by Jake Bible
I unsheathe my machete and stand over the nec. It struggles to raise its eyes to me, but its head won’t cooperate and the thing starts to hiss in frustration.
“Kill it, Garret,” my Dad’s voice whispers from directly behind me, causing me to yelp and nearly drop my blade.
“Dad!” I fume in a hushed yell, since where there is one nec there are usually others. “Don’t do that!”
“Sorry, G,” he apologizes, squeezing my shoulder. “You shouldn’t let them suffer. Just do what’s needed.”
“Yeah, I know. It’s just I wasn’t looking forward to digging.”
Part of killing a nec is disposing of the body. Even though necs don’t eat other necs, they are attracted to the dead ones. Dad has a theory on this, of course. The main problem with necs is they don’t decompose. So the body has to be covered in at least three feet of dirt or they attract others. If they decomposed, it wouldn’t be such a problem since they’d just rot away to nothing eventually. But, as I said, one of the many wonders of necs is that not only arethey dead, so are the trillions of bacteria and yeasts that inhabit a living human body. Microorganisms that would normally breakdown the dead flesh don’t. Nothing lives on or in a nec. Nothing.
We spend a lot of time burying necs.
“Kill it, G,” Dad says again.
I step close and bring the machete down through the thing’s skull. It collapses instantly and is still forever. I look at Dad and roll my eyes, take off my satchel and pull out my shovel. “Over there looks good,” I say, pointing to a spot well off the trail that doesn’t look choked with tree roots. I hate tree roots.
“I agree,” Dad says and we both pull on our heavy gloves to keep from getting infected.
Viruses are contagious. This is something Dad has drilled into me since I was old enough to understand. What changes the living into living dead is a specific virus that can be transmitted by bodily fluids, including blood, saliva and dead sweat. This isn’t one of Dad’s theories. He states this as fact. I’ve asked how he knows for sure, but he never answers and Mom usually changes the subject or stares off into space like she hasn’t heard anything.
We each grab an undead arm and pull the nec from the path. Dad and I are big folk, as Mom likes to tease. We’re not fat, that’s not really possible these days, but we are tall and muscular, so we have the thing off the path and to its final destination in no time.
“Start digging. I want to take a sample,” Dad says.
“Why? You’ve taken thousands of samples. You never find anything,” I complain, more from having to dig alone than because he’s wasting time taking a sample. “Give it a rest, Dad! They’re all the same: dead!” As soon as the words are out of my mouth I regret them. Garth. That’s why Dad takes samples. Even though I’m connected to Little Man night and day, I forget sometimes he’s a nec. He’s just, you know, my brother. “Sorry.”
Dad gives me a weak smile, but I can see that it’ll be a while before he lets my comments go.
“Just dig, Garret,” he mutters as he pulls out several vials and a scalpel from his own satchel and proceeds to slice bits of skin and hair from the corpse.
I push the shovel blade into the ground and start furiously tossing dirt to the side. Usually I don’t let things get to me, having an undead twin teaches you patience, but this time…well, it’s my BIRTHDAY!
After a few shovelfuls of dirtaccidentally stray towards Dad he sets the vials aside and stands, giving me his sternest look.
“So, what’s eating you?” he asks, his hands on his hips, ready to argue.
“Nothing,” I mutter and continue digging.
“Out with it, Garret. I don’t need any whining today.”
“You don’t…?” I toss the shovel on the ground and laugh. “Oh, well, wouldn’t want to get in the way of Dr. Weir’s important day!” He starts to speak, but I cut him off. “Do you even know what day it is?”
“Of course. It’s Thursday, August 29.” He just stands there, all grumpy faced, and I wait for it to hit him. Three…two…one… “Oh, crap! It’s your birthday! I’m so sorry, G.”
“You’re about a foot and a half too late for sorry, Dad,” I grumble, picking up my shovel and starting at the hole again.
“Stop, Garret. I’ll finish for you. I really am sorry I forgot.”
“I’m sure you are, but I’m already a sweaty mess so I might as well finish up here. Why don’t you go pick blackberries. I’ll be down to the creek to wash off in a minute.” He starts to speak again, but once more I cut him off. “Just go. I’ll be there soon.”
He gives me an apologetic nod, grabs up his things and heads back to the trail.
I keep digging.
Find more information on Little Dead Man at www.jakebible.com
Jake Bible lives in Asheville, NC with his wife and two kids. He is the author the Apex Trilogy (DEAD MECH, The Americans, Metal and Ash), Bethany and the Zombie Jesus, Stark- An Illustrated Novella, and the forthcoming YA horror novels Little Dead Man (November 2012) and Intentional Haunting (2013). Check out Friday Night Drabble Party every week! Free drabbles for all! Find him at jakebible.com.