Zombie Regime by Pinkerton Brian

Author:Pinkerton, Brian [Pinkerton, Brian]
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Publisher: Severed Press
Published: 2015-12-21T08:00:00+00:00

**

Lumpy left the nice neighborhood with the nice restaurants and nice stores and nice houses with nice lawns on nice streets.

He walked a long time and returned home to his neighborhood of ugly.

All the Lumpys had to live in special areas away from everybody else. Ugly streets with broken houses and no food, no lights and not enough room.

About 25 Lumpys lived in Lumpy’s house. Some had a little bit of brain juice left but most had none.

They did nothing. They stared at each other a lot. But they were family.

Lumpy’s roommates included Picker, a smiling man with a finger in his nose at all times because he had reached in to scratch a long time ago and forgot to take it out.

Picker stayed close to Cowboy, a man in a cowboy hat constantly humming the same melody over and over, for years, from a song called Achy Breaky Heart.

Other housemates walked in circles for hours at a time or became distracted for days by cracks in the wall or cobwebs.

A few of them, like Lumpy, tried to get out of the house and find food. A couple of them even brought extra food back to share. There was one who was smart enough to close a window during a heavy rainstorm.

And there were two or three who could utter a limited vocabulary of words without meaning like “cool” and “awesome.”

Lumpy walked over to a bug-eyed man staring at a cell phone he had found somewhere. It still had power.

The man looked at it instinctively, without doing anything. He held it upside down.

Lumpy gently took it away to borrow.

Lumpy still had mad feelings.

Lumpy was remembering more from his past.

He remembered leading a march out of Manhattan, when they tried to put a wall around his people. He rallied hundreds of thousands to be free.

Could he do it again?

This time they would march into Manhattan, now called New New York City, which had been rebuilt into a thriving metropolis for the privileged ones, The Ones Who Could Talk.

People like Lumpy weren’t allowed.

No DUMMYS. Strictly prohibited. Stay in your own bad neighborhoods. KEEP OUT.

Lumpy saw more short film clips in his head.

From a long, long time ago.

He remembered marching in rallies. He was a passionate activist before his brain got mushy. He demonstrated against police brutality. He protested unfair laws. He picketed in labor disputes.

Energized by the glimmer of long-ago passions, Lumpy drew upon foggy intuition to operate the smart phone and call up old videos. He watched footage of rallies from the days before flesh eaters.

Civil rights. War protests. Environmental causes. Gay pride.

He reabsorbed history. It became a lesson for today.

Lumpy knew what he had to do.

Strength in big numbers.

Unified into one mighty voice.

A peaceful but powerful march.

A rally.

“Rally,” said Lumpy, removing the tiny glow of the cell phone from his eyes.

He turned to his brothers and sisters in the room. “Rally,” he said, louder.

They looked at him. They listened.

“Rally,” said Lumpy. And again: “Rally. RALLY. RALLY!”

Picker stared at Cowboy. Cowboy stared at Picker.

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