More zombies encircle him; his weapon tears through another zombie’s body like tissue paper. Spurts of blood spatter on the Indian’s face and shirt. He spins the axe handle and re-grips it as a few prepubescent zombies approach him. He lets out a resounding shout, “Boo-Ya,” and swings the pickaxe as hard as he can horizontally in a circle, crushing and knocking off each of their decaying noggins. Arrows whizzing over his head, kills the semi-circle of zombies getting closer to him, they fall to the ground looking like resting porcupines.
His friends hurry to reload shafts as the venerable Chief is adjusting his body in another horse saddle, his double vision meets in the center and he sees his Lieutenant removing the cylinder of arrows over his back and handing them over to him. Some decisions don’t need explanation.
The Lieutenant sorties from obscurity and immediately starts swinging his mace, proactively guarding the Chief from the approaching feral stragglers. Due to the weight of the mace, it carries the man forward with each thrust. His mace lands in a bald zombie’s crass face crushing its black teeth down to its neck; the mace brings the zombie’s whole body to the ground like a rag doll. He has to put his foot on the zombie’s throat to remove his mace. The man’s bloody pant leg is sticking to his skin as if he soiled himself.
Another zombie stumbles towards him, straddling between each leg like a drunk. The Lieutenant swings his mace with both hands hitting and rupturing the zombie in half right above the groin. The mace travels on a wave of brute force turning the man completely around. The zombie’s large intestines mushroom over its stumpy legs like twisted tree vines. Dark drops of blood rain down into small puddles of grime. When the Lieutenant swings for another head, it gets stuck to the mace, so he bangs it on the ground, watching the young Indian in front of him.
The young man takes a breath then goes after two skimpy zombies standing shoulder-to-shoulder, he brings the metal pickaxe down over one of the zombie’s head, exploding all the bones in its face as if it was made of hollow clay. The zombie’s legs fold and collapse like a fighter who has been KO’ed. He leaves his weapon in its remains then adroitly pulls out a hand knife to finish the other opponent. The second zombie springs at him with open arms, he pushes its arms to the side and down then drives his blade up into its throat. It doesn’t kill the zombie. Layers of bones reinforce the skull like blubber. The young aghast Indian is worried. He has one hand on the handle, twisting the blade to dismember its head, while his second hand is on the zombie’s chest to keep distance. Like it’s an annoying stranger in the bar trying to get frisky. Cold steel swishing around blood creates a smooching sound. Slime from the detestable zombie’s mouth travels down the young man’s back. He draws his head back, yet he and the zombie are in a deadly waltz during closing time. He turns the woman and gets her back towards his friends. The zombie’s breath reeks like its been eating cat shit. In the corners of the young man’s eyes, he sees the remaining zombies with multiple arrows within them, dragging their legs and getting closer. The story of his short life.
Just then, the Chief shoots the zombie in the back of the head attacking his nephew. The arrow goes through and pops out of the zombie’s forehead in front of the young man’s face. He pulls his knife out in one direction and the arrow in the other direction; he flips the knife and trashes the broken arrow, and stares down the rest of the zombies. Covers his nose with one arm to shield the smell of shit and piss stewing in the cadaverous bellies and he pulls his fighting arm back like a rubberband. However, he hears the Lieutenant shout. “Get down.”
Flat on his stomach, the young man rolls, dodging swinging arms above him while the rest of the men fire their rifles in fast succession like an execution squad, into the remaining seven zombies, blasting holes into each of their heads. Neon green piss and vibrant orange blood spray from the bodies as if they’re standing on sprinklers. The looming zombies all fall back on cue.
The Chief says. “Are you ok, Junior?”
“Oh shoot. Oh shoot.” The young man gets up from the ground after the firing and wipes the dirt and pouring sweat off his brows. Says as he checks his body. “I thought no guns.” The Indians walk around and gather all their arrows, smelling of gunsmoke.
The young Indian says to the Lieutenant. “Aim for the eyes, skulls don’t soften quickly in death.”
