King of the Zombies

We've all got something we're ashamed of. Yeah, I guess that's part of human nature, I guess. Even though I'm not technically human, though. I am a zombie. I'm deeply ashamed of the world I live in. zombies suck. So do humans. I hate both species. Lord, I need a third option! Life as a member of the undead used to be pretty cool, I guess. I used to run with the Blood Runners. We were a group of undead citizens working for the last remnants of the United States Government, in the last remaining human city. Boston, Massachusetts. Oh, and the name is Thurgood Jack Springfield. Friends call me T. J. the Thurgood stuff got me made fun of as a brat. Probably why I grew up to be such a tough son of a gun. I used to be the only black guy in the Blood Runners group but that's okay. Cause I was also the coolest group member. And chicks dug me. Both the living and the undead. Word.

Lately, things haven't been so great between me and the other members of the group. Actually, that's a bit of an understatement. My friends and teammates have discovered a new sport which is not sanctioned by the old NCAA or the ancient Olympic Committee. Hunting down my black ass. All because I refused to join them in slaughtering humans. And although I've been lucky enough to stay ahead of them for the time being, I got no doubt in my mind that they're going to catch me. I've known these folks for decades. I've fought beside them. And now they're trying to kill me. It really sucks when your best friends want you dead. I didn't think they'd take it this far. All I did was blow up their motorcycles and leave them stranded in a nearly barren wasteland, after all. Jeez, some people just don't have a sense of humor!

The pack's field operations leader and my would-be executioner is a tall, skinny white guy with red hair and green eyes. His name is Edward Johnson, though everyone calls him Slice. He likes to slice and dice his enemies with his spring-loaded crossbow which shoots these wicked blades called Slicers. Whatever, the guy is a major weirdo. And I don't mean just because of his penchant for red flannel shirts, black leather pants and cowboy boots. He's not a cowboy, he's originally from New Hampshire! I never said that to his face because he could make my immortality a lot shorter, if you know what I mean.

Slice's old lady is this tall, sexy Mexican gal named Melinda Sanchez. Folks, I'd give my left lung to do the dirty Sanchez with her any day. I mean, this gal has it all. Her face is mad pretty, with a sexy mouth that makes you think of only one thing. What kind of lipstick is she using? Nah, I'm just playing. You know what I mean. She's got a tone body with the right curves, and smooth, long legs that go on forever. Oh, and don't even get me started about that ass. Melinda has a heart-shaped bubble butt that looks so tempting, it could make a gay man go straight. She has a thing for form-witting black leather outfits and she wears them so well. The lady is not just hot, she's also smart and quite the fighter. Her only flaw? The loser she's hooked up with. She needs to find herself a real man and I am just what the doctor ordered.

But enough about her. The other members of the group are Nikki Chang and Anthony Vladimir. Nikki is a short, slim but curvaceous Asian gal with short, spiky hair bleached bone-white. She's really cute, smart and easy to get along with. A mean poker player who's handy with a rifle too. She also reads comic books. Sounds like my kind of woman. Unfortunately, she's gayer than a two-dollar bill. Good for the ladies she runs into and not so good for the dudes like me. But whatever. To each their own, know what I mean? We're good friends, though. I think it's because we're both horny little devils who would do anything to catch some play from any woman between the ages of twenty and sixty. Hey, I don't discriminate. All I need is a yes!

Anthony Vladimir is a five-foot-ten, big and chubby guy with light bronze skin and pale green eyes. He's half black and half Russian, which explains the Vladimir last name. He doesn't talk much, and he's kind of short-tempered. He's also bisexual. I bug him about him all the time but I'm really not prejudiced. I hassle everybody. Men and women. Blacks and whites. Straights and gays. Republicans and Democrats. It's sort of my way of dealing with the world. I didn't choose to be a zombie. But no one said I can't have some fun with it, know what I mean?

A long time ago, life was far different. In 2009, the world changed. Ever watch old zombie movies? Well, it's kind of like that but vastly different. A scientist created a virus which turns human beings into zombies. But those aren't the zombies you know. These zombies are intelligent. They're wickedly smart. They talk and make plans and everything. And they don't rot unless they run out of flesh and blood to feed on. They eat animals but prefer to feed on live humans. That's the modern zombie for you.

