Our Undead

by Theo Vigo

  Margaret: You sure you don't want some?

  Billy: No, thank you.

  Margaret: You're not going to eat?

  Billy: I've already had a meal.

  Margaret: Really?! How long have you been awake?

  Billy: About forty five minutes.

  Margaret: What the hell?! Why didn't you wake me up?

  Billy: I needed some time to make preparations before we leave. Besides, I thought you could use the extra rest. How's your ankle?

  Margaret: It's… not great. It felt like it was getting better, but last night was a killer.

  Billy: Let me take a look at it.

  Margaret: Ummmm…

  Before she can give him permission, Billy has already taken some tools out of his bag and is sitting in front of her, taking the shoe off of her bad foot.

  Billy: What is this you wrapped it with? Ugh, everything is soaked. Your sock is disgusting.

  Margaret: Yea.. It's my mom's.

  Billy: ……

  Margaret: I had to wear something… I wrapped it with an old washcloth.

  Billy: I guess it did the job well enough.

  He unties the crusted washcloth and peels it off, as well as the moldy sock. His face crinkles a bit in repugnance.

  Margaret: Is it bad? It feels like hell.

  Billy: You're right about it not looking great, but at least it doesn't look infected. I'm ninety-nine percent sure that it'll be fine. Here, I'm going to put some antiseptic on it.

  Billy opens the little bottle up and pours some of it's contents on to a cotton swab, getting ready to apply it to the partially healed gash on Margaret's ankle.

  Margaret: Ninety-nine percent. I like the sound of- sssssss! Ow, dammit!

  Billy: Oh, relax. It doesn't hurt that much.

  Margaret: Hmm, you're right. Sorry. Force of habit.

  Billy repeats the cleaning process with one more swab of cotton, and then unravels the surgical tape to dress the wound.

  Billy: Yea, last night definitely did a number on this ankle. We'll take it easy today.

  Margaret: You say that like we have a choice.

  Billy: We'll try… You know, I have to say, you did really well in that field last night. I didn't expect you to be as cool and collected as you were.

  Margaret: What the hell are you talking about? What happened last night was the definition of unsettling, far worse than unsettling. I was anything but cool and collected.

  Billy: Right, but when it came down to it, you handled it really well. I kinda expected you to panic or freeze under the pressure. I underestimated you. I shouldn't have. There's definitely a reason you're still alive too, and it's not your smart mouth.

  Margaret: Heh, thanks. I appreciate that Billy Boy.

  Billy: Well, it's the truth, but… please, don't call me that.

  Billy's sentiment brings a warm smile to Margaret's lips, but his comment almost makes her burst out laughing. Besides her parents, Margaret isn't used to people being so blunt with her. She knows Billy is being real with her because she understands the liar's language. It has always been easy for her to spot another slick talker like herself, and play around with them until the two storytellers became gripped in a verbal battle of clever quips and sarcastic anecdotes. It is probably why she found Billy a little weird at first. She couldn't play those word games with him, but she's fine with it because she knows that Billy will most likely always be honest with her.

  Billy: There. You're all cleaned up. It's gonna be a little annoying walking around with no sock on one foot, but I guess that's the least of your worries.

  Margaret: Actually…

  Margaret reaches into her bag, shuffles around a bit with her free hand and yanks out a dirty sock.

  Margaret: I grabbed my mom's other sock… just incase.

  Billy: That's… gross… but smart.

  He gets up and returns the first aid materials to their place in his bag. After sipping out as much of the soup as possible and dabbing her bread inside the can to really make sure there is no more sauce left, Margaret tosses her empty can of Spaghettios behind her and slips on the nasty looking sock. She grimaces at the feeling of the soiled fabric caressing the areas of her foot that haven't been covered by the fresh bandage, then she puts her shoe back on.

  Margaret: Ugh… It'll do. I'm ready to get going, but listen, if you could catch Abe something to eat, I'd really appreciate it.

  Billy: No problem. We have to continue heading west. We'll go a little slower because of your injury, but if we keep moving at a steady pace, we should make it to the highway in less than a few hours.

  Margaret: (getting cautiously to her feet) That sounds okay. Let's get a move on then. Abe, come!

  Abe remains where he is, staring out into the woods.

  Margaret: Abe, come on! What are you looking at?

  He still appears to be drawn to something in the woods. Both Margaret and Billy walk over to him and look off into the woods in the same direction. All three of them stare for several seconds, but the two living beings see nothing among the trees, not even a movement. Billy's sensitive hearing isn't even picking up anything. He shakes his head and shrugs.

  Billy: All right. Let's go.

  Margaret: Yea, there's nothing out there, Abe. Come on.

