by Katz, Gayle
Charlie thought that killing someone would have made her feel worse than she felt. But instead, she felt energized and exhilarated. After all, it wasn’t her fault, so why should she be upset? She just hoped no one noticed him missing, or traced him back to the store. She’d done her best to clean up the blood, and she had even destroyed the video footage. There wasn’t really much evidence left after that.
Once home, she tossed her stuff in her room, then gobbled down the meal that Gran had prepared. Then it was off to do her two hours at the locksmith’s shop. Most of that time would be spent visiting stores and installing more burglar alarm systems.
Her night was uneventful. There were no more men lurking in the recesses of storage rooms. She quickly did her installations of the next two shops beside her workplace, and then headed home.
zzz
“Do you need me to do anything, Gran?” Charlie asked, as Gran put on her jacket and grabbed her car keys.
“No, dear. It’s just bingo night with the gals. I’ll be back in two. Get some rest.”
“Yeah, I will. Have a good time.” She watched as Gran headed out the door.
Finally! She was all alone. She headed over to her backpack to check out the dagger that Mr. George had given her. She held it up in her right hand. It felt good. Natural. It had a nice balance. It was too bad she had no use for it. She was certain she wouldn’t be allowed to carry it at school, but hey, it would look fantastic displayed in a curio cabinet or in a frame on her wall.
She tucked it back into her bag. Tomorrow, she’d talk Mr. George into letting her have it. Then she’d get it framed. That way it would be more likely that Gran would allow her to keep it.
Charlie did her homework, but it didn’t take her much time. She was starting to get hungry again. Gran’s big dinner salad just didn’t fill her up. She decided to head down the block to the gas station to pick up some snacks. She grabbed her backpack that had her wallet and sunglasses in it, and then went out the backdoor. She headed down the alley to the station. It was a lot quieter and more pleasant this way.
She’d barely stepped a few paces when three zombies jumped out from behind a garbage bin and advanced on her.
“What the hell?” she said. “Zombies aren’t real. Zombies aren’t real. Zombies aren’t real.”
She furtively looked around. She should just run. It wouldn’t do well to be arrested for murder when she hadn’t finished high school and had her whole life ahead of her. But the first zombie was running at her. She tossed her backpack on the ground and rummaged around in it for the dagger. After all, self-defense wasn’t murder.
The zombie was nearly at her. She raised the dagger, and then plunged it hard into its eye socket. The zombie dropped to the ground. The other two were right behind. She hadn’t thought to hold onto the dagger and pull it out. She used her foot to hold down its head, while she pulled out the dagger. It was a bit difficult, but she managed.
She considered turning and running, but instead, stayed put. Suddenly, she felt energized. It was like a large red bubble surrounded her. If she’d had any doubts, they were soon gone. She jumped forward and killed the second zombie. Then the third zombie went down.
She smiled, looking around to see if there were more.
Chapter 8
________________________________________
Charlie impatiently waited for school to end the next day. The last class of the day was biology, with Mr. George. She pretended to hunt for something in her backpack, while she waited for him to answer students’ questions at the end of class.
Finally, she got up out of her seat and walked to his desk.
“Time’s up!” she said. “Others need to ask questions too.”
“Charlie, it’s fine. I have plenty of time to answer questions today,” said Mr. George in protest.
The two students gave her a worried look, then quickly left the classroom.
Charlie followed after them, and then closed the door. She headed back to his desk.
“Charlie! What happened?” Mr. George had a closer look at her face. It appeared that she had some bruising to the side of her chin.
“Some strange creature bashed me in the face last night. I think you were trying to tell me something the other day?”
“A creature?” asked Mr. George tentatively.
“Yes, like a zombie.”
“I see.” He had his pen in his hand and was tapping his desk with it. “OK, so this is weird, but it doesn’t sound far-fetched. The other day, I found this set of daggers in the school.”
“Daggers?” she asked. “Like the one you gave me?”
“Yes,” he answered. “But it’s more than that. When the box revealed itself to me, it also revealed some information too.”
Charlie grabbed a chair and sat in front of his desk. “Really? Was there a manual in there or something?”
He shook his head. “No, it’s like the information was revealed to me in my head.”
“Wow. That’s weird.”
“So, can you tell me if you’ve seen any zombies?” he asked.
She nodded her head. “Yes, some were in my backyard last night. I think I killed about seven. And I have no idea how I did it.”
“Did you use that dagger I gave you?”
She nodded.
“That’s a relief. I’d hate for you to go out there unarmed.”
“But this is like in those stupid TV shows and movies. You know, where someone who is lame in sports suddenly becomes a superhero. I haven’t even paid attention in gym class, so how did I know how to fight and kill them?”
Stewart smiled. “That’s because you were chosen. And once you were chosen, you were magically imbued with special powers that help you fight zombies. Now you’re much stronger, smarter, and more flexible. I’m guessing that last night you automatically knew what to do? How to kill them?” He saw her nod. “I’ve been doing some research online, though TV zombies and real-life zombies may not work the same. But it does sound like the best way to kill them is with that dagger I just gave you. It can be thrust through their eye sockets to penetrate down into the brain stem. Once that’s hit, the zombie drops down dead, for the final and last time.”