When news of the zombie outbreaks came around in early 2009, the world reacted with disbelief. They learned pretty quickly that zombies were for real. North America fell, as did Europe and Asia. Africa fell as well. Billions of zombies swarmed over the cities of the world, destroying everything and turning the few remaining humans into members of club undead. One hundred and fifty years later, the planet Earth was dominated by zombies. Undead men and undead women now rule the world. Humans are their prey. Of the planet Earth's seven billion human beings, only about two hundred thousand remain. They're living in the fortified and retrofitted fortress which was once known as Bean Town. Everywhere else, zombies rule.

The only thing standing between the humans and the zombies are us. Or should I say were us. The Blood Runners. Zombies which the humans captured and implanted with mind-controlling devices. Basically, they force us to become their protectors. At least, that's the way it was with the original Blood Runners. Me? I'm not implanted with any mind controlling device. Like any living being, or in my case undead, I do as I please. I don't kill humans anymore. Don't get me wrong, I'm nobody's pet. I refuse to serve the humans. I don't hunt the undead either. I got nothing against my fellow zombies. I just want to be left alone, you know? Unfortunately, in this universe, some people see the world as black and white. Zombies hate humans. Humans hate zombies. Both side show no mercy to the other when they get the upper hand. It's all so...political. What a mess.

So here I am, riding on my beat-up old Harley through what was once the city of Bangor, Maine. I break for the night. I don't have to, but I feel like it. Zombies don't get tired. We don't need to sleep. And if provided with sufficient flesh and blood to keep decay at bay, we can last centuries. Possibly forever. Who knows? However, we're not immune to frustration. So I made camp and caught myself supper. A snake.

In the wasteland most of the world has become, many animals have remarkably flourished. Snakes were among the survivors. There are lions, tigers and hyenas roaming all over the U.S. of A. They are the descendants of animals escaped from human zoos during the carnage of the early twenty first century. They compete with wolves, bears and coyotes for the wild bulls, deer and horses which roam this land. I really like the taste of snakes. Above all other animals. They taste good. Also, they put up quite a fight when caught. The snake I caught bit me several times. Unfortunately, someone forgot to tell it that snake venom doesn't work on dead men. And so I feasted on its flesh.

I lay on the stony floor, impervious to pain and discomfort like all of my kind. A zombie can walk from Boston, Massachusetts to Ottawa, Canada, without feeling tired. Benefits of being undead. Snow doesn't bother us. Neither does fire. Oh, it can kill us but we feel no pain. I looked up at the sky, and saw the stars. It's rare to see them anymore. A permanent grey cloud surrounds the planet. Sometimes, I wonder what life was like in the old days.

I find myself thinking about the recent past, and the life I lost.

Eighty years ago, I was a young man living in the city of Chicago, Illinois. There were five thousand human beings in the city, constantly fighting against hordes of zombies. I lived in a fortified building with my family. My father, James Springfield and my mother Elisabeth Jones Springfield were born into the war between zombie and human, just like my brother Lucas and me. They told us tales of the human world as told to them by their parents. Once, humanity ruled the world and there was no such thing as zombies. No misanthropic female scientist had unleashed a deadly virus upon the world. Life was good. Humans only killed each other in those days. Sounds like a good time to me. Then, it all went to hell.

The zombies came. They conquered. They slaughtered. They now rule. And Homo Sapiens is now an endangered species. They thought they could control us zombies. Captured hundreds of us and performed all kinds of science experiments. They controlled our minds and made us fight our own kind to protect them. In the end, the mind-controlling devices malfunctioned and the so-called domesticated zombies the humans thought would protect them turned against them in a heartbeat. Yeah, the day my friends mind-controlling devices malfunctioned, they returned to Boston and slaughtered dozens of humans. All it takes is a single bite from a zombie, then you will become one of us. It takes a person four to six hours to become a zombie. Tops. Then you're undead forever. Destined to live forever unless you starved and became a skeleton, or somehow get decapitated or shot in the head. If you eat well, and stay away from sharp swords and gunmen, you just might live forever. That's the undead life for you. How about that?

