The Inhuman Chronicles (Book 1): Inhuman

by Feren, Todd C.

  “Well, this guy’s off his medication.”

  “Ya think?”

  “We have to get to that zoo, and I don’t see any car on this street that isn’t destroyed or on fire.”

  “I’ve got a ride!” Terry said, shoving one end of the Slim Jim into his mouth while feeding the other end to Rex.

  “You have a ‘ride’?” I asked.

  “Sure do. Just couldn’t keep anything on the street with all the grenades getting thrown around.”

  “Can we use your ride?” Jack asked.

  “Sure, if I can come with you!”

  Jack and I gave each other a long look before Terry shouted out.

  “OH!! There’s even a seat for Rex!”

  Chapter 35

  Rex sat in the white wicker basket that was attached to the handlebars of the hot pink bicycle that Terry handed me. There were only three bicycles inside the gas station, and Terry locked them to a candy rack while he was up on the roof.

  “I keep ‘em locked up when I go on the roof for look out duty,” he said unlocking a blue dirt bike that looked like it was built for a twelve year old. He rolled that one to Jack who looked at it wondering if he would even fit on the tiny transport. Then Terry unlocked the third bike which was a blue ten speed mountain bike with a white racing stripe down the side.

  “Why do you have three bikes?” Jack asked. Terry looked at him like he had just asked him why he breathes every few seconds.

  “In case I lose two of them!” he said matter-of-factly.

  “I don’t know if this is such a good idea,“ Jack said, trying to sit on the bike to see if it could hold his weight.

  “I ride them every day!” Terry said. “It’s good exercise, and those zombie fellows can’t keep up with me.”

  “Do you want to switch bikes with me?” I asked Jack. “Mine’s a little bigger.”

  “Hell no. Yours is pink!” he said with a slight smile. “Let’s do this.”

  Terry opened the door, and we rode out as fast as we could. The fifty or so shambling zombies caught sight of us and started their pointless slogging in our direction. This might actually work. I thought. I turned my head to Terry to see how far behind he was, and about drove off the road when I saw him. Not only was he was locking the goddamned convenience store, but he locked his bike up to the trash can two feet away from him while he was doing it.

  “Are you kidding me?” I said. Jack turned around on his bike without a moment’s hesitation, and began racing back towards Terry who was quickly becoming surrounded by the zombies.

  As Jack rode to the rescue, I couldn’t help but laugh at the site of him peddling as fast as he could on a bike that was four times too small for him. He looked like one of those giant Russian bears that was trained to ride a bicycle. Rex wasn’t content with watching from our relatively safe vantage point, and he leapt out of the basket and started charging after Jack. He got about ten yards before he stopped to look at me with an “are you coming?” look on his face.

  “Fuck it,” I said out loud as I started peddling towards the action. A fire burned across my skin as adrenaline pumped through me preparing for a fight. Rex circled back around me with his enigmatic energy and then charged ahead with an additional spring in his step. Sure, you’re happy now, I thought. You just got me to ride a hot pink bike into the waiting arms of death…

  Wait… Why am I doing this? I thought soberly. Why am I riding a bike into a shit pile of zombies only to save a lunatic that I don’t know. Then, I looked down at the small dog who was sprinting fearlessly into the storm, and then I stopped. What’s happened to me? None of this matters to me. I don’t care if this man lives or dies.

  At that moment, Rex stopped and looked at me. When he saw that I wasn’t coming anymore, he sat down and gave me a perplexed look before turning back and running into the fray.

  So I watched. The fire that only seconds ago burned at my skin was smothered by the scales of my cold blooded self. This was where I belonged. I don’t risk my life for anyone.

  I didn’t even see how it happened, but I heard two grenades exploding, and about five gunshots, and then I saw Jack peddling wildly on his too small bike towards me. His eyes were as wide as manholes, and his teeth were gnashed together from fear. Behind him was Terry, who was riding about as casually as humanly possible. He was only holding onto his handlebars with one hand, and in the other was another slushy that he was taking long sips of while he steered around zombies with outstretched arms. Rex came running out as well, but he didn’t seem as excited as he normally was. He definitely lost that spring in his step.

  As Terry passed by me, I couldn’t help but ask, “What the fuck was that?”

  “I’m the manager,” he hollered. “If I don’t lock up when I leave, I could lose my job!”

  I turned back to see Rex sitting by the front wheel. I scooped him up and placed him back in the basket, but he didn’t look at me during the process. I’m not sure why it mattered to me, but he seemed to have made it a point not to look at me.

  “Are you sulking?” I asked him. His response was to simply curl up in the basket and close his eyes. I looked back at the convenience store, and there was still a large contingency of the living dead shuffling their way towards us. “Whatever,” I said to the dog as I turned the bike into the direction we were heading and then started peddling to catch up with the others.

  We rode those bikes for almost three hours without talking. My ass and thighs were rubbing the seat, and I would be surprised if there wasn’t a fair amount of blood in my underwear. I think I read somewhere that people who do bike races put vaseline up the crack of their ass and along their taint. I could now understand why. Friction was a harsh bitch.

