We've all got something we're ashamed of. Yeah, I guess that's part of human nature, I guess. Even though I'm not technically human, though. I am a zombie. I'm deeply ashamed of the world I live in. zombies suck. So do humans. I hate both species. Lord, I need a third option! Life as a member of the undead used to be pretty cool, I guess. I used to run with the Blood Runners. We were a group of undead citizens working for the last remnants of the United States Government, in the last remaining human city. Boston, Massachusetts. Oh, and the name is Thurgood Jack Springfield. Friends call me T. J. the Thurgood stuff got me made fun of as a brat. Probably why I grew up to be such a tough son of a gun. I used to be the only black guy in the Blood Runners group but that's okay. Cause I was also the coolest group member. And chicks dug me. Both the living and the undead. Word.
Lately, things haven't been so great between me and the other members of the group. Actually, that's a bit of an understatement. My friends and teammates have discovered a new sport which is not sanctioned by the old NCAA or the ancient Olympic Committee. Hunting down my black ass. All because I refused to join them in slaughtering humans. And although I've been lucky enough to stay ahead of them for the time being, I got no doubt in my mind that they're going to catch me. I've known these folks for decades. I've fought beside them. And now they're trying to kill me. It really sucks when your best friends want you dead. I didn't think they'd take it this far. All I did was blow up their motorcycles and leave them stranded in a nearly barren wasteland, after all. Jeez, some people just don't have a sense of humor!
The pack's field operations leader and my would-be executioner is a tall, skinny white guy with red hair and green eyes. His name is Edward Johnson, though everyone calls him Slice. He likes to slice and dice his enemies with his spring-loaded crossbow which shoots these wicked blades called Slicers. Whatever, the guy is a major weirdo. And I don't mean just because of his penchant for red flannel shirts, black leather pants and cowboy boots. He's not a cowboy, he's originally from New Hampshire! I never said that to his face because he could make my immortality a lot shorter, if you know what I mean.
Slice's old lady is this tall, sexy Mexican gal named Melinda Sanchez. Folks, I'd give my left lung to do the dirty Sanchez with her any day. I mean, this gal has it all. Her face is mad pretty, with a sexy mouth that makes you think of only one thing. What kind of lipstick is she using? Nah, I'm just playing. You know what I mean. She's got a tone body with the right curves, and smooth, long legs that go on forever. Oh, and don't even get me started about that ass. Melinda has a heart-shaped bubble butt that looks so tempting, it could make a gay man go straight. She has a thing for form-witting black leather outfits and she wears them so well. The lady is not just hot, she's also smart and quite the fighter. Her only flaw? The loser she's hooked up with. She needs to find herself a real man and I am just what the doctor ordered.
But enough about her. The other members of the group are Nikki Chang and Anthony Vladimir. Nikki is a short, slim but curvaceous Asian gal with short, spiky hair bleached bone-white. She's really cute, smart and easy to get along with. A mean poker player who's handy with a rifle too. She also reads comic books. Sounds like my kind of woman. Unfortunately, she's gayer than a two-dollar bill. Good for the ladies she runs into and not so good for the dudes like me. But whatever. To each their own, know what I mean? We're good friends, though. I think it's because we're both horny little devils who would do anything to catch some play from any woman between the ages of twenty and sixty. Hey, I don't discriminate. All I need is a yes!
Anthony Vladimir is a five-foot-ten, big and chubby guy with light bronze skin and pale green eyes. He's half black and half Russian, which explains the Vladimir last name. He doesn't talk much, and he's kind of short-tempered. He's also bisexual. I bug him about him all the time but I'm really not prejudiced. I hassle everybody. Men and women. Blacks and whites. Straights and gays. Republicans and Democrats. It's sort of my way of dealing with the world. I didn't choose to be a zombie. But no one said I can't have some fun with it, know what I mean?
A long time ago, life was far different. In 2009, the world changed. Ever watch old zombie movies? Well, it's kind of like that but vastly different. A scientist created a virus which turns human beings into zombies. But those aren't the zombies you know. These zombies are intelligent. They're wickedly smart. They talk and make plans and everything. And they don't rot unless they run out of flesh and blood to feed on. They eat animals but prefer to feed on live humans. That's the modern zombie for you.
When news of the zombie outbreaks came around in early 2009, the world reacted with disbelief. They learned pretty quickly that zombies were for real. North America fell, as did Europe and Asia. Africa fell as well. Billions of zombies swarmed over the cities of the world, destroying everything and turning the few remaining humans into members of club undead. One hundred and fifty years later, the planet Earth was dominated by zombies. Undead men and undead women now rule the world. Humans are their prey. Of the planet Earth's seven billion human beings, only about two hundred thousand remain. They're living in the fortified and retrofitted fortress which was once known as Bean Town. Everywhere else, zombies rule.
The only thing standing between the humans and the zombies are us. Or should I say were us. The Blood Runners. Zombies which the humans captured and implanted with mind-controlling devices. Basically, they force us to become their protectors. At least, that's the way it was with the original Blood Runners. Me? I'm not implanted with any mind controlling device. Like any living being, or in my case undead, I do as I please. I don't kill humans anymore. Don't get me wrong, I'm nobody's pet. I refuse to serve the humans. I don't hunt the undead either. I got nothing against my fellow zombies. I just want to be left alone, you know? Unfortunately, in this universe, some people see the world as black and white. Zombies hate humans. Humans hate zombies. Both side show no mercy to the other when they get the upper hand. It's all so...political. What a mess.
So here I am, riding on my beat-up old Harley through what was once the city of Bangor, Maine. I break for the night. I don't have to, but I feel like it. Zombies don't get tired. We don't need to sleep. And if provided with sufficient flesh and blood to keep decay at bay, we can last centuries. Possibly forever. Who knows? However, we're not immune to frustration. So I made camp and caught myself supper. A snake.
In the wasteland most of the world has become, many animals have remarkably flourished. Snakes were among the survivors. There are lions, tigers and hyenas roaming all over the U.S. of A. They are the descendants of animals escaped from human zoos during the carnage of the early twenty first century. They compete with wolves, bears and coyotes for the wild bulls, deer and horses which roam this land. I really like the taste of snakes. Above all other animals. They taste good. Also, they put up quite a fight when caught. The snake I caught bit me several times. Unfortunately, someone forgot to tell it that snake venom doesn't work on dead men. And so I feasted on its flesh.
I lay on the stony floor, impervious to pain and discomfort like all of my kind. A zombie can walk from Boston, Massachusetts to Ottawa, Canada, without feeling tired. Benefits of being undead. Snow doesn't bother us. Neither does fire. Oh, it can kill us but we feel no pain. I looked up at the sky, and saw the stars. It's rare to see them anymore. A permanent grey cloud surrounds the planet. Sometimes, I wonder what life was like in the old days.
I find myself thinking about the recent past, and the life I lost.
Eighty years ago, I was a young man living in the city of Chicago, Illinois. There were five thousand human beings in the city, constantly fighting against hordes of zombies. I lived in a fortified building with my family. My father, James Springfield and my mother Elisabeth Jones Springfield were born into the war between zombie and human, just like my brother Lucas and me. They told us tales of the human world as told to them by their parents. Once, humanity ruled the world and there was no such thing as zombies. No misanthropic female scientist had unleashed a deadly virus upon the world. Life was good. Humans only killed each other in those days. Sounds like a good time to me. Then, it all went to hell.
