“Slut!” she called the monster.
Hershey started scratching herself again – this time at her chest. She tore her blouse off, and her breasts flopped about like fish out of water. It was like they had a mind of their own. Hershey began tearing at her chest, pulling away layers of skin and threads of meat. There was a horrible snapping sound, and next thing I saw, she was yanking out Goddamn bones. A hole was in her chest, and her heart was beating out of it. Thump-thump, thump-thump. I grabbed a frying pan from the kitchen and ran up and smashed her brains out until nothing but a muddy mess was left. She was still standing – dazed – but still standing. I reached back and gave one final hit. THUNK. The zombie stumbled a bit and fell backwards in a weird way: She landed on a bar stool, on her spine, and she bent into a lowercase “n” shape. A sickening yawn escaped her vomit-covered lips, and the body itched and twitched. Her thighs gave out violent tremors. Her sharp chest bones stuck out like white fingers. We were all on the floor, all breathless. The sun lazied out from the clouds and bathed the living room in bright light. Jackson moaned something that sounded like “Goal”, and blacked out. Mom held him in her arms and rocked him. I think she was whispering a lullaby. We put him in my room and went about our business.
Beth was dead. Now, you'd think moving a dead body would be disgusting, and you'd be right. But when your brain is buzzing with adrenalin, you just do what ya gots ta do, believe you me. We picked her up – just right done grabbed her under the armpits like we were hauling wood – and dragged her ass out back where we dug a shallow hole and dumped her in. We burnt her up nice and good and buried her stiff remains in the hole. It was Mom's idea. Said she saw it in some movie. When we dragged Hershey's body out the house to be burned, she CAME ALIVE and chomped her teeth at Mom like one of those wind-up teeth toys, just bite-bite-bite-bite. Mom freaked out and ran off. I shoved Hershey – excuse me, the ZOMBIE – onto that wheelchair and pushed her out the house and shoved her down the dirt road, where she disappeared way down there, around a corner, kicking up dust.
Hopefully, she'd run into the police.
Come to think about it...I should have shoved her stink ass off the side of the mountain.
Dammit. Why didn't I think of that sooner!
Don't you hate it when that happens?
Oh, well.
JANICE
I got scared when night came. I kept imagining zombies in the woods. Kept imagining Pepper with more of those things, plotting, ready to attack and eat us. Jackson slept for so many hours. He wouldn't wake up. I called the hospital, and they said they'd send an ambulance over straight away. Clair didn't like it. “Too risky,” she said. “We can't be calling people up here. What's the hospital gonna do anyway? They must be filled with patients!” I told her that we had to try something. Jackson would die if just left there in that bed. She threw her hands up and walked away, and that was that.
The President of The United States told people to stay indoors.
“The elderly are attacking everyone under the age of 80 with extreme prejudice for some reason,” the black woman in power says. “If you are 79 or younger, please stay in your homes while we figure out what to do.”
People threw bottles at the Governor of Hawaii's home, demanding answers. The Governor screamed at everyone to run home before it was too late.
“The island is a mess and too dangerous to be gallivanting about!”
But it was no good. The people were attacked and torn to shreds and swallowed. The Governor ran out of his fancy home with a shotgun and blew many of the zombies limbs and heads and torsos off. One torso flew all the way up into a tree and scared away some birds. A zombie got too close to the Governor, so BOOM, off flew that torso too – that one landing on the hood of a passing car. The driver screamed and rammed into the back of a pig truck. The animals ran out and over the car and squealed down the street and caused a major traffic jam. People chased after the pigs.
Clair was right about the hospitals.
On the news, the hospitals were all filled up and crazy with activity. One hospital (I forget which one) was particularly in trouble. People begged to be let in. It was a huge crowd – something like a hundred people. They punched and kicked at the doors and some even tried driving through the damn doors and climb up the palm trees to get into the windows, but they were pushed back down by orderlies. Some people landed on their heads. Madness. A doctor leaned out of a window and spoke into a megaphone, saying, “Avast, ye mateys! We be full! Get home before the zombies get ye!”
But again, it was too late.
200 zombies ate the crowd.