The Lieutenant says. “Thanks for that, I never thought of that.”
“I can tell by your bow shooting.” The young Indian snidely points to a zombie with five arrows in its back.”
The Chief is not angry at his horse, more so worried about him. He’s grazing outside the valley calmly as if nothing ever happened. Bimodal: alive and hungry, some snaggletooth zombies crawl away in a puny attempt to escape.
All the men let out a heavy sigh as if they’ve been holding onto the same breath before the fight started. The Lieutenant raises his head towards a particular zombie. “I didn’t like the way he looked at me.” Everyone’s apprehensive expression gladly switches for a uneasy laughter. A bare moment later, the thrill of victory quickly fades as each recalls why they left the comfort of their home.
3
He opens his eyes in a fury.
Phillip is in a dark dank room; his hands are handcuffed behind his back and around a metal pole that goes into the ceiling. The slow light from the opening of the heavy door hurts his eyes. A tall man’s silhouette appears in the doorway. He walks into the room with his shoulders back, chin slightly up, and his palms facing inwards. He turns on the light, grabs a chair, and places it in front of Phillip. It’s the first face he has seen in days. A prissy man, short nails and hair, long legs to boot. No weapons, is this their doc?
Two men wait outside the door. The man sits down with one foot on top of one knee. His dark hair his combed and slicked to the left, he fiddles with his tie, giving Phillip a moment to wake up to the fusty odor of sweat and blood in the room.
The man sighs, then says. “You probably have a thousand questions, one being, what’s with the tie? First impressions are last impressions.” The man laughs to himself, tapping on his knee.
Phillip’s dark circles under his eyes have dirt and age. Streaks of dry blood glues to the sides of his rotund face. Eyes are wet with mucus. Phillip places his feet flat on the ground and bolts up straight; the metal chain from the handcuffs scratches the metal pole creating an unsettling scraping noise.
“I’m the Boss. Who are you?” The man says with an innocuous smile and clean-shaven face.
Phillip is silent.
The Boss laughs in his deep raspy voice. “I’m guessing you’re a military man too. You just have that look. What war did you fight in, WW3 after the water shortage?”
Phillip remains silent.
The Boss says. “I’m looking for a man named Jacob, my associates believe you know where he is. I know they’ve already questioned you about Jacob, the proof is on your face.” He draws a circle in the air around Phillip, “but I’m just here to talk, not to lay a hand on you.” He looks at his hands then cracks his knuckles.
Phillip remains silent.
The Boss gets up and paces around, the sound of his boots bounce around the room. He walks over to Phillip’s belt of weapons hanging on a hook on the wall. “You have no idea where you are, who we are, or how many of us there is, my friend. But we all live on and are suckers for hope, I suppose.” He shrugs putting the weapons back on the wall, so close and so far away from Phillip.
Phillip continues to stare him down.
The Boss clears his throat louder than the scraping noise in the room. “Do you have someone you love back home, son? Even if you don’t, I know you have a ravishing woman to sleep next to every night. You’re a strapping young man.”
The Boss sits back down and sweeps the dust off his thighs with his fingertips. Phillip averts his eyes away from the Boss for a split second.
The Boss says. “I knew it…I envy you. I sleep alone every night, now. Before all of this.” He waves his hands and looks arou
nd, acknowledging the room. “I had a boring nine-to-five job and I lived the American dream. Then one day I had a nightmare that my wife was biting my forearm in our bed. So I tried with all my strength to get her off like one of those giant catfish you catch with your hand, first tossing her around the bedroom, knocking over our dressers and lamps. Still, she wouldn’t let go for the life of me, her bite was as painful as a rabid bulldog, getting blood over our white linens.” He pulls up his sleeve to show Phillip the scar like it’s a badge of honor. “So…I broke her neck, and still she held onto my dear life, so I grabbed a snow globe from the floor and bashed her head in repeatedly. My screams must have awakened our kids because they open our bedroom door to see their father killing their mother. I have never awakened from this nightmare.”
