Our Undead Read online

  Our zombie doesn't hesitate in kneeling down and taking a place on the opposite side of the deer, closer to the prey's head. A full-grown deer should be big enough to share, not that this is his reasoning. He only wants to feed, more for the nourishment now than for the taste, as it usually goes. He gets in there and starts making his own opening, biting and pulling at the deer's hide. To this, it releases a short but impassioned bleat, and the noise alerts the first zombie, who looks up and is surprised to find that he is now sharing the prize he caught by himself. Irritated, he shoves our zombie's head roughly away, and proceeds with eating.

  Food is scarce for all zombies in this region, and this one is not willing to share, but our zombie is not willing to give up this find, and plunges his head aggressively back into the gash of flesh he created. The deer bleats in pain again, and once more, the other zombie sees that he is sharing, so he once more, pushes his intruder's head away. Again, he feels he has made his point and proceeds with eating. But he hasn't, and this time our zombie retaliates, pushing the first zombie back. It looks up and flings its left arm as hard as its uncoordinated body can manage, delivering a heavy backhand to the side of our zombie's face. It doesn't hurt, but it triggers the rage response in him, and our zombie sends a warning to the other in the form of a low growl. When the other one returns the growl, our zombie pounces over the deer and tackles it.

  They begin wrestling and rolling about the ground for a minute. First, one is on top of the other, then the other way around, until they finally settle with our zombie in the dominant position. He sits perched atop his selfish aggressor in a full mounted position, like an undead Ultimate Fighter. The other zombie struggles from below to get free, but can't manage to get our zombie's "dead" weight off of him. What makes it even harder are the cold hands gripping him tightly around his neck, keeping his head down. For all of his wild arm waving and enraged screaming, he cannot get free.

  Growing tired of these shenanigans, our zombie clasps his hands to each side of his foe's face, squishing his cheeks together in an effort to shut it up. However, it doesn't stop the beast from roaring and verbally arguing in their own incomprehensible language. Probably something like, "Get the fuck off of me, you thief!!" in a sputtering gargle. Even when our zombie, tries to physically cover it's mouth, it continues to bellow, so he grabs the sides of his face again and digs his thumbs deep into each of the laid out zombie's respective eyes sockets. He pushes until he hears a popping sound, and then pushes his thumbs in even further. Slime and crushed eyeball ooze all over the sides of his thumbs the deeper they go. It doesn't do much to curb the screaming, but it does cause explicit blindness.

  When our zombie withdraws his thumbs from the other's eye sockets, it gets off of it and heads back to the deer, who is bleating it's last bleats and breathing it's last breaths. The defeated zombie is finally free to get back up to it's feet, but when he does, he has no sight to guide him. He ends up walking off into the woods in the wrong direction, slamming himself face first into one of the thicker trees before moving on. Our zombie takes his secured spot, kneeling down in the place where the other zombie had been. He drops his head down into the opened gut, and gorges. To the victor go the spoils.

  THE ORIGIN - PART 2

  When he gets inside of his house and closes the door, he is welcomed by sounds of screaming and crying. Worried, he hurries into the living room and is relieved to find that his family is safe, although, they do look to be rather troubled. He follows their eyes and sees that there is a special report in progress on the television screen. It seems to be taking place in the crowded waiting room of a hospital, and the father realizes that the scream had come from an old lady on the television that was near enough to the camera's microphone that it had picked it up very clearly. Her screaming persists as the report goes on, and as it plays out, feeds scroll across the bottom of the screen, reading out bold lettered warnings about a "NEW DISEASE CAUSED BY CHEMICAL DUMPING IN CRATER LAKE", and more that tell about a, "INFECTION" that is "SPREADING RAPIDLY". As the field reporter tries to explain what is happening in greater detail, the room behind her resonates with the wails of the suffering.

  His wife is sitting on the couch in front of the television, hunched over. She looks deeply concerned, and their daughter stands close beside her, her face also reads of confusion. She was just at school and has heard nothing about this, not a tweet or a single post on the web. How could it have happened so fast? The father takes his place, and stands beside his daughter. She looks up at him, no longer upset about the fight they had had in the car, and with an almost fearful look in her eyes, then looks back to the television. He places a comforting hand around her and rubs her shoulder and back supportively. Then, he too continues watching the screen.

  The field reporter is still on it, giving her report to the newsroom and rest of the world. She looks just as distressed as the family as she works, looking around the waiting room in a worried fashion while reporting, although, trying her best to remain professional. Behind her we can see people sitting with their dying friends, and holding their relatives in their arms. One woman let's out a shriek that startles everyone, the reporter included, and the camera shakingly zooms in on the crying lady in the background. She holds a man in her arms, who lays motionless. It seems whoever it is has passed away, possibly her husband. She covers his face with a handkerchief, as the cameraman zooms back out recapturing the field reporter, who is just turning back from looking at the weeping woman. She explains to the viewers as compassionately as possible that the disease has taken it's first casualty. Watching from their living room, the family is deeply saddened and slightly alarmed. Whatever this thing is, it's real, and it's taking the lives of people in their hometown.

