Zomtropolis Page 5

  “The wet sounds of them eating . . . I can still hear them now. Those sounds.” She pressed her palms to her chest and stomach as if checking to make sure she was still intact. “They just ate and ate.”

  Her lower lip began to quiver. I wondered if I should try and hold her. I was about to reach out for her, but she said, “Marty, it was so real.”

  “You’re safe now,” I said.

  “No, no one’s safe. They’re out there. We’ve both seen them.”

  “They don’t know we’re here.”

  She picked up her glass of water and took a slow sip. When she was done, she held the glass with both hands. “I don’t know how long that’s going to last.”

  ·21: A Trek for Food

  It’s been two days since I last posted. To be honest, I forgot about you. See, there’s something about Selena that you need to understand: Time dissolves when she’s around. The passing of moments are barely acknowledged and if they are kept track of, it’s done on a subconscious level and never on purpose. You know when to eat, to sleep and all the rest, but I don’t recall looking at my watch until just this morning, the digital date informing me how long it’s been since I told you about Selena’s dream. Some reading this might say two days isn’t a long time. You don’t understand. In the world I live in, one filled to the brim with the undead, two days is a very long time. Add being reunited with the love of your life after you thought you killed her and Time has no meaning.

  Hold on a second . . .

  . . .

  . . .

  Selena asked what I was doing. I thought it might be best to keep this blog a secret. For now. See, girls are finicky like that: they want a guy who needs them, but not one who really needs them. The sad part is, it’s hard for us guys to find that balance.

  Anyway, I just said I was writing down some thoughts about the zombies and coming up with a game plan to keep us safe. In a way, it was partially true, but it’s killing me to keep this blog from her. But this thing needs to be written in case something happens to me. There needs to be a record of trying to live on this zombie-infested planet. And if I’m going to be the one to write it, I’m going to do it my way and include the girl of my dreams.

  Back to the task at hand: Selena. I know some of you are sick of hearing about her, but it’s important I share everything with you. You’ll understand in the end—if I live long enough to get to the end or even if there is an end.

  Food is scarce. We’re not starving, but it’s becoming a challenge to find what we need as either what is found is already rotten, or I end up being the one to clean out an abandoned pantry or kitchen cupboard and there’s not much there to begin with.

  Selena and I went on a food hunt yesterday. She insisted on coming, though I pleaded with her to stay at the apartment for her own safety.

  “I’d feel safer if I was with someone,” she said. “Besides, I can hold my own, if we need to.”

  “I’m sure you can,” I said, though I didn’t really think so. She never struck me as the warrior type. Further–and, yeah, think of me as a politically-incorrect/insensitive/ignorant fool—but, despite the whole “all for equality” mantra that was so prevalent in society, the reality is the children were the first to be eaten, then the women, then the men. Girls are just not as strong as guys. Save for a few exceptions, we dominate. Hunters and gatherers and all that jazz. As for Selena, she’s the kind of girl who, when you hug her, you can feel her frailness. Not that she’s weak, but her frame is small and I’ve never seen her lift anything heavy. Even when she used to give me a good squeeze, there wasn’t a moment where I went, “Okay, that’s enough.”

  Digression over.

  Selena and I hit the streets. I was armed with my razor-covered baseball bat. She had a cleaver from the kitchen. Unless we had to weave around fallen vehicles or rubble, I made sure she was beside me the whole time.

  It took an hour, but we made a direct line from my apartment north to Chinatown. Back in the day, it was one of the most colourful areas in Comptropolis. The curved and rounded roofs with their swooping eaves stood high and proud over elegant shops, some made of solid glass except for their structural supports. Neon signs hung in windows; others naming the restaurant or store in big, bold oriental-styled letters. A tourist attraction, sure, but there was more to it than that. There was a sense of history and cultural pride, something that was lost in most other parts of the city when Comtropolis made its mad dash for modernism.

