Problem with a shotgun, though, is it ain't got much'n th'way of penetration. Sure, some of the birdshot got in his face, and it messed his chest and neck up lots, but it sure didn't get into the brain. I wasn't real worried, though. A shotgun makes one hell of a nice club in a pinch, and I know I'm more'n strong 'nough to crush a skull if the need comes. But while I reversed my grip on the gun, I looked in at the pigs. And somethin' caught my eye.
'Bout half of 'em were at the back of the pen, screaming their heads off. They knew something was off, and they didn't like it. But the other half, they were right at the gate, pushing on it and grunting like they do when I'm comin' by with food. Like it was suppertime.
I already told you, I'd done some experimentin'. I'd give the pigs whole limbs, once or twice even a whole corpse, to see how they handled it. And plenty of times the bodies had been layin' around a few days before whoever it was got 'round to bringing it here. Pigs are damn smart, like I said, and by now they knew that this smell meant they were getting dinner soon.
I didn't get into this business by not bein' practical, and one thing those damn movies got right is that those zombies are slow buggers. I was able to walk right around an' get the gate open, and them pigs rushed out like they just heard the dinner bell.
You ever seen pigs take a man down? It's a hell of a thing. They know how to use their weight, barrel someone down by slamming into their knees. I don't cut their tusks, so they were slashing at the back of the guy's legs. That was a thing, too; the tusks went through that dead meat like butter, but there wasn't one drop of blood. Think that brought it home t'me. This guy was deader than a possum on the highway. And man, but did that make the pigs mad.
They started eatin' even before he went down. Rippin' chunks out of his thighs and calves and ass. He didn't seem to feel no pain at all; only went down for good when one of the barrows hamstrung him, and he didn't stop moving 'til one of the pigs crushed his head. He never tried to fight 'em, just kept tryin' to get to me. Never even tried to touch the pigs, not once, but between the smell of meat an' the stink of what he was, the pigs were going fucking nuts, but the nuts of a young’un at the county fair.
Now, I feed my pigs damn well, so some of them lost interest once they'd eaten some, and they headed back into their pen. There were only two that stayed, kept working on him even after he was down. One was my biggest sow, a big five-hundred-pound girl, one of the few sows that had big fine tusks. The other was a young barrow, smaller than her, but he was always mighty curious about everything that was going on. They were two've my favorites. I called the sow Gouge, 'cause of that big set of tusks she had. Felicity named the barrow. She called him Hamstring, just 'cause she thought it was funny, and 'cause she said it's what she'd like to do to some've the assholes't showed up at Freebird's. Made me laugh so hard I spit whiskey all down my shirt. But anyway, it was those two hogs, Gouge and Hamstring, that really went after the zombie. And boy fuckin' howdy, did they go after him. The two of them just kept at that body, kept at it 'til they'd shredded every bit of meat, ground the bones into the mud. They ate, sure, but they also just seemed to want him gone.
By this time I was just leaning against the wall and thinking. Like I said, I seen plenty of those old movies, hell, seems like you can't get away from 'em these days. Seemed to me if one corpse was getting' up and walking, a lot of others must be too. That's always the way it happens, right? Now, I was okay, I was all the way out here in the country, but things might not be so great in town. And I thought about Felicity. Hell, I wasn't gonna leave her to deal with this shit on her own.
I got my truck, and I always keep the tank full up. Had my shotgun too, but wasn't sure how much use it'd be, even with proper shells. But what I really had was the pigs. Pigs that got fat eatin' corpses. Pigs that showed a real thing fer gobblin' up an' tramplin' zombies. Now, maybe I ain't had no college learnin’, but nobody said I was dumb.
Room in the truck for about two big pigs. All of my pigs know me, and they like me, so when I whistled for 'em, they came. Got the ramp out, an' I loaded up Gouge an' Hamstring. If they had that kinda enthusiasm for that first zombie, I can figure they'd do pretty damned good against any others we ran 'cross. Got the rest of the pigs back into their pen, jumped in the truck and I headed for Freebird's.
