 2 The Hood.”
“Those are horror films for the African American community.”
“And thus the black guy dies first.” Whoot, whoot! John: 7, Steve: Zilch
“Doesn’t count.”
“And don’t get me started on Tales From The Hood, Bones and Blacula.”
“Please don’t. But I reiterate, none of those count.”
This guy is too much. “What does count then?”
“First off, watch your tone. Second, has to be a mainstream. Meaning white horror films.”
“Why?”
“Because I want to prove to you that the cliché isn’t as prevalent as you think it is. Thus, you’re racist.”
“I’m not racist and don‘t have to prove that. But I’ll play your game. The Edge!”
A girl in her early twenties, armed with a shotgun and baseball bat, turned back and scolded them in an aggressive whisper, “Will you two be quiet. Are you trying to attract them?”
They paused and simultaneously yelled, “Shut up!”
Steve took the initiative, “Edge doesn’t count.”
“Nothing counts with you!”
“It’s not a horror film.”
“It’s not?”
“No, action-adventure.”
“It’s about a fucking killer bear. Counts in my book. Jaws? Cujo? Deep Blue Sea? And the innumerable others both aquatic and terrestrial?”
“Thrillers!”
“Horror’s ginger step-brother. Still related, however embarrassing.”
“Even so, the pilot dies first in the Edge.”
“Oh boy, the nameless pilot dies first. Big whoop!”
“He had a name! Though, I can’t momentarily recall it. I’m just saying, someone cared about that pilot. You can‘t just write him off and then say the black guy dies first.”
“Nobody cares about nameless characters. Like the guy who gets killed in Jurassic Park first.”
“The lawyer?”
“Bam, nope. Point proven. The worker in the beginning gets slashed by a raptor. And quote, ‘Shoot her! Shooot her!’”
“I‘ll agree to that if, and only if, you agree to black guys not dying first. ”
Never. “Never!”
“Name another then.”
Friday the 13th’s? No. Are there even any black people in them? Um, Return of the Living Dead? YES! No, maybe, he might die first, not sure. Nightmare on Elm Street! No. Damn you, Laurence Fishburne!
“Time’s up, you can’t think of one more.”
“Just because I can‘t think of one, doesn’t mean it’s not true.”
“Alright, I’m going to approach this from a different angle.”
Thank God. “I see I’m starting to win you over.”
“Not a chance, but do you know Sheila and Neil?”
“Before my time.”
“Chuck and Rabbit?”
“Ditto.”
“You remember the kids?”
“Yes, and I see where you are going with this. Do you remember their names?”
“I’m ashamed to say I don’t.”
“Exactly, they were kids and nobody knows their names. Who gives a damn? Next.”
“Well, I know you know Ike, Dave and Jack.”
“Did you see the bodies?”
“Do you answer every question with a question?”
“When necessary. Haven’t seen the bodies, not dead yet.”
“Anyone ever tell you that you reminded them of Ike and Dave.”
“Ahem, remind them. Well, they are good friends. I must have taken some of their characteristics, but.. Thank you.”
“All three of you are assholes.”
“An asshole is a charismatic person you happen to disagree with.” Zing.
“We’re getting sidetracked. My point is-”
“Your point is wrong.”
“My point is! Your theory says I’m going to die first.”
“Not my theory, life’s fact.”
“Well, what about Andy Muir!”
“What about him?”
“He died yesterday!”
“Yes, and?”
“He died before me!”
“Well, I really never met Andy.”
“But I did.”
“Look, I’m sure you had a lot of friends before this, but that’s not how it works.” Skepticism again. “All the black guys who died first probably knew many people who died before them. That doesn’t alleviate their dying first. We just met, you are new to the story.”
“You’re delusional.”
“Wouldn’t have it any other way.”
“Even if I never met you, we are still talking about the same group of survivors.”
“I get where you are coming from, but again, that’s not how it works. It would be like saying, oh, I’m moving on to Elm Street because Freddy killed a black kid already. He’s filled his racial quota. Flawed logic. Look, pal, I’m sure you were an important part of someone else’s story, but here, now, you’re zombie fodder.” Wait. Where did everyone go? “Thus spoken, I‘ve damned us all.”
“Oh, fuck.”
“My thoughts exactly. I told you this would happen.” You’re not going to die. Fuck, we are going to die. We’re lost in zombie-land. I’m lost in the park with a black guy. Oh God, fuck my life. I’m going to die.
“How long has it been and why didn’t anyone warn us?”
“I don’t know, I was busy schooling you.”
“Keep quiet! Fuck, I don’t hear anyone. Backtrack?”
“What, are you fucking crazy? That will kill us!”
“Forward then?”
“Hopeless. No matter what we do, we’re going to die.”
“So, to you, no matter what, we’re fucked.”
“Well, you’re fucked. I have a one percent chance.”
