The Undying Apathy Of Imogen Shroud

by White, Ben

  Only one enemy. One and one and one and one and one—

  And then.

  And then ...

  Imogen glanced around sharply, searching for her enemy, for her one, but it was not there—

  "Come on, Sue. Path's clear. Ain't no point in cripplin' any more."

  How many dozen lay fallen didn't matter; there were hundreds more to replace them. Imogen stared back at the scattered corpses, none of them unmoving, and then her expression hardened as she looked at Zed.

  "I'm not interested in 'crippling'," she growled.

  Zed drew in a breath then blew it out. "So you ... guessing you got, uh ... 'closure' with your ma—"

  "If you can call it that." Imogen glanced around, pale eyes deeply cold as she marked position and speed. "She's dead. She got clawed."

  Zed nodded. It seemed like he wanted to say something. Instead, he said: "Here's your case."

  Imogen stared at it, then snatched it from Zed's hand, tucking it under her arm—then pulled tensely away as he went to offer support.

  "I can walk," she snapped.

  "Of course you can, Sue darlin'. Of course you can."

  "Don't call me 'darling'—and DO NOT call me 'Sue', I hate that name."

  "Okay, okay."

  Imogen was looking around again as they walked. Most of the zombies were still trying to get to the apartment; to the source of that howl. She spoke:

  "Where's your gun?"

  "Back there. Figure it ain't the time to be retrievin', seeing as there's about a hundred deadheads between me and it."

  "I thought you loved that gun."

  "Hell yes I do love that gun! But I love breathing more, god damn it! Reckon I'll figure out how to get it back later—hell, ain't like none of these dead ol' boys are gonna take it. Trusty'll keep."

  "Hm." Imogen glanced around again. "They'll never get to us before we reach the hill. Too slow. Too far. We've got minutes spare."

  "Too much distance," Zed murmured. "Reckon you're right."

  Imogen stopped and glanced back at Zed. He was a few steps behind, his back to her, looking back at the apartment building she'd come from, at the zombies surrounding it. He'd stopped walking, and his shoulders were oddly hunched.

  "What?" Imogen said. "If we stop for too long—"

  "That apartment you just came out of." Zed's voice was low and thick. "That wouldn't happen to be up on the ninth floor now, would it?"

  Imogen let out an irritated, weary huff. "What's happening up there—"

  "That ain't—your name. What's your name?"

  "It's Imogen—"

  "Your last name!" Zed sounded almost panicked. Imogen stared at him before replying:

  "Shroud. My name's Imogen Shroud."

  And Zed stared back at her, the look in his eyes like nothing Imogen had ever seen.

  And then he started laughing. Laughing like he'd just heard the funniest joke in the world. Laughing like he'd just figured it all out. Laughing like there wasn't any reason not to laugh.

  "Oh hell," he gasped out. "Oh damn me if that don't beat all. If that don't just beat all. If that ain't the damnedest thing I ever did hear. Of all the damn fool stupid god-damn nothing questions not to even ask ..."

  Imogen was shocked to realise that Zed was crying, that tears were streaming down his cheeks, and still she was nothing but confused.

  "What are you TALKING about?" she demanded. "Tell me!"

  "And now she's dead," Zed was halfway between tears and hysteria, grinning and grimacing as he wiped hard at his cheek. "Now she's gone and I never ..."

  He drew in a long, snorting breath through his nose, and wiped his arm over his eyes.

  "I don't—what are you going on about? Did you know my mother or something?"

  "Oh, honey. Don't you get it, sweetheart? Don't you understand who I am?"

  Imogen just stared, totally blank. "Who you are? I don't ... who are you?"

  And Zed laughed again, and he threw his arms wide, eyes wild as he roared:

  "I'm the god-damned son of a bitch who named you Sue!"

  And Imogen stared at Zed, horrified realisation dawning.

  "But ... but you're American!"

  Zed took in a deep, shuddery breath and he grinned at Imogen, something softer about his face now. "Nah, I ain't no American, just lived there the past decade or so—"

  "But ... but you never hunted, you ... you were a cleaner—"

  "Maintenance man, let's get it right."

  "You were FAT!"

  "Well come on now, maybe I was a little on the chubby side—"

  "You ... you—"

  "Come on, darlin', reckon we better keep on walking—"

  "But—"

  "Come on now. We ain't clear yet."

  This time Imogen let Zed take her arm, let him guide her towards the hill and the truck parked behind it.

  "Holy hell." Zed stopped, then glanced around and kept walking, still guiding Imogen. "How old's your brother?"

  "He's ... he's twelve, almost twelve—"

  "Twelve? Hell, I ain't never been no good with maths, you're seventeen now? So then ... aw, damn it, Margo. Damn you all to heaven, you proud god-damn woman."

  They were near the mound of earth now, almost to Zed's truck. Imogen felt numb and heavy, like she—

  "So what."

  She'd stopped, and when Zed pulled at her arm she pulled back, and neither one of them moved.