The zombies came. They conquered. They slaughtered. They now rule. And Homo Sapiens is now an endangered species. They thought they could control us zombies. Captured hundreds of us and performed all kinds of science experiments. They controlled our minds and made us fight our own kind to protect them. In the end, the mind-controlling devices malfunctioned and the so-called domesticated zombies the humans thought would protect them turned against them in a heartbeat. Yeah, the day my friends mind-controlling devices malfunctioned, they returned to Boston and slaughtered dozens of humans. All it takes is a single bite from a zombie, then you will become one of us. It takes a person four to six hours to become a zombie. Tops. Then you're undead forever. Destined to live forever unless you starved and became a skeleton, or somehow get decapitated or shot in the head. If you eat well, and stay away from sharp swords and gunmen, you just might live forever. That's the undead life for you. How about that?
Sometimes, I wonder if my human family is still alive. The last time I saw my parents, things didn't go so well. Boston was under attack. Swarms of zombies were at the city's doors. They weren't the shambling, dim-witted zombies shown in old movies, as I said before. These zombies have guns, knives and grenades. They drive cars, ride motorcycles and pilot helicopters. They made use of every resource available to them. I went out of the city to fight them. I only had a rifle and a dirt bike, but I didn't care. With me came my brother Lucas, who had grown into a tall, brawny young man with dark brown skin. He kept his head shaved ever since he turned twenty one. Favourite weapons? Automatic assault rifle, along with a machete. We weren't alone.
Thousands of men and women from the city came out to fight. Lucas wife Kayla Quincy came out with us. She's a tall, muscular, blonde-haired and green-eyed femme fatale, as they say. I used to hit on her all the time. With a cute face, tight body and big booty like hers, it would be a sin not to. She used to always blow me off. Then one day she met my younger brother and it was love at first sight. I couldn't believe it. I mean, I look better than Lucas. I'm taller, better-looking and stronger. I'm also smarter. Why did Kayla go with him? Oh, well. I guess she doesn't like a macho man and prefers sissy guys. To each their own. I wish my brother good luck and congratulated him. Hey, I was the best man at their wedding and the godfather of their newly adopted son Matthew and daughter Jennifer. See? I'm not a hater. Oh, my. I'm rambling on again, aren't I? Sorry about that, folks. I was about to tell you about this major battle for the defense of Boston.
We came out fighting. The city's bold and brave. Unfortunately, we were outgunned and outnumbered. The zombies slaughtered us, basically. I did my best. I've been called many things. My dad thinks I'm a womanizing drunk and heaps praise on my younger brother. My mother thinks I was born under a bad sign. My brother thinks I'm nothing but a joker. My sister-in-law wants me to date her dull, ugly girlfriends in the hope of one day settling down. Thanks but no thanks. I may be all that, that's somewhat debatable. However, no one thinks I'm a coward. No way Jose! I've not only got a big mouth, I've also got big balls! I waded through the hordes of zombies with a makeshift flamethrower, burning those undead bastards and bitches whenever they came near me.
Like I said before, there were simply too many of them. I watched my comrades fall all around me. I watched my ex-girlfriend Wanda get taken off her bike by two burly zombies. That really pissed me off. Wanda was not just my ex-girlfriend. She was also my team mate. And she was so hot that I couldn't stand the thought of her as a zombie. Nothing against zombie broads but most of them aren't too big on the hygiene thing. Hey, someone's got to say it! They really stank! Just like the slobbery zombie dudes. Present company excluded, of course. Even as a zombie, I showered as often as possible. Being dead is no reason to let yourself go. Immortality is what you make of it!
I shot the two large zombies which held Wanda. Unfortunately, it was too late. She'd already been bitten. I gritted my teeth. Wanda stared at me. I looked into her eyes and I knew. Just like me, she'd rather be dead than a zombie. So, I shot her in the head. Down she went. Finally at peace. More zombies came at me, and I was shooting and slicing with my machete. I watched with pride as my brother reduced five zombies and their jeep into a great ball of fire. Lucas had always been a great shot. Where in hell did he get that grenade launcher?
His wife Kayla wasn't bad either. I watched her slice a towering female zombie from head to navel with her samurai sword. The zombie begged for her life but Kayla still cut her. Slowly. Unbelievable. Don't get me wrong. I enjoy killing zombies as much as the next man or woman but I don't get off on slaughter. It's just not my thing. Kayla on the other hand was a blood crazed maniac. She flashed me a dangerous grin. I smiled nervously. All I know is my brother Lucas had better sleep with one eye open if his wife was that good with a blade. On second thought, I'm glad she married him and not me. As a human male living in a century where humans were in danger of becoming extinct, it was my sworn duty to hook up with as many willing ladies as possible. Not for my own selfish purposes but to propagate the species, if you know what I mean. What? It's my story and I am hanging onto it.
The battle raged all around us for hours. It was hopeless. More of our men and women were captured and I could see some of them turning into zombies before my very eyes. The living joined the undead and began hunting their still-living friends. The undead never ran out of soldiers. We did. It takes humanity nine months to create a life. It takes the zombies less than nine hours to breed an entire army. You could see our dilemma. Overhead, a helicopter piloted by zombies came into view. And it was heading straight for my city. I couldn't let this happen. If a single zombie was dropped out of the sky and into town, no one would be safe.
The only safe place in the universe would become yet another haven for the undead. So, I took the grenade launcher from my brother and aimed it skyward. I took my time while Lucas and Kayla covered me. I said a little prayer, then took the shot. The small missile went straight into the sky. And the helicopter exploded into a million pieces. I roared in triumph. Yes! Take that you undead assholes!
Everyone looked up into the sky, zombie and human alike. Everyone was stunned. And for a moment, all eyes were on me. Including the hate-filled zombie eyes. I smiled cockily. Yes, you undead bastards and bitches. You're not invincible. Fire does to you the same thing it does to a human. It kills you. Something happened in that moment. The humans rallied behind my victory roar, and began fighting the zombies with renewed vigor. I led the charge.
That day, I returned to the city as a hero. They called me Jack the Zombie Slayer. Sounds good, doesn't it?
For once, my entire family was proud of me. After we got out of detox and inspection, we went to see mom and dad. I sat at the head of our table, the seat of honor. I drank beer and ate a fine meal made out of snake flesh and berries while regaling my family with tales of the battlefield. Lucas and Kayla were there to back me up in case someone accused me of lying. I was happy, for once. When I slept that night, I tried not to think of Wanda, and the hundreds of men and women who died that day. We had lost a lot of people. Those among us who got bitten became zombies and rejoined the endless hordes of zombies wandering the wasteland outside the city of Boston.
Yeah, those were the days. Of course, I couldn't know that this would be the beginning of the end. Three months later, there was another zombie army at the city walls. I had been promoted to the rank of lieutenant in the Protectorate, military corps which defended Boston. In this century, every man and woman received military training. It was a matter of survival. Just like toilet training. Not everyone was a good fighter, though. The Protectorate took only the best. Among these men and women, my name was synonymous with daring and ruthlessness.
