Teenage Wasteland (I Zombie)

by Wallen, Jack

  “That’d be perfect. They don’t do anything to the collected heads until after we’re out of sight—after dark. Can that thing do…”

  “Night vision?” Nicco interrupted. “Hell yeah, it can. This baby has everything you could imagine.”

  We agreed to wait until after midnight to sneak down to intake and plant the device.

  six | mission dim sum possible

  The mission went off without a hitch. The camera was small enough to tuck neatly under a shelf that couldn’t be spotted unless you knew exactly where to look. The solar charger was attached to a window behind a blind. Plenty of sun would rain down electricity to keep the camera rolling through the night. Nicco assured me the memory card had plenty of space to retain hours’ worth of footage.

  The morning unfolded like every other under the roof of Asylum—a bunch of weak, starving kids doing the slow march into the wild with one hope giving them the strength to move forward.

  Heads.

  We were the lucky ones—the remnants of a meal in our gut fueling us on. I had every intention of returning to Number One Take Out to finish the job of emptying their cupboards.

  Nicco and Kubrick insisted on filming our excursion.

  “Are you sure that’s a good idea?” I asked. “If we get attacked, I’m not waiting around for you guys to haul that crap along for the chase.”

  “This is our art, our truth,” Nicco answered, a bit snippy for my taste. “We do nothing without filming. Our work is the only way future generations will understand the plight of post-apocalyptic millennials. Take this camera from me and I may as well die.”

  Frenzy skipped ahead; his long, spindly legs making the act a bit awkward. “That’s some serious commitment to your art, mate. Cheers for that, but I find it a load of small bollocks. The only thing that matters now is survival. That’s the only art remaining, and we have it perfected.”

  In response, Nicco lifted the camera to his shoulder and focused in on Frenzy. “Care to repeat that?”

  Frenzy leaned to within inches of the camera lens. “Oi! You blokes are out of yer ‘eads. Don’t get me wrong, I respect the art and craft of film making; but there’s got to be a line drawn in the metaphoric sand when it comes to survival, eh? In the immortal words of Freddy Mercury, ‘Who wants to live…’”

  A wall of moaning stopped Frenzy, mid-quote. Everyone in the group froze in place…and waited. Almost imperceptibly, Nicco panned the camera to the left and right.

  The moaning returned. I pointed to ten o’clock.

  “What do we do?” Fay whispered.

  Frenzy crept forward with the grace and silence of a ninja. He held up his hands to stop us from following. As he continued walking, he reached to his leg and pulled a two-foot piece of rebar from a pocket stitched into his Union Jack skinny jeans. With his free hand, he retrieved a butterfly knife from his back pocket. A quick flick of the wrist, and the deadly weapon was open and ready for business.

  “That’s what we do,” I responded quietly.

  Nicco took a couple of steps forward before I could grab him by the shirt. He wiggled free and continued on.

  “His death won’t weigh on my conscience, Kubrick,” I whispered.

  “He can hold his own,” Kubrick replied.

  “Doubt it,” Mikko added.

  Frenzy took another five or so steps, both arms outstretched, ready to serve up a quick killing blow. His knees were bent, so his center of gravity was lowered. No Moaner could possibly take the guy down in this position.

  Or so Frenzy always bragged. I believed him…I had no other choice.

  Without warning, Frenzy stopped. The moan returned, only this time louder and with purpose. Nicco caught up to Frenzy and stood by his side, camera panning to the left and right.

  The Moaner came into view. Undead chic; gaunt and bony. It was obvious that, pre-death, the girl had been a real cutie. Dark pixie haircut, emotive eyes, and lips that begged to be kissed. She wore a torn and tattered sun dress and Chuck Taylors. I probably would have loved her. We’d have gone to concerts together and Snap Chatted into the wee hours of the night. Eventually, Mikko would have kicked her ass and reminded me who my one and only was.

  The apocalypse would never rob me of my daydreams.

  My mistress Moaner zombie-stomped her way into the area and stopped to sniff and sway. Her unblinking, sour-milk eyes looked skyward as her head and mouth twitched in anticipation of a fresh brain buffet.

