Humanity's Death: A Zombie Epic (4 page)

Okona's comrades names were Tasha, Chris, and
Andre. They were kind, offering food. They had rugged, yet
compassionate faces. Tasha was a healthy young woman of twenty. Her
long blonde hair fell down her petite and athletic body. Chris and
Andre were African American, and brothers.

As Jack waited for nightfall he talked with them
all. Sitting high above the ground on an open plat form, peering
out into the green thickness of it all, he listened to Okona regal
those around with his story. Jody, rude as ever, had prodded them
for personal information. They didn't seem to mind.

“I had a wife. My wife was beautiful and
intelligent. She painted marvelous landscape portraits.” Okona
said.

Jack stared up and noticed a portrait of
something that looked very much like the network of tree
houses.

“Like that one?” Jack asked.

“Indeed Jack. She painted that, and I felt duty
bound to honor her life by building it.”

“How did she die?” Jody asked

“Jesus Jody! I’m sorry. He isn’t the brightest
bulb left on the planet.” Candy said.

“It’s OK. My wife was the kind of person that
respected honesty, in both our words and thoughts. She was a
brunette made of pure, artistic energy. She never judged, and
always wanted to help people—a serious humanitarian that never
shied from fear or danger.” Okona looked down for a moment, and
stared, his eyes burning with painful memory. “That’s what killed
her. Her love of humanity and desire to help those in need. When
everything went bad. When the emergency services stopped responding
and people died in large numbers, against my pleas and at the sight
of one of the neighborhood kids running from what used to be his
mother; she marched out of the house one day carrying a
hammer.”

“The boy’s mother turned?” Jack asked.

“Oh yes. What used to be a house wife and loving
mom, a sweet woman by the name of Casandra was replaced by a
snarling creature attempting to eat her own son. My wife didn’t
make it to him in time. The boy’s flesh was ripped from his bones
and his small ears torn off by his mother’s teeth. My wife had no
idea how fast people could turn once bitten. She was able to bash
the brains out of the horrid undead woman; but by the time she
turned around, the boy was on her, gnawing into her arm.

“She never had the chance to turn. Moments later
a horde moved through, devouring anyone in their path, including…”
His words trailed off, he sniffed, and wiped a single tear from his
eye. “I swore from that moment on, I’d make it up to her. Make up
for not running out there with her. Maybe I could have stopped
it.”

No one said anything for a solid five minutes.
Everyone stared in their own direction, looking inward, remembering
the dead and fallen and wishing for the Old World, the days that
were dead forever. Jack broke the silence.

“Can you tell me more about this Duras guy? What
do you know about him?”

“A great deal actually. We were business rivals
before the Fever came. His real name is Tommy Morrow. He's strong
willed and always eager for a good fight. Never underestimate
him.”

If Jack knew how true those words were, maybe he
wouldn't have said what he said next. “We can take him. Don't
worry, we're the good guys.”

“May be so.” Okona said. “But good and bad is
connected by a thin gray line of uncertainty. In the New World that
is truer than ever.”

10

The conversation eventually went to less serious
topics, and Jack stopped listening to the rest of the stories told.
He watched as the sun moved across the sky. He pondered the current
context. Where were they going? Did any of this matter? With so
much death, was true heroism still possible? He forced himself to
believe, to hold on to the philosophy he'd always loved—humanism
and volunteerism. Okona might be right about morality's thin gray
line. But sometimes good and bad are black and white. Rape and
murder are easy enough to see as bad. At least that's how Jack saw
things. He pushed his glasses back against his face as he started
to wonder if he was being too naïve; was he too eager to see the
world through the old ways?

The night was hot and humid and his glasses slid
down his face again. He pushed them back into place.

He couldn't give up. Not yet. If hope was lost,
then he didn't think he could keep going.

The sun had disappeared, leaving him in
darkness. The bright colors turned to threatening shadow; the
others had grown silent. The time arrived for him to follow his new
friends into that fierce fortress; to save people he'd never
known.