  I took a break from peddling and reached into my pocket for some candy. The sugar was just the thing I needed to keep my energy up. I tossed a handful of Jujyfruits into my mouth, careful to let only the black ones fall to the street below. Rex sat up in his basket and turned to look at me for the first time of this leg of our trip.

  “You want a green one?” I said instinctively knowing his favorite. I handed it to him, and he held it in his mouth for about three seconds before letting it fall out to the ground. What if he was hurt, and I didn’t know it? I couldn’t remember if he limped up to the bike or not. I pulled the bike over to the side of the road before I realized the ridiculousness of that practice. It’s funny how ingrained some things are. I had to stop riding my bike, so I pulled over to the shoulder of the road. Why? It’s not like the roads are full of speeding cars. Also, I was holding a good amount of garbage in my pockets. Why? To be honest, it was a habit. I would put small amounts of trash in my pocket until I got to a trash can somewhere. How many of these “old world ideas” are still with us now?

  Jack and Terry stopped about twenty yards ahead of me.

  “Everything okay?” Jack asked scouring the tree line for threats.

  “Yeah. Just checking on Rex.”

  Terry took this opportunity to get off his bike, stretch, drop his pants down to his ankles, and then relieve himself in the middle of the road.

  “Can’t you do that in the woods?” Jack asked.

  “Well, sure I can,” Terry said. Then he continued to pee while he walked to the woods. He laid his own golden carpet out in front of each step.

  I climbed off the seat of my bike, and my ass felt like it had a burning tear that went right through me. I lifted Rex out of the basket and inspected him. There were no visible injuries on him, so I set him down to see if he could walk normally. He stretched and then took a massive liquid crap directly in front of me. The smell was worse than his normal dog shit, but now there was a definite spicy after scent.

  “Damn Slim Jims,” I said.

  “Woah!” Terry said backing up out of the woods. A powerful stream of urine still emitting from him. He must have been going for some pee record because I’ve never peed for that long. Then, we saw the reason that Terry gave us his ‘Woah.’
A zombie that weighed close to three hundred pounds came stumbling out of the woods towards Terry.

  “Shit!” Jack exclaimed, jumping off his bike.

  Terry continued to urinate on the leg of the corpulent corpse as he backed out to the street. He tripped over his own pants and fell backwards shooting his golden stream skywards. The husky zombie fell directly onto the still peeing Terry, and Jack made it there just in time to catch the zombie by his chubby chomping cheeks to keep Terry from getting bit.

  “Don’t let him go!” Terry screamed. “I’m almost done.”

  Rex looked up at me with sad eyes, and I think I realized what was wrong with him. I pulled out the smaller gun that Jack picked out for me, and ran as fast as I could towards the behemoth. I shoved the barrel of the gun in its mouth, and it chomped down on it like he thought it was a hot dog. Several of his teeth shattered with the force of his bite. But that didn’t stop me. I nodded to Jack to let him know I was firing, so he wouldn’t be in harms way. When I pulled the trigger, chunks of the chunky zombie sprayed across the street in a brilliant Jackson Pollock style display. Jack and I hefted the lifeless corpse off of Terry just as his stream finished.

  “That’s better,” he said pulling his pants up before standing and walking back to his bike.

  “This guy’s out of his mind,” Jack said out of the side of his mouth.

  “Ya think?”

  “How far are we from the zoo?”

  “Maybe a mile or two.”

  “Good,” he said, walking back to his bike. “My balls are killing me.”

  I turned back to the bike and saw Rex sitting next to it with his tail wagging happily. “Oh, so you’re better now?” I asked. He barked a quick response, and then pawed at my pocket for another chance at a Jujyfruit. I pulled out another green one, and he gobbled it up quickly and then licked the inside of my hand to make sure he got all of the sugar off of it. I picked him up, and he lunged at my face nearly making contact with his tongue.

  “I don’t care if you just had a mint,” I said putting him back in his basket. “You still lick your balls and ass with that tongue.”

  As we rode off down the street again, I had a thought. I’m not sure why it matters to Rex if I help people or not. I’m even more unsure of why it matters to me that this dog even cares. There was something about the way that dog looked at me. I can’t put my finger on it, but I definitely feel like he sees me better than anyone else ever has. Maybe among dogs, he was a monster too.

  Chapter 36

  When we got to the entrance of the zoo, there was a small shack that usually housed attendants who would gleefully take your five dollars for parking.

  That’s something I never understood. How do people get away with charging people to park at the establishment they are patronizing? It’s charging someone to pay you.

  I think Disney started it a long time ago, and it’s never made sense to me. Some asshole in a suit stood in front of a board of directors and said, “So we charge up the ass for people to walk in to our establishment, then we charge up the ass for them to purchase anything…I think I found a way to charge them up the ass before they even walk in the gates.”

