I Zombie I [Omnibus Edition]

by Jack Wallen

  I’m sure you all knew this apocalypse was going to be an eventual reality. The human race had simply become too greedy, too power-hungry to not make waste the landscape of mankind. We were doomed the day we stood upright and realized there was a way to oppress the weaker of our species. The second big business held as much sway over politicians and religion as it did commerce was the day we signed our very own death sentence.

  And now? Now, we have to hope our one true savior can rescue us all from this Hell. Who is that savior? We all learned her name here on Zombie Radio, just recently. That savior is Bethany Nitshimi.

  I have to ask, though, how can one woman save the human race from a virus that has already taken down … let’s see what my old friend Google has to say. Wow. This is unreal. Let me check another source, before I speak the words that no one will believe. And … verified. Ladies and gentlemen of the zombieverse, according to NPR news, nearly eighty percent of the Earth’s population has been wiped out. Let me say that once more for clarity — in case someone missed it the first go ‘round. Eighty percent.

  I don’t know about you, but I’m not a big fan of those odds. Fanboys and fangirls, we are officially out-numbered. Listen closely to this next sentence. It may just send you packing to ‘get me the fuck outta heresville’. The undead outnumber the living. If you step outside your safe place, you are more likely to encounter a zombie than a living human. That suck goes to eleven.

  And we have a call.

  You’re talking with Zombie Radio. What’s your name and what ya got?

  “Name’s Chauncy. Calling from London.”

  Well, Mr. Chauncy, calling from London, what can the zombieverse do for you?

  “Are you sure we can believe those figures? I think it a fairly common understanding that we cannot trust the media.”

  I get this a lot, Chauncy. But you’re talking about NPR, one of the last bastions of truth we have.

  “Truth? Seriously? The only truth we have remaining is death. And, before you ask, I’m not one of those sick bastards who lusts after the great hereafter.”

  I was about to ask. But seriously, we have to be able to place our faith in something. If not the media, then what?

  “Humanity. It’s all we have left. Out of this chaos the human spirit will rise and force this nightmare back into the dark recesses of our memory. But as for the media? Don’t believe what you read or hear. Believe only what you see.”

  Well Chauncy, I have to say I am inclined to believe the numbers I am seeing from numerous sources. I’ve seen nearly every zombie movie made, and if I have learned anything from those films it is that the infection spreads faster than anything we have ever seen. There is actually a formula used to calculate how quickly the virus would spread. The formula uses the variables z, s, and r for: ‘zombies’, ‘susceptibles’, and ‘removed’ respectively. The formula concludes that in a populated area of five hundred thousand people, the undead would outnumber the living in about three days.

  Three days. That’s math people, and the universal language does not lie. This is all quantum fucking physics people. And if there’s a physicist, a biologist, a chemist, or any other ‘ist’ out there who might help us all to understand what is going on, call into Zombie Radio.

  And so, what to play now? What song best sums up the fear brought to us by being outnumbered by the walking damned? When we have no idea who is what and what will sup on our thought-meat. Why, none other than ‘The Mower’ by Halford. Mow ‘em down, Rob.

  I let the opening salvo of violence smack a new flavor of reality into my thought pattern. All my eyes could do was gaze up into the light above me and hope to find some hidden salvation in the bright glow.

  Alexa rested her hand on my shoulder. The moment was in complete opposition to the hateful rage pouring from the speakers. The pulsing rhythm brought back the battle in the kitchen, the image of the zombie’s rotten mouth hovering above me. Shudders swam through my muscles.

  “What is it?” The delicate fingers worked their way up my neck.

  Words wouldn’t escape my mouth.

  Tears began dripping down my cheeks.

  “It’s that zombie isn’t it? Oh my God, I’m so sorry.” The soft, caring arms of the woman caressing my neck wound their way around my torso. Alexa stood behind me, her warm breath in my ear. “You need to deal with this. Talk to your fans about it. Let it out.”

  Alexa was right. I couldn’t hold this shit in. It seemed best to not dump my issues on the world. But somewhere out there in the Zombie Radio Nation was someone who could help me; a therapist, a psychologist, yet another ‘ist’ of sorts to work me through the feedback-loop playing in 3D horror-rama in my mind.

