Non Zombie II

Non-Zombie II

Garrett Robinson

Published by Garrett Robinson at Smashwords

Copyright © 2013 Garrett Robinson. All rights reserved.

Cover copyright © 2013 by Garrett Robinson

This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, businesses, or events is purely coincidental. Any resemblance to reality is rendered especially ridiculous by the presence of fictional objects in this story (Twinkies, not zombies).

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Reproduction in whole or part of this publication without express written consent is strictly prohibited.

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Published by Garrett Robinson

This book, as always, is dedicated to my wife, Meghan

and my children, Dawn and Luke

for whom I would beat a zombie to death

with my own zombie arm

And to Gareth, the Brit who had the idea

and made it open-source

AUTHOR’S NOTE

Dearest Reader,

First of all, a warning: this book contains scenes of violence, numerous sexual references and enough profanity to set your grandmother’s wig on fire. If you’re easily offended by such language and/or love your grandmother, I recommend you don’t read any further. Hopefully you only downloaded a free sample, and didn’t already shell out money. If you did, maybe give your e-reader to someone with coarser tastes? I don’t know, I’m just spitballing here.

Secondly, another disclaimer: This book is barely horror. It’s horror because it has zombies, not because it’s particularly horrifying. It’s actually a horror comedy. A horromedy, you could say.

The third thing I’d like to tell you is why I wrote this book. Those who know me know I'm not a fan of horror. Why, then, would I write this (ostensibly) horror novella series?

One day I was listening to the always-amazing Self-Publishing Podcast. That podcast is what got me writing in the first place. Two of the hosts write horror, and I thought to myself, I would never write horror. It's something I think I'll never do.

Well, never say never, I counter-argued (against myself in my own head. Deal with it). "What about Zombieland and Shaun of the Dead? Didn't you love those movies? Wouldn't you have wanted to direct them?"

Yes, I replied to myself. But those are barely horror movies.

Well then, why not create a story like that? If nothing else, it'll at least prove to people that you've got range.

Good idea, me, me told me.

So I tried to come up with something that was technically horror, but that I would enjoy writing. And then I remembered a listener call that was played on the podcast. A listener described a story idea he’d had about a zombie regaining his humanity. He said he'd love to write it, but he didn't consider himself a good writer. He offered the story up, open-source, to any of the guys on the podcast or any listener who wanted it. He just wanted to see the story out there.

Well, I don’t think I’m a fantastic writer, but I like writing, and I think I’m all right. And people seem to like reading my stuff. At least they tell me so. Of course, the people who tell me this are my carefully-selected cadre of friends and family members who suck up to me on a regular basis, but that's beside the point here.

So I wrote Non Zombie as a lark. And then I fell in love with the story while I wrote it. And I love Non Zombie II even more. It’s awesome. I truly believe that.

I hope you agree.

Garrett Robinson

January 2013

CHAPTER ONE

In Which Our Hero Regains A Voice And Ventures Forth To Provide For His Family

Z-31

Here we go, mumbled Luke Bilbo Witherspoon.

He tried to insert the USB cord into the port, but it was upside down. Statistically, every time you put a USB cord into a port you have a fifty-fifty chance of putting it in the right way, but in Cliff’s experience it was impossible to get it right more than ten percent of the time. Luke flipped the cord over and it slid smoothly into place.

Luke stepped back, and Cliff looked down. He now wore a utility vest with a Mac Mini in one pocket, with audio cords running to a small, flat speaker on the front of his left shoulder. The cord Luke had just plugged in connected to the gloves on Cliff’s hands, which were special top-of-the-line keyboard gloves. When the gloves were held next to each other as though typing, they would interpret the movement of Cliff’s fingers as if they were on a keyboard.

Are you done, sweetie? Cheryl asked Luke, barely-contained excitement on her face as she stared at the apparatus on Cliff’s body.

Luke nodded.

Give it a try, babe, Cheryl said to Cliff.

Slowly Cliff raised his hands in front of him. He moved his fingers. It was painfully slow compared to when he had been human, but Cliff was still a good typist—a skill he’d gained from hundreds of hours spent online playing video games.

He typed and hit Enter. The speaker on his shoulder chirped out Hello, world, in a mechanical, automated voice which was undeniably female.

Cheryl squealed and clapped her hands. She swept Luke up into a hug, holding him tight and kissing his cheeks over and over. Then she brought him over to Cliff for a group hug, and Cliff wrapped his arms around his wife and son. He put his hands together behind Cheryl’s back and typed.

Fucking A, Luke, the speaker chirped cheerfully. Well done. The voice was mechanical, unemotional, and made Cliff sound like a woman, but it was better than nothing.

No swearing, Cliffy, Cheryl said quietly in his ear.

Sorry, he typed.

The reason Cliff needed the vest, the computer and the speaker was because he was a zombie. Sort of. He’d been bitten three weeks after the outbreak devastated most of the world, but when he’d woken up the next day, he’d woken up. He could still think, he was in full control of himself. He just happened to be undead. That meant he was impervious to pain, slow, clumsy, and easier to knock over than a crack whore on a bender.

A few days ago, Luke had had the bright idea of making the speech apparatus for his dad, who could only grunt. His son was a real whiz when it came to technology, and in that sense he took after both of his parents.

Okay, sweetie, Cheryl gasped. I think we’re done.

Cliff blinked and released his family, Cheryl’s breath coming out in a whoosh. He sometimes forgot how strong his undead limbs were; it was difficult to tell how hard he was squeezing them when he couldn’t feel his arms.

Cheryl went to their icebox and cracked open a Diet Coke, pouring it down her throat. They kept the icebox stocked with ice from a freezer they’d hooked up to a generator several blocks away. The sound of the generator attracted zombies — every time Cliff went on an ice run, he had to use his shotgun to clear them off. He was sure that, if anybody were around to see it, they would have wondered what the fuck the story was behind the freezer on the sidewalk, connected