Samurai Zombie Hunter

by Cristian YoungMiller

  Kofi was no longer at the bar. Van took a slow stroll around the club and still didn’t find him. Reasoning that Kofi was probably dick deep in boobs, Van took a cab.

  On the ride home, he considered the creatures he had seen at the river. What worried him most was what it meant for his own future. Maybe in a few months, or maybe a few years, he would become like them. And if he didn’t do something about it, the entire world would too.

  Eventually the L.A. River would overflow and the city would be flooded with death and destruction. That future seemed inevitable. And once Los Angeles, the second largest city in America fell, other major cities were sure to follow.

  As the cityscape whipped by the cab’s window, Van wondered if the city was going to get what it deserved. In his hunting he had begun to see the underbelly of the city and it wasn’t pleasant. But as soon as the cynicism entered his mind he thought about the surprising woman he had just met. His thoughts softened. ‘Maybe there are some worth fighting for,’ he considered. ‘Maybe there are even people worth dying for.’

  Van returned his attention to the scenery rushing past the car. He knew what he had to do next and it had to be big.

  *****

  Chapter 10

  Back From the Dead

  Van stood on the dry concrete LA riverbed waiting for the sun to set. As the last bright pink dipped below the horizon, he stepped forward, staring down the quickly-darkening ravine. When the lights from the bridge focused into pools, Van took a long deep breath, closed his eyes, and readied himself.

  “You guys remember me?” he yelled into the emerging darkness. “You still want a piece of me? Then come and get it.”

  It wasn’t long before the first creature appeared. Its decaying flesh dripped as it dragged its rigor-mortised left leg across the ground. Its shoulders were twisted and mangled by joint calcification and loss of muscle flexibility was apparent.

  The skin on the zombie - which had been white - was now grayish from what researchers described as a failure of the zombie body to deliver blood to anywhere but its core organs. This feature also explained why zombies were so hard to stop: if a healthy human lost an arm or leg he would most likely bleed to death. But the blood supply to any zombie extremity was already so low that the loss of an arm hardly made a difference. Scientists were baffled by enhanced zombie strength despite such decay. Van, who stood in the ravine at the peak of his abilities, didn’t feel it mattered today.

  He waited for the zombie count to grow to two, then three, then four before making a move. With the darkness birthing a steady stream of the undead, Van walked into the center of the pool of light. With his legs spread for balance, he spun his samurai sword from behind his arm.

  The zombies, who now numbered ten, didn’t hesitate. Each still dragged its broken body toward Van. When the first zombie was almost in reach - and there were 20 more behind - Van made his move.

  Planting his left foot back, Van spun a second sword from behind his left arm. He then extended both swords downward until both tips almost touched the ground, and waited.

  With the first zombie close enough to touch, Van stepped forward, whipping the right blade across the chest of the first zombie. The strike pushed the monster back and with both swords on his left side he slashed both towards his right. Not only did the first zombie’s head fly off but so did its torso. Van then stepped forward and, with a series of strikes, felled one zombie after another. With each movement his mind was clear and sharp. Van saw everything coming at him in slow motion and in each moment the approaching zombie was met with a blade to the neck.

  With two swords, Van didn’t allow the creatures to push him back - he was on the offensive. It was he who moved through their zombie lines creating a river full of scattered body parts. And as consistently as the snowy mountains filled the river below, the zombies were never ending.

  Van’s original twenty zombies had now turned into forty. And as he approached the edge of the darkness he was greeted by a hundred more. And when he penetrated the darkness he found a hundred more still.

  “Come back into the light,” Kofi yelled from behind Van.

  Acknowledging the voice, he turned around, swiping and striking the things behind him. When all had been mowed down, he stepped into the light, lowered his sword, caught his breath, and again waited. As the horde of zombies again approached, he lowered his chin and readied himself for battle.

  This time, instead of coming right at him, the zombies formed a half circle around him. And instead of coming at him one by one or in pairs, they all approached at once.

  Van, taking a quick scan around, changed his attack plan. Reaching far to his right he sliced them all in one stroke. And for the zombies out of the reach of his blade (those at the semi-circle’s apex) he took a second swipe and removed the top halves of their heads, nose high.

  With a mixture of kung fu and swordplay, he glided around the space like in his imaginary bubble at home. And as the bubble rolled forward zombie bodies flew black. When he needed space he shifted his body and cracked a zombie rib with his foot, giving himself a second to kill the other two around him before returning to the one struggling for breath below.

  “Oh wait. Behind you,” Kofi yelled to his unsuspecting cameraman.

  The cameraman spun the camera and focused on Kofi. Kofi stood with his sword extended, guarding the camera crew. Zooming in on Kofi, the cameraman saw a worried look wash across Kofi’s face. And when the camera panned left to see what Kofi saw, the cameraman let out a gasp: more than 300 zombies slowly dragged themselves toward the camera and only Kofi stood between them.

  “I think we need to get to higher ground,” Kofi instructed.

  The camera continued to roll as the cameraman threw his camera backwards on his shoulder and captured the reporter, soundman and Kofi scurrying up the concrete incline after him. At the top of the incline the cameraman refocused on Van.