The Boss looks Phillip in the eyes and leans forward off his chair. “If I can do that to her, what do you think I’m going to do to you.”
After a short silence, the Boss claps his hands. “Well, I will just continue then…After I lost everyone, I started collecting picture frames on my expedition to becoming the Boss. Each one serves as a souvenir of my surviving different places. It’s a shame I have no photos of my family. They exist now only in my memory. So I kept the fake photos of the perfect families inside. Think about all the conversations you had with your family members, most are gone with the wind, because people didn’t truly value their time with their loved ones before all of this, but now I value.”
Phillip puts his head down.
The Boss says. “I get it, you’re exhausted.” He turns his head taking in the concrete wall, bouncing his foot over his knee. “Bring us some water, please and none of that tap shit.”
He smiles to himself and says to the wall. “People are the problem and solution to every situation.” Side eyes Phillip. “Do you ever feel unsure why you want something, so you decide you want everything.”
Phillip tries to break the cuffs when the men leave.
The Boss says. “Mankind is at war until every single one of those creatures is destroyed.”
He stares at the bloodstains on the wall. “You know this already, during times of war, human decency takes a backseat to surviving. Now, I know you’re not a monster, but you have taken someone from me, one of my soldiers. So now I have the right to do what’s necessary to get my soldier back.”
Phillip is aweless and continues to twist his handcuffs.
“Hell, in another life, you and I could’ve been drinking buddies. You probably think I’m a piece of shit for locking you in here. To be honest I don’t see myself as good or bad, who does really? Two words can’t fully explain any person’s life, only a moron believes in simplistic binary labels. I’m a reflection and the voice of my followers. If you want to hate someone hate people, not me.”
The scraping noise is back; Phillip doesn’t care if the Boss notices.
“Mankind figured out how to put a man on the moon, but they couldn’t figure out why certain scorpions glow in the dark.” He uncrosses his legs and leans forward. “The difference is motivation, that’s irrefutable logic. You’re thinking to yourself who gives a fuck about some glow in the dark insects, right? But mankind was also not motivated in finding a cure to cancer and other deadly diseases, or motivated to live in peace. People didn’t give a fuck about these things either, like those scorpions. There was too much money in suffering; it became a product that everyone had to keep on producing. Don’t get me started on the disregard for force pederasty in this world by people in power. On top of that, pernicious news people who would get a hard-on every time for violent stories and politicians who would get a hard-on for little boys or priests molesting kids for a living. It was a world about hedonism and entertainment not accountability. It was all a travesty wrapped in a delusion.” The Boss looks like he wants to vomit.
“Not every person was bad in our all old lives, don’t get me wrong, but there was not enough good people. The majority wins every time because look how the world turned out. The outbreak could have been avoided and handled better. This country and this world has been dying a slow heinous death for years. This Genesis Virus was the last nail in this world’s coffin. The beginning of the end and now the living walk among the dead. I have a gut feeling you know all this already.”
The Boss sits up straighter and stretches his back. “My people, they’re motivated to follow me, not because I’m a saint but because they’re little devils at heart, that value their own survival. If something is not right I’ll make it right. You can relate to that. People need and want a leader at any cost.”
The Boss says. “Until you tell them something they don’t want to hear. It’s my job to cut through the bullshit and figure out how to keep my community together. You can respect that.”
A guard walks in and hunches over to whisper in Boss’s ear. Phillip can only hear. “Sir.” Then the guard walks back to his post.
The Boss drinks from the water bottle. He places a straw in the other one and offers it to Phillip. “I’ll just leave it, then. Confidence only turns into arrogance if it’s promoted. Stupidity is worrying yourself into inaction.”
Phillip is silent.
The Boss looks down at his hands. “What we have here is death in absentia, Jacob may be dead or alive. I’m willing to trade your life for Jacob’s if you speak up and help me, now. I don’t want you to die. Our community could use a man like you. We’re noble savages if you can believe that. We don’t have survival’s guilt or kill each other. Though heavy is the head that wears the crown.”
