Zombie, Ohio

by Scott Kenemore

  Perhaps an hour later, Vanessa returned.

  "I'm not mad anymore," she announced. "I won't say that I understand what you did completely, but I'm not mad. And I want you to know that. I really believe you were just acting according to your ... nature."

  So I had that much.

  "Can I ask some more questions then?" I said.

  "Of course you can," she said almost cheerily, as if my hesitation was risible.

  "Even with the gangs, why don't you guys make a break for the Green Zone?"

  "I think your idea of `the Green Zone' is a little exaggerated," she said.

  "Okay," I replied. "Then where are the soldiers coming from? Where's headquarters?"

  "Columbus and Cleveland, as far as I know," she said. "But they've mostly got their hands full just keeping order and trying to feed the populace. Let me guess: You've seen a few helicopters fly over, and now you think there's an armada of planes and tanks out along 71. Tell me, Peter, have you actually seen 71?"

  "Not actually," I told her.

  "Well, it's pretty fucking sparse," Vanessa said. "Now and then you do see a military truck go by, but it's not like a communist military parade."

  "Oh," I said.

  "The army's top priority right now is not rescuing people who ignored the messages strongly suggesting they go to the nearest population center," Vanessa continued. "Frankly, I think they knew this would happen-that the countryside would become lawless and go to hell. I think they knew it was coming, and just wrote it off. They could save the cities, but fuck the people left out here. So we-those of us `out here'-have to face the fact that we made the wrong decision, and deal with it."

  "But what's happening now, with us ... with me?" I asked.

  She smiled, as though I had hit on something important. "We're in touch with the military a little bit," Vanessa said. "Sometimes we can raise them on the walkie-talkies. Turns out they're interested in the Kernel. You knew that, right? I think you did. Anyhow, the consensus is that we offer to hand you over in exchange for being airlifted to Columbus or Cleveland."

  "That's fine," I said. "I know you're not asking for my permission, but that's fine. I'll go willingly. I don't know what the military will do with me-study me, probably but it's not like they can hurt me, or make me feel pain, so whatever. What I'm trying to say is: If it helps you and these people get to somewhere safe, I'll turn myself in."

  "We're still keeping you tied to the tree," Vanessa said matter- of-factly. "It's not my idea, but-"

  "That's cool," I said, cutting her off. "I'm sort of bored with walking around, anyway."

  "Thanks for understanding," she said, and actually touched my arm.

  Feelings stirred.

  "So the plan is, what?" I asked. "We call for the helicopters and wait here for them to pick us up?"

  "It's not that simple," she said. "More than one gang is hunting us. The trick is finding a safe place where they can airlift everybody out. All of us. I mean, we made a good go of it, but if you're not constantly killing and looting, you run out of resources pretty fast out here. We want a helicopter big enough for everyone in this group.

  "What about Kenton College?" I suggested.

  "What about it?" Vanessa said.

  "Well, it's up on a hill," I told her. "Seems like it would be easy to land a helicopter up there-even a great big one. Plus, it's easily defensible from all sides-which makes it safer than an open field or something. Because of the elevation, you can see people coming from a long way away. I haven't been there since I went back to see Sam, but I'd bet they're still holding out. A gang would really have to want it to try and take the college."

  "Yeah?" Vanessa said, seeming, at least, to take me seriously.

  "I'm totally serious," I said. "It's the best place around here. I may have amnesia, but I've seen a fuckload of this county, and Kenton is the best place in it for what you're talking about."

  "Okay, hang on a second," Vanessa said, and drifted away to the other side of a dark minivan. Soon, I heard voices. My handlers, still chewing some Skoal, watched me absently from the log. One of them spat.

  Vanessa returned, with George trailing after her. He looked even madder than before. I instinctively braced for further assaults.

  "Oh, hell-" I began to say.

  George pushed past Vanessa and shoved me against the tree.

  "Are you lying, you sick, zombie bastard?" he shouted. "Are you lying, huh? Trying to get us all killed by your zombie friends at the college? Are you? Are you?"

  He once again gripped my hand and popped out the broken finger I'd worked so hard to reposition.