  The downside of searching Chinatown for food was the Chinese used a lot of fresh ingredients in their cuisine. By now, all of it would be rotted. However, the Chinese were also wizards at drying foods and I hoped we could round up a bag or two of rice, noodles, powdered soups and dehydrated vegetables.

  At the edge of Chinatown, Selena and I stood side by side.

  It had been a quiet walk over. Any undead we saw were quickly avoided by us ducking in behind zipcars or under benches or in bus stops. But here in Chinatown, we had a big problem: the undead roamed the streets, many of them gathered in packs. I counted at least thirty zombies from where I stood.

  “Think they see us?” Selena asked. Her voice wavered and I guessed she was still upset over her dream and what she saw before her was too much for her. But to be honest, it is too much. For anybody.

  “Not yet, but they will. All it takes is one. After that, they all see you, like their brains are connected somehow.”

  “What do we do?”

  “Sneak around. I want to hit The Wok over there.” I nodded in the restaurant’s direction.

  Selena peered down the street. It took her a moment, but it appeared she finally saw the burned-out sign reading THE WOK. She took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “What’s the plan?”

  It was then I really wished she wasn’t with me. If anything happened to her . . . (and yeah, I realize my feelings for her are messed up and I’ve done things too horrible to be forgiven for, but you trying living in a world filled with zombies and do better. No, really, go for it. I’ll be right here if you need me.)

  “Here’s the deal,” I said. “Stay close. They come near, first try to avoid them. If you can’t, lay into them with that knife of yours. Just be careful it doesn’t get stuck in them and you lose it. Cool?”

  “Okay. You be careful.”

  “I will.”

  We started in, cautiously, nearly tiptoeing. Less than five feet from where we started, and an undead guy with mottled deep gray skin saw us. He changed direction and started toward us, feet dragging. He brushed past another zombie—a girl with no nose and blood running from her chin—his shoulder scraping strongly against hers enough to turn her so she faced us. On our right, another one saw us.

  “Keep going straight,” I said. “Don’t go out of your way to get them.” I did want to take my bat across their undead skulls, but with Selena by my side, getting to The Wok in one piece was more important.

  We went around another vehicle, eyes trained forward on the restaurant. More undead saw us. More drew closer.

  The moment the dead guy with deep gray skin brushed his fingers against my shoulder, I swung the bat into his head. The razors caught on his skin and peeled his nose and cheek from his face. I raised the bat high then brought it down on his head. The bone cracked and the creature fell to its knees. Selena yelped. I took the bat across the zombie’s head again. It’s neck broke and its head snapped to the side; the razors on my bat took more flesh and bone with it. The zombie fell over.

  Selena screamed and an undead dude who was too overweight for even a zombie had his hand on her shoulder. Shrieking, she tried to pull away. The zombie gripped her right shoulder and jerked her toward her. About to come in with the bat, I was stopped when another zombie stepped in front of me. I jabbed the bat into its chest, then brought it around so I clocked it in the back of the head.

  Selena turned on her heels, raised the cleaver, and brought it down on the zombie’s wrist. She wasn’t strong enough to have brough
t the cleaver clean through, but the force was enough to give the undead man pause and look at his hand. That was enough time for me to make two giant strides over to it and bring the bat across its skull. The creature fell to the ground. I went over to its arm, put my foot down on it, then ripped the cleaver from its wrist and handed it to Selena.

  “Here,” I said.

  She took it.

  “Hold it harder. Try chopping instead of just slamming it into something.”

  She nodded.

  More zombies closed in.

  “Watch out,” I said, referring to myself, not them.

  I lunged forward, bringing my bat down into every undead head that filled my vision. Men, women, even children received a blow to the head. Some stayed down, others didn’t. Those that stumbled to the side or fell but got back up received another swing. One guy’s head burst on impact. I don’t know what that was about. It was almost like hitting a watermelon. Over-decayed, maybe, though his skin wasn’t in too bad of shape.