The Boss finishes his grandiose conversation, gets up, smiles then walks out of the darkness. Phillip leans his head back against the pole and slides the water bottle towards him with his heel. Poisoning will be the last way they try to kill me.
The Boss is on his way back to his office when he runs into the Biker. He tries to sidestep through the space between the man and the wall. The Biker placates the Boss in a thoughtful tone. “Sir, he’ll tell us where Jacob is, soon. You’ll see.”
The Boss puts his head down looking at his hands. “Let’s hope so.”
The Biker goes over to put a hand on the Boss’s shoulder.
The Boss turns around fast, shutting the man up, and places his big hands on the Biker’s face, whose eyes widen like saucers. The Boss slams the man’s head against the wall enough times to kill a hundred men, the man drops to the ground with his ear to the wall.
The Boss kneels down to the gasping man; his hands encapsulate the man’s bloody face. The Boss lets out a sigh as he combs the man’s hair out of his face…then he shoves his thumbs into the man’s eye sockets. After the initial screams, the Biker squeezes and pulls the Boss’s tie, his legs kick and slip off the waxy floor. The clandestine guards run up, see the scene, and walk away.
The Boss gets on his knees facing the dead man with the pool of blood surrounding him and let’s out enraptured exhale with no shame. “Jacob, it’s my fault, it’s all my fault you’re dead. For what I’ve become to keep you alive all these years. The God of karma wants payment. This man Phillip will lead me to your body and I will kill him. Not for you, but for me. Fuck karma.” He pulls out a handkerchief, meticulously wipes the blood away from between his fingers, and stares at his hands breathing in all the air in the shrinking hallway.
4
David parks his dirt bike near a river to refill his water bottles. First checking his compass watch, he has never been to the backup rendezvous, only heard about it during theories of escaping. He unstraps the swishing bottles from the sides of his backpack. Which is only filled with ammo, no clothes. He enjoys the rest of the bottle’s contents, not water, and checks over his shoulder as he equips his pair of six shooters on his hip. David sits and waits on the bike, he brought the only noise to the river. What else is lurking?
David leaves his backpack, which is still in sight, out of fear of getting shot in the back and blowing up. The irrational thought brings a needed smile to his face. He kneels looking u
p at the clouds with a bottle dipping in the passing stream current, he hears over the rapids, an escalating sound permeating behind him and drops the water bottle on the moist ground. Draws one pistol, as he simultaneously spins around and fires one shot. The bullet goes through a horse’s ear and slices the young Indian’s collarbone galloping towards him with an axe held high.
David leaps out of the way of the charging animal. On the grass, he sees the young Indian fall off the horse to the ground through the horse’s legs. A lying David sprouts up and sprints with a pistol over to the young man. There he witnesses more Indians fast approaching. He takes the young Indian by the back of his neck, stands him up, and points the gun to his cheek.
David says to the bleeding man. “What’s going on here? Who are you, the last of the Mohicans or something?” David does not care about his response. Water is splashing onto grass behind him. The steel barrel digs in and cuts the Indian’s temple. Up ahead, the Indians pull their reins up to the side and turn their horses, slowing them to a stop. Horses flare their nostrils; stomp legs and stare down David with their big black eyes.
The Chief pulls one leg over the saddle and gets off his horse, hands above his head like a guilty suspect. “Don’t shoot boy, we’re here for the water, same as you.”
David walks his hostage closer to get a better look. “Bullshit, you could be queer cannibals for all I know.”
The Chief is silent and poised.
Young Indian is moaning in pain and balling his fists. “Ok, we’re looking for someone.” He turns to face David.
David is staring forward “Who?”
At his response, the Lieutenant Indian comes from behind David and says, “you,” and puts his knife around David’s throat. Reactively David swings his head backwards stunning the man and the young Indian grabs David’s gun during the distraction and rolls out of the way. Then the two Indians in front, point their rifles at David from the distance.
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