  Billy begins on his way to the highway and Margaret shoves Abe along behind him, until he finally pulls his gaze away from the empty area in the woods and starts walking properly with the group. The three of them leave the area, two of them unaware of the not-so-lost soul that trails them. It was the focus of their undead comrade, unfelt by their limited human senses, and even undetected by Billy's acute hearing for it's impeccable stillness. Now that the three targets have begun moving again, the thing emerges from its camouflaged impression on the landscape. A slim feminine figure of average height stands motionless amid the wilderness. It's long dirty black hair covers it's face almost completely. Only it's small pointy nose jots out from the grimy strands. It stands facing the path in which the three trek. The pale wretched woman stands in wait.

  <><><>

  Billy's E.T.A. is reasonably precise and about two hours later, he, Margaret and Abe are walking unhurriedly up an exit ramp on the I-5. Margaret is limping along, but doing a good job of keeping up with the tireless kid, who seems to need just about as much rest as Abe. It is, however, affecting her state of mind and her mood. Neither of the travellers have spoken a word in over a half an hour.

  Billy: It'll be straight on from here.

  Margaret: That's nice.

  Billy isn't oblivious. He knows that Margaret is having a hard time. He silently but genuinely appreciates the effort she is putting in and feels she could use a rest. It just wouldn't be the smartest thing for them to do in their current situation and environment. The farther they can get before the sun goes down, the better. She's a tough girl. Billy knows she'll be all right. It isn't his forte, but perhaps some conversation will help distract her from her dis-ease.

  Billy: You know, this morning before you woke up, I was trying to teach Abe how to fetch.

  Margaret: (huffs) Oh, really?

  Billy: Yea. It didn't work out too well.

  Margaret: Of course it didn't. He only listens to me.

  Billy: Actually, he listens pretty well. I think he just doesn't get the "fetch" part. He couldn't understand what I wanted him to do.

  Margaret: Wait. What do you mean he listens well?

  Billy: Like, when I would tell him to come over to me or to stop what he's doing. He didn't seem to have a problem with those simpler requests.

  Margaret: Ugh, you mean he obeys you too? Abe, you're such a traitor.

  She looks back at the zombie, and he stares back untroubled.

  Billy: Oh, you don't have to worry about that. I'm certain he only trusts me because you trust me. Give the word, and he would probably rip my head off in a second. The two of you have some sort of weird connection. You're unmistakably his master.

  Mar
garet: Damn right. I should be, after what I put him through.

  Billy: Yea, I don't think he would want to go through that again... Isn't it strange?

  Margaret: What?

  Billy: You would think a mindless creature wouldn't know the difference between freedom and being confined.

  Margaret: Oh, Abe is anything but mindless. I wasn't sure about it in the beginning, but now I'm sure there's something going on in that head of his. It's like there's still a piece of his humanity in there somewhere.

  Billy: Exactly. It's hard to believe, but there's the proof.

  He starts walking backwards, looking at Abe as he continues the conversation.

  Billy: This zombie, with the ability to retain information. I almost feel like it's against the rules.

  Margaret: Ha! Rules don't exist here. They never existed, really, but I do worry about him.

  Billy: Why?

  Margaret starts walking backwards as well, so she can get a better look at their topic of conversation.

  Margaret: He's not as spritely… I mean, like he was before. He's like, losing energy or something; decomposing?

  Billy: No. Zombies can last up to five years on no food. He couldn't have already decomposed enough to slow him down to a point of notice. Plus, he's so well built. He must've been a powerful man. Has he taken any significant damage since you've been with him?

  Margaret: Aside from what I've dealt him? No. Nothing to fret about. Just a few falls here and there.

  Billy gets closer to Abe and examines his body, still walking backward and sometimes sideways, along Abe's side.

  Billy: He's got a lot of scratches… stabs wounds… His left arm looks a little dinged up.

  Margaret: (playfully) He was like that when I got him, I swear! The stabs wounds are from the door if got stuck in. Actually, they don't even look as bad.

  They both turn around, walking forward again. Billy jogs a few steps to catch up to Margaret.

  Margaret: But yea, even if his arm is broken, he can't feel it, and it hasn't stopped him from mercilessly ripping other zombies' faces apart.

  Billy: What's that?!

  Margaret: Yea, last night in the cornfield while you were off doing your explosion thing, a zombie had me pinned on the ground. Abe grabbed it off me and literally ripped it's bottom jaw off. He saved my life, again. I think it's safe to say he's physically fit… as far as zombies go.

  Billy: (in slight shock) Um, well then, if it isn't a matter of his strength and physique, maybe it has something to do with his diet.

  Margaret: That sounds like it would make more sense, but I've been feeding him almost daily since we were trapped in that cabin together, and I haven't skipped a day since he got out. I have you to thank for a large part of that. You made things a lot easier for me, thank you.

  Billy: Right, but what has he been eating?

  Margaret: You know, rabbits mostly. Little woodland creatures.

  Billy: Maybe that’s the problem.

  Margaret: What is?

  Billy: Uh, I know you haven't watched many of them, but have you ever seen a zombie movie where the zombies eat cute little woodland creatures?