  "Why would I do that?" I shouted back, pulling away my hand.

  "Because we destroyed your zombie army and all your little zombie friends," he said in a bilious bark. "That's why. Tell me you don't want revenge, you stinking thing!"

  "I'd like to kill you, right now," I said honestly. "I'd like to eat your brain, but only because you're being a giant dick. As to the rest of your group-whatever, shit happens out here. It's not personal."

  "What he said makes a lot of sense," Vanessa interjected. "I've been to Kenton College, and he's right. It's up on a hill. It's being defended by a friendly group, and they know Peter. It's a wooded hill, too, but clear on top. Nobody would know we were there. It's perfect."

  "And I suppose that this `friendly group' will also want an airlift out?" George said.

  "So what if they do, George?" Vanessa countered. "What difference would it make if some other people got helped, too? There can't be that many."

  This seemed to fluster him for a moment.

  "I just don't like it," George said. "It's too easy. And I don't feel comfortable trusting-or even talking to-a fucking undead zombie."

  He turned to face me.

  "Tell me, fucking undead zombie, why are you giving us advice?" he said. "Why are you doing that, hmmm?"

  "Because I care about Vanessa," I said. "Someone with as simple a brain as yours might not be able to understand that, but it's true. I have a few memories of her, and they're all good. I have feelings for this woman. I care about what happens to her."

  "You're fucking lying," George asserted, pushing me against the tree again.

  "No, I'm not," I said.

  "I don't think he is," Vanessa said to George.

  "Fine, so we're trusting zombies now," George said. "Is it that desperate? Has it all devolved that much? Fuck! I guess it has!" He punched the air and walked away.

  "They've just talked to the military again," Vanessa said. "That's why he's so pissed off. This thing actually might happen. We've been moving from place to place for so long, hoping for something like this."

  "Is that guy, like, the leader?" I asked.

  "No," Vanessa said. "He's just a jerk who talks a lot."

  Another hour passed. More cars and trucks came and went. Mostly, they went. Then official word arrived from the only remaining van-where, presumably, the radio was. The military had agreed. It was on. The next day at sunset, we would meet their helicopters at the hill at Kenton College. In exchange for the Kernel-the famous zombie that could think and talk-the military would airlift everybody present to Columbus. Word was passed through the quiet, sleeping camp.

  Vanessa approached the tree where I was tied and sat down next to me. I remained standing. I wondered when Vanessa slept. I was a tireless zombie, but surely, Vanessa needed to rest.

  As if reading my thoughts, she said: "I won't be able to sleep tonight. I'm so excited. This is finally all coming together. Hell, I might get to have an actual shower tomorrow."

  "Heh," I said. "Shower. I can't remember my last one. And that's not a figure of speech. I honestly can't."

  I tittered.

  "Laugh it up, zombie boy," Vanessa said. "You have no idea what I'd do for a hot bath right now."

  Because she seemed in a good humor, I decided to bring up something delicate that had been concerning me. "So, your sister and your daughters ... ," I beg
an. "I haven't seen them around here. Are they okay?"

  "Yeah, they're fine," Vanessa responded, much to my relief. "There are two camps in this group-there were three, before you killed our guys by the quarry. Kate and the girls are with the other camp. We're in touch by radio. They're going to meet us at the college tomorrow."

  "How are your kids holding up?" I asked.

  "It's all relative," Vanessa said. "I can't imagine going through this as a child, you know? It's crazy. But I think they're doing okay. They're good kids. I'm so relieved that I'll be able to get them out of here tomorrow. You have no idea."

  "You didn't bring them along when you came here?" I said.

  "They're safer where they are, with Kate and the others," Vanessa said. "This area has more gang activity."

  "Yeah," I said. "Cool."

  It was crazy. I felt like a guy on a first date, straining to make small talk with Vanessa. Though my memories were spotty, I could get glimpses of how I'd fallen in love with this woman. She was beautiful, yes. (Though, as a zombie, I tended to regard beauty in a somewhat more abstract way than I had in my previous life.) Yet while I was detached from several aspects of physicality, I should not give the impression that I was entirely unmoved by Vanessa's charms. Even if it had been a good three months since her last shower.