The night's darkness swallowed them as they
plodded through the trees. Okona led from the front, Jack in the
middle, and Candy in front, Jody behind—Tasha, Chris, and Andre
worked the rear. They moved through the trees like ghosts in fog,
softly, swiftly, and always sure to keep voices low, cause who knew
where the undead may roam.

All around, the crack and pop of broken sticks
warned of inevitable death; and the smell of rotting, walking
corpses lingered with every step. The lights of the City of God
came into view, and Okona motioned for them to follow ever so
closely; as he led a path up to the gloomy metal fence line.

From above, a knotted rope fell. The rope was
made of black nylon, and was easy to climb. At the top, they were
led by another man, tall in stature, with long black hair and a
dark mustache.

They now stood on a scaffold. Torches burned at
least one hundred feet in either direction, marking the points
where other guards stood watch. The man with the mustache guided
the way down a ladder attached to the interior fence. It was loose,
but not so loose to cause anyone to fall.

Then the man led them through what used to be a
scrawling downtown avenue, then down a shadowy alley. No one was in
sight. The streets empty and bare, only a few candle lit windows
here and there in what once had been high dollar town homes.

In the alley, the mood changed. The stench of
deceased flesh suddenly filled the air. In the obscure stillness,
Jack saw a long row of corpses crudely crucified, with wood plank
engravings above each head: THE FAITHLESS ROT AND HANG FOR ALL TO
SEE.

The former day’s sun had cooked the flesh and
made it ripe. Jack held his hand over his nose and mouth; hoping to
protect himself from the reek. A door appeared ahead, just beyond
Okona and his guide. Two guards stood watch.

“Wait here.” Said Okona.

Jack strained his ears to hear. “We had an
agreement. You can’t back out now.” Then the sounds of anger and
men grappling. Jack moved closer, motioning for Candy and Jody to
get ready to bail. Okona had slit one of the guard’s throat, but
the other fought with fervor. A gun shot went off, and the man
fell.

“No! Don’t do that! Okona, no!” said Okona's
accomplice, but it was too late. He kicked the door in, and an
alarm sounded.

Jack ran to the commotion. He found Okona
kneeling beside the people he came to help. They were dead though,
recently turned. They were chained and reaching up to Okona.

“Damn them!”

Tasha came to him and put a hand on his
shoulder. “We couldn't save them. We did our best. Okona, we have
to go.”

Chris and Andre were shouting for them to hurry
up. Candy, Jody, and Andrew were beside them, motioning as well,
their guns at the ready.

Okona and Tasha walked out of the room. The man
that had guided them was gone. He'd disappeared into the shadows.
Jack followed Okona and Tasha. The others were already running back
along the path they'd taken to get to the alley. Jack watched them
reach the street, and run across, just avoiding the seeking lights
that were now dashing across the city.

At that moment gun fire rang out in all
directions. Gas canisters bounced in the streets, and the sounds of
jack booted thugs marched closer and closer. Jack's eyes burned and
watered. His breath came in short gasps. He saw what he thought
might be Candy, but she and the others were now watery blurs. He
thought he saw them moving to the wall. He could barely breath. He
could only hope the others made it back over the fence. That was
his last thought right before he felt the linebacker sized man
tackle him, and turn his vision into darkness with one fast
punch.

11

He awoke with a headache. It felt like wild African
drums sticks using his temples as drums. His vision was blurry for
a moment, then slowly, the room came into view. Standing in front
of a large, burning fire, dressed in a steel gray and black was s a
tall man, with broad, strong shoulders. A long mane of braided
brunette hair ran down in his back. The man's right arm twisted
behind him, and the back of his fist pressed against his lower
back. His chest stood out proudly. He spoke without looking at
Jack, and stared upwards.

“My name is Duras.” His chin was chiseled to the
bone, pointing down with a powerful slant. All around, the walls
were shadowy gray, with hints of cold blue hues here and there.
“You know. I don’t run into many people these days that still carry
around a wallet and identification.”

He held a plastic card in front of Jack's face.
“Jack Teach…” He flung the ID into the fire.

