Chapter One of the New Book

CHAPTER ONE

    The story of my coming into zombiehood is also the story of how I met Thomas Jefferson.

    See, that’s what we in the business call a teaser sentence.  If that’s not what it’s actually called, it damn well should be.  The reader sees the name “Thomas Jefferson” and the wheels start turning.  Am I talking about the third President of the United States, or is there another individual that I’ve encountered that just happens to share the same name?  Maybe there is something more sinister afoot, something so horrible that it will rock the very foundation of everything that we hold near and dear.  There’s only one way to find out, so press on, brave soldier, press on!

    So there I was, sitting in a chair in a hospital waiting room and attempting to come to grips with the fact that I had died and had gotten better.  I felt like the punch line of a Monty Python gag.

    I was absolutely sure that I had died.  Believe me when I say that dying isn’t something that you’ll mistake for something else any time soon.  When you die, you know that you died.

    What made things worse was that the vast majority of my memories hadn’t come back with me.  I still knew who I was.  I was the always lovable and completely irrepressible Mitch Mylastnameisntanyofyourfuckingbusiness.  I remembered getting the swine flu inoculation hours earlier, and I remembered my encounter with the vicious hobo afterward.  Beyond that, though, it was just a hazy fog full of disjointed images and snatches of conversation.  Even stranger than my death-induced amnesia was that I didn’t give a shit about my past or the loss of it.

    You would think that it would have bothered me not to remember the details of my life, but it simply didn’t.  I had died just moments before; compared to that, not knowing when the electric bill was due didn’t quite make my list of Top 100 Things I Needed to Know.  After all, now I was a…

    Um, what was I, anyway?  Well, I had been bitten by a stranger on a dark street, died, and reanimated (I never thought that I’d be using that term with regards to myself), so if television and B-rated movies were any indication, I was probably a zombie.  A vampire had to suck blood out of me while being a whiny bitch complaining about having to be alone and falling in love with a human, right?  I would have gotten a lot fuzzier if a werewolf had bitten me, and besides, it wasn’t a full moon that night.  The only thing that fit was that I was now a zombie.

    It was best to make sure, however, so I ran a quick check.

    Breathing?  Negative.

    Pulse?  Negative.

    Erection caused by a mental image of naked Jessica Alba?  Negative.  This one surprised me more than the first two combined.

    Huh, I had been turned into a zombie.  I did not see that one coming.

    Wait a second, weren’t zombies supposed to be mindless corpses that shambled around aimless and ate brains?  I looked down at the magazine still clutched in my hands.  I could read the words on the page, and I could still grasp their meanings.  With the exception of the memory loss thing, my brain seemed to be up to speed.

    Was it possible, just possible, that Hollywood hadn’t gotten something right?  I mean, I knew it was a stretch, but I couldn’t see any other possibility.  Could something that close to an impossibility have actually occurred?

    I had somehow managed to become one of the undead, so stranger things had indeed happened.  In fact, stranger things had happened in the last seven hours alone.

    What about that other part, the part about eating brains?  I glanced over at the receptionist seated behind her little pane of glass.  Yeah, you know what, I could totally go for eating that chick’s brain.  The rest of her looked quite tasty as well.  It wasn’t some burning desire that overrode everything else like the zombies in the movies, but I definitely wanted a piece of that hot skin-chewing action.

    I licked my lips in anticipation.  Was I really going to do this?  Did I have it in me to eat a living human being?

    Of course I did!  I was a zombie, you twat!  I was contractually obligated to attack and consume people.

    The only question mark was how I was going to go about doing it.  I didn’t have a wealth of people-eating experience under my belt, and if I did I had inconveniently forgotten it.  Should I just walk right up and take a bite?  That seemed so, I dunno, barbaric.  Being a zombie didn’t mean that I had to be uncivilized.  Maybe I should knock politely and inform her of my intentions in a calm and reassuring manner.

    One thing was for certain: I wasn’t going to accomplish anything by sitting in the rather uncomfortable waiting room chair.  I stood up slowly and took a deep breath, belatedly realizing that, since I no longer required air, it was a rather pointless action.  Almost timidly I walked over to the window and tapped on the glass.

    “Yes?” the receptionist asked, not bothering to look up from her computer screen.  From the reflection on her glasses I could see that paperwork had taken a backseat to YouTube.

