Zac zombie slayer of the.., p.1
Zac Zombie: Slayer of the undead, page 1
ZAC ZOMBIE
Slayer of the undead
Book 1: The beginning of the end
By Eduard Joseph
Published by Eduard Joseph
Copyright 2013 Eduard Joseph
Front cover design by Eduard Joseph
Cover illustration by Nicholas Benitez
Used by permission
Twitter: @TheEduardJoseph
#ZacZombie
Facebook: facebook.com/EduardJoseph
This is a work of fiction. The events and characters described herein are imaginary and are
not intended to refer to specific places or living persons. Any resemblance to any person or
persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
All Rights Reserved
The right of Eduard Joseph to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by him under the South African Copyright Act of 1978 (as amended).
1
Keep quiet. Do not make a sound – for the dead is all around us now. You will not see them coming until it is too late. It is the way of the world now. Dark versus light and good versus evil. What side will you belong to?
Wait, I am getting ahead of myself yet again. I have this nasty habit of doing that. If you are reading my memoirs, I should probably start at the beginning; like any normal story would – but this is no story and it is anything but normal. By the time you’re done reading this you will probably be asking yourself how did I manage to survive hell on earth?
My name is Zac “Zombie” Williams. I am a high school senior at Kingston High. I had just turn 17 during the spring and high school life was as normal as normal could get.
I was never really a popular guy, but I was no nerd either. People knew who I was, but never really socialized with me. I did not fit in with the popular kids and I did not fit in with the bookworms.
I was on the High school track team, but I was not the star athlete either. I was somewhere between second best and forgetful. I always kept to myself and never involved myself with high school politics. I could care less who dated who and who did what. School was just another activity I was forced to do between waking up and going home.
I should probably describe what I look like since we have not actually met yet. I have black scruffy hair down to my ears, a killer jawline (if I must say so myself) and piercing blue eyes that have a bit of a purple tint to them in certain lighting. I am quite tall (about 1,86 meters tall) and I keep fit – you never know; I might one day meet the girl of my dreams and I would like to look good for her.
Not that I have any trouble talking to girls, but girls never found me interesting. They were more into the sporty jock guys and rarely spotted a loner walking down the corridors of lockers. I would notice them of course, but always tried not to be too conspicuous as it creeps out any girl. A loner staring at girls were creepy. I tried not to be creepy.
That is what I am and what I always will be – a loner. I prefer it that way. I do not get attached easily; heck I only have one friend and we hardly ever see each other. His name is Jim. He lives in my street and is just as socially awkward as I am. We sometimes hang out in the basement of their house and play video games. Our favourite games are anything with weapons and zombies.
I’ve always liked zombies. I think it is a scary thought that your neighbour or best friend – or even your own mother could wake up with an unspeakable urge to eat you. Not only did I love zombie video games, but I own ever zombie film ever made – from the very first one back in 1932 right up to every single lame ass remake of today.
I had the nickname “Zombie” because I lived for, well just about anything about zombies. I knew every zombie movie by heart and always wanted to see a real live zombie – never knowing the day would actually come when I would fight them to stay alive.
Before all hell broke loose the only zombies I knew existed were the ones at school who were constantly on their phones, mindlessly sending messages and conforming to the brainwash that was technology.
If I remember correctly it happened on a Monday… no wait… it was a Tuesday. Yes, definitely on a Tuesday. I had tuna salad for lunch and the cafeteria usually served tuna salad on a Tuesday – until they moved it to Wednesdays… or did it happen on a Wednesday? Who cares? I’m getting side tracked again. The important thing is that I was in the concentration camp we call school when it happened.
Anyway, let’s get this show on the road. Hold on to your hats boys and girls, you are in for a wild ride.
For storyteller’s sake we’ll say it happened on a Wednesday. I was on my way to the cafeteria as usual; making my way through the sea of high school pupils in the corridors – why can’t anyone make way? People just kept standing where they were and continued talking about what they did the previous night.
People were so inconsiderate – or perhaps it was because nobody paid attention to the loner. I always had to push my way through the crowds of stupid-faces standing in my way.
Up ahead I saw a group of jocks standing next to their lockers – actually they were cordoning off the entire corridor with their big muscles and small testicles. Damn, I hate walking pass them. They never had the courtesy to step aside – not even for girls. They believed that the world belonged to them. Luckily for me, jerks like them would one day end up working at a fast food outlet.
“Excuse me.” I said and tried to squeeze pass.
The jock with the spiky red hair turned around and looked at me funny – the way someone would look at an old lady that farted in a cinema. His name was Alex and he was a real jerk. I was not sure why he was popular as I always thought kids with red hair were considered to be freaks of nature.
“Why are you touching me?” Alex asked.
I took a step back – things could get ugly if I did not watch what I say to the Neanderthal.
