Zombie Thomas Finds a Brain
Zombie Thomas stood at the mouth of his sewer pipe in the hillside as the evening settled onto the shoulders of the horizon and the last of the afternoon breeze blew strands of hair from his remaining tufts. He habitually checked the tattered and battered watch on his wrist although he could not read the watch face, no longer understood the concept of time, and couldn’t remember that the thing on his wrist was a watch. Even if he could knew any of those three things, he still might not have realized that the watch has stopped working when he smashed it on a rock as he attempted to stumble forward to catch a fleeing dog. On several occasions he had tried to remove the thing from his wrist but his failing coordination could not pull the little tab out of the hole in his band. The best he had managed was to break one of the tendons out of his mushy, gray skin.
About 100 feet down the hillside in the next sewer pipe down, Zombie Reynolds tottered off the pipe lip and crashed into a thicket. Branches tore some of the remaining rags off Zombie Reynolds’ torso as Zombie Thomas looked over.
“Nnnnnnn?” Zombie Thomas said.
Zombie Reynolds lifted a hand in the air, his pinky finger attached by a thin strand of skin.
“Rrrrrrr,” Zombie Reynolds said.
Zombie Thomas shuffled off the lip of his pipe, his shin cracking at the impact but not quite giving way. Zombie Thomas could not remember how long it was since Zombie Stewart had sunk his teeth into his thigh, but he did know that he was becoming increasingly deteriorated. Zombie Stewart had already fallen apart, dropping his right arm, then his left foot, clawing himself through the grass until his head toppled off his shoulders and his torso fell into a stagnant heap.
Most of Zombie Thomas’ zombie friends were gone now because most of the humans were gone. Most of the humans gone meant most of the brains were gone and that the brains that were left were usually too fast or too smart to catch. That man with the shotgun has fought his way through a whole crowd, first the boom after boom sending rib cages flying out backs, spinal columns decimated. When the shells ran out, the gun butt did the rest of the work bashing skulls, shattering knees, leaving zombie after zombie in a pile of decomposing ooze no longer structured enough to stand. That man, the last man Zombie Thomas had seen in days had single handedly defeated almost thirty zombies.
This was a matter that weighed heavily on Zombie Thomas, and as he scuffed across the drainage ditch, he cried out, “Grrrrrraa.”
By the time Zombie Thomas reached Zombie Reynolds, Zombie Reynolds had managed to regain his feet, though most of his teeth had jostled out of socket with the fall.
“Lllllll,” Zombie Reynolds said.
“Eeeeee,” Zombie Thomas said.
Together, they ambled, arms held forward, elbows locked. Zombie Thomas felt a little better for the company. Zombie always felt better in company, often choosing to shuffle down streets or across parking lots in throngs. There was a solidarity to Zombie communal life that Zombie Thomas could almost remember he preferred over his prior life. When one Zombie got a bite of a brain, they all got a bite of a brain.
In the distance, Zombie Thomas saw Zombie Tanya in her pink one strap shirt with her purse in one hand and her lower jaw in the other. Zombie Tanya always seemed to know where a good milling about was going on, so Zombie Thomas pointed to her and said, “Nyyyyaaaaa.”
“Ooooooobbbbbbbb,” Zombie Reynolds said, and they set to rearrange their direction of perambulation towards Zombie Tanya.
Zombie Tanya reached the street that connected to the service road that ran to the drainage ditch Zombies Thomas and Reynolds lived along, and the drag of her flat soled walking shoes shifted from a ‘rustle, rustle’ to a ‘scrape, scrape.’
Zombie Thomas and Reynolds reached the street right behind her.
“JJJJRrrrrrr” Zombie Thomas called to Zombie Tanya.
Zombie Tanya did not stop, but she waved her arm in a forward pin wheel like she was lobbing a ball and said “UUUuuuuuuu.”
They had not made it twenty feet down the street when an overwhelming fear filled them as the glow of headlights appeared down the road. All three zombies began to fumble towards the shoulder inch by inch when the appearance of headlights from the other direction, approaching the curve where the drainage ditch service road joined.
The three zombies froze, uncertain of what to do, unable to accommodate information coming from both directions. The headlights swelled and grew. A machine gun fired from the window of the first car. Two Zombies that Zombie Thomas had not seen in the shadows a little down the road spun as bullets struck them, body parts and clothing shreds flying in all directions. The other vehicle opened fire with a hand gun, and two bullets whizzed past Zombie Thomas’ head.