  Margaret: (thinks for a moment) No… I don't think so.

  Billy: See? And that's because zombies aren't supposed to eat that stuff. I don't think it would be far-fetched to suggest that that's the reason for his lack of energy.

  Margaret: Whoa-ho-ho there, buddy! Hold on just one minute. So what you're trying to tell me is that his lack of energy is due to him eating animals?

  Billy: Exactly.

  Margaret: Well, what is he supposed to eat then?!

  Billy is silent. He feels uncomfortable letting the word come out of his mouth, but all it takes is to look into his eyes, and Margaret knows what he's getting at.

  Margaret: Good Jesus… Humans?! You want me to feed him humans?!

  Billy: It's the only thing I can think of. Why else would his strength be dropping at a faster rate than would be normal?

  Margaret: But.. but.. what's the difference? Blood is blood. You remember that movie with that girl that fell in love with the vampire.. and there was a werewolf after a while too. In that movie, the good vampires sucked the blood of animals instead of humans, and they were fine.

  Billy: Meh. I've never really been into the vampire thing, especially after they were turned from monsters into… heart-throby types. I like zombies, but yes, I do know the movie you are talking about… but like you said yourself, this isn't some fairytale. Zombies can't survive substituting animals for the good stuff. I think it has more to do with the flesh, the brains maybe, not necessarily the blood.

  Margaret: "The good stuff" he says.

  Billy: You know what I mean. There could be some special nutrient in humans that the zombie anatomy needs to thrive.

  Margaret starts walking backwards again.

  Margaret: Abe, say it ain't so! I don't know if I can… but I don't want you to die… I guess it'll be okay if I just… Jesus, am I really considering killing humans?!

  Billy: Things have changed. You know it. I know it… Just don't expect me to get involved if you choose to… you know. And if it makes you feel any better, he's al.. ready… dead…?

  A sputtering type of sound crescendos into the atmosphere around them, bringing Billy's sentence to a patchy end. It soon becomes recognizable, the sound of propellers, and all three travellers, even Abe, turn around to look up at the golden red sky that stretches out behind them. It doesn't take long for them to spot the helicopter that is fast approaching the airspace above their heads. It is extremely high up, but it isn't like any helicopter they have ever seen in their normal lives. It looks like some sort of military machine.

  Margaret: HEEELP!!!! WE'VE GOT THREE SURVIVORS DOWN HERE!!!!! HELLOOOOOOOOO!!!! DOOOOWN HEEEEERE!!!!!! WE ~ *umph*

  She finds a little black palm covering her mouth. Billy's attempt to quiet her down.

  Billy: Hey, relax.

  But Margaret pushes both him and his hand away and continues while the helicopter is exactly over their heads.

  Margaret: OVER HEEEEERE!!!! WE'RE ALIIIIIIIVE!!!

  But her efforts are useless, as the helicopter has already flown over and past them, way ahead of them on the same path they are travelling. Soon they can no longer hear the buzzing of the propellers. A sweet wisp of a memory from what seemed like ages ago had disappeared once again. Billy stands to the side, watching Margaret as she finally decides to bring her hands down from over her head. She had looked tired before, but now she looks truly defeated.

  Margaret: What the fuck was that?!

  Billy: It looked like some sort of army helicopter. Definitely not normal.

  Margaret: No! I meant, what the hell were you doing?! You didn't even try to get their attention.

  Billy: I highly doubt that they could see us from that far up, and if they could, I doubt even more that they would come down here and pick us up.

  Margaret: But you didn't even try, dude! (sighs)

  Billy: I… don't have any intention of being saved, Margaret. My goal is set. And to be honest with you, I don't think you want to be saved by those guys.

  Margaret: Why the hell wouldn't I?

  Billy: I don't think they would take very kindly to our undead friend here.

  Margaret looks back at Abe who is still looking into the sky in front of them. She sighs, knowing that Billy is probably right.

  Margaret: You don't know that for sure.

  Billy: But why take the chance?

  Margaret: Food? Shelter?

  Billy: All I wanna know is where that thing is going. It's heading the same way that we are… Come on. Let's keep moving.

  For thirty more minutes, the three of them walk in complete silence. Billy had tried to keep the conversation going before, but now all he can think about is the pitch-black helicopter that had passed them. It was such a curious sight and plagues his mind, but there's no way he's going to bring that up again, not until Margaret ha
s had some time to cool off and forget about it. It just doesn't make sense to him. In all of his research for the coming zombie apocalypse, he knows where all of the military bases are located, and he knows to avoid them. Regardless of what all of the texts may have said about security and weaponry, he doesn't trust the government. It worries him that they could be heading into some sort of concealed area on hold by the armed forces, but he keeps that information to himself. He just hopes upon hope that it doesn't interfere with his own objectives.

  Margaret: Billy, this is getting ridiculous. My ankle is throbbing. We need to stop.

  Billy: That wouldn't be too smart… not here.