We are a hungry horde of Zombies
(hungry horde of Zombies!)
The only thing on our minds is your brains
(Your brains! Your brains!)
This will come as no surprise (Surprise! Surprise!)
But we are at your doorstep (Doorstep! Doorstep!)
Before the day is over, before the day is over
We will have beaten you, we will have eaten you
Before the day is over, we will have you beaten and eaten!
The cry wasn’t very far anymore. Brad knew that they would be here soon. If he went to the front entrance and looked through the glass doors, he would probably be able to make them off in the distance. He knew they were close though; the songs never lied. Sure, they would exaggerate, or maybe be even borderline offensive – but the details of the songs themselves were always true. The style changed, but the message always remained clear: there was no escape, there was no hope, and the zombies were going to eat your brains.
“Why brains, anyway?” Brad asked the CEO of Z-Productions, which was only the hottest new television, movie, and music production company in the world.
“It’s simple word association,” the CEO said. He titled his sunglasses down so his eyes peered over the frames, which was generally associated as a ‘cool thing to do’. “When people hear the word ‘zombies,’ and are told to demonstrate what it reminds them of, they generally stick out there arms like so,” the CEO made his arms go stiff in front of his chest and moved them up and down slowly, “and then they start saying ‘braaaaaains’. We researched it. Four out of five zombie experts agree.” The CEO stared over his frames for a second longer, to add an extra element of cool, and then shoved the glasses back to their proper spot.
“That’s what I think of, too.” The middle aged, balding, and somewhat ugly bus driver named Earl had piped up. Jerry, the police officer; Marissa, the housewife; and Cindy, the girl-who-didn’t-take-any-of-society’s-shit all nodded their heads in approval. Cindy and Marissa were attractive looking, of course.
“I don’t know, doesn’t it just seem kind of like an overplayed idea? Something that we’re consistently bombarded with already? What about originality?” Brad said, determined to keep his mind somehow off of the impending doom that approached him in the form of his former friends, schoolmates, family, and loved ones. The CEO pulled his glasses down in a cool way once again.
“Dude, I didn’t get rich off by being original. I give the people what they want: Zombies that crave brains. When the public demands zombies, that’s what they’re talking about. Otherwise, we wouldn’t really be looking at zombies here, would we?” Earl the bus driver nodded his head as if he had just heard something profoundly philosophical. Jerry cocked his shotgun, Marissa sniffed, and Cindy let out a snort because she was too cool for these losers that she was trapped in a mall with.
Like every utility, electricity had been missing for days. It was a hot summer afternoon, and the lack of air conditioning made the mall almost unbearable. The only reason the five survivors remained held up together in the mall was for the small fact that it would be more uncomfortable in the middle of the zombie horde baring down outside. The cry rang out again.
We’re a bunch of zombies! Ain’t no way you’ll stop us!
We’ll come for your brains, we’re coming for your brains!
There’s a thousand of us, and there’s five of you!
But we’ll each get our chance to chew!
“They’re not very good,” snorted Cindy defiantly. “You’d think, after all of this, they’d at least be good.”
“Yes, well,” said the CEO, “It really is much harder to get them to synchronize when all their… ah… ‘attributes’ aren’t the same.” The others didn’t look impressed. “It’s a work-in-progress! We’ll improve it next time around.”
“I don’t think you’ll get another chance,” Brad grumbled.
“Brad, why so negative man?” The CEO questioned in what he thought was a cool-guy voice. “There’s always a glimmer of hope at the end of zombie movies.”
“This isn’t a movie.”
“Well, true. This is a TV show,” The CEO nodded his head in acknowledgement. “But still, we’re going for the same general theme. They all have a similar undertone. Despair, distress, seemingly no way out, the end of the world, a glimmer of hope, etc. etc. We have a staff that monitors these kinds of things,” The CEO said reassuringly.
“This was a TV show! It’s not anymore! You don’t have any staff anymore,” Marissa cried out – breaking her usual silence. “This is so much more now! You don’t control it anymore, you can’t predict it, it’s out of your hands! What about my children? What about my husband? They’re out there somewhere, aren’t they? They’re going to die without me? Oh, Billy, Jamie! Oh, god, god, oh god, oh god!” Marissa started to sob uncontrollably into her hands. The CEO leaned over to Brad and whispered into his ear, in a voice that was supposed to portray a whisper but was obviously meant to be loud enough for everyone to hear:
“She says I can’t predict anything anymore. Well, I knew that was coming. In the zombie stories, the housewives always start crying about their children and end up doing something irrational that turns out to be almost the end of everyone else in the story. Ha, I can’t predict anything.” The CEO nodded to Brad in a cool way that was meant to say ‘Hey man, I’ve got your back.’ Brad didn’t really think the CEO had his back.