  I’m sure the employee who thought of it got a pay bump, which allowed him to get the larger cup of coffee from Starbucks, and fill his car up with premium instead of mid-grade from then on. Meanwhile, the company pulled in an extra twenty-five million a year, and then searched for another way to charge people up the ass.

  It seems like the most successful companies are the most adept at screwing their own clientele. And the customers are the biggest battered wives in the world. We say, “Oh! They raised the price of a movie ticket because the internet movie pirates have all but bankrupted the movie industry!” Then you fork over twenty dollars a ticket and don’t even think of looking into the fact that the movie industry has been on a constant profit rise for the past fifty years. You look at study after study about how piracy has had virtually no impact on the profits of the major motion picture companies who pursue the fourteen year old kid in his basement who just wanted to watch Wolverine. But the companies don’t care. They just want everything for themselves, and they don’t care if they screw the little guy.

  You may be thinking, “Hey, dick! You’re a goddamned sociopath! You screw everybody constantly and don’t give a single shit about who you hurt.”

  To that I say… “Touché.”

  You would be right to make the comparison between a soulless corporation and a sociopathic monster like myself. I would also remind you that when I am on the screwing end, I don’t care about fairness.

  “Hi there!” a slightly morbidly obese man with thick black framed glasses in a security guard’s uniform said as he waddled out of the shack. He had a smile like he was unaware that we were in the midst of the zombie apocalypse.

  “Hey!” Terry said climbing off his bike and waving excitedly while immediately locking the bike up to the nearest tree.

  “Can I help you folks with something?” the guard asked. “We have food and water if you need some.”

  I was kind of taken aback by his words. So far, all I’ve seen in this zombie riddled world have been people who would just as soon step on your neck than offer you a glass of warm spit if it meant your survival. Now here was a chubby bunny who was offering food and water to total strangers. I thought, if this is the type of security that this camp has, they don’t stand a chance when Axel and his meth head goons attack.

  “We came to warn you about an attack,” Jack said, climbing off his bike.

  “An attack?” the tubby security guard said, suddenly sweating a lot more than he was mere seconds ago.

  “There’s a man with a small army, and they will be here Friday!”

  “That’s crazy!” he said, fumbling with his radio. “Nobody would attack us. What could they want?”

  “Everything,” I said somberly. He froze in his fumbling and looked at me when he heard the sincerity I laced into my words. “He wants your food… He wants your shelter…” Then I walked even closer to him, and could see his eyes bulging behind his thick Coke bottle glasses. I put a good amount of time between words before I finished driving my point home. “He wants your women.”

  He quickly tried to grab his radio again, and in his nervousness, he dropped it. I was close enough to catch it and place it back into his hands without ever dropping eye contact with him.

  “Jimmy!” he squeaked into the radio. “Jimmy, come on up to the front.”

  Within thirty seconds a spindly teenage boy came sprinting up to meet us. He froze about ten yards back and looked at Jack cautiously.

  “Do you get that a lot?”

  “Yeah,” he said with a sigh.

  “Jeeze, mister,” the kid said. “You’re huge.”

  “Yeah, but not where it counts,” I said giving him a wink.

  “Jimmy! These men just told me that there is a small army that’s coming to attack us,” the fat guard said.

  “On Friday,” Terry chimed in while jogging in place next to the tree he chained his bike to.

  “My name is Joey,” The dumpy deputy said. Then he pointed at the skinny teen who was still gawking at Jack’s size. “This is Jimmy. You all better come inside,” the guard said. “I’ll take you to see Bob.”

  As we walked past the attendant shack, Joey reached in and flipped a switch that lowered a flimsy wooden bar across the entrance.

  “I feel safer now,” I said to Jack as I thrust my thumb towards the tiny wooden security measure. He laughed and continued to walk, but I thought for a second I’d seen something in the distance behind him. I squinted my eyes, looked up the road we had just come from, and I could have sworn I saw someone standing in the tree line at the edge of the bend in the road.

  “Terry, can I borrow your binoculars?” I asked.

  He handed them to me without taking them off from around his neck. When I pulled them towards me, Terry leaned in uncomfortably close due to his t
ether. I could feel his breath on my cheek, and it was disgusting. I looked to where I had seen the mysterious figure, and half expected to to see a tree or something vaguely human shape that I might have mistook for something dangerous. After I saw what it was that I had seen, I wished it had been a tree.

  It stood with an unusual presence, and it stared down the street directly at me.

  No… It couldn’t be looking at me. It’s looking at the moving food.

  It was a zombie, but oddly different from any we had seen thus far. It wasn’t hunched, or slumping, and it didn’t react when it saw us. It…He was just staring…watching. He had longer, almost shoulder length, dark brown hair that almost blended in with his black blazer. His buttoned-up shirt looked like it was white at one time, but now it was a dark crimson from the blood of any number of victims. He wore dark slacks, and his left hand was wrapped in bloody bandages. That was probably the wound that turned him in the first place. Whoever the fuck he was had money and style, and I was just about to give him a bullet in his brain.