I guess you know what it was like. And I missed the most of it, livin's far out in the country like I do. I'm told the cities were real bad. Are real bad, I should say...from what I hear even the military ain't havin' much luck clearin' them out. Just drivin' down the country road, I saw at least a couple dozen of 'em, just staggerin' about. Some of them had managed to get ahold of people, were gathered 'round the bodies like buzzards on a kill, scrabblin' and fightin'. I saw cars burnin'. An’ I be seeing all types of them things—men and women and even young’uns. Some of' 'em were in suits and dresses, some of' 'em were in hospital gowns, some of 'em were just in jeans and t-shirts. Some of them had arms and legs off, a couple had their bellies ripped open and was draggin' their guts behind 'em. Most of 'em looked like they'd been chewed on. But they was all dead, ain't no question of that. They were dead, and they were walkin', or't least shufflin', and wherever they could, they were eatin'. An' sometimes the folks they were' eatin' were still screamin'.
I didn't stop. Wasn't nothin' I could do for the poor bastards, so I wasn't about to risk my neck. And the whole way Gouge and Hamstring were crashing about the bed of the truck, thumpin' and squealin'. They must've gotten more'n their fill off'f that first body, but they were still rarin' for more. Tempted a few times to stop and just turn 'em loose, watch 'em shred their way through alla them dead folks, but then I thought about Felicity and I kept my foot on the gas. Was a boilin' hot day, but I kept the windows rolled up after the first couple miles; the smell of rotten meat was just everywhere, and when you been doin’ jobs like I been and that smell's gettin' to you, you know it's pretty bad out. I didn't see no other cars, least none that were movin', but I know some'd passed by. There was smears of dead, rotten meat cookin' on the road, an' some zombies that'd been run down still tryin' to drag themselves along by their arms. Them stupid critters didn't even try to get out of the way of the truck as I drove along.
Took me about a quarter hour to get myself to Freebird's. Clear to me right off that whatever'd happened, it happened during the night, 'cause the parking lot was full. If I was closer to town, I likely would'a been surrounded, 'stead of just the one the pigs ate. But man, Freebird's, was teeming with the damned things. Clawin' at the doors, beatin' at the windows, climbin' all over each other tryin' to get into the bar. It really was just like those old movies, and especially that one ten years back, the English one.
I still had my gun, but like I said, I didn't think it'd be much use except for a club. But what I thought might do some good was the big fuckin' hogs in my truck bed, the big fuckin' hogs that were screamin' up a storm and chawing at the sides tryin' to get out. Only trouble was they were makin' such a racket that the zombies were startin' to look our way.
Had to move fast, even with how slow they was. Threw open the truck door, shotgun in one hand, and ran 'round to the back of the truck. Gouge and Hamstring was making a ruckus; she was ramming the door so hard it was startin' to bend. For a minute, and a bad minute, I don't mind tellin' you, I thought it was gonna jam, and I wouldn't be able to let the pigs out. And what the fuck would I do then?
Well, I guess God loves me much's Mama used to say he done, 'cause the back door popped right open. Over 900 pounds of meat-hungry hogs came tumblin' out, knocked me flat on my ass. I'd say they was out for blood, but I ain't never seen a zombie bleed. Do you know what that black and yellow stuff they tend to ooze is called? No? Me neither. But whatever it is, them pigs was hungry for it.
Good thing they was so hungry for it, too, 'cause it took me a minute to get my ass off the ground and find where I'd dropped the shotgun. By the time I'd done that, though, Gouge and Hamstring were into the crowd like they'd normally go t
o their trough. Gouge was usin' her tusks to go for the backs of knees and legs, Hamstring was usin' his weight to bring them down, and both of them were tramplin' and chawin' up any zombies that they got down. Like with the first one, the zombies weren't takin' no notice of the pigs, not even when one of them went down right beside 'em. But they sure's hell took notice of me, and I don't gotta tell you that was a problem.
I'd pulled in close to the door, hopin' the pigs would clear the way for me, an' they were doin' okay at that. At least’n the other zombies were trippin' over the downed ones, makin' one hell of a mess. The only thing to do was to wade right in with the gun, bashin' anything that got close to me over the head with the stock. That's one thing slaughterin' prepared me for; I'm strong 'nough and I know just where to hit so that the skull goes crunch. But I wasn't about to count on that workin' forever; managed to crunch my way to the door and banged on it, yellin' Felicity's name.