“Shush up, that’s gunfire in the distance.”
“Lovely, it’s like that old Far Side comic. Guy’s in hell. One door says damned if you do, the other says damned if you don’t.”
“I always liked the elephant in a trench coat waiting for a guy. Says elephants never forget.. or forgive. So, we should check out the gun fire?” John wielded his rifle. “I’ll take that for a yes.” John nodded. Damned if we do, damned if we don’t. Might as well do. If I’m to die, I’ll die on my terms.
They started off through the trees to the source of the chaos, walking in silent apprehension as the shots grew louder, if still distant echoes. Steve finally broke the quiet. “I was thinking about horror movies.”
“Yea?”
“We actually have a good track record in zombie films.”
“No you don’t.”
“Yes, we do. Night of the Living Dead? 28 Days Later? That was a woman, true. Both Dawns of the Dead?”
“Dies, shot by white guys. Uncertain future. Uncertain future, for the original. Shot by white woman. Uncertain future.”
“Uncertain future?”
“Yup, if they do survive, zombie movies tend to have bleak endings for their characters. The initial safe house ends up destroyed and usually the endings leave the audience uncertain about the character’s chances of survival in the future. Only 28 Days Later had a positive ending, and that was for a black woman. Sorry, pal.”
“So, you are saying I’m either going to survive long enough to be eaten last or get shot by a white person?”
“No, I’m just saying, you should be lucky to be held in such prestige. My people-”
“Your people? White?”
“No, no, no, no. Well, yes, in a way…(not racist) genre-savvy white nerds. We have nowhere near the survivability. Plus, you might…and I say this reluctantly, but you might have a better chance of surviving than me. Backlash of your trope has led to black people not quite surviving, but a better chance. No one cares about nerds.”
“Then who will survive?”
“Claire.”
“Yea, that’s pretty obvious. Pretty, motherly, young-”
“White.”
“White.” They laughed. “You’re not so bad for a racist fucking cracker.”
“Well, I did fuck a racist once. And you’re not so bad for being an ill-omened, black, walking death trap.”
“Haven’t died yet.”
“Yet being the operative word.” John was chilled by Steve’s lack of a retort and more so by the unusual mask of horror, contemplation and grim determination set on his face. Steve’s gun was drawn and pointed directly at John. Oh, fuck, that last statement was one too much. The final straw. He‘s going to kill me. “Look, pal, you are not going to die-”
“Duck, you fool!” The gunshot rang, momentarily deafening John as a body crashed into him from behind. He flailed, throwing the now twice dead off him.
“What? Huh?” John paused for a second. “What?”
“Zombie.” Steve kicked the thing in the head. “To tell the truth, I considered letting it eat you. Just to prove the point that you could die first. But, it was only for a second. So, what do you say, we’ll get out of here together?”
Fucking A. “Well, thank you for deciding on that course of action. Yes, let’s move. Quickly. By the way, I owe you one, truly.” Hope that wins some points.
“You may have the opportunity to pay me back sooner than later.” Damn.
The two adventurers double-timed to the sound of gunfire. Breaking through the thicket, they realized what a mistake they made in trying to find the others. Between them and the next thicket stood a baker’s dozen of undead. The zombies were unaware of their presence, but headed in the same direction.
Guess he was right about the debt. Damned if we do, damned if we don‘t. “Steve, it’s been nice knowing you.”
“I thought you’d agreed that we are getting out of this alive. No more negativity.”
“You misunderstand. I’m about to do something very stupid.” Before Steve could ask what the hell he was talking about, John bonzaied out into the open. “All you fucking zombos! Ring a ding ding, baby, dinner‘s up!” He laid out a few quick shots, made sure they took notice, and booked it. Hell, this may actually work. Cowards always die. Maybe this heroic sacrifice will not actually be very sacrificial. To death, then, as pure and noble as I can fake.
Steve watched dumbfounded as John disappeared over the horizon, his one last piece of advice still reverberating through Steve’s head. Watch out for trigger happy white people. Steve wasn’t about to let John’s sacrifice go to naught. He crept from one hiding spot to the next, making a mad dash across the open field and back into tree cover. About a zombie-free mile onward, Steve saw the best sight he had seen all day: a perimeter of gunmen barricaded behind a gated basketball court. Steve set out with a friendly wave and immediately heard a loud blast. He fell to the ground as his knees gave out, but, fortunately, the pain was fading quickly.
***
“Got one!” Other Dave let out a celebratory cheer.“Settle down soldier,” Hurley gave him a quick pat on the back, “but that was a hell of a shot.”
“Thank you sir. Pity, I think that was Steve Little. I’m glad I could have put him out of his misery, though.”
“That was a good thing you did, Shiner, hell of a thing to be zombified. But, don’t be too sentimental, it’ll get you killed. Sergeant Howard, Little was KIA. Add him to the list.”
