Way of the Barefoot Zombie

by Jasper Bark

Tweakie turned away from him for fear of what she might do if he got too close. They'd been out on the open sea for two weeks now and she was beginning to wish Benjamin's folks had bought a bigger yacht. Two hundred feet seemed tiny when she had to share it with these three guys.

  It had been fun for the first few days. Stealing the yacht had given her a rush. Like jacking cars back in middle school. Only this thrill was a hundred times bigger. The yacht was awesome and took off at an incredible rate of knots.

  For a few hours she felt thirteen again. Drinking cheap wine in the back of an old convertible they'd lifted from the front of the trailer park. Those were some of her happiest memories. Driving around all day getting bombed. Forgetting all about school or having to go back to her Mom's trailer and the wandering hands of whatever drunken dumbass she'd dragged home.

  "Now don't yuh say nuthin' to yore Momma little gurl, it'll only go worse on yuh."

  Course the yacht was a serious step up from a broken down old Dodge. It had a king sized jacuzzi, seven cabins, retractable plasma TV screen, twin jet skis and its own helicopter pad. And that was just the upper deck. The lower deck had a fully equipped gym, a swimming pool and a dance floor with a well-stocked bar.

  From what she'd seen of Benjamin's folks, she couldn't imagine them busting any moves though. Or using what she swore was a stripper pole in the middle of the dance floor. Still, there was no telling what some people got up to in the privacy of the Mid-Atlantic.

  The trip started out with calm waters, blue skies and glorious sunshine. By the second day, thanks to her boat-mates, it turned into a perfect storm of hissy fits and fall outs.

  Straight after breakfast Klaus annexed the lounge bar with almost military precision. That was where the plasma TV was. He seized control of the remote on behalf of the people.

  They weighed anchor after lunch and Dan and Andy stormed the gates of the lounge bar. They demanded a vote on which channel to watch and overruled Klaus on the viewing schedule.

  Klaus called them all fascists for bringing democracy into the lounge bar 'against the will of the people'. He became as welcome in the lounge then as a hurricane in Haiti and he stormed out.

  The next morning Dan had finally charged the batteries on his camcorder. Something he'd forgotten to do before they left. Just in time to film Klaus as he seized control of the means of producing breakfast.

  A heated debate ensued over whether the worker's council they'd formed to run the kitchen should get an equal say in the food they prepared and who washed the dishes.

  Klaus argued that he should lead the kitchen on behalf of the masses because only he was qualified to say what a real revolutionary menu looked like. Besides, he had a skin complaint that made him allergic to detergents and he was requisitioning the maple syrup because he was diabetic and if his insulin levels dropped he could die.

  Tweakie stayed mostly in her cabin after that. Klaus and Andy debated whether she was more like Trotsky for deserting the revolution or Che Guevara for taking the struggle on to new territories. It was no skin off her butt. So long as she didn't have to listen to them argue.

  She only came out to take her turn at the wheel or to help Andy navigate. So long as she made allowances for his weird behaviour he was easier to get along with than the others. Andy seemed quite glad of her company too. He called her 'quite useful to have about.' Like the servobot he'd always wanted, 'only with slightly smaller breasts'. She guessed that was a compliment in his bizarre world.

  Dan did try and get her to talk to camera as part of the documentary he was making of their 'ground breaking voyage'. She wasn't into it but she agreed to keep a video diary just to get him off her back. He lent her his spare camera but she never got round to recording anything.

  She was just on her way to return it when she'd run into Klaus finishing the last of the caviar. She headed up a flight of stairs to the control deck. Dan had the camera on. He was interviewing Andy at the wheel.

  "Do think we'll pick up the techniques pretty quickly?" said Dan. "Or do you think we'll have to hang back for the first few days?"

  "Well that all depends on how good Benjamin and Tatyana prove to be as teachers," said Andy. "I imagine we'll get better at interacting with the undead once they pass on what they've learned, and we've had a chance to try it out. I don't think we'll have much of a choice about learning quickly when the whole boat's stuffed full of noble monsters though."

