by Nathan Allen
And then a few months after the raid, all charges were quietly dropped. Many believed that the authorities never had any real intention of pursuing them. They knew they were dealing with a bunch of privileged kids in revolutionary dress-up, and making an example out of them would be like using a sledgehammer to crack a walnut. At any rate, the evidence against them was so flimsy – not to mention the questionable methods they’d employed in the gathering of that evidence – that the charges would likely have been thrown out before they even made it to trial.
It seemed that their only real objective in all of this was to scare them straight. Imprisoning the Zeroes might end up radicalising them, and that was the last thing they wanted. Besides, there was never any real possibility that any of them would end up in prison. Rich people never went to prison, unless they stole from other rich people.
Clea moved back in with her parents. She put her activism and other extra-curricular activities to one side, at the insistence of her father, and focused her efforts on completing the remaining credits of her Sociology and Contemporary Gender Studies degree. She currently works alongside two recent philosophy graduates and an art history major, waiting tables part-time at a local restaurant.
Amoeba moved back in with his parents. He reverted to his birth name of Sebastian Devereaux and accepted a position working as a parliamentary assistant for his father, now the Minister for Undead Affairs in the new Marlowe government.
It was widely rumoured that Lawrence Devereaux was the driving force behind the infiltration and raid of the Zeroes, believing they were a cult who had brainwashed his son. He allowed Sebastian to languish in jail for several days following his arrest – long enough for him to be “deprogrammed” – before coming to his rescue by bailing him out and welcoming him back home.
Sebastian maintains a keen interest in performance art, although to date “The Majestic Purge of Elysian Cancer” remains unfinished.
Miles still occasionally receives mail addressed to him.
“Neil”, whose real name was Officer Timothy Hutchinson, received high praise from his superiors for his role in the infiltration and the gathering of intelligence on the Tribe of Zeroes. Thanks to his good work, the police now had detailed files on every one of the major players in the underground activism scene. Even Miles had his own file, which stated that he was a Scientologist who sometimes went by the alias “Clive”.
Officer Hutchinson has since worked on further undercover operations, and lives with his wife and two young children just one suburb across from Clea and her family.
Shortly after the Tribe of Zeroes disbanded, Fabian attempted to start a splinter group with a few remaining dissidents. The called themselves The Empty Collective, but this venture turned out to be short-lived. Their first act of revolt was to bring down the website of the classic board game Monopoly, which they believed brainwashed children from a young age into embracing ruthless capitalism. They were quickly tracked down and arrested, and Fabian was now forbidden from contacting or going within five hundred metres of Hasbro Inc. or any of its employees, in accordance with the restraining order.
A short time later, Fabian moved back in with his parents. He cut his hair short, removed his piercings, and accepted a job as a trainee manager at a newly-opened Aqua Bar outlet.
Miles ran into him a few months later when he was working behind the register. He failed to recognise him at first, and when he did he made no mention of Fabian’s previous life, or showed any indication that they knew each other. Fabian was grateful for this.
“I bet you’re going to miss having Clea around,” Shae said one day out of the blue when they were having breakfast in front of the TV .
It had been a few weeks since they had last seen Clea, and everything had returned to something that resembled normality. Miles still hadn’t gotten used to how quiet the house was – or how clean it smelled. He actually felt a little guilty; the night before the raid, when he was struggling to get to sleep over all the noise, he prayed that everyone would simply vanish and allow him just one night of peace and quiet. He was a little freaked out when it actually happened.
“What makes you say that?” he said.
“You know, the way you two would always gang up on me.”
Miles gave Shae a sideways look. “When did we ever gang up on you?”
“Um, all the time?” Shae said through a mouthful of cereal. “Whenever I complained about you, like when you nagged me about staying out too late, or that one time I skipped school, she always took your side.”
“Yeah, right,” Miles scoffed. “I can guarantee you that never happened.”
“She used to do it to me all the time. ‘Shae, listen to your brother. Shae, he only wants what’s best for you’. I could never get away with anything with the two of you constantly on my back.”
A few days later, Miles woke up to find an envelope slipped under his front door. It had no name or address on it, and no indication as to who it was from.
Inside he found a bank cheque for $25,000.
A few days after the Graves End incident, an anonymous tip was made about the zombie plague that had engulfed the town. The PUMAs were sent in, the town was sealed off, and the remaining zombie population evacuated and transported to the nearest processing centre.
An investigation found that what happened at Graves End was simply an infection that got out of control and was allowed to spread unimpeded throughout this isolated community. Outbreaks of this kind were becoming more and more frequent as of late due to members of the public taking more risks and becoming less vigilant overall.
