#FastFiction - Dec 26... The Death Squad

It's called the Death Squad; what I’m on; branch made up by the government since they declared Marshall Law after the zombies seemed like they were not gonna stop. It took them a good while to realize the proper way to dispose of a body. Originally they were insisting it was like the movies: Shoot them in the head and all is fixed. So picture this, if you will: flood of Gun-toting deputized hooligans driving in their trucks-jeeps-cars-whathaveyous down the streets-backroads-and superhighways pegging any and all slow-moving bipeds in their noggins.

And when the party starts up that night and everyone is on their backporch; guzzling beer, and toasting weenies, in the dimming if the day, you see movement. Like caterpillar season; like heat waves on pavement- there’s vibrations and gyrations and legions of undead inch-worms are crawling and dragging themselves through mud and grass and concrete.

Why, I’ve seen a Zombie take a Grenade to the chest and all the pieces are everywhere and that bastard is still trying to get you. There’s no stopping them; they’re Feral, you know, and I should know- I been disposing of the undead for going on almost 3 months now and you just learn the tricks.

You see, Zombies are like chickens: You can chop off there heads, but even after the head is gone they still keep on moving. Like automatic doors that are broken. They don’t know where or what they are after. Slow and steady. Why I’ve watched them damned things walk into walls for hours. Step forward- thud- step back- step forward- thud- step back. This will go on indefinitely or until you plug em and burn em.

That’s the key, right- you gotta destroy em in such a way that they 1) can’t do an damage, and 2) they are immobile. Even a slight scratch from a hang-nail can, just as easily turn you into the undead and then I’ll have to kill you. I’m not saying it’s easy; I’m just saying it's what you gotta do. If my Ma were to have been alive during this and she turned, your damned certain I’d have to put her down. I love her but she’s no business coming back from the dead to kill me, or anyone for that matter. It ain't right in God's eyes, or the law's. My Ma: I would have shot her- burnt her- buried her, and read a rather nice poem over the grave I dug her. I mean she is family. 

And that's what being on a Death Squad is; no time for remorse, no time to get sappy. You remove the afflicted. You put in your eight hours, plus half lunch, then get back to your boarded up home in time to watch them Matlock reruns. My Ma ain't alive for me to have to worry, but you are. And if you leave the house after curfew then, well, me being your Pa isn't a hill of beans when you come home all undead-like and I have to shoot you good. You see what I'm saying, honey? Now let's finish this episode together. Betty White's on this one; she's goddamn hilarious.

James C.