  "Yeah I don't s'pose we will. Do you think you'll be able to build a rapport with the noble monsters?"

  "I think I'll build a better rapport with them than I have with most humans."

  "Why's that?"

  "Well, for a start," said Andy, pushing his glasses back and nodding at Tweakie in the doorway. "They're not encumbered with emotions like humans are."

  "Encumbered with emotions?" said Tweakie. "You going all Mr Spock on us Andy?" She handed Dan the spare camera. "Here this is yours."

  "Did you shoot anything?"

  Tweakie shrugged. "I'll get around to it later."

  "Well I don't see any practical purpose to most peoples' emotions," said Andy. "Except to confuse genuinely intelligent people like me. There's no problem trying to read Zombies like there is with people. You don't have to decipher their emotions by the weird faces they pull or the inexplicable way they suddenly start to act. Like if their faces gets red and they start shouting loudly then they're probably angry. Or if their mouths turn down and their eyes get watery then you know they're sad. But even then that could also mean they're happy and proud, like when you graduate MIT with the highest grade in your class at only fifteen. Then they want to tell you how proud they are, when you still think you've upset them in some way and they try and hug and kiss you. Blech! Zombies don't kiss. That's the best bit about them. You don't have to worry about smelling their spit on your cheek."

  "So you understand them better," said Dan. "Is that it?"

  "Yes I would say it is. You know where you are with a Zombie. The way they act makes sense. That's why they're so noble."

  "How about you Tweakie?" Dan turned the camera on her. "Zombies and their lack of emotion, is that what does it for you?"

  Tweakie considered giving him the finger but thought better of it. "It's not the fact that they don't feel emotions. They don't feel anything, period. That's the attraction. Nothing hurts them. They're invulnerable."

  "And that's a good thing?" said Andy.

  "Growing up how I did. It's a Godsend," said Tweakie, chewing on a fingernail. "I had to learn that. Took me years to get to there and I'm still not always safe. Nothing touches them. That's what I admire. What I long for myself."

  "Yeah, they're bad assess," said Dan. "Like me."

  "Oh, and you're a bad ass all of a sudden?" said Andy with a smirk. "Because you got kicked out of UCLA for dealing drugs?"

  "Better believe it," said Dan taking the camera from his eye and flexing his biceps. "Bad to the bone. You wanna try me?"

  "Your make-up's smudged," said Andy.

  "Is it?" Dan turned to Tweakie. "I've been meaning to ask you about that. Am I using the right foundation? Only all the sun and sea air is playing havoc with my pallor. I keep sweating and then it streaks and I swear I start looking like Alice frigging Cooper."

  "You want something with a powder base that absorbs moisture."

  Everyone jumped when the radio crackled to life. "This is Agent Z to Deathship 1. Are you receiving me?"

  "Shit, that's Benjamin," said Dan. "He got through. Your freaking contraption worked."

  "Of course it did," said Andy, looking affronted.

  "I repeat, Deathship 1, are you receiving me?"

  "What's happening? Are you having secret meetings without me?" Klaus appeared in the doorway.

  "It's Benjamin," said Andy. "He's just made radio contact."

  "Reading you loud and clear good buddy," said Dan. "You nailed any noble monsters yet?"

  "Only your Momma," said Benjamin. "Betcha didn't know she was
here did you?"

  "Was your Momma who invited her if I recall."

  "Listen, we're days away from liberating the noble monsters. And I've found somewhere on the island you can dock without being seen. Was used by smugglers back in the day."

  "Sounds awesome."

  "It's perfect," said Benjamin.

  Chapter Fifteen

  "So does every temple..."

  "Ounfó."

  "Sorry Ounfó, have one of those poles in the centre?"

  "Yes it does," Doc Papa said. He put down the knife and wiped his fingers. The blood was making them slippery. The three drummers increased the tempo. "That's a Poteau Mitan. It's a link between the worlds below and the worlds above. Like a great tree of life with its branches in the heavens and its roots in the waters below the Earth. It represents the royal path taken by the Loa to meet with humanity. "

  "And these Loa are like spirits right?"