“Chosen?” asked Charlie, looking worried, after he had finished talking.
“Yes. I believe I was chosen too, but I have no idea why. And it’s odd, because there are more daggers in the box, which means that they are meant for other people too. But who, I don’t know just yet. But after the daggers revealed themselves, and I saw you, somehow I put two and two together.”
“How many daggers are in the box?”
“Three,” he replied. “Well, two now, you have one. But there are spots for six. I have no idea where the others might be.”
“Isn’t six the magical number in demonology or something?”
“It can be. I used to be fascinated by witchcraft and the occult when I was a kid. I haven’t kept up with it as I felt it was crap. But there is another odd thing about the box.”
“What’s that?” she asked.
“The box won’t let me remove the other two daggers. These are the oldest ones. I don’t know if they’re just rusted into the box or what.”
“Odd,” she said.
“Anyway, I’ll do some more research and fill you in once I know more. Oh, and don’t let any of these zombies bite you, otherwise, you’ll turn into one of them. I may have done some work in a lab in the past, but there is no way I can make a vaccine to stop you from turning if you get bitten.”
“OK,” she said. “I’ll wear my leather jacket or something the next time I see one.”
“Yes, a helmet and knee and elbow pads too.” He looked seriously into her face.
Then she started to laugh. “I could just lock myself up in a closet and not worry about anything.”
“Well, good luck then. In the meantime, I’ll see if I can figure out why there is a zombie outbreak in this part of Dallas.”
“OK. G
ood night,” she said.
As she was leaving, she got a text. She pulled out her phone and looked. “What the hell?” she muttered. “Tara is acting weird at the shop?” She texted Mr. Wager back to say that she was on the way.
As she walked down the street to her workplace, she wondered about the zombies. It was like they had appeared out of thin air. She flexed her right arm muscle. It did seem to be more toned today. And she hadn’t even been working out or anything.
“I wonder if I have to work out?” she thought to herself. It was so unlike her to have to work out. She was a bookworm, but not an athlete.
Finally, she was on her street. As she walked to the locksmith’s shop, she saw a martial arts sign in the window of one of the businesses. “Hmm. I wonder if that might be good for me?” They were closed now, but perhaps she could sign up for their first free class and see if martial arts could help her with the zombie slaying.
zzz
Stewart decided a trip to the local library might be a good idea. There might be something in the historical section that he could use as a reference. While there was unlikely to be anything on zombies, he knew that voodoo was associated with them, so he could check that section first.
There were only a couple of books listed in the electronic catalog. Stewart headed up to the eighth floor to check them out.
It took only minutes for him to realize that these books were more creative non-fiction than actual historical science. He decided to head for home to make dinner. He picked up his briefcase. It seemed a bit heavier than normal, but that must be due to the exams that he had to grade that evening.
He walked down the last flight of stairs and headed to the exit. He passed through the small arch.
“Beep! Beep! Beep!” sounded the alarm.
“Excuse me, sir, did you forget to sign a book out?” called out the librarian at the desk.
He looked down at his arms and his briefcase. “I don’t think so.” He quickly opened up his briefcase.
Inside lay the most ancient volume he had ever seen. It was covered in dark red stained leather, and was at least three inches thick. The title was engraved onto the cover in a shiny gold and appeared to be in another language. He quickly snapped the briefcase shut.
“It must have been my bottle of aftershave. It still has the anti-theft tag on it.”
The librarian waved him on.
Relieved, he headed for his car. He couldn’t walk fast enough, but he was worried that the security guard may be sent after him, or that someone would have seen something on the camera system.
zzz
“I’m glad you’re here,” said Mr. Wager. “Tara is acting really weird. I was uncertain if I should call her parents or not.”
Charlie had an uneasy feeling. Mr. Wager looked agitated. He would barely look her in the eyes. But if it was what she thought it was, he was unlikely to tell her that Tara was turning into a zombie, because zombies weren’t real, right?
“Where is she?”
“In the back, in the bathroom.”
“OK, I’ll go check on her. Then let me know what needs to be done tonight.”
Charlie headed for the back room. The door was closed.
“Hello? Tara? Do you need something? A pad? Tylenol? Wipes?” But she heard nothing. She slowly turned the knob. It easily opened.
She pushed the door open. “Oh my god! Tara! We need to call 911!”
zzz
Gran was busy doing some gardening in the backyard. She smiled as she remembered that Charlie had told her to stay inside today—something about a serial murderer on the loose in their neighborhood. But Gran doubted that he would be interested in a fifty-five-year-old woman who was fat and graying. And if he was, she had her hedge trimmers with her. She smiled, remembering her daughter, who had once been a zlayer.
