Tim Meyer - Less Than Human

Ben watched one of them stumble out from the brink of the forest. It was a brownie scout, a little thing, no older than seven. She was walking with an uncoordinated limp, like she had broken her foot.

With the exception of dried blood caked around her mouth, she didn’t look very dead. Yes, Ben noticed the lifelessness in her eyes, but other than that—she appeared perfectly normal, unlike some of the other zombies he had seen on Densberry Avenue.

It’s because she’s fresh. It made physiological sense that the bodies of newly converted zombies were in better shape than those who had been dead for quite some time. Like Mrs. Yoland, who had probably been dead for close to a week, was badly decayed and reeked like something Ben never had the displeasure of smelling before. Just thinking about the awful stench was enough to make him gag.

He thought back to the old woman on the side of the road, and how unmotivated she was. Maybe the older they are, the less energy they have. It made good sense to him. Some of the zombies in the suburbs could flat out run. He supposed fresh corpses could do that. Maybe they hold onto something from their past lives, like their physical attributes. Sooner or later, though, their bodies would decompose, and left to rot. This made Ben think that if he survived long enough, maybe every walking corpse would rot away and become maggot-infested clumps of decayed flesh. But how long would that take? A year? Two? Five? Ten? He had no idea.

Ben watched in awe as the little girl slowly staggered across the dirt parking lot. She was twenty feet from him, her putrid scent wafting through the air, cutting away the freshness. Ben kept himself hidden behind the car. He doubted the zombies had any sense of smell, that their ways of locating their quarry were restricted to sight and sound only. She walked past the car without glancing in his direction.

Ben’s heart rattled in his chest.

As the little girl limped on, Ben heard something rustling behind him. He turned and watched another girl scout, slightly older than the first, emerge from the trees and foliage. Then another. Then a park ranger stumbled out of the dense shrubbery. His face was covered in blood. There was a gaping hole in his stomach where his intestines dangled like strings of pink sausage. They appeared recently gnawed on. The ranger’s left arm was missing, detached at the shoulder.

One by one, zombies came forth from the forest. Snarling. Hungry.

“So how’d you break your arm?” Victoria asked. She handed Josh a bottle of water.

“A friend hit me with his car,” he replied.

“Some friend.”

“We weren’t really friends at the time. It was more of an accident—it’s actually a really long story, and I’d love to tell it to you, but I really must insist that we get the hell out of here.”

“You’re not going to give up, are you?” Jesus-Lady asked. “Can’t you accept that the Lord Jesus is going to come down from Heaven and collect us into his loving arms?” The woman’s eyes narrowed as she looked Josh up and down. “Oh, I get it. The devil’s got a hold of you.” She paused, expecting Josh to argue. “Doesn’t he?”

“Maybe that’s enough, Ruth,” Victoria told her.

“I’m not listening to this crazy bullshit anymore,” Josh said. “If you want to stay, lady, then fucking stay. I don’t care. As for the rest of you, I suggest you come with me. Before whatever happened down at the lake happens here.” He glanced at Ranger Steve, glaring at him apathetically.

Ranger Steve kept his mouth shut, staring down at the floor.

“We’ll go,” Victoria said.

“Don’t be ridiculous, Vicky,” Ranger Steve snapped, immediately whipping his head toward her. “You weren’t out there when we were attacked. You don’t know what it’s like—”

“We don’t know anything,” she told him. “Josh is right. We can’t be certain that someone is coming for us. Usually in situations like this the government sets up survival camps, right?” She looked to Josh for verification, as if he were an expert on apocalyptic protocol.

Josh shrugged. “I don’t how things are going down out there. All I know is—if you stay here, it’s a deathtrap. You can’t hold them off forever. There’s too many of them.”

“That’s exactly why we stay here,” Ranger Steve said. “They overran us.”

“Sooner or later they’ll get in.”

“We’ll see.”

Something crashed into the sliding-glass door, causing them to jump. Victoria screamed. Emily gripped her mother tight, wrapping her arms around her waist. Ruth backed away from the direction of the sudden outburst, signaling the Stations of the Cross. Ranger Steve pointed the shotgun toward the unexpected commotion.

The noise repeated.

Josh faced the enormous sliding-glass door that practically made up the entire back wall. Beyond the glass was a massive porch, stained the same color as the rest of the recreation center’s exterior. On the porch, stood a little girl, clad in her scout’s uniform.

“Jessica!” Emily yelled. She broke away from Victoria’s grasp, sprinting toward the door.

Before Josh could protest, Emily was opening the slider. Josh seemed to be the only one who saw the writing on the wall. Ranger Steve appeared indifferent about the situation, but Josh knew better. He knew what she was, although, to Emily’s credit, her friend’s body didn’t showcase the familiar signs. She wasn’t missing half her face like some of the others Josh had seen. She wasn’t dragging her entrails behind her. She didn’t writhe her lips in contempt for the living.

Jessica appeared normal with the exception of her blood-caked clothes and the faint red smears around her mouth.

It’s her eyes, Josh thought. It’s her eyes that give it away. They lacked humanity. Two dead vacuums planted in the center of her face. Lifeless little circles. The girl was something less than human.

And Emily was letting it in.

Quietly, Ben climbed into his car. He shut the door slowly, hoping not to draw any attention to himself. Impossible . The clunk of the door closing was loud enough to turn the heads of the dead in his direction. Shit! Ben thought, discovering a few soulless eyes staring right at him. One woman—a camp counselor, her shirt read—hobbled toward him, exposing the right side of her face, which had been completely chewed away. Fresh droplets of blood oozed from the raw muscle. Ben’s throat burned with bile, but he prevented the stomach juices from climbing any higher.

Fuck, they’re changing fast. Judging from the woman’s wound, she couldn’t have been attacked more than a few hours ago.

Ben started the car, grabbing everyone’s attention. One by one the zombies changed their course and began shuffling toward the car. One sprinted ahead of the slow-moving concourse. An eleven-year old boy rushed the car. The little bastard jumped on the hood, crouching like a gorilla. Wildly, he began smashing his fists against the windshield with bloodthirsty rage. He managed to crack the glass after a few tries. Shocked, Ben watched the windshield spider-web. Instead of waiting for the dead kid to break through and rip his throat out, Ben stomped on the gas, sending the kid toppling over the roof, tumbling onto the dirt below. In his rear-view mirror, Ben saw the boy scramble to his feet, wounded, but still motivated by the hunger raging inside his belly. In that moment, Ben thought of throwing the car in reverse, running the little fucker over, making sure the tires crushed his skull in the process. Instead, Ben thought of Jake, wondering if the zombie had a father looking for him, and how he’d feel if he reached Pittsburgh and found his son in the middle of the street with tire marks over what was left of his cranium.