Zombie Society - They Live Among Us

by K. Bartholomew

  “Whoa, the rumors are true.” Finn muttered under his breath as he neared the performing arts block. He read the sign on the door, ‘Mort Prayer Room.’ His mom had said they were changing one of the private study rooms into a prayer room but Finn wasn’t sure he believed it. They had been installing prayer rooms in public buildings all over the country, but this was the first time Finn had actually seen one.

  He took a breath, and being unable to control his curiosity, he pushed the door open. It creaked on its hinge as Finn was hit with the immediate aroma of weed, causing him to blanch. The room was empty, so he stepped inside. It was obvious who these rooms were supposed to benefit, but he guessed he’d be permitted inside, even though he didn’t wish to be seen.

  “What the hell?” He mumbled taking in the shrine to iPods, trainers and smart phones. A gold chain hung off a hook right below the framed photo of Colonel Sanders. He sniggered and left, closing the door and taking in a deep breath of fresh air.

  At the close of school, Finn squeezed onto the bus, holding his breath as he stepped toward the rear, trying to find an empty space. Since when had the school bus been so bereft of humans? Had they taken to walking home or getting a lift from their parents to avoid the stench of decay on the ride home or were there simply more morts now than ever before, being bussed in from the city to the suburbs to ensure no majority human school remained untouched by assimilation.

  Unable to find a seat, Finn stood, holding onto the rail above his head. A green hand brushed against his pocket and he drew his leg in to avoid having his cell phone stolen. “Do you mind?”

  “Morrrrrtiiiiiisssstttttt.” The dead kid hissed.

  Finn backed away and stood closer to a different mort. Several of them groaned to their favorite tunes; some to themselves, others in groups. One mort harassed a female human down front, while another shouted abuse at the human mortist bus driver and at other mortist humans on the sidewalk. Three morts smoked dope on the back seat and when the bus driver used the speaker system to ask them to stop, they called him a mortist and threatened to eat him and his family.

  “I just wish this journey would end.” Finn said, probably louder than what was wise. No wonder human kids chose to walk home.

  “What mortist?” Some disgusting creature stammered from the side.

  “Um, nothing.” Finn said, looking at the human kids on the sidewalk.

  The creature hacked and the groaning stopped. Finn turned round and then three morts were standing in front and another, a big one, blocked his retreat from the other side. “Dis be fo’ burying us.” The creature struck Finn across the face.

  Finn rubbed his cheek. It didn’t hurt much, but the second blow to the bridge of the nose hurt more. Finn exhaled, shooting a cloud of red mist against one of the morts.

  “Dis be fo’ cremating us, mortist.” The mort behind took out Finn’s legs and then he was on the floor as blows rained down and feet struck again and again into his ribs.

  This must be the human privilege Blitzer was talking about.

  *

  John and Shannon sat by the hospital bed, watching their son in silence. Tubes ran out from Finn’s nose, connected to a respirator that clicked in a rhythm with his rising and falling stomach.

  John squeezed Shannon’s hand and saw her wipe away a tear before she leaned in closer to Finn and stroked the side of his face.

  John let go of her hand and slid the chair back, rising and leaving the room. He gently closed the door and took out his cell phone, tapping a few numbers.

  “John?” Fergus answered.

  “That thing you wanted to do…”

  “Yeah?”

  “Let’s meet.”

  Getting Organized

  A little over forty miles due north out of Wellesley, off the Yankee Division Highway, Willowdale State Forest offered not the perfect location for the meeting, but it would be good enough. It was close enough to civilization that many of the group still feared the feds, the forest itself wasn’t isolated to the extent that they would be truly alone and in an atmosphere where they could discuss their concerns amongst fellow men. Indeed, and regardless of location, John knew certain people at the gathering were spooked enough to fear the possibility of infiltration by one of the alphabet agencies.

  Still, the forest did provide cover from the authorities to a reasonable extent, John’s lakeside cabin was as secluded as you could find within the state of Massachusetts. What’s more, you never got zombies out this way, for they never did appreciate nature and the simple things in life. The forest and John’s lakeside cabin retreat had also been secluded enough to tempt the more nervy group members into attending the meeting.

  “Let me all update you on my own situation.” Fergus leaned back against the wall and surveyed the gathering. “Since my brother’s arrest and my own subsequent outing as a, um, mortist…” he paused to allow for the laughter to stop. It really was ridiculous how such a meaningless term invented by the true mortists struck fear into people, though they all knew the truth now. He brushed a hand through his long curly red locks “…since the media smears against me and my family, I’ve had tax audits by the IRS and my wife lost her job at the hospital. Even our garbage has not been collected for over a month. My cousin’s Irish pub by the harbor has been shut down for a minor breach of regulations. They want to grind us down, discourage us from opposing them in this so-called land of the free.” He slammed his closed fist onto the table. “They want us to sit back and do nothing as our people are slowly replaced by zombies.”

