Zombie Society - They Live Among Us (2 page)

Cadaver

They sat in the intimate auditorium awaiting the anatomist to finish applying his latex gloves and rearranging the scalpels. Why did such a simple thing take so long?

It was about to be Shannon’s first live dissection and she was keen to get it over with. She hoped there’d be no puke. Puking so close to Gavin wouldn’t look good and that was why she chose to skip breakfast today. She gazed in his direction, three along and one down, the back of his head, that trendy hairstyle that had no place on a future doctor. Her knees knocked together. Then his head turned to the side as he scanned across his course mates as though looking for some eye candy to occupy the wait. His eyes fixed on the girl two places to Shannon’s right before passing over Shannon and settling on the girl to her left.

Why the fuck did everyone ignore her? She was studying medicine at Harvard for crying out loud but it made no difference. Tamara, the blonde slut to Shannon’s left, seemed the object of Gavin’s affections. Damn that bitch!

The anatomist finally approached the slab and pulled back the sheet, revealing a large man, pale to the point of being blue. “We are lucky to have been donated this cadaver after his drowning.” He poised with the scalpel above its belly. “I suggest you pay close attention. It’s not every day we have such a fresh specimen.” How long ago had he drowned?

Live pictures of the dissection were also relayed on the screen above the slab, the camera positioned above and facing downwards. The students only sat a few feet away and Shannon hoped the smell wouldn’t carry far from the body. She stole another look at Gavin as he sat forward twirling a pen in his fingers.

Then the scalpel sliced down the belly and a clamp was positioned within the incision. The small crank was turned and the belly opened out to reveal the contents. “Once we open up the stomach, you’ll all get to see what he ate for breakfast.” Laughter echoed around the auditorium just as the warm stench of the cadaver drifted over the students. “That one always gets a laugh.” He winked at his audience before gliding the scalpel down the stomach lining and using his hands to turn it inside out. Several large lumps of brown sludge plopped onto a dish the assistant held. The doctor stared into emptiness for a second, “looks like hash browns.” More laughter. “Now, the small intestine, you will find, is extremely long, especially on a cadaver of this size.” He plunged his hand into the opening, seemed to grip something out of sight and gave a few quick tugs. The small intestine came free from where it attached to the large intestine and then the doctor was walking backwards, still holding the small. “The average length on a male is about twenty three feet.” When he ran out of space, he proceeded to coil the organ around his arm as it continued to spill from the open torso.

Evidently, the cadaver took exception to having its small intestine drawn out from within, as it sat up on the slab and scratched its head. It remained seated, dazed and confused, with bloodshot eyes as the auditorium descended into chaos.

The blonde bitch screamed and Gavin, perhaps the most composed of everybody, positioned himself in front of her and took an en garde stance – Sigh, why couldn’t he have chosen Shannon?

Some students took their cell phones and filmed the dead man as he rolled off the slab and crashed onto the tiles, while others ran for the doors. The doctor meanwhile worked at unravelling the stringy organ from his arm.

Although it wasn’t really news anymore, the news crew still arrived before the cops did. Then the cadaver was strapped up and bundled into the back of a waiting van.

The Mob

City Hall buzzed from wall to wall with local people as they awaited the press conference. Much of the large crowd that gathered had been unable to fit inside the building but thankfully, although they stood cramped over by a far wall, John and Kerry arrived early enough to gain entry.

TV cameras were positioned strategically about the hall and as the Boston mayor and who was probably some government scientist filed along to the podiums, John assumed such meetings were taking place in towns and cities not only up and down America, but throughout the world.

The hum quietened as the mayor shuffled through a stack of papers and looked out at the large gathering. Sweat shone off his bald head, his shoulders hunched over. The man looked exhausted, doubtless from having to organize the city’s emergency response plan. “Ladies, gentleman,” he cleared his throat, “I’m sure you’ve all seen the evening news, so let me reiterate – It has been confirmed that previously dead bodies from as far away as Gabon, the Himalayas and Peru are getting up and walking around in an apparent state of reanimation. As you’ll be aware, we already have numerous examples within the city of Boston of such occurrences.”

“What are you doing with them?” A feminine voice screeched from somewhere in the middle of the crowd.

The mayor found the woman and directed his answer at her. “Ma’am, until we have guidance at a federal level, the dead are being taken care of by FEMA for their own protection.”

“But what about their human rights?” Screeched the woman, prompting laughter from much of the gathering.

