Eve (or: 'How to be a Zombie and not Murder Everyone') Read online

  EVE

  By

  CESAR VITALE

  CONTENTS

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Epilogue

  This book would not exist without the incredibly creative environment and all the great, great people back at /r/WritingPrompts. Thank you all.

  This book would also definitely not exist without all the people who follow, comment on and support my work at /r/psycho_alpaca. I've said this before, but you guys are the reason I write, and I'm incredibly grateful.

  Cesar Vitale

  [email protected]

  CHAPTER 1

  "You want in on this?" the Asian zombie dude asks, lifting his blood covered face from the carcass of what looks like a small child.

  "No, thanks," I tell him, forcing a smile. "I'm a vegan."

  The number of times I've had to say that… I mean, I get it, we're zombies, we need to feed, we're evil, blah, blah, blah…

  But come on! We can eat animals! I don't want to sound like a hippie bitch or anything, but we can eat cows and shit. Hell, I've eaten dogs. I don't feel good about it, but I have.

  But humans…

  These guys act like it's no big deal. I can't bring myself to do it.

  "Hippie bitch," Asian zombie grunts, turning back to his carcass. I roll my eyes, making way back to the streets.

  My house is half a mile away. Shouldn't take me more than two hour to get there.

  Zombie fact number one: being a zombie is slow. I can't run. I can't even walk, I have to do this silly penguin walk everywhere I go.

  It's exhausting, really.

  I bobble my way down Hollywood Boulevard, brushing past other zombies, turned over cars and torn apart billboards of old TV shows and all that crap, scanning the streets for food one less, hopeless time.

  Nothing. No pigeons, no stray cats, no unlucky squirrels. Nada.

  Turning right on the alleyway and cross the side door, I make way down the narrow staircase to my basement apartment.

  "Jeff. Jeff. Jeff!"

  "I'm coming, I'm coming. Jesus."

  Jeff opens the door with a grumpy expression on his face, stepping aside to let me in.

  "Any food out there?"

  I throw myself on the ripped couch, tired. "Some Asian dude offered me baby meat."

  Jeff closes the door and turns to me. "Did you take it?"

  I don't answer.

  "You didn't take it, did you?" Jeff asks, sighing. "You could have brought some for us, at least."

  "Shut up, Jeff."

  Zombie fact number two: The reason I can't bring myself to eat a freaking baby is I still think. You'd think this asshole virus would take away the victim's mental faculties, but no. It just gives you terrible skin, red eyes and an uncontrollable urge for raw meat and blood.

  "You gotta eat, Eve," Kathy tells me, crossing her bedroom door and making way for the mirror. "You look like shit."

  "It's true, you do look a little too skinny," Toby contributes, from his mattress on the corner of the room.

  "I'm not eating people," I say, folding my arms. "Forget it."

  "Eve, you can only survive on animal meat for so long," Jeff says, pouring himself a glass of blood. By his side, a limbless, pale human carcass rests on an old metal desk, its chest and abdomen carved here and there from a week's worth of Toby, Kathy and Jeff's meals.

  It's tempting, I'll be honest. The urge is so strong most people can't (or won't even try to) fight it. But I won't do it. I've got constant headaches, difficulty concentrating and sore muscles all the time. I don't care.

  I'm not eating anything with a face.

  Well, no. I'll eat stuff with a face, all right. But not a face that talked and walked and made jokes about the government. Not a face that watched the X Factor.

  Maybe a face that watched the X Factor. But you see my point.

  "I had a friend who tried the whole vegan thing," Kathy says, putting on earrings, still on the mirror. "Went crazy from the hunger. Couldn't talk, couldn't walk straight. It was pretty sad."

  "What happened to him?" Jeff asks.

  "He died."

  "Well, he wasn't exactly alive before, was he?" I argue.

  Before I forget -- zombie fact number three: What sounds like grunts and incoherent babble to normal people is actually conversation. Zombies talk.

  Getting up from his mattress, Toby makes way past me to the body on the table. "If Eve doesn't want to eat, fine. More for us. Heey!"

  Toby pulls his hand away from Jeff's slap.

  "You've had more than your share last night, Toby," Jeff says. "This has to last us all week."

  "But I'm hungry!"

  Pulling an old, dirty sheet over the body, Jeff turns to Toby. "Then call Domino's. This is for me and Kathy."

  On the mirror, Kathy's trying out different dresses, posing them in front of her body and looking at herself from all different angles.

  I close my eyes so I don't have to roll them. I gotta find some food.

  And some new roommates.

  "Hey, sweetie."

  A group of zombies in Abercrombie and Fitch ripped shirts watches me from the front of an abandoned McDonalds.

  "What are you doing browsing around like this? Wanna party with us?"

  I keep penguining my way, ignoring the zombiedouches. I step into what I think is what's left of the Hollywood and Highland Mall.

  "Oh, come on, princess! Come back!"

  Their voices fade as I go past a huge sign reading 'OMINGDALES'.

  Jesus, it's boring, walking like this.

  I look around. Does this place have a food court? A Pet store? Anything I can eat that doesn't think?

