Humanity's Death: A Zombie Epic (3 page)

“Things have gotten a lot worse since last
time.” Jack said.

“We’ve been in the swamps for months now. Maybe
we should've stayed." Andrew said.

Jody was craning his fat neck over Jack's seat
to get a better view. His hot breath smelled like swamp water and
rotten beef.

“We have toothpaste back at camp, you know?”
Jack said.

He paid his comment zero attention. “Maybe we
should have stayed. Taken our chances with eating gator meat.” Jody
said, speaking a mouth full of fumes into the side if Jack's
face.

“Its high time I bring back some law and order
to this hell hole.” Candy said.

“Not sure that’s gonna happen babe. This shit
looks crazy.” Jody replied.

“Jefferson once wrote ‘Our greatest happiness
does not depend on the condition of life in which chance has placed
us, but is always the result of a good conscience’” Jack said.

Andrew shot him a fast look, with a slight grin.
“Don’t think Jefferson ever predicted humans would face this.”

“John Quincy Adams once wrote, ‘Patience and
perseverance have a magical effect before which difficulties
disappear and obstacles vanish’” Jack suggested. He was already
feeling a little better. Or at least that's what he wanted to
believe. The truth was that he was scared and confused. But he'd
never let his family see that. He wanted to be the leader. He
wanted to stay strong for them. Quoting the founding fathers had
always been a coping technique he'd used in the past.

Jack jumped forward from a sudden jolt against
the back of his seat. “Always the optimist cousin. Not even a
string of noosed dead men can damper your hope.” Candy said from
behind.

She was wrong.

7

The day was warming as overgrown grass reached high
towards the sky in each yard they saw pass by. They'd gotten close
to town, to what used to be civilization—suburbs filled with
matching houses, now an ancient conformity, something that once
repelled Jack, but now only lingered in a sad and nostalgic memory
of what used to be. The sun was reaching high noon, and the smell
of death lingered in the air. Thick humidity weighed heavy on the
hot wind gushing on Jack's face; and dead people roamed
sporadically through the country neighborhoods.

“We’ll reach the city limits soon.” Andrew said.
His face seemed battered with the pain of humanity's death, yet a
crooked smile emerged in spite of the pain boiling just underneath.
That was, as they say, his way.

The outermost sections of the city were
deserted; but the high walls of a compound cast dark shadows as the
sun beamed down. “We should hide the Humvee somewhere around here,
and make our way on foot towards the city walls. We need to
observe, and not be seen.” Jack said.

The ground crunched underneath their boots while
they darted from building to building, always staying in the
shadows. It was midday, and the humidity was sickening, causing
gobs of sweat to run down their legs, arms, chest, neck, and face.
They maintained a steady, and close distance directly behind Jack,
Andrew and Jody in the middle, and Candy taking the rear position.
The old, boarded, and broken stores became numerous—skeletons of
the old order of things, now only dusty remnants and shattered
glass.

Jack motioned for them to enter a small
building. He carefully stepped through the broken glass pane doors,
glass crackling under his boots. He let out a whistle, just in case
the zombies had chosen the store as a resting place.

No sounds, no movements.

Jack took a position near a shattered window,
removed his binoculars, and aimed his view towards a
twenty-foot-high metal link fence that stood about over five
hundred yards away. It was built in the form of a large square,
securing what used to be a sprawling downtown into a prison like
environment. Razor wire round up on both top and bottom keeping any
would be escapees from leaving, and kept any unwelcomed guest from
entering—living or dead.

A cat walk surrounded the top of the fence line,
connecting to guard towers on all four corners. Guards moved around
leisurely, clearly not worried about trouble coming their way. Jack
doubted they’d seen much resistance since their annexation of the
old town.

In the middle, jutting high into the sky, was a
Catholic cathedral. Its design was gothic, and it towered high,
with windows that looked out in every direction. It had multiple
towers with large domes, like an onion dome from Russia, with dark
grays and black shadowy hues.

“I remember when they built that gaudy
monstrosity.” Jack spoke softly.

“I read it cost em ninety million.” Candy said
crouching beside him.

