Zombie, Ohio: A Tale of the Undead by Scott Kenemore

Author:Scott Kenemore [Kenemore, Scott]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Tags: Horror, Zombies, zombie, Lang:en, Science Fiction, Thriller, Adult, Humour
Published: 2012-06-17T15:02:05+00:00

They took my guns and tied me to a tree-not taut against it, but like you'd tie up a dog. I had a little lead. They also tied my hands behind my back and put a collar around my neck. It was not my proudest moment, but at least I hadn't been shot.

The humans proceeded to have a meeting about fifty yards away. I was upwind and out of earshot. They stood in a circle-about thirty of them, all armed and exhausted-and they spoke in low, confidential tones. They rubbed their chins, considering me, and occasionally gesturing in my direction. They looked like construction foremen trying to decide how to tackle a difficult new project. We were still in sight of the "battlefield," if you even want to call it that. (It hadn't been all that much of a battle. My battalion had walked into a carefully planned ambush, and been destroyed. It was difficult for me to accept. My group of zombies-which had accomplished great deeds, ravaged the countryside, and had been growing at a healthy rate the entire time-had been destroyed in less than ten minutes.) What remained of my army had been piled into stacks and set afire.

There burned Rock Star. There, Matilda. And somewhere, in that steaming, smoking mass, burned the Turk-who had been as smart as a dog, or maybe even a monkey. Now they were stacked up and on fire. Slowly turning to ashes, an inglorious end. (But, then again, did zombies get to have glorious ends? It seemed like eating a bunch of brains before finally rotting into nothingness was the best they got.)

So the humans talked in their huddle. Now and then they debated or argued seriously. Other times, their palaver came across as relaxed and playful. Once, they even appeared to share a laugh. The humans also talked into radios like the one I'd seen (and shot) at the cabin by the quarry. Pickup trucks full of food and ammunition came and went. And still, clearly, nothing had been decided. Still, I was tied to a tree.

In all of my time as a zombie, I could not recall having been this defenseless. I'd been hunted, shot at, chased-sure. But never had I surrendered and allowed my fate to be deliberated by others. It was nerve-wracking. (I hadn't been shot on sight, but that didn't mean they weren't eventually going to take a vote and put a bullet through my brain.) Nothing good was going to come of this meeting, I quickly decided. It wasn't like they were going to vote to let me go. The longer they talked, the more concerned I became.

When the palaver adjourned, I was guardedly relieved to see the humans did not instantly gravitate toward me to carry out a death sentence. Instead, they dispersed in all directions-some tending to the burning bodies, some disappearing into the woods, and others leaving on the pickup trucks. They slapped one another on the back, spoke in casual tones, and shared food.

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