  Applause resounded around the cabin, some men thumped on tables, walls, their thighs. Other men looked out the window, nervously checking for eavesdroppers. This late at night, they wouldn’t see them anyway. John had taken enough precautions, ensuring people committed the address to memory, arrived at staggered times and drove the last section of the journey with their lights out. Though invitations were only offered to those who’d either been personally affected by zombies or who had over a course of time been outspoken in their beliefs. As a consequence, John and Fergus could be as certain as possible that the thirty or so men and women who gathered could be trusted. However, what the actual outcome of this first meeting would be was anybody’s guess.

  “We each here, all have our own stories about how unbearable life has become since this zombie influx.” He pointed to one of the men who leaned by the door, “Jason, your store keeps getting robbed in those damn flash mob attacks the media sensors,” he pointed to Roarke O’Flynn, the fine specimen of manhood, large and capable, “you lost your new job to affirmative action.” He pointed around the room, “I see attack victims, rape victims, knock out game victims,” he nodded at the gathering, “I also see people who care about the future, people who’ve the foresight to see where this is all heading.”

  “What are we supposed to do?” One voice shouted.

  Fergus waited for the noise to diminish. “That’s why we’re here, friend, to make that decision. After all – Zombies have all kinds of special interest and lobby groups out there, all looking out for their interests. They have hundreds of their own charities, organizations, committees, schools, heritage preservation societies, genealogy groups and all kinds of associations to act in the interests of zombies only. But as soon as we even think about holding so much as a back yard bake sale for humans only, we are all called…?”

  “Mortist!” About thirty people shouted back.

  “Exactly! Like I said – They wish to stop us from organizing in our own interests because they fear us, they fear what we humans are capable of achieving.”

  Another cheer.

  Fergus was certainly succeeding in riling them up. People leaned forward, some clutching at their chests, clasping their hands below their chins. Some bit their bottom lips while none at all could take their eyes from him. Dare these be those small signs of hope John hadn’t seen in a while.

  Fergus held up a hand to silence everybody. “Zombies make up only fifteen pe
rcent of the population, yet account for sixty percent of all crime.”

  “Didn’t you know, it’s cos of human mortism why they act like that.” Someone at the back shouted and the entire cabin erupted in laughter.

  “Of course,” Fergus said with sarcasm, “and we all know the truth even though the media sensors the very worst of it, keeping our people in the dark, walking the streets naively thinking these monsters are our equals. Well let me tell you this – If things have slipped so far and so fast in such a short amount of time, where are things heading if we don’t do something about it?”

  “But what?”

  Fergus’ face stiffened against the silence. “I’m all ears, friends. If anybody has any suggestions, I’d love to hear them.”

  “We could segregate.” A feminine voice shouted.

  “That would be perfect but there are just not enough awakened people at this moment in time.” Fergus retorted.

  John thought about what Fergus just said for a moment. The very fact that zombie ghettos existed, because humans had chosen to move out of the areas heavily populated by zombies, was evidence enough that a form of unofficial self-segregation was already in process, that it was natural and normal. Those humans who chose to remain within the inner cities, where zombies were more numerous would doubtless become the next crime victims and would then further exacerbate the natural process of segregation as humans fled to be amongst their own kind, for safety if nothing else. It would only be a matter of time before total segregation occurred and it mattered not what the government did to try and stop it. However, Fergus’ point that there weren’t quite enough awakened humans at this very moment was an inconvenient truth which meant that more ignorant and media brainwashed people, unaware of the zombie threat would first need to die. Looking at it from an evolutionary point of view, would these brain dead, almost zombie versions of humans themselves, those who’d fallen for the conditioning the media forced on them, be of any real great loss to humanity? That point remained to be argued. “Segregation will come and we need to be ready for that moment.” John spoke out. “But until then, our only real job should be to inform and educate as many of our people as possible and save them from being assimilated or worse by this green tidal wave.”

  “Exactly!” Fergus said, “and I think I know the perfect way to begin.”

  *

  The placards read ‘Are you losing the debate? Shout MORTIST!’ and ‘Put HUMANS First.’ The one Fergus held said, ‘DIEversity = Human Genocide’ in big writing while John’s stated ‘Your DIEversity is my extinction.’

  They chose a busy spot outside City Hall and together, the thirty who turned out to protest were blessed with nice weather for the occasion.

  “This isn’t so bad.” Cheryl, a middle-aged red haired woman of Irish descent said. “As long as the conversation keeps going and we can all call in at a good Irish pub afterwards, it’ll be a good day out.”

  “Just so long as the city hasn’t closed down the rest of them.” Fergus butted in. “If they have a grudge then they’ll find a way.”

  A car honked its horn in support and several members of the group waved a hand in acknowledgement.

  A human approached from over the courtyard and stopped in front of John, opening out his arms as if encompassing everybody. “Finally, somebody is saying what I’ve been thinking all along. This country is going to shit, it’s about time somebody had the guts to say it.” Then he continued on his way.

  John straightened and looked to Cheryl, “I can guarantee you the average Joe out there agrees with us wholeheartedly.”

  “True, but saying it aloud takes more courage than most people have.” Cheryl waved at a human couple who gave a thumbs up from a distance.

