Way of the Barefoot Zombie

by Jasper Bark

  "Do we move her now Doc?"

  "Don't call me Doc. As of this moment that's no longer my name."

  "What should I call you? Doctor Emil?"

  "Doc Papamal perhaps. No that doesn't sound right. Doc Papa that's who I've become. Call me Doc Papa."

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Tatyana jumped as gunshots sounded outside the metal door. The Zombies around her became aware of her heart beating faster. Tatyana backed slowly away from them.

  She joined Benjamin with his ear pressed up against the door.

  "What's happening?" she said.

  "I think some of the guards have arrived," Benjamin said. "They told the guests to get out of the way, but the guests weren't budging. They're too desperate to get their hands on the Zombies. That must have been when they opened fire."

  "Did they shoot anyone?"

  "I don't know. I didn't hear any screams. They're probably just firing into the air to scare them."

  Tatyana put her ear against the door but couldn't hear anything. "What do you think is happening?"

  "I don't know. It's gone quiet now. I heard footsteps and some cries. That might have been the guests moving. They were more bothered about grabbing a Zombie than getting shot. I don't understand it."

  "They're changing," said Brigitte. "The longer their Gros Bon Ange goes without a proper vessel, the closer they get to being one of the Zombies. It's what happens when you tear the soul out of something."

  "And you knew this when you sabotaged all the Pot-tets?" said Tatyana.

  Brigitte looked affronted. "Yes I did. Is it any more than they deserve? You've seen what they're capable of doing. They studied so hard to be like Zombies and now their wish has been granted. I don't see how you can judge me. I recall seeing you sink to murder with the rest of them."

  Tatyana dropped Brigitte's gaze and stared at the floor in shame. The memory of the man she had helped to kill stung her to the very core.

  "I'm sorry," said Brigitte. "That was a low blow."

  "You're right though," said Tatyana. "I wasn't being judgmental. I was just surprised. It's not like you to do something that would harm someone else. When everyone was tearing that poor man apart for instance, you used your Voodoo to hide yourself so no-one could see you weren't joining in."

  "You could see that?" Brigitte was astonished.

  "Erm, well yeah. You made me forget didn't you. But it just came back. It's happened before as well. You made me forget in the lecture hall, but then I felt this presence and the memory came back. I hope you don't mind but I followed you when you left the lecture theatre. Your field has this, like, blind spot. I hid in it so no-one saw me, not even you. That's how I knew where the secret entrance to the compound was."

  "That's where you went," said Benjamin. "Why didn't you tell me?"

  "I don't know. It just seemed like something that I shouldn't talk about. It was all kind of strange. I thought you might not believe me. I'd always thought I was this sceptical atheist, and then I start to see and experience all these weird things."

  "Sceptical atheist?" said Benjamin. "You came here to take part in Voodoo rituals and free Zombies. How sceptical is that?"

  "Okay, when you put it like that, I don't sound too sceptical, but that seemed different somehow. I don't think I really believed in any of it except for the Zombies. Now I'm not so sure though."

  "The Loa are calling you my child," said Brigitte. "You have a gift and a feeling for this. You might pretend to be a sceptic, but your soul knows different. It is hungry and it calls for sustenance."

  "We have to feed our souls?" said Tatyana.

  "Of course we do. How else will they grow?"

  "How do you feed your soul?"

  "With prayer, and devotion to God, with pure thoughts and deeds and with service to the Loa. That's why you're right about what I did to the guests and their Pot-tets. That will impoverish my soul, not feed it. When we die our Gros Bon Ange has to argue our case before God and that action will not go in my favour."

  "Well I don't know about my soul," said Benjamin. "But my stomach is famished. I haven't had anything to eat since yesterday morning."

  Before she could say anything Tatyana was knocked off her feet. The ground shook and the metal door buckled as something exploded outside it.

  "What the hell was that?" Tatyana said.

  "A grenade I think," said Benjamin, picking himself up. "Or a rocket or something. I don't think we should wait around to find out."

