Though the next wave was larger and they pressed up against John’s men, the compressed nature of the fight preventing them from taking any effective swings.
The news crews and photographers circled. Were they getting what they wanted?
Fists flew and boots kicked, the stench of sewerage overpowering. Their bloodshot eyes betraying the drugs and lifestyle choices they’d made. They weren’t proud people, not like John’s men and once fists connected, they stayed down.
One thug with an ear piercing that stretched out the lobe to the extent you could put your head through it, hovered over John with a hammer raised above his head, “mortist!” he screamed.
But John was one step ahead as he thrust his hand through the unnaturally large gap in his ear and tugged down. “I’ve always wanted to do that.”
The man screamed as the flesh severed.
The first John knew about the arrival of the cops was when both groups were pushed forward by the sheer weight of them. Blue uniforms encircled both rival groups, came between them, separated them and pulled each away.
John’s face landed with a crash against the stone slabs, his arms pinned behind his back as he felt the cold steel of handcuffs clipping around his wrists.
*
“Arrests made at Neo-Nazi demo.” John read the headline and continued scanning down the remainder of the text.
“So not wanting humans to be wiped off the face of the earth makes us Nazis, does it?” John exhaled and shook his head. He knew it had been a trap, but there was nothing anybody could have done. What irked him most was how the headline placed the insinuation in the reader’s mind that it was the ‘Nazis’ causing trouble and not the lowly tolerance preaching thugs who crashed their peaceful protest. It was a typical media trick.
Something else needed to be done.
Dying Days
Finn plopped his dinner tray down in the spot next to Declan, his nose turning up slightly from the odd smell that drifted up from the ground beef. The humans tended always to sit along the back wall, closer to the fire escape. They weren’t supposed to segregate themselves, but then kids always did what came natural.
Declan nodded over at the dead who’d grown in numbers and occupied the majority of the cafeteria. “Notice they don’t complain about the food anymore.”
Finn sniffed as he scooped up a forkful of ground beef, blew away the steam and placed it in his mouth. “Not sure. Maybe they got what they wanted.”
They froze, looked to each other as the realization hit, then spat their food into a napkin.
*
Kerry leaned back in her seat and zoned out as the dead kids shouted across the room to the others, some occasionally standing to get in closer to make threatening comments to their classmates. Cell phones rang incessantly, while other morts played video games. One of them reached out to strike the only male human in the class, while the two females stuck together for safety and stayed close to Kerry at the front. Not that it made any difference as their dead classmates would frequently leave their desks to put their moves on the humans, then upon rejection would always label them that certain word.
“You be mooooorrrrtttiiiiisssssstttttt.” Was always the charge levelled at any female human who didn’t wish to date a mort. Kerry would keep an eye on them and ensure they made it home safe.
Kerry waited for the noise to abate. It’d be a long wait before she could return to the day’s planned lesson of sea burials, another topic that would end in the few remaining human students being targeted.
*
“Congratulations.” Dean Rubenstein shook both Shannon’s and Gavin’s hand. “Enjoy the day.” He said before moving down the line of graduates.
Shannon puffed out her cheeks and readjusted the mortarboard on her head just as the band struck up. “It’s over, it’s finally over.” She moved into Gavin and gave him a squeeze and she felt his hands clasp around her back.
“Now for the rest of our lives.” He beamed at her.
She couldn’t suppress the grin. “But first, we get very drunk.” She pulled him in the direction of the marquee and the bar where a large crowd of graduates, both human and mort, in cap and gowns gathered.
Gavin pulled the other way. “But first, we speak to some recruiters.”
She rolled her eyes, “ugh, you’re right, as per usual.” They may as well speak to them while they were hanging around. Securing a residency at a good hospital wasn’t easy, especially straight after graduation.
Representatives from at least a dozen hospitals from all over the state had set up shop, trying to attract the most promising of Harvard Med School graduates and the certificates that both she and Gavin held were evidence they fell within that category.
Shannon scanned along the stalls until she found the rep from Addison Gilbert Hospital in Gloucester. Her eyes lit up and she tugged Gavin in the direction of the man who stood behind the table. In the conversations they’d had about potential residencies, Gloucester always came up as their preferred choice. It was a beautiful, upmarket town and far enough from any of the larger cities that it had maintained a majority human population and consequently its schools performed better and had a lower crime rate. It was the perfect place to bring up children. To top it off it was roughly halfway between Wellesley and Amesbury where Gavin’s parents lived.
“Hi.” Shannon smiled at the man, “I’m Shannon and this is Gavin. We’re interested in possible residencies at Addison Gilbert.”
The man coughed, looked to the floor, then finally back in front. “I’m sorry, but we’re giving preference to dead graduates.”
“What?” Gavin raised his voice.
“The number of dead doctors at Addison Gilbert is way below the state and national target of sixty percent, so you’ll have to find another hospital.” The man’s eyes didn’t flinch.