We went out fighting. This time, though, there were no zombie-operated helicopters. Only about a million zombies armed with guns, knives, machetes and equipped with trucks loaded with ammo. I sometimes wonder why the undead still came after us. There weren't that many people in the city of Boston. All the other cities of the human world had fallen. The zombies had the entire world. All the animals in all the lands of the planet were theirs. The oceans were theirs. The islands and continents were theirs. Why did this one city matter so much? I wouldn't figure out that answer until the day I became one of the undead. You see, even though the cities had fallen, there were bands of wandering humans here and there. These survivors thought of Boston as paradise. The only city where humans still ruled. The zombies wanted to destroy their hope and wipe out all that remained of the human species.
It seemed that the end had come. A million zombies literally armed to the teeth against a couple hundred thousand humans. Wow. Yet what could we do? We went out en masse to defend our fair city. It was a grisly scene. I don't really like thinking about what happened that day. For it was the day the last human city almost fell. I was leading the charge from a tank. They took us down. I was captured. Yet I wasn't bitten. Not yet. For some reason, the zombies wanted me alive. I was taken to their leader. I was about to be granted a rare honor. I would see the face of the entity who had been leading the incredibly successful campaigns of the undead against the human world. The mastermind behind humanity's downfall and near-complete extinction.
The zombies were camped on one of the Harbor Islands near Boston. What I saw amazed me. They were ready for a complete invasion. They had more than guns or knives. They had massive ships. An entire fleet of them. I counted twenty old-fashioned tanks, eight helicopters and forty ships. It dawned on me that humanity's days were almost over. Our situation was more hopeless than I thought. The zombies I saw at the military camp weren't random men and women whom fate had turned into members of the undead. These things wore light gray military uniforms and carried their weapons with expertise. I was taken on one of the massive ships, and left unshackled on the deck. Undead men and undead women in military uniforms went about their duties as if I weren't there. Then, all that came to a halt. Four undead soldiers wearing bright red uniforms. They carried automatic rifles and looked more grim than the reaper himself.
Then I saw their leader.
Definitely not what I expected. The leader of the undead forces was a tall, good-looking, blonde...woman! Can you guess who it was? If your guess included my sister-in-law, give yourselves a cookie. There she was. Kayla Quincy. My brother's wife. The evil mastermind behind the undead takeover of the planet Earth and the nearly complete extinction of the human species. I was too stunned to talk, even though I had a lot of questions. She didn't mind doing the talking, with a smirk on her pretty face too. I couldn't believe my eyes. How could a zombie get inside the city of Boston and live? Any human who saw him or her would kill them. Zombies were intelligent, highly capable fighters. But infiltration wasn't something they did. They liked to come at you with fangs bared, guns blazing and all. Deceit of this magnitude wasn't part of their repertoire.
Kayla Quincy grinned at me, and told me her story. She was born over a century ago. One of the first zombies ever. She discovered that she wasn't like other zombies. She was the daughter of the female scientist who created the virus which spawned the undead in the first place. The virus which infected her made her different from all the others. She was special alright. Ordinary zombies were barely above animals. They could walk and talk, but they were slaves to their instincts. Not big on planning. Any human with a gun could be the death of them. Kayla changed all that. She organized the zombies into a fighting force. And they went after the human cities.
Long after human civilization fell, there were Fortresses which humanity still kept and the war against the undead raged. These were the small human strongholds I grew up knowing about. My native Chicago. Boston. Chugiak, in Alaska. The Vatican in Italy. We stayed in touch with each other. Back when every fortress had at least one helicopter for long-term travel. The zombies swarmed over our cities because we were fighting a different kind of zombie. The original zombies walked and talked, doing little more than uttering threats while charging into human strongholds like mindless beasts. Kayla changed them. She taught them. She smiled in a feral way and told me the undead called her the Matriarch of their race. The Holy Mother of the Dead. I would have laughed if it weren't so damn scary. This bitch was responsible for rendering humanity nearly extinct.
I suddenly felt dizzy. One person had done all that. An undead woman. Billions of men and women had perished because of this one woman. And I was on a ship filled with her loyal subjects, all of whom were armed to the teeth. Literally. So, this is how humanity ends. Betrayed by a half-human woman with a grudge against all mankind. And I was to be the shmuck who stood there, unable to change any of it. Well, not if I can help it.
As I stood there, absorbing it all, Kayla came closer. She wanted to drive a few more nails into my coffin. She told me she had a few undead spies among the humans of Boston. They would strike at the right moment, when given the order. I voiced my amazement as to how she could remain undetected in a city filled with paramilitary paranoid humans.
Kayla laughed and took my hand, pressing it against her chest. I gasped as I felt her heart beating. In a chilling voice, she told me that she wasn't undead, merely halfway there. She had the superhuman strength and speed of the zombies, along with their ravenous desire for human flesh and blood. However, she didn't register at room temperature the way they did. So, our machines would never detect her as anything other than human. She laughed as she told me how naïve my brother was to fall in love with her. She had fooled everyone. Fighting alongside us while betraying us. And we never even suspected any of it. Damn, the bitch had thought of everything.
I looked at her. She was smiling cockily. She had a right to feel cocky. She had single-handedly brought down the remnants of human civilization and was leading an army of countless undead super soldiers upon the last human city. A city that would soon fall. She had won. What could I, a mere human, do against such supernatural might? However, I remembered something. In the back of my trousers, near the crack of my ass, I keep two things. Condoms and lube ( for random sexual encounters ) along with a tiny pocket knife. Folks, life isn't all that happy in twenty-second century earth. Sometimes, I've gone to bed with a lively, attractive and very human woman and woken up next to a snarling undead witch. It happens to many guys. They just don't like talking about it. So I brought my knife along on dates.
Kayla's beautiful, cocky face was dangerous close to mine. She grabbed my face and planted a Judas kiss on me. I saw an opening, and took it. This might be my last move as a living man, and I wanted to make it count. Fast as lighting, I whipped out my knife and plunged it into Kayla Quincy's left eye socket.
The half-undead superwoman screamed in pain and shock. Her undead troopers surged forward, guns ready. I stood there, not caring whether I lived or died. I smiled, admiring my handiwork.
Kayla frantically ran her hands over her face, and blood rushed over her fingers where her eye had been. She stared at me through her baleful eye, a rage unlike anything I'd ever seen filled her face. I realized that I was about to die. That's okay with me. I've always been a fighter. I never pick fights with anyone, man or woman. However, anyone coming after me should know that, even if he or she wins against me, I'm going to give them a reason to remember the name. How do I do this? By taking from them something they can't replace. And I was right. Kayla Quincy, Matriarch of the Undead and Holy Mother of the Damned could heal, and she had super strength and speed, but she couldn't replace what I'd taken from her. She wasn't as invincible as she thought she was. And that realization dawned on her only when it was too late.
Every undead soldier on the ship had his or her gun aimed at me.
They were ready to fire. But Kayla stopped them. Instead, she took me out herself. With superhuman strength she grabbed me, and sank her teeth into my neck. I screamed in pain. In spite of it all, I fought against her. She struck me harder than a truck could have, unintentionally sending me flying overboard. I think that's what saved my life. I fell into the sea, and didn't surface. The current carried me off, away from the undead soldiers rifles and their wounded queen.
I don't quite know how I got to Boston, but somehow I did. The current brought me back up the Charles River, and I went back to my city. I knew I was infected. Soon, I would be a zombie. They would have to kill me. I accepted that. However, I had to warn them about Kayla's undead spies and the extent of her treachery. I was captured by human soldiers and brought before the Supreme Council, a group of seven men and four women who ruled the city of Boston. These individuals controlled everything, including the paramilitary hordes of the Protectorate.
