In honor of Halloween, I made a Zack O’Lantern.
Monthly Archive for October, 2008
Everyone loved zombies. Who knew that New York horded such a massive colony of undead fans? Everyone would go see the movies. They loved watching their badass heroes slaughter mobs of ghouls on the big screen. The fad went unnoticed next to the polo shirts and sports games, but they were there. Believe me, the creepy shirts, hats, movies, books and video games were there nonetheless. Eventually these fans became fanatics.
The American culture loved the walking dead so much that zombie walks became common. You know the drill: a bunch of people dress like their decaying idols and march around “attacking” people, swelling their ranks. It was all good fun. One of these walks was eventually set up to take place in Eastwood. People ran, others chased. The mob had grown quite large since they started and were now shuffling toward Carousel Mall. Malls…the media’s favorite. The costumes were quite realistic. Nobody could tell the difference when the actual zombie joined in the fun. One man was mauled by it. People laughed, some screamed playfully. The man wasn’t playing. It took about ten minutes and three more victims before everyone noticed what was happening. Everyone ran.
Nowadays we sit and wait; stuck in an airport trying to take back our city.
Nobody loves zombies anymore.
“…Life’s so unfair when your best friend’s a ghoul. The end.” I put down the book and quietly make my way towards the door so that I don’t wake her, but it’s no use. The isn’t exactly a four star hotel we’re staying in.
“Aw, I feel bad for the penguin. Goodnight Daddy. I love you.”
“Goodnight, dear. Sweet dreams.”
I pull the door shut behind me and head for the lobby. As I exit the building, I pass members of the 27th Squad returning from their latest mission. Decap gives me a big smile. That can’t be a good sign of things to come.
It’s dark outside. If it weren’t for the few small fires burning I wouldn’t be able to see more than a few feet in front of me. It’s only early evening, but most of the children are asleep. They sleep when it’s dark. We don’t follow clocks anymore. Most people don’t even pay attention to the days of the week.
I volunteered to help out with the Corps at night after my daughter fell asleep. I want to go out and help them in the field, but I have to think of my daughter. I can’t risk getting hurt or worse out there. I’m in charge of cleaning and disinfecting the ZEDs each night. It’s not a glamorous job, and the stench is almost unbearable, but it’s the least that I can do to help. The Corps members are risking their lives each and every day so that I can live as normal a life as possible.
As I approach the north side of the parking garage, I find the pile of crowbars and bats covered with the bones and brains of the undead. Some of the squads make more of a mess than others. The 27th is one of the worst. Most listen to their mother’s advice and clean up after themselves. Not the 27th. Next to the pile of clubs, I find a bucket and sponge. I pick up the sponge, wring it out, and get to work.
He was tall, thin, dressed in black, alone, and undead. But there was no mistaking him. Even for a zombie, he was an unusual shade of bright white. Under the gore, it was greasepaint. Under his right eye, a black isosceles pointed down like an inverted tear.
“Uptown! Check this shit out! It’s him!”
“Who?”
“That bum who used to beg tips off people. Here ya go, buddy.” Parker swung his pole towards the tall man’s face, breaking his nose. “I always wanted to do that.”
“From over by Carousel? The one with the cardboard sign?”
“Naw. This guy was downtown by the bus stops. Usually on Salina. Miming. Worst mime in the world. It’s a wonder anyone ever gave him anything.”
“Well, he isn’t miming anything anymore. Kill him before he calls for backup.”
“No way. This creep gets special treatment. Give me your rope.” They stepped back while Parker tied a bowline, then moved forward together as Uptown nicked the Zombie’s throat with a machete to stop the moan. Uptown slipped the loop over the Z’s head, jerked the rope, and secured the other end to a standpipe with a taut-line hitch.
They stood a yard from the zombie as it clawed the air uselessly, its mouth flapping up and down noiselessly, the rope working its way into the notch Uptown had cut.
“You know, this is the first time in my life I haven’t minded looking at a mime. That’s a pretty good invisible box he’s doing.”
“Dude, you can’t make eye contact with them. They’ll never let you alone until you pay them.” He karate-kicked the zombie in the chest, sending him backwards. “That’s all you’re getting from me, buddy.” The Z wasted no time and flew forward, straining against the rope.
Uptown grabbed his friend’s arm in alarm but did not swing the two-by-four he was carrying. “Dude. That rope looks like it’s going to…”
But the cord did not break. Instead, the zombie’s body pitched forward with the top of its spinal cord showing, launching its severed head toward Parker. Parker would later swear that its mouth had formed a perfect O.
“I have never seen anything as funny as that in my entire fucking life.”
“If I had a buck, I’d tip him.”
“I wouldn’t,” Parker said, lining up the severed white head with his shoelaces and sending it face first into the concrete wall of what used to be the Grand Central Deli. “Mimes freak me out.”
Dear Mommie,
Daddy told me you were sick and that I couldn’t be around you. I know you’re in pain because I can hear you moaning and gurgling through the metal door Daddy built. Daddy also told me that you put up a fight being put in that box. He said Scruffy had to go with you. To keep you company. I hope he’s okay…I haven’t heard him bark in a couple of days. Are you feeding him, Mommie? I want you to know Daddy said were going on a trip. He didn’t tell me when we were coming back but I’ll bring you a gift. Mommie, please get better soon. I wish you could go with us but Daddy would be mad if I asked you to go along. Daddy said you keep him up and night and he just might as well “shoot that bitch.” I don’t know why Daddy would talk about you like that. Maybe he’s just mad that you got sick. Well Mommie, I have to go. Daddy says that nightfall is coming and if I don’t blow my candle out, more sick people like you will come and get me sick. And Daddy doesn’t want that. I love you Mommie. And please get better soon.