  The arms around my chest gave a tight squeeze and slowly released.

  “It’s going to be okay.” Alexa smiled, her eyes melting the cold resolve around my heart. “Just talk about it.” She leaned in and pressed her lips against mine. The connection was sensual, but more caring than sexual.

  By the time Alexa returned to her perch, the angry thrumming of the Halford song came to a close. I allowed a moment of silence to place a bit of distance between the music and my voice. I wanted calm, peace.

  Chapter 10

  You’re listening to WZMB, Zombie Radio. Your personal soundtrack to the end of the world. That was Halford and ‘The Mower’.

  My lovely legion of listeners, I wasn’t going to mention this on air, but I suppose it does bear repeating — even if only as a warning. One of the walking dead managed to invade Zombie Radio. The incident made real not only the nightmare outside, but the danger the nightmare imposes. Let me make this very clear to everyone out there — the thing came in through a closed door. It turned the handle, wandered into my home, and we threw down. Luckily I had a weapon in the house. That weapon was a gun. I never thought I would have to use said gun. I did. And I want to be the first to let you who have never fired a weapon before know … you will hesitate. The question of conscience will pop into your head ‘Can I live with myself?’ Even though the life you are about to end is an undead life, you will pause before you pull that trigger. And in that pause that zombie will have a chance to get in close enough to wrap its cold, dead fingers around your head and smack your skull against a hard enough surface to crack it open.

  You need to know it’s okay to not hesitate. Pull that trigger. What you are confronting is not your wife, or your husband, or your best friend, or your sister. That thing in front of you, staring you down with milky-white eyes, is a monster. If you don’t kill that thing, it will kill you. And the zombies will not hesitate. They will not stop to ponder the consequences of their actions. The undead do not consider the morality of their actions, they just do. If you don’t, they will. If they do, you die. It’s as simple as that.

  I hesitated and almost lost my life. It was only thanks to the lovely scream from Alexa’s perfect lips that gave my assailant pause enough for me to plaster its living CPU across the kitchen floor. I could have died because I hesitated, because I gave that zombie an opening. I showed a weakness that I will never show again. The next time I am met with one of the walking dead, you can bet there will be no hesitation. Bang, bang, you’re dead; a metal bullet through your rotten head.

  And now, a call.

  You’re talking to Zombie Radio. What’s your name and what ya got?

  “It’s Tom from Perth Amboy, New Jersey. Thanks for taking my call.”

  You’re welcome Tom. What’s on your mind?

  “You’re right. I hesitated. I had the gun in my hand. I drew the bead on the forehead of the beast that was once my lovely wife … and I couldn’t pull the trigger. As she came at me every wonderful memory we had hit me at once and all I could do was weep. I knew the thing coming at me was not my wife and I knew what it wanted; but I couldn’t kill it. Before my brain even had a chance to convince my finger to take action, the zombie had me. It clamped its teeth into the skin of my neck. Now, I can feel the infection burning in my vei
ns. The noise in my head is almost too much. I know I’m turning into one of them and once again I’m hesitating to pull the trigger. I know what I have to do, and I can’t do it. I’m a coward.”

  There is no cowardice in your inactions. You are living proof that humanity still has a beating heart and a thriving soul. But I understand how you feel. I wish I had the words you need to bring you some sort of solace. Tom, I can’t tell you to pull the trigger now. What I would really love to say is that if you wait a cure might be found. But I don’t have those words in me. Sure, a cure might be found, but who knows when. If you let that virus take hold you know what is going to happen. Of course, by that time, you won’t really care. You’ll just be —

  Gunshot.

  Silence.

  Tom? God damn it. Listeners … Zombie Radio Nation … don’t. Please. Don’t call in to off yourself on air. I don’t know if that’s what just happened, but this is not a vehicle for you to get your fifteen minutes of fame.

  Tom struggled with what just happened. In the end he did the right thing, but only because he knew with absolute certainty what his fate held. It’s true, if you are bit by one of the walking dead, you will turn. Of that there is no doubt. And, according to Jacob Plummer’s book ‘I Zombie I’, it’s not always so certain the turning will happen immediately. But it will happen. The second that virus enters your blood stream you are one of them. It’s only a question of ‘when will you start dining on brain?’.

