Z Diary 6

Z Diary 6 By S. Lei Pyke April: Finally getting the chance to hang out within the undead culture has given me a new perspective on my own life-after-life. Unfortunately, the knowledge that Wilkinson is actually here frightens me more than anything. . .except maybe being holed in a crate again. I used to think that a Zombie apocalypse was not possible. I mean, they’ve been so easy to track and eradicate. Easy for us, at least. Now, it is not so simple. Abe and Tony found a pack of them while out for a night with the Phobos pact. They left me with Mary’s pact while they were out, and they didn’t even tell me. Actually, it is because of the wards on the safe house, but the point is that they have done their level best to keep us from communicating. Surprisingly, for creatures that spend half their lives as inanimate corpses, they have succeeded. During the night, the boys have gone out while I remained in the house. During the day, they lock our doors. Not really necessary considering the fact that our continued safety depends on us hiding and not being identified. I think mostly it’s because they are a little afraid of what happens when we are together. Not that anything would, but you know vampires are pretty vulnerable during the daylight hours. Not that we would do anything. We’re not ungrateful enough to go and do something like that. And we’re not stupid enough to go out in the daylight, but for me in particular it is frustrating. Gender doesn’t really matter among the undead, but still, sometimes it totally sucks to be the only one of my kind with a female body type. We also learned something about vampire blood. Apparently, if we consume it, we exhibit the traits of the pact we consume from the time that it is consumed until the sun rises. After that, its nightey night, just as they do. We just get up a couple of hours later and continue on as we always have been. We ate of Cal too. That was an interesting experience. We wound up with an insatiable hunger that resulted in us being locked up again while we were fed. Apparently Cal feels like this all the time now. God I am glad that I am no ghoul.

Damnit. I wanted some more permanent cool powers. It’s not just that they go away, but that I have to drink their blood to get it, and vampires taste bad. When I mean bad I mean like the living equivalent of eating green chicken with penicillin breading topped with curdled milk gravy and served with a side of thousand year eggs and pickled beets with caramel dressing for dessert. And a vomit soda to wash it down. Actually. . .that green chicken does sound like a good meal right now. . . Oh, they were insulted when I said that. Apparently, to them their blood tastes foul across the different pacts, but delectable within their own. I think they believe I have no palate. Hunh. At least I can eat solid food, bones and all. Apparently humans think that vamp blood is pretty tasty as well. Yeah. . .right up until they realize just what the blood does. Oh yeah, I never want to see that again, by the way. A turning that is. Its. . .disturbing. Its far, far from the glamorous little transformation the novelists talk about. Most of those, I swear are P.R. rags for the case that being undead is just like being alive with a few cosmetic caveats. No. Just no. And vamps never ever turn people who are dying. That means all that shit about vamps turning some schmo who got shot senselessly or curing a terminal disease by making them undead. . .Its disgusting, horrifying nonsense. A turning has to be entered into from a pact between the vampire and a healthy, willing individual. “Healthy” meaning in the prime of life with no obvious terminal illnesses or defects. The reason is that there is a damn good chance that the pain of transformation will kill a weak body before the vampirism takes hold. It kills the old and the young too. No child vampires, and no crones. It is an exacting. . .condition. There is an old saying that It is OK for you to love the dead. It is not OK to love the dead. It is downright vile to make them love you back. On the back of that, vampires are vile by nature; even more so than humans. No matter how sweet they are, no matter how much they act like a good guy, they are still evil. For that matter, so am I, so don’t kid yourself. I think I am finally coming to terms with that, though Abe, Tony and I have the only really good case for thinking otherwise, but even then it’s a stretch. But at least I cannot pass on my condition.

