I came home and found him with his hand around my mother’s throat. He said something about I have to choose whether I save my mother or the world. Then I killed him.”
“Is that it?” James asked unconvinced.
“He said I am Clairvius before I killed him.” I said, “And then he came back laughing, so I killed him again… and then he released some kind of black vapour.”
James pondered for a moment. He looked like a man without answers. I thought he knew everything there was to know about the dead?
“What’s wrong?” I asked.
James snapped back to reality and looked at me.
“Nothing.” James said, “I was just thinking about what you said. He called himself Clairvius?”
I nodded. I really hoped he knew what it meant, but I could see from his demeanour that he had no clue.
“What does it mean?” I asked.
“I’m not sure.” James said, “I will have to look into it. The word sounds familiar, but I cannot place it.”
“And the black vapour?” I asked, “What do you make of that?”
James shook his head in confusion.
“I am not sure.” James said, “It could be nothing. It could be something.”
This guy was not much help. One could understand that his son had just died, but still.
“So what happens now?” I asked.
“You go on with your daily life.” James said, “There is no need to disrupt your life. The threat has been eliminated – for now.”
“You want me to go back to school?” I asked disappointed.
I was not very keen on the idea of school. I wanted the world to drastically change like in the zombie movies. I wanted to start fighting zombies and be on the road. I did not want to go back to school. School was horrible. If I had to choose between a world filled with zombies and school, I would pick the zombies.
“Yes.” James said.
“He is right.” My mom said.
Great. My mom was taking the side of a total stranger.
Go to school? Go on with life as if nothing was abnormal? How could James expect me to go about my daily life after a corpse tried to kill my mother in our own house?
I lay in bed staring up at the ceiling. Was this something I really wanted? Life was much easier before I knew I was chosen to fight the undead. Why did I have to be the chosen one? Why not some lame kid who plays video games in his spare time – oh, wait. I was that lame kid.
I heard a faint knock at my door and then my mother glanced into my bedroom.
“Honey?” She said softly, “Are you asleep?”
I looked over at the door and shook my head. My mother came in and sat down on the edge of the bed. She had the oddest expression on her face. It was a mixture of fear, gratitude and anxiety. Clearly the corpse attack took its toll on her. I cannot recall ever seeing her like this before.
“Are you alright?” I asked.
She faked a smile, nodded and said, “I’m great.”
She tucked my covers in. The last time she tucked me in was when I was about nine or eight. When she was assured that the covers were tucked in tightly she patted me on my chest and let out a sigh.
“You know,” She started, “I always knew that you were meant for great things in this world. I just never thought it would be to fight the walking dead.”
I could see she was trying her best to stay calm, but it was evident that inside she was a wreck.
“I never thanked you for saving me from that thing.” She said.
I shook my head. She was my mother. I was not about to let her die. There was no need to thank me. She would have done the same thing.
“Don’t mention it.” I said.
“But I have to.” She insisted, “As a parent you try your best to protect your child. You never expect that a day would come when you are not in control of what happens. That’s how I felt. I knew that that thing wanted to kill me and there was not a thing I could do to stop it. The only thing that I could think of was that I needed to protect you from it. I did not expect you to be the one protecting me.”
She smiled foolishly and rubbed the back of her neck.
“What I am trying to say,” She said, “is that I love you.”
She gave me a kiss on my forehead and smiled.
“I love you too, mom.” I said and smiled at her.
It was a nice moment. Though I was pretty close to my mother, I could not remember the last time she came to my bedroom and chatted like this.
“I was just surprised at how fast you moved.” She said, “I mean, you were never really a sporty kind of kid.”
I laughed. She had me there. I shied away from any type of sport. I was too lazy for that. Don’t get me wrong, I was not unfit. I would use my dumbbells at home and go for the occasional jog just to keep in shape, but contact sport was never really my thing.
“I was just as surprised.” I said, “I never knew I had it in me to move that fast. It all just sort of happened without me giving it a second thought.”
She smiled and pushed back some hair behind my left ear. She was clearly proud of me.
“I just want to make sure that you are safe.” She said, “I get that you have these new abilities, but you’re my son – my only son and I want to protect you for as long as I can.”
“You will never lose me.” I promised.
“Promise me one thing,” She said, “If you see that things get too much to handle, don’t be a hero. A dead hero means nothing to anyone.”
I nodded. I did not know what to expect, but one thing was certain – I was not about to allow myself to be torn to bits by the living dead.
And besides, I have only seen a handful of zombies. I doubt that all hell would break loose overnight? Maybe this was it? Maybe I was just put here as a precaution? Maybe life would go on as I knew it – give or take the occasional attack from the walking dead. Only time would tell.
She crossed her legs and clasped her hands onto her knee.
“Do you remember that time we went to Disneyland?” She asked.
A smile crept onto my face as I recalled that week. It was probably the best trip we ever had.
“Yes.” I said.
“Do you remember which attractions you liked the most?” She asked.
I nodded. Of course I remembered.
“The skeleton Pirates.” She said.
“The skeleton Pirates.” I agreed.
I was about ten years old when we went to Disneyland and even back then I was fascinated by the living dead. Other kids were scared to death of the skeleton pirates and preferred talking ducks, but not me.
“You made me pose for photos with them.” My mother laughed.
I recalled making her pose for a photo with me standing next to the skeleton pirates. It was a fun week.
“It was a fun trip.” My mother said.
“Yes it was.” I agreed, “I just wish dad could have been there.”
There was a moment of silence.
“So do I.” She sighed.
Zac Zombie: Slayer of the undead Page 7