  Within seconds, Van was defending attacks from all sides. Initially Van was able to keep his imaginary bubble at 10 feet across. But as more bodies fell and more zombies replaced them, the bubble shrank.

  Van picked up the pace of his cuts and with it came an increase in blood. Van no longer had the luxury of aiming at the creatures’ necks. He now had to accept whatever part they offered him. Sometimes that meant that the undead creature would split in half and other times it meant a clean cut through both legs. Wherever his blows landed, he didn’t care. He was now in desperation mode and his only thought was survival.

  From above, the camera recorded as the circle around Van contracted. With the endless supply of zombies creeping toward him, Van was being overrun.

  “Jimmy, get that,” the reporter barked off-camera. The camera shifted to the pile of zombie bodies that had developed against the incline. The bodies were almost piled to the top, and within a minute it was clear that the hundreds of zombies flooding the riverbed would soon flood out onto the streets.

  “We have to get out of here now,” Kofi yelled from off-camera. “Van, we have to get out of here.”

  The camera shifted to Van who heard but was too busy to respond. The circle around him had closed tight enough that his swing was now guided by where he felt a touch. Van was fighting a losing battle and he knew it. He had to think of a way out but just as he had an idea he felt something grip him from below and pull him to the ground.

  “Van!” Kofi yelled from above.

  The camera continued to record as the space around Van closed to nothing. But before the camera could record anymore, a zombie’s face fully occupied the frame.

  “We have to get out of here,” the reporter yelled to his crew.

  Kofi jumped in front of the camera and beheaded the creature. “Van!” he yelled again.

  The last thing the camera captured was Kofi running to the edge of the decline and into the sea of zombie.

  “That was the scene just last night at the LA River, just a stone’s throw from downtown Los Angeles,” Virginia Mad
sen, the leading morning news anchor in Los Angeles intoned the next day. The tape had spread among local news outlets with nearly the speed of the disease it documented.

  “What you saw were the brave actions of professional zombie hunters. I cannot state this strongly enough, do not try this at home. The men, who amazingly survived that onslaught, hire out their services under the name ‘Samurai Zombie Hunters,’ and they are as good as they claim to be and as highly trained as they appear.

  But not everyone is glad to see the work of these brave men. Here now is a dissenting voice in the zombie debate.”

  Van and Kofi stood in front of Van’s TV, uneasy about the direction the report was taking.

  “This is Kieran Craft, son of legendary music mogul Aaron Craft.”

  Van’s heart stopped when he saw his friend. This was the first time that he had seen Kieran since the night of the party after which Van had lost both of his friends.

  “Kieran, can you tell me why you’re here today?” the anchor continued.

  Van stared into his old friend’s eyes and saw that they were sharper than they had ever been before. Van was accustomed to the pot-glazed look that his always casual, always kind friend sported. But from the high definition close-up, it was clear that he was now clean.

  “Thanks, Virginia,” Kieran said before taking a purposeful breath. “I’m here to tell the world that I am a zombie.”

  Van’s heart sank. He saw Kofi turn to look at him but Van ignored his gaze.

  “I am making this announcement today so that others can put a face to zombie-ism. I’m no different from any of you. I don’t attack people. I don’t feed on anyone’s brains. And I have never harmed another living soul. Yes, I’m infected and I’m hoping that researchers can find a cure before it takes my life. But I’m here to say that - as American citizens – it is our right to live and go about our pursuit of happiness as best we can without the fear of death from unjust attacks.”

  Kieran paused as he steadied himself. Seeing a tear roll down Kieran’s face, the cameraman pushed in. Kieran’s face had always had a kindness to it and his sharp features and striking good looks made the effect heartbreaking.

  “I know that this news will break the hearts of those who care about me. To them I say that I’m not dead yet. And if you are like me and you suffer from this horrible disease, you aren’t dead yet either. But you must prove to others that you too are still human. If you don’t, a war is inevitable. Such a war would produce no winners. Please stop the zombie vengeance killings everywhere.”

  “There it is, a new voice in the ongoing zombie debate. A topic that once seemed very simple has now become very complex. Back to you Brad.”

  Van paused the DVR and looked at Kofi who quietly looked back. Each was lost in thought. But the memory that was inevitable for both was of Kieran four years after college.

  Kieran could’ve always been described as a gentle soul. He spent the first half of his life estranged from his father. His only parental figure was his mother who spent most of her life doing what many beautiful women did after their looks faded and their meal tickets disappeared: she cleaned homes.

  Although Kieran’s childhood home wasn’t modest, he grew up watching his mother return home from twelve hour shifts which included 2 houses and the late night housekeeping shift at a local motel. It wasn’t until Kieran was 13 that he learned who his father really was.

  By then he’d grown resentful of his famous father. He had watched his mother’s once dainty hands become raw from the chemicals, and it made him angry that his biological father knew how they were living but didn’t offer to help.

  Kieran met his father for the first time when he was 15. Aaron Craft wanted to see if his only heir was someone he could leave his empire to, so he’d arranged with the boy’s mother to allow Kieran to stay with him in his palatial estate in the wealthiest part of the Bahamas. Kieran was secretly ecstatic at the news not knowing what Aaron actually had in mind.