“Lets get out of here.” Jack signaled for their
return to the Humvee. Following the same path they'd taken, he led
them back towards the vehicle. He needed to discuss a plan of
action, a way of helping anyone trapped inside that prison city
escape. He had to believe that good still existed in the world. He
not only had to believe it; he had to prove it to himself. His
species simply could not just give itself up to such a dreadful
existence.

Then he saw it. Surrounding the Humvee, sniffing
and jerking about, was close to fifty zombies. Their clothing
tattered, their skin dry and peeling, faces rotted, and eyes dark
with a white glare in the pupils, like bright shining, lifeless
bulbs.

Then the guns shots rang out from behind them.
Patrol guards had spotted them.

He turned to see a gang of armed men moving
towards his direction; and the gun fire earned the attention of the
horde; they moved towards them in their slow steady fashion. Jack's
heart beat sped up, and his mind searched for a solution. “I’ll
draw their fire! Run and hide until it’s safe to come out!”

“Are you crazy?! No! We can’t leave you!” Candy
said.

“No time!” He said, turning, pushing his glassed
back against his face, and ran with passion under his feet. He
didn’t look back. Bullets zipped past his head, and shattered glass
windows, and peppered building walls. His breath rushed in and out
in fast gasps. The thud of his pulse pounded in his temples. He
turned a corner and fired shots to make sure they were coming for
him, and not his cousins. He ran with long strides, unsure of where
his feet would take him. The sky above shined blue and bright, the
sun pouring down its merciless heat. His feet kicked up dust and
dirt, filling his mouth with a nasty dryness.

The gun fire ceased. Where were they? They were
surrounding him, no doubt. Attempting to snare him. He turned
another corner, and saw a gunman. He fired, but missed. He ran in
the opposite direction, hoping to reach the next building.

The moment he turned, the butt of a rifle turned
his world black.

8

In the darkness of Jack's unconscious mind, he
dreamt for a moment. He was back in college; and professor Bashir’s
thin arms moved about; and his thin waist twisted as he
passionately told the story of Operation Eiche. “Picture a team of
German commandos storming Hotel Campo on twelve aerial gliders. Can
you imagine! The king of Italy had Mussolini held; and they
believed he was secure in that mountainous retreat. But they didn’t
expect the daring and bold SS officer Otto Skorzeny and his band of
commandos. Their historical and silent descent found the guards
asleep on their feet and they easily over powered them—saving
Mussolini.”

“But, they eventually killed Mussolini, right?”
Jack blurted. He always sat upfront; a teacher’s pet through and
through. His glasses slid down his face, and he pushed them back in
place.

“Not for months later! After the rescue,
Mussolini declared ‘I knew my friend Adolf Hitler would not leave
me in the lurch!’”

Jack loved history. It was his life force. The
study of civilizations gone and dead. The study of his own
civilization's development. He loved it all. History allowed him to
feel connected to the past. He didn't have many friends; the past
helped to keep the loneliness at bay. Life could be worse he always
thought; he could have been born in the bronze age.

Jack awoke with blurry vision, his back rigid in
a chair. His glasses were missing. The vision of a smiling
Mussolini gave way to the three men surrounding him. A tall man,
with a tattered shirt, and jeans that were too tight for his fat
legs. Another man, short and stubby, with a long beard, chattered
nervously, “Back to the compound. That’s where we should take him.
I can hear em outside.”

The third man, black and heavy set, with a dark
beard with gray accents mocked, “Always afraid of the dead! Why did
we ever let you come with us? I’m not going back till I find all
his friends. The boss wants information. And I’m gonna get it for
him!”

Jack's hands were tied behind him, and his
ankles were tied to chair legs. Around him he saw what appeared to
be a rundown bar. His gun and his glasses were resting on it.
Broken bottles everywhere, and wine cabinets leaning against an
exit door, holding them shut. He heard growls and dead hands
banging and scratching on the walls.

“All you care about is sucking up to Duras! You
think he will ever make a big lipped nigger like you one of his
right hand men?” The two men stared at each other. Their eyes
burned with anger and wild ferocity.