The news anchor sat at the news desk, shock-faced, those eyes big and frozen. She stayed like that with her hands over her mouth for a long time. She was watching something disgusting – too sensitive for the viewers at home. The only thing to hear were eating sounds and slurping sounds and tearing sounds and a lot of moaning and yelling out loud. The lights in the news room blinked a few times...then turned off. The news lady screeched. The old zombies ran in and chased everyone around.
And then the TV sizzled and went black.
They had taken over.
CLAIR
Nighttime. Fred was on my mind. As much as I hated him, he was my brother. It was more like I had to care about him. But maybe, just maybe...a little part of me did actually care for the asshole's safety. I told Mom my plan to check up on him, and she freaked out. He wasn't worth it, she said. I didn't listen, and went anyway.
I hopped in my busted car and made my way down the dirt road. The headlights still worked, but barely – a lot of times fading in and out. Before I left, I promised Mom I'd be all right, and that seemed to calm her down a little. It was all I could do for her. I was on my way, and there was nothing she could do to stop me. The plan was simple: Get Fred, run over a few zombies on purpose to release some stress, and get back home. 1-2-3. Easy.
Fred wasn't answering his phone.
For some odd reason, I started thinking about my dad. But that lasted for a bad 3 seconds. Fred was so much like Dad. But I digress....
A car was in a ditch, windshield wipers still on and pushing away a mess of blood. It was Fred's car. And then I saw something that made me real sick.
Hershey's wheelchair was nearby...and empty. I got out and walked to Fred's car. He was in there, all right. Dead, and still dressed in his football uniform, with the helmet on, too. Everything, including him, was burnt and steaming and stink. I couldn't believe it – I was crying. All I could think of was making my brother comfortable. I yanked open his broken door and dragged him out by his hands.
Is he really dead?
We fell to the dirt. I called out to him. No response. He smelt like baked pork. My crying came full blast. I couldn't control it. I had to see his face. I had to see MY brother's face one last time. Memories flooded my mind: Of us at the beach when we were kids, of him teaching me how to swim...how he had all that patience for me.
I pulled off his helmet, and his face came with it, leaving behind a grinning skull. A grunt in the woods and the sound of galloping. I looked over my shoulder, and Hershey was all over me. The ambulance drove up, but it was filled with supelders that leaped out and grabbed my arms and ripped me apart. The zombies were laughing. They played tug-of-war with my intestines.
It was odd how peaceful it all felt. There was no pain. It felt like I was going to be all right. There was no guilt. I lived a good life. An honorable life. I even found myself forgiving these...misguided, old people. Even as my head fell off my body and rolled across the dirt, I forgave them.
Last I saw, one of the zombies played jump rope with my guts.
“Gotta keep my heart rate up!” the old woman said.
JANICE
Jackson told me he thought he was dying. His body hurt too much. That last fight did him in real good. He wanted me to kill him. Said that if I didn't kill him, he would stab himself to death. “Nothing personal,” I remember him saying. He just wanted th
e pain to stop.
“Damn these nerve fibers,” he said. “I can't live like this. Just pull the plug. If you really love me, you'll do it.”
That was a rotten spot to put me in. I took his face and looked into his eyes. He wasn't afraid. I tried reasoning with him, but he just rolled over and covered his head with a blanket. I locked him in the bedroom for his own protection and paced around the living room, careful to not step on the gore stains, and tried to think. I was panicking, and I had to force myself to take in deep breaths and calm down. Where was Clair? She'd know what to do. She could handle this.
To my horror, I heard a flush and a retching. I found Jackson in the bedroom's bathroom with his head in the toilet, choking and looking pathetic. His body shook, hands flopping on the wet floor, palms up. Freaking out, I ran over and yanked his head out from the water. He fell on my lap, and his face was blue. He vomited water all over my lap. I kept saying, “My love! My love!”
His heart stopped, and the only thing I could think of doing was finding some way to keep him alive.
The pill.
The one I found on the ground. That was the answer!
I took the Kilt pill out from my purse and shoved it in Jackson's mouth. I massaged his throat, and he swallowed with a GULP.
One second...did it work?
Two seconds...was he dead?