The report made note of the numerous dead bodies found throughout the town, which they believed was the work of vigilantes. The PUMAs discovered a truck loaded with high-powered weapons, but found no sign of the truck’s owners. They could only conclude that the vigilantes responsible for the massacre were now somewhere among the former humans they had shipped off to the processing centre.
The report also highlighted a number of unusual occurrences: many houses were found with their doors wide open; numerous radios were switched on but not tuned into any station; hundreds of cars had keys in their ignition and dead batteries; and a former human discovered with its hand nailed to a saw horse.
Conspiracy theorists would spend untold hours poring over every detail of the report when it was released to the public, coming up with their own fanciful versions of what really happened at Graves End.
A few months later, a musicologist submitted an article to a scientific journal suggesting a link between certain types of electronic dance music and unpredictable and aggressive behaviour in former humans. The news sent shockwaves throughout the entertainment industry, and the Marlowe government moved quickly to outlaw these specific forms of music. They introduced the Noise Pollution and Anti-Social Behaviour Act, which made it illegal to play or perform music with “repetitive beats, distorted bass and aggressive or frenetic instrumentation” in public places.
Many DJs and artists have openly defied these new laws in protest, which has led to numerous violent confrontations between police and protesters.
Less than one month after being elected, the Marlowe government fulfilled its promise by rescinding the NEVADA law and implementing CADAVER, which they claimed would restore the rights of ordinary citizens to defend themselves against the undead and their ability to take preemptive action as they saw fit.
Soon afterwards, reports of civilians being attacked by zombies rose dramatically. Many attributed this sharp spike on the number of untrained people attempting to dispense of a zombie themselves rather than contact the professionals. Bernard Marlowe and Lawrence Devereaux both dismissed these claims as nonsense, and continued to place the blame squarely at the feet of the previous government’s soft policies.
Adam dissolved Dead Rite immediately after returning home from Graves End. He paid his staff the money they were owed, plus generous bonuses, and then vanished – along with the $400,000 that
was supposed to be used to pay off the fine and the business’s debts. Disgruntled creditors turned up to the Dead Rite offices to demand their money, but all they found was an empty warehouse.
Adam has not been seen or heard from since.
The remaining Dead Rite staff weren’t particularly upset about losing their jobs. Most of them had planned to quit anyway, and had no desire to go anywhere near a zombie ever again. Only Erin continued in the industry; she quickly found employment with Z-Pro a few weeks later. From all reports she loved her new working environment, relishing the attention she received by being literally the only female in a workplace full of macho alpha males.
Felix achieved success with two of his inventions. His cable-gun contraption was brought to the attention of police and security firms, who believed it could be used as an effective method of crowd control. Thousands of units were produced and distributed, and were now being used as a safe and efficient way of subduing non-violent criminals and rowdy protestors. The Marlowe government helped facilitate this by approving their use and declaring them a preferable alternative to tasers and pepper spray.
His biggest success story, however, was his fibre-mesh bodysuit. Demand for this form of protection soared when Miles suggested they market them to territories with subzero climates, such as Alaska, Russia and Scandinavian regions. UMC workers in these areas were impressed with the bodysuit’s ability to guard against both zombie bites and hypothermia. The suits were rushed into production, and they were now having trouble keeping up with demand.
Miles put about a third of what he made at Graves End into paying off the mortgage, and the rest he used to go into business with Felix. He decided that, ultimately, college wasn’t for him. He’d had plenty of time to enroll in the past, but he kept making excuses and putting it off. He didn’t feel like he was missing out on anything – the education he’d received over the past three years was something that could never be taught in the classroom.
He now took care of the behind-the-scenes duties within the business, which allowed Felix time to work on developing and fine-tuning his creations. Miles spent his days completing menial tasks such as answering phones, counting stock, filling orders and issuing invoices – and he couldn’t be happier.
He also accepted that he may have some unresolved issues regarding the trauma he had endured over the past few years, and how it contributed to his burgeoning alcoholism. He agreed that therapy might not be such a bad idea after all.
One week after Graves End, a man entered the offices of a local real estate agent and expressed interest in one of their rental properties. The agent offered to set up a time for him to inspect the house, but the man said this was not necessary. He submitted his application on the spot and paid the first year’s rent up front, in cash. The agent thought this sort of behaviour was a little unusual, but she didn’t ask too many questions. The house, an isolated stone cottage situated at the top of a large hill on the outskirts of the city, had been vacant for over two years now, and she was just glad to have finally found a suitable tenant.
The agent found the new occupant to be slightly odd – he seemed in a hurry to move in, and became very cagey when she asked if anyone else would be living with him – but she wasn’t all that concerned. The only thing that mattered was that he was a model tenant; a nice, quiet man who never caused any trouble and always paid his rent on time.
The worldwide zombie population currently stands at forty-seven million and growing. A new holding facility is built, on average, every one hundred and seventy days.
