by Perrin Briar
“The same thing that killed the jaguar,” he said.
A pheasant whistled and honked as it flew from a bush and floated on the air away from them. Fritz, Ernest and Jack spun around, wary, cudgels raised. Bill bent down, looking at the snapped foliage on the ground. He pressed the foliage over to one side.
“He went this way,” Bill said, following the tracks.
“I can’t make out any footprints,” Fritz said.
“That’s because they’re not footprints,” Bill said. “It’s a handprint. He doesn’t move the way we do. It seems to twist around in circles, scratching anything that gets close to it. Here, look. He damaged another tree.”
“Maybe he’s doing it to remember where he’s going,” Ernest said. “Some animals do that.”
“Maybe,” Bill said. He didn’t sound convinced.
At times the tracks consisted of footprints, other times handprints with missing fingers, but most were indented circles, like someone had pushed their elbow into the soil. There were more deep scratches in the trees—always at different depths and angles; sometimes curled up from the base of the tree, sometimes an entire trunk had been denuded as if a bear had used it to sharpen its claws.
Then they heard an odd sound, a whooshing noise like a man shaking his head side to side rapidly, letting his cheeks flap against his teeth.
Flap, flap, flap. Flap, flap.
“What in God’s name was that?” Fritz said.
The sound quietened, and then came again.
Flap, flap. Flap.
“What is that?” Fritz said.
The Flowers crawled up a small rise on their forearms and peered down into the dimple of land amongst the trees. Something moved amongst them, hacking at a sequoia like a samurai at a block of wood.
“Oh my God,” Jack said. “What is that?”
It was in a constant state of motion, twisting and turning, performing an inelegant form of acrobatics that would make the performers at Cirque du Soleil envious. The creature had four limbs—each of them at the corner of its body. Two of the limbs ended with stubs, one resembling a human foot, the other a claw. It was hard to make out details with the way it was spinning around in circles and kicking up dirt and foliage from the jungle floor. It never stopped moving, always spinning and turning over and rolling in the dirt, like an uncoordinated break dancer. As it spun it made a strange noise, like a washing machine with a broken rubber ring.
Flap, flap, flap, flap.
“What’s wrong with it?” Jack said. “It’s attacking everything it gets close to.”
Fritz turned to Jack.
“Bang goes your theory about intelligent zombies,” he said. “These things must be the dumbest things to have walked the earth.”
“What is it?” Ernest said. “An alien?”
“I think it used to be a man,” Bill said. “You see the limbs? I think they’re arms and legs.”
“Let’s go put it out of its misery,” Fritz said.
“How?” Jack said “It doesn’t have a head!”
The others peered at the unfortunate creature.
“Huh,” Bill said. “Would you look at that. How didn’t any of us notice that?”
“Maybe because zombies never seem to use their heads, we forgot to check if this one even had one,” Fritz said.
“You can see the severed neck where it used to be,” Bill said. “That’s what must be making that flapping noise.”
“I think I’m going to be sick,” Jack said.
“What happened to him?” Ernest said. “He should be dead.”
“By all rights it should be,” Bill said. “But then nature never held much sway over these things. There are stories of chickens losing their heads and being able to survive for days after. They’re not really alive of course, but the muscles of the creatures keep firing and it gives the appearance of animation.”
The creature bounced off a tree, scratched it, and then spun in the opposite direction.
“How come we haven’t seen one of them before now?” Ernest said.
“For all we know they might be all over the world,” Bill said. “We were just lucky enough to have not have seen them before.”
“How do we kill it?” Fritz said.
“I’m not sure,” Bill said.
“Usually we smack their heads in and it’s game over,” Fritz said. “But this one…”
“This thing could very well still carry the virus,” Bill said. “We must be careful. We’ll start by breaking its limbs. With no claws it’ll be helpless.”
Fritz watched the creature rotated in a never-ending spin, volley after volley raining down on the trees around it. It looked like a robot gone haywire.
“It doesn’t look like it’ll be all that helpless to me,” he said.
Ernest got up onto his knees. If the creature turned he would have been clearly visible. Bill put his hand on Ernest’s arm.
“Ernest?” Bill said. “What are you doing? Get down!”
“It doesn’t have eyes,” Ernest said. “It can’t see us.”
“It might have some other way of sensing us,” Bill said.
“We’d be better prepared if we know, won’t we?” Ernest said.
Bill thought for a moment and then released his grip on Ernest’s arm. Ernest stood up. He looked down at the creature. Ernest’s knees felt weak. He worked his dry mouth. What if he was wrong?
“Hey,” Ernest said.
The creature didn’t respond.
“Hey!” Ernest said, louder and with more confidence.
The creature froze, turned in Ernest’s direction, and then spun around in circles.
“It’s okay,” Ernest said to the others. “It can’t hear or sense us.”
The creature hacked at a tree with its nails, coiling and flying out, painting the bark black with its bloody finger stubs.
The Flowers stood up and descended the short incline, giving one another swinging space. They surrounded the creature. They kept an eye out around them, but there didn’t appear to be more of the spinning creatures. It spun before them now, moving slowly and in no particular direction. Bill raised his cudgel and the others followed suit, waiting for the creature to strike. It never did.