  Looking into her face-strained and creased from the stress of the situation, but still undeniably comely and gentle-I found I still harbored the ability to feel romantic love. I had forgotten our first meeting and our first kiss, but these omissions did not detract from my impressions of the woman sitting in front of me. It was a face I could watch for hours.

  As the night drew on, that was exactly what I did.

  It was just before dawn when they attacked.

  Most of the camp was asleep. The ones who couldn't sleep-or who had night watch-had settled into a trancelike predawn state. Vanessa had curled up near me like a little girl dozing next to the family dog in the yard. (Despite her protestations that she would not be able to sleep, she now snored soundly.) In the entire camp, I was the only one standing.

  I was thinking about the roads leading up to Kenton College and the different approaches you could make. I wanted to make sure Vanessa's group appeared friendly, and that no one became alarmed. (My cynical side envisioned nightmare scenarios where everyone got scared and fired on one another, and Vanessa and Sam were both accidentally killed.) As it turned out, I was getting way, way ahead of myself.

  In the cold, blue-black moments before dawn, I heard something moving in the trees on the edge of the camp. A twig snapped. Then another. Then there was a shuffling of feet.

  Then nothing, but a pregnant kind of nothing.

  Not wanting to betray that I'd heard anything, I slowly turned in the direction of the trees and tried to look them over without appearing too interested. (I was, in fact, very interested. As my eyes began to focus, I also became terrified.)

  Ranged along the nearby tree line were ten or fifteen shadowy figures. At least one of them wore the remnants of a bright-orange prison jumpsuit under an overcoat. They were not zombies. These figures were very much alive.

  In alarm, I shifted my furtive gaze back to the sleeping camp. There were maybe fifteen or twenty of Vanessa's compatriots still here. Twenty-five, tops. (I couldn't see inside the van or anything.) Counting me, maybe two or three of us were awake. I had only moments in which to act.

  "Vanessa?" I whispered from the corner of my mouth, and kicked her.

  "Mmmm ..."

  "Listen to me," I began (my quiet, zombie-rasp finally proving to be an advantage). "Don't look right away, but there's a bunch of guys in those trees over there. Lean over really slowly and take a look. Are they yours? Do you know them?"

  She groggily obeyed, then froze when she made them out.

  "No," Vanessa responded. "Oh, Jesus."

  "Okay," I told her. "The first thing I need you to do is untie me. This collar has a release. I can do it myself, if you just untie my hands. Crawl over now, slowly, and do it. Do it now!" Vanessa obeyed. I watched the tree line from the corner of my eyes as she fiddled with clasps and ties. If they sprang upon us now, it would almost certainly be a lost cause. The lurking men occasionally turned their heads-signaling or speaking with one another-but remained where they were.

  "How many guns do you have on you?" I asked while she untied.

  "Just my rifle," she said.

  I had hoped it would be at least two.

  "The only chance we have is to get them to take cover," I rasped. "If they start shooting first-or rush the rest of the camp while it's still asleep-you're all done for."

  Vanessa freed my hands. I slowly moved my arms up and unlocked my collar.

  "Here's what we're gonna do," I told her. "When I say so, I want you to start firing into the trees. I also want you to start shouting. It'll just take a second for people to realize what's going on and pick up their guns. In the meantime, I'm going to try to draw their fire."

  "What?" Vanessa said, shocked.

  "I mean I'm going to charge directly at them," I told her in a hoarse gurgle. "I'm bulletproof, unless they hit my brain."

  "Peter, that's crazy," she said.

  "Look, I had a good run-a couple, in fact," I told her. "Anyway, it's all that I can think of right now. So I want you to pick up your rifle very slowly, with your back to the trees." She obeyed, falling to one knee and snatching up the weapon. "Okay, here we go," I told her.

  "Peter," she said, in a failing voice. "I don't know if you're still the same `you' I used to know, but you're still a good person. And I still ..."