As the vehicles reached the curve from opposite directions at the same time, something clicked in Zombie Thomas although he did not understand what.
The headlights vanished simultaneously as a truck and a van collided head on. Glass and metal shrapnel shot out. A chunk of chrome embedded in Zombie Reynolds adbodemen.
“Oooooovvvvvv,” Zombie Reynolds said.
The driver of the van flew through the windshield and over the roof of the truck. His head burst into thousands of pieces and a gooey splash as it struck the asphalt. Zombie Reynolds and Zombie Tanya shuffled immediately and slowly towards the corpse. Zombie Thomas approached the truck.
The passenger had been smashed in half by the dashboard and the steering column had been driven through the chest of the driver. Somehow, a tiny bit of life still clung within the driver. He wobbled his head in a slow turn to face Zombie Thomas, eyes wide, mouth bleeding.
“Lydia?” The truck driver said. “Is that you Lydia?”
Zombie Thomas reached in through the broken window and took the truck drivers face in his hands, bending his neck so that the driver’s forehead approached his mouth. When Zombie Thomas’ teeth sunk into the driver’s forehead, the driver whimpered and fell silent. Zombie Thomas worked his way through the driver’s skull, carefully avoiding any direct damage to the brain though uncertain why he would do so. When the top of the drivers head had been carefully removed, Zombie Thomas removed the brain entirely with one hand.
With his other hand, Zombie Thomas took hold of his thickest hair tuft and pulled his skull casing open. He pulled out his own brain and let the new brain fall into its place. Thoughts and memories flooded into Zombie Thomas, the thoughts and memories of a man named Torbald Johnson. A former stock manager at a supermarket. Hadn’t seen his wife since it all went down with the zombies. Didn’t know if she had made it to one of the escape camps. She had given him a watch, the only thing he had to remember her by.
Zombie Thomas looked to his wrist and undid the watch strap. The watch had stopped at 10:47 on October 23. Zombie Thomas let the watch fall. Already the new thoughts were beginning to fade as they always did, stronger than they had ever been since he replaced his whole brain, but fading nonetheless.
The passenger’s machine gun was on the dashboard. Zombie Thomas took the machine gun and blew Zombie Reynolds and Zombie Tanya to pieces. He then placed the barrel under his own chin. It was Zombie Thomas who spoke, not the brains of Torbald Johnson when Zombie
Thomas said, “Lydia.”
And pulled the trigger.
About 100 feet down the hillside in the next sewer pipe down, Zombie Reynolds tottered off the pipe lip and crashed into a thicket. Branches tore some of the remaining rags off Zombie Reynolds’ torso as Zombie Thomas looked over.
“Nnnnnnn?” Zombie Thomas said.
Zombie Reynolds lifted a hand in the air, his pinky finger attached by a thin strand of skin.
“Rrrrrrr,” Zombie Reynolds said.
Zombie Thomas shuffled off the lip of his pipe, his shin cracking at the impact but not quite giving way. Zombie Thomas could not remember how long it was since Zombie Stewart had sunk his teeth into his thigh, but he did know that he was becoming increasingly deteriorated. Zombie Stewart had already fallen apart, dropping his right arm, then his left foot, clawing himself through the grass until his head toppled off his shoulders and his torso fell into a stagnant heap.
Most of Zombie Thomas’ zombie friends were gone now because most of the humans were gone. Most of the humans gone meant most of the brains were gone and that the brains that were left were usually too fast or too smart to catch. That man with the shotgun has fought his way through a whole crowd, first the boom after boom sending rib cages flying out backs, spinal columns decimated. When the shells ran out, the gun butt did the rest of the work bashing skulls, shattering knees, leaving zombie after zombie in a pile of decomposing ooze no longer structured enough to stand. That man, the last man Zombie Thomas had seen in days had single handedly defeated almost thirty zombies.
This was a matter that weighed heavily on Zombie Thomas, and as he scuffed across the drainage ditch, he cried out, “Grrrrrraa.”
By the time Zombie Thomas reached Zombie Reynolds, Zombie Reynolds had managed to regain his feet, though most of his teeth had jostled out of socket with the fall.
“Lllllll,” Zombie Reynolds said.
“Eeeeee,” Zombie Thomas said.