Bill took the initiative, running forward and striking the creature across the chest. There was a solid thump, and the creature bounced back from the blow, like a top that had struck a wall, toward Fritz, who beat the creature across the back. The flesh caved in, but the creature did not stop. It only spun faster, this time toward Ernest, who struck it across the left arm, which snapped. It came toward Jack, faster than ever, but he swung his cudgel and it connected with the creature’s leg.
It rained blows on their armour as the Flowers’ assault slowed. They could hardly keep up with the spinning creature as it was passed from one member to another, like piggy in the middle, except the Flowers felt like they were the piggies.
“It’s getting faster!” Fritz said, swinging at it again.
“Break its legs!” Bill said.
The creature’s legs were now up in the air, and it stood on its deformed arms. The Flowers swung at the legs. The bones cracked, snapping in a dozen places. The legs flopped to one side, and the creature spun on one of its broken limbs like a child’s bicycle wheel after an accident. The Flowers attacked again, this time breaking the creature’s ribs and spine, hips and every other bone they could target. But it had no effect. The creature only spun faster and faster, absorbing their blows and turning them into energy.
“It’s not working!” Fritz said. “He’s just getting faster!”
“I have an idea!” Ernest said. “Cover me for a second.”
Fritz stepped into Ernest’s position, filling the gap. Ernest looked up at the canopy overhead and jumped, stretching for a length of vine. His fingers grazed it. He jumped again and managed to grab it. He tugged it down. The vine came loose, but Ernest didn’t pull the end free, and let it stay attached to the treetops. He ran for
ward and hurled the vines at the creature. It struck the creature’s torso and then hit the ground.
“Wow,” Fritz said. “That’s an awesome ultimate weapon you’ve got there.”
“Wait for it,” Ernest said.
Bill batted the creature, and it spun away from him, running over the vine. It tightened, and as the creature spun the vines wrapped around its limbs, lashing the creature together tighter and tighter. The vine spilled from the trees, slowing the creature as its straightjacket grew bulky. The creature slowed, but never really stopped moving. Its body thrusted and writhed within its cocoon, but it had stopped spinning.
“Well done, Ernest,” Bill said, hands on his knees and breathing in deep breaths. “There was no way we were going to be able to stop it the way we were going.”
“Did you see it getting faster?” Fritz said. “The harder we hit it the faster it spun!”
“It’s still moving,” Ernest said. “I don’t suppose it’ll ever stop.”
The vines throbbed like a heartbeat as the creature continued to jerk, like a bird jabbing at the inside of its shell to get out.
“What are we going to do with it?” Fritz said.
“Burn it, I suppose,” Bill said. “There’s nothing else that will stop it.”
The vine cocoon began to turn anticlockwise, unspooling.
“Uh, guys,” Jack said.
One arm came loose as the vines slackened. Then another limb came free, and the creature began to spin in the opposite direction to the one it had when it was trussed up. Soon the torso was visible. Fritz and Ernest stepped forward with their cudgels.
“What do we do now?” Fritz said.
“Switch to blades,” Bill said.
The boys exchanged wary expressions. Bill had never suggested they do that before. They holstered their cudgels and reached back for the handles jutting out over their heads. Bill and Fritz sported razor sharp machetes, Ernest and Jack short-handled axes with flint blades.
The creature was winding free of the last of its prison, gaining purchase on the ground. Bill roared and ran at the creature, slamming it through the chest, pinning it to the tree behind it. It jerked and convulsed and spun around in a circle like a wheel. The boys rushed forward and hacked at it, crushing the bones and arms and rotten flesh, but it seemed to have no effect as the creature kept spinning, lashing out at them.
Exhausted, Jack fell back. Bill took up his axe and hacked at the creature with venom. Arms shaking and unable to lift his axe again, Ernest joined Jack. Only Bill and Fritz still slashed at the creature. Bill brought his axe down on it, severing one arm, and then again, another arm, and then, with two powerful hacks, at the creature’s legs. Its limbs fell to the ground, convulsing. Bill and Fritz, panting for oxygen, stepped back.
The creature tore free of the machete through its chest, tearing a chunk of its flesh away, a mass of decomposed innards sloshing to the ground. The creature, body still convulsing, pulled itself away. It was gone, but its limbs remained, writhing on the forest floor.
“Don’t touch them!” Bill said.
“I’m not going to,” Fritz said.
He approached the limbs and made a noose with a length of the discarded vine. He lowered it around the arm and let it tighten around it as the arm twisted. He picked it up, holding it like a demon from hell. He did the same with the second arm.
“This is pointless,” Ernest said. “We shouldn’t be thinking of them as zombies. They’re not zombies. They’re something else. We need to approach them differently.”
“How?” Fritz said.
“I don’t know,” Ernest said. “But there must be a way.”
“I’m all ears,” Fritz said. “All I know is we just got our asses handed to us. What I don’t understand is I thought smashing their brains in would end them. If they can operate without brains they’ve got no weakness!”
“Destroying anything’s brain is meant to kill it!” Ernest said.
“Then why hasn’t it this time?” Fritz said.