  Something stirred in the trees. The men were advancing, guns raised. We both turned and saw it. There was no time for words.

  "Shoot!" I shouted at Vanessa. As she did, I raised my arms over my head like a playful parent impersonating a monster. Vanessa began emptying her gun and screaming that the camp should awaken. Her shots were loud, and the people around us started.

  Meanwhile, I charged toward the aggressors emerging from the trees. They were a mean-looking crew, perhaps entirely comprised of escaped prisoners. (It was impossible to know for sure.) They were armed with a variety of implements. Handguns and rifles, sure, but I also made out a couple of glistening swords and at least one rusty ax.

  "Look at me!" I shouted as I ran. "I'm a zombie! I'm coming to get you! Yea{i!irigh!!"

  I was not about to win any auditions for a monster movie. (I could already imagine the director's notes: "Too cheesy, etc." "This is not a kids' film." "Zombies don't say `I'm a zombie."') However, my actions did have the desired effect. I was almost instantly rewarded with a variety of small-arms fire. Most of it missed, but a shotgun blast caught me in the chest and sent me sprawling on my ass. I was back on my feet again in an instant, as if spring-loaded.

  "Is that all you got?" I cried. "You better shoot me again, fuckface!"

  Behind me, Vanessa reloaded her rifle and continued firing. The gang of aggressors seemed to have retreated to the edge of the trees, but they had also started firing into the camp in steady bursts. Several of the camp members sprang up and started running. I saw at least two get shot down. My heart sank at this sight, and I redoubled my efforts.

  "Yeahhogh!!" I screamed again, advancing once more. "You didn't kill me! Come and get me, you bastards!" A few more bursts erupted from the trees-clearly directed at me-but nothing else hit. More people from Vanessa's camp got up and were moving. Some got the right idea and shot back from their prone positions.

  Then the gang charged out of the forest.

  Suddenly, everyone was everywhere. Dark, confusing violence ensued. Almost every person-friend and foe-had guns, but it was nearly hand-to-hand combat. I thought of a Revolutionary War battle, where it's like, yeah, you've got muskets, but once the two armies meet, everyone's just screaming and stabbing and shooting up close.

  All I could think about was Vanessa. The shots from her rifle were soon drowned out by bursts from other
guns, and by screaming. I was drawing fire, but not enough. Everyone was running, and it was very, very dark. I heard horrible cries from people who were wounded or dying. I'm pretty sure there was also a lot of friendly-fire going on too, on both sides.

  At one point, I spotted the attacker who still wore his orange Mansfield Correctional jumpsuit, and jumped on his back. He was carrying an ax, but he dropped it the moment I grabbed him. He thrashed in my grip, but I kicked hard at the backs of his legs until he went down. Then I got my hands around his neck and choked him until I thought my thumbs would fall off. He was a skinny, underfed-looking guy, and it didn't take long for him to go limp beneath me. When he stopped moving, I grabbed the ax and made short work of the back of his head.

  I grabbed some of his brain and downed it before continuing. It galvanized me, like fucked-up Popeye spinach.

  I spied a man hastily reloading a shotgun while taking cover behind the radio van. He did not see me, but I couldn't say if he was friend or foe. (I cursed myself for not having paid closer attention to the faces of those in Vanessa's group.) I hesitated until he raised the shotgun and fired. I followed the line of sight where he had aimed, and saw the red-haired boy from the enamel factory slumped over dead. That was all I needed to see.

  I crept up behind the man-holding the aforementioned ax as I did so-and chopped hard into his face, right at the eyes. The blade went halfway through his head, and his body made terrific, spastic contortions, as if electrified. I chopped again and again, going deeper into him each time. Hunks of skin and fleshy matter fell away. He dropped to his knees, dead, but with his fingertips still spasming.

  As I admired my work, someone shot me twice in the back. I felt the slugs pass through (not pleasant-not unpleasant), and I turned to see an older man with wild, white hair leveling an automatic pistol at me. He fired again, nicking my right shoulder. I raised the ax and chopped him hard. The ax head went halfway through his neck. He let out an astonished wheeze before falling face-first into the grass.