Together, they ambled, arms held forward, elbows locked. Zombie Thomas felt a little better for the company. Zombie always felt better in company, often choosing to shuffle down streets or across parking lots in throngs. There was a solidarity to Zombie communal life that Zombie Thomas could almost remember he preferred over his prior life. When one Zombie got a bite of a brain, they all got a bite of a brain.
In the distance, Zombie Thomas saw Zombie Tanya in her pink one strap shirt with her purse in one hand and her lower jaw in the other. Zombie Tanya always seemed to know where a good milling about was going on, so Zombie Thomas pointed to her and said, “Nyyyyaaaaa.”
“Ooooooobbbbbbbb,” Zombie Reynolds said, and they set to rearrange their direction of perambulation towards Zombie Tanya.
Zombie Tanya reached the street that connected to the service road that ran to the drainage ditch Zombies Thomas and Reynolds lived along, and the drag of her flat soled walking shoes shifted from a ‘rustle, rustle’ to a ‘scrape, scrape.’
Zombie Thomas and Reynolds reached the street right behind her.
“JJJJRrrrrrr” Zombie Thomas called to Zombie Tanya.
Zombie Tanya did not stop, but she waved her arm in a forward pin wheel like she was lobbing a ball and said “UUUuuuuuuu.”
They had not made it twenty feet down the street when an overwhelming fear filled them as the glow of headlights appeared down the road. All three zombies began to fumble towards the shoulder inch by inch when the appearance of headlights from the other direction, approaching the curve where the drainage ditch service road joined.
The three zombies froze, uncertain of what to do, unable to accommodate information coming from both directions. The headlights swelled and grew. A machine gun fired from the window of the first car. Two Zombies that Zombie Thomas had not seen in the shadows a little down the road spun as bullets struck them, body parts and clothing shreds flying in all directions. The other vehicle opened fire with a hand gun, and two bullets whizzed past Zombie Thomas’ head.
As the vehicles reached the curve from opposite directions at the same time, something clicked in Zombie Thomas although he did not understand what.
The headlights vanished simultaneously as a truck and a van collided head on. Glass and metal shrapnel shot out. A chunk of chrome embedded in Zombie Reynolds adbodemen.
“Oooooovvvvvv,” Zombie Reynolds said.
The driver of the van flew through the windshield and over the roof of the truck. His head burst into thousands of pieces and a gooey splash as it struck the asphalt. Zombie Reynolds and Zombie Tanya shuffled immediately and slowly towards the corpse. Zombie Thomas approached the truck.
The passenger had been smashed in half by the dashboard and the steering column had been driven through the chest of the driver. Somehow, a tiny bit of life still clung within the driver. He wobbled his head in a slow turn to face Zombie Thomas, eyes wide, mouth bleeding.
“Lydia?” The truck driver said. “Is that you Lydia?”
Zombie Thomas reached in through the broken window and took the truck drivers face in his hands, bending his neck so that the driver’s forehead approached his mouth. When Zombie Thomas’ teeth sunk into the driver’s forehead, the driver whimpered and fell silent. Zombie Thomas worked his way through the driver’s skull, carefully avoiding any direct damage to the brain though uncertain why he would do so. When the top of the drivers head had been carefully removed, Zombie Thomas removed the brain entirely with one hand.
With his other hand, Zombie Thomas took hold of his thickest hair tuft and pulled his skull casing open. He pulled out his own brain and let the new brain fall into its place. Thoughts and memories flooded into Zombie Thomas, the thoughts and memories of a man named Torbald Johnson. A former stock manager at a supermarket. Hadn’t seen his wife since it all went down with the zombies. Didn’t know if she had made it to one of the escape camps. She had given him a watch, the only thing he had to remember her by.
Zombie Thomas looked to his wrist and undid the watch strap. The watch had stopped at 10:47 on October 23. Zombie Thomas let the watch fall. Already the new thoughts were beginning to fade as they always did, stronger than they had ever been since he replaced his whole brain, but fading nonetheless.
The passenger’s machine gun was on the dashboard. Zombie Thomas took the machine gun and blew Zombie Reynolds and Zombie Tanya to pieces. He then placed the barrel under his own chin. It was Zombie Thomas who spoke, not the brains of Torbald Johnson when Zombie
Thomas said, “Lydia.”
And pulled the trigger.
posted by Andrew Najberg at 8:50 PM
4 comments
