Zombie Society - They Live Among Us

by K. Bartholomew

  She moved her eyes down her own front, “does it look like I can squeeze through? I know what this is about. You’re a mortist.”

  “But, I didn’t construct the building.”

  She tried waving a hand in a dismissive gesture, but gave up due to the exertion. “You’re all the same, you mortists. This is because you disagree with me marrying a member of the dead.”

  The janitor’s head jutted back. “But I only started here last week. It’s really got nothing to do with me. I…I…I suppose I could get my axe and chip away at the brickwork until it’s wide enough?”

  “You’d better, you mortist, cos if you don’t,” she nodded at the TV cameras, “we got evidence of your mortism. You’ll lose your career, your family, everything you hold dear.”

  Still On The Ninth

  With Alex away on honeymoon and Glen still off work nursing forty percent burns to his arm and shoulder after the incident with Jimmy Doyle and the gas turbo welder, John and Fergus had no choice other than to bring Jimmy off permanent long stand duty to cover some of the many tasks that still needed doing up on the ninth.

  John glared at the freak as he dragged the new sewage pipe along the ground, the end knocking over tool boxes and Starbucks cups with complete indiscrimination. The entire floor still reeked of sewage and it had taken a long time to source a replacement pipe.

  “What are they now, five percent of the population?”

  “I think a little more than that.” Fergus said, taking a nervous glance in Jimmy’s direction as he figured out what to do with the pipe.

  “Exactly! And they’ve risen from only two percent in less than a year.” John shook his head. “It’s only a matter of time before they become the majority in this country and then what’ll happen? There’ll be more net takers than producers. They are a huge drain on resources. My company is already straining under the pressure of hiring just one, the city is going into huge debt with a five percent population and that’s followed up on a federal level.”

  Fergus shook his head. “Hey, you heard the TV. We owe the dead for thousands of years of oppression. Don’t you feel guilty at all for the way your ancestors treated them?”

  John ran a hand into his hair, clenched his fist and pulled. After several seconds, and he was satisfied the pain had numbed his mind to the bullshit he’d just heard, he released his grip. “Wow, they really got to you.”

  “Hey, the TV says we’re all the same.”

  The smash cut short their conversation, both John and Fergus whipped round to see one end of the pipe inserted through the plate glass window with Jimmy Doyle holding onto the other end. John braced himself for several seconds as the entire ninth fell into silence, then the high pitched clatters of glass shards smashing against the asphalt below, which was quickly followed by the guttural screams and hopeless wails of pedestrians.

  Several men rushed over to Jimmy Doyle, much too late, and dragged him and the pipe away from the window.

  John closed his eyes as he felt the heat and rage bubble inside. “That is it, you fucking zombie.” John shouted at Jimmy Doyle. “You are fired!”

  One Year Later

  “I had a feeling we’d meet again.” Tony Dankworth said to John as he took a seat.

  John glared a hole through the wretched man’s face, resisting the urge to throw something. Dankworth had been responsible for John having to take Jimmy Doyle back and therefore the subsequent burst sewage pipe, fly infestation, stench, two injured colleagues, a shattered window pane and several injured members of the public. As predicted, it was John who was made to look the bad guy in the press and there was no mention of the injured or the fact a mort had caused the accident. John had finally managed to rid the company of Jimmy after agreeing to a large severance package. Attending one of Dankworth’s Mort Assimilation Awareness courses was all part of the deal to save John’s company even more money. John hated being here, but he’d suck it up anyway so he could return to an easier life.

  The meeting was being held in one of the nicer rooms within city hall. The dozen other attendees all sat in a circle like some alcoholics anonymous meeting.

  Dankworth sat cozy between two large blue collar workers. He crossed one leg over the other and turned to the man on his left. “Let’s start with you, shall we – Why are you here today?”

  The large man removed his NRA baseball cap and took a deep breath. “I’m here because I used the z word when it tried to rob my store.”

  Dankworth cringed, shook his head and tutted. “Next time, you should let him rob your store without the use of such mortist profanities.” He pointed to the next guy. “And you?”