  "They are supernatural beings who act as intermediaries between God and His creation. They are present in all realms of nature and create the structure of time and space. They preside over all areas of human activity from agriculture to war. They also guide those who serve them, sometimes they intervene in our lives. We summon them in our ceremonies and they take possession of their servants when they have important news to impart."

  "I see, and the colours and marking on this Pot... erm..."

  "Poteau Mitan."

  "Yes, Poteau Mitan, sorry. Do they have a special significance?"

  "They represent the Serpent and Rainbow. The sacred symbols of the Loa Dambala and his consort Ayida Wédo. They symbolise the essence of creation and the sacred link between land, sea and sky."

  "Fascinating, fascinating, I heard a lot about Voodoo last year when I shot a film in Haiti about the aftermath of the hurricanes. You might have seen it."

  "I'm afraid I don't care much for your work."

  "No, no, I don't suppose you do, given your... err, political leanings. It was about the ecological disaster in Haiti that's killed thousands of people and left millions homeless. The US and the World Bank pressured Haiti into opening its markets to US imports. This ruined local agriculture. The unemployed peasant farmers were driven into city slums with no food or fuel. That's what drove the deforestation. Haiti has less than two per cent of forest cover. When the hurricanes hit last year they destroyed most of the country's harvest and left all but a few areas uninhabitable. If Haiti had had more forests the damage wouldn't have been so great and less people would have died as a direct result of US intervention."

  "Well that's one opinion," said Doc Papa slicing through a layer of subcutaneous fat.

  "Sorry I was getting on my soap box a bit there. I tend to do that when I'm nervous. What I meant to say was I heard a lot about Voodoo while I was out there, but this is the first actual rite I've seen. What is that pattern you made on the floor with the white powder?"

  "It's a Vèvè," said Doc Papa. "A mystic symbol intended to invoke the presence of a Loa. Like a sacred access code to call them down."

  "Okay, and which Loa is this for?"

  "We're conducting a Petro rite to invoke Erzulie Zantor."

  "Petro, now forgive me if I'm wrong, but isn't that like the dark side of Voodoo? And Rada I think it's called, is like the light side?"

  "That's a rather simplified western view," Doc Papa said and began to remove the first of the vital organs. "The original rites that evolved into Voodoo come from several different parts of Africa. They were brought over to Haiti by the tribes that were conquered and sold into slavery. Petro, Rada, Kongo, Nago these are names of nanchons or nations. They refer to the rites used to invoke certain Loa. It so happens that if you use certain rites the Loa you call upon may come in their mean or vengeful form. This rite for instance is outlawed among most practitioners and conducted only by those of the red sect."

  "Why is that?"

  "All Loa demand a sacrifice. They must be fed before they manifest themselves and enter the bodies of their followers. This rite demands a Cochon sans poils."

  "And what's that?"

  "A human sacrifice.

  "Is that my liver?"

  "Yes it is. It's actually very healthy for a man of your age."

  "Oh God, I'm going to die aren't I?"

  "I would say that's inevitable"

  Doc Papa stepped back and looked over his handiwork. The sacrifice was staked out on the ground. His middle was split from stomach to sternum like the subject of an autopsy. All of his vital organs had been removed with great precision and laid out on the ground around him according to tradition. They glistened in the light of the ritual fires. Like their owner, they still throbbed with an unnatural life.

  "Look Mr Papa, or whatever your name is, if you put me back together again and let me go I swear I won't tell a soul about the island. I could even be useful to you. I've got contacts. I could get you some really good publicity."

  "You have nothing I want. Don't try and bargain."

  "I've got money, if that's what you want. I have independent means. It's how I fund all my films. It's yours, all of it. All you have to do is stitch me up and send me home."

  "You're being kept alive through magical labours because it is necessary to the ceremony. To resurrect you though, that is beyond even my powers."

  "I'll be missed you know. I'm a public figure. Questions will be asked. You'll be called to answer for what you're doing."

  "Your body has already been found and your obituaries written. No-one will question a thing."

  "Why? Why are you doing this to me? Why me? What have I ever done to you?"