Only occurred to me then what I'd do if she was already dead. I mean, fuck, you'd think that'd be the first thing to hit my brain when I drove up, right? But no, there I was poundin' on the goddamned door of Freebird's, yellin' at the top of my lungs with a horde of zombies at my back, and if there was nobody in there I was lunchmeat. Weird 'nough, y'know what I thought of? The pigs. Gouge and Hamstring, they'd be okay, but I'd locked all the hogs back at home in their pen. If I didn't come back, what the hell was gonna happen to all of them? I was hopin' they'd be strong enough to break through their fence when Felicity opened the door and yanked me inside.
Gotta tell you, she ain't never looked so pretty to me, with her hair tied back an' her eyes wild. I hugged her so hard she told me she near felt her ribs snap. Man, I don't think I've ever been so glad to see nobody in my whole life. Had to be fast, too, 'cause we had to get the door locked and barred again before the fucking zombies managed to bust their way in.
Turned out that when the shit went down, Felicity was downstairs in the beer cellar. Now, if you know bars, you know the cellars are goddamn fortresses, and Freebird's was better than most. She has a fine taste in microbrews, does Felicity, and she brews her own beer too, in her spare time. I'll pour you a glass later, if you like. S'harder to get hops and malts nowadays, but we still manage.
Anyway, what I'm sayin' is that cellar door was oak, reinforced, and with one hell of a lock on it, and only Felicity had the key. She was down there, rolling out a keg of her signature brew when she heard a commotion upstairs. Now Felicity kept her rifle right behind the downstairs door, easy ‘nuff for her to get to from behind the bar, but away from any shithead't might try to come over the counter, right? So, she grabs the gun, opens the door, and looks out.
What she saw was a bunch'a them zombies chargin' in through the front door and turning her customers into bar snacks. Said she even recognized somma the corpses, barflies that usually came in other nights, or that'd been missing. Well, now they were here, and they'd brought all their buddies for the party. Poor bastards in the bar didn't have a chance. Damn zombies'd jammed the door an' there were bars on the window, couldn't nobody get out.
Well, Felicity's a practical lady, like I said. She saw right off wasn't nothin' she could do for the sons-of-bitches, so she just shut the door and she locked it. The door to the outside she used for deliveries was sealed tight, so all there was to do was wait for the screaming to stop.
When it did stop, she said, she unlocked the door an' peered out again. All the barflies were dead 'r gone, an' the zombies were either eatin' or wandering out, now that there wasn't no more hunting. So she waited, quiet, until the wanderers had all wandered, and then she slipped out. Made her way to the door, soft, soft, while the fuckin' zombies were still busy eating, and she got the door locked. Then it was time for a whole new kind of hunting season. And Felicity's one hell of a shot. Damned sight better'n me, at any rate.
Thing was, the other zombies'd been heading out heard the shots 'n figured out there was still some warm meat inside, and once they get that idea you can't get rid of 'em. So that was Felicity stuck. Plenty of shells, but wasn't gonna test herself against a whole crowd of fuckin' zombies, was she? Decided the best thing to do was hunker down and wait 'em out. And that's how she was 'til I came bangin' at her door. “And Christ, am I glad to see you, Dewey!” she said, laughin' and tossin' her blonde ponytail.
Don't you look't me like that. Felicity's the only one who gets to call me Dewey, and even then, only sometimes. This was one a those times, though. You got friends or family you found afterwards, alive 'gainst all the odds? Yeah, then you'll know why we hugged each other so hard, why I couldn't get enough of th'smell of her hair, why she laughed and kissed me all over my face. S'good to have people. Pigs are great too, but s'really good to have people.
Felicity had a radio downstairs to keep her company when she was cleanin' the place, so it was her't told me this was happenin' all over. Dead people getting' up, breakin' outta coffins, walkin' outta morgues, shakin' outta their rest home beds. Said the government was tellin' people to stay inside, burn any bodies they found, an' that you could kill 'em by blowin' their brains out, just like the movies. Government also said everything was under control, but don't they always?
