“Lex, Lex, look! She has another one!” Millie whispered in my ear while pointing to our neighbor, Mrs. Fredrickson. Sure enough, on another one of her fat fingers was a sparkling ring, atop of which sat a small vial of pure water. It matched the one that swung around her buldging neck.
“It don’t seem fair that she gets to wear what we desperately need right now. Mr. Fredrickson must be doing real good. I mean, the cow hasn’t shed a damn pound since the drought started,” Millie added.
I sighed and wrapped my arms around my ever-shrinking frame. “I know. It hasn’t rained in years—how the hell are they gettin’ clean water?”
“Maybe they have the last of them water purifyin’ systems! Maybe the Invaders didn’t take them all like we think,” she said excitedly.
“You hush yourself, Millie. You know they cleared out the planet. Mom and Dad said they did… said the invaders called it ‘unnatural,’ what we was doin’ to the planet.”
“You know what I think? I think those Invaders are damn hypocrites. I bet they wanted the purifiers for their own stupid planet. I think…” Millie continued, but I stopped listening. The Fredricksons didn’t seem natural. The planet was dying and they were living. I didn’t make sense. “Unless…” I started.
“Huh? Unless what? Have you been listenin’ to what I been sayin’?”
“Mills, how do you feel about going on an adventure tonight? I’m curious about what these Fredricksons have to hide… inside their house,” I said with a grin. Millie’s eyes lit up. “I like the way you think!” she exclaimed with a snap.
We waited around until it was well past nightfall before creeping out of our small house to sneak across the yard to the Fredrickson place. I decided it would be best to go through our backyards. “But what about that damn fence they have? It’s near ten feet tall!” Millie asked in hushed whispers. “Don’ worry, I’ll just boost ya up and then you can pull me up after you. The top should be thick’nough for you to sit on,” I assured her.
Sure enough, when we reached the fence, I was right. We turned to face the yard and I was nearly knocked off the fence with surprise. “Sonofabitch,” I heard Millie whisper. The yard in front of us was like nothing we’d seen in the past five years. There was grass. There were vegetables, fruits, and bushes. Their yard was alive. I thought I would cry. Millie burst out, “I told you, Lex, I told you! They has one of them damn purifyin’ systems that they is usin’ on their yard! No wonder Mrs. Fredrickson is still a monster! Son’f a bitch! This is all the proof we need right here!” I sat still for a moment, before saying, “Nah, Mill. I still want more proof. Come on.”
We jumped down into the soft yard, landing in a patch of grass and dirt to cushion our fall. Running low, we reached the bay window leading to their living room. We peered inside, but it was nothing but darkness. “Dammit, I can’t see nothin’,” I said, agitated.
“Ah, Amelia and Alexandria Dryden. So wonderful of you to visit, but at such an inconvenient hour!” said a chilling voice from behind us. We nearly collapsed with fright as we turned around. If it weren’t for the full moon, we would have never been able to recognize the figures of the Fredricksons. They approached, and as they did their eyes—the entire eye—turned a shade of pitiless black. Their bodies seemed to grow in size, become deformed. I was too scared to scream, too scared to look away. I only knew Millie was still at my side when I heard her stutter, “Who—who in t-thu hell are you?” Mrs. Fredrickson tilted her head back and let out a hard Ha! Mr. Fredrickson opened his rancid mouth, “Why, my dears, you know us! We are…”
“Invaders,” I interrupted.
I saw a sneer curl up onto Mr. Fredrickson’s lips and Mrs. Fredrickson take a step forward. Then the moon turned off, and I could see no more.
Narrative: Hello, I’m The Walking Dead
I’m really sick of the treatment I’ve been receiving lately. Ever since I woke up from that seemingly eternal darkness, people scream and shoot at me whenever I walk within eyeshot of them. I don’t get what their problem is. I just want to offer my greetings, maybe take a nibble, and they pull out their sawed-off shotgun and shoot blindly in my direction. I would really hate everyone if they didn’t smell so delicious.
It’s strange, really. I can recall a time before I craved the flesh of those around me… not in a sexual way, thank you very much, but in a—well, in a “I haven’t eaten in hours and god damn you look delicious” sort of way. It’s funny; as I’m chasing down a particularly good-smelling survivor (as they’ve gone and started calling themselves) I get this adrenaline rush comparable to the feeling you get on the first incline of a roller coaster. Then once they trip or reach a dead end and empty their rounds everywhere but in my skull, that feeling changes to what I would say is the rest of the ride: it’s mind-blowing and terrific fun while I am ripping them to pieces, tearing limbs off, gnawing at their insides, cracking bones to get to the sweet marrow, and hearing them garble on their own blood and die. That’s the best part. Then, just like a rollercoaster, it’s over before I even have a chance to remember it happening at all.
Then, I move onto the next ride and I have a new friend. But I digress…
As I said, I am getting really sick of this treatment. I can hear what they say about me while I am lurking around the corner:
‘God, they reek so bad. I ain’t never gettin’ used to the smell of rotten flesh.’
‘You gotta aim for the head. That’s the only way to really kill ‘em… again.’
‘I hate ‘em. They’re nothing but mindless killing machines.’
‘You gotta aim for the head. That’s the only way to really kill ‘em… again.’
‘I hate ‘em. They’re nothing but mindless killing machines.’
I understand that they’re mad that I am higher on the food chain than they are, but for some reason they think I’m mindless, stupid, propelled by the rage that consumes my body. If I was so mindless, could I be telling you all this right now? No. It’s because they can’t understand us when we communicate. Those aren’t pointless moans and groans we make; it’s a language. I am just a victim of discrimination.
And another thing: I might be filled with a rage beyond any sort of belief or control, but it’s not the reason I am about to eat you! No, no, my soon-to-be new friend. Your insides smell delectable. If my throat were in tact I would probably be watering at the mouth! You see, I need to eat to survive and you’re the only thing I my palate craves. I gave you all of this information as a warning as to what will happen to you when you wake up from that seemingly endless darkness I mentioned. In the mean time, I’ll probably start by digging my hands into your stomach, most likely using my teeth to rip it open and give myself—ha!—a hand. The smell of blood will most likely attract the rest of the horde, but I’m willing to share. They’ll probably pull at your limbs until you come apart in the middle, most people do, and we’ll eat about as much as we can until we get bored or distracted or there’s nothing left of you (but don’t worry, it’s usually one of the first two, so you’ll be with us shortly!). At that, I say my adieu to your humanity. Bon appetit!
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