  "No," said Brigitte helping a rotund male Zombie get to its feet. "They'll be through that door any moment. We'll have to go further into the mines to escape them."

  As she spoke Tatyana heard the guards start battering the badly buckled door. They were minutes from getting inside.

  "Follow me," Brigitte said.

  She led them down a darkened tunnel carrying the lamp. At the end of the tunnel was an old electric lift that could hold about twenty or thirty people. Brigitte threw a switch to get the power on then started up the lift and sent it down without anyone inside.

  "What did you do that for?" said Benjamin. "How are we going to get down now?"

  "There's a steep tunnel just along from here," said Brigitte. "I want them to think we've taken the lift. That way they'll descend to a different network of tunnels."

  "Oh right," said Benjamin. "Good plan."

  As they entered the tunnel Tatyana heard the door give way. This was followed by sounds of gunfire and shouted commands. She prayed they had enough of a lead to evade the guards.

  Prayed, did she really just think that? Maybe Brigitte was right. Perhaps her fascination really was a hunger. But there wasn't time to think on this.

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Palmer had gotten out of the dot com bubble before it burst. He'd dumped his shares in both Enron and Bear Stearns before the scandals broke. He was damned if he wasn't going to get out of St Ignatius before it all turned to shit.

  "Damned is the right word," said his soul.

  "What?" shouted Palmer. The jeep's engine was making an awful racket and the black goat tethered in the back was bleating its head off, probably sensing its impending death.

  "I said 'damned' is the right word," said his soul. "Unless you get off this island, repent your ways and start making amends."

  Palmer glanced from the dirt track ahead of him to the lady-boy Zombie that housed his soul. It was wearing that sanctimonious expression that infuriated him.

  "You know what?" Palmer said. "You are one almighty pain in the ass. That's what you are. An almighty pain in the ass."

  "That's all I've ever been to you. A tiny wizened appendage, like a stunted Siamese twin you couldn't wait to have removed and pickled in a jar."

  "I thought I had removed you."

  "You did indeed. Then fate took a hand and suddenly you're forced to confront me and every terrible crime that I know about. Do you think you'll be able to ignore me if you do manage to reunite us?"

  "Well I've been fairly successful so far, if you're to be believed."

  "Of course I'm to be believed. I don't lie to you Samuel. I know every lie you've ever told yourself and others, but I never repeat or believe them. That's why I'm so valuable to you."

  "Don't flatter yourself. You're only valuable to me because I don't want to become like that thing you're currently inside."

  "What this old thing?" said his soul in a mocking tone. "Why Samuel you picked this out specially for me. Don't tell me you've gone off my outfit."

  "It's strictly last season," said Palmer pulling up right next to the hidden glade. "And it's time to slip into something more comfortable - namely me."

  Palmer climbed out of the jeep, untied the goat and lifted the bamboo cage with the black hen inside it. "Grab that bag in the back and come with me. I want you inside me, as soon as possible."

  Palmer led the goat and the Zombie into the glade. It contained seven citron trees which were sacred to Baron Samedi, the head of the Gédé,
the Loa of the dead. It was also right next to an abandoned burial ground, which made it ideal for the ceremony Palmer wanted to perform.

  He tied the goat to a tree, put the cage down and took the bag off the Zombie. He pulled some flour and a diagram of a Vèvè out of the bag. Then he tried to draw the Vèvè on the ground with the flour.

  "Does that look anything like this to you?" he said, holding the diagram up to his soul when he was done.

  His soul shook the Zombie's head. "Not a bit I'm afraid. I don't think this is your forté."

  "Thanks for the encouragement."

  "I said I'd never lie to you Samuel. I'm the only presence in your life that won't."

  "Never mind, it's the best I can do."

  "Are you sure you want to go ahead with this? These are ancient, primal forces. The Houngans and Mambos who commune with them train for years before summoning one."

  "This is the only way," Palmer said, lighting the black candles he'd got from the bag. "I'm running out of time and I haven't got anyone else to do this for me. Besides I've watched Doc Papa and Vincenzo do this enough times. How difficult can it be?"