So I told 'er 'bout the pigs and what'd happened, and that Gouge and Hamstring were still out there. Peered out through the windows, and mosta the varmints were down, thrashin' like dying fish, and the two hogs just rootin' about an' makin' themselves't home. Felicity whistled, “Damn good thing you feed those pigs the way you do,” she said.
I think that's about the time the idea started in my head, but I didn't really have time to think about it then. We were too busy workin' out what to do next, where to go. The bar was pretty strong, but it was also way too close to town. Already seen just how many zombies were crowdin' around the place, and Felicity said more were driftin' past all the time. I'd only seen the one, and took some time comin' down the road to find more, so we figured my place was safest. And anyway, the rest of the pigs was still there. Had a fence 'round my land, and Felicity'd bought a bunch of razor wire a few years back, when some of the rednecks 'round here started hasslin' her. Never had to use it, but it'd sure come in handy now.
Ain't much left to tell, really. Felicity'n me grabbed a few supplies, beer, some food, and shells for the rifle, then we headed out after load’n up the pigs. Took us a few days to get my place back up to scratch, but once the razor wire was strung up we were sittin' pretty. Learned to grow some of our own food, let the pigs forage, and we did all right. We figured at first we'd just hunker down until things got settled, but it got pretty clear that things'd changed. The zombies weren't goin' nowhere, and the government could barely get their thumbs outta their asses long 'nough to fence off Washington, forget the rest of us. But the world keeps rollin', you know? Once y'got used to drivin' 'round with a rifle an' blowing off the occasional head, the world kept rollin'. Stores opened back up, money makes the world go 'round, an' Felicity'n me knew we had a business. Mosta the time it's cash only, but sometimes we work for trade. Sometimes for food, or new guns 'n ammo, or for things we needed made, like for the guy't made the chains 'n leather collars for Gouge 'n Hamstring. Mosta the time we don't need 'em, but it looks mighty impressive, and sometimes if there's just a small group we'll keep 'em on the chains.
So, how much land did you say you had? And you got any idea how many zombies we're dealin' with? All right, for six hundred you just get the pigs, Gouge and Hamstring and a few of the others, an' they'll take as long as they need. For a grand you get me and Felicity too, and we'll go 'round with the pigs and our guns, and we'll clear your land out right quick.
Yeah, price's steep, but we provide what Felicity calls a unique service. And we'll even take all the bodies out, afterwards.
Pigs still need to eat, after all.
Something New
Brigitte Winter
Editor: There are inherent dangers in the luxury our technology provides. We stop learning to spell. We stop learning to
read. Eventually we even stop learning to think.
She's not even pretty.
Well, not by SIM standards at least. Girls generated by the Simulated Interactive Multiverse are all perfect curves, tightly wrapped in skintight body suits. Smooth, shiny hair. Pert, accommodating smiles. This girl—I think she said her name was Eva—she's different. Her curves are concealed under a baggy sweatshirt that slides down one shoulder so I can see her purple bra strap. Her short black hair is streaked with electric blue dye. And she hasn't smiled once in all the time we've been sitting beneath the overpass.
I can't stop looking at her.
She passes me the flask, and I take another big gulp. The liquor burns all the way down, melts my stomach into a liquid ball of heat that radiates to every part of my body, turns my brain tingly and fuzzywarm. It must be freezing out here, but neither of us is wearing a coat. The other guys are probably still lying around the party, SIM-drunk on the digital buzz of pseudo-alcohol. They don't know what they're missing.
I grin at Eva, pass her the flask. She takes another sip and then stuffs it into the fat gray backpack she's shrugged onto the concrete next to her.
"Different, right?" she asks.
"Oh, definitely," I say. "Same end result, but it's a million times better when you can taste it going down. Plus there's something less predictable about the real thing, you know?"
"More dangerous."
"Yeah, that's it."
"So, you're into danger, Kelvin? Some sort of rebel? That why you followed me out here and left your buddies in their safe little SIM bubbles?"
I blink at her through the fuzzy alcohol haze, try to focus on her face. The way she's looking at me with her eyebrows raised and her forehead all crinkled is unnerving, like she's testing me. Like I better say the right thing or she's going to get up and walk away.
Enter the Apocalypse Page 5