    “I was wondering” if you’d mind if I tore a chunk out of your intestines “how much longer before a doctor can see me.”

    She glanced up with an expression of disdain.  “We’re very backed up tonight, sir.  You’ll just have to be patient.  Please go back to your seat and wait to be called.”

    I opened my mouth to respond when a question presented itself.  How the hell was I talking if I didn’t breath?  I almost failed high school biology, but I was fairly sure that vocal cords needed air to make noise.  I dismissed it as being irrelevant.

    Before I could continue on with the line of query that was clearly striking terror in the heart of my soon-to-be victim, a loud crashing sound from behind me interrupted the proceedings.  I turned to find something that restored my faith in Hollywood: a real honest-to-goodness zombie.  It appeared to have once been an employee of the fast food restaurant across the street, as it was still wearing the cheesy (pun intended if it’s funny, no pun intended and you’re reading too much into it if it wasn’t) red and yellow uniform complete with the somewhat creepy smiling clown logo.  Now, though, the former woman and current animated corpse was clearly a card-carrying member of the undead, right down to the intestines hanging out of its torn open stomach and the huge chunk missing from its face.

    And it was even stumbling towards us slowly with its arms outstretched while moaning loudly!  As a fan of slightly terrible and extremely terrible movies, I now felt somehow vindicated for my questionable taste in cinema.  The zombie would probably be terrifying to anyone that was still alive, but I felt no fear.  I was already dead; what was it going to do to me, make me deader?

    It meandered right past me and began to pound on the glass window separating it from the receptionist.  The woman stared at it for a moment as she assessed the situation.  Finally, she simply shrugged and typed a few keys on her computer.

    “Before we get to your paperwork, I’ll need to know if you have insurance,” she told the animated corpse.

    The zombie moaned in reply as it continued its battery of the window.

    “I didn’t quite catch that, ma’am.  Did you say that you have Medicaid?”

    Another answering moan.

    The receptionist gave the zombie a stern look.  “Ma’am, I’m sorry, but I don’t appreciate that kind of language.  It isn’t my fault that you’re sponging off the taxpayers by being on Medicaid.”

    I blinked.  “Um, I think that you might have misheard,” I put in.

    “Sir, this isn’t any of your concern.  I told you to go back and sit down until it’s your turn.”  She turned back to the clearly dead being standing before her.  “Now then, what’s the medical issue that you’re here for today?”

    One by one, more zombies began to file in through the doorway.  All of them completely ignored me and instead focused on the rather rude and yet strangely fascinating receptionist.  More and more hands began to bang on the glass, and small cracks began to form along the edges.

    “Folks, I’m going to have to ask you all to wait your turn,” she yelled sternly over the noise.  “Please have a seat in the waiting room and I’ll call you up one at a time.”

    In a moment that would forever prove that having a medical degree had no bearing on if you’re an idiot or not, a doctor opened the door separating the waiting room from the emergency room itself.  He took one glance at the situation developing before stepping out into full view and drawing himself up to his full height.  There was a hint of past muscle in his physique, and quite a bit more of a hint of a lack of recent exercise in his stomach region.

    “You people need to keep the noise down!” he demanded in a tone reminiscent of a father scolding children.  “We’re trying to save lives in here!”

    The dozen or so zombies that had piled into the waiting room immediately turned their attention to the licensed professional that had stumbled into their midst.  As they approached hungrily, the man seemed to loose a bit of his confidence.  Perhaps his years in medical school had taught him that people shouldn’t be up and walking around while horribly mutilated.

    “You really don’t want to be doing this,” he told his admirers.  “I played football back in high school, and I won my share of bar fights when I lived in Greenwich, Connecticut.”

    The zombies didn’t appear to be all that impressed.  The doctor, finally seeing the folly of tossing meaningless threats at this particular audience, turned to dash back through the door he had opened.

    He would have gotten away with it, too, if it wasn’t for that meddling Mitch.  I leaped forward and slammed the door shut.  One of his arms was already through the gap, and the sound of bones snapping as it became trapped between the door and the frame was audible even over the zombie choir.  He let out a shriek that sounded strangely like a squealing pig.  I pushed harder, and the limb was torn from his body.