  “I’m not sure – I’d give people the benefit of the doubt. Unfortunately it often takes a tragedy before people will get off their asses, but sometimes it can take as little as a gentle nudge in the right direction.” John looked at Cheryl and thought for a second. There was nothing out of the ordinary about her – She was just a normal person. “Tell me about yourself.”

  Cheryl exhaled and moved a hand down her front. “What you see is pretty much what you get. I’m a mother of three, I work, I go home and spend time with the family. I like gardening and when I can, we all like to go out fishing in the forest.”

  John nodded, exactly as he thought. She was just a normal woman who wanted the best for her children and was afraid for the future. “You know the media will make you out to be a monster, yes? Along with the rest of us.”

  She laughed, “I’m prepared for it.”

  Another car honked and John waved a hand. “You like fishing in the forest? I take my family fishing in the Willowdale State Forest at least every month.”

  “Really? I’ve been meaning to try the lake out there. I hear the fishing is good.”

  “Good? It’s superb! One time we caught the biggest trout you’ve ever seen, in the Hood Lake,” he opened out his arms gesturing to the fish’s size, “it must have been twelve pounds at least. Cooked it up real good on an open fire, sat round telling stories.” John looked blankly into the distance as he recalled the memories.

  “That’s what it’s about. Getting back to nature. Leaving the noise and consumerism of the city, if only for a few hours.” Cheryl said.

  “There’re good reasons humans feel so much better after spending time away from cities. It’s only the last few hundred years of human existence we’ve all crammed ourselves into noisy, dirty and dingy cities. We’re supposed to be farmers and fishermen, not bus drivers and traffic cops. For over ninety nine percent of human evolution, we’ve spent it in small groups in and around nature, living off the land.”

  Cheryl nodded, “I must admit, there’s something very appealing about just packing everything in and going to live in a cabin somewhere deep in a forest or on a mountain top. And the best thing is, you don’t get any zombies out there.”

  John laughed, “they wouldn’t have a clue about surviving without everything handed to them on a plate.”

  “The sad thing is,” Cheryl said, “I’d put many humans in that same bracket.”

  John’s head dipped, “unfortunately I’d have to agree with you on that one.”

  The screams resounded over the courtyard, accompanied by shouts and threats as the bedraggled human counter protesters arrived. “Kill the intolerant scum.” Was one of the ironic slogans John was able to decipher. Many wore baggy clothing with all kinds of unfamiliar insignia and symbols. They shook their fists, about thirty of them as what John could only describe as the warm stench of feces drifted over on the breeze – These guys smelt worse than the zombies.

  Then they assembled into a haphazard battle formation, twenty meters from John and his fellow protesters. Were they really about to charge? John’s group had women and children in their number. Luckily Fergus was already ordering them into the safety of City Hall.

  Almost on cue, TV cameras and photographers appeared from between the trees to the north, as if the media and enemies of human civilization were acting as one.

  John looked to Fergus, as the reduced group of a dozen closed ranks. It was supposed to have been a peaceful protest to warn humans about the dangers faced to their people. But now it was about to turn into a battle. John hated the thought of backing away and running. If they ran once, it would embolden the enemy, demoralize their own side and then they’d be expected to run every time. Humans should stand and fight, just like they always had.

  John looked over his men and then back to the enemy. The difference was large. John’s side were amongst the best the human population had to offer, those with the brains and courage to realize the threat while most the others still watched sports, played Playstations or got themselves into drunken stupors every night. Roarke O’Flynn stood tall and poised with his placard as a weapon, waiting for the enemy to charge.

  Then there were the others, the antifa, the leftists, the dregs, those who couldn’t
survive in the forest without their modern gadgets; iPhones, iPads and the rest. Not only had these morons failed to see the threat faced by their people, if they did, then they actively thought in favor of that threat. They were the worst of the worst, but in all likelihood were probably paid off by some unseen force that worked in the background. They had been brainwashed from birth to feel guilty about being human, which was no different to most other humans, but where most humans had survived and fought against the mental onslaught, these idiots had bought into it.

  The side of John’s mouth curled into a smile. “They need more men.”

  “Indeed, this’ll be an unequal battle.” Fergus confirmed, even though they were outnumbered two to one.

  “Evil mortists!” One malnourished and shaggy counter protester in baggy clothing shouted across no-man’s-land.

  “Either attack us or leave us in peace to protest.” John shouted back. “We have a right to freedom of speech.”

  “Mortists!” More of them shouted back. The smell intensified as they crept forward.

  Fergus perked up and readied himself for the inevitable charge. “It’s no use trying to reason with the unreasonable.”

  John’s group stood in close quarters, protecting each other’s backs, almost like a Roman Tetsudo formation. The scum who prepared to attack from the front, even though some carried bats and one swung a chain around in his hand, were all haphazard like kamikazes. They hesitated, then looked to the waiting news crews as though something was expected of them.

  They charged in a scattered mess, fear etched upon their faces. The lead scumbag with long dreadlocks, the ends of which were brown but the roots grey, led with an outstretched foot aimed at Roarke, who simply swatted him away with a swing from the 2 X 4, throwing the man backwards.

  Then several others struck together as John’s men unleashed a volley of swings, cracking wood on skulls and ribcages throwing the dregs of society back against the second wave.