“Ma’am, I can assure you that they’re being looked after in reception centers.”

John straightened, “you mean FEMA camps,” he shouted, not having meant to think out loud. He winced from the knee Kerry gave him in the side. Several people around John turned and raised an eyebrow, some nodding heads in recognition.

“Well actually, sir, in Boston, our dead will be kept within the Suffolk County Jail.” Great – Now John would have to suffer the stench of decay as it swept over on the breeze from the prison.

John pinched his lower lip. Ever since yesterday when the dead began rising, there had been one thing, one great big elephant in the room that nobody had yet dared mention. John spoke up again, “why do you keep referring to them as ‘
the dead
?’ Surely if they were dead, they should be buried in the ground. Why don’t you just call them what they really are?” He waited for the faces in front to turn around and look at him along with a camera to position itself. “They’re zombies!” This time John moved away from his wife to avoid the inevitable kick.

The murmur rose to a buzz which became shouts and John didn’t notice the mayor had stepped aside for the other guy until the man in the white coat began speaking.

“Actually sir, by
zombies
, you are for all intents and purposes correct.” The hall went silent. “My name’s Doctor Phillips and I’m from the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention.” The man had everybody’s attention as it was the first time the supposed expert opinion of someone in the medical field had been brought. “Let me first assure you that we are carrying out tests on the dead. But it’s clear from merely a cursory glance that they lack the capacity to breathe. They also don’t respond to any pain stimuli.”

What kind of pain stimuli was the government putting them through when surely the best option would be to put them out of their misery.

Doctor Phillips continued, “what we have found is that they do indeed have a craving for human flesh.” A collective gasp resounded around the large hall, which prompted the government scientist to speak fast in order to quell it, “but you can rest assured that, at least for the most part, they are able to control this craving, this urge, and they will indeed settle for brains or flesh of other animals, primarily other mammals.”

John shouted out again, “so zombies then!”

“Yes, sir, zombies.”

John’s hand involuntarily clenched into a fist – It was madness. “These zombies are dead! And potentially dangerous. And you’re keeping them alive at the taxpayers’ expense when they ought to be incinerated. It’s only been a couple of days and already there are what – hundreds, thousands of them in the country. Guess what doctor – People die. And if you’re keeping them alive then one day these zombies will outnumber the human population and what do you think will happen then?”

“That won’t be for a long time.” The woman from earlier screeched, as though that made everything alright. The lack of foresight in some people never failed to stupefy John. Thankfully, the woman, buried deep within the throng was shouted down by those around her.

The mayor moved back to the microphone. “Sir, I can assure you that we have no plans on releasing the dead into the general population – No sir, there is absolutely no chance of that ever happening, so your fears are completely unfounded.”

A camera moved in close as John nodded and the people near patted his back. He was satisfied, at least for now, and would trust the man in the white coat and his elected official. Sure, the government lied all the time, but surely not over a thing like this. They were after all talking about the future of the human race.

From Behind The Curtain

He ogled the screen on the wall of the Embassy suite in the Glen Cove Mansion Hotel & Conference Center. Some average American hot head, a Joe six-pack, some Goyim by the name of John Quinn, his name flashing upon the screen at the Boston City Hall meeting a few hours before. As could be seen, the man, whoever he was, had the people in agreement with him – That the rotting corpses should be put out of their misery.

Levi Goldstein’s head slicked on its axis as it scanned the conference table. There were banking moguls, financiers, media barons, diplomats and heirs to trillion dollar dynasties. “How can we benefit?” The words puked from his mouth.

Evilyn de Redshield straightened, waiting on the pitifully slow servant to finish refilling his brandy, “leave us,” he hissed to the man when he finished. They watched him leave. “The polls?”

Goldstein shuffled through some papers. “They are ninety eight percent in favor of killing them humanely and giving them a proper burial.” He watched as Redshield clenched his eyes shut and pinched the saggy flesh at the top of his nose.

“Where was this poll taken – Texas?” He asked snidely. It required no answer.

Ninety eight percent – A united country was not a country they could control. They needed division – They had work to do.

Goldstein lit a cigar and blew a large dirty plume of smoke which mingled with the swirling cloud that had already gathered above the table.

Somebody hacked from the corner, his head partially obscured in shadow. “Idiot.” It was Sumter Rothstein, head of one of the big six media conglomerates.

Goldstein knew what he was thinking, almost telepathically. It was after all a well-oiled machine. “Sumter, you and Rupert go with killing them.” He nodded to the other four, “and the rest of you go with releasing them into the general population and eventual citizenship.” Goldstein watched, offended, as many of them covered their eyes in embarrassment.