Sometimes, I wonder if my human family is still alive. The last time I saw my parents, things didn't go so well. Boston was under attack. Swarms of zombies were at the city's doors. They weren't the shambling, dim-witted zombies shown in old movies, as I said before. These zombies have guns, knives and grenades. They drive cars, ride motorcycles and pilot helicopters. They made use of every resource available to them. I went out of the city to fight them. I only had a rifle and a dirt bike, but I didn't care. With me came my brother Lucas, who had grown into a tall, brawny young man with dark brown skin. He kept his head shaved ever since he turned twenty one. Favourite weapons? Automatic assault rifle, along with a machete. We weren't alone.

Thousands of men and women from the city came out to fight. Lucas wife Kayla Quincy came out with us. She's a tall, muscular, blonde-haired and green-eyed femme fatale, as they say. I used to hit on her all the time. With a cute face, tight body and big booty like hers, it would be a sin not to. She used to always blow me off. Then one day she met my younger brother and it was love at first sight. I couldn't believe it. I mean, I look better than Lucas. I'm taller, better-looking and stronger. I'm also smarter. Why did Kayla go with him? Oh, well. I guess she doesn't like a macho man and prefers sissy guys. To each their own. I wish my brother good luck and congratulated him. Hey, I was the best man at their wedding and the godfather of their newly adopted son Matthew and daughter Jennifer. See? I'm not a hater. Oh, my. I'm rambling on again, aren't I? Sorry about that, folks. I was about to tell you about this major battle for the defense of Boston.

We came out fighting. The city's bold and brave. Unfortunately, we were outgunned and outnumbered. The zombies slaughtered us, basically. I did my best. I've been called many things. My dad thinks I'm a womanizing drunk and heaps praise on my younger brother. My mother thinks I was born under a bad sign. My brother thinks I'm nothing but a joker. My sister-in-law wants me to date her dull, ugly girlfriends in the hope of one day settling down. Thanks but no thanks. I may be all that, that's somewhat debatable. However, no one thinks I'm a coward. No way Jose! I've not only got a big mouth, I've also got big balls! I waded through the hordes of zombies with a makeshift flamethrower, burning those undead bastards and bitches whenever they came near me.

Like I said before, there were simply too many of them. I watched my comrades fall all around me. I watched my ex-girlfriend Wanda get taken off her bike by two burly zombies. That really pissed me off. Wanda was not just my ex-girlfriend. She was also my team mate. And she was so hot that I couldn't stand the thought of her as a zombie. Nothing against zombie broads but most of them aren't too big on the hygiene thing. Hey, someone's got to say it! They really stank! Just like the slobbery zombie dudes. Present company excluded, of course. Even as a zombie, I showered as often as possible. Being dead is no reason to let yourself go. Immortality is what you make of it!

I shot the two large zombies which held Wanda. Unfortunately, it was too late. She'd already been bitten. I gritted my teeth. Wanda stared at me. I looked into her eyes and I knew. Just like me, she'd rather be dead than a zombie. So, I shot her in the head. Down she went. Finally at peace. More zombies came at me, and I was shooting and slicing with my machete. I watched with pride as my brother reduced five zombies and their jeep into a great ball of fire. Lucas had always been a great shot. Where in hell did he get that grenade launcher?

His wife Kayla wasn't bad either. I watched her slice a towering female zombie from head to navel with her samurai sword. The zombie begged for her life but Kayla still cut her. Slowly. Unbelievable. Don't get me wrong. I enjoy killing zombies as much as the next man or woman but I don't get off on slaughter. It's just not my thing. Kayla on the other hand was a blood crazed maniac. She flashed me a dangerous grin. I smiled nervously. All I know is my brother Lucas had better sleep with one eye open if his wife was that good with a blade. On second thought, I'm glad she married him and not me. As a human male living in a century where humans were in danger of becoming extinct, it was my sworn duty to hook up with as many willing ladies as possible. Not for my own selfish purposes but to propagate the species, if you know what I mean. What? It's my story and I am hanging onto it.