  “I wouldn’t allow a mort to date my daughter.” The next guy said, setting Dankworth off on a torrent of judgmental body movements and facial expressions.

  By the time everybody had spoken, the reasons for attendance ranged from looking funny at a mort and refusing them service, all the way to assault, workplace discrimination and one grocery store clerk who’d gone on his break once the mort had reached the front of the line.

  “You all have one thing in common.” Dankworth said, clasping his hands together. “It is your intolerance and mortism which brings you all here today. But by the end of this course, you’ll each have nothing but love and respect for your fellow citizens, whether alive or dead.”

  John rubbed his forehead. Only another four and a half days of this shit and the Office of Federal Contract Compliance Programs would be off his back. How much was all this costing the taxpayer anyway?

  Dankworth placed his hands on the knee which crossed above the other and pressed down, leaning back in his seat. “But don’t worry – By the end of the week, you’ll all possess an advanced knowledge and understanding of equality and diversity. We’ll be focusing on stereotyping, labelling, prejudice, discrimination with an emphasis on mortism as well as the value of diversity within the community and the benefits it brings.” He pressed down harder on his knee, one side of his mouth curling into a smile. “We’ll be making use of videos, workshops, discussion sessions, lectures and guest speakers. But for now, we’ll begin with some role plays.” He pointed to John. “We’ll start with you.”

  John yawned, “do I have to?” He saw the glare Dankworth gave him – Yes, he had to.

  “Usually we bring in a few valued members from the dead community to play their part, but…” he checked his watch, “for some reason they haven’t arrived.” He straightened and smiled at John. “So why don’t you play the role of the young, aspiring dead person looking for work and I’ll be the mean spirited, intolerant, mortist construction company owner.”

  Was he fucking serious? John waited for Dankworth to blink – He didn’t.

  “You’re trying to rub me up the wrong way Dankworth.” John said, standing and taking a few steps closer to the wretched man.

  “What are you doing in my building?” Dankworth asked, lowering his voice a few tones to mimic John and puffing out his chest.

  John sighed. When this stupid ordeal was over, he’d toe-the-line a little better. It’d be painful, but probably worth it for an easier life. It’d be worth it to never have to see Dankworth’s pathetic bespectacled face ever again. “Can I have a job please?” John asked, hunching his shoulders over.

  “I’m sorry but we don’t employ dead freaks around here, so why don’t you just take a hike.” Dankworth fired back then motioned with a hand for John to keep the role play going.

  “Me want job, give me job, society owe me job, society owe me everything.”

  “Why don’t you just get lost before I have one of my boys throw you off the roof.” Dankworth straightened, folding his arms across his pigeon chest.

  John paused, unable to think. Was the snide little bastard accusing him of throwing Jimmy Doyle off the roof? “Give me job or I run to sniveling sexual deviant.”

  Dankworth sniffed. “Like I said, we only employ humans around here, so why don’t you leave this building right now befo
re I call my fellow Klansmen.”

  John’s mouth dropped. He wanted to answer but Dankworth cut him off and told him to take his seat. “And there you have it.” Dankworth continued. “Now you’ve all witnessed the discrimination the dead have to deal with on a daily basis, for no other reason other than the fact they are no longer breathing. And you John,” he pointed to him, “you have now personally felt the hardships experienced by the dead every single day due to human oppression. Tell me, how did that make you feel, John?”

  John took a deep breath and reminded himself to go along with the bullshit. “It made me feel useless, like there was nothing I could do to make you listen. I was being judged solely on the fact I was dead.”

  “Good, well done, John.” Dankworth clapped and pointed to the next guy to stand for a role play.

  John had it easy in comparison to some of the others, one of whom had to endure allowing a mort to date his daughter.

  “Doesn’t it feel great to know you’re giving over your own flesh and blood to the dead and thus proving you’re no longer a mortist?” Dankworth said, taking a large sip from a Starbucks cup. “People will look favorably upon you, seeing you out and about with your daughter and her dead boyfriend.” Dankworth smiled, clasping his hands out in front. “We’re all the same.”