The sobbing continued as everyone else sat in silence. A cry rang out:
We ate your babies and we ate your hubbies
Now we want you to join us, can you join us?
Well, you won’t really have a say in the matter
As we munch on your brain, you will be slain
Only to find yourself blood-hungry like us
The seasoning of your reasoning
Is what makes your brain so good for seizing
Until our devouring causes your rationale ceasing
And soon you’ll be eating other people’s babies and hubbies
Just like us, you’ll be craving that we stumble upon some chubbies
The CEO tapped his fingers along to the beat, Marissa continued to sob, and everyone else sat in silence guessing how far away the horde was now. The CEO leaned in to whisper in to Brad’s ears again:
“If I’m right, which I’m pretty sure I am, because I’ve studied this kind of thing, everyone is about to declare what they intend to do. This’ll cause a clash of ideas and will probably end in our near destruction. But, don’t worry, I’ve studied this kind of thing, I know how we’ll need to get out of it. Just stay with me, I can tell what people are like and what they’ll do by just looking at them. I’ve studied this kind of thing, you know.” He nodded his head insightfully, and did the cool-guy sunglasses thing.
Brad stared forward.
“I can’t let this continue; I’ve got friends and family out there! I’ve got a gun, what can these bastards do to me? I’m getting out of here,” Jerry – the police officer – said.
(“Ah -the naïve heroism of the law enforcer, who wants to fight against all odds for what he thinks is right. I knew it! Didn’t I tell you I knew it?” The CEO whispered to Brad.)
“My… Billy, my Jamie! My husband! Oh god, my house, my dog, my everything. I can’t stay here, I can’t! I can’t stay in here while I know they’re out there, oh Billy! Oh Jamie!” Marissa, the sobbing housewife said through drops of tears.
(“The housewife that is concerned about her family and material possessions, who will run out in desperation, because she can’t figure things out rationally – probably because she’s a housewife. I’m good, I know it, you don’t need to tell me.” The CEO chuckled. Brad did not.)
“I don’t want to die! I’m just a bus driver, man! A bus driver! I shouldn’t be eaten by zombies! I can’t fucking stay here and wait for my death! I’ve got to get the fuck out of here! I’ve got to get the fuck out of here,” Eddie, the somewhat ugly bus driver shouted.
(“Yes, yes. The plea of the… ah… ‘lower-class’ individual. He’s poor, so he doesn’t think he can die any special way. But I guess dying by zombies is the norm now!” The CEO chucked to himself again.)
“Fuck this shit! I didn’t ask for no motherfuckers to make no fucking zombies to fuckin’ eat me! Nobody asked me if I wanted to live in a zombie-infested world! This shit is so fucking unfair. FUCK YOU, ZOMBIES.” Cindy, the rebellious girl, made an obscene gesture in the general direction of the zombie horde.
(“The rebellious girl, who won’t take no shit, but is still self-conscious about how everyone else sees her thinks it’s unfair. She’s pretty, though, isn’t she?” Brad didn’t respond.)
The group sat in silence once again as Marissa sobbed some more.
“Which,” The CEO started, “leaves you and me. We’re –“
A cry rang out from inside the mall.
I’m a motheruckin’ zombie
I’m walkin’ down the motherfuckin’ alley
Coming for your motherfuckin brains (brains!)
Yeah, I’m coming for your motherfuckin brains (brains!)
“What the fuck!” Shouted Cindy.
“That was from inside!” Jerry spun around frantically, pointing his gun at every object.
“Oh! Do you know what that was?” The CEO had spoken to Brad, no longer trying to disguise his voice as a whisper. Brad did not answer. “That was a rapping zombie! A zombie that raps. That must mean it was a black zombie. Or African-American? Person of color? Afro-American? I don’t know, I can’t really keep up with what we’re supposed to call them. I’ve never seen a rapping zombie in person; this is exciting!”
“How do you know the zombie’s skin color if you haven’t even seen it?” Brad asked.
“Even I know that one,” Eddie the bus driver said.
“Yeah,” Cindy agreed. “The zombies usually sing the type of music I’d think they’d sing.”