  Bouncing my way deeper and deeper inside the mall, I scan left and right. Nothing.

  Dear God, I'm so hungry I think I might --

  "Back off!"

  I look to my left. Just under the escalator, a half-open door reads 'STORAGE ROOM'. It's dark inside.

  Huh…

  "I said back off!"

  Squinting, I'm able to make out a human figure. A bit out of shape, and carrying what looks to be a .22 handgun.

  The figure steps forward, and a young man, not more than seventeen, comes to light. "Don't take another step!"

  Dude, I wouldn't have even seen you if you hadn't said anything.

  "I'm serious, I'll shoot!"

  He's holding his gun like Miss America would hold an Erlenmeyer flask, and he's got a piece of cloth tied around his forehead.

  Nerd, I think, rolling my eyes and resuming my penguin walk towards the food court.

  "Yeah, that's right!" I hear his voice. "Freaking zombies all –"

  But then I hear it, behind him, "There's a dude in there!"

  And another voice, "Where?"

  I turn back to find douchezombie squad making way inside the mall, heading straight for the fat dude.

  You know what? This is not my problem.

  I keep walking, trying to ignore the sound of approaching zombie steps behind me.

  "Oh, he's fat. He'll last a good week."

  "Back you devils!" I hear the zombie nerd scream, behind me.

  I stop.

  A Lord of the Ring quote. This kid is going to die.

  The sound of the gun clicking reaches my ear. That's right, he has a gun.
He can defend himself.

  Then it clicks again. And again.

  "Oh, man, I forgot the bullets!"

  "Get him, get him!"

  Hating myself for giving a shit, I turn back. Zombiedouches have the boy cornered against his sad little storage room, with their leader's hands raised and ready to charge.

  I penguin walk my way behind them. Careful not to make any noise, I crouch for a piece of half cinderblock on the floor just by my feet. Zombie nerd notices me, widening his eyes.

  This must look very weird for him.

  Raising my hands over my head for momentum, I bang the block hard against the main douche's head. The other two turn around, startled as they watch their partner fall to the floor.

  "Leave the fat kid alone," I say, defiantly.

  The two zombies exchange looks, confused. Then, unsure, start charging towards me.

  "Come on, you idiots," I grunt, tired. "I have a cinderblock. Just walk away."

  The first one raises his hand towards me, and I knock him out with a blow to his face.

  "Walk away," I repeat, as third zombie stops, widening his eyes at me.

  At zombie-speed and zombie-coordination, a cinderblock is not just a weapon – it's a game changer.

  The zombie looks from his passed out buddies to me. I take a step towards him and raise the block over my head again.

  "Grrr!"

  Third zombiedouche turns back and penguins away fast as he can towards the exit.

  "Come on, kid," I say, dragging my body close to the nerd. "Let's get you out of here before these ones wake up."

  From the floor, zombie nerd has his wide-like-planets eyes fixed on me. He doesn't move.

  "Let's go, kid," I insist. Then, remembering all he can hear are grunts, I offer him my hand.

  Back against the wall, the kid pulls himself up, slowly. He looks from my face to my extended hand, then back to my face.

  "Let's go," I say.

  "Holy fuck," he whispers, before squeezing past me and running away like a bitch.

  CHAPTER 2

  I'm thinking back on past Eve, the one from before the virus. I remember her saying she was 'starving' when dinner was half an hour late.

  Starving.

  That spoiled bitch.

  This is starving. It's not enough that these goddamned rats and pigeons I eat are not even close to making me feel any kind of full, but now I don't even have that. The streets have been wiped clean.

  If I'm being honest, whenever I spot a survivor… I don't want to, but it's so hard to keep myself in line. Like the nerd kid. He was fat. Would have made a nice meal.

  Oh, man, that nerd kid with potatoes…

  I get why most zombies don't give a fuck. I don't agree with it, but I get it.

  Feeling my head dizzy and my legs weak, I make way down the alley, lying to myself that maybe Jeff and the others found some food for me while I was out.

  I hear the gunfire not ten feet away from the stairs to the apartment.

  And then again. And then again.

  Penguining fast as I can, I crouch behind a dumpster a second before Jeff sprouts out of the stairs, one of his arms missing and a look of terror in his eyes. He drags his body away from the building just as two men in thick beards step out behind him. Both men raise shotguns his way.

  Jeff stops, turning around, and our eyes meet.

  The first man fires, and Jeff falls down straight to the ground, a hole the size of an orange across his back.

  Turning back and leaning against the dumpster, I cover my mouth with my hand, biting myself silent. The men exchange a few words with each other. Then, after a few moments, I hear their footsteps slowly walking away.

  I wait what feels like hours before I step out of the dumpster. Jeff's body is lying face down on the ground, motionless. I crouch to him, turning his face to the sun, and I close his eyes.

  You'd think I'd be used to this by now, but I'm not. You'd think after six months of watching zombie friends and roommates die on a weekly basis, it wouldn't get to me anymore. But it does.