  No Escape

  “When did you say your new boyfriend was arriving?” John asked Shannon from his seated position on the couch.

  Shannon fiddled with her hands and rubbed them over her jeans. “Soon.”

  “You’ve been keeping him from us for a long time. I hope he makes you happy?” Kerry asked.

  “Um, yeah, I guess so.” Shannon said, looking down.

  John checked his watch and was then distracted by the TV. He pointed to the enormous blonde woman, “I think we need a wider TV screen. They keep pushing this bitch in our faces, ramming the disgusting freak show down our throats.”

  Finn continued tapping on his cellphone. John knew that Finn agreed with him, but was too scared to verbalize it. John turned up the volume.

  “We are here with Mr and Mrs Grimley, who you may recall last year made history by having the first ever inter-mort marriage. Well, they are back and this time with a delightful bundle of joy.” The image zoomed in on the emaciated, half corpse, half human – Whatever the hell it was – It looked fucking retarded.

  It cut to Mrs Grimley, herself taking up an entire couch, specially modified to accommodate her more than ample lard. “One day all of our children will be born dead, and that will be a thing to celebrate because only then will the evil of mortism be defeated.”

  “Who’s the real mortist, you fat disgusting mess?” John shouted at the screen. If the woman had it her way, all humans would be dead.

  The image cut to the reporter, who blanched while asking the question. “But who’s to say that fully dead people won’t still be mortist against the half-dead, or vice versa?”

  Mrs Grimley’s mouth contorted, her eyes flinched, the rolls of flab rippled up and down her front to resonate around her chin which obscured her neck. “Get out of my house!” She tried to raise an accusatory finger, but gave up from the exertion. “You’re a mortist, I’m going to report you for mortism. Only humans can be mortist. Everybody knows that.”

  “I think we’ve all had enough of this.” John changed the channel to reveal a tall gangly mort who jingled long gold chains with rings on his fingers, gold teeth and around a dozen young human girls who all competed to get closer. The humans who flanked the mort crouched down, wrapping their arms around his legs. The loud gargling ‘music’ was accompanied by barely distinguishable lyrics about getting some human hos, pimping out even mo’ hos, becoming a billionaire and buying mo’ bling. John primed his finger to change channel again when a loud bang struck the front door, then another several seconds later.

  “Um, he’s here.” Shannon said, slowly standing from the couch.

  Kerry placed an arm around John’s waist as they both stood and faced the door. “This is it. Our baby girl is all grown up.”

  “I don’t know who’s more nervous, her or me.” John said, turning to Finn. “Best behavior please.”

  Finn yawned and went back to his cell.

  Shannon grabbed hold of the handle, breathed and slowly pulled the door inwards. “Um, hey. Come in.” She stepped back, clasping her hands to her stomach.

  John and Kerry smiled, waiting for the young man to enter. They’d not been told much about Shannon’s boyfriend. It was one of those things John preferred not to know about, which he supposed was only natural. John’s foot tapped the floor and he felt Kerry’s fingers twitch around his midriff.

  They heard the shuffling first. Certainly not the long deliberate strides of a confident young football star, the stereotypical first boyfriend of every father’s little princess. Then some kind of a deep rooted hack which had to come from the boyfriend’s throat as he approached the threshold. Next, the dry odor of decay filled the Quinn family living room. What was this guy, a zookeeper? “Arg.”

  It took a while to sink in. Somewhere down the street, dogs barked. Why the fuck was a dead man in the house?

  “Dad, this is my, um boyfriend, Teejay.” Shannon said, standing by the creep’s side.

  John tasted the bile in the back of his throat, like his body was giving advance warning of the up and coming involuntary projectile. He didn’t know his eyes glazed over, but he did see the look of shame on his daughter’s face, like she knew what she was doing. So why was she doing it? “Erm.” The words wouldn’t come. Was this all Shannon thought she was worth? Was her confidence and self-esteem so low that she didn’t feel good enough to date a human? How John had failed her. In the moment, he felt disgust with himself.