  She was probably vegan in her former life. Death was not immune to irony.

  As I stood, transfixed by the fictional beauty of the moment, Frenzy drew in close to drop the hammer. In a rare moment of awkward teen, Frenzy tripped on some invisible obstacle and tumbled forward…into the waiting arms of Undead Claire.

  I had to name her.

  Bad habit.

  The zombie dropped onto Frenzy and wrapped her arms around his neck. He slapped at her hands as he desperately gasped for air.

  Nicco continued to film.

  Fay and Kubrick stood a safe distance from the action.

  Mikko grabbed at Frenzy’s kicking feet.

  With the zombie’s attention on the meat beneath Frenzy’s skull, I sneaked in and snatched up the rebar. I wound up and then sent the metal pole into the back of the zombie’s head. A sickening crunch was immediately followed by the gush of thick brown liquid oozing from the crack.

  The Moaner continued on.

  “What the hell?” Kubrick hissed. “I thought that killed them.”

  Frenzy gasped and choked against the crushing arms of Claire.

  I drew the rebar back for a second blow. Before I swung down, the zombie looked up at me; her sick white eyes shot pure crazy my way.

  When the bar connected, it broke through the bridge of her nose. This time, Claire grabbed the bar and gave it a yank. I lost my footing and fell into the dog pile. Frenzy took advantage of the moment and slipped free from the undead bonds. Claire turned her attention on me and wrapped her fingers around my head. She drew me in toward her clacking maw. I could see into the hole I’d made with the last blow. Chunks of meat and bone clung tenuously to the head. With the slightest shake, a hunk of something brown broke free and crash-landed on my leg. I wasn’t sure what to expect. Would the bit burn through my jeans like alien blood? Or would the morsel just stick and eventually drop off when it grew tired of hanging on for its undead life? Claire’s breath was sickening…like she’d gargled with day-old puke that had been set aside to fester in the scorching summer sun.

  “Duck,” Mikko’s voice pulled me from the rot-induced daydream. I turned my head just in time to see her swinging the rebar toward us. I dropped to the ground, and the metal bar connected, point first, with the top of Claire’s skull. The bar broke through bone and penetrated the brain. Before Mikko could remove the weapon, gravity pulled Claire to the ground.

  A rusty-colored paste dripped from the rebar. I rolled away to avoid collateral sloppage.

  “Holy hell!” Nicco shouted. “That was boss.”

  I turned sharply to the kid with the camera. “Keep your damn mouth shut. You want to draw the attention of every freakin’ Moaner within ear shot?”

  Nicco pointed the camera my way. I stood and maneuvered until my face was up close and personal with his lens.

  “I don’t know if you understand how this game of apocalypse works, but those bastards are super-sensitive to sound. You make merry with the decibels, and all her friends will come running, forks and knives ready to dig in.”

  Nicco didn’t bother to lower the camera before he responded. “Yes, Jingo, I get the rules of the game. I’ve been a part of this for as long as you have.”

  I drew well into Nicco’s personal space. “I wouldn’t count on that, Mr. Sense of Entitlement.”

  Nicco nodded slowly. “Remember, smart-ass, we’re both on the same team. I’d hate to see that smirk knocked off before you had a chance to fully understand what’s at stake.”

  “You’re
kidding me, right?” I demanded.

  “No joke, Jingo,” Nicco said with too much confidence.

  Frenzy stepped in, his long, lanky arms pushing us to different corners. “Gentlemen, we can solve this problem like adults, right? If not, I suppose it’s time for us all to give in and march toward utter defeat. Is that was you both want? I don’t think you do. In fact, I’d venture to say both of you want the very same bloody thing. That being the case, shut up or sod off.”

  Before another word spilled from his mouth, Frenzy shook his head and stepped away, leaving Nicco stunned into silence. The man with the camera stepped forward and stuck out his hand. “No hard feelings, man?”

  I opted to take the high road and offered my hand. “Sorry about that. Every time I skate into this open world, I’m reminded just how harsh the human creature can be. There’s no need for us to be at each other’s throats, right?”