“Well, yes, sort of…” the CEO began. “We obviously couldn’t figure out how the public would identify each individual based on their personalities, so we just found ways to group people in other ways – such as: skin color, the clothes they wear, what social class they’re from… you know, overall groupings like that. We found it’s much simpler just to take a group of people… or rather, zombies… and base the genre of songs they’ll sing on how they’re already viewed. The best zombies are the kind of zombies that we all already know and hold dear. It makes for the best and safest television/movies/albums. Don’t you watch television?”
“No,” Brad replied.
“Ah…” The CEO said, as if discovering Brad had just previously contracted a deadly disease.
“If you don’t mind,” Jerry interjected, “I think we’ve got a larger problem to deal with here!”
“What should we do?” Marissa asked.
“Spread out and kill the fucker,” replied Jerry.
“Are you kidding?” Eddie began to protest, “we shouldn’t split up!”
“Fuck this! I never agreed to killing no zombies!” Cindy yelled out.
“Oh,” the CEO said to no one in particular, “this is more exciting in real life than it is on TV!”
Brad said nothing.
Well, my baby gone and broken my heart
Yes, one day, I walked in to find
Her in bed with another man!
That man was munchin on my once sweetheart’s brains
And, when she came for me, and started to eat away at me
I didn’t shout, I didn’t run, my heart just wasn’t in it
But my baby, yeah my baby, she was in my brains
And now I’m coming for you, I’m coming to eat you
Just like my baby did to me, I’m gonna eat your brains!
“You know,” The CEO began, “I never really liked the country singing zombies. I’ve always felt like they needed some more work. Anyway, who wants to bet that zombie is wearing a cowboy hat? Anyone? Eddie? Nah, nevermind, I don’t think you could afford to bet with me.”
“There’s another one in here! What the fuck!” Jerry began to spin around more frantically, as if doing so would make him more likely to spot a zombie.
“Where are they? Where the hell are they?”
“Somewhere dark,” Brad said.
“What? Why the hell would you say that?” Cindy spat the words out, as if disgusted that Brad could even speak.
“The first one said he was in an alley, but there’s no alleys inside of this mall. He must have meant it metaphorically. They’re singing songs, right? Not everything in songs is straightforward. Alleys are usually perceived as dark and dangerous places; my guess is they’re in some tight/dark walking space waiting for one of us to come by.”
“Your guess? We don’t need a fucking guess! What good is a guess going to do us?” Brad didn’t answer Eddie’s question.
“Like I said,” Jerry continued his case, “we should all split up and try to find the fucking zombies who are in the mall.”
“That’s easy for you to say!” Eddie’s voice rang out in the eerily vacant mall. “You have a fucking gun! Sure, let’s split up, and then one by one we can be picked off and then you can gun down our singing-zombie-asses too!”
“I don’t need you all tailing me around! You’re a bunch of luggage that’ll get me killed!”
“We’re not splitting up! I’m not going anywhere!”
“Fine then,” Jerry’s voice had become calmer, “you all stay here, I’ll go find and kill the goddamn singing fucks that somehow got in here.” Without looking back, Jerry took off. Brad didn’t watch where he went. Marissa sobbed, Cindy snorted, and Eddie angrily crossed his arms while sitting on the floor.
“You know,” chuckled the CEO while peering over his glasses, “I think you may have been right about that whole alley-dark thing. Oh, this is exciting.”
“How did those fuckers get in the god damn mall in the first place?” Cindy spoke to the group, but pretended that she didn’t care for their answers. Marissa looked around awkwardly.
“I think, I may have…” Her tears seemed to overwhelm her ability to speak.
“What?” Jerry shot up and darted toward Marissa. “Did you let them in? Did you let the fucking zombies in?”
“I… I didn’t mean to!” Her sobs were uncontrollable. “I tired to leave last night, through the garage exit door, to find my Billy and my Jamie… but… oh, god! I heard one of them singing, and I ran, I closed the door, but I think I forgot to lock it! I’m sorry! I’m so sorry!” The CEO leaned over to Brad.
“See, didn’t I tell you she’d be the end of us all?”
“You did what?” Eddie shouted, in a fit of rage. He looked even uglier when he shouted. “Do you want to kill us? Is that it? You want us all to die? Well in that case, you’re no better than those singing fuckers to me! I might as well kill you, since you’ve gone and killed all of us!” Eddie raised his fist in the air. Brad grabbed it and looked him in the eyes. Eddie grunted and went back to his spot on the floor, where he folded his arms – somewhat resembling a balding and upset ugly four-year-old.
“So predictable… so predictable…” The CEO seemed to mutter to no one in particular.