    Blood spurted out of the stump, and even as he was staring at the impromptu fountain gushing from his body he slipped on some of the red stuff that had sprayed onto the floor.  The zombies surged forward and he disappeared from view beneath the pile of bodies.  Goodbye, Mr. Fancy Pants Former Football Player Doctor Man.

    Curiously, I opened the door and picked up the arm that had been severed.  Almost gingerly I took a small bite out of it like I was eating from a turkey leg and chewed thoughtfully.  Hey, this was pretty damn good!  If I were a judge on Iron Chef, I would say that it had a husky flavor, a boldness that really made it stand out while still being refreshing on the palette.  I would also say other pompous jackass things such as how it reminded me of warm summers in Tuscany.

    “Jesus mothafuckin’ Christ, you’re just gonna fucking eat that poor bastard’s arm?” a distinctly male voice demanded from behind me.

    I turned with the scrumptious limb to find a disheveled-looking individual dressed in an old military jacket and sporting a black Red Sox cap.  A lit cigarette was perched precariously between his index and middle fingers, and as I watched he took a drag off of it.  The smoke churned around in his mouth for a moment before floating out the right side of his face; his cheek was completely missing and the teeth underneath were exposed for the world to see.

    “Well, um, yeah, that was the plan,” I replied uncertainly.

    “Mothafucka!” He shook his head violently.  “Why the fuck would you do that, son?”

    “I’m, uh, a zombie and stuff.  This is kind of what we do.  Plus it tastes really good, and-”

    “For fuck’s sake, boy, maybe you didn’t notice while you were fucking eating an arm, but I’m a goddamn zombie, too!  Do you see me breaking off a doctor’s arm and munching it down?”

    “No, sir, I don’t see you eating a doctor’s arm.”  I felt like a child being scolded.

    “You’re damn right you don’t!”  He took another hit off the cigarette.  “That’s fuckin’ disgusting, that’s what it is.  Cannibal bullshit.  It’s not like you have to do it.  Your belly isn’t growling, is it?  You and me, we’re the only ones like this that can think for ourselves, we have to set a fucking example, you hear me?”

    I dropped the arm that I was holding.  It fell to the ground with both a thump and a squish.  “Hey, look, man, don’t judge me.  I’m a zombie, I can eat people if I want.”  I felt my temper beginning to flare.  “I don’t even know your name, and you’re trying to tell me what I should and shouldn’t do?”

    The man raised his hands.  “Hey, you know what, that’s fair.  I tend to get a little preachy sometimes.  I don’t want to come off as one of those preachy church mothafuckas that talk about love and acceptance before he beats you over the head with his fuckin’ Bible.”  He held out one of the hands to me.  “The name’s Thomas Jefferson.”

    Without thinking about it, I shook the offered hand.  “Thomas Jefferson?” I repeated.  “As in President of the United States Thomas Jefferson?”

    “What, just because I’m black I can’t be named Thomas fuckin’ Jefferson?  Just because he was a white aristocratic asshole that owned slaves, I can’t be named after him?”  He waved the hand holding the cigarette.  “Nah, I’m just fucking with ya.  The name really is Thomas Jefferson, ‘though most of my friends just call me Jefferson.”

    “I’m Mitch,” I replied, still not sure how to feel about the sudden arrival of my intelligent zombie colleague.  “Mitch [Name omitted from the manuscript].  Good to meet you.”

    He pointed at the swarm of zombies, now about twenty strong, that had finished with the doctor and were proceeding through the doorway into the emergency room.  “Look at those fuckers go,” he commented with a shake of his head.  “Just got done eating a modern day healer and already looking for more food.”  He spat something black onto the floor.

    I stared at him for a moment before recognition kicked in.  “Hey, wait a second,” I said slowly, “I know you.  You were at the swine flu inoculation trial.”

    “Right in one,” he beamed.  “I’m guessing that little prick of a shot is why you and me are standing here having this conversation instead of stumbling around and moaning like a couple of fucking morons.”  He snorted.  “Prick of a shot.  See what I did there?  Un-fucking-believable.  Let’s head on outside.  It’s getting a little cramped in here.”