  So the reality is this: Do you want to allow yourself to evolve into a brain-eating monster, or do you want to go out with some grace and dignity?

  But if you decide to put that bullet through your soft pallet, don’t call me to put yourself on display. If you want to say goodbye to someone before you do, call me. If you want to call in to give the Zombie Radio Nation a piece of helpful information, please do. But if you want to call in so the world can hear the gun blast that shatters your brain pan, please don’t.

  Another caller. Let’s see what happens this time, shall we? You’re talking with Zombie Radio. What’s your name and what ya got?

  “It’s Amy from Cleveland, Ohio.”

  Welcome to the undead airwaves Amy. What do you want to share with us that doesn’t involve your own death?

  “I didn’t hesitate. My child. I killed my child. She was the most beautiful thing in the world, but she was infected and she was coming at me. I had the gun in my hand and I didn’t hesitate. It was the last act of love I could offer my baby. She was twelve. Now she’s not a monster and I can live what’s left of my miserable life remembering her for what she was, not what she became.”

  I’m very sorry Amy. You did the right thing.

  “I know. But knowing that doesn’t make it any easier. That’s all I had. I’m about ready to break down, so I’ll just ask you if you could play a song for my baby.”

  Of course Amy. Whatever you want.

  “Could you play ‘Don’t Forget’ by Demi Lovato? It was her favorite song.”

  You got it Amy. What was your daughter’s name?

  “Bella.”

  Zombie Radio Nation, this song is dedicated to the memory of Bella. Be safe Amy.

  The teen-dream song popped its way out of my speakers as I released the sigh of sighs. Immediately Alexa’s hands were on my shoulders, rubbing deep into the hateful muscle memory trapped within the tissue.

  “I’m so sorry.” Her voice caressed my ear.

  “Thank you.”

  “Why don’t you queue up a few more songs so you can get away for a moment. I want to help you forget what’s going on,” Alexa whispered.

  I got the overtures and was not about to turn down a beautiful woman’s advances. So I queued up: ‘Nerds & Cigarettes’ by Picture Me Broken, ‘Lazarus’ by Porcupine Tree, ‘I Would Die 4 U’ by Prince, ‘Every Breath You Take’ by The Police, ‘Red Rain’ by Peter Gabriel, ‘Avoid the Light’ by Pantera, ‘I Kissed a Girl’ by Katie Perry, ‘Throwing Punches’ by Paige Hamilton, ‘I Melt With You’ by Modern English, ‘Constant Craving’ by K.D. Lang, ‘La Villa Strangiato’ by Rush, and ‘Kashmir’ by Led Zeppelin. The song list would get me at least sixty minutes of whatever Alexa had planned.

  I stood and turned to face Alexa, who was already heading down the stairs. I followed. Of course I followed. When I hit the bottom step I noticed the hoodie she had been wearing was on the floor. I looked into the living room, only to spot her bra on the couch. I ran to the couch and picked up the bra. It was still warm and smelled of heaven. Between the couch and the threshold of my bedroom lay the sweats Alexa was wearing. I could only imagine what decorated the floor after that.

  Panties.

  And on the bed, a beautiful woman lay naked.

  I couldn’t believe what was about to happen. It seemed my post-apocalyptic life was going to outshine the life I lived prior to the undead walking the streets. Was that irony? I didn’t care.

  Off came my shoes. My pants. My boxers. My shirt. By the time I reached the bed, I was as equally un-clad as the heavenly woman waiting for me.

  “Come to me.” Alexa smiled.

  When our skin met under the covers my blood caught fire and my heart raced with a passion I hadn’t felt in a long, long time.

  Alexa kissed me deeply. Her tongue snaked its way into my mouth and had its way with my tonsils. The woman was skilled. Her hands played across my chest and teased their way down to a throbbing erection I thought it was going to take on a life of its own.

  “I want this in me. Now,” Alexa insisted.

  I complied.

  Together we discovered worlds rarely touched by mortal man. Alexa drove me deeper into the wells of love than I had ever swum. I felt reborn, remade, renewed. And when I came, every ounce of tension released in a spasm of wonder. I wasn’t alone in the spasming. Alexa seemed to hum with vibration.