  "So WHAT," she repeated, hard and flat. "So you think, what, you think that suddenly ... that you can ... just ... just because you, you saved Zack and me—"

  The look in Zed's eyes stopped her. Imogen shook her head angrily and walked forward, wrenching her phone out of her pocket after it beebly-booped at her, glad of the distraction:

  I'd advise you to return as quickly as you can. There have been some 'developments' that are rather disturbing. Talk more when you get back, TTFN! PS If you could possibly pick up some sodium azide that would be lovely.

  Dr James Angerness

  "Head up, darlin'. Got some company."

  They were coming over the hill. It was too soon to see how many of them there were, but it had to be a couple of dozen at least.

  "Reckon that'd be that crawler's work. Brought 'em in from near and far. Heh, so, you said cripplin' weren't enough for you, yeah? You up for some slaughterin'?"

  Imogen shoved her phone back in her pocket and shot Zed a cold glance. He swallowed.

  "Look, I know I ain't ... I mean, the way I ... I swear I didn't even know she was pregnant, she never said—and leaving you behind was, was ... god-damn, you've grown up so damn much I can't even believe it, can't even tell you how ... how ..."

  Zed trailed off. There were zombies lurching towards them from behind and the sides, too—not near, minutes distant, but present. Those coming over the hill were just a few dozen metres away.

  "Okay," Zed said, his voice firmer now, stronger. "So maybe you ain't ready to call me Daddy and maybe I don't yet deserve to call you Daughter. But here's the facts, Imogen. We got about thirty zombies between us and that truck and they're in sore need of a clobberin'. And I'll tell you something right now, it ain't no accident you survived this far. You got something in you, same as me."

  Imogen hadn't moved, hadn't reacted at all, except to grip HopeKiller tight in both hands, her pale blue eyes running over the line of zombies.

  "Look, like I said, you don't gotta call me Daddy, not now, not anytime you don't want to. But I reckon we're in this stinking mess together. Reckon we've been through a lot, don't matter that we're blood—even before I knew I was, I mean ... I came here with you, didn't I? Hell, damn near killed myself getting you home to your ma, came closer than I ever want to come again if you wanna know the truth. And that was before I figured it out, so I reckon, yeah, I reckon that's gotta count for something. And there's something else, too, what we been through, both of us bein' here, both of us fighting side by side, relying on each other, that makes us something, even if you
don't wanna call it family."

  The zombies were close now. Within seconds they'd be within striking distance.

  "So what do you say? You wanna take down these dead freaks? Partner?"

  Imogen took a deep breath, in and out, and she looked at Zed, at the way he held his knife, firm and ready.

  "Fine." Imogen raised HopeKiller and fixed her eyes on the nearest zombie. "Let's do this ... partner."

  So yeah, I guess I didn't die. Not yet anyway. Kind of a way to go before that happens, actually. Lot of stuff to get through. Lot of zombies to kill—well, cripple. Killing them is hideously impractical. Not many people have managed it. Hey, though, who's got a thumb and has killed more zombies than anyone else?

  Oh, wait. You can't see me, can you. That didn't work at all, did it. Look, just IMAGINE that I'm pointing at myself with my thumb. Okay? Get it now?

  But yeah, killing them is usually a waste of time. Just cripple them instead, leave them there, and let them starve to death. Apparently this can take up to a year if they go dormant.

  Frankly I don't think that's quite long enough.

  By the way, yes, it turns out Zed IS my dad, just in case you had any lingering doubts. Kind of obvious in hindsight, I mean too many little coincidences to just be coincidence if you get what I mean, but don't feel too superior if you figured it out early. If you were actually there, going through everything I went through, the last thing you would've been thinking is 'hey, maybe this weird old cowboy is actually my deadbeat dad!'. Trust me on that one, it's just NOT something that even crosses your mind.

  Something else you might not've thought much about is how messed up the Phoenix Convention Centre was. Remember that? How all the emergency exits were locked? That was weird, right? Right? Don't you think?

  Hahaha.

  So anyway, I guess this is where I leave you. What, you think being dead means I've got all the time in the world to just sit around chatting? I have things to do. I'm busier dead than I ever was alive. As for everything else, well, you're going to just have to wait and see. Sorry. If there's one thing I hate more than zombies, it's spoilers. Have patience. Don't be in such a hurry. Slow down and enjoy yourself. That's what I've learnt. Well, will learn. You know what I mean.

  So until next time, stay smart. Keep your weapon handy, whatever it is. Don't trust open doorways. And never, ever assume that you're alone. By the way, are you sitting down right now? Did you check behind you? Because I think I hear something ...

  Purrrrrr.

  Hahahahaha.

  I'll see you soon. Maybe sooner than you think.

  Until then, keep safe.

  With love,

  Imogen Shroud

  Copyright © 2011 by Ben White.

  Cover and book design by Ben White.

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the author.

  Email: ben@cloverisland.co.nz

  Website: http://www.cloverisland.co.nz