Nothing went on without them. I told them the entire story. They didn't believe me. Not even my family did. That's when I saw the truth. The men and women of the Council weren't human. They were super zombies, much like Kayla Quincy herself. And so, for the second time that day, I took it upon myself to face a traitor.
As Kayla's undying venom coursed through my veins, I realized something. I was not only becoming a zombie, I could also somehow sense other zombies. They were obvious to me. Like telling red from blue. And so I saw the Council members for what they were. I ordered them searched. The Council was outraged, as were the leaders of the Protectorate. However, for once my family came to my defense. Lucas himself volunteered to scan the Council members. And surely enough, they were all zombies. Completely human-looking zombies who had mastered the art of infiltration. They were immediately put to death. The entire city was reeling. As for me, I volunteered for termination. Nobody wanted to do it. Until one of our scientists came with a plan.
They observed me in a lab for the next few months. I had become a zombie, but I wasn't a regular one. My heart didn't beat. But my brain functions were essentially unchanged. When a person becomes a zombie, he or she is no longer the person they once were, though they can walk and talk like a human. Zombies crave human flesh and blood. It's what drives them. They have no conscience. With their overriding aggressive instincts, they're incapable of doing anything without fighting and feeding, though they retain the ability to speak and some of their human intelligence.
I wasn't like them. Somehow, Kayla Quincy's bite had transformed into another kind of zombie. My brain produced a chemical which protected my higher mental faculties, thus preventing me from becoming a slavering beast like all zombies. Using my blood, they were able to create a behaviour-modification serum. They acquired fresh zombies as test subjects. They effectively tamed them and put me in charge of them. Thus, the Blood Runners were born.
Unfortunately, the serum didn't work long term. The behaviour modification program failed. My fellow zombies Slice, Melinda, Nikki and Anthony reverted to their natural state. They were desperate to rejoin the undead army. But not before finishing me off as a traitor to their cause. So, here I am. Resting on the barren floor of the wasteland. I've nearly run out of gas. My rifle is low on ammo. What's a guy to do? As if on cue, my former team mates appeared. All four of them. Slice. Melinda. Anthony. Nikki. All of them were armed to the teeth. And they were not smiling. Zombies don't usually feed on other zombies but
I guess in my case they felt like making an exception. I smiled. Everyday is a good day to die.
I stood up, facing them. A bullet struck me on the chest, and another hit my thigh. I fell. I felt no pain, but even though I was technically undead, I'm not invulnerable. I looked up to see my team mates looking down at me. All of them were once human.
Then they became zombies. The human scientists captured them and reprogrammed them to hunt their own kind. For months now they'd been acting against their will. They thought I was one of them. But now they knew I wasn't. I was a zombie who fought against his fellow zombies of his own free will, all to protect humanity. I was the ultimate traitor. My thoughts flashed to Kayla Quincy's one-eyed, hate-filled visage. I suddenly remembered I've been in worse situations, even as my former comrades began hacking at me with machetes.
They were so focused on venting their rage by hacking me to pieces that they didn't notice the hand grenade I clutched in my right hand.
Melinda's baleful eyes widened when she saw it. Slice groaned in frustrated rage. Nikki kicked me in the nuts. Anthony spat on me.
I laughed, and uncapped it. Then I threw it in the air and rolled away. All around me the world went boom. I never get tired of hearing the sound of explosions and screams. Nor do I ever get tired of the sight of blood. They're a big part of my life. Kind of like breathing is for you, I guess. So, here I am. Folks, I'm literally falling apart. My guts are hanging out. And I can't feel anything. Wait, I couldn't feel anything before the explosion so fuck that!
I looked around and saw my former comrades, lying in pieces. I took a nearby machete, and went to each and every single one of them. I had a present for them and there was no time like now to share it. I caught Slice first. He had been literally blown apart. His upper body lay near me, and the rest of him was gone. He glared at me with hate. I smiled. Hey, stud. You're missing your lower half. I bet the Missus is gonna be upset. He didn't get a chance to reply. I chopped his head in two. Then I went after Melinda. She crawled away from me. The grenade had severely damaged her, but her ass still looked great. Too bad she fought for the other side. I decapitated her, and threw the skull away.
I suddenly felt something grabbing me. It was what remained of Nikki. The once-sexy Asian zombie chick now looked like a mess. I guess explosions will give you bad hair days. She was gnawing on my foot. I lunged with the blade and cleaved her head in two.
Where was Anthony?
Suddenly, I felt something rip through me. Anthony stood over me, glaring at me with undisguised hatred. I laughed. No hard feelings, amigo? He speared me with the long metallic blade he always carried. If I could feel pain, I would have screamed. Instead, I kept laughing. That really pissed off Anthony, who stomped on my face and spat on me. I blindly lashed out with the machete, and suddenly Anthony was on top of me. I had cut both his legs off. The fat bastard began gnawing on me. I dug my fingers into his eye sockets. Bet that's upsetting. Even blind, he kept hitting me. His fanged mouth opened, looking for my throat. With a final swipe of the machete, I chopped his head off. He lay still at last.
I don't know for how long I lay there but it was quite a while. Long enough for the feathered bastards to come. Carrion birds. They love us zombies. We're walking smorgasbords. I caught two of them, and feasted on their flesh. Yummy. Not as good as snake meat but tasty nonetheless. I felt the strength returning to my undead body. I felt like I had just died yesterday. Goody. I got up and picked up the machete. I took my bike and rode away.
I don't know for how long I wandered the wasteland. Here and there, I saw legions of zombies. Hordes of them. Numbering in the millions. All marching toward a single direction. I saw a small group of them at the back of the horde. They didn't sense anything different about me, so when I asked them for information they were forthcoming. Apparently, the Matriarch of the Undead Nation, as Kayla Quincy now calls herself, had summoned all the zombies of the world. They were to mount a final assault against the crumbling city of Boston.
I traveled with this troop of zombies. I don't know why, but I didn't feel like being alone. Also, I was weakened from my battle with my comrades and quite hungry. They fed me, at least. Deer, bull, wolf and even tiger. Sometimes, they fed on a human tribe they caught. I didn't participate in the feeding on humans. I didn't look suspicious, though. Only the generals of the zombie army got a taste. I was a nobody. This was a well-fed, well-trained zombie army marching toward Boston. They were bringing reinforcements to the hordes currently besieging the city. I don't know what I could do, but I'd do something. I couldn't let my city fall. mankind could not be allowed to perish. When we got there, the city of Boston lay in ruins. Nearly two hundred thousand were dead. A few thousands had escaped while the remainder fought. There was a sense of consternation in the zombie army. How had the humans escaped?
Apparently, they'd been building boats and made their escape while their fathers and mothers, brothers and sisters sacrificed their lives to give them a chance. I smiled. Human ingenuity at work. So, mankind had a chance to rebuild elsewhere. Cool. Slowly, carefully, I left the zombie army. I wandered off on my own.
Something disturbing had happened to me as I was with the zombie army. You see, zombies don't heal. They live forever unless they are slain or starved. But no injury sustained by a true zombie ever heals. Healing is an ability of living things, not of the dead. I put my hand to my chest, and realized that my heart was still dead. No pulse. I registered at room temperature, just like all the undead. What was going on? I don't know. But I like it. I wasn't a zombie. I wasn't human. I also wasn't whatever Kayla Quincy was.