  The answer came simply. I nodded and grabbed Nicco’s hand for a strong shake. He smiled and responded with that much-anticipated shake.

  Frenzy turned to catch the action. The look on his face spoke volumes.

  Kubrick drew up to me and whispered, “So what’s the plan?”

  “We win another round of the game. This time, however, we’re going to return packing as much grub as we can possibly fit into our packs.”

  “What’s the endgame there?” Kubrick continued his questioning.

  “Feed the world, my friend. Feed the world.”

  Mikko shoved her hand into my back right pocket and walked beside me. “Pretty damn noble, don’t ya think?”

  “Pretty damn crazy, is more like it. How do you plan on feeding the entire planet?”

  I hadn’t intended on laughing…it just came out. “It was a joke, Kubrick. The food is for the kids of Asylum. Some of them are too weak to win the game.”

  “And they certainly don’t have it in them to plunder for food out here in the open world,” Mikko added.

  I continued. “Every so often we go on a bit of a shopping spree and bring back enough for everyone. We also make sure to win the daily game so there’s plenty to go around.”

  Kubrick nodded. “Damn noble of you.”

  I opened my mouth for a bit of self-deprecation, but opted to deflect the compliment. “It’s mostly Mikko…she’s both the brains and the brawn of the operation.” Number One Take Out came into view. “There it is.”

  Without warning, I took off toward the restaurant. I reached for the door handle, only to have my hand swatted away by Frenzy.

  “Oi,” he called in his thick, fake accent.

  Annoyance tainted my voice. “What the hell?”

  Frenzy pointed in through the window. “That’s what the hell,” he said with a grunt.

  I followed the tip of his finger into the building. Standing in the center of the small dining section stood a pair of Moaners.

  “Hipsters,” I hissed. “Son of a bitch.”

  Two males, each wearing too-tight tee shirts, too-skinny jeans, and too much beard.

  Mikko leaned into me. “Is it worth the fight? I don’t recall there being that much food left. Besides, we cleaned the place out of coffee.”

  She was right…as usual. Unfortunately, this meant having to locate another cache of food.

  From behind, I heard Frenzy shout, “Parkour!”

  I didn’t even bother to turn around. “Mikko, please tell me he’s not…”

  She wouldn’t let me finish. “He is…just jumped up to the top of the building across the street.”

  When I turned, Frenzy was standing on the roof, waving his hands in the air. He then pointed downward. My eyes followed to see a sign labeled, Asiatique Grocery.

  “How did we miss that?” I asked.

  Mikko responded just before taking off at a sprint. “I don’t care, as long as it’s wall-to-wall delicious.”

  We all converged at the front door, anxiously awaiting Frenzy to appear behind the glass and let us in.

  “Come on, come on, come on,” Kubrick repeated nervously. “Still filming, Nicco?”

  “When am I not filming, Kube?”

  “Good point,” Kubrick said, and then leaned into the glass, his hands cupped around his eyes to block the glare. “Oh, God, it’s full. There’s shit on every shelf.”

  Kubrick’s voice had an awkward tone—like he enjoyed some strange fetish and was about to have a foodgasm.

  “I don’t like this,” Mikko whispered. “Frenzy never takes this long to get into a building.”

  Once again, Mikko was right. Frenzy pretty much lived his life in a state of ADHD, but when it came to breaking and entering, the kid had a laser-like focus.

  We all stared. The glass reflected the blinking red light of the video camera. In that moment, I wanted to turn to Nicco and smack the camera to the ground, to insist on some respect. I knew that wasn’t my place. Filming was their shtick, and who was I to say “nay nay”?

  No one, that’s who.

  Before another thought could dance about my brain, a scream rained down from above. My gut dropped and my lungs fist-bumped one another, crushing my heart in the process.

  We all stepped back from the building and craned our necks in a vain attempt to look onto the roof. Without warning, Nicco handed the camera to Kubrick and took a running jump at the dumpster near the corner. With a grace I would have never thought possible from his boxy body, he hopped onto the metal container, turned, and made the leap to the roof.

  “Should we be filming this?” Fay asked Kubrick.