  Palmer opened the bamboo cage and took the black hen out. It immediately tried to fly away. When Palmer stopped it, the bird tried to attack him. He held it at arms length and lifted it up to what he hoped were the four points of the compass, muttering the incantations he'd memorised.

  Now how did this go? That's right he had to break its neck first, then the wings, then the legs. Every time he reached for the bird's neck it pecked at him. In his annoyance he squeezed it until it ribcage cracked. The bird squawked in pain but he was finally able to despatch it in the way he intended.

  Now he had to bite its head off. Palmer put the limp head in his mouth and bit down. His stomach turned over as its spine cracked and he choked on blood and feathers. He spat the head out onto the Vèvè he'd drawn and dropped the body next to it.

  He produced a hip flask and poured rum over the hen as he picked the feathers out of his teeth. Next he took a knife from the bag and cut the rope tethering the goat. He grabbed the goat by the horns but it could sense what he was up to and it dug its heels in.

  It started to bleat and kick. Palmer put his arm around the goat's neck and tried to drag it back.

  "A little help wouldn't go amiss."

  "Trust me," said his soul. "In the long run you will not appreciate my help with this."

  "Well in the short term you can go fuck yourself. Ow!" Palmer cried out as the goat bit him. Without thinking he rammed the knife into its eyeball. It stopped kicking and started to spasm.

  Palmer dragged the dying goat over to the Vèvè and slit its throat. It's blood gushed onto the ground soaking the badly drawn symbol and splashing his handmade leather shoes. He uttered the last of the invocations to Baron Samedi and waited.

  Nothing happened.

  The flames of the black candles guttered. The glade was still and silent. Palmer felt an intense anti-climax.

  Why was nothing easy today? Why wouldn't anything go his way? Once, just once, couldn't he catch a fucking break?

  Unable to control his anger, he kicked the goat. Then he kicked it again and again in a blind fury.

  "Cock sucking, motherfucking asshole!" he shouted waving his fists at the empty air. "Why didn't you come you asshole? Why didn't you fucking come?!" Palmer turned to the Zombie. He was panting and his shoulders were slumped with defeat. "Go on then, aren't you going to say it you sanctimonious bastard? Aren't you going to say I told you so?"

  Palmer's soul didn't say anything. In fact it didn't seem to be inside the Zombie anymore. The smug pitying look had been replaced with a vacant stare. Palmer didn't know why, but he was suddenly quite nervous.

  The Zombie began to shake and twitch. Then its face burst into a huge lascivious grin. It started to gyrate its hips then threw back it's head and let out a raucous laugh.

  "Baron Samedi," said Palmer. "Is that you? Look, I'm sorry about calling you a... I mean about what I said. I'm sort of new to this and I didn't know, you know, how long I should wait or if you were coming or anything."

  "You certainly are new to this, and quite terrible judging from the mess you made of the ceremony," said the Zombie. It didn't sound like Baron Samedi, the voice was deep and husky but exceptionally feminine.

  "Err, you are Baron Samedi aren't you?"

  "No my dear, you got his wife Le Gran Brigitte. I told you you were terrible at this didn't I? Nonetheless I've been waiting to speak to you for a long time."

  "You have?" Now he felt really nervous.

  "Oh yes, I've been receiving a lot of complaints from my daughters about your activities."

  "Your daughters?"

  "The dead my dear, I'm like a mother to all of them. Especially those who feel they've been wronged. Who can't protect themselves and want retribution."

  "I don't know what you're talking about."

  "Oh don't be ridiculous you foolish little man. You don't think you can hide anything from the dead do you? Most of them have nothing better to do than watch the living all day. They know everything that goes on. Particularly when it concerns their newly dead bodies and what happens to them. Just because they're dead doesn't mean they've granted you consent you know. It's still rape my dear."

  "Look, if it's a question of money..."

  "Money my silly little darling, and pray tell me what would we do with money where we live? Buy ourselves a new house or some expensive jewelry. Invest it in the stock market perhaps? I don't think so. You can't buy your way out of this little problem."