What in hell was I? I don't know. I walked to a watering hole, and saw a snake slithering nearby. I caught it and ate it. It tasted good. I whipped out my dick and took a whiz, then did something I hadn't done in ages. I slept. I dreamed of tomorrow. Someday, humans and zombies would be long gone, after dancing their little dance. And the world would be mine.
Lately, things haven't been so great between me and the other members of the group. Actually, that's a bit of an understatement. My friends and teammates have discovered a new sport which is not sanctioned by the old NCAA or the ancient Olympic Committee. Hunting down my black ass. All because I refused to join them in slaughtering humans. And although I've been lucky enough to stay ahead of them for the time being, I got no doubt in my mind that they're going to catch me. I've known these folks for decades. I've fought beside them. And now they're trying to kill me. It really sucks when your best friends want you dead. I didn't think they'd take it this far. All I did was blow up their motorcycles and leave them stranded in a nearly barren wasteland, after all. Jeez, some people just don't have a sense of humor!
The pack's field operations leader and my would-be executioner is a tall, skinny white guy with red hair and green eyes. His name is Edward Johnson, though everyone calls him Slice. He likes to slice and dice his enemies with his spring-loaded crossbow which shoots these wicked blades called Slicers. Whatever, the guy is a major weirdo. And I don't mean just because of his penchant for red flannel shirts, black leather pants and cowboy boots. He's not a cowboy, he's originally from New Hampshire! I never said that to his face because he could make my immortality a lot shorter, if you know what I mean.
Slice's old lady is this tall, sexy Mexican gal named Melinda Sanchez. Folks, I'd give my left lung to do the dirty Sanchez with her any day. I mean, this gal has it all. Her face is mad pretty, with a sexy mouth that makes you think of only one thing. What kind of lipstick is she using? Nah, I'm just playing. You know what I mean. She's got a tone body with the right curves, and smooth, long legs that go on forever. Oh, and don't even get me started about that ass. Melinda has a heart-shaped bubble butt that looks so tempting, it could make a gay man go straight. She has a thing for form-witting black leather outfits and she wears them so well. The lady is not just hot, she's also smart and quite the fighter. Her only flaw? The loser she's hooked up with. She needs to find herself a real man and I am just what the doctor ordered.
But enough about her. The other members of the group are Nikki Chang and Anthony Vladimir. Nikki is a short, slim but curvaceous Asian gal with short, spiky hair bleached bone-white. She's really cute, smart and easy to get along with. A mean poker player who's handy with a rifle too. She also reads comic books. Sounds like my kind of woman. Unfortunately, she's gayer than a two-dollar bill. Good for the ladies she runs into and not so good for the dudes like me. But whatever. To each their own, know what I mean? We're good friends, though. I think it's because we're both horny little devils who would do anything to catch some play from any woman between the ages of twenty and sixty. Hey, I don't discriminate. All I need is a yes!
Anthony Vladimir is a five-foot-ten, big and chubby guy with light bronze skin and pale green eyes. He's half black and half Russian, which explains the Vladimir last name. He doesn't talk much, and he's kind of short-tempered. He's also bisexual. I bug him about him all the time but I'm really not prejudiced. I hassle everybody. Men and women. Blacks and whites. Straights and gays. Republicans and Democrats. It's sort of my way of dealing with the world. I didn't choose to be a zombie. But no one said I can't have some fun with it, know what I mean?
A long time ago, life was far different. In 2009, the world changed. Ever watch old zombie movies? Well, it's kind of like that but vastly different. A scientist created a virus which turns human beings into zombies. But those aren't the zombies you know. These zombies are intelligent. They're wickedly smart. They talk and make plans and everything. And they don't rot unless they run out of flesh and blood to feed on. They eat animals but prefer to feed on live humans. That's the modern zombie for you.
When news of the zombie outbreaks came around in early 2009, the world reacted with disbelief. They learned pretty quickly that zombies were for real. North America fell, as did Europe and Asia. Africa fell as well. Billions of zombies swarmed over the cities of the world, destroying everything and turning the few remaining humans into members of club undead. One hundred and fifty years later, the planet Earth was dominated by zombies. Undead men and undead women now rule the world. Humans are their prey. Of the planet Earth's seven billion human beings, only about two hundred thousand remain. They're living in the fortified and retrofitted fortress which was once known as Bean Town. Everywhere else, zombies rule.
The only thing standing between the humans and the zombies are us. Or should I say were us. The Blood Runners. Zombies which the humans captured and implanted with mind-controlling devices. Basically, they force us to become their protectors. At least, that's the way it was with the original Blood Runners. Me? I'm not implanted with any mind controlling device. Like any living being, or in my case undead, I do as I please. I don't kill humans anymore. Don't get me wrong, I'm nobody's pet. I refuse to serve the humans. I don't hunt the undead either. I got nothing against my fellow zombies. I just want to be left alone, you know? Unfortunately, in this universe, some people see the world as black and white. Zombies hate humans. Humans hate zombies. Both side show no mercy to the other when they get the upper hand. It's all so...political. What a mess.
So here I am, riding on my beat-up old Harley through what was once the city of Bangor, Maine. I break for the night. I don't have to, but I feel like it. Zombies don't get tired. We don't need to sleep. And if provided with sufficient flesh and blood to keep decay at bay, we can last centuries. Possibly forever. Who knows? However, we're not immune to frustration. So I made camp and caught myself supper. A snake.
In the wasteland most of the world has become, many animals have remarkably flourished. Snakes were among the survivors. There are lions, tigers and hyenas roaming all over the U.S. of A. They are the descendants of animals escaped from human zoos during the carnage of the early twenty first century. They compete with wolves, bears and coyotes for the wild bulls, deer and horses which roam this land. I really like the taste of snakes. Above all other animals. They taste good. Also, they put up quite a fight when caught. The snake I caught bit me several times. Unfortunately, someone forgot to tell it that snake venom doesn't work on dead men. And so I feasted on its flesh.
I lay on the stony floor, impervious to pain and discomfort like all of my kind. A zombie can walk from Boston, Massachusetts to Ottawa, Canada, without feeling tired. Benefits of being undead. Snow doesn't bother us. Neither does fire. Oh, it can kill us but we feel no pain. I looked up at the sky, and saw the stars. It's rare to see them anymore. A permanent grey cloud surrounds the planet. Sometimes, I wonder what life was like in the old days.
I find myself thinking about the recent past, and the life I lost.
Eighty years ago, I was a young man living in the city of Chicago, Illinois. There were five thousand human beings in the city, constantly fighting against hordes of zombies. I lived in a fortified building with my family. My father, James Springfield and my mother Elisabeth Jones Springfield were born into the war between zombie and human, just like my brother Lucas and me. They told us tales of the human world as told to them by their parents. Once, humanity ruled the world and there was no such thing as zombies. No misanthropic female scientist had unleashed a deadly virus upon the world. Life was good. Humans only killed each other in those days. Sounds like a good time to me. Then, it all went to hell.