  “Arg, me am Teejay.” He glared at the crevice between Shannon’s shoulder and neck, a large globule of green tinted ooze dribbling to the carpet. The freak had also traipsed in a great deal of mud from outside.

  “It’s um, nice to meet you Teejay.” Kerry finally spoke, her fingers digging hard into John’s side.

  Finn stood and left the room shaking his head, a motion which snapped John out of his trance.

  He finally held out a hand for Teejay to shake. Teejay reached forward, something cracking in his shoulder capsule, and clasped a cold dead hand around John’s. A shiver ran down John’s spine and back up to his neck. The bile taste grew in strength.

  “So, what do you guys have planned for this evening?” Kerry asked.

  Shannon looked to the floor. “We’re just gonna hang, upstairs, listen to some music.”

  John shivered again. Why him? Why his daughter? Why were more and more humans, girls especially, getting involved with the dead? How many more humans were today introducing morts to their shocked and disgusted parents? Why were they doing this? The noise from that horrific music hammered from the TV. Mort-e-Fied was simulating several sexual acts in quick succession with humans.

  “This zombieee hungry.” Teejay hacked.

  John raised an eyebrow. “I thought we couldn’t say that word – It’s mortist, isn’t it?”

  Shannon coughed and answered for Teejay. “No, dad, it’s ok for the dead to use it. They’re kind of trying to reclaim the word for themselves. But they always put an accent on the final letter, so it’s ok to use.”

  “What?”

  “Yeah, just don’t ever say it yourself though, or you could lose everything.”

  “Really? Even though my daughter is dating one? Doesn’t that prove I’m not a mortist?”

  Shannon shook her head. “Well no, not until you have several half dead grandchildren and you’ve passed down all your wealth and possessions to the dead in order to atone for the past crimes of humans.”

  “But I had nothing to do with any of that.” John felt his knees shake. “I think I need to sit down.” Why was Shannon doing this? As far back as John knew, his bloodline was human and now it was having to change for no good reason whatsoever. The world
truly had gone insane.

  Kerry squeezed John a little harder. “So, what do you do for a living Teejay?”

  Sure enough, Teejay was fully clad in gold chains, the latest sneakers, designer clothing and John wondered if the black BMW parked on the street was also his.

  “Me am groundskeeper at Media Academy.” Teejay drooled again over the carpet.

  “The Digital Media Academy off Harvard Square?” John enquired. He’d driven through there earlier in the week and he remembered wondering if they even had a groundskeeper, the place was so shabby. In fact several neighborhoods along the drive to Harvard had gone over to the dead and had almost overnight begun to resemble shanty towns.

  Teejay ignored John’s question, instead choosing to gaze again at his daughter’s neck. “We go up now.”

  John’s belly lurched, the strong sting of bile on his palate as he watched his daughter take a mort to her bedroom.

  *

  Shannon had seen the anguished look on her dad’s face. And it hurt. She didn’t want this. Not deep down. She’d just wanted to be noticed. That was all. And now, after having gone this far, to bring a mort into her bedroom, she could in no way justifiably say ‘no’ to him, to Teejay. After all – What would happen if she was accused of mortism? It would destroy her future prospects of becoming a doctor.

  She waited for Teejay to enter and closed the door behind, locking the cold, dead stench inside the confines of her bedroom. To say she’d become accustomed to the smell would be inaccurate. If anything, she’d simply learned to tune out her senses. “Take a seat.”

  Teejay held on to the wall as he maneuvered himself toward the bed, not once taking those cold eyes from Shannon’s neck. “You promise food.”

  “I know, I did.” She glared at her dead boyfriend, his green flaky skin, bloodshot dead eyes, blue lips and lifeless hair. Shannon had become quite the pariah on campus, holding hands and making out with a mort in full view of her course mates while they tried eating lunch. But the time had come to take things further – She didn’t want to be accused of mortism after all. So she’d have to surrender herself to Teejay.