Charlie still didn’t know yet, but Gran had a feeling that Charlie would also be one. Gran had read the news. They attributed the mischief to a bad gang, but she knew better. There was a new zleader in the city, and they were trying to create their own zombie gang.
But Gran was confident that Charlie would help protect the city. It was ironic, as Charlie was anything but an athletic person. How funny that it would come down to a short, slightly plump young woman to protect the residents of Dallas from zombies!
Gran heard a strange sound coming from the direction of the garbage cans.
“Damn raccoons.” She tossed her trimmers on the ground, then had a second thought and picked them up again.
She headed over to where the sound was coming from.
“Damn!” she cried. “That’s not a raccoon!”
zzz
Stewart got in his car, and then drove two blocks. When he thought he was safe, he pulled to the side and stopped his car. He grabbed his briefcase and flicked the two brass locks to an open position. He couldn’t get at the ancient book inside fast enough.
He lifted it out with his hands. “Wow. Where did you come from?” He raised his head in the air. There must be some sort of magic involved, and also some sort of science. “Obviously,” he said to himself. “Because, according to science, there is no way you can reanimate a dead body. There has to be something more to it, such as magic.”
He really hoped the book could teach him something. He flicked through the pages. “How odd,” he said, finding most of them blank. But there was one page that was fully illustrated, and had some sort of text on it in black calligraphy, to contrast with the deep burgundy red of the zombie illustration.
“I wonder what language this is?” He couldn’t decipher the meaning. It wasn’t English, Spanish, French, or Italian, but looked slightly familiar. “I’ll bet it’s ancient Latin. Some of the prefixes are similar to English.” Stewart put the book back in his briefcase. He’d have to find a good hiding place for it back at home.
As he drove home, he wondered if he could find some sort of language software or app that could expedite the process of learning ancient Latin.
“I wonder what else will reveal itself to me?” So far, Charlie’s zlaying abilities had been revealed, the zombies had been revealed, the daggers, and the book. What else could be left?
zzz
Tara was lying on the floor. Charlie rushed inside the tiny room to help her out.
“Tara? Are you OK?” Her skin was pale gray and her eyes were closed. Charlie quickly checked her pulse, but it was extremely slow. “Good, you’re still breathing.”
Charlie fished around in her pocket for her cell phone. “There it is.”
Then the door behind her suddenly slammed shut. “Hey! Mr. Wager?” Charlie stood up and banged on the door. “Hello? I’m going to call 911 to get her an ambulance.” She tried to turn the knob, but it wouldn’t budge. “Hello? This isn’t funny. Open this door right now!”
Chapter 9
________________________________________
It was Friday evening and that meant that Stewart could put his feet up and enjoy a nice cold beer and a good book. In this case, a good book meant the spell book that had mysteriously appeared in his briefcase, much like the daggers had appeared to him. He’d found a few ancient Latin dictionaries at the local second hand store and kept them by his side. Between each page was a small sheet of paper with the best translation he could do as a beginner.
“Zlayer shall be revealed when necessary. Seems pretty clear,” he said, reading each passage aloud.
“A mentor is chosen. I think that’s me.”
“Any weapon will kill a zombie through the eye socket, ear, or nostril, but only a magical dagger can kill a zleader.”
This is the part that puzzled Stewart. “What on earth is a zleader?” Could it be the head of a zombie gang? And what would be its purpose? It wouldn’t exactly be productive to run a zombie gang when everyone would be out to kill them.
Stewart continued reading and translating further.
“Reinforcing the dagger with this magical spell will ensure the zleader not only is
killed, but that all her zinions will be killed with her. Zinion? Did I translate that properly? Is that even a word?”
Stewart read the spell out loud. As he did so, he heard a strange bubbling sound float through the air. He saw something that seemed to land on the box of daggers, and then dissipated. “OK,” he said to himself, perplexed as to why the box magically returned again.
“The zleader is one who has been infected from another region. The old zleader is killed, infecting a new zleader, but they must transfer to a new city. This is part of the codex of zombies. There shall be no more than one zombie gang in a city at any given time in America.” Stewart smiled. “So even zombies have rules. Cool.” He continued reading.
“I wonder what this is? According to history, humans nearly abolished the old zombie tribe, created by voodoo witchcraft during the 18th century. Hesitant to kill living beings, it was agreed that humans and zombies would abide by a set of rules, around the time of the founding of the V-/. What is that? The - - *#Y%$a can’t read that, set a charter in place.” The next several pages were blurred out so that Stewart couldn’t read them.
“Damn. This was all so interesting. Anyway, I’ve learned a whole lot more than I knew before.” Stewart put the book down and got up to put his dishes away.
As he washed his dishes in the sink, he chuckled. “A zleader. Who on earth is the zleader in Dallas? That’s just crazy. So, a zleader protects their gang, keeps their zinions from being killed, and generally hides any evidence there are zombies operating in the city. It must be their goal to perhaps take over the world, yet, they have to abide by a strict set of rules, unless, oh shit…”