  As the reporter continues to speak, the screen readjusts into a picture in picture format. The anchor back in the newsroom is displayed on the bigger portion of the screen, and the field reporter is on the smaller box in the top left corner. As they converse back and forth about the sickness, what is being done and what people should do to protect themselves, it becomes apparent that something odd is happening on the smaller screen behind the unaware field reporter in the hospital's perturbed waiting room.

  The man who had just passed is now slowly sitting up. The handkerchief sticks to his face, keeping it hidden, while the woman's is frozen in total shock as the body raises itself from the embrace of her loving arms. Everybody in the room begins to gasp and stare in awe. Even the field reporter turns around to see what is happening, and the small screen expands again to get a better view of what is going on. The father and his family watch on, squinting and trying to understand what they are seeing. Maybe he hadn't died after all.

  When he becomes too vertical, the handkerchief falls from the risen man's face. It excites everyone surrounding him, including the reporter, and she motions frantically for the cameraman to zoom in and get a close-up shot of the miracle. He follows orders and zooms in on the couple. The man's skin had been pale before due to the fever, but now there is no color in it whatsoever, none except for a hint of greenish grey. His eyes are also greyed and bloodshot, and not staring at anything in particular. That is, until he turns to look at his wife in the seat next to him. Her tears of sorrow have become tears of joy, as she breaks out into a happy little chuckle. She says something to him, most likely his name, and everyone around them waits with baited breath for him to say something back, but he never does. They just stare into each other's eyes like lover's meeting again for the first time.

  Perpetuating the emotions of romance in the women's mind, the risen man lifts his hand slowly to the side of her face as if to caress it. She closes her eyes as he does this, really feeling the happiness, letting this gift of a second chance soak into her; mind, body, and soul. When his hand lands softly on her left cheek, it is cold, but she feels that familiar warm tingle coming up her spine, the same one she always gets when he touches her this way. He brushes a finger past her ear, and she sighs affection
ately, her head automatically getting pulled forward as if each of their lips are padded with magnets.

  Then just like that, the fantasy is over. In the blink of an eye, and with the same loving hand, the grey man snatches a fist full of the woman's hair, yanks her forward and takes a bite out of the left side of her face, with enough strength to tear off the tough tissue of her cheek.

  All three family members jump back in shock when they see this happen on the TV screen, and as one might expect, the entire hospital waiting room erupts in panic. When the camera operator zooms back out, this is unquestionably seen. Despite the chaos going on all around her, the field reporter goes on with the report. The camera shakes unsteadily, but the cameraman is able to keep both the reporter, and the panic in the shot relatively well, doing a pretty good job for all the hysterical people running around and bumping into him.

  And then, another scream rips through the air of the waiting room, like a spike to the ears. It's a little harder to tell because of all of the shaking, but the cameraman tries his best to see what is going on. Glimpses of another grey person in the background are caught over and over again, everyone around it trying desperately to get away. The whole family jumps in shock again when they see the second grey man become vicious just like the other one had. It grabs the nearest person and pulls them down to the floor, out of the camera's scope. The mother, more sensitive than her daughter and husband, looks away from the television in disgust. The more resilient field reporter, however, continues to pointlessly let everyone watching from home know about what they can clearly see on the screen. Some crazy shit is going down.

  Within only a few minutes, the waiting room is half full of monsters reborn. Many are patients who have died waiting to be cared for, and a few are people who have gotten bitten but not completely consumed. They would bleed out, die quickly and come back just as fast. It's total pandemonium inside the box in their living room. As best as she tries to work, eventually the reporter gets grabbed from behind and thrown to the floor. The camera operator attempts to keep filming, but is only able to get a two second shot of his partner getting the back of her neck chewed out before he, himself, is grabbed. After a bit of struggling, the view on the screen plummets abruptly and rocks to a settle on the floor. Only feet can be seen, running every which way on the screen, until a big body drops with a boom to the floor in front of the camera. Seconds later, a zombie crawls into the picture and starts ripping through the big man's shirt, undershirt and finally, his belly. Guts pour out, and the father in the living room takes his delirious daughter into his arms, covering her head.

  He grimaces, but can't take his eyes away from the screen. He can't believe what he is seeing. It's like a young child catching his parents making love for the first time. It's terrifying and confusing, but as much as you want to look away, you can't, and the image gets burned into your memory against your will, and you have to suffer with it forever.

  He finally gets some relief from the gruesome imagery when the camera cuts into that rainbow colored emergency broadcasting screen, and then back to the newsroom where the anchor's face is a pale shade of blank. He sputters out a few words, and then sends it too commercial. A fluffy bunny comes on the screen, an advertisement for some sort of toilet paper. The father and his family remain frozen in their living room, still shocked by what they had just watched. The mother looks up from the couch to her husband, still holding their daughter in his arms, and says something. They both look down at her, tears welling up in the blond woman's eyes, and the father begins to speak, possible words of comfort, but before he gets the chance, a loud crash interrupts him. All three family members look to their right, and the next scream to be heard is the mother's when she sees what is coming at them through their front window.