Three seconds...work, work, WORK!
He opened his eyes, and said, “Thanks for not killing me.”
Was he being sarcastic? Maybe. Maybe not.
He said he saw Heaven. God told him the secret to life, and that was to “chill out”. He wasn't afraid of dying. I kissed him, and I could tell that the pill was working. (And believe you me, I could tell it was really working.) He grabbed at me and pulled me close to him and we rolled around the bed. We were going to get naked, when the scream of a siren stole our attention. Jackson put on his pants and snatched a pair of scissors. I held his hand as we walked into the living room.
Someone outside yelled, “Fire!”
The front door was blown to smithereens, and a group of supelders – a cook, a priest, and a ballerina with a bazooka – ran in and apprehended us. The priest zombie said, “We hereby arrest you by demand of Her Highness...Pepper Ann.”
They dragged us into the ambulance kicking and screaming. (We went kicking & screaming – not them.)
The roads were littered with broken cars and trucks and mopeds and buses – many of them piled on top of each other. Everywhere I looked reminded me of a junkyard. We came to a pile of burning trucks. The ambulance went faster and just plowed straight through. Screaming and terrible yelling outside. Supelders, waving around flaming swords and non-flaming golf clubs, chased people here and there. Gunshots. Police officers running around confused. Disoriented babies crying. Honolulu in chaos. Was the whole island like this? A military helicopter flew over the city. A man on a horn says, “The whole island is like this. To everyone who is alive, please stay where you are. Do not anger the elderly. It is folly.”
He threw down cans of Spam for anyone still alive.
The ambulance came to a stop, and the zombies looked at each other, giggling, and dragged us out. We arrived at Dresela's Hope. The church. Pepper's special place. Inside was like a factory, with zombies in yellow hardhats, moving boxes, shifting them around on conveyor belts and making big piles. The word KILT was on each box. Pepper sat on a tall throne made of human skulls. A toilet was nearby. In the middle of the place was a HUGE, crude hole. A little bit of smoke rose out from it. Pepper was chatting with a coworker and checking off things on a clipboard. The coworker was Dr. Kilt. He looked like he had been weeping.
“So after I make this batch, Mom, I can leave? You'll let me go?”
Pepper laughed.
“Don't be silly,” she said. “I'm keeping you forever. Your expertise is too valuable. Your brilliant, scientific mind is my missing ingredient.”
“But you promised!”
The old woman repeated what he said in a childish, whiny way.
“But you proooommmmissssed,” she said. “Waaah, waaah, waaaaaaaahh.” She made her hands into fists and wiped away fake tears. “Awww. Somebody call the waaah-mbulance.”
Dr. Kilt looked at me. His eyes were filled with tears and fears. He reached down and flipped up the clipboard from Pepper's hands and ran off. She stood and pointed.
“GET HIM!” She stomped the ground like a spoiled child. “He mustn't get away! We need his braiiinnn!”
Three old zombies tackled him and, literally, kicked him into an office. Dr. Kilt put on his glasses and went to work, looking at charts and tapping on beakers and lighting Bunsen burners. It was impressive. He meant business. The zombies tied our hands behind our backs as Pepper walked toward us.
“I'm a little busy,” she said. “I'll deal with you guys later.”
I spat at her, but she just opened her mouth and ate my spit. I took a threatening step forward.
“What are you gonna do to us?”
“Eat you for dessert,” she said. “Any more brain busters?”
I stood next to Jackson. He was silent that whole time. It looked like he was sleeping standing up, and he drooled a little. Something about his aura was different. He was changing. The urge to flee from him came instantly. Zombies were preparing a table with food. Pepper licked her lips and walked toward Jackson. She took his hand and sucked on his fingers. “Mmm,” she went, looking at me, grinning.
I lost it.
“Take your mouth off of him!”
Jackson woke up.
He grunted, and smiled. Pepper caressed his face with the back of her hand.
“Glad you're seeing things my way...lover,” she said.
My stomach turned and I puked. Pepper jumped back, displeased. She turned to a zombie.
“Get this vile scum away from me!” she said. “Tie her to that pole and surround her with wild dogs attached to chains.”