This turning happened because of love and addiction, as it always does. Vampires can’t help it, but their fangs secrete a chemical that speeds healing and acts as an anticoagulant. The problem is that it also prompts a human body to dump serotonin. Lots of it. You can see where that goes, right? Who needs cocaine when good old vampire venom does the trick? Right well, so humans who have been snacked on get hyper addicted to it. It’s kind of like how cats have that parasite that makes rats addicted to cat feces. It usually takes two or three times, but pretty soon, humans that regularly get fed on inevitably wind up dead, insane, or turned. The first two are more likely, as withdrawal symptoms mimic schizophrenia and depression. Obviously the venom is not stable unless it is direct from the beast’s mouth or we’d have long ago known about it in the general public. For that, I thank the almighty. The venom also opens a psychic channel to the vamp. For the rest of that human’s life, any vamp in the world will know that the human has been fed on. The more often they are bit, the more susceptible they are to a vampire’s domination. But the blood is the only way to really turn a human. Turning is a really intimate process for them. It’s not like in the mythology where vamps pass it like hepatitis, or suck them, turn them and abandon them. No. A fledgling vamp is dependant on its master for quite a while, so it as to be about trust initially. For a master to just abandon its offspring is tantamount to throwing a newborn in a dumpster. It happens from time to time, and though a vamp like that usually survives, it is usually horrifically traumatized for eternity. Flights exist to care for fledglings, because as we all know, sometimes a single parent just can’t survive. That is important for us three because Cal is starting to develop as a ghoul. The combination of his living and dead years has passed the century mark, and for some ghoulish reason, that fact alone seems to have prompted changes in his body. He can’t care for us as a master. He never really could. The government had been our caretakers, but they really didn’t do anything other than treat us like trained beasts. Mary has this weird notion that we are still like fledglings. I keep telling her that this is not the case, but she will not budge from that idea. We are not vampires. We are not ghilan. We are not voodoo zombies. We are not anything but reanimated corpses really.

But that is not convincing enough for Mary. Well, whatever amuses her. We sort of owe her for keeping us safe while we are branded as spies and terrorists. It’s not like I am concerned for time, and they won’t kill me off. And they are decent sorts of evil creatures. At least they act human-ish. The downtic to this is that now that Mary knows what vamp blood does to us, she can dose me up early in the evening, wait for me to do the passing out dance, and then drag me to functions as if I was a vampire. Yesterday it was a turning. Mary dragged me to the ceremony, which began precisely at sundown. Yeah, they have them. No, I am not going to tell you where it was held. Vampires like secrecy, ceremony and tradition. Probably because, like the humans they spawned from, they have a need to put order to chaos. Vampires. . .vampires are really chaotic deep down in their twisted little souls. They like support groups. They like pageantry. Undeath doesn’t get rid of the human need for community. I should know. Even for a solitary hunter like a vampire, even the oldest still need company from time to time. So. Yeah. Watching a turning freaked me right the hell out. You do not want to ever see what happens to a living person in the throes of turning. Every muscle and bone in their body twists, contorts, and changes to allow for faster speed and strength. They fucking drop their eyeballs and grow a new set! Teeth too! God, their entire GI tract dissolves and they puke or pass their entire set of half liquefied human innards. . .and y’know, death. . .yeah that only comes after the stress of the transformation presses their heart to the limit and explodes. You can hear it pop! And the goddamn vamps listen on bated breath for the sound! And then they compose poetry about the nature of the human’s screams of pain and terror and all as they are gasping their last useless breaths. Only after the body actually dies does the vampirism take effect, and only if the heart actually pops. After that it’s three days a corpse, and whammo, new member of the living dead. Worst part about it is that once the human takes the blood, the venom doesn’t work anymore, so there’s nothing to dull the pain. That’s one hell of a cure for bite addiction. I’m telling you this because there’s new ones every damn night these days. Vamps all over the world are desperately turning their living loved ones in preparation for the coming apocalypse. You know like how we know that when certain species of plants