“Obviously.” Rothstein spat.

But after a few months of national debate, they’d release them on the Goyim regardless of public opinion. They’d be mostly in favor by then anyway, they always were – Goyim – Sheep. Plenty of other things to distract their simple little minds; ball games, video games, movies, alcohol and the rest. But of course, Goldstein would not mention the painfully obvious to his fellow tribe members.

He took a large swig from his brandy and savored the burning sensation as it glided down his gullet. He looked outside the window where several Goyim were swinging their golf clubs. He longed to get this damn meeting over with so he could clobber a few balls himself. “But will the Goyim accept them? These zombies are quite different to humans.” Goldstein asked, readjusting his yarmulke.

It was Redshield who spoke, commanding the attention of the whole room. “We will instil
human guilt
into the Goyim for past crimes against the dead.”

Past crimes? For whatever reason, it was necrophilia which planted itself in the forefront of Goldstein’s mind. It was rich coming from Redshield. “Human guilt?” He asked. Would the Goyim be so stupid to fall for such a thing?

Redshield continued, “when enough human guilt is infused into the brains of the Goyim, then having them accept zombies as equals should be as easy as rigging the banking system.” The tribe members took their cue from Redshield and cackled with him, Rothstein almost choking in the corner. “We must realize that our people's most powerful weapon is inter-mort tension. By propounding into the consciousness of the dead, that for millennia have been oppressed by the living, we can mold them into our program. In the western world, we will aim for subtle victory.”

The cackling faded and Goldstein gazed again outside the window. There would be a drug fuelled orgy tonight. But for now, “golf anyone?”

*

John and Fergus stood atop the office block, looking down onto the street as dozens of zombies, under police guard, stumbled into the prison.

“It was on the news this morning,” John said, “you know what the Russians, Iranians, Chinese, Japanese and most of the rest of the world are doing?”

“Nope.” Fergus’ face twitched as he covered his nose, blocking out the gust that wafted up from below.

“They’re incinerating them!” It was by far the most humane thing to do.

Something bad was in the air, John knew, and he didn’t mean the stench of death that drifted on the breeze.

The Commander In Chief

It was five minutes away – The big presidential announcement the whole world had been waiting for. After six months of incarceration, public debate and media propaganda for both sides of the argument, they were about to discover just what in the hell would happen to the zombie hordes that continued to increase in number.

Kerry brought in some sodas while the family settled down for the big announcement, though in truth, John was way too nervous to enjoy it. He considered himself a patriot and only wanted what was best for America. He had a nasty feeling the wrong decision would be made – It happened more often than not. He wiped his clammy hands over his jeans and looked at his wife and children. He’d keep them safe no matter what happened.

Then the President walked toward the podium and everything went silent. The anticipation had built and this was it. He looked straight at his teleprompter and spoke, “My fellow Americans – Tonight I’d like to talk to you about the dead, why they matter and where we go from here.”

And there it was – The President continued to inform the people that they were releasing millions of zombies onto the public. They would be granted equal rights as genuine citizens of the United States. The skin on John’s face tingled. The weird thing was that he wasn’t even surprised by the news.

“Hey – It’s the right thing to do.” The President smirked as John balled his hand into a fist. The cameras flashed all around him, then he walked back down the corridor away from the cameras without even bothering to answer any questions.

For the next few hours the news stations gave solid coverage to the event with numerous commentators from both sides of the debate letting their feelings known. As it turned out, the government would be spending billions of dollars on free homes for the zombies.

“I’m just glad we live in a nice area,” Finn said, “I don’t see how zombies could afford to live round here.”

John nodded. With a bit of luck at least his own family would escape having to live around them – God only knew what they were capable of, if the stereotypes were true.

Then the commentators continued to explain how they’d be initiating an affirmative action program aimed specifically at helping ‘
morts’
find work so they could better contribute to society.

“Shit,” John said, “I hope this doesn’t affect me.” Avoiding them in the suburbs was all for the good, but he still may well be forced to work with them – And on a building site too – That would be insanity.

Then a long list of other free shit the zombies would be scoring ran up the screen, almost too fast for John to read and all at taxpayers’ expense. The list included mort food stamps, free phones, utilities, trainers, bus passes, healthcare; the list went on and on.

“I think I need something a little stronger than a soda,” John said, pulling his family closer.