I hate zombies. It’s not just that I want to survive their plague. It’s not even that I think they’re disgusting, though they are: putrid flesh hanging from rotting bones held up only by the darkest, stinking, and what’s more, communicable magics. I hate what they represent. When something is finished, it should be done. Gone. Ended.
When a body goes into the ground, it should stay there. Period. It’s no fun when Bob from accounting comes back as a walking corpse and screams about PTO slips you owe him while you are fighting off a score of zombies.
News flash, Bob: you’re a zombie. Also, who cares about PTO slips in the apocalypse?
Well, some people call it an apocalypse, but that’s really very dramatic, isn’t it? I call it a setback. Because actually, the only ones effected by this magic disease are humans. Hooray!
Everybody else, the dolphins and the bees, are probably saying thank the Sun in all its glory that something finally came around to wipe out those assholes. I’m sure if they could talk, that’s what they would say. Good for them.
Anyway, back to my hatred of zombies. Sorella once asked me if our murdering as many of them as we could constituted genocide. Genocide? She’s such a PC bleeding heart sometimes. I told her it couldn’t be genocide if it was self-defense. But what do I know? It probably is.
This guy trying to eat my face right now, though. Arrgh. There! Sliced his head off. Definitely self-defense.
“Nick!” Sorella screams at me over the moans of a pack of attacking zombies. I see the Staff of Zombie-Ass-Kicking sail through the air at me. Not surprisingly, a zombie knocks it to the ground with flailing arms. Great.
Dorian and Aithne fight a pack of zombies near the door. I’m glad they’re trying to get to Sorella to help her, but I’m in fairly dire need of help myself.
Two years of Zombie Setback has taught me how to use a sword well enough, and I dispatch three quickly and then leap at the staff. I roll over it, bringing it up in one hand and holding the sword in the other. I swing both to fend off the horde.
“Get to the computer!” Sorella screams. She sends a blast of magic at Cadogahn, her magic disintegrating in a flare of blue motes on his black robes. The effort staggers her, and she falls to her knees, but he’s distracted.
I tear my gaze away from her struggle and race to the computer. The last computer. Its screen glows blue at the end of the cubicle rows, gleaming plastic and smooth metal.
You always knew deep down that those computers would turn on humanity, didn’t you? You just didn’t know that computers plus magic would equal zombies. Well, it does.
I’m no magician, but it doesn’t matter. I take the staff and shove it through that glowing blue screen. The power surge throws me back into a stand of cubicles, and the explosion deafens me.
Next thing I know is Sorella’s face hovering above mine. Then things connect, and I see Dorian and Aithne, Eanna, Tomas, Lucan, their faces bloodied, weapons limp in their hands. They’re all staring down at me.
“We won,” I say, but I can’t hear my voice. Sorella nods, tears in her eyes.
Things darken for a while, my vision narrowing infinitely until I can look away from my own point of view. What do you know? I see the Sun, and it is glorious. Those dolphins and bees were correct.
At least I won’t be a zombie.