or animals proliferate at the beginning of the season it means devastation later? Yeah, it’s kind of like that. Only with the undead. And humans are the source of their offspring and their food. Still feeling good and secure about the continued superiority of humankind? Oh yeah, and a fledgling is helpless. No teeth, no eyes, very little muscle coordination. It’s just raw, unbelievable, senseless supernatural power and hunger. All that shit like nocturnal eyes and super senses and strength comes in over the course of about seven weeks. During that time, it’s holed up and the members of its flight feed it their own blood until it can hunt for itself. You know those dungeon rooms I got put in? Those are for fledglings first, and only prison cells as a secondary function. So if you are considering joining the ranks of the undead, just don’t unless you think you can take that kind of pain and humiliation. A vampire is not like a baby human. They never forget their days in darkness and pain. So not only do they die an excruciatingly painful death, but they also get to remember being helpless and they get an eternity to replay the whole thing in their minds. Thank god we don’t have all that though. No, we just explode into the vampire psychic network, pass out, and then about an hour later, wake up with a headache—I am not kidding you here, actual pain—and all the power of a vampire short of being able to make others. The headache sort of persists for the whole night too, so it’s not all blood and roses. Pain is definitely not my thing, but I am at least glad that something can at least cause it.

The night began with a hunt. We had to find the remnant of the horde that Abe found. Mary drove us in one of her utility vans, right up to one of the access points. They broke the locks quickly, and lifted the grate as if it was made of plastic. Down in the sewers, we trudged slowly through the muck underneath Harlan, inspecting everything for traps. With Wilkinson in town we can’t risk being careless. Abe and Tony learned the hard way. A few of the Phobos pact learned the harder way. Thank god we didn’t need lights to see. All this vamp blood we have been getting lately has improved our night vision. Not having to breathe is also a bonus. Tonight we were earning our upkeep.

Sad fact: humans never check the sewers until it’s too late. Yeah, they were already here. We could taste their stench in the air. We passed the spot where the attack had occurred the other night and began sniffing around, nose to the ground to determine which way they went. Stronger scents indicate more recent activity. Believe me, I know. When it comes to WMD’s I got a nose like a hound. We followed the trail downslope, which was weird. I expected them to go up. But no. We found them finally, walking into their horde wall like stepping through a curtain of psychic jello. And they were –yuck—sucking on the algae and crunching the clusters of zebra mussels around the mouth of the storm sewer. I mean, they were actually underwater, and they were eating these things, shell and all. At the instant our minds joined with theirs, we were filled with insatiable hunger. That was a feeling that we had to fight. Following that feeling led to losing ourselves. It is at times like this that we can actually communicate mind to mind. When it is just us three, there is not enough of a pool of minds to facilitate that. Abe opened a huge zipper bag—you know the ones you are supposed to use for storing closet items? Well, they are good for hauling body parts too. We threw the piece of thigh to them. In an instant they left off of their duty to the city infrastructure and dove after the meat. We all looked at each other. None of us would ever eat mussels and algae. They looked up at us like a bunch of happy hounds. In our minds came the pressing need moremoremoremoremore. “These things were attacking you?” I asked in disbelief. “Yeah. I don’t get it either. They really tore us apart last time.” Abe tore his katanas free from their scabbards. Yes f-ing katanas. Sharp as razorblades and lightning fast. It’s just perfect for killing zombies. . .as long as you are also undead. I wouldn’t try it while still breathing. “Are you sure that these are the ones?” “Damn sure. I can smell it.” The closest WMD was at our heels looking up expectantly. That vacant look ended as Abe steeled himself and sliced cleanly through its neck. All of the others looked at the corpse stupidly, rising up. I could feel their need to attack, but they were confused.

