Call Me Human: A Zombie Apocalypse Novel

by Sergei Marysh

  Still, even realizing that answers to these questions won't get me anywhere near comprehending the objective world, I still desire to get them. That's human nature for you: we experience perverted pleasure as we get entangled in our futile attempts to learn everything about everything. Futility, that's the main human word. It describes us to the bone.

  ***

  So, I desired to see the causes of the catastrophe. And I did, the very same moment, seeing through the true nature of the outbreak, its sources and hidden antecedents, the combination of all the undetectable factors and influences that had led humanity to it.

  The knowledge shattered me. It belonged to the domain where the ideas of good and evil didn't apply any more. But — and that's the most important — all my attempts to verbalize it in order to write it down failed. I couldn't write a word! This knowledge was so alien in nature that we couldn't describe it in our terms. But now I'll try — not that I have a choice, really.

  The causes of the pandemic are clear as day but to our human mind they may seem unpleasant or even outrageous: we don't like dealing with things outside our control.

  The pandemic was unavoidable, predetermined at a time when humanity didn't even exist. The catastrophe was caused by balanced disruption, although it had nothing to do with our planet and wasn't caused by a human. The initial disturbance took place somewhere in the centre of Creation, and it wasn't a disturbance as we see it. It was an imperative event, prerequisite for the unshakable universal balance: unshakable, because nothing and no one is capable of disturbing it. But such a disturbance called for compensation, which happened according to our current laws of Nature.

  The said compensation made waves which in due time reached our world which, as I discovered, is situated on the ontological periphery of the central Source of All. For that reason, its influences take time to reach us and arrive pretty distorted, which in this case resulted in the zombie virus epidemic which mowed humanity down to the last people. But due to the inconceivable harmony reigning the Universe, this event proved to be much needed and much awaited on our planet.

  "Long overdue" is a good word to describe it. Together with most land species, in less than a month humanity was wiped off the map, because in the natural course of things (you can call it divine design, if you like), our planet had to be cleared for something else. It had happened many times before when Neanderthals, mammoths, dinosaurs and a plethora of earlier species unknown to man had to face their death.

  The ancient sages rightly said we lived in the end of the Kali Yuga, the Dark Age. But the interpretation of their words was all wrong. We expected the Golden Age, the Age of Aquarius, to replace it, so that humanity could finally enjoy a blissful life in a new paradise. And this is exactly what's going to happen now — bar humanity. It looks like the Kali Yuga was the Age of Man. Its decline manifested the end of the human race.

  You could probably describe it as Harvest Time. The inhabitants of our planet have, if I may put it, ripened, so now it's time for the Universe to reap them, the way you reap all crops. It's not easy to accept that you are nothing but somebody else's food, but there's no way around it: humanity's final sufferings (and those of other species) served another species' good, although "good" isn't the word I'd personally use. Or you can look at it another way: Mother Nature, in its eternal harmony and cost-effectiveness, made sure the death of humanity served some good.

  And still, despite the brutality of the final outbreak, from a wider, non-anthropocentric point of view it seemed logical and necessary. The catastrophe made part of the universal order and balance. Shame Cosmos knows nothing about the human sense of justice.

  Immediately I wanted to know who profited from our desolation. I could see that it wasn't the virus itself but a new force, vastly superior to us, which used the virus as a tool of destruction. The simplest and most cost-effective tool, simply because Mother Nature tends to be cost-effective.

  Whatever stood behind the virus, I can't explain it: it's beyond our language. The laws of nature make sure man is unable to perceive these things, so naturally, we don't have words to describe them.

  This force has no reasoning mind the way we have. It's so majestic, vast and powerful (however relative these words are) that it has no need for reasoning. Although it can pretend at having a mind when it takes shape of a human being, it doesn't need it. This is what the theologians of old must have meant by "peace beyond understanding": not that such peace was inconceivable, but rather, its absolute superiority over reason and even conscious mind itself. But it is inconceivable, as well: that little is true.

  I can only give you some idea of it, a metaphor of sorts. If this force could throw off a shadow, which in turn threw off a shadow of its own, which in its turn threw off another shadow, etc, etc, and if I chose a shadow somewhere in the middle of this endless shady row, I could probably describe it as Life. And if I took another shadow closer to the end of it — although it can't have an end, of course, being limitless — I could see the irate God of the Old Testament, punishing his children for mere trifles they had committed so long ago they couldn't even remember what it was all about.

  So if you imagined reality as an hierarchy of phenomena, ranged by their position in respect to the Origin, or Source, of It All — then the force I'm speaking about would find itself outside this hierarchy. Outside, above and more real than reality itself. I do realize, of course, that the expression "find itself" is highly inaccurate.

  I understand I can't get anywhere near the right picture, but that's all I can do for you. The human mind can't handle this riddle: it retreats into its shell, not in shame, but in order to avoid its destruction.