The zombies came. They conquered. They slaughtered. They now rule. And Homo Sapiens is now an endangered species. They thought they could control us zombies. Captured hundreds of us and performed all kinds of science experiments. They controlled our minds and made us fight our own kind to protect them. In the end, the mind-controlling devices malfunctioned and the so-called domesticated zombies the humans thought would protect them turned against them in a heartbeat. Yeah, the day my friends mind-controlling devices malfunctioned, they returned to Boston and slaughtered dozens of humans. All it takes is a single bite from a zombie, then you will become one of us. It takes a person four to six hours to become a zombie. Tops. Then you're undead forever. Destined to live forever unless you starved and became a skeleton, or somehow get decapitated or shot in the head. If you eat well, and stay away from sharp swords and gunmen, you just might live forever. That's the undead life for you. How about that?
Sometimes, I wonder if my human family is still alive. The last time I saw my parents, things didn't go so well. Boston was under attack. Swarms of zombies were at the city's doors. They weren't the shambling, dim-witted zombies shown in old movies, as I said before. These zombies have guns, knives and grenades. They drive cars, ride motorcycles and pilot helicopters. They made use of every resource available to them. I went out of the city to fight them. I only had a rifle and a dirt bike, but I didn't care. With me came my brother Lucas, who had grown into a tall, brawny young man with dark brown skin. He kept his head shaved ever since he turned twenty one. Favourite weapons? Automatic assault rifle, along with a machete. We weren't alone.
Thousands of men and women from the city came out to fight. Lucas wife Kayla Quincy came out with us. She's a tall, muscular, blonde-haired and green-eyed femme fatale, as they say. I used to hit on her all the time. With a cute face, tight body and big booty like hers, it would be a sin not to. She used to always blow me off. Then one day she met my younger brother and it was love at first sight. I couldn't believe it. I mean, I look better than Lucas. I'm taller, better-looking and stronger. I'm also smarter. Why did Kayla go with him? Oh, well. I guess she doesn't like a macho man and prefers sissy guys. To each their own. I wish my brother good luck and congratulated him. Hey, I was the best man at their wedding and the godfather of their newly adopted son Matthew and daughter Jennifer. See? I'm not a hater. Oh, my. I'm rambling on again, aren't I? Sorry about that, folks. I was about to tell you about this major battle for the defense of Boston.
We came out fighting. The city's bold and brave. Unfortunately, we were outgunned and outnumbered. The zombies slaughtered us, basically. I did my best. I've been called many things. My dad thinks I'm a womanizing drunk and heaps praise on my younger brother. My mother thinks I was born under a bad sign. My brother thinks I'm nothing but a joker. My sister-in-law wants me to date her dull, ugly girlfriends in the hope of one day settling down. Thanks but no thanks. I may be all that, that's somewhat debatable. However, no one thinks I'm a coward. No way Jose! I've not only got a big mouth, I've also got big balls! I waded through the hordes of zombies with a makeshift flamethrower, burning those undead bastards and bitches whenever they came near me.
Like I said before, there were simply too many of them. I watched my comrades fall all around me. I watched my ex-girlfriend Wanda get taken off her bike by two burly zombies. That really pissed me off. Wanda was not just my ex-girlfriend. She was also my team mate. And she was so hot that I couldn't stand the thought of her as a zombie. Nothing against zombie broads but most of them aren't too big on the hygiene thing. Hey, someone's got to say it! They really stank! Just like the slobbery zombie dudes. Present company excluded, of course. Even as a zombie, I showered as often as possible. Being dead is no reason to let yourself go. Immortality is what you make of it!
I shot the two large zombies which held Wanda. Unfortunately, it was too late. She'd already been bitten. I gritted my teeth. Wanda stared at me. I looked into her eyes and I knew. Just like me, she'd rather be dead than a zombie. So, I shot her in the head. Down she went. Finally at peace. More zombies came at me, and I was shooting and slicing with my machete. I watched with pride as my brother reduced five zombies and their jeep into a great ball of fire. Lucas had always been a great shot. Where in hell did he get that grenade launcher?
His wife Kayla wasn't bad either. I watched her slice a towering female zombie from head to navel with her samurai sword. The zombie begged for her life but Kayla still cut her. Slowly. Unbelievable. Don't get me wrong. I enjoy killing zombies as much as the next man or woman but I don't get off on slaughter. It's just not my thing. Kayla on the other hand was a blood crazed maniac. She flashed me a dangerous grin. I smiled nervously. All I know is my brother Lucas had better sleep with one eye open if his wife was that good with a blade. On second thought, I'm glad she married him and not me. As a human male living in a century where humans were in danger of becoming extinct, it was my sworn duty to hook up with as many willing ladies as possible. Not for my own selfish purposes but to propagate the species, if you know what I mean. What? It's my story and I am hanging onto it.
The battle raged all around us for hours. It was hopeless. More of our men and women were captured and I could see some of them turning into zombies before my very eyes. The living joined the undead and began hunting their still-living friends. The undead never ran out of soldiers. We did. It takes humanity nine months to create a life. It takes the zombies less than nine hours to breed an entire army. You could see our dilemma. Overhead, a helicopter piloted by zombies came into view. And it was heading straight for my city. I couldn't let this happen. If a single zombie was dropped out of the sky and into town, no one would be safe.
The only safe place in the universe would become yet another haven for the undead. So, I took the grenade launcher from my brother and aimed it skyward. I took my time while Lucas and Kayla covered me. I said a little prayer, then took the shot. The small missile went straight into the sky. And the helicopter exploded into a million pieces. I roared in triumph. Yes! Take that you undead assholes!
Everyone looked up into the sky, zombie and human alike. Everyone was stunned. And for a moment, all eyes were on me. Including the hate-filled zombie eyes. I smiled cockily. Yes, you undead bastards and bitches. You're not invincible. Fire does to you the same thing it does to a human. It kills you. Something happened in that moment. The humans rallied behind my victory roar, and began fighting the zombies with renewed vigor. I led the charge.
That day, I returned to the city as a hero. They called me Jack the Zombie Slayer. Sounds good, doesn't it?
For once, my entire family was proud of me. After we got out of detox and inspection, we went to see mom and dad. I sat at the head of our table, the seat of honor. I drank beer and ate a fine meal made out of snake flesh and berries while regaling my family with tales of the battlefield. Lucas and Kayla were there to back me up in case someone accused me of lying. I was happy, for once. When I slept that night, I tried not to think of Wanda, and the hundreds of men and women who died that day. We had lost a lot of people. Those among us who got bitten became zombies and rejoined the endless hordes of zombies wandering the wasteland outside the city of Boston.
Yeah, those were the days. Of course, I couldn't know that this would be the beginning of the end. Three months later, there was another zombie army at the city walls. I had been promoted to the rank of lieutenant in the Protectorate, military corps which defended Boston. In this century, every man and woman received military training. It was a matter of survival. Just like toilet training. Not everyone was a good fighter, though. The Protectorate took only the best. Among these men and women, my name was synonymous with daring and ruthlessness.
We went out fighting. This time, though, there were no zombie-operated helicopters. Only about a million zombies armed with guns, knives, machetes and equipped with trucks loaded with ammo. I sometimes wonder why the undead still came after us. There weren't that many people in the city of Boston. All the other cities of the human world had fallen. The zombies had the entire world. All the animals in all the lands of the planet were theirs. The oceans were theirs. The islands and continents were theirs. Why did this one city matter so much? I wouldn't figure out that answer until the day I became one of the undead. You see, even though the cities had fallen, there were bands of wandering humans here and there. These survivors thought of Boston as paradise. The only city where humans still ruled. The zombies wanted to destroy their hope and wipe out all that remained of the human species.