  A little girl with no lips grabbed hold of my leg and tried to bite my thigh. I brought the base of the bat in between her face and my leg, then pried it back over my leg like a crowbar, loosening her hold on me. Taking a step away, I wound up and brought the bat into her face in a golf swing. The force was enough to lift her off her feet and go flying, a spray of blood hitting the air with her.

  To my right, Selena hacked into an old man with no shirt. She ripped the cleaver from the side of his neck. Blood spurted out in an arc. She brought the knife in on the other side.

  “I got it,” I said, moving in. She removed the blade and I took the bat across the old guy’s head. The flesh and bones of his neck gave way and his head went flying off his shoulders.

  Taking Selena by the hand, I brought her close then ran with her past a couple zombies and in between two more. We were almost at the restaurant.

  “Get behind me,” I said and began swinging the bat side-to-side. Every zombie that got close got struck. On one of them, my bat got stuck in between its neck and shoulder and I had to pry it loose while waving off the undead man’s hands as he tried to grab me.

  With a shriek, Selena brought the cleaver down and into the man’s forehead.

  “Nice,” I said.

  “Thanks.” She grinned. It was the first time I saw her smile all day.

  Forcing myself to remain focused, I took out another zombie and Selena and I made it to The Wok’s front doors. They were glass and the glass was smashed. Others had been here first.

  We ran inside and was immediately greeted by a mound of bodies, mostly piles of bones and gobs of dry and wet flesh. Anything obviously humanoid was lost in the grue.

  “Disgusting,” Selena said. “Stinks.”

  “Awful, I know. Let’s go.”

  The groans of the dead filled the air behind us, as did their banging and clamouring as they made their way into the building.

  “We don’t have much time,” I said.

  We ran through the dining room, past turned over tables and strewn-about white tablecloths smeared with blood. I accidentally kicked a severed arm when I ran by it.

  We burst through the kitchen doors. Silver pots and pans lay everywhere. Metallic cupboard doors hung open and bare. The deep freeze door at the back of the room was also open.

  “Pantry. Pantry. Pantry,” I said.

  Selena stayed close to me as I walked around and scanned the room.

  “Sure this place has food?” she asked.

  “I didn’t say I was sure. Just never been here. Most everything between my place and Chinatown has been picked clean. This area was the next stop on my list.”

  Footfalls thumped against the ground in the other room.

  “Hurry, Marty. Hurry,” she said.

  “I know.”

  But I couldn’t see the pantry.

  The kitchen door swung open.

  The dead shambled in.

  ·22: Just Keep Moving

  Selena and I dropped behind a counter loaded with scattered spoons and pots. Both of us breathed quick and short, our breaths echoing the fast beat of our hearts. We looked at each other with wide eyes, knowing the slightest sound would alert the dead to our location. Selena’s lower lip began to tremble. I don’t know why it happened then, of all times, but tears dripped from the corners of my eyes–not because of fear, but of seeing her so scared. I wished so badly I could just wrap my arms around her and shelter her from the undead lumbering into the kitchen, their groans echoing off the walls.

  But I couldn’t.

  To sit there, eyes closed, pretending we were somewhere else would only ensure our deaths.

  So we sat there, as still as statues, hoping the undead wouldn’t shamble around the whole kitchen. If only they’d just leave. The moments ticked by, time seeming to be caught in a slow drip of molasses.

  Selena squeezed her eyes shut when a zombie let out a raspy howl. She broke down, sobbing. She did her best to stifle each choking gasp, but the best she could do was make it sound like some kind of inverted sneeze.

  The zombies’ footsteps drew closer.

  “We’re going to have to run,” I whispered.

  She opened her eyes and nodded, her expression clearly displaying she knew it was her fault the undead heard us, her gaze asking me for forgiveness. Even if we were going to die, of course I’d forgive her.

  The dead drew nearer and I guessed they were right up against the other side of the counter. How many were there, I didn’t know.

  “Arms up and plow through,” I told her. “Let me go first.”

