Van didn’t disagree with what they were doing. In fact, he liked it. On a day-to-day basis though, as long as zombies didn’t fuck with him, he wouldn’t fuck with them. But like most people, Van thought the world would be better off if there weren’t any zombies in it.
The mindset in Los Angeles was a lot different than it was in the Midwest and the South. For the most part, people in L.A. were still arrested when it wasn’t a clear case of zombie panic. In other words, the zombified victim had to be foaming at the mouth for the cops to simply walk away. In cases where the victim wasn’t showing clear physical signs like the distinct circles under their eyes, the cops would ask a lot of questions. You still had a good chance of being released but you had to have a really good story to support the evidence.
Silverlake, though, was considered the zombie ghetto. So if a person had a real problem with zombies, he simply moved. But even with Silverlake’s zombie status, housing prices were still outrageously expensive. It wasn’t really families with children moving in though. It was more often zombies and inter-zombie couples. Inter-zombie couples had a very hard time renting and buying homes in communities with a lot of kids. But in Silverlake they were just like everyone else.
On average, there were 10 zombie attacks every day in Silverlake, usually at night. Some occurred after a zombie would get really drunk at a bar and start making out with someone. In that case flirting often turned into kissing which then could turn into a bathroom stall encounter where the victim learned that they weren’t the one that was going to bite off more than they could chew. But in these cases the zombies should be forgiven. After all, who hasn’t gotten really drunk and done something regrettable that wouldn’t have happened if not for that fourth glass of ‘Adios Mother-Fucker?’
The attacks that were most hated and most likely to get the zombie’s head cut off happened on dark sidewalks and alleys. In Silverlake there were a lot of alleyways. These alleys fed the garages of all the pastel-colored, mix-matched, 1930s avant garde homes. Those zombies who had plans of satisfying their cravings often lurked in the shadows in those unlit alleyways. Any vehicle returning home offered a zombie access to the dark garage. Often times the attacks could be avoided if the driver was paying attention. But around 2am when the bars closed, people made bad decisions. As if they needed it, this was another reason that ‘Mother’s Against Drunk Drivers’ gave for why people shouldn’t drive drunk.
If a zombie was able to sneak up to an unsuspecting driver, the result was often quite horrific. A zombie feeding wasn’t a pretty sight. Zombies are often characterized as being slow, but anyone who has seen a zombie attack would reconsider his assessment.
Once a zombie was within 5 feet of a mark, the attack was inevitable. And even for a drunk person, a hungry zombie standing 5 feet away was impossible to miss. Zombies breathed harder when they were about to attack. It had something to do with a rush of adrenaline that made them purposefully hyperventilate. The hyperventilation supposedly over-oxygenated their blood which allowed them to chew for a long time without taking a breath. So when a person heard that breathing, that hollow, haunting, blood curdling breathing, they knew that their time had come.
Some people couldn’t help but spin around and see the wide almost glowing eyes of the attacking zombie. In this case the victim had time to scream because the zombie had to grab you by the ears and work you to the ground while you flopped around like a helpless rag doll. But in other cases the breathing was all the person had to hear to know that there was no point in struggling. In these cases the person just closed their eyes and tried to think about a nice place as the zombie grabbed their skull and forced them down onto their knees.
The first bite was often a painful one, but if the person could just hang on a little longer she knew that in another second that zombie would bite in far enough that the feeling of sweet release would come. The human body was designed to pass out during such pain. And once out, the zombie let the body fall to the ground for the real feeding.
The brain isn’t a blood-rich environment but there was more when the zombie sucked on it. Blood is like the marrow of the brain - the delectable part. And after the victim passed out, the zombie suckling began.
If this was the only thing that occurred, the victim could survive the attack. They would have a scar and a craving for brains, but because of the unique traits of the virus, no matter how deep the zombie bit, all of their mental faculties of the victim would remained intact.