There is still no vaccine or cure.
Chapter 30
Elliott opened his eyes and found that he was suspended in mid air. A bright white light hovered in the distance in front of him. He was enveloped in a complete nothingness. Just an empty white space, with that brilliant bright glow beckoning him ahead. Where am I, he thought. Is this death? Is this what you see when you turn into a zombie? Was he destined to spend the rest of eternity trapped inside this void?
His eyes came into focus a few minutes later, and it became apparent where he was. He wasn’t in purgatory, and he wasn’t trapped inside the body of an undead being. He was in a well-lit but rather ordinary hospital room. The feeling gradually returned to his limbs once his blood resumed circulation, and he could tell that he was lying in an uncomfortable bed. The bright light he had seen was nothing more than the sun reflecting off a window and shining directly into his eyes.
He tried sitting up, but soon discovered what a massive ordeal this was. Every ounce of his strength was gone. He had lost so much weight that he barely recognised his own body. His eyes struggled to remain open for more than a few seconds, as if his eyelids had heavy weights attached to them.
A passing nurse saw that he was awake. She quickly alerted her superiors, then came into the room. She helped him sit up in the bed and made him as comfortable as she could.
He tried speaking, but found even this to be exhausting. He could only manage a few words before running out of breath.
His brain was working overtime trying to figure out what was going on, rearranging his fragmented memories into some cohesive narrative. The job out at Graves End. Everything going wrong. Getting bitten. Feeling his life slowly slipping away in the car on the drive back with Miles. The crushing realisation that he was about to die.
But he wasn’t dead. That much he was sure of. He knew he still had a pulse thanks to the sharp spasms of pain he felt in his head with every beat of his heart. He knew he was breathing by the way his ribs ached with every intake of breath.
Two more nurses entered the room, followed by a tall bearded man in his fifties. Elliott thought he recognised him, but he couldn’t remember from where.
The bearded man told Elliott that it was good to see he was finally awake. Elliott tried to reciprocate the greeting, but could only manage a soft groan. The man could see that he would have to do most of the talking. He introduced himself as Dr. Martin Bishop, the director of operations at the International Biodefence Laboratory. Elliott now remembered seeing him on TV once or twice, usually in a heated debate with some pharmaceutical industry mouthpiece regarding what action needed to be taken to find a cure for the infection.
Dr. Bishop began with the good news. They had been running tests on him ever since he was brought in more than two months ago, and it looked like he was going to be okay.
Two months? How was that possible? It only felt like ... well, Elliott didn’t know what it felt like. Graves End seemed like it had only just happened, although it also seemed like it had occurred in another lifetime. Elliott’s brain was in danger of crashing due to information overload.
Dr. Bishop then provided him with a quick rundown of what had happened since. Elliott was brought into the hospital the day after he returned from Graves End. He had suffered a zombie bite to his right shoulder, a scenario the hospital staff had seen countless times before. There was nothing they could do except wait for him to turn.
But he never did turn.
Hours went by, and then days. He drifted in and out of consciousness, but remained fully human throughout. The doctors were baffled. They had never seen anything like it. Most people turned after an hour or two. Some might last a day, on very rare occasions. But they all turned eventfully.
Elliott was a medical marvel. He should be dead, or undead, languishing in a processing centre somewhere. But he wasn’t. He was the first known person to have been bitten and survived.
But then came the most staggering news. The doctors had analysed his blood while he was in his coma and found that not only was there no trace of the infection, but he was actually immune.
Elliott had no idea what to make of this. He didn’t know how to process any of this information. It felt like one big practical joke, or some warped, delirious dream. A moment ago he thought he was dead. Now they were telling him that the key to a cure was coursing through his veins.
But, as Dr. Bishop went on to explain, the
y had no idea why. The doctors all had their theories as to how this could have occurred, but they were still yet to locate several vital pieces of the puzzle. They were having to reverse-engineer everything, which was a frustrating and time consuming process. Dr. Bishop was hoping that Elliott could fill in some of the blanks.
He quizzed Elliott of a series of topics regarding the lead-up to being bitten. He asked him about his health, his diet, his lifestyle, his family history, his blood type, and if he had been taking any medication. Elliott answered as best he could, usually with one- or two-word responses, or by shaking or nodding his head.
And then, midway through this interrogation, Elliott fell silent. It was as if all the jumbled pieces of information in his brain suddenly slotted into place.
Everything started to make sense.
He remembered back to the two types of experimental medication he was taking as part of the clinical trials.
And the massive quantity of blood he’d parted with to earn some extra cash.
And those few drops of zombie blood that had been injected into him.
Elliott’s mouth fell open. It was preposterous, and yet it somehow made perfect sense.