With Love,
Frankie
P.S. Don’t forget to feed Scruffy! I don’t want him to die.
Day 87, I went for a walk today to try and find a scrap of food, or hunt some kind of animal that hasn’t been bitten. I found myself down to Marshall Street. My brother used to work at the pizza shop on this street before…
I came to the building which once held his employment. It was dank, and dim. One of the front windows was shattered. Not the smallest fraction of glass was holding into the frame. The pieces were spread among the front sidewalk and in the interior of the lobby area, the place where people used to once stand in line and wait for their hot Italian pies in cardboard boxes. Cosmo’s Pizza… just the thought makes your mouth water. Dave truly knew how to cook a pie.
There was a door slightly angled to the left of the pizza shop, the glass is smashed out of it, also. Dare I walk up the stairs to see what used to be Halo Tattoo? I wouldn’t want to come across one of them, one of those who took my brother. I slowly opened the frame of the parlor door, and cautiously creeped up the stairs, toe by toe. The yellow walls were cracked larger than they were before the invasion. I beamed my flashlight through the opening where a door once was to see if there would be any movement in the upstairs room.
Meaker withdrew his blade from the temple of what was once a middle aged Businessman. The wet thud of the final Z hitting the road seemed deafening, only to be drowned out by the cheers of the Survivors behind him. Crowbars and lead pipes were thrust into the air in sync with the victory cries of those left standing. Meaker checked himself over to make sure he had not been bitten, his Kevlar plates were scratched and bitten but held up more than sufficiently. He wore a Black balaclava to ensure no Ghoul blood sprayed into his mouth, although most of his uniform was covered in the substance including his Balaclava, he managed to avoid infection again. The Sergeant, or more recent Lieutenant looked to the survivors left, More had survived the onslaught than he had expected, They had won the Battle of Mattydale. A small victory in a war that most of those cheering wouldn’t live to see the end of.
“Choices” by Chris Sinclair
Read by Dave Sipley
Music by Kevin MacLeod (incompetech.com)
In the Zone, everyone had something to remind them of their past life. For most, it was something physical that they could hold onto and remember. For Arthur, it was his music. Different songs could take him back to those Wednesday nights out with his friends when he should have been studying for the next morning’s exam, the trip cross-country, or his many break-ups. Arthur and his mp3s were inseparable. Not even the undead could keep them apart.
Rose Butler was one of the oldest members of the zone. Her husband died a few years before the outbreak. Her son Lawrence was the only family that she had left. Rose and I were neighbors before the outbreak and again here in the Zone. When the word came to evacuate, I made her come with me. She didn’t want to. She insisted that her son was coming to get her, but I wanted to get out of the city as quickly as possible.
Lawrence and I were friends when we were younger. We grew up together, but after high school we grew apart. He spent a dozen or so years after graduation “finding himself”. I don’t know if he ever found what he was looking for. The last that I heard, he wanted to do something with animals.
Every morning when my squad would go out on patrol, Mrs. Butler would find me with the same request. “Find my Lawrence, and bring him back with you.” I always responded that I’d keep an eye out for him and she would smile. I knew that there was no way that I could ever find him, but she needed that hope to keep going.
Eight men dressed as hookers.
Eleven women dressed as Corpse Corps members. The rendition of the Eighteenth Squad by their lovers had everyone laughing.
One person in a Richard Nixon mask. One of Ronald Reagan, and four of Clinton. There were six Dick Cheneys. Amazing how the old monsters never die. The one wearing the president’s mask–where did they find that, anyway?–got both boos and cheers.
Three little girls dressed as princesses.
One little kid dressed as Meaker. One was wearing his youth hockey uniform and one dressed in a karate robe. One eight year old had a Nielsen jersey on and carried–and dropped–a football. He wouldn’t have been old enough to have remembered seeing Nielsen play, but was too young to be blamed for appreciating the laughs he got.
One guy dressed as Donald Trump ran up to Brooks and said, “You’re fired.” Everyone laughed, even Brooks.
Seven vampires, most of indeterminate sex.
The people dressed up as the Fruit of the Loom fruits looked good enough to eat.
The woman who wanted to advertise her availability by wearing nothing but shaving cream was barred from the event by Brooks, much to her distress.
Several people dressed up as Romans in togas, drinking wine, probably real, straight from the bottle. There were twelve gangsters, male and female. No less than nineteen women dressed up in maids outfits. Two cross-dressing male nuns dragged Father Tutumbo rather unwillingly behind them in chains. He said a mass soon thereafter attended by thirty people.
Four ninjas appeared out of nowhere to attack the nine pirates and stage a battle, where like little kids playing cops and robbers, everyone declared themselves invulnerable to the other side’s attacks.
Three drunken doctors and four equally drunk nurses offered free exams (without a copay) to the suddenly ill.
All the kids cheered for a tall, thin penguin waddling down the parade route carrying a hockey stick. He would waddle up to a child before suddenly turning and running in the opposite direction to howls of laughter. The adults assumed there had been some new cartoon to replace Spongebob just before the collapse made it impossible to spend hundreds of dollars on made-in-China merchandise. They shrugged, but they still laughed at the kids’ hysterics.
There was a Cat in the Hat. There were two clowns, one of whom was wasted and the other who juggled machetes. There was a girl in a blue and white cheerleader’s outfit who did backflips, cartwheels, and other impossible flying combos without pause down the course to loud cheers.
There was a man or woman in a monkey suit. No one ever figured out who it was.
Somehow, there was candy for every kid. There was pumpkin pie. There was cider and apples.
Inside and out that night, there were no zombies. It was a good night.
By a year later, one third of the people would be gone, victims of the hunger, the cold, the disease, the undead. But for one night, no one cared.
It was a good night.
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