Yes, these were the ones alright. In the shattered collective of their minds, I could see flashes of recognition, paired with the sights and scents of the phobos pact. “Capture one! Cal needs it!” I said, and drew my own swords. There were not many left of this horde, and it was not long before the last one cowered, confused and slackjawed against the wall. It could not comprehend what was happening. It was easy to herd it wherever we wished. It went into a huge dog crate. As soon as we left the sewers, Mary met us in her black utility van. As soon as it smelled the vampires, it frenzied, bucking against the side of the crate. It howled and snapped at the bars of the door, destroying what remained of its teeth. Mary could not even look at it. She could barely stand to look at us. We were coated in the sewer contents and blood. Zach hefted the crate as we leaped in behind. Inside, the back of the van was filled with the older bits of the meat that the house had been keeping. I sighed and put one piece into the crate. It was one of the gristlier bits. That shut its mouth for a while. Without teeth, it could do nothing but gum the thing, no matter how much it wanted to swallow. Back at the house, Cal was right at the back door. When we opened up the door his face went blank. It was the same expression he had when he had put me in his van so long ago. “This is Wilkinson’s new work?” He asked, looking in the crate. “God, it’s rotting!” we looked at each other. We had not noticed. “You vampires, get out of here. We need to calm it down.” It took an hour to calm it. Not even Cal passed under its senses. Only after all the vampires had fled the house, and Cal had stepped back into his room could we handle the crate enough to haul it down into the basement. We released it into its room and it launched at the wall, howling. In the room next to it, Dominic cackled insanely. Drinking my blood had done him no good. He was Charon Pact, and the exchange had sort of backfired. I am dead, after all, and death is what he craved. He was no longer now, but he had begun to rot. Cal was treating him, but nobody knew when it would end. Strangely, he was filled by his own decaying body. He was not mentally whole.

“Hey you gonorrheal whore! You bring in another one of your diseased kind in here eh? Come back here and finish what you started! Come see, you cunt! Five hundred years! Five Hundred! And see what it has come to!” “Yeah, yeah, after I clean it!” I shouted, disgusted. I still hated him for trying to violate me. Abe brought down the garden hose and I turned it on the creature. It screeched and leaped at me, but stopped inches from my face, confused. Startled. It actually startled. I probed in its vacant mind for some glimmer of sentience, but found nothing. When it was clean, I could see what Cal was talking about. Once its filthy, blood caked clothes were ripped from its body, it was farther gone than I expected. Its abdomen was split vertically, and though it did not look hollow, it was. In fact, all of the meat I gave it was now on the floor. The sick thing is that once it was out, the creature went to it, trying to eat it again. I left in utter disgust and looked in on Dominic. He was bad off. Just the smell alone made me hungry for him, from the smell of rot that wafted out of the observation window. His eyes were twin coals in the darkness. When he stepped forward, I shut the window again. I have seen rot. I have seen all sorts of horrible things, but the sight of a vampire with skin hanging, and with all of his dentition exposed was more than I could take. Vampires are not supposed to rot. They are not supposed to reek. They are not supposed to be diseased, but Dominic was. . .Oh god, just the thought of an undead getting ill at all. . . “He got more than he wished for in you, you know that.” Cal grated as he came down “It’s incompatible. It’s like blood, right? He’s got Hemolytic disease. His blood is killing him off.” “A Vampire with blood disease?” “It’s sobering.” Said Cal, wincing as the creature slammed against its cell. “I never thought a reanimate, especially a vampire, would have his own blood turn on him.” He put a hand on my shoulder. “I’d like to run tests on you too.” My still heart sank. “Cal, I know you’re excited, but there’s a full scale invasion out there! Good god, this thing’s the last of a horde that was under the city.” Suddenly, I felt as if I was being wrung out. I actually felt excruciating pain wrack my body. I looked up at Cal, and his eyes were blazing with authority.

“I command you to get into one of these cells and stay there.” At once, all of my limbs jerked into motion. I fought against it with all of my existence, but I could not ignore it. The command came as if it was from God himself. What the Fuck? “Cal? Cal? Hey man, don’t do this!” “I am your master, dog; you will obey.” My head snapped up. I snarled at him. That wasn’t Cal. “Demon!” I cried, as my body walked itself in and closed the door. My howls joined the chorus in the other two cells as I pounded on the door. And then I realized that nobody who could help me was there.