Zombies and Shit

She tried to figure out ways to get people interested in Charles Hudson again. She had sent letters to his old publisher, sent a duplicate of his manuscript that she typed up herself during breaks at work, but she never received a response. His manuscript was returned unopened.

That’s when she came up with the idea of getting him on Zombie Survival. She had heard the rumors of this popular television show. The people in the upper quadrants were obsessed with it and idolized the contestants more than any other celebrities. She knew if Charlie was on Zombie Survival he would capture the attention of the public again. He would become a bigger celebrity than he had ever been before. And she knew the public would demand his books come back into print. Then his final masterpiece would be published and it would solidify him as a great voice in the history of literature.

She believes it would have all worked out perfectly, but her plan backfired. When she was also brought onto Zombie Survival as a contestant, everything got fucked. She was the one who was supposed to negotiate the publication of his last book after he had been killed. She was supposed to dedicate the rest of her life making sure that Charles Hudson was remembered. But without her, it is likely that nobody is going to know that his last manuscript ever existed. Not only that, but because of her Charlie was one of the first contestants eliminated. She doubts any of the viewers will care about him now that he’s gotten killed off so quickly.

She wishes she would have been the one to get killed off instead of Charlie. Once she realized she had been brought onto the show, she came up with a backup plan. She was going to let the audience perceive her as the bad guy, Charlie’s horrible wife. They would have felt sorry for him and empathized with him as a victimized hero-type. Then the audience would have relished in Rainbow’s death, she would play the role of the bitch who got what she deserved. As long as Charlie was cheered on by the audience, there would be a renewed interest in his work. Perhaps they would even find his final masterpiece at some point, locked away in their apartment.

But now Charlie is dead and she has to come up with a new plan. As Rainbow runs down the alley, leaping over ancient garbage cans and cat skeletons, she decides that her new plan is to be the winner of the Zombie Survival reality game show. With that kind of celebrity status, she will be able to direct the attention of the masses on her husband’s work. She can explain why she betrayed him. She can explain how her husband’s book is so good that it was worth sending him to his death just so that it could be read by the world. Then his masterpiece will be published. Then he will be remembered as the greatest writer of their generation.

But first, she has to win the game. If she can win then it will all work out fine. The only thing she will regret is that Charlie died thinking she sent him to his death for the sake of money, when in reality she sent him to his death because she loved him so much.

If Charlie were still alive and found out the reason behind Rainbow’s betrayal, he would have said, “You didn’t send me to my death because you loved me, you sent me to my death because you loved my books.”

Then, after a long pause, Rainbow would have said, “I don’t understand the difference.”

Junko leads them to an isolated area in the parking garage of an old grocery store. They duck behind a wall of scrap metal, which looks to have once been several wrecked vehicles that have rusted together into one giant slab the size of a garbage truck. There is a ten foot buffer between Popcorn and the others. Nobody wants to get near her.

“Let’s see what we got,” Junko says, kneeling down to unlock her duffel bag.

The others sit down and place their bags into their laps, as they catch their breaths. A camera ball floats over their heads, panning across their powwow. Revealing each of the contestants’ weapons is one of the viewers’ favorite moments of the show.

Scavy unzips his bag first and pulls out two rods, one with a long jagged blade attached to it. He holds them up to the camera, as if giving his audience what they want to see.

“What the hell are these?” Scavy says. “I wanted a fucking machine gun and shit.”

Junko looks over at his weapon.

“You screw them together,” she says. “It’s an ancient Japanese naginata spear.”

“A spear?” Scavy says. “They said the weapons would be personalized to our fighting capabilities. Why would I get a spear?”

Junko shrugs. “Because the blade matches your mohawk?”

“I’m totally a machine gun kind of guy,” Scavy says.

Junko’s eyes light up when she spots the weapon in her bag.

“Well, they got mine right,” Junko says, pulling a chainsaw out of her bag. “I’m totally a chainsaw kind of girl.”

It is a custom-designed chainsaw built specifically for the game. It is long, thin, and lightweight, created to strap onto her right arm.

“Chainsaw arm!” Scavy says. “You lucky bitch!”

Rainbow Cat is the most disappointed in her weapon. With her thumb and index finger she lifts it out of her purse-sized bag by the handle, holding it like a dead rat by its tail.

“A dagger?” she whines.

They look at her.

“That’s it?” Scavy says. “Just a knife?”

Junko chuckles. “They did that on purpose.”

“Why?”

“You got a dagger because you stabbed your husband in the back,” Junko says. “The people back home are probably laughing their asses off right now.”

“That’s bullshit,” Rainbow says. “How am I going to get anywhere with this?”

“All you really need is something to cut them off when they grab you,” Junko says. “A lightweight weapon has its advantage. You’ll be able to run faster and it won’t give you a false sense of security.”

Rainbow pulls up her skirt and straps the dagger around her thigh.

Junko continues, “Too many people get killed off early on in the game by thinking their weapon is powerful enough to take on a whole horde head-on. The people who get the furthest are those who don’t stay and fight, but run away. Avoiding confrontations is best way to survive.”

When Popcorn pulls a 9mm handgun out of her bag, Junko snags it away from her.

“Hey!” Popcorn cries, reaching out to take back her gun.

Junko dodges her hand and digs ammo clips out of her bag, then places them into her own. “You don’t get a weapon. You’re infected.”

“I’m fine!” Popcorn says.

Then her tendon slides out of her wrist and lands in her lap.

Junko snorts and spits. “I doubt it.” Then she points at Popcorn’s shirt.

The zombie puke had burnt through her clothing and eaten away a few layers of her skin above her cleavage. Popcorn pouts as she looks down at her chest. To her, it just looks like a really bad sunburn.

“Who gets the extra bag?” Scavy says, looking down at Charlie’s duffel bag next to Junko.

“Take it,” Junko says.

Rainbow jumps in. “Hey, he was my husband! I should be the one to take it.”

Scavy unzips the long duffel bag and pulls out a black rectangular case. When he opens it, he finds an M24 sniper rifle.

“Fuck yeah!” Scavy says.

Junko shakes her head. “That’ll be useless.”

“No, it won’t,” Scavy says. “It kicks ass and shit.”

“It’ll only slow you down. The only use you’d have for it is shooting zombies from a distance, but if you see zombies in the distance you’re better off sneaking around them.”

“If it’s useless, then why’d they give it to Charlie?”

“Because the producers saw him as a strategist,” Junko says. “Somebody who would fight from a distance, from an advantage point.”

“I’m a good strategist,” Scavy says.

Junko laughs and tries to take the rifle away from him. Scavy pushes her back.

“No, I’m taking it! I don’t care what you say.”