  Aaron was a self-made man. The story he was always proud to tell during interviews was how, for the first 5 years of his life, his family lived in a one-room house. “Although there were four of us,” Aaron would say, “we had no bathroom. Only a bucket. And it was my job to carry the bucket out when people were done with it. I came from nothing!” he’d punctuate. And Aaron had invited Kieran to his island estate because he wanted to know just how far his fruit had fallen from the tree.

  Kieran, who had never before left the country, was overwhelmed by the magnificence of his father’s estate. Never in his wildest dreams had he imagined somewhere so opulent. The bedrooms were designed like bungalows and the main space included a grand party room and a dining room table that sat 30.

  Kieran’s first day was mostly spent unpacking. Aaron wasn’t due to arrive on the island until the following morning but Kimberly, Aaron’s local secretary, assured Kieran that he was one of his father’s priorities and they would meet as soon as Aaron arrived at the estate.

  Kimberly was correct. The next morning after an incredible breakfast prepared by the chef, word was received that Aaron was about to arrive. Kieran noticed how the tension of everyone in the room increased as they rushed around in preparation. His own tension was at an all-time high. But his was to be expected; he was about to meet his father for the first time.

  Their first meeting came on the path from the main house to Aaron’s office. On Aaron’s arm was a 22-year old model wearing a pink bikini under a sheer sarong. And although she was beautiful, Kieran couldn’t take his eyes off of the man that was clearly his father.

  “You my son?” Aaron asked.

  All Kieran could do was nod his head in acknowledgement.

  “Stay here. I’ll be with you next.” Aaron continued into his office and disappeared into a back room that was barely visible from outside.

  Kieran stood outside his father’s office for 20 minutes, scared to make a move. During that time, Kimberly had approached with an arm full of documents.

  “Is he in there?” she asked.

  “Yeah,” the boy squeaked out.

  “With someone?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Ok, he’ll be right with you.”

  Kimberly opened the door and Kieran was startled at what he heard. Fifteen-year-old Kieran – who was waiting to truly meet his father for the first time – had the pleasure of first being introduced to his father’s orgasmic screams. Kieran, who had still not even kissed a girl, didn’t know what to do. But, as Kimberly had promised, Aaron’s flesh-on-flesh slaps were quickly followed by a fully dressed Aaron appearing in his office.

  “So you’re Kieran, my son?” Aaron said, looking Kieran up and down and seeming unimpressed. Although Kieran was a good-looking boy, he was skinny. Aaron’s first impression was his fruit had fallen very far from the tree.

  “Come,” Aaron said. “I’m gonna show you what you’re gonna be doing for the summer.”

  Kieran followed as Aaron walked past him and out of the office. Kieran had been unaware that he was going to be doing anything for the summer. He had allowed himself to imagine that his time would be spent getting to know his dad. This was not true in the sense that he’d imagined.

  Aaron led his son to the back of the estate. Built on sharp rocks, the main house had a back view that looked out over a beautiful private beach. But one of the problems with this particular beach was the sand often had to be replaced.

  “Here’s what you’re gonna do: you’re gonna move those rocks from over there to here.” Aaron pointed at the line where the sand met the sharp stone. “And then you’re going to build a wall four feet high that circles around the entire beach.”

  Kieran followed the stretch of beach with his eyes. It was about five hundred feet long which was, in his mind, an impossible stretch over which to carry even one rock, let alone all of the stones necessary to build a wall.

  “And you’re going to have it done by the end of the summer. Got it?”

  Kiera
n was stunned but he nodded his head yes.

  “Good. Get started.”

  That was the first time Kieran met his father.

  By the end of the summer, Kieran had worked six hours a day, five days a week in the brutal Bahamian sun. But, to his father’s incredible displeasure Kieran hadn’t finished. That was Aaron’s first disappointment in his son.

  The next came the following school year when Kieran’s mother informed Aaron that Kieran had joined a gang. What Kieran would later explain to Van was that, as a kid, Kieran had desperately needed acceptance. And the gang of kids from his school had said that if Kieran let each of them punch him in the chest, he could join their gang. He’d agreed but, after getting beaten up by his new friends, the gang quickly disbanded and Kieran once again felt abandoned.

  Aaron’s third major disappointment came when Kieran dropped out of college. He’d made it to his junior year, but not even the company of his first true friends, Van and Kofi, could make any of the tedious school work seem worthwhile. Kieran had developed an aversion to monotony. Somewhere in Kieran’s life he had been taught to believe that no matter how hard you worked, some things will never get done and no one will appreciate the effort in any case.

  Van and Kofi admired the life that their friend Kieran had been able to create as they struggled through their last year of college. In fact, the events that Kieran organized for his father seemed almost too glamorous to be believed. It took four years for Van and Kofi to secure an invite to one of Aaron’s parties and, although they didn’t let on to Kieran, it was all the two talked about in the weeks leading up to event.

  They arrived at the Malibu residence, which Kieran shared with his father, dressed how they’d imagined music industry people would dress. Van didn’t have much in his wardrobe but he made do with a white button-up shirt and slacks.