It seemed that the end had come. A million zombies literally armed to the teeth against a couple hundred thousand humans. Wow. Yet what could we do? We went out en masse to defend our fair city. It was a grisly scene. I don't really like thinking about what happened that day. For it was the day the last human city almost fell. I was leading the charge from a tank. They took us down. I was captured. Yet I wasn't bitten. Not yet. For some reason, the zombies wanted me alive. I was taken to their leader. I was about to be granted a rare honor. I would see the face of the entity who had been leading the incredibly successful campaigns of the undead against the human world. The mastermind behind humanity's downfall and near-complete extinction.
The zombies were camped on one of the Harbor Islands near Boston. What I saw amazed me. They were ready for a complete invasion. They had more than guns or knives. They had massive ships. An entire fleet of them. I counted twenty old-fashioned tanks, eight helicopters and forty ships. It dawned on me that humanity's days were almost over. Our situation was more hopeless than I thought. The zombies I saw at the military camp weren't random men and women whom fate had turned into members of the undead. These things wore light gray military uniforms and carried their weapons with expertise. I was taken on one of the massive ships, and left unshackled on the deck. Undead men and undead women in military uniforms went about their duties as if I weren't there. Then, all that came to a halt. Four undead soldiers wearing bright red uniforms. They carried automatic rifles and looked more grim than the reaper himself.
Then I saw their leader.
Definitely not what I expected. The leader of the undead forces was a tall, good-looking, blonde...woman! Can you guess who it was? If your guess included my sister-in-law, give yourselves a cookie. There she was. Kayla Quincy. My brother's wife. The evil mastermind behind the undead takeover of the planet Earth and the nearly complete extinction of the human species. I was too stunned to talk, even though I had a lot of questions. She didn't mind doing the talking, with a smirk on her pretty face too. I couldn't believe my eyes. How could a zombie get inside the city of Boston and live? Any human who saw him or her would kill them. Zombies were intelligent, highly capable fighters. But infiltration wasn't something they did. They liked to come at you with fangs bared, guns blazing and all. Deceit of this magnitude wasn't part of their repertoire.
Kayla Quincy grinned at me, and told me her story. She was born over a century ago. One of the first zombies ever. She discovered that she wasn't like other zombies. She was the daughter of the female scientist who created the virus which spawned the undead in the first place. The virus which infected her made her different from all the others. She was special alright. Ordinary zombies were barely above animals. They could walk and talk, but they were slaves to their instincts. Not big on planning. Any human with a gun could be the death of them. Kayla changed all that. She organized the zombies into a fighting force. And they went after the human cities.
Long after human civilization fell, there were Fortresses which humanity still kept and the war against the undead raged. These were the small human strongholds I grew up knowing about. My native Chicago. Boston. Chugiak, in Alaska. The Vatican in Italy. We stayed in touch with each other. Back when every fortress had at least one helicopter for long-term travel. The zombies swarmed over our cities because we were fighting a different kind of zombie. The original zombies walked and talked, doing little more than uttering threats while charging into human strongholds like mindless beasts. Kayla changed them. She taught them. She smiled in a feral way and told me the undead called her the Matriarch of their race. The Holy Mother of the Dead. I would have laughed if it weren't so damn scary. This bitch was responsible for rendering humanity nearly extinct.
I suddenly felt dizzy. One person had done all that. An undead woman. Billions of men and women had perished because of this one woman. And I was on a ship filled with her loyal subjects, all of whom were armed to the teeth. Literally. So, this is how humanity ends. Betrayed by a half-human woman with a grudge against all mankind. And I was to be the shmuck who stood there, unable to change any of it. Well, not if I can help it.
As I stood there, absorbing it all, Kayla came closer. She wanted to drive a few more nails into my coffin. She told me she had a few undead spies among the humans of Boston. They would strike at the right moment, when given the order. I voiced my amazement as to how she could remain undetected in a city filled with paramilitary paranoid humans.
Kayla laughed and took my hand, pressing it against her chest. I gasped as I felt her heart beating. In a chilling voice, she told me that she wasn't undead, merely halfway there. She had the superhuman strength and speed of the zombies, along with their ravenous desire for human flesh and blood. However, she didn't register at room temperature the way they did. So, our machines would never detect her as anything other than human. She laughed as she told me how naïve my brother was to fall in love with her. She had fooled everyone. Fighting alongside us while betraying us. And we never even suspected any of it. Damn, the bitch had thought of everything.
I looked at her. She was smiling cockily. She had a right to feel cocky. She had single-handedly brought down the remnants of human civilization and was leading an army of countless undead super soldiers upon the last human city. A city that would soon fall. She had won. What could I, a mere human, do against such supernatural might? However, I remembered something. In the back of my trousers, near the crack of my ass, I keep two things. Condoms and lube ( for random sexual encounters ) along with a tiny pocket knife. Folks, life isn't all that happy in twenty-second century earth. Sometimes, I've gone to bed with a lively, attractive and very human woman and woken up next to a snarling undead witch. It happens to many guys. They just don't like talking about it. So I brought my knife along on dates.
Kayla's beautiful, cocky face was dangerous close to mine. She grabbed my face and planted a Judas kiss on me. I saw an opening, and took it. This might be my last move as a living man, and I wanted to make it count. Fast as lighting, I whipped out my knife and plunged it into Kayla Quincy's left eye socket.
The half-undead superwoman screamed in pain and shock. Her undead troopers surged forward, guns ready. I stood there, not caring whether I lived or died. I smiled, admiring my handiwork.
Kayla frantically ran her hands over her face, and blood rushed over her fingers where her eye had been. She stared at me through her baleful eye, a rage unlike anything I'd ever seen filled her face. I realized that I was about to die. That's okay with me. I've always been a fighter. I never pick fights with anyone, man or woman. However, anyone coming after me should know that, even if he or she wins against me, I'm going to give them a reason to remember the name. How do I do this? By taking from them something they can't replace. And I was right. Kayla Quincy, Matriarch of the Undead and Holy Mother of the Damned could heal, and she had super strength and speed, but she couldn't replace what I'd taken from her. She wasn't as invincible as she thought she was. And that realization dawned on her only when it was too late.
Every undead soldier on the ship had his or her gun aimed at me.
They were ready to fire. But Kayla stopped them. Instead, she took me out herself. With superhuman strength she grabbed me, and sank her teeth into my neck. I screamed in pain. In spite of it all, I fought against her. She struck me harder than a truck could have, unintentionally sending me flying overboard. I think that's what saved my life. I fell into the sea, and didn't surface. The current carried me off, away from the undead soldiers rifles and their wounded queen.
I don't quite know how I got to Boston, but somehow I did. The current brought me back up the Charles River, and I went back to my city. I knew I was infected. Soon, I would be a zombie. They would have to kill me. I accepted that. However, I had to warn them about Kayla's undead spies and the extent of her treachery. I was captured by human soldiers and brought before the Supreme Council, a group of seven men and four women who ruled the city of Boston. These individuals controlled everything, including the paramilitary hordes of the Protectorate.
Nothing went on without them. I told them the entire story. They didn't believe me. Not even my family did. That's when I saw the truth. The men and women of the Council weren't human. They were super zombies, much like Kayla Quincy herself. And so, for the second time that day, I took it upon myself to face a traitor.