  I duck-walked past her then drew my arms up so my forearms were held in front of me like a couple battering rams, my bat held vertical like some kind of flag of land and country. Selena held her cleaver aloft.

  “Now,” I said, and stood quickly. Ignoring the head rush, I rounded the counter and propelled myself forward through a pack of zombies about four bodies thick.

  “Run!” Selena screamed from behind.

  We headed for the kitchen door, leaving the shamblers behind us. We emerged back into the dining room proper, which was now swarming with the undead. Bat in hand, I went to work bringing its razor-covered end into every rotting head I saw. Blood and skin tore from decaying skulls, sailing through the air like a black, red, and gray mist. Selena grunted behind me as she took the cleaver to anything that came near her. Bodies dropped, and I learned a secret to fighting the undead at The Wok: keep moving. You cannot let yourself become stationary when under attack. Just move, move, move and cut your way through like a madman.

  My bat sliced open the chest of a woman, the interior of her breasts sliding out like moldy chicken from a couple wet paper bags. I brought the bat up into the stomach of an dead old man, removing his guts, making them drop out to the floor.

  “Get to the door!” I said.

  “Should have seen if there was a back one,” Selena replied as she drove the cleaver home into a dead teenager’s skull.

  “Didn’t see one running off the kitchen.” I took a deep breath, brought my bat against the head of another zombie, then called to her, “We get outside, go right. I think there was an opening there.”

  “Opening?”

  “Not as many zombies.”

  “Okay.”

  With a shriek, I ran for the doors, swinging my bat side to side, its bladed end tearing into some of the undead, other times serving more as a battering ram, helping to clear the way. Selena was right behind me. The blade of her cleaver nicked the back of my arm. I barely felt it; just a mild sting. I don’t think she realized it because she didn’t say anything.

  We emerged through the broken front doors of The Wok, the zombies out front ambling about in different directions, the majority, however, stumbling toward the restaurant.

  “Move!” I shouted.

  We headed to the right as planned, taking out as many of the undead as we could. We only fought those who were too close for comfort. When fighting zombies, you see, y
ou don’t make active work of it. The goal is to get away and do what needs doing in that regard. Try to take them on like some kind of He-Man and you’re dead meat.

  Half-eaten bodies lined the streets; all missing their heads. Whether that was from other folks killing the undead or from the undead themselves going after the brains, I’m not sure. Some of the bodies were missing arms and legs. Some just a hand or foot. Guts and blood coated the pavement as if a truck filled with paint cans had crashed and spilled black and red and brown and gray everywhere.

  The stench of rot was so thick I think I heard Selena throw up while running behind me. I was about to ask her if she was okay when an dead Asian dude stepped in front of me, hands outstretched. I brought the bat down on his arms, tearing through the rotting skin. The bones within broke and what was left of his arms just dangled there at the elbows. I took the bat to his face and dropped him. Selena and I jumped over the body and kept going.

  Finally we were able to turn a corner into an alley. Fortunately, it was open-ended so if worse came to worse, we wouldn’t be trapped.

  We stopped and put our hands on our knees.

  Selena did have a bit of throw up on her mouth. She must have saw me wince because she quickly brought a hand to her face and wiped it away.

  “Sorry,” she said.

  “It’s okay. Are you all right?”

  “No.”

  “You hurt?”

  “No. Just . . . shaky, grossed out. Sick.”

  “I know the feeling.”

  We kept an eye on the mouth of the alley as we caught our breaths.

  “So thirsty,” I said. “Feels like I’m swallowing a washcloth.”

  She nodded. “Yup.”

  A shudder ran through me; my legs were weak. I didn’t want to admit it in case Selena was more or less sturdy now. Didn’t want to be the weaker one. Not right here.

  “Come on,” I said, and slowly began backing out of the alley the opposite way we came.

  “We’re going home, right?” she asked.

  Never thought I’d hear her refer to my place as home. “I don’t know. We still need food. I’d rather just get it all in one go instead of coming out later.”