Suddenly there was a bang, and a scream, followed by a sound that seemed to resemble what one would imagine what munching on a brain would sound like.
“Ah, I think our friend Jerry is no longer our friend.” The CEO chuckled. “Get it? Anyone get it?” No one chuckled along.
I know where four more delicious brains are
Just follow me, they’re over this way
Yeah, we’ll get ‘em, we’ll get ‘em
And we’ll have all their brains to eat
We’ll have four more brains to eat
“Hm,” The CEO pondered, “80’s hair metal? Well, I guess this isn’t really a topic too far fetched for an Iron Maiden song.”
“We’ve got to get out of here!” Marissa’s cries had turned into screams of terror.
“We’ve got to stay right here!” Jerry shouted back.
“Fuck this! Fuck this! Fuck you! And fuck you! And fuck you! And FUCK YOU, YOU SINGING ZOMBIE FUCKS.” Cindy shouted at everything she could.
“You know,” the CEO did his cool-guy thing again to Brad, “I’m not sure this would make it onto television. There’s way too much swearing. This would probably have to be made into a movie. In fact, it’s got a pretty good soundtrack already.”
“Oh god!” Marissa’s screams of terror had filled the room mall completely. “They’re at the front doors!”
Brad couldn’t string together a cohesive song out of all the different tunes that were now coming at him from every direction. It all sounded like mindless droning. The zombies broke through the glass doors and slowly began to pour into the mall entrance. Behind the four remaining survivors approached the zombie they had once known as Jerry and the two zombies that had eaten his brains. The drowning of singing and noise was unbearable.
Marissa hysterically screamed the name of her two children, tried to run through the crowd of zombies, and disappeared into a mass of limbs that descended upon her.
Eddie backed away slowly, his arms outstretched, pleading for his life. He tripped over his own foot, fell backwards, and onto the ground. A group of bodies flung themselves onto the fallen bus driver, and quickly began to sink their teeth into his skull and flesh – which only added to the mass of noise.
Cindy yelled her belief that this was all fucking bullshit and ran in the direction where there were only three zombies, flinging her fist at anything near her. One of the zombies caught her hand in its mouth and bit down. She screamed in pain and stumbled; the other two zombies caught her on the shoulder and waist. Their mouths ripped out her skin and blood splattered everywhere. She fell to the ground, cursing and screaming, increasing the surrounding volume.
“You know,” the CEO said over the singing and noise, “it’s really not worth putting up a fight for. We might as well walk over there and let them get it done with. I must’ve been wrong about this one, there really doesn’t seem like a glimmer of hope anywhere. I don’t think we’re going to make it through this.”
Brad said nothing. The CEO shook his head.
“You really wouldn’t make that good of a character. You’re way too quiet.”
“I have a question, before we get eaten.” Brad turned to the CEO, and looked him in the sunglasses for the first time.
“Oh, certainly.” The CEO tipped his sunglasses down to the edge of his nose and peered over, demonstrating that he really cared. “Ask anything.”
“What kind of music are you going to sing?”
“My guess is standard radio rock. Ever heard of Creed? Possibly something like that. I may be a CEO, but I’m a pretty cool guy – if you haven’t noticed.” Brad didn’t reply. The CEO walked over to the Jerry-Zombie, the Cindy-Zombie, the rapping-zombie, and the country-zombie and allowed them to devour away. The zombies who had broken through the front entrance were tripping over one another, all attempting to get a good bite in on Marissa and Eddie.
In no less than thirty seconds, the CEO had transformed into the living dead. He led the four others who had just devoured parts of his body towards Brad. He sung:
I have taken so much, and done so much damage
And now I need just one last thing, one last thing
That’ll make me complete, that will make me feel sweet
Give me your brains, let’s sing together
give me your brains to eat
“No,” Brad said. “You cannot have my brain.” The CEO-zombie stopped in his tracks, and the four others bumped into him. The horde that had broken through the entrance was now done with Marissa and Eddie and had begun to make their way to the one final brain that they had traveled so far for.
“I will not let you change me; I will not let you tell me what to sing – you cannot control me. I am my own person; you have no right to change me and to generalize me. I am autonomous. I am alive. I am myself, no matter what you do or say. You cannot have my brain.”
With that, what remained of the Zombie-CEO’s brain blew out of what remained of the back of his head. The force knocked him and the other zombies behind him to the ground.
Seizing his opportunity of hope, Brad leapt over the fallen corpses and ran in the opposite direction of the horde of zombies that were demanding his brains.
