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Authors: Vincenzo Bilof
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neither are the zombies. There’s a link between what you’ve experienced, and what I’ve seen in Egypt. It’s not completely your fault. You can’t help what you are.”
“Jerome was a nice guy,” Mina said. “Is he dead? What about Derek, or Vincent? Shanna?”
She peered into his face, and his gaze interlocked with hers.
“You don’t really care,” Jim said. “You feel nothing.”
“That’s not true. I mean, partly it is. I know I’m supposed to feel something, or worry about them just a little. My doctor always asks me how I feel about things, like the people I’ve eaten, and I know that I’m different than everybody else.”
“I think your doctor might be dead, too,” Jim said.
“Maybe, um, I don’t know. He might be. Patrick didn’t listen to me, and now all these people are dead. I don’t want to be eaten. Patrick would have protected me, and you promised you would protect me, but I should just die. I’m not a good person.”
“Most of these things are true. I forgive you for not understanding the majesty of what we’ve accomplished together, what we’ve seen.” He stood up and gestured at the scattered corpses that were attentive to Jim’s preaching. “These people made you. You’re a product of their world. Your father, Patrick, all the doctors who’ve worked on you—they’re the ones responsible for this. They created your nightmares. They created this nightmare. A society that wallows in such violence devours itself, and here is the proof. We can help them, Mina. By destroying all of them, we can save this race from itself.”
Mina shook her head. “I don’t see how that helps anything.”
“That’s what we’ll figure out,” Jim lifted the plastic bag for her to see. “I have video equipment and batteries. I’d like to test a theory.”
“I think maybe I should look for Patrick by myself. I don’t know what I’m doing.”
“You’ve become a party-pooper,” Jim lifted her up by the elbow. “These clothes we’re wearing are like camouflage; everyone trusts a priest and a nun, especially now. We’ll find you some drugs, and once you’ve eaten, you’ll feel a lot better about things.”
She allowed Jim to grab her hand and lead her through the maze of cars. She considered asking him about the people whose kneecaps he shattered for her sake.
***
Drowsiness broke her perception into prismatic shapes. There was still looting, and a group of young men accosted Jim because they wanted to rape her, even though she would have let them. Jim smashed their throats with punches and left them to rot in the sun; they were nothing more than a nuisance to him, as were the few zombies that stood in their path.
Jim let Mina hold the weapon and the video equipment while he dealt death to those who wanted to take from them. Killing in such a way gave him no pleasure.
They walked down zombie-congested streets, but there were still hardly enough to account for the entire populace. There were entire blocks untouched by fire—streets that yielded nothing more than graveyard silence. It was as if there were people who didn’t know the apocalypse had come, or they refused to participate in the world’s conclusion.
But it wasn’t over. It wasn’t over until Jim had his way.
They tried a Rite Aid and a Walgreen’s. Both drugstores had been looted. Jim remarked that even the coloring books had been taken.
Stomach rumbling, headache imminent.
Strands of red hair hung in front of her green eyes, damp with sweat. There were people who called out from windows and from rooftops. “It’s safe here!” they begged. Apparently, the Catholic attire attracted attention. Everyone wanted to be saved, even if they drew attention to themselves. As survivors called out, walking corpses were diverted and converged upon the noise.
There was blood on the pavement but there were no bodies.
Once in a while, a car barreled down one of the streets. Each avenue became like the other.
“Jerome was a nice guy,” Mina said. “Is he dead? What about Derek, or Vincent? Shanna?”
She peered into his face, and his gaze interlocked with hers.
“You don’t really care,” Jim said. “You feel nothing.”
“That’s not true. I mean, partly it is. I know I’m supposed to feel something, or worry about them just a little. My doctor always asks me how I feel about things, like the people I’ve eaten, and I know that I’m different than everybody else.”
“I think your doctor might be dead, too,” Jim said.
“Maybe, um, I don’t know. He might be. Patrick didn’t listen to me, and now all these people are dead. I don’t want to be eaten. Patrick would have protected me, and you promised you would protect me, but I should just die. I’m not a good person.”
“Most of these things are true. I forgive you for not understanding the majesty of what we’ve accomplished together, what we’ve seen.” He stood up and gestured at the scattered corpses that were attentive to Jim’s preaching. “These people made you. You’re a product of their world. Your father, Patrick, all the doctors who’ve worked on you—they’re the ones responsible for this. They created your nightmares. They created this nightmare. A society that wallows in such violence devours itself, and here is the proof. We can help them, Mina. By destroying all of them, we can save this race from itself.”
Mina shook her head. “I don’t see how that helps anything.”
“That’s what we’ll figure out,” Jim lifted the plastic bag for her to see. “I have video equipment and batteries. I’d like to test a theory.”
“I think maybe I should look for Patrick by myself. I don’t know what I’m doing.”
“You’ve become a party-pooper,” Jim lifted her up by the elbow. “These clothes we’re wearing are like camouflage; everyone trusts a priest and a nun, especially now. We’ll find you some drugs, and once you’ve eaten, you’ll feel a lot better about things.”
She allowed Jim to grab her hand and lead her through the maze of cars. She considered asking him about the people whose kneecaps he shattered for her sake.
***
Drowsiness broke her perception into prismatic shapes. There was still looting, and a group of young men accosted Jim because they wanted to rape her, even though she would have let them. Jim smashed their throats with punches and left them to rot in the sun; they were nothing more than a nuisance to him, as were the few zombies that stood in their path.
Jim let Mina hold the weapon and the video equipment while he dealt death to those who wanted to take from them. Killing in such a way gave him no pleasure.
They walked down zombie-congested streets, but there were still hardly enough to account for the entire populace. There were entire blocks untouched by fire—streets that yielded nothing more than graveyard silence. It was as if there were people who didn’t know the apocalypse had come, or they refused to participate in the world’s conclusion.
But it wasn’t over. It wasn’t over until Jim had his way.
They tried a Rite Aid and a Walgreen’s. Both drugstores had been looted. Jim remarked that even the coloring books had been taken.
Stomach rumbling, headache imminent.
Strands of red hair hung in front of her green eyes, damp with sweat. There were people who called out from windows and from rooftops. “It’s safe here!” they begged. Apparently, the Catholic attire attracted attention. Everyone wanted to be saved, even if they drew attention to themselves. As survivors called out, walking corpses were diverted and converged upon the noise.
There was blood on the pavement but there were no bodies.
Once in a while, a car barreled down one of the streets. Each avenue became like the other.
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