  To summarize it, I can only say that humanity has died because it was preordained to happen. It's probably the most concise explanation. I know it sounds trite but I can't put it any better.

  ***

  I'm technically blind: my eyes can't see any more. How on earth can I be writing these words, then? Do I write at all or is it just a figment of my imagination? I have no doubts I am writing: I know for sure I'm not hallucinating. But how can I be that sure without seeing it, my hands unable to feel the pen and the notebook? Well, I do see it — after a fashion. Putting it simply, I can see myself sitting on the bed, my hand moving the pen along the page. But it's not as simple as that: this picture is only a symbol of what's really going on. I'm not hovering under the ceiling somewhere in the corner watching my own body astral-planing, the way they tell you in out-of-body-experience books. I... it really hurts me to look for words that I know don't exist.

  I "look" at this world and my writing body out of what seems to be a different dimension, a remarkably profound one. It's — it's as if I leaf through a comic book about my adventures. There, the real me is a mere drawing living out its tribulations in a picture story. But the picture is drawn on a flat sheet of paper, while the real me there is still in 3-D. So I — the real I here — with my real 3-D notebook of his travels, can see all his adventures right through it: I can open it at random and still know what's going to happen next.

  Let me put it another way. I now know for sure that everything in this world is interrelated: not just a turn of phrase, it really is. Every atom of even the most negligible of things is connected with all the other atoms in the whole of the Universe. When we step on a bug, the whole of the Universe knows about it straight away. It doesn't shudder nor resent us, but it knows. The same way, as I write in my notebook, zillions of unseen threads connect my fingers, the pen, the notebook with everything under the Sun, creating particular vibrations, characteristic of these, and only these, objects. I perceive these vibrations as they reflect from everything else, allowing me to "see" myself writing in this diary.

  If you imagine me as some ghostly bat, emitting a soundless shriek and hearing its reflection from objects and events of this world, allowing me to find my bearings, — it should make the principle pretty clear to you.

  So many words, all trying to ex
plain the word "see" — and all in vain. In any case, I wouldn't be more sure of the reality of what's going on if I saw it with my very own eyes. The only thing I'm not sure of is whether my handwriting is halfway legible these days. I can write, but I'm unable to read what I've written. The world I am in now is too different from the one where my dead body is still scribbling in the notebook. But I have no need for reading any more: I can perceive pure meaning, bypassing speech and its tongue-tied assistance.

  ***

  Having lost my body and its sensory organs, I've also lost the outer world I'm so used to. Now I'm obliged to concentrate on the inner world because it's everything I've got left. And a funny thing has transpired: which I believed to be external, is actually inside me! My body and those of other beings and things, trees and clouds, continents, the whole of the Earth and even the stars so endlessly distant — they all exist within me. There's never been anything external at all — it's just an illusion, a complex hallucination.

  Now I only have one question left. Having lost everything I believed to be me — which proved to be mine, but not myself — I just don't know who, or what, I am any more. I believed I was Igor Bernik: a body responding to a name once given to it. But the body is not around any more while I'm still here! Could I be pure reason, unsupported by anything material? But then, my mind — a combination of thoughts, ideas, mental habits, tastes and preferences — not anchored by the body any longer, is scattering like a sand castle in the wind. It's nearly gone, but I'm still here!

  What am I, then? I know that it's enough for me to focus to receive an immediate answer. Behind the curtain of my negligible self, lies the Answer to all questions, the Satisfaction of all needs. There, is the Gate and the Key, even though it looks like a tiny door, and I keep going around it in circles, like a cat around a pot of cream, getting closer but daring not enter. Something stops me. Whenever I get too close, I panic and am forced to step back; it's as if the ancient experience of previous incarnations keeps me from crossing the doorway, for I do know, I do sense, that inside lies the ultimate Death: not the destruction of body or mind, but death of my soul. This is the price you pay to enter; there's no other way to get in. Will I ever dare cross it?

  ***

  The last revelation. My mind freezes before it, impotent, and words are stuck in my throat: they're but pathetic mockery, a blasphemy. Even I... even my own self feels inappropriate in this Holy Absence. It — it's beyond.

  XX

  That's the last entry written by Igor Bernik. You'd think he simply lost ability to write and lost interest in his diary. Alternatively, he must have finally mutated, left his pit of a flat and joined the ranks of fellow sufferers, still roaming around the world...

  Luckily, we know what happened to Bernik. The diary was found on the deserted premises of a once-classified installation — apparently, the same one he mentions in the book as Castle. The notebook was found in a file marked I. Bernik Case, its pages numbered and sewn together, the ends of the threads glued together and sealed with a paper label — rubber-stamped, signed and dated. Besides the notebook, the file contained logged reports, minutes, certificates, memos, and statements, concerning the contents of the diary and the double-checking of the information mentioned in it. The owner of the file, some state security top brass, had conducted most of the work personally.