  “You want to try to get up on the roof with this camera?”

  She offered no response.

  “I didn’t think so.”

  “You want some footage?” I asked.

  Kubrick looked at me, shocked. “Yeah. You offering?”

  “Follow me.”

  I raced over to the dumpster and hopped on board. I turned to face Kubrick and held my hands out. He hoisted the camera to me, and I did a quick focus on the roof.

  “Shit,” I called out. “They’re gone.”

  Without asking permission, I stretched across the gap between dumpster and roof and carefully set the camera on top of the building. With a less-than-graceful bound, I pulled myself to the roof, scooped up the camera, and listened.

  I had no idea what to expect. There was no Matrix action going on, no Neo dodging zombie bites in that Wachowski slow-motion dreamscape. There was only roof.

  Instinct begged me to call out Frenzy’s name. Fortunately, my rational mind kicked in before I made that tragic mistake. And so…I ran. At the far end of the roof was an open hatch. A fire escape invited me to come hither.

  I had no choice, so hither I went.

  “Crap, this isn’t going to end well,” I whispered, navigating the ladder with one hand…the other carefully holding the camera.

  Both feet hit the floor with a muffled thump. The room was dark and offered the faint smell of exotic delight.

  A clang of metal shocked me from my starvation-induced revelry. My heart tap-danced over my ribs.

  “Oi!” Frenzy’s familiar cry sounded out, immediately followed by a hungry moan. “Over here, you festering, limp-dick Chewbacca.”

  “You want some of this, swamp breath?” Nicco’s voiced chimed in.

  I held a hand out before me and swatted at the darkness. The last thing I needed was to fall, camera-first, into the unforgiving tile on the floor.

  Another clang; this time I was already revved up and waiting for the noise and the funk to be brought.

  Moans filled the air.

  “That’s what I thought you’d say,” Nicco answered the moans.

  I pushed my way through strips of heavy plastic dangling from the ceiling. When the path was clear, a dim light shone through the front window to reveal the glory that was a shop full of ingredients.

  And a zombie.

  Frenzy swung out at the Moaner, missing it completely. Nicco stepped up to the plate and whiffed his own swing and
a miss. They continued like the Two Stooges for far too long. Without permission or shame, I filmed. This moment in time would come in quite handy when it was necessary to bend Frenzy to my will.

  Before the clown show got out of hand, I called out, “Frenzy, use your damn knife.”

  “Christ, Jingo,” Frenzy shouted, his voice stripped of its usual brogue. “You could have reminded me of that a bit sooner.”

  In the bat of an eye, Frenzy had the knife opened. The glint of sunlight caught the blade to send a harsh beam splashing down on the face of the zombie. In the added light, the beast’s flesh looked as thin and frail as wet paper and as pale as dried wood glue. A spaghetti work of veins spread across his face, under the sickly flesh.

  The Moaner dove at Nicco, its stick-skinny legs catching together to send it into a dance with gravity. Nicco couldn’t hold the weight of the creature, so they both went down. Before the dog pile grew deadly, Frenzy grabbed a handful of the zombie’s hair, yanked up hard enough to force the Moaner to look toward the ceiling, and plunged the blade of the knife into the right eye of the Moaner.

  The zombie went completely limp and dropped to the floor. The sound of the knife slipping out of the eyeball was moist and sloppy. As I stared at the fluid-slick blade, memories of my last girlfriend bubbled to the surface. We were lab partners in Biology and she always managed to be absent on the days we did anything with eyeballs.

  “Sara,” I whispered, my brain threatening to spend the next hour romanticizing tenth grade.

  Frenzy and Nicco turned back to me and said in unison, “What?”

  I shook my head. “Nothing, nothing.”

  Nicco rushed the front door, unlocked the dual dead bolts, and invited the gang in. When he returned, he snatched the camera from me and filmed. Every reaction stood in perfect harmony with the one truth we all held precious.

  “Food,” Mikko said with an almost reverent tone. She stepped into the center of the room and turned a graceful three-sixty. “If this is a dream, and anyone wakes me, I promise death will come slowly and painfully.”