    That it was.  The flow of zombies had picked up steadily, and it was becoming obvious that the hospital staff was going to have its hands full.  We made our way against the current of bodies and stepped out into the cool night.  It was strange; I knew that it was chilly outside, and I knew that I should be shivering without a coat on, but it didn’t seem to have any effect on me like it normally would.  I supposed it was one of the perks of being dead.

    When I had arrived at the hospital it had been a rather peaceful night, but now it appeared that all hell had broken loose.  People were running in every direction, screaming in panic and terror as they attempted to avoid the undead wandering the streets.  A few of the nearby buildings were on fire.  As flames shot out of the windows, plumes of smoke billowed into the black sky.

    As we watched, a fire engine came roaring down the street, its lights flashing and siren blaring.  It had to have been a good seventy miles an hour, and the driver was using it almost like a battering ram to clear the zombies out of the way.  It drove away out of view.

    “Now, I’m not saying that we don’t ever fucking eat people,” Jefferson said as if the end of the world wasn’t happening around him.  “If we start getting hungry or something, sure, let’s do it.  Bon appe-fucking-tit.  I’m just saying that if there’s no reason to do so, we shouldn’t be doing it.”

    I raised an eyebrow.  “You said that eating people was cannibal bullshit,” I reminded him.

    He shook his head.  “Nah, see, it’s only bullshit if you’re doing it for the hell of it.  If you’re eating to satisfy your stomach, that’s just survival, man.  Fucking Animal Kingdom, you know?  It’s the survival of the fittest shit that Darwin was talking about.”

    I stared at him for a long moment before finally saying, “You’re a complicated guy, Jefferson.”

    He tossed the cigarette butt on the ground and fished a pack of fresh smokes out of a coat pocket.  “I’m zombie that smokes and still thinks for himself.  You’d better fucking believe that I’m complicated.”  He lit a cigarette and took a long drag.  “I don’t suppose you remember anything before the shot?”

    “Not a thing.  You?”

    “Nope.”

    We watched as a car attempted to duplicate the fire engine.  Its wheel caught the edge of the street corner, however, and in a moment worthy of a Bruce Willis movie it flipped over and smashed down on its roof.  It skidded for quite a distance, farther than I would have guessed that it would have gone, and finally came to rest up against a mailbox.  The undead were swarming all over it even before it stopped moving.

    The driver didn’t emerge, but the passenger kicked out the glass that remained in her car window and slithered out through the opening.  The nearest zombie reached out and managed to grab her long hair.  She twisted her head violently and freed herself, leaving quite a bit of her blond locks clenched in her attacker’s fist.  She looked around wildly and, upon seeing the two of us standing there watching her, she began to run towards us.

    “Dumb bitch thinks we’re alive,” Jefferson said with a chuckle.

    I surveyed the situation.  The woman was on the opposite side of the street from us, and there was a lot of undead between us and her.  She was an agile little minx, I gave her that, but the odds didn’t look good that she would make it.

    “If she makes it here we’re going to kill her,” I told him.

    “Of course we’re going to fucking kill her.  She’s a human.  We’re zombies.  It’s what we fucking do.”  He paused.  “We’ll toss her back into the street for the fucking vultures out there.  No sense in wasting the meat.”

    “If there’s anything left, maybe we can wrap it up in some packing paper and store it in a freezer.  Then we’d have some on hand to make burgers or maybe some stew.”

    He turned to me with a wide grin that probably would have looked more jolly if half his face wasn’t gone.  “I guess that was some ‘waste not want not’ shit, wasn’t it?  I hope that I wasn’t a fucking tree hugger when I was alive.”

    As it turned out, we didn’t have to apply the Reduce, Reuse, and Recycle principles to our charging admirer.  She managed to dart through the zombies blocking her path without so much as a scratch.  At one point she fell to the ground awkwardly and I was sure that she had twisted an ankle, but she proved me wrong as she scrambled back to her feet.  With a smile mixing hope and triumph she put one foot on the curb.

    That’s when the taxi slammed into her and threw her a good twenty feet.

    “Well there you go,” I said.  “The problem solved itself.”

    “The universe works in mysterious ways,” Jefferson answered.  “So what do you want to do now?”

    I shrugged.  “I dunno.  Want to go destroy the human race and make zombies the dominate species on Earth?”

    He thought it over for a moment.  “Sounds like a fuckin’ plan to me.”