Teenage Wasteland (I Zombie) (7 page)

“Look, lady, we’re a film crew, and this is our equipment. ‘Nuff said, okay?”

“So, cameras, lights, stands, backdrops?”

“Something like that, yeah.”

“Names, please?” intake asked.

“I’m Kubrick. This is Nicco and Fay. Our production company is called ‘Cut’. If you think you’re going to confiscate our equipment, think again. We’ll turn around and find other shelter.”

Another gasp from the crowd.

The intake officer jotted some notes on her clipboard and nodded back to Kubrick. “Fine.” She turned to the crowd; our eyes met. “Jingo.”

I acknowledged her with a nod.

“Take our new residents up to room…” She glanced back at her clipboard “…Room 203.”

“Yes ma’am,” I answered.

“And make sure to fill them in on Asylum’s little rule book.”

Again, another nod.

I gestured for Kubrick and his gang to follow, and led them to and up the stairs.

Kubrick was the first of the trio to speak as we ascended. “Is this just some haven for wayward orphans?”

“Something like that,” Frenzy answered.

“What are your names?” the girl, whom I could only assume was Fay, asked.

We made our introductions before reaching the door of room 203. The newbies filed into their new home, followed closely by myself, Mikko, and Frenzy. I eased the door shut and turned to Kubrick and the gang.

“How did you find this place, and what have you heard about it?” I asked in a hushed whisper.

Nicco answered. He was tall, with a shock of jet-black hair sweeping down over his eyes. Emo…or damn close. “We just stumbled into it; haven’t heard a thing.”

Fay added, “Should we have?”

Me, Mikko, and Frenzy nodded slowly.

“Care to fill us in?” asked Kubrick.

I gave the new kids on the block the Cliff’s notes edition of the issues at hand. “It’s simple: every day the residents of Asylum spill out onto the streets, makeshift weapons in hand; their only task to kill as many Moaners and Screamers as possible. Once killed, the heads are removed and brought back. The individual or team with the most kills wins. The winners get fed. The losers go hungry.” As my description unfolded, Kubrick’s eyes grew wide.

“That’s messed up.” He glanced to Nicco and Fay before returning his gaze to me. “We should be filming this.”

Nicco made to unlock one of the cases when the idea hit me like a kangaroo punch to the groin.

“Wait.” I gestured high and wide. “I have a better idea.”

Nicco stared at me and shook his head. “There is no better idea than film. It’s pure, it’s untouched by the soiled grasp of society.”

I laughed. “You clearly didn’t see the same movies I saw just before the apocalypse. Nothing but reboots, remakes, sequels, and prequels. Hollywood lost its mojo long ago.”

Kubrick nodded. “I must admit I cannot disagree with you. But we’re not working from the same frame of reference. Everything we do is smaller and, therefore, more focused. There is no longer an academy to pander to.”

Frenzy interrupted Kubrick’s spiel. “Wait, wait…you’re serious, aren’t you?”

Kubrick nodded.

“And your name…is that after the great Stanley Kubrick?”

Another nod.

“This is bloody brilliant.”

Fay stared around the room. She was gorgeous in that shiny, happy Hollywood kind of way—a sort of modern-day, teenage Ingrid Bergman. As soon as she stepped up to speak, Mikko wrapped a possessive arm around my waist. I snuggled up against her in a show of romantic solidarity.

“We haven’t done a documentary yet,” Fay announced. “This might be the perfect timing.”

“You don’t get it,” I said emphatically. “This is our opportunity to figure out what Crowbar is really up to. We need to know what he’s doing with those heads.”

“Who’s Crowbar?” Nicco asked.

Frenzy offered up the best description I’d ever heard. “He’s the douchewaddle responsible for each and every one of us risking our lives for a damn TV dinner every day.”

Kubrick shook his head slowly. “Why in the hell would you do that?”

“A hot and a cot,” was Mikko’s quick reply.

Fay picked up Kubrick’s train of thought. “Yeah, but you’re not guaranteed a meal. In fact, only one of you winds up getting fed. Why not just find eats out there, ignore the rules, and return when it’s time to sleep? I’d think that plan would be significantly more conducive to survival.”