“Well, how about Lahey?” Gavin asked, referring to the hospital in Peabody.
“Same. And also Shaughnessy too.”
“That’s crazy,” Shannon said, “we’re newly qualified doctors.”
“I know, but what can I do? We’re running below the target so we have to recruit more doctors from the dead community.” He gestured with his head to the table at the far end, with a dead guy stood behind it. “Now, Detroit, you may have better luck.”
“Detroit?” They both yelped together. Detroit’s hospitals, along with everything else in that city had been run into the ground on account of having a near total dead population, including a dead mayor. Two humans living in Detroit – Their life expectancy was sure to be cut short. “Is there nothing you can do?” Shannon pleaded thinking about the $750,000 debt they’d accrued between them during the course of the last seven years.
The man shook his head.
They turned back toward their fellow graduates. There were now other humans arguing with hospital reps after having received similar news, while the dead graduates knocked back champagne in the marquee. Shannon wouldn’t have minded quite so much if it wasn’t for the fact many of the dead ‘graduates’ couldn’t actually read. They’d been accepted to Harvard as part of a quota system, had received a free education and now, having graduated, would be first in line for placements – And they had the nerve to call themselves oppressed.
“What are we going to do?” Shannon fell into Gavin’s open arms and thought again about their monstrous debt.
He made soothing tones and took a deep breath. “We’ll just have to postpone having children.”
*
The cabin had ceased being large enough following the third meeting. Now, they had all four cabins which overlooked Hood Lake. There were anywhere between four and five hundred people at this gathering and the meetings were being held more frequently. This was just one resistance chapter of many that ran up and down the state of Massachusetts, one of hundreds within New England, thousands within America.
“Our day is coming,” Fergus shouted from atop a tree stump, “and the harder they push,
the sooner our day will arrive.”
It was Newton’s law of motion - Every action had an equal and opposite reaction. Every time the government passed a law that further alienated and disenfranchised the human population, more humans who were previously either in the center ground, docile or didn’t care enough previously to do anything about their predicaments, would come running toward the resistance. John and Fergus saw it time and time again.
“I’d like to give a big welcome to our newest members.” Fergus motioned to the small crowd over by cabin 3. “We’re happy to have you with us.” The cheer startled birds in the nearby trees.
The men and women who’d just joined doubtless did so after the latest laws were passed which placed a cap on life expectancy; whereby whence the age of seventy five was reached, the brains and organs of the human were given over for zombie consumption. In addition, all inheritance for their human descendants was scrapped and all wealth redistributed to pay for the increasing numbers of zombies within society. After all – They all required free housing, food, education, health, clothing, cell phones and an endless list of other free shit.
The resistance was made up of people from all walks of life. Though as more and more people joined, John did begin to see an emerging pattern. They really were ordinary people; men and women who loved their country, their people and were terrified for the future. They were farmers, military, businessmen, laborers, builders, merchants, plumbers, cab drivers, students, long term unemployed, midwives, doctors, teachers, cops, politicians, athletes, office administrators. And that could be said for every chapter across America – A fifth column, awaiting their moment to take control.
This was the resistance – Ordinary people, networking, keeping in close contact, assisting with plans, strategies, tactics – Getting the word out there, educating their fellow humans to the truth of the threat and what’s more – They gave hope of a better future.
And hope was an important thing.
The zombie population had reached forty percent and was growing exponentially due to higher birth rates. Indeed, human numbers were plummeting due to falling birth rates, which was their greatest problem. The high taxes placed on humans prevented them from being able to responsibly bring up many children. And of course those high taxes were given straight over to the zombies which enabled them to achieve astronomical birth rates.
The inter-mort mixing propaganda in the music, entertainment and film industries which aimed at pushing female humans into relationships with zombies had further dented their numbers.
But John didn’t necessarily see that as a bad thing. The only human women who ever entered into such relationships really were the bottom of the barrel, the ones the humans would never touch anyway, the diseased of mind and soul. In the grand scheme of things, they were no loss because they were now out of the gene pool, unable to cause any more damage. In addition, such monstrous sights as zombies and humans procreating, always served to bring more humans rushing toward the resistance. No – John was happy for it. The best would survive – That was nature.
“The area from South Boston to Upham’s Corner has now been declared a zombie ghetto. Inform your loved ones, make sure you never enter and if you know any humans still within the zone then get them out.” Fergus announced, adding to the list of places humans could no longer go. When Fort Point and South End became ghettos, several humans left behind were eaten, the media naturally censoring the stories and consequently, the resistance gained many more members.
When the murmurs of rage and disgust subsided, Fergus spoke again. “Friends, prepare for a further influx to our cause. We have word about the new laws on The Puppet’s desk.” The Puppet was the name given to the President. It wasn’t very original, but it was true nonetheless. “They’ll begin bussing in zombies from the cities to even the furthermost rural areas. If you thought your kids were safe in an all human school then it’s time to think again.”