As Kayla's undying venom coursed through my veins, I realized something. I was not only becoming a zombie, I could also somehow sense other zombies. They were obvious to me. Like telling red from blue. And so I saw the Council members for what they were. I ordered them searched. The Council was outraged, as were the leaders of the Protectorate. However, for once my family came to my defense. Lucas himself volunteered to scan the Council members. And surely enough, they were all zombies. Completely human-looking zombies who had mastered the art of infiltration. They were immediately put to death. The entire city was reeling. As for me, I volunteered for termination. Nobody wanted to do it. Until one of our scientists came with a plan.
They observed me in a lab for the next few months. I had become a zombie, but I wasn't a regular one. My heart didn't beat. But my brain functions were essentially unchanged. When a person becomes a zombie, he or she is no longer the person they once were, though they can walk and talk like a human. Zombies crave human flesh and blood. It's what drives them. They have no conscience. With their overriding aggressive instincts, they're incapable of doing anything without fighting and feeding, though they retain the ability to speak and some of their human intelligence.
I wasn't like them. Somehow, Kayla Quincy's bite had transformed into another kind of zombie. My brain produced a chemical which protected my higher mental faculties, thus preventing me from becoming a slavering beast like all zombies. Using my blood, they were able to create a behaviour-modification serum. They acquired fresh zombies as test subjects. They effectively tamed them and put me in charge of them. Thus, the Blood Runners were born.
Unfortunately, the serum didn't work long term. The behaviour modification program failed. My fellow zombies Slice, Melinda, Nikki and Anthony reverted to their natural state. They were desperate to rejoin the undead army. But not before finishing me off as a traitor to their cause. So, here I am. Resting on the barren floor of the wasteland. I've nearly run out of gas. My rifle is low on ammo. What's a guy to do? As if on cue, my former team mates appeared. All four of them. Slice. Melinda. Anthony. Nikki. All of them were armed to the teeth. And they were not smiling. Zombies don't usually feed on other zombies but
I guess in my case they felt like making an exception. I smiled. Everyday is a good day to die.
I stood up, facing them. A bullet struck me on the chest, and another hit my thigh. I fell. I felt no pain, but even though I was technically undead, I'm not invulnerable. I looked up to see my team mates looking down at me. All of them were once human.
Then they became zombies. The human scientists captured them and reprogrammed them to hunt their own kind. For months now they'd been acting against their will. They thought I was one of them. But now they knew I wasn't. I was a zombie who fought against his fellow zombies of his own free will, all to protect humanity. I was the ultimate traitor. My thoughts flashed to Kayla Quincy's one-eyed, hate-filled visage. I suddenly remembered I've been in worse situations, even as my former comrades began hacking at me with machetes.
They were so focused on venting their rage by hacking me to pieces that they didn't notice the hand grenade I clutched in my right hand.
Melinda's baleful eyes widened when she saw it. Slice groaned in frustrated rage. Nikki kicked me in the nuts. Anthony spat on me.
I laughed, and uncapped it. Then I threw it in the air and rolled away. All around me the world went boom. I never get tired of hearing the sound of explosions and screams. Nor do I ever get tired of the sight of blood. They're a big part of my life. Kind of like breathing is for you, I guess. So, here I am. Folks, I'm literally falling apart. My guts are hanging out. And I can't feel anything. Wait, I couldn't feel anything before the explosion so fuck that!
I looked around and saw my former comrades, lying in pieces. I took a nearby machete, and went to each and every single one of them. I had a present for them and there was no time like now to share it. I caught Slice first. He had been literally blown apart. His upper body lay near me, and the rest of him was gone. He glared at me with hate. I smiled. Hey, stud. You're missing your lower half. I bet the Missus is gonna be upset. He didn't get a chance to reply. I chopped his head in two. Then I went after Melinda. She crawled away from me. The grenade had severely damaged her, but her ass still looked great. Too bad she fought for the other side. I decapitated her, and threw the skull away.
I suddenly felt something grabbing me. It was what remained of Nikki. The once-sexy Asian zombie chick now looked like a mess. I guess explosions will give you bad hair days. She was gnawing on my foot. I lunged with the blade and cleaved her head in two.
Where was Anthony?
Suddenly, I felt something rip through me. Anthony stood over me, glaring at me with undisguised hatred. I laughed. No hard feelings, amigo? He speared me with the long metallic blade he always carried. If I could feel pain, I would have screamed. Instead, I kept laughing. That really pissed off Anthony, who stomped on my face and spat on me. I blindly lashed out with the machete, and suddenly Anthony was on top of me. I had cut both his legs off. The fat bastard began gnawing on me. I dug my fingers into his eye sockets. Bet that's upsetting. Even blind, he kept hitting me. His fanged mouth opened, looking for my throat. With a final swipe of the machete, I chopped his head off. He lay still at last.
I don't know for how long I lay there but it was quite a while. Long enough for the feathered bastards to come. Carrion birds. They love us zombies. We're walking smorgasbords. I caught two of them, and feasted on their flesh. Yummy. Not as good as snake meat but tasty nonetheless. I felt the strength returning to my undead body. I felt like I had just died yesterday. Goody. I got up and picked up the machete. I took my bike and rode away.
I don't know for how long I wandered the wasteland. Here and there, I saw legions of zombies. Hordes of them. Numbering in the millions. All marching toward a single direction. I saw a small group of them at the back of the horde. They didn't sense anything different about me, so when I asked them for information they were forthcoming. Apparently, the Matriarch of the Undead Nation, as Kayla Quincy now calls herself, had summoned all the zombies of the world. They were to mount a final assault against the crumbling city of Boston.
I traveled with this troop of zombies. I don't know why, but I didn't feel like being alone. Also, I was weakened from my battle with my comrades and quite hungry. They fed me, at least. Deer, bull, wolf and even tiger. Sometimes, they fed on a human tribe they caught. I didn't participate in the feeding on humans. I didn't look suspicious, though. Only the generals of the zombie army got a taste. I was a nobody. This was a well-fed, well-trained zombie army marching toward Boston. They were bringing reinforcements to the hordes currently besieging the city. I don't know what I could do, but I'd do something. I couldn't let my city fall. mankind could not be allowed to perish. When we got there, the city of Boston lay in ruins. Nearly two hundred thousand were dead. A few thousands had escaped while the remainder fought. There was a sense of consternation in the zombie army. How had the humans escaped?
Apparently, they'd been building boats and made their escape while their fathers and mothers, brothers and sisters sacrificed their lives to give them a chance. I smiled. Human ingenuity at work. So, mankind had a chance to rebuild elsewhere. Cool. Slowly, carefully, I left the zombie army. I wandered off on my own.
Something disturbing had happened to me as I was with the zombie army. You see, zombies don't heal. They live forever unless they are slain or starved. But no injury sustained by a true zombie ever heals. Healing is an ability of living things, not of the dead. I put my hand to my chest, and realized that my heart was still dead. No pulse. I registered at room temperature, just like all the undead. What was going on? I don't know. But I like it. I wasn't a zombie. I wasn't human. I also wasn't whatever Kayla Quincy was.
What in hell was I? I don't know. I walked to a watering hole, and saw a snake slithering nearby. I caught it and ate it. It tasted good. I whipped out my dick and took a whiz, then did something I hadn't done in ages. I slept. I dreamed of tomorrow. Someday, humans and zombies would be long gone, after dancing their little dance. And the world would be mine.