Unfortunately though, sometimes a simple attack became a zombie feeding orgy. In an orgy, other zombies came from all around to feed and then do other things to the body that most people wouldn’t want to recover from. It wasn’t unheard of for a group of zombies to penetrate the victim. Sometimes they would use the openings provided by nature. Other times they would make their own openings. Brain matter was an incredibly satisfying material to stick things into, but it took a special type of zombie to do something like that.
Zombie cravings were an interesting thing. Yes, the craving was centered on feeding. But what it sometimes meant to a zombie was psychological release - release from the constraints they had to live with on a daily basis. So, if the zombie became shunned after the 3 years it took for the physical symptoms of the disease to take effect, if they became one of the untouchables that the healthy didn’t even look in the eye, then another feeling came with the craving to feed: a craving to be acknowledged. What came was a craving to be considered. And what followed then was a craving to dominate. And what better way to dominate someone than to literally fuck their brains out?
More than anyone else these were the zombies that had to be destroyed. So when a vigilante watched an orgy of this magnitude, it was the ‘fucking’ zombie that the vigilante chose to follow home. After feeding, what usually followed for the zombie was a sharp feeling of regret. This meant that the zombie wasn’t as careful getting home as they were finding their victim. Often times the zombies didn’t bother to check if they were followed. So when the zombie arrived home, unless in a gated building, it was easy for the zombie hunter to sneak in behind them.
The zombie hunter knew that he had to be patient, often waiting for the zombie to fall asleep. Brain, like turkey, was a sleep-inducing food. After a good feeding all a zombie could do was unbutton his pants and fall asleep. That was when the zombie hunter snuck into the room and made his move.
Van rolled over in bed with the airy feeling that there was someone else in the room. Still partially asleep he looked down his bed at the door. In a sleepy haze he saw the silhouette of a man carrying what looked to be a samurai sword. The man’s silhouette hinted at a lust for death.
Van immediately rolled over and dove for the lights.
*****
Chapter 2
Obligation of Blood
Van grabbed onto the chain that hung from his nightstand lamp and gave it a pull. In the moment that it took Van to light the room, the silhouetted man didn’t move. And when the image became lit, Van recognized him.
The swordsman measured only about 5 feet 6 inches tall. He was wider than he was fat but the hand gripping the shiny samurai sword included what looked like hairy hotdogs. His slightly protruding forehead prominently displayed bushy, Greek eyebrows and a short mop of dark hair on top. His hairy body and light Mediterranean complexion shone past his polo shirt and casual clothing. And everything about the swordsman was familiar to Van.
Van lay frozen in his bed. It took 4 or 5 rapid heartbeats for the recognition of who it was to reach his brain. “Kofi?” Van finally asked. “Kofi!” Van lowered his head after answering his own question. “Holy fuck!” Van yelled. “Fuckin’ Christ! What the fuck, Kofi! Jesus Christ.”
Van fell back into a relaxed position facing the ceiling, trying to regain his calm. “Fuck. I thought you were one of those fuckin’ zombie hunters. This crazy-ass bitch called me a zombie today and I thought that you were some fuckin’ zombie hunter comin’ to get me.”
Van
stretched his arm out behind him on the bed and pushed off of the wall sliding his body further into the sheets. Van was hoping that the feeling of the sheets against his bare back would reduce the goose pimples that now covered his entire body. “Fuuuck,” Van let out like a leaky tire.
After a second, Van flung himself up with a scared look on his face. Van lifted up the sheet and looked down at his crotch. After a few seconds he slowly lowered it down looking at Kofi as he did. “You made me pee my pants.” Van let out a congratulatory smile. “You mother fucker, you made me pee my pants. Oh that’s fuckin’ classic. That’s fuckin’ classic,” Van said to Kofi, who still hadn’t moved a muscle.
Van got out of bed to reveal his tighty-whities with a big pee stain on them. As comfortable as if he were alone, Van laughed as he pulled back the sheet to see if any of his pee had made it to the mattress. “Classic.” When he found none he examined the top sheet. Nothing there.