  You can't really blame the hunters either – with the world filled with disease riddled carcasses roaming around trying to eat anything that moves, of course the few ones that survived want to defend themselves. If Jeff had found the men, not the other way around, he'd probably have eaten them.

  It's eat or be eaten.

  I make way down the stairs, knowing full well what to expect.

  Kathy's lean body on a silk black dress is headless against the metal table. Her head is resting on the floor some feet away, by her bedroom door. She still has her earrings on.

  Toby's leaned against the wall like he might be sleeping, except with a hole on his forehead.

  I mean, they weren't childhood friends or anything. And being a zombie means getting used to the fact that everyone around you can die at any time – you don't get to mourn the undead.

  Still. I shared a basement with these guys for the past six weeks.

  Yeah, yeah, they used to kill people and eat them alive and all that. They weren't the nicest people ever.

  All the same. I feel blue.

  I penguin my way down Santa Monica Boulevard, wet like a wet penguin. It's hard enough finding animals in the sun, but the rain makes it nearly impossible.

  Zombie fact number four: I suck with analogies.

  My roommates are dead, and I'm so hungry I might follow them soon. It's getting harder to concentrate, these last few days. My head's all dizzy and out of tune. I go through a pack of zombies sharing a bald man's head inside a black sedan, laughing and cracking jokes as I go by.

  I could ask them. Just a bite… The guy's dead anyway.

  I stop, watching as the front seat zombie bites onto an eyeball, pulling a string of flesh away like melted cheese as he chews.

  Sighing, I penguin past the car. Just by the sidewalk crossing the street my feet hit a puddle, bathing my socks in dirty gutter water.

  Thanks, universe.

  Squish, squish, squish.

  Bobbling away from the rainy night into Hollywood and Highland Mall again, I drag myself towards the food court. Maybe I missed something, the last time. Maybe I can find an old burger.

  Cooked meat won't do you much good if you're a zombie, but it's better than nothing.

  Maybe the sushi place. I'm sure the fish has gone bad, but at least it's raw. I can --

  Looking around for the source of the slicing noise, I stop. Like metal sliding against metal, somewhere to my right.

  Crossing the '–OMINDAGLES' sign, I bobble between the dummies. The sound again, closer this time.

  Past a counter of necklaces and golden bracelets, I head to the --

  Huh…

  I turn back, eyes on the counter. It's a noise like chewing now, wet and soft.

  Slow step by slow step, I reach for the glass display, leaning my head forwards to look behind –

  "HOLY SHIT!"

  I lean back. Zombie nerd gets up, dropping cans from his lap all over the floor and reaching for his gun. "Stay back!"

  "I know you don't have any bullets, idiot," I say, but I don't get any closer.

  Mushy meat is sprouting out of an unlabeled can by the other end of the display island, just by his feet. My stomach howls as I spot it.

  "Go away!"

  "I will, but can you give me some of that meat, first?"

  Zombie nerd frowns as I point to the can on the floor. "What? What are you doing?"

  I point again, mimicking a spoon going into my mouth.

  "You – you want that? The meat?"

  I nod, enthusiastically.

  He frowns so hard now his forehead might fold onto itself.

  "You can… understand me?"

  Again I nod. Then I point at the food again.

  Come on, kid.

  He crouches for the can, still keeping his eyes on me. He scoops a nice chunk with his hands, hesitates… then extends his hand across the counter.

  I gra
b it and stuff it in my face like the fat disgusting zombie I am.

  Zombie nerd lets out a nervous smile. He offers me another scoop.

  "So," he says, as I eat away the cold, watery beef in my hands, "you're like… a good zombie?"

  CHAPTER 3

  Please don't talk anymore, please don't talk anymore, please don't --

  "Are there more good zombies?" Levon asks, looking up from the floor at me.

  Lying on the couch, I take a deep breath.

  God, kid, it's been an hour. How have you not realized I can't talk yet?

  "Cause all the other zombies I've met tried to eat me. But you're cool. What's your name, again?"

  It's 'Shut up and let me sleep'.

  Yes, zombie fact number five: Zombies sleep. Except when annoying little pricks won't stop asking them questions.

  "I'm going to New York, have I told you that already?"

  Yes. You are going to the safe haven paradise in New York, where everything is perfect and porn stars read Descartes. You told me that.

  I gotta give it to him, though – he knows his way around a zombie apocalypse. After Bloomingdales, Levon invited me to spend the night at the storage room, and I was really in no position to deny shelter. It was too small for the both of us, though. Plus, after this morning's encounter with douche zombies, I figured the mall wouldn't be the safest of places anyway.

  So I dragged his fat ass with me down Santa Monica Boulevard until we found this house. Abandoned, like most, but still in pretty livable condition and unoccupied by zombies or hunters. Unlike most.

  Levon went on to zombieproofed the place immediately, and to an impressive level. Cardboard on the windows, furniture in front of the doors… even found some cleaning supplies and threw them around the place to cover up his meat smell.

  But now it's past midnight and I want to sleep, and he won't…stop… talki --

  "They have a shelter there I've heard, in New York," Levon continues. "Have I told you that? They have survivors and they are working on a cure. I'm going there to – what are you doing?"