Frenzy scuffed his shoe on the floor and blushed as he answered Fay—clearly smitten. “That neglects one tiny bit of fine print in the rule book. You fail to return with the spoils of war for more than three days and you lose your bloody cot. I’ve seen it happen; kids getting turned away, not even able to pick up what few belongings they have to their name.”

We all stared at one another for an extended period. It was Kubrick who broke the silence.

“Okay. Yeah…let’s do this. Nicco, grab the action cam and the solar charger. We’ll hide it wherever Jingo says. With the charger in place, the sun will keep the camera running. We can set it to only go off at certain times to conserve even more power.”

“That’d be perfect. They don’t do anything to the collected heads until after we’re out of sight—after dark. Can that thing do…”

“Night vision?” Nicco interrupted. “Hell yeah, it can. This baby has everything you could imagine.”

We agreed to wait until after midnight to sneak down to intake and plant the device.

six | mission dim sum possible

The mission went off without a hitch. The camera was small enough to tuck neatly under a shelf that couldn’t be spotted unless you knew exactly where to look. The solar charger was attached to a window behind a blind. Plenty of sun would rain down electricity to keep the camera rolling through the night. Nicco assured me the memory card had plenty of space to retain hours’ worth of footage.

The morning unfolded like every other under the roof of Asylum—a bunch of weak, starving kids doing the slow march into the wild with one hope giving them the strength to move forward.

Heads.

We were the lucky ones—the remnants of a meal in our gut fueling us on. I had every intention of returning to Number One Take Out to finish the job of emptying their cupboards.

Nicco and Kubrick insisted on filming our excursion.

“Are you sure that’s a good idea?” I asked. “If we get attacked, I’m not waiting around for you guys to haul that crap along for the chase.”

“This is our art, our truth,” Nicco answered, a bit snippy for my taste. “We do nothing without filming. Our work is the only way future generations will understand the plight of post-apocalyptic millennials. Take this camera from me and I may as well die.”

Frenzy skipped ahead; his long, spindly legs making the act a bit awkward. “That’s some serious commitment to your art, mate. Cheers for that, but I find it a load of small bollocks. The only thing that matters now is survival.
That’s
the only art remaining, and we have it perfected.”

In response, Nicco lifted the camera to his shoulder and focused in on Frenzy. “Care to repeat that?”

Frenzy leaned to within inches of the camera lens. “Oi! You blokes are out of yer ‘eads. Don’t get me wrong, I respect the art and craft of film making; but there’s got to be a line drawn in the metaphoric sand when it comes to survival, eh? In the immortal words of Freddy Mercury, ‘Who wants to live…’”

A wall of moaning stopped Frenzy, mid-quote. Everyone in the group froze in place…and waited. Almost imperceptibly, Nicco panned the camera to the left and right.

The moaning returned. I pointed to ten o’clock.

“What do we do?” Fay whispered.

Frenzy crept forward with the grace and silence of a ninja. He held up his hands to stop us from following. As he continued walking, he reached to his leg and pulled a two-foot piece of rebar from a pocket stitched into his Union Jack skinny jeans. With his free hand, he retrieved a butterfly knife from his back pocket. A quick flick of the wrist, and the deadly weapon was open and ready for business.

“That’s what we do,” I responded quietly.

Nicco took a couple of steps forward before I could grab him by the shirt. He wiggled free and continued on.

“His death won’t weigh on my conscience, Kubrick,” I whispered.

“He can hold his own,” Kubrick replied.

“Doubt it,” Mikko added.

Frenzy took another five or so steps, both arms outstretched, ready to serve up a quick killing blow. His knees were bent, so his center of gravity was lowered. No Moaner could possibly take the guy down in this position.

Or so Frenzy always bragged. I believed him…I had no other choice.

Without warning, Frenzy stopped. The moan returned, only this time louder and with purpose. Nicco caught up to Frenzy and stood by his side, camera panning to the left and right.

The Moaner came into view. Undead chic; gaunt and bony. It was obvious that, pre-death, the girl had been a real cutie. Dark pixie haircut, emotive eyes, and lips that begged to be kissed. She wore a torn and tattered sun dress and Chuck Taylors. I probably would have loved her. We’d have gone to concerts together and Snap Chatted into the wee hours of the night. Eventually, Mikko would have kicked her ass and reminded me who my one and only was.

The apocalypse would never rob me of my daydreams.