Jack cleared his throat, “Ahem.”

They both turned in unison and their rage left
their eyes and penetrated Jack's soul. Their teeth meshed together
and spit dripped from their mouths like hungry Hyenas ready to
pounce their pry. The gray bearded black man connected his thick
fist with Jack's right temple. For a moment, his world blinked out
of existence, only to return quickly and with blinding pain.

“Who are you? Where are your friends?” The gray
bearded black man asked.

“Go to hell.” Jack said.

He punched Jack in the solorplex and again on
his temple. A harsh cough exploded from Jack. He gasped for air,
and saw speckles of white, black, and blue dots.

“Are you the swamp rats we’ve seen before? Or,
are you with the tree folk? Answer me!” he said and slapped Jack
hard across the face.

Sweat from Jack's brow dripped into his eye; and
the vision of the man standing before him came and went like a fast
cut on a movie reel.

Finally, Jack caught my breathe, steadied his
head, and stared up at him, “Answer me this: Are you the Godly
Knights? Are you the ones I watched massacre so many women and
children in the early days of this new hell?” He asked

The scratches were getting louder and the doors
creaked and begged to fall open. The short stubby man stared out
the corner of a boarded window, “Oh man. They gonna come in
here!”

Gray beard ignored the man and glared down at
Jack. “That’s right boy! We are here to answer His will.” He
said.

“His will is to slaughter innocents? To rape
defenseless women? No! I question with boldness the existence of
your god! I will fight you with my dying breath!” He said.

“They’re breaking through!”

Loud gun shots sounded from outside the building
as the doors caved in. Jack was knocked backwards. The screams of
the men sounded off while the zombies ripped their flesh apart.
Jack struggled to scoot away. He saw them coming, jerking their way
towards him.

One walked right up to him and dove his way. He
could smell dank breath and see jagged teeth as an arrow penetrated
the grimy head and covered Jack's face with brain matter. He saw
his captors being eating on the floor; but he saw other men and
women. People he didn’t recognize. They brandished guns, swords,
and bows—like a modern medieval team of bandits.

Then when he saw Candy’s red hair, Andrew’s thin
shoulders, and Jody’s bulky frame. Their guns were drawn,
destroying any dead creature that came near him. In a matter of
moments, his captors were killed, the zombies met the final death,
and Candy cut him free from the ropes.

A man stood above him, "Now you owe us. My name
is Okona.” Jack reached out and shook his hand.

“Okona and his boys saved us in return for our
help saving his people.” Candy said.

“Beats dying, I suppose. What are the details?”
Jack said as they helped him to his feet and gave him his glasses
and rifle.

“They’re being held inside the fortress. They
call it The City of God. But, we’ve got people on the inside. And,
now, with your help, we have the numbers.”

“When do we go to work?” Jack asked. He was
starting to think he was right; not everyone was bad after all.
Here was a band of decent people, at least that's the vibe he got
from them.

“We have a base of operations not far from here.
We can hold up there until tonight. That’s when we strike. We have
to get out of here now though. They’ll see us soon enough if we
don’t hurry.” Okona's face was brazen; and his eyes bore the
resemblance of a troubled solider.

Jack and his cousins followed Okona out of the
bar, through the streets, and into a dense wilderness.

9

Walking into their camp was surreal. A barricade of
cypress trees jolted from earth at a sharp angle, meant to stab any
walkers that happened to wonder close. The barricade’s two ends
connected to a metal gate, something that looked as though it was
torn from a castle. It was protected on all sides by thick oak and
pine trees.

Inside, the
marvels continued. A network of tree houses were built high in the
oak. Hemp ropes created bridges with planks. It was as though Jack
had transported to some other time in history. He felt like he'd
stepped in
Robin Hood: Prince of Thieves
. The sun shined through the tree tops and
brightened the faces of all those around him. It seemed they’d
lived there forever.

Up top, within the labyrinth of connected rope,
and unstable swinging bridges, rich, saturated greens, deep
crimson, and golden ambers radiated all about, like a heavenly
glow; and a warm breeze rustled the leafy canopy.