Van walked to his dresser which was also across the room from Kofi and the door. Still laughing an almost resentful chuckle, he reached for another pair of underwear and then turned into the bathroom. “So what the fuck are you doing here at fuckin’…,” Van poked his head out of the bathroom to look at the clock on his nightstand, “at 3 o’clock in the morning?”
The water turned on in the sink and Van could be heard rinsing something out.
“And more importantly, where the fuck have you been for the last 8 months?” Van finished with the sink and a smack could be heard as he threw his tighty-whities onto the shower rod. “Huh? Where have you been for the last 8 months? I called you like a million times. I even stopped by your place and you were never there. You don’t even work at that law firm that you were at. You and Kieran basically just dropped off the face of the fuckin’ earth.”
Van walked out of the bathroom wearing a pair of black underwear and faced Kofi. Kofi didn’t speak. Van took a closer look at his friend. Kofi’s jaw was clenched and that made Van check Kofi’s hand. Van was right, the tension in Kofi’s jaw traveled straight down Kofi’s arm to the sword. Kofi had a death grip on it.
Van looked back up into Kofi’s eyes. Kofi still had his head faced toward Van’s bed, but his eyes were now intensely focused on Van’s new position. That gave Kofi a crazed look. Van had only seen that look once before, and it worried Van that after such a long absence, this was the look that greeted him now.
The first time Van ever noticed Kofi was when they were both pledging SAE, their fraternity at university. Van had chosen SAE because it had the reputation for throwing the best parties. The reason for that was clear when you considered its brothers. All of the members of SAE were good looking and came from rich families. Good looking guys from rich families tend to attract the hottest girls on campus. And once the hottest girls arrived, the best party had already begun.
Van’s pledge year was unique because the previous year’s pledging had been marred when the grandson of one of the university’s main trustees got alcohol poisoning during a hazing. That occurrence led the university to outlaw hazing from fraternity activities. So starting with Van’s year, fraternities had to think of more creative ways to make their pledges throw up in front of their potential brothers.
What SAE had come up with was a hotdog eating contest. In this contest, the pledge was paired with an SAE brother and the pledge had to consume as many hotdogs as possible without throwing up. The brother was just there to encourage the pledge by calling him derogatory names and to take the praise if his pledge won. By the end of that year’s contest there were only 3 pairs left. The pledge in each of those pairs were Kieran, Kofi and Van.
Kieran was a thin, good-looking guy with wavy sun-bleached blonde hair and a deep tan. He was six feet tall with a narrow Norwegian face and naturally hairless surfer’s body. Kieran smoked copious amounts of pot and had what girls referred to as bedroom eyes. And even though Kieran didn’t know it, he was sure to make it into this fraternity because Kieran’s father owned a record label and was worth hundreds of millions of dollars.
What was more than that, Kieran lived in an apartment over his father’s garage and had access to this dad’s Malibu beach house when his dad was at his even grander estate in the Bahamas. What the brothers knew was that Kieran’s father had a reputation for loving young women. And the brothers figured that if they stuck close to Kieran, a few of those hot young women would come their way.
Kieran, on the other hand, was never sure just how far his father’s influence would extend into his life. And because Kieran desperately needed the feeling of brotherhood, he kept eating.
Van too wasn’t sure if he would make it into the fraternity. Unlike Kieran, his family was barely successful. And the success that they did have wasn’t because of something glamorous like the music business. Van’s father had a company making nuts and bolts. But what made it possible for Van’s parents to both pay for UCLA and 5th row Lakers basketball tickets was that Van’s father had a military contract to supply the Department of Defense with fasteners i.e. nuts, bolts and washers. That contract made Van’s parents well-off, but that was barely the cost of admission for pledging SAE. It wasn’t going to get Van in.