My mistress Moaner zombie-stomped her way into the area and stopped to sniff and sway. Her unblinking, sour-milk eyes looked skyward as her head and mouth twitched in anticipation of a fresh brain buffet.

She was probably vegan in her former life. Death was not immune to irony.

As I stood, transfixed by the fictional beauty of the moment, Frenzy drew in close to drop the hammer. In a rare moment of awkward teen, Frenzy tripped on some invisible obstacle and tumbled forward…into the waiting arms of Undead Claire.

I had to name her.

Bad habit.

The zombie dropped onto Frenzy and wrapped her arms around his neck. He slapped at her hands as he desperately gasped for air.

Nicco continued to film.

Fay and Kubrick stood a safe distance from the action.

Mikko grabbed at Frenzy’s kicking feet.

With the zombie’s attention on the meat beneath Frenzy’s skull, I sneaked in and snatched up the rebar. I wound up and then sent the metal pole into the back of the zombie’s head. A sickening crunch was immediately followed by the gush of thick brown liquid oozing from the crack.

The Moaner continued on.

“What the hell?” Kubrick hissed. “I thought that killed them.”

Frenzy gasped and choked against the crushing arms of Claire.

I drew the rebar back for a second blow. Before I swung down, the zombie looked up at me; her sick white eyes shot pure crazy my way.

When the bar connected, it broke through the bridge of her nose. This time, Claire grabbed the bar and gave it a yank. I lost my footing and fell into the dog pile. Frenzy took advantage of the moment and slipped free from the undead bonds. Claire turned her attention on me and wrapped her fingers around my head. She drew me in toward her clacking maw. I could see into the hole I’d made with the last blow. Chunks of meat and bone clung tenuously to the head. With the slightest shake, a hunk of something brown broke free and crash-landed on my leg. I wasn’t sure what to expect. Would the bit burn through my jeans like alien blood? Or would the morsel just stick and eventually drop off when it grew tired of hanging on for its undead life? Claire’s breath was sickening…like she’d gargled with day-old puke that had been set aside to fester in the scorching summer sun.

“Duck,” Mikko’s voice pulled me from the rot-induced daydream. I turned my head just in time to see her swinging the rebar toward us. I dropped to the ground, and the metal bar connected, point first, with the top of Claire’s skull. The bar broke through bone and penetrated the brain. Before Mikko could remove the weapon, gravity pulled Claire to the ground.

A rusty-colored paste dripped from the rebar. I rolled away to avoid collateral sloppage.

“Holy hell!” Nicco shouted. “That was boss.”

I turned sharply to the kid with the camera. “Keep your damn mouth shut. You want to draw the attention of every freakin’ Moaner within ear shot?”

Nicco pointed the camera my way. I stood and maneuvered until my face was up close and personal with his lens.

“I don’t know if you understand how this game of apocalypse works, but those bastards are super-sensitive to sound. You make merry with the decibels, and all her friends will come running, forks and knives ready to dig in.”

Nicco didn’t bother to lower the camera before he responded. “Yes, Jingo, I get the rules of the game. I’ve been a part of this for as long as you have.”

I drew well into Nicco’s personal space. “I wouldn’t count on that, Mr. Sense of Entitlement.”

Nicco nodded slowly. “Remember, smart-ass, we’re both on the same team. I’d hate to see that smirk knocked off before you had a chance to fully understand what’s at stake.”

“You’re kidding me, right?” I demanded.

“No joke, Jingo,” Nicco said with too much confidence.

Frenzy stepped in, his long, lanky arms pushing us to different corners. “Gentlemen, we can solve this problem like adults, right? If not, I suppose it’s time for us all to give in and march toward utter defeat. Is that was you both want? I don’t think you do. In fact, I’d venture to say both of you want the very same bloody thing. That being the case, shut up or sod off.”

Before another word spilled from his mouth, Frenzy shook his head and stepped away, leaving Nicco stunned into silence. The man with the camera stepped forward and stuck out his hand. “No hard feelings, man?”

I opted to take the high road and offered my hand. “Sorry about that. Every time I skate into this open world, I’m reminded just how harsh the human creature can be. There’s no need for us to be at each other’s throats, right?”

The answer came simply. I nodded and grabbed Nicco’s hand for a strong shake. He smiled and responded with that much-anticipated shake.

Frenzy turned to catch the action. The look on his face spoke volumes.