What Souls are Made Of

Chapter 3

A throbbing in my head woke me. Before I opened my eyes, I knew the worst. I didn't feel the comfort of a mattress nor the warmth of a blanket. The beating in my skull was joined by the cold hard ground biting into my body. I opened my eyes to find myself in a dingy alley. The height of the buildings shaded the sun, but it was daytime. The muted glow of the sun slipped into the entrance of the alley from the street. My stomach churned as I heaved myself up.

My mind whirled over what had filled the time since the farmers' market. At some point, I must have gotten entirely drunk. It was the only explanation I could muster. The aching head, nausea, even the sickly green-gray hue to my skin all supported an epic hangover.

As I began to stumble home in shame, a voice came from behind me.

"Where do you think you are going?" It was a casual voice with a slow drawl.

I turned to see him sitting on an overturned milk crate. He was a burly man with tattoos poking from beneath the sleeve of his black t-shirt. He slicked up his dark hair in what looked like an attempt to mimic Elvis. But his skin was equal to mine, an unhealthy pallor.

"Where am I?" As I spoke, my hand raised to my aching head. My voice ricocheted through my pounding headache. I applied pressure as though my hand could keep my skull from shattering into a million pieces.

"LA," the man said as he stood from his box, "at least, what use to be LA."

"What use to be LA?"

"You remember your name, son?"

"Huh?"

"Your name?" He pressed again.

"Seth, my name is Seth."

"Well, Seth, my name is Avi. You've been..." he paused for a moment and bit back a smile at a joke I didn't understand before he continued with, "under the weather for a while."

"Under the weather? For how long? Why am I here? Should I be in a hospital?"

Avi let out another laugh. "They won't help you there anymore, even if they were still open. What month do you think it is?"

"It's May," my head shook in annoyance at the code this man was speaking.

"Oh shit, you were part of the first-wave zombies," he mumbled to himself. "Well, son, it's now September, so I suppose you've been under the weather for longer than a little while."

"September, what's wrong with me? What's happened?"

"Go have yourself a look," Avi nodded to the end of the alley.

It was only a few paces, and they were escaping quickly beneath my feet even though dread and reluctance were filling me. Frustration flared at what felt like a leisurely stride propelling me forward as though I were jogging. I tried to slow myself, but an unnaturally quick pace continued to drive me along with each step.

I expected the sunlight to burst onto my face, but I was met with a drab day falling over a scene of quieted chaos. What should have been a busy street in LA was devoid of life but showed the trauma signs of past horrors. Abandoned cars littered the street while trashcans and other sidewalk adornments were knocked over and spilling every which way.

"What happened here?"

"No way to sugar coat it; zombies," Avi said next to me.

"What?" A laugh slipped from my lips and caused a deep pound to course through my head.

"Yep, zombies."

"How?"

"No one knows," he shrugged. "People that still have their brains about them are more concerned with staying alive than rooting out a cause. The smartest thing for them, if you ask me."

"Them?"

"The healthy ones," he nodded.

I inspected him closely now. "And which are you?" As I asked, I instinctively stumbled away from him.

He leisurely pulled his sunglasses down, "let's just say I once had green eyes." I stared into the darkness of black eyes.

"And what am I?" I stammered.

"Well, we'll probably want to find you a pair of shades," Avi nodded as he slid his sunglasses back up the bridge of his nose.

My mind whirled at the thought. "Fuck, fuck, fuck," spilled from me as I punched the nearby wall of a building, causing the dent in the brick without any surge of pain soaring up my arm. "What the fuck?" I kicked the wall and watched the brick crumble at the impact.

"Yeah, there are probably a few things we should discuss," Avi said as he turned on his heel and began to pace down the street.

I hurried to catch up, although it was unnecessary. As quickly as my intent to join him was there, I was by his side.

"So," he began as he continued to walk down the street, glancing in deserted cars, "we got a few things right about Zombies. First, we eat brains. Most head straight for human brains, basically the beef of a zombie diet. It's the most satisfying, but we can survive on brains of any sort."

My stomach turned at the thought of having to eat a brain.

"We're definitely dead. That wall didn't cause you any pain. As near as I can tell, our bodies are pretty much frozen. Our nerves can't seem to feel much. I can tell when something is hot or cold by a mild sensation, but nothing extreme. We almost had the smell right. Despite our beautiful new muddy complexion, it doesn't seem to be rotting. The smell comes with the diet." He pulled a tin of mints from his pocket and tossed them in my direction. "Make sure to keep some mints on you at all times."

"Mints," I mumbled as I clutched the tiny tin.

"Yeah, you won't taste much, but if you have to mix with the healthy people, they will suspect less."

"Mix with the healthy people?"

"Mmhmm, I'll get there." One arm swiftly punched through a car window and pulled out a pair of abandoned sunglasses as he spoke. "These should do," he added as he handed the shades to me. "They help hide the eyes. Again, if you are hanging with the normans."

I took the sunglasses and slid them on as we continued our way.

"So, about what we got wrong," he continued. "We're not the slow-shuffling, often-stumbling creatures from the movies. We're like the Thriller zombies. I would say I am at least 25% stronger, faster, and more agile than I was before, maybe more," he shrugged.

"We're like Spiderman," I mumbled to myself.

"Yeah, if Spiderman got a viral infection that killed his brain and made him hunt humans."

"Right, so the Hulk," I nodded again.

Avi just shook his head at me. "So, most zombies have a one-track mind, food. That's life; find your next meal. That's the hangover you have going on right now."

"So, I don't want brains anymore?"

Avi let out a laugh, "you tell me."

I thought for a moment. I thought of pizza and burgers, beer and milkshakes, and chocolate cake, but none of it appealed to me. Then, out of the depth of the foggy haze that had been elusive to me, the sweet taste of brains crushed my thoughts. It was all I could think of; more than a craving, it was a need.