“I used to believe our species would live
amongst the stars.” The fire shadows danced on his face as he
spoke. “My whole life was spent believing that. I dreamed we’d make
it to space. My heroes consisted of the men and women of the star
ship Enterprise.”

He turned and glared at Jack with dark, wide
eyes. “I hated religion. You know? But what good did all of that
fantasy get me? Instead of a future filled with joy and wonder, I
watched helplessly as my wife and children were ripped apart by
undead monsters.” He stared towards the floor. “Now that… I did not
anticipate. Even though I've read just about every zombie comic
ever illustrated.”

Jack's head still throbbed. His breath came in
short gasps. He tried to wiggle against the ropes. He craned his
neck to the right, then to the left; and then forced his eyes stare
upon Duras. “So, instead of accepting the deaths, and moving on,
you chose to turn to pure evil as a counter to the pain?” Jack
asked.

Duras turned away. His gaze went down to the red
embers. For a moment, he said nothing… then he took a deep breath
and blew it out, breathed in once more, and said, “Don’t over
philosophize this. It’s about survival now. And, the best way to
survive is by enforcing a religion. If people try to stop you, you
kill them in the name of God. And the people that listen to you,
are willing to martyr themselves without question.”

“While you hide in here reaping the awards?
While you stand around betraying your own humanity!” Jack said.

“Would you agree it beats living on the
outside?” he said

“I’d rather be dead then become like you!”

Duras broke into a smile. “Oh my! I like you! We
are going to have a grand time!”

“I don’t plan on being here that long. Sorry to
disappoint.”

“Yes. I like you. You remind me of the gallant
Captain Picard. Always shouting his self-righteous babble.”

“Enough! What do you want from me?”

“Fun, of course! Rhino! Ice Man! Come!” Two
large brutes barged into the room. “Take him to the Pitts!”

“Yes, sir! Come on you! To the Pitts!”

One of the men grabbed Jack's right arm, and the
other grabbed the left, picking him up and holding him high in the
air like a crowd surfer. “Let me go!”

From behind Jack, the deep cackling laughter of
Duras echoed, his shadow flicking against the walls. “And sound the
bells! Sound the bells! Let the celebration begin!” Duras
shouted.

Loud bells jangled from every direction. Screams
of malicious joy echoed from outside the walls. Jack was carried
down long, dark corridors decorated with medieval architecture, and
down a flight of winding stairs. He screamed, and dug his nails
into the wall, but to no avail. He saw a large wooden door ahead,
and another large brute turning a key. The door swung open, and
they tossed him in. He slid down into a soup bowl metal pit. The
bottom was a flat rectangle with iron bar doors on both ends. Above
and all around he saw a coliseum, with rows upon rows of seats.
Fire burned and flickered light from metal trash cans. It was pure
medieval hell.

Jack watched in horror as hundreds of men,
women, and children streamed from unseen entry points, gathering in
the seats—their faces hidden in the fiery shadows. Profanities were
screamed his way; and bits of rotten food, spit, and feces flung in
his direction. The insane crowd erupted in a chorus, “Duras! Duras!
Duras!” Large torches gleamed from high above, and directed its
light onto a balcony high above, and there bathed in fire light
piety was Duras holding a goblet and drinking merrily.

In his other hand he held a megaphone. “Quiet
now! Quiet!” The room slowed to a low murmur, then absolute
stillness. “We are all fortunate to have a God that allows such
wonderful breaks for entertainment. It is one of the many blessings
we all receive for being His faithful followers."

A few people shouted "Amen! Amen to that!"

Duras continued, "Today I bring you a special
guest. His name is Jack Teach and he denies that our God exists!” A
bellowing of boos, and shouts for his death cried out from the
enraged crowd. Duras raised his hand to silence the mob. “But not
to worry. There is a reason God gave us the walking dead. They are
here to consume the flesh of nonbelievers like dear Mr. Teach
here.” Duras then focused his attention to Jack. “Jack my boy! You
have only one chance now. It’s time for you to enter the Trail of
the Damned!”

The crowd erupted at his proclamation, banging
their feet and pounding their fists against the floor and walls,
causing the entire room to shake violently.