The other factor that made Van nervous about his chances was his looks. Both of Van’s parents were considered black, but Van had turned out with caramel skin and a white person’s wavy hair and narrow features. Van had a strong jaw line and a tall, naturally athletic body that very much resembled that of a Spanish tennis player. He was dark enough for women to consider him exotic, with enough Caucasian features that he could be considered ‘very tanned’ by the girls who didn’t ‘dig the chocolate’. But because he felt he couldn’t be classified as classically good looking, he felt the need to eat as many hotdogs as he could.
Kofi on the other hand was from a very rich family. Kofi’s grandfather was a Greek immigrant who opened a small clothing manufacturer in New York during the 1920’s. Because it took a while for him to get established amongst all of his Jewish competitors, Kofi’s grandfather didn’t have Kofi’s dad and uncles until later in life.
There were only two rules in Kofi’s granddad’s household: 1) every moment that his children didn’t spend at school had to be spent in the family business. And 2) all of his children had to become either doctors or lawyers. Kofi’s father decided to become a lawyer and he was one of the best in New York. Kofi’s dad had long stopped charging his clients by the hour. He charged an estimated amount at the beginning of the case and no matter how long the case took that was all the company would need to spend.
This flat fee motivated Kofi’s dad to settle his cases quickly; bringing people to their knees in a short amount of time was his specialty. Once, an airline paid Kofi’s dad $2 million to represent them in a wrongful death suit that could potentially bring down the company. Kofi’s dad settled the case in 3 days, and the airline was more than happy to pay over $27,000 an hour for his services.
The thing that drove Kofi’s grandfather was the same thing that drove Kofi’s dad, which was the same thing that drove Kofi to make it into the fraternity: they all had an unquenchable need to prove their own self worth. For Kofi’s grandfather it was proving himself amongst the Jewish merchants. For Kofi’s dad, it was standing out amongst the pampered Wall Street lawyers with their cushy childhoods and martini lunches. And for Kofi it was beating all of the pretty boys who always got the girls while he remained the gargoyle-looking kid standing in the corner.
Kofi felt like he had no shot at making this fraternity. He was aware that each year this fraternity would pledge someone as a joke. When Kofi looked around the room and saw how statuesque everyone else was, he knew that he was the joke. So for Kofi, this game of hotdog eating wasn’t just a simple hazing. This was something that Kofi had to win to prove his worth.
So when Kieran finally stuffed the last dog down his throat just to see it come right back up, and Van looked at the last 3 dogs on his plate and barfed into his pale, Kofi kept going. And not on
ly did Kofi win, but he kept down every hotdog from his plate.
Brian, the president of the fraternity, took a look at Kofi who was woozy from all of the meat and bread. “Pledge, I’m going to make an exception which I have never made before. If you accept every member’s commitment upon you,” Brian looked back at his brothers, and they all chuckled, “you will be guaranteed to become a brother of this house. Do you want to receive a commitment from each of your soon to be brothers?”
Kofi looked up at Brian. Kofi felt so sick that he could barely think, but with brotherhood so close there was nothing that was going to stop him from accomplishing what would be the greatest achievement of his life up to that point. “I do,” Kofi blurted, closing his mouth quickly afterwards.
“Then Brother John, give your commitment to pledge Kofi,” President Brian said.
On Brian’s urging, Brother John, who had been standing behind Kofi calling him names as he ate, unzipped his pants. “To you pledge Kofi, I offer you my commitment. Do you accept it?”
Kofi slowly spun in his chair finding himself eye level with Brother John’s flaccid, hairy junk that hung less than an arm’s length away. Kofi hesitated when he saw what was before him. He then looked around the room at the drunk, laughing brothers and the horrified pledges. Nowhere in the room did he find a compassionate face. Nowhere did he see a reason to subject himself to this level of humiliation. Nowhere existed a friendly face until he looked over at Van.
Kofi had met Van on the first pledge night, but like everyone else there that night, Van had looked past him for a more interesting person. But now with a loaded prick pointed at his face, Kofi could see that there was something human in Van’s eyes.
Samurai Zombie Hunter Page 2