Zombie Off - The Beginning
Page 6
Riding his bicycle along the Schuylkill River, Connor smiled fondly as he remembered that first ZOMBIE OFF test. It seemed like a long time ago, but in reality it had only been a month. But in that month Connor had made the most of every can he acquired, completing over 20 missions throughout his safe zone, all of them alone.
Now he headed off to Chemcorp yet again, as his supply of ZOMBIE OFF was almost out. As much as he loved the product, he despised the man who invented it. From the moment Abe Morrow opened his mouth, Connor didn’t like him. He seemed like a bad combination of car salesman and sleazy politician. The fact that all Morrow cared about was gold and power made it even worse.
The world was controlled by the undead, and Morrow had a product that could help humanity take it back. Did he share it with the world? No. Did he distribute it freely to help mankind? No. Abe Morrow was a greedy son-of-a-bitch, and that’s all there was to it. He had everyone wrapped around his finger, because he had the ZOMBIE OFF.
Pedaling quietly along, Connor enjoyed the cool breeze as it blew across the water. He could have taken his motorcycle to the Chemcorp facility, but it was a beautiful spring day and he could use the exercise. He enjoyed riding his bicycle whenever possible, especially along the Schuylkill River trail. There weren’t a lot of zombies along the closer parts of the trail anymore, as the majority had been eliminated not long after ZOMBIE OFF was introduced. Although most used the product for supply runs, a few used it for quality time outside of the walls. Nothing spoiled a good walk like a horde of zombies, so a few had sprayed themselves down and set about clearing the nearby trail. Right now, Connor was glad they did.
Although most of the zombies were cleared, a few occasionally wandered onto the path, and three of them now blocked the trail ahead of him. Stopping the bike, he calmly dismounted and lowered the kickstand.
By now the undead were aware of him and were staggering quickly in his direction. They were still a good 100 feet away, giving Connor plenty of time to prepare, not that he really needed to. There were only three of them, and he was armed with his katana. Unsheathing the long, gleaming sword, he stood in the center of the path and waited.
“Come to papa, you undead bastards,” he muttered.
As the first of the undead reached him, he calmly took its head off and waited for the other two. As they closed to within 10 feet, Connor quickly sidestepped the one on the left, swinging his sword and removing the top of its skull. In one fluid motion, he spun and drove the blade through the mouth of the third, leaving two thirds of the sword protruding out of the back of its skull. Pulling the blade free, the last zombie fell to the ground.
After cleaning his blade, Connor pulled the corpses off of the trail and continued on his way. He had to dispatch another ten zombies over the remaining five miles before he reached the Chemcorp gate, and now he sat and waited.
When he arrived, the guard immediately let him in. Connor was a regular customer, and they liked to keep the regulars happy. Offering him a cold beer from a cooler, the guard took Connor’s gold and told him to wait at the gatehouse. He may not like the Chemcorp group, but he did enjoy a cold beer when he dealt with them. It was the only part of doing business with them that he enjoyed.
As Connor sat waiting, he pondered how much ZOMBIE OFF he’d get for the gold he brought. He didn’t have a lot this time, so he knew he might not get much in return. After a few minutes, the guard returned, carrying a single, neon green can in his hand.
“Shit,” muttered Connor as the man approached.
Taking the can, he threw it into his backpack and headed for home. As he pedaled along, his concerns grew.
“One can. One stinking can.”
Shaking his head, he continued on, considering the implications.
“I just have to make it last,” he said out loud.
He had accepted three missions over the last few days, and he never backed out on an agreement. The first two missions were no big deal. He’d be able to complete them with no problem using the ZOMBIE OFF. But the third . . . That one was different. He questioned why he even accepted the mission, but he already knew the answer. It struck close to home with him, so when the guy had asked for his help, he just couldn’t refuse.
The man couldn’t even pay Connor, instead placing himself in his debt should he complete the mission successfully. Connor normally requested gold as payment, allowing him to acquire additional ZOMBIE OFF after each successful run. But this time he made an exception, and he didn’t regret it. Not because of the terms of the agreement, but because it was the right thing to do.
Riding on, he continued to contemplate the third mission.
“It’s going to make Walmart look like a stroll in the safe zone,” he said to himself.
As the bicycle glided along the trail, he felt a slight knot in his stomach.
“What the hell have I gotten myself into,” he whispered.
THE END . . . for now
About the Author
Scott Lee is a 1986 graduate of Slippery Rock University with a BA in Anthropology. He's a professional archaeologist who's hobbies include drumming, motorcycle riding, ATV's, hiking, and disc golf. He is a huge fan of the Walking Dead and loves to read zombie novels while preparing for the impending zombie apocalypse.
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