  "You produce irresponsible films that interfere with the business of myself and my colleagues. Your so-called exposés of human rights infractions cost us money. You are an overhead we cannot afford and so you have been silenced."

  "You can't do this. You can't. It's not fair. It's not humane. Please, I beg of you, please..."

  "Hush now, can't you hear she comes? And she is so very, very hungry."

  Doc Papa reached into the sacrifice's chest and pulled out his heart. He kissed it and held it aloft. Vincenzo, his Commandant Général de la Place, gave the signal and the flag bearers began to parade around the Peristyle, the area of the Ounfó prescribed for dancing. They were followed by the Ounsi, his female followers. Clad not in the traditional white, but red as befitted the rite. The drummers changed the beat to a call and response between the Manman, the largest drum, and the two smaller drums the Grondez and the Ka Tha Bou.

  The sacrifice began to scream as Doc Papa chanted over his heart.

  "Ahi coeur de Cochon gris!

  "Tambour moin rélé.

  "Jou-t' allongé... Ahi!

  "Ahi! Erzulie Zandor... Ahi!"

  The heart in Doc Papa's hands stopped beating. The sacrifice was accepted and his spirit consumed.

  The Loa Erzulie Zandor gripped Vincenzo and shook him violently. Vincenzo's body convulsed and he threw himself to the ground before leaping into the air and then hitting the ground again. He looked like a rag doll in the hands of a malevolent child.

  As an initiated Houngan, Doc Papa had undergone the rite of the Pris de Yeux. This allowed him to see into the invisible world of the Loa. He allowed himself, for just the briefest of moments, to view Erzulie Zandor in her actual form. She was a being of impossible angles spilling into dimensions he couldn't comprehend, surrounded by an aura full of colours no human eye can see or brain process. It hurt him to his very core to even try and behold her.

  For the sake of his sanity he shifted his konesans into a different conception of her. She was the very essence of every mother who had ever killed to protect her young or murdered a rival in a fit of jealousy. She was the ultimate female of her species and more deadly than any male. Her beauty was terrible to behold.

  Erzulie Zandor had taken full possession of Vincenzo now. She grabbed one of the female followers and beat her viciously till she bled, then flung the woman to one side. She
knocked a flag bearer to the floor, sat astride him and rode the man like a bitch in heat. She spat on him as she did and cursed him for the miserable piece of filth he was.

  Then she turned her attention to Doc Papa and stalked towards him. He held up his asson as a sign of his authority.

  She sneered at him. "Do you think that pathetic child's toy can protect you from me?"

  He ignored her taunt. "I have need of your wisdom and your special knowledge. Grant me your insight Erzulie Zandor, most deadly and magnificent of all the Loa."

  "And why would I speak with a speck of shit like you?"

  "I have fed you great Loa and I have called you here into my Ounfó when few others would dare. I have given you flesh to wear and blood to drink. I ask only that you confer on me that which costs you nothing to share. There is an artefact in the invisible world that I need to locate, will you help me?"

  "Mmm, that costs me nothing does it, little piss-pot? How poorly you value my blessings."

  "They are of inestimable value to me great Loa. That is why I have gone to such pains to prepare an audience with you. Have my labours fallen short of your expectations? Is my hospitality lacking? Just tell me and I will rectify it."

  "You've gone to great pains to use me for your own ends you little shit-bag. And don't think I don't know it."

  "And you have only come because it suits your purpose great Loa."

  "Don't think to second guess me you little piss-stain. I've come because it amuses me to watch you grovel. All tall and proud like a blood stiffened cock you are. And how you wilt before me. How you crawl back into your scrotum. What would you have of me man child?"

  "As I said before, I need your assistance locating an artefact. It's known as the Gateway of the Souls, it is crucial to my plans."

  "And you can't find it anywhere can you?"

  "No, Erzulie Zandor."

  "And without it all these webs you've been weaving will come unstuck. Can't have that can we? Can't lose all those fat juicy flies you've captured."

  "No."

  "No indeed. And what prizes these flies are, how fat and juicy. And yet your plans are so much more than any of them suspect. So audacious, so bold, no-one has ever aimed for such power and control."