The battle raged all around us for hours. It was hopeless. More of our men and women were captured and I could see some of them turning into zombies before my very eyes. The living joined the undead and began hunting their still-living friends. The undead never ran out of soldiers. We did. It takes humanity nine months to create a life. It takes the zombies less than nine hours to breed an entire army. You could see our dilemma. Overhead, a helicopter piloted by zombies came into view. And it was heading straight for my city. I couldn't let this happen. If a single zombie was dropped out of the sky and into town, no one would be safe.

The only safe place in the universe would become yet another haven for the undead. So, I took the grenade launcher from my brother and aimed it skyward. I took my time while Lucas and Kayla covered me. I said a little prayer, then took the shot. The small missile went straight into the sky. And the helicopter exploded into a million pieces. I roared in triumph. Yes! Take that you undead assholes!

Everyone looked up into the sky, zombie and human alike. Everyone was stunned. And for a moment, all eyes were on me. Including the hate-filled zombie eyes. I smiled cockily. Yes, you undead bastards and bitches. You're not invincible. Fire does to you the same thing it does to a human. It kills you. Something happened in that moment. The humans rallied behind my victory roar, and began fighting the zombies with renewed vigor. I led the charge.

That day, I returned to the city as a hero. They called me Jack the Zombie Slayer. Sounds good, doesn't it?

For once, my entire family was proud of me. After we got out of detox and inspection, we went to see mom and dad. I sat at the head of our table, the seat of honor. I drank beer and ate a fine meal made out of snake flesh and berries while regaling my family with tales of the battlefield. Lucas and Kayla were there to back me up in case someone accused me of lying. I was happy, for once. When I slept that night, I tried not to think of Wanda, and the hundreds of men and women who died that day. We had lost a lot of people. Those among us who got bitten became zombies and rejoined the endless hordes of zombies wandering the wasteland outside the city of Boston.

Yeah, those were the days. Of course, I couldn't know that this would be the beginning of the end. Three months later, there was another zombie army at the city walls. I had been promoted to the rank of lieutenant in the Protectorate, military corps which defended Boston. In this century, every man and woman received military training. It was a matter of survival. Just like toilet training. Not everyone was a good fighter, though. The Protectorate took only the best. Among these men and women, my name was synonymous with daring and ruthlessness.

We went out fighting. This time, though, there were no zombie-operated helicopters. Only about a million zombies armed with guns, knives, machetes and equipped with trucks loaded with ammo. I sometimes wonder why the undead still came after us. There weren't that many people in the city of Boston. All the other cities of the human world had fallen. The zombies had the entire world. All the animals in all the lands of the planet were theirs. The oceans were theirs. The islands and continents were theirs. Why did this one city matter so much? I wouldn't figure out that answer until the day I became one of the undead. You see, even though the cities had fallen, there were bands of wandering humans here and there. These survivors thought of Boston as paradise. The only city where humans still ruled. The zombies wanted to destroy their hope and wipe out all that remained of the human species.

It seemed that the end had come. A million zombies literally armed to the teeth against a couple hundred thousand humans. Wow. Yet what could we do? We went out en masse to defend our fair city. It was a grisly scene. I don't really like thinking about what happened that day. For it was the day the last human city almost fell. I was leading the charge from a tank. They took us down. I was captured. Yet I wasn't bitten. Not yet. For some reason, the zombies wanted me alive. I was taken to their leader. I was about to be granted a rare honor. I would see the face of the entity who had been leading the incredibly successful campaigns of the undead against the human world. The mastermind behind humanity's downfall and near-complete extinction.

The zombies were camped on one of the Harbor Islands near Boston. What I saw amazed me. They were ready for a complete invasion. They had more than guns or knives. They had massive ships. An entire fleet of them. I counted twenty old-fashioned tanks, eight helicopters and forty ships. It dawned on me that humanity's days were almost over. Our situation was more hopeless than I thought. The zombies I saw at the military camp weren't random men and women whom fate had turned into members of the undead. These things wore light gray military uniforms and carried their weapons with expertise. I was taken on one of the massive ships, and left unshackled on the deck. Undead men and undead women in military uniforms went about their duties as if I weren't there. Then, all that came to a halt. Four undead soldiers wearing bright red uniforms. They carried automatic rifles and looked more grim than the reaper himself.

Then I saw their leader.