  WORLDS COLLIDE

  By the time our zombie is finished feeding, the only source of light is that of the stars. He gets up from where he has thoroughly eaten the deer, and turns away from it, but moves no further. He stands there in the twilight, staring into nothing; stands there with his face dripping in the deer's redness. Some pieces of its insides are still stuck to him, and a couple of them slide down his slimy gore stained cheeks. Deer blood drips from the corners of his mouth.

  While he stands, a cool wind blows. At this point, he has travelled quite a distance, and his clothes have become very tattered by the wear and tear of the journey. The white t-shirt he wears has become a dirty brown. It is torn throughout, and the dirt is mixed with the blood of many a creature. His black business pants are in the same, if not a worse condition than his shirt; muddy, bloody, and torn. He has been dead for about three days now, as far as we know, and due to the lack of cellular re-generation, his skin is starting to rot. On some areas of his body the skin hangs loose, and on others it has completely fallen off. Combine those with the cuts and scars that he acquired along the way, and you have one disgusting display of zombie. Not to mention the pus that some of the cuts are beginning to produce due to no medical care or disinfection being applied. His bare feet are a disgusting sight, as well, likened to the unattractive paws of those loveable little characters in J.R.R. Tolkien novels. Seeing him in this light, he has truly become a zombie, but one who is still famished.

  Without warning, he starts up again. He walks straight ahead and throughout the trees of this wooded piece of land. The trees here are tall and thinly branched, and the bushes are many. As he walks, our zombie trips over them clumsily but continues on course to wherever he is going. Soon the trees grow in number and the bushes become thicker, much thicker. Walking becomes a chore, or it would be if he could feel the fatigue or the irritation any normal person would be going through trying to trek through the stuff.

  Eventually, he passes by a few other zombies who have been caught and are stuck in the thickness. The farther he goes, the more he passes, but he ignores them, as well as the figurative warning, telling him that if he goes any further he'll most likely get stuck. Some of the trapped monsters struggle and fight to get loose. They roar at him when they hear him going by, either for help or as an additional cautioning to the one already given by the resistant terrain. Some of them are still when he passes. They hang lifelessly in the branches, moving their heads only slightly to watch our zombie when he passes by. These ones must have been stuck where they are for days, tapped of all their energy. Pressing on, a livelier zombie can be heard, raging and wrestling around in the bushes as our zombie advances. He passes this one without giving it a second glance as well, and it calms down as he does, searching to see which of his kin actually has the strength to progress further. He searches, but he never sees our zombie. How could he with no eyes?

  The more our zombie walks through the greenery, the thicker the forest becomes. Soon he isn't even walking anymore, but making multiple forced, pushing, strides through tree trunks and healthy shrubbery. His torso and legs have taken quite a beating from the branches and so has his face. Some of the more damaging scratches have begun to leak blood. I say blood, but it's more of an inky black fluid. One can only assume, as it flows from the undead man's wounds. They don't seem to bother him, even as they continue to accumulate with each thrusting step forward. The more he pushes, the more the sharp twigs vandalize his already rotting skin and tattered clothes until, *BAM*… He is stuck.

  He lets out a low growl and tries one more of his forced, thrusting steps, but his leg fails to escape the veiny grasp of the tangled bushes below. Then he violently shakes his whole body, trying with ferocious intent for a few seconds to break the hold that the forest now has on him, but again, he fails. His body then relaxes into the leaves, and for a moment it looks as though he is going to give up and just hang there like the rest of the underachievers that failed behind him, but he can't. He explodes into a sudden fury, letting out a mighty roar that echoes through the night air.

  It travels a long way, his roar, floating high above and throughout the trees, carried by the wind on a highway of invisible current to many diffe
rent destinations. The most interesting of these destinations is a simple, lonely cabin about a half a mile deeper into the woods. The inside of this cabin is badly lit. In fact, the only sources of light are a turned on flashlight, a couple of oil lamps, and a shaded plug-in lamp. All of these poor excuses for light are scattered around the floor of one of the cabin's back rooms, where there are three people settled on the floor; a young girl with long blonde hair, an older brunette woman with beautiful tear filled blues, and an older man with wavy blonde locks pasted to his forehead. He looks to be injured and very sick.

  It is in the brightest corner of this room that the older woman sits beside him, he who is stretched out upon blankets that have been laid out on the floor. They don't look very comfortable, but they do him much better than the bare hardwood floor would. The woman tries to make the man feel more comfortable in any way she can, wringing a washcloth into a bucket of water set nearby and rubbing his forehead gently with it. She looks worriedly at the shoddily bandaged bloody gash on the man's right forearm, closer to his wrist.

  The blonde teenager stands by the room's window, looking out into the blackness of the night. She hears an echoing bellow coming from somewhere outside and tells herself it is only the wind, but in her heart she knows it could be anything. The howling makes her soul shudder, and she shakes her head, disgusted by the new world she lives in. She turns to the older couple and makes her way over to the corner where they rest. The older woman is so focused on the fevered man that she doesn't even notice when the young girl is standing right beside them.