  The last few sheets written and filed by him are of especial interest to us. They're covered in nasty brown spots which, unfortunately, glued some pages together and made others hard to read. Still, these pages deserve being included into Bernik's Diary as its sequel, albeit written by another person.

  I include a copy of the text below. Initially filed as Eyes-Only, it quoted all names as an N, the way they used to do in the Russian forces.

  September 12, 20 —

  The aide has delivered the so-called Bernik Diary saying that it's been circulating among the staff for some time now. The opinions have apparently split: some tend to believe it's an authentic zombie account while others think it's a clever spoof. Quite a bit of writing, and the notebook looks pretty authentic. Our men can't have had time to think up all this drivel. I will have a look when I have some time to spare.

  September 15 20 —

  Have done. I'm in two minds about it. Looks like a fake in places, but some pages are worth looking into. He mentions our installation, calls it Castle and compares it to Kafka. Had he known how right he was. Then again, could be a spoof, and the writer could be one of the staff. It takes some insider knowledge of our paper-pushing kingdom to write something like this.

  Some of the information can be checked out quite easily. I'll keep the notebook for the time being. No official investigation though, lest it is a spoof.

  September 16 20 —

  Re.: Hospital. My source has confirmed that his special-force unit took part in the liquidation of a squat in the ex RVSN hospital building, a few kilometers from here. Reason for action: standard, contamination threat. It can mean anything.

  Spoken to General N this morning. He is also in charge of the laboratory and biological defense unit. Asked him about their contacts with the outside. He clarified a few things for me. They used to have a large project on the outside, but this summer it was closed. The dates for closure and squat liquidation are same. General made it clear they used it to beta-test new vaccine samples. Due to the project's classified nature, he couldn't go into details but let me in on a couple of things.

  Their agent controlled the squat and achieved quite a bit. They used it to conduct mass-scale experiments we couldn't perform on the inside, due to the presence of the First Person and Family, thus its classified nature. The agent himself was infected and only subsisted on our experimental vaccine. Eventually, the process went too far and he mutated. The squat was left without a controller, there was apparently no one to replace him, so they decided to close the project to stay on the safe side.

  Now the story of this "Cholera jailbird" seems to be making sense. Doesn't prove anything though: the writer can work in the lab himself or at least know someone there who spilled the beans to him.

  September 17 20 —

  Doesn't seem to make much difference whether the diary is authentic or not. Still, the answer will decide whether I can get the official investigation going. In the meantime, I treat it as a private matter.

  Yes, there is a difference. If it's authentic, then — bar all the metaphysics written under the influence of Taren-inflicted hallucinations — we're dealing with two facts:

  1. A human being turned into a zombie and was capable of keeping a diary;

  2. Immunity to the virus is possible, and we have a naturally immune person literally on our doorstep.

  Both facts are of immense practical value. Our lab specialists could get off their backsides for a change and research them in order to create a vaccine that could finally work.

  Will look into both, but not officially, not quite yet. Imagine the mockery that's going to start if it is a spoof.

  September 18 20 —

  Doesn't look as if it's a spoof. My man in Bureau N — Colonel N — put me into contact with the group commander who'd patrolled the perimeter area. He helped me find the fighters who obtained the diary and brought it in. My aide, acting on my instructions, asked them to write a report. According to him, they refused but briefed him orally on their meeting an infection carrier whose behavior was suspicious. Firstly, their encounter took place at daytime, and secondly, he walked towards them willingly carrying an object — apparently, a figurine of sorts (sic!). They liquidated him according to their instructions. A full body search produced the diary which they smuggled inside the perimeter just for kicks. The personnel took turns reading it until one of the officers confiscated it and it started doing its rounds among senior staff.

  On my orders, Colonel N put heat on the group commander. I expect their report tomorrow, with a detailed description of the figurine.

  September 19 20 —

&n
bsp; I've got the report. Quote:

  Sergeant N opened lethal fire as per instruction. The said fire caused irreparable bullet damage to the said figurine. The figurine represented the figure of an angel in a coverall-type outfit with two floor-length wings on both sides. God save me from their language. The angel was bronze mounted on a pedestal of green stone, possibly, malachite. A full-body search of the infection carrier's body produced a notebook which was confiscated and delivered to the base on the Sergeant's orders. <...>

  They all try to avoid the words the infection carrier. Too bookish for them. But they're not allowed to use zombie in official paperwork.

  Official investigation it is, then. I tried to get the exact place of the encounter out of them, but I can forget it. Too long ago. They say that even the broken pieces of the figurine looked like it used to be an expensive piece of work. They discarded it by tossing the pieces into some shrubbery and disposed of the body according to the Extreme Biological Contamination Threat to the Personnel instruction. Sprinkled it with bleach and buried it under a tree.