  "If you don't want me to pay then what do you want?"

  "Oh I want you to pay my sweet, but not with money."

  "I don't understand."

  "You've wronged so many of my daughters. Violated their bodies over and over again while they were forced to watch, unable to do anything. You've visited grieving families and gloated over what you were going to do to the loved one they'd lost. Now you must be punished."

  Palmer picked up the sacrificial knife and held it out in front of him. "I'm warning you. Don't come any closer."

  "And just what are you going to do with that my dear? I'm an immortal being inside an animated corpse. Do you think a little bit of sharpened metal is going to hurt me? Incidentally, I don't envy your poor soul having to live inside this little thing. She's a bit far gone isn't she? Should I use the word she? Isn't that how they like to be referred to? Transsexuals that is, not walking corpses. Anyway she's been out in the wild rather a long time hasn't she? Her flesh is crawling with maggots. But that rather suits my purpose."

  Palmer glanced back at the jeep, wondering if he could outrun the Loa.

  "Don't even think it sweetie," said Gran Brigitte. "It doesn't work that way."

  A bony hand broke though the earth by Palmer's foot and grasped his ankle. It dug it's fleshless fingers into him. He howled in pain and tried to pry the fingers apart but he couldn't.

  "This is a burial ground or did you forget?" Gran Brigitte said. "This is where I hold dominion. I control everything here, and not just the dead. Death has a gravity you see. It draws everything to it eventually. If I increase that gravity I can accelerate life cycles. Take the maggots squirming inside this corpse. I can turn them into flies in an instant."

  Palmer watched as the maggots began to writhe and thrash under the skin of the lady-boy Zombie. Then, to his horror, he saw them burrow out and turn into a swarm of flies. The flies swirled around the Zombie like a buzzing black aura.

  "I can snatch their tiny souls," Gran Brigitte said clicking her fingers. The flies dropped out of the air and formed a carpet of tiny corpses at her feet. "And I can reanimate them as undead insects under my control."

  The flies began to wave their legs in the air. Then, gradually, they flipped themselves over and took to the air around the Zombie again, making an ominous drone with the beating of their wings. There was something unnatural, almost otherworldly, about the sound they ma
de.

  "Why are you doing this? What are you playing at?"

  "Well seeing as you like raping corpses so much my sweet, I thought you might like to find out what it's like from the other side."

  The undead flies landed on the Zombie's midriff and began to crawl back under its rotting skin. The Zombie's abdomen bulged as they forced their way inside it. Gran Brigitte lifted the Zombie's tattered skirt to reveal where all the reanimated flies were going.

  The Zombie's gargantuan member no longer hung flaccid between its legs. It was standing stiff and proud with all the undead insects burrowing into it. The glans bulged and rippled quite obscenely from the zombified flies crawling about inside.

  Palmer tried once again to free his leg from the skeletal grasp of the dead hand. Before he could get anywhere the Zombie was on him. It knocked him, face first, to the ground and placed a rotting hand between his shoulders. He struggled as hard as he could but he couldn't shake it off.

  "What was it you called your soul when it was in this body?" said Gran Brigitte. "Oh yes, that's right, an 'almighty pain in the ass'. Well honey you don't know the half of it."

  "Stop it! What are you doing?"

  Palmer felt the Zombie's fingers slip down the back of his trousers and take hold of the belt and the waist band. With one unnaturally strong tug and his trousers were torn off.

  Gran Brigitte let out a throaty chuckle. "You did say it's time to slip into something more comfortable - namely you."

  "Please... Oh God no, please..."

  "Oh come now Samuel. You just said you wanted it inside you, as soon as possible."

  Palmer's soul drifted back to the Zombie it had been inhabiting. Gran Brigitte was long gone. Palmer was still on the ground at the Zombie's feet. He was lying in a pool of blood and faeces with what was left of his trousers round his ankles, sobbing quietly.

  Palmer's soul couldn't think of anything to say to comfort its owner. To be truthful, which was its nature, it didn't really want to comfort him.