“Are you a faggot?” Alex asked.
I desperately wanted to explain to him that the term faggot actually derived from the British word for cigarette and that he just asked whether I was a tobacco product – I doubt he would see my comment as funny. Not everyone understood my sense of humor – which was a bit on the dark side.
“No.” I apologized, trying to sound as sincere as possible, “I just—“
“You just what?” Alex interrupted.
I hated when someone cut me off. It is such a rude thing to do. If he just kept quiet and let me finish my sentence, he would have gotten the same reply as he will get now that he had interrupted me – again something I felt would be a waste of time explaining to a Neanderthal.
“I’m sorry.” I said, “I am just on my way to the cafeteria.”
I knew the best thing would be to keep a low profile. He was considerably bigger than me – a bit too big for a senior I might add. He looked more like he was twenty five or something.
Alex stared me up and down as if contemplating whether he would accept my apology or not and then he stepped aside.
Wow, a jock actually stepped aside for me. Call Ripley’s.
“Just watch where you are going.” Alex warned.
I cautiously passed him. We never lost eye contact until I cleared the group. Alex turned back to his friends and they started laughing – probably at me. I really could care less whether I amused them or not. It was only high school and it would soon be over. I just had to get through the rest of my senior year.
The cafeteria was packed with kids eating the cardboard the school called food. I stood in line at the counter for about five minutes before I got to the front. The lunch lady was almost just as huge as Alex and had just as much facial hair. She had a pitbull mouth that probably never learned to smile. Her grey hair stuck through the hairnet, so why she was wearing one I did not understand.
“What do you want?” She asked in a mundane tone.
“Everything looks so good.” I joked.
She grunted, but did not smile. She got the joke, but it was not amusing enough to make her smile. She would not eat the garbage that she was forced to made – not even if you paid her. Not even if she lost a bet would she take a bite of it.
“Everything tastes like horse urine.” She said, “Now what do you want? I ain’t got all day.”
I wanted to ask her what other plans she had for the day and whether it involved finding a cure for cancer that she didn’t have all day, but knew I would just be asking for trouble.
“I’ll have a tuna salad, please.” I said and smiled.
She’s obviously overworked and never expected her life to land her working at a high school cafeteria as a lunch lady. She rolled her eyes at my smile and dished me some of the tuna salad. I looked down at the splatted food on my plate which looked more like something that got run over by a truck than tuna salad.
“Enjoy.” She grunted and handed me my food.
“I always do.” I said with a smile.
She grunted again and said, “That salad tastes like vomit anyway.”
Hmmmm… not exactly what I want to picture while eating a gooey salad, but at least she had a bit of humour in her. I flashed her my pearly whites and left. I think our daily bickering was the closest thing I had to a friend at school. How sad was my life that the only person I could stomach to talk to was the lunch lady?
Where to sit? The cafeteria was full and I did not really like sitting with people I did not know. Some people made the strangest noises while eating. That probably had to be the sound that annoyed me the most – hearin
To my left I saw a freshman sitting at an empty table. Did he want to sit on his own or was he ostracized? I bet I could get through my lunch at a table with one person? Just as long as he did not want to chat with me.
I walked over to the table and noticed that he looked up as I got closer – this was a bad idea. He smiled at me as I sat down and I nodded back. The freshman looked down at his food and kept to himself. If he kept to himself we would get along just fine.
I glanced at him for a moment, but did not recognize him. Perhaps he was new? Not that I actually knew the freshmen, but he seemed like a bit of a loner himself. Maybe this lunch arrangement would go smoothly after all.
I picked up my plastic fork and picked at the tuna salad. Two thoughts came to mind; was the salad made from real tuna or was it some unknown animal meat? And why did the school not trust us enough to give us real cutlery? Plastic forks never lasted an entire lunch.
“I’m Richard.” I heard the boy across the table say.
Great. Just what I was trying to avoid. Now I had to speak to him. I slowly looked up at the boy. He was smiling at me – okay his mouth was more braces than teeth, but it was still a smile nonetheless.
I nodded and said, “Zac.”
I lowered my head again and took a bite from the salad. The lunch lady was right. The salad had a funny taste. It was a mixture of odd flavours with a slight hint of tuna aftertaste. Who made this? Was this product even legal? Was it something that the CDC should investigate?
“I’m new here.” Richard spoke again.
“Welcome.” I said without looking up.
I wasn’t really in the mood to talk to him. I just wanted to eat my odd salad and get it over with.
“Thank you.” Richard spoke again with a hint of excitement in his voice.
Perhaps it was not too late to take my mystery salad and go sit elsewhere?
“I transferred from Sagebrush.” Richard said.
Why did he insist talking to me? Did my poise not tell him I was not interested in making new friends? I already had