“All viruses are known to require a living host to propagate,” Bill said. He was deep in thought, thinking out loud. “But this virus has never needed a living host. In fact, the moment it infects someone, it kills them so it can take control of all their bodily functions. There is nothing usual about this virus, except perhaps the way it spreads. It needs new hosts all the time. No new hosts, and it ceases to grow.”
The Flower boys held the severed body parts up like a ghastly baby’s mobile. One of the pieces, the upper right arm, had a tattoo. It was a black circle, a snake consuming its own tail.
“Pretty groovy design,” Fritz said.
“It’s an Egyptian symbol of everlasting life,” Bill said.
“Looks like whoever owned the tattoo got exactly what he wanted,” Ernest said. “If not quite the way he expected.”
“What do we do with these pieces?” Fritz said.
“There’s only one thing we can do with them,” Bill said.
Flap, flap.
Flap, flap, flap.
Flap, flap.
“It’s coming back,” Fritz said.
“I don’t think it’s just one,” Bill said.
The foliage burst open, and a dozen of the disgusting creatures flew out of it, spinning and grasping, kicking and punching at any and all contenders, living or alive.
The Flowers ran.
Chapter Three
THE SKIN cracked and popped, and the smoke smelled like fried bacon a month past its use-by date. The limbs, still jerking and jiving, crawled out of the fire in different directions, leaving a zigzag trail of fire in their wake.
Bill collected them and tossed them back onto the fire. He watched, unblinking, as the pieces of undead flesh finally stopped moving under their own volition and only jerked under the popping of burning wood.
The night air was chilly. Bill hugged his jumper around himself and poked at the blackened shards of bone that remained in the fire.
“Penny for your thoughts,” Liz said.
Bill looked up and was surprised to find it was dark.
“Where are the boys?” he said.
“They’re asleep,” Liz said.
“How long have I been staring at the fire?” Bill said.
“About three hours,” Liz said. “Something on your mind?”
“It’s nothing,” Bill said.
Liz gave Bill a look as if she didn’t believe him.
“It’s these creatures,” Bill said. “We had one of them. We beat it, hammered it, hacked it up into pieces until we were exhausted, and it still ran away. Nothing should still be alive after a beating like that. But it’s out there somewhere causing havoc. There’s no way to beat them.”
“Of course there’s a way to beat them,” Liz said. “We just haven’t thought of it yet.”
“Short of setting fire to the entire island, there’s nothing we can do,” Bill said. “They’re unstoppable.”
“Nothing is unstoppable,” Liz said.
“These things are,” Bill said. “There’s no way around that. Maybe if we had a pit of acid we could drop them all in…”
Bill shook his head.
“It’s no good,” he said. “They’ve evolved beyond anything we’ve seen up to now. I’m sick of nature being against us. When is it going to work in our favour?”
“Does anything ever really work in our favour?” Liz said. “That’s how life makes itself interesting, by making it unpredictable.”
She leaned her head against Bill’s shoulder.
“I think I’d prefer a boring life,” Bill said.
“We’ll come up with something,” Liz said. “You’ll see. Come on. Let’s go to bed and think this through in the morning.”
Bill’s legs felt stiff. He walked bent and hunched over. He leaned back, stretching the muscles in his back. He turned to follow Liz, and stopped. He turned back to the ashes. Something was snagged on an upturned log. It was a singed square flap of skin. It had a t
attoo on it—the snake swallowing its tail. Bill picked it up and held it in his hand. It was still warm.
There was something about it, something that held his attention, something he remembered… He turned it around at ninety-degree intervals, and then stopped. His eyes grew wide and he dropped the square of skin.
“Oh my God,” he said, face turning pale. “That’s impossible.”
“What?” Liz said. “What is it?”
“This is the tattoo from the creature we caught today,” Bill said.
“Yeah, so?” Liz said.
“I thought I recognised it when we were hitting it,” Bill said. “Now I know where I saw it before.”
“Wait,” Liz said. “You’ve seen this before?”
“Yes,” Bill said. “I have. I know who the creature was. He was the noisy man in the bar from The Adventurer, at the next table to us. I remember looking at him, annoyed because it was hard to hear the radio. He turned back to his friend and I saw this on the back of his arm.”
Bill picked up the skin and extended it to Liz, who scrunched up her face and didn’t take it.
“So?” Liz said. “What difference does it make who he was?”
“It makes a difference because he was a zombie, and we killed him,” Bill said.
“What do you mean?” Liz said. “When did we kill him?”
“Soon after we first arrived on the island,” Bill said. “He’s buried in our graveyard!”
Chapter Four
THE GRAVES stood open like sardine cans, the dirt forced out, lying in ordered mounds. Scruffy trails ran from the inside of each one, the scuff marks of clawed hands and dragging feet.
“This is great,” Fritz said. “We kill them, bury them, and then they come back stronger and worse than they were before!”
He threw up his hands.
“That’s just great!” he said. “All this time we thought we were wiping them out, when actually we were incubating them to become even more dangerous! Now we have an island full of mindless killing machines running rampant. A single scratch from which could well infect us with the virus!”
“We can’t call them zombies,” Ernest said.