So they did.
Dr. Kilt walked out from his office with a tray of vials.
“Here's the next batch, Momma,” he said.
Pepper took the tray and smiled and fed the doctor a cookie.
“Excellent,” she said, tapping his head. “Eeexceeellleeennnt.”
A zombie with a bowl walked up to her.
“Egg salad?”
Pepper waved the zombie away.
She walked over to the hole in the ground and put on a stereotypical, black, pointy witch's hat and started chanting. The hole let out a looong burp. More smoke rose. And then something weird happened. The smoke – I swear on my husband's grave – turned into the shape of...Hitler.
Adolf “The Devil” Hitler.
He saluted.
“Heil Hitler!”
Pepper clicked her heels together and saluted back.
“Heil Hitler!”
The Hitler-smoke ghost grew bigger.
He hovered around Pepper and went INTO the vials of Kilt. Lightning shot out from the tray and a big wind blew everyone's hair back. Dr. Kilt was sobbing and shaking his head.
“I've made a terrible mistake,” he was blabbing. “God, I am looking up at you. Please forgive me! Forgive and forget!”
Hitler flew out of the tray and went back down into the hole. Pepper gathered the surrounding old people and gave them more Kilt. They were reinvigorated. They bowed to Pepper.
“Thank you, My Highness,” they all said, kissing her hand.
Pepper smiled.
“Thank you, My Lowness.”
And then the zombies all went back to work, loading the boxes of Kilt into hearses. Pepper drank a vial of Kilt and started dancing around – full of energy – full of life.
“I am God!” she screamed. I mean really screamed it. “I am Ga'hhhhhhhhhhhd!” A huge painting of Hitler on a triumphant horse was on a wall. Pepper pressed a red button, and the painting slid to the right, revealing a large monitor with an image of Oahu.
“Victory is near!” she said. “Soon,
I will turn Oahu into my personal playground – my own little paradise. HEAVEN. Total control. I can do what and WHO I want. The dream of dreams! I will be Queen! Living like a god! And I will create like a god: I will repopulate Oahu with the supelderly and make a master race. We are faster, better, sexier. First Oahu, then the world! Finally...there will be peace on earth.” Then she threw her head back and clawed at the ceiling, and yelled, “Hawaii kann nicht eher zur Ruhe kommen, bevor die faul Frage ausgeräumt ist!”
She spun around and pointed at me.
“And NO youth in my new world! We can't stand the sight of babies, kids, teens, adults! It's like we're looking at a rapist or a baby killer walking out of a courthouse. The youth have committed the sin of wasting their lives, worrying about bills and car insurance and hurricane insurance and ex-lovers and venereal diseases and job security and bills – constantly worry about money and bills, bills, BILLS. Idiots! They should be focusing on BLISS. Get it? See what I did there? Listen, bitch. Everyone dies, but no one really lives. So many waste their lives. What a waste of life! Even now, talking about them makes me so angry!” She said that last part with grinding teeth.
“Bring in the sacrificial pregnant woman!”
The zombie workers do just that, and the baby is ripped out from woman's belly and is tossed about like a football.
“Keep-away!” the monsters laughed.
Pepper took the baby...and let it suck from her wrinkled and somewhat long, black nipple.
On the large screen, I saw supelders conquering a military base. They took control of the tanks and planes and took them for joy rides. Dr. Kilt told her that they must train the zombies quickly before the mainland took action against them.
“Mein kampf,” Pepper shrugged. She put on a captain's hat, and the screen blinked and showed battleships. “With my fleet, we will be unstoppable. Get the battleships ready for battle!”
The words “In-coming Message” filled the screen. An old captain asked for more Kilt – and quick. His men were getting nuts – going absolutely crazy – craving more Kilt. People were getting slow and looking for ways to get more energy. One man had already swallowed a cat whole to harness its cat-like powers. But it was just embarrassing. The wild cat tore out from the old zombie's belly and spooked everyone and hissed and ran off and jumped into the ocean where it was never seen from again. Pepper instructed Dr. Kilt to fill the hearses with more boxes and disperse the pills to as many zombies as possible – and to toss them from helicopters, if possible.