In Case of Wheelchair Zombies

Chapter 1 Ghost & the Dead Guy

Imagine being abducted and chained to the back of a vehicle. You are dragged for miles, no end in sight. Your kidnapper? A drunk chimpanzee driving seven miles an hour behind the world's most boring mosh pit.

That's what it's like to be a ghost stuck to your own zombie. I always thought the idea of zombies retaining some of their human memories would be cool, but watching an undead version of myself trying to drive my wheelchair is my new worst nightmare. Zeds are virtually blind with the exception of their peripheral vision, so he has to stare sideways at the joystick to locate it if he loses it. It makes him look like a loaded sorority girl or a confused pigeon.

Once he's found it, it takes two or three attempts to grab it. He's like a zombie crane game. Luckily, Zeds meander like a herd of buffalo unless they've found something to hunt; otherwise we'd get left behind. Now, hunting is a different story.

One thing no one expected is for zombies to communicate. It's not with words, but more like a series of grunts and groans, similar to animals. The horde is not just a mindless group of undead wandering behind each other, no. They are a well-oiled killing machine. They are a perfect pack once they've found something worth killing.

I haven't figured out if they need to eat to survive, yet. I know that it's a hunger; it's an inescapable need to feed on the flesh of living things. I have also noticed an odd sense of community among them. They protect and help one another. I've even noticed, as I see two nipping at each other's faces and kind shoving at each other, they sometimes annoy one another. At times, they're almost human, again. If I weren't an unwilling hostage, I'd almost feel sentimental.

My heart hurts. I miss my friends, Amir most of all. Letting them go was the best decision I could've made, but knowing I'll never see them again is killing me, metaphorically speaking. I'm whipped from my reminiscing by Zombie Jack jerking forward, suddenly. The horde is back on the move.

The miles roll by, and I wish I could sleep. You would think I would be free of boredom, like my undead counterpart, but no. Ghosts still get bored, and I don't even get the luxury of haunting anyone. I scan the horde for other ghosts, but I seem to be the only one. Of course, I am! Law, thy name is Murphy!

After an eternity of miles, the horde starts making a weird wave. We eventually come up to a fence. Zombie Jack, undeterred by the obstacle, ducks awkwardly under it.

No, you idiot! I shot.

If he hears me, he makes no indication. The wheelchair's headrest catches the top board and pulls. Zombie Jack presses forward, nonplussed.

Stop!

Onward, he presses. Before long, the chair topples, leaving his tiny, under-developed feet waving at the sky. I drift over him, looking him in his doping, teeth-gnashing face.

Happy?

He swipes at me, his surgery-made chicken wings nowhere near my face. Aha! He does know I'm here. That tells me the bastard was ignoring me. Great! What now?

Four Zeds canter over to us and drag the chair out from under the fence. With a distinct lack of grace and a rather endearing level of determination, the Zeds sit the wheelchair upright. There is a gross crackling and popping noise as the Zed in the back loses his left arm.

The Zeds make an odd grunting noise reminiscent of human laughter and the Zed in the back picks up his arm, pats Zombie Jack on the head with it awkwardly, and we all rejoin the horde.

What the fuck just happened?

Refusing to acknowledge what I just experienced as anything more than some kind of weird ghostly hallucination, I decide to take in the countryside. I didn't get to enjoy much of it on the run. We tried, but it's hard to do when you're afraid you're going to die.

It's autumn, and the leaves have turned to fire on some of the trees. The molten gold of the setting sun sets them ablaze, and it makes me feel like running free. The tug of my connection reminds me that that's not an option. Damn. It's like being stuck in a weird sitcom.

Stay tuned for more "Ghost and the Dead Guy" after these messages!

Zombie Jack slams into a stump hidden in the tall grass and we both grunt, loudly.

Watch where you're driving, stupid!

He cranes his neck to glare at me out of his periphery. Oho! We're going to stop pretending I'm not here, now! He backs up, swerving in a snake-like pattern. If we weren't dead, we'd have whiplash, for sure. Once corrected, he rejoined the horde.

Crazy zombie drivers.

He lets out a disgruntled, gravelly sigh, and goes back to pretending I'm not here. Now that I know he's aware of me, maybe I won't be so lonely. If he stops ignoring on a regular basis, that is.

Being dead puts the Zeds in a very different light. Before, we viewed the Zeds only as monsters that needed to die but seeing them through the eyes of another creature viewed as a monster by humanity makes them seem, I don't know, human. They were human, once. They felt pain and may feel it still. It's easy to forget that when you're trying to survive.

  Then, again; I could just be getting sentimental because I'm stuck to one of the rot sacks. That could be it, too! I don't recall them ever stopping to wonder if we had feelings! Do they even care if we feel pain?

I stare at my corpse, eaten up by Arthrogryposis, and partial rigor mortis and I wonder if he aches like I used to. I wonder if his joints scream into the cosmos; if the open sores and callouses on the backs of his legs beg for reprieve. It doesn't seem like it, and I can't help but feel jealous.

Night falls, and the world comes alive ways I had never seen before. The moonlight reflects in the eyes of small animals and the late evening dew, creating the heavens on earth. Spiderwebs became nurseries for newborn stars. Nocturnal animals came alive, and I could hear them all.

The lunar rainbow was a burst of color that even a day time rainbow could not create. The last of the cricket songs were pure to my uninhibited ears. I had seen many nights since I died, but we were transitioning into fall when the veil was starting to thin, and the air was static with energy.

I could see it in the Zeds, too! Their movements held a new vigor and speed. Some of them took off after a young buck, grabbing at it like toddlers after the family dog. It was almost cute in a murdery sort of way.

Zombie Jack decided he wanted to join in. He drove in violent slow-motion, determined to cut the deer off at the pass. The nimble creature, as expected, veered easily away. The same cannot be said for one of the other Zeds.

The hyperactive Zed slammed into Zombie Jack, his leg twisting with a nasty crack under the chair. A dopey look crossed the Zed's face as he went down under the chair. Zombie Jack stopped, canting his head toward his fallen comrade like a curious crow.

The fallen Zed grabs on to the back of our chair. Zombie Jack launches back into pursuit, never missing a beat, dragging the fallen Zed face down through the dirt. I'm a little unsettled now. Not a sound was made between them, but they still communicated. How can this be my body, and I have no idea what's going on inside the mind?

I watch the two Zeds as they try and cut off a rabbit, the deer long forgotten. The other Zeds are following, laughing their creepy zombie laughs. I had no idea a ghost could get spooked before, today, but here I am!

When Zombie Jack and his compatriot get done, the Zed decides he will find a stick. After several exhausting tries, he figures out how to use it as a walking stick. Two disabled Zeds. Awesome!

He gives Zombie Jack a proud, horror grin, most of his face eaten away by the dirt, showing skull and muscle. I need to know what drives them, why they hunger. I need to know how they communicate. Maybe if I can figure all of this out, I can stop them from hurting anyone else. I don't know what made me start thinking they're human. They are not human!