John picked up the pile of clothes and slowly walked backwards. "Those are weapons in their hands. They're not here to have a conversation; they see us as a threat."
Greg dropped his brush, threw his suit jacket down, grabbed an old wooden broom handle from the ground and held it up like a Samurai sword. "They have no swords. I will make them understand we are a powerful village and they must listen to our demands."
As the officers closed the distance to the zombies, they opened fire on Greg. The bullets passed through and shook his
body,
but did not harm him. Angered, he charged the police with his stick. Shots continued to hit their target until the chambers emptied
, but
did nothing to stop the oncoming assault. Using the broom handle as a sword, Greg attacked with the skill and moves
,
he knew as a samurai
,
beating the living men at will. One officer pulled out his
nightstick
and tried to fight back using it like a sword. His skills were no match for the veteran warrior. Greg knocked the
nightstick
out of his hand and hit one officer across the
head,
rendering him
unconscious,
as his partner pulled out a taser and tried to shock his attacker. The electricity caused Greg to jump
back,
but he continued his
attack,
swinging the stick with precision. With a blow to the head, the officer fell
backward,
but he reached out to break his fall and grabbed Greg's arm. Almost instantly, Greg bit into the living man's hand. The officer screamed out in pain as the zombie dropped his stick and took another bite out
further
down the man's arm.
Vic ran up to Greg, pulled him off the man and said, "Hey man, we better get out of here. There's going to be more cops here soon, and you're not going to be able to hold them all back with a broom handle."
Greg took anther bite out of the screaming
officer,
who pounded the zombie in the shoulder with his free arm. Greg looked up at Vic with blood streaming down both sides of his mouth and said, "I cannot control my actions. This body wants nothing more than to taste his flesh. The feeling it gives is
not
only being alive
again, but also
even
being
better. I feel stronger, with more energy and more awareness of my surroundings."
Vic pulled him away from the officer. "You're
whacked
out on
goofballs,
my friend. Taking bites out of people has this
effect
on us. It might feel
good,
but we need to get out of here fast."
The four zombies hurried out the opposite end of the alley and
disappeared
into
the back streets.
* * *
Lieutenant John Colton, one of the youngest officers in the Sheriff's Office, walked in the conference room and stood at
attention
in front of the long table, filled with his fellow officers and military brass. His short dark hair and muscular build gave an indication of his dedication to the job. He felt his charming looks also helped his rapid promotion. Sheriff Watson said, "Relax John, have a seat. We're going to be here a while."
Colton
pulled out the chair and sat next to his boss. Across the table, General Brown began his slide show presentation. The first photo showed the alley where Prometheus, John and Greg wrote their messages. Instead of readable words, the writing appeared as cryptic scribbles. "Here, in our town the re-animated have begun writing symbols on walls, dumpsters," the slide changed to another message written in chalk on a sidewalk,
"
windows and trees. Our cryptologists can't decipher the code if there even is a meaning to this scribble. What they have
determined,
based on the placement of the markings, the number of
sightings
in those areas, and the fact some of your local men were attacked when they were caught tagging the walls, these are some kind of territorial markings."
Sheriff Watson, with his gray hair and weathered
face,
which displayed decades of wisdom, spoke up, "Marking their territory would indicate some intelligence and organization within their structure. We can no longer continue to combat this as if it were a pack of stray dogs getting into trashcans."
"You got that right, which is why we're asking you to form this new unit. We're rounding up these people or ex-people all over the world and holding
them
on our bases, out of the public eye. The President doesn't want the military conducting these roundups and
captures
on our soil. He thinks it will look like the situation is getting out of control. There also happens to be this group of hippies who want us to respect the civil rights of the non-living and
they are
drawing a lot attention to the problem. If we bring
soldiers
into the streets, this group is going to bog down the whole
operation
in the courts. This is why you need to start combating this problem within your ranks. You're the first responders and therefore you get to respond first." Brown opened his brief case on the table. "It shouldn't be too difficult. In most of the areas around the globe, my men treated it like herding cattle. You surround them, move them into
trucks,
and
then
haul them away. Only a few areas showed
resistance,
but it was easily squashed. If they resist, they respond well to tasers or you can set them on fire; tear gas moves them along like any other crowd. You can always smash them under your car. This isn't
make-believe
, they can't put themselves back together like in the movies. If the body is destroyed, the problem is solved. But, like I said, most of them act like cattle and will walk wherever you point them."