They roared, the anger palpable, the arms and hands of men and women shaking.
Fergus waited, “I’m afraid that’s not all.” He breathed, “they’ll be bussing in zombies for preschool too.”
Silence for a few seconds as it registered. They were messing with the children and now that was a different matter entirely. “This is war!” Came the first cry. “They will not brainwash my kids.” Came the second.
It was coming. It was only a matter of time. Soon there would be enough people in the resistance to call a full-blown revolution – 1776 all over again.
Fergus held up a hand and the noise died down. “Friends – Spread our message to as many people as possible. We must be ready when our time arrives. Tell them that this was an organized genocide of our people right from the start. Tell them what you know and they will join us.” Fergus scanned the crowd, the hundreds of ordinary men and women awaiting their revolution against the zombie and the government. “Prepare for war!”
Red Sox
From atop the John Hancock Tower, the Japanese Emperor looked down at the burning ruins of Boston. The helicopter blades whirred, stirring his wispy grey hair. The Emperor patted the fine strands back down, only for them to fly back up again.
The American Vice President pointed down at the harbor. “There, you see?”
The very gesture was an insult. There was no need for the Vice President to point out the harbor to His Imperial Majesty the Emperor. “Thank you.”
It had almost been too late. The Emperor should not have left it so long before making his long awaited trip to Boston, but being head of state was kind of a big task. He shielded his weary eyes from the flames, squinting toward the spot where 250 years ago, those brave Americans took matters into their own hands, boarded the British vessels and emptied them of their tea, dumping it in the harbor. Those Redshield bankers of London had wanted to tax the American people without representation.
The Emperor tilted his head and pointed toward a large green opening surrounded by rubble. “Boston Red Sox.” He said, clasping a hand to his heart.
“That’s correct, Your Imperial Majesty, that was Fenway Park.”
The Emperor breathed. He’d seen it. He could return home a happy man.
Home – He sniggered. The Japanese had dealt with their zombies from the outset, putting them on ships and dumping them on their own island. It was because of that one decision that Japan still prospered, while America lay in ruins. Still, he smiled to himself, he’d seen Fenway Park.
The Vice President gestured with an open hand toward the helicopter but when The Emperor ignored him, he turned back.
The Emperor nodded down at the ruins of the once great city of Boston. “It looks like you have a diversity problem.”
The Vice President’s mouth opened and remained askance for several seconds. The Emperor finally turned to face the wretched man, awaiting his reply. The Vice President twitched then swatted a limp hand through the air as though aiming for a fly – There was no fly. Finally, he spoke. “Diversity is our greatest strength.”
*
Levi Goldstein looked out the window of his gated mansion on Jekyll Island at the golf course outside. He longed to swing a few clubs and smash a few balls. But first there was the matter of his daughter, his princess, the apple of his eye. He checked his watch – She was late.
When had he last seen Zemirah? Four years? He shrugged his shoulders and returned to counting his money, readjusting his yarmulke. His damn yarmulke always dislodged when he counted his money.
“Hey, I’m here.” The feminine voice crackled through the speaker.
Goldstein pressed the button and then heard the giant oak door creak open from the entrance hall. The door slammed shut and he pushed himself to his feet awaiting his princess, as the patters of feet grew louder – Four feet in fact, because on this trip, he’d be meeting his future son-in-law.
He clasped his hands by his belly as the grin grew upon his face. His nerves pulsed, his belly queasy as the door to his study opened.
&nb
sp; “Dad.” Zemirah entered, displaying a swollen belly – That was a surprise.
“Zemirah, you’re…you’re.” Goldstein straightened, his eyes wide. He opened out his arms and his daughter stepped forward for his embrace.
“I thought I’d surprise you.” She sank into his arms.
“Such wonderful news.” He brought her back to arm’s length. “Well, let’s not be rude. Bring him in! I have to meet my future son-in-law.”
Zemirah angled her head round to face the door, “Latrino,” she called, “Latrino, come meet my dad.”
Latrino? Goldstein felt his eyebrows dip involuntarily. That was hardly a kosher name was it? A green hand appeared on the edge of the door and then it creaked open.
The fucking zombie stumbled in as Goldstein froze. He glanced again at his daughter, the apple of his eye, then down to her belly.
Something gave way in his bowels and suddenly it wasn’t just the zombie who stunk out the room.
“Dad,” Zemirah continued, “I’d like you to meet the father of my child.”
Zombie Virus is a collection of three zombie short stories by K. Bartholomew.
Zombie Virus contains the following three stories:
Zollywood – By his own admission, Todd Baywater is a bitter, twisted, friendless rat; A washed up actor who never got his big break. So when zombies take over the world, why do they keep him alive? Why do they send him to Hollywood along with several famous celebrities and movie stars? When Todd finally gets his “big break,” will it really be worth it? How low will he stoop for fame in a world where zombies are the audience? How far can zombie Spielberg push him before he snaps?
Zombie Society - They Live Among Us Page 11