  As we lay entwined on the bed, ‘I Kissed a Girl’ bounced out of the speakers. We both laughed at the timing. I held Alexa tight as she laid her head on my chest.

  “I’m so glad I found you,” she spoke genuinely.

  “Me too. I’m not afraid to be alive now. I don’t feel so lost,” I answered.

  By the time the magic rhythm of Kashmir greeted our ears, we were both drifting off into one another’s heartbeat. I could feel every inch of Alexa’s flesh, every rhythm of her pulse. I wanted to fall deeper into her. I wanted to drift into her life and hide away inside her soul. Her deep breath tugged at my heart. Eventually it was clear she had fallen asleep. I didn’t want to wake her, so I carefully slid out from under her majestic body and covered her.

  God how did this wonderful thing happen to me?

  I dressed, ran to the kitchen for a water, and hit the stairs running as Kashmir was coming to a close.

  Chapter 11

  You’re listening to WZMB, Zombie Radio. Your personal soundtrack to the end of the world. That was ‘Kashmir’ by Led Zeppelin, otherwise known as the sexiest song ever recorded. And if I sound a bit different, well, let’s just say Kashmir is quite an inspiring little song. That’s all I am going to say on that front. So, let’s carry forward shall we?

  During that break I received, another haiku. My fans are certainly too good to me. I do love a haiku — especially a zombie haiku. This comes thanks to Tonya from Salem Massachusetts. Tell me, Tonya, will the witch hunt pick up anew with the target being the Zero Day Collective? If they are the purveyors of doom they claim to be, I say they deserve nothing less than a good burning at the stake. Anyway, on to Tonya’s haiku. It reads:

  In tatters and rags

  My love teeters and ambles

  Forward, to his doom

  I suppose we could all deconstruct that little poem, but instead I will just say ‘Well done Tonya, well done.’

  The phone light is blinking. It’s time to take a caller.

  You’re with Zombie Radio. What’s your name and what ya got?

  “Hi! Oh my god. Oh. My. God. I am so your number one fan. I love your voice
. I love the music you play. When you played Prince, I almost cried. Prince was my mom’s favorite. We can’t find her. She disappeared a couple of days ago.”

  I’m very sorry. I’ll happily play some more Prince for you, my dear.

  “Oh my god! You are so awesome. We’re stuck in a Wal-Mart in bum-fucked Kentucky. At least we have plenty of food. Oh, I made my flag. You know, like the ones you were talking about earlier. Mine says ‘I heart Zombie Radio’ on it. And I do! I just heart you to pieces. I wish I could be with you. I’d hug you till your head popped off. Oh, I don’t really mean that. Kinda makes me seem like I’m one of them. I’m not.”

  Of that I am certain. So what’s your name Number One Fan?

  “It’s Marie. Oh my God. I totally forgot! I have a poem I wrote for you. Can I read it to you?”

  Be my guest my dear.

  “Okay … here goes: ‘With a voice like no other man, putting goose bumps on my skin, my zombie DJ is fabulous and my adoration is tragic. Into his heart I want in.’ Okay, I didn’t say I was a poet, it’s not very good, but … I wrote it for you.”

  Thank you, Marie. That was touching and I am very flattered.

  “Oh, um, I gotta go. They need my help to make sure our barricade will hold up. We’ve already been attacked once. I think that’s when my mom disappeared. I still have my dad. At this point I’m just thankful for that. Could you play a special song for me? Please? I’ll heart you forever if you do.”

  Marie, for you, I will play anything. What would you like to hear?

  “It’s cheesy, but it would mean so much to me.”

  Just name it.

  “‘Don’t Stop Believin’ By Journey.”

  Perfect song, Marie. Consider it played. And you know what, I’m going to make my own flag and on that flag it’s going to say ‘Zombie Radio Hearts Marie’.

  “Oh my God!!! That’s so awesome! You rock Zombie Radio. I heart you.”

  Be safe Marie. Well Zombie Radio Nation, if anyone wants to be a fan, you’ve got some pretty big footsteps to follow in. And to Marie, I dedicate this song. Know that Zombie Radio will never stop believing in you.