Sherriff Watson turned to
Colton
and said, "This is why we brought you in. You grew up here. You
played
on these
streets.
You
know all the nooks and crannies where theses re-animated people can hide. We want you to head this new unit. Once we have the cure for this disease and the population is immunized, you can go back to regular police work."
Without hesitation to the new orders,
Colton
asked, "How many men will I have and what is our objective?"
"You'll handpick eight other officers and your objective is to round up these poor souls and hand them over to General Brown's men. If the re-animated offer any resistance, you're authorized to put them down, and
to
neutralize any danger."
Brown took his flask out of his briefcase and took a sip. Sheriff Watson turned to him with a judgmental eye and said, "Isn't it a bit
too
early for whiskey, General?"
"Early for whiskey?" Brown extended his
hand,
offering the flask to the Sheriff. "I've been up for three
days,
which makes it really, really late at night for me. If it's too early for anything, it's too early to be talking about having to round up zombies."
Watson reached across the table and grabbed the flask from the General. He tilted it back and took a long sip. He noticed the astonished
expressions
on the faces of his men and the military around the table and replied, "This is going to be a long
one,
gentlemen. It might be awhile before I see the outside of this building again. You
bet,
I'm having a shot."
Candles placed throughout the
warehouse,
lit the interior with a soft yellow
flicker,
as the last of the sunlight faded from the windows. Ravens flew across the rafters several stories above the ground. Prometheus stood near a window and collected water from a broken pipe as it
dripped
onto his hands. He tried to wash the dried
blood,
which had been on his face and throat for days. After he scrubbed his pale skin with the palms of his hands, he checked his mouth in a small piece of broken mirror. It still did not set in; this strange person with the odd hairstyle was him. In the reflection, he saw the Viking inside the musicians body walk up behind him. Gunnar spoke up, "An undead
that
still has a sense of vanity. Perhaps all hope is not lost for us."
Prometheus turned around and asked, "What gift do the gods pass through you to the descendants?
"I will give them the ability to see in all light spectrums. I didn't know there was more than one kind of light. As to why one would need to see in these different lights, this is beyond my understanding." Gunnar noticed a new body stagger into the building. He motioned his head toward the stranger. "It looks like we have a new arrival to our merry band of men."
Prometheus glanced in the direction of the door and saw the body of the police officer he bit at the mall. His eyes opened wide and with a feeling of remorse
.
He
walked across the open space and greeted the undead arrival. "Welcome to our place of sanctuary." He placed his right hand in the center of his chest. "Apologies, as I fear I am the one who caused your new life as an undead. You see, it was I who bit your arm during the city festival and
might
have caused your demise."
The man in the police officer's body gave Prometheus a confused expression, pointed to the surrounding building and said, "Augh,
moore
tam buk."
"I'm afraid my ears do not always translate the modern version of your speech." He glanced around at some of his fellow zombies in the room and spoke up. "Perhaps
,
someone more familiar with this day's vernacular could offer assistance."
Wearing the blue dress he found in the alley, John walked up and scanned the new person. He explained, "You have to remember, this is only the body you bit. It's inhabited by a different person
,
probably from a different time." He stuck out his hand and said, "Hi, I'm John."
The officer appeared quizzical at the offer of a handshake. He leaned over and sniffed John's hand then returned to his puzzled state. John pressed his hand into the center of his chest
,
just above the neckline of the dress and said, "My name is John."
The officer touched his own chest and said, "Hod." He pointed to different parts of the warehouse and continued speaking. "Baum do gran, do mat gorum storr canuum."
"We may need additional ears to hear his words in order to understand his intent." Prometheus said.
"I have a feeling
that
we hear his words exactly as he intends." John slightly shook his head
,
as if he had solved a new clue to the puzzle. "Quite possibly, the person inside this body is from the ice age or earlier. He's a caveman named Hod."