Occupation: A Zombie Apocalypse Theory-Part 2

3 JAN 2013–16:20:17

“Juan’s or Felipe’s?” the driver asked.

He was a burly yet bookish figure of a man in his late 20s. His long dreadlocks pulled back revealed quite a deceptive face; one that could show tremendous warmth and humor one minute followed by intense fury and vengeance the next. Barabbas Purify quickly dabbed at his chin, removing a slight crimson stain with a handkerchief. He groaned slightly at a few drops of crimson unnoticed earlier that had made their way onto his prized John Lennon T-shirt that he’d gotten from a friend in New York City. Visibly annoyed by the ever-commercial sounds of Pop radio, his muscular arms completely covered in tattoos of doves, roses and cherry blossoms could easily cause a few double takes. There was certainly more to the lad than met the eye. He reached for the glove compartment, retrieving a small bottle of eye drops. Staring at his weary visage in the rearview mirror, it was evident he hadn’t had a decent night’s sleep in a while.

“I say Juan’s hands down,” Barabbas beamed.

Juan’s Flying Burrito was one of the most beloved Mexican restaurants in town. With two locations in the New Orleans area, it was the one on the world-famous Magazine St. that held the most nostalgia for him. One of the best places to be on a Friday night, the Veggie Punk burritos along with the Luau Quesadilla were too much to resist for him. Coupled with an ice-cold glass of Don Julio Blanco, the memories made him almost as misty-eyed as the drops of Visine. It was where he had some of his craziest times from college. It was also where he first met…her.

“You gotta be kidding me,” the tall, bespectacled figure in the passenger seat groaned. “Juan’s is badass, but there’s no way it can compare to Felipe’s! Have you tried their steak tacos? And the queso is unreal!”

Nicodemus Jackson was a spry 28-year-old with a metabolism that was flat-out ridiculous. Barabbas often found it rather agitating how the kid could pile on the food, yet never gain a pound. He could feel his growing gut protruding out over his belt buckle as he went on and on. Close friends since high school, they were a regular dynamic duo. Getting into as much trouble as they got each other out of it, Barabbas was the more sensible of the duo. Nicodemus…not so much.

“I’m not fucking with Felipe’s anymore,” Barabbas fired back. I have spent way too much cash in that place. Their food is pretty fresh but I seriously think they put crack in that queso. Why do you think the place is always packed? It’s like freaking zombies in there!”

Barabbas was no stranger to Felipe’s by any means. Game night on a Sunday was the typical spot to catch Nicodemus betting money on a Saints game. That of course was before the infamous ‘Bountygate scandal’ that left the team without a coach and Nicodemus without his usual scam. With star quarterback Drew Brees carrying the team on his shoulders, the Saints were having a dramatic, Cinderella season. The boys had somehow made it through the playoffs and were now heading into the Super Bowl. With the game now taking place in New Orleans, the city was in a constant state of chaos. For the first time in its history, the Super Bowl would be taking place right in the middle of the annual Mardi Gras season. Military and media presence abound, and many wondered if New Orleans would survive the madness.

“That Roger Goodell is a real piece of trash,” Nicodemus screamed as if on cue.

Barabbas should’ve seen it coming. The NFL commissioner didn’t gain any new fans with his suspension of several key Saints players and personnel, and the city wasted no time in showing its displeasure with him by posting ‘DO NOT SERVE THIS MAN’ signs throughout many restaurants in the city.

“Why don’t you tell us how you feel brother?” Barabbas chuckled as he checked the rearview mirror.

The street behind him was desolate, painting a visage of a virtually deserted part of town.

“Can you believe that asshole will be in our city?” Nicodemus asked. “Bastard did all he could to keep us out of the Super Bowl this year. I would love to run into that cocksucker. Just once.”

“You wouldn’t do a damn thing and you know it,” Barabbas said. “With all the security in town for the game, you wouldn’t get within ten feet of that son of a bitch.”

Barabbas continued to look around at his surroundings.

“Come to think of it, that’s what’s bothering me. You’d think that with everything going on in the city, this thing would’ve been canceled. Why isn’t anyone saying anything?”

Nicodemus gave him a perturbed look.

“You’re kidding, right? With all the millions this city would lose in revenue, do you think they’d cancel the Super Bowl and Mardi Gras? No way they’re shutting the city down now. Even if-“

Out of nowhere, a piercing wail silenced the duo. They looked around in all directions. Nothing was spotted on the street. A virtual ghost town completely devoid of life, they were in a part of the city seemingly cut off from the rest of the civilized world. The duo exited the car, a prized black MINI Cooper with gold racing stripes down the middle. A fully customized John Cooper Works Edition complete with a ‘Who Dat’ license plate, the car was a thing of beauty. Sleek. Swift. Badass. Nicodemus checked his appearance in the side mirror before donning his prized Thriller jacket complete with fingerless driving gloves and his trusty baseball bat.

“You gotta be fucking kidding me right?” Barabbas groaned at the sight. “You look like a damn fool with that thing on.”

“Jealousy will get you nowhere my brother,” Nicodemus said. You could use a few of my fashion tips if you ask me.”

Barabbas couldn’t help shaking his head as he approached the trunk of the car.

“That’s a damn shame. First your annoying bubblegum Pop music, now this. And to think you call that style.”

“You know, I’ve had just about enough of you talking shit about Miley Cyrus! Now if you have a problem with my taste in food, fashion, and music, then I can leave and you can clean this shit up by yourself. Besides, style my brother, is knowing who you are, what you want to say and not giving a damn-Gore Vidal.”

“What the hell is this world coming to,” Barabbas mumbled to himself as he popped the trunk.

A small, makeshift arsenal of guns, machetes, knives, and other forms of weaponry were scattered about inside. Barabbas reached in, grabbing his trusty .9mm Beretta and racking the slide. Along with that, he pulled forward a machete, sliding it inside a makeshift holster attached to his hip.

“Pussy”, Nicodemus muttered as he reached in and pulled forward a beautifully polished .44 magnum, complete with several rounds of bullets.

“We should’ve brought shotguns,” Barabbas said. “Last time things got a bit too hectic for my taste.”

“Hey man, I’m sorry for the absolute last time,” Nicodemus replied. “Gabriel’s supposed to have some ready for us when we get back. Won’t happen again.”

Barabbas checked out the area while clutching his gun close. Only broken-down power lines, trash, and abandoned cars remained parked alongside stripped-down storefronts and abandoned homes. Why the city hadn’t done anything about this part of town was both a shame and a mystery. Barabbas eyed his target; an old, abandoned church which had seen better days. Pilgrim Progress Missionary Baptist Church held some rather nostalgic memories for him from the days of his youth. Many years ago, Barabbas along with an old childhood friend had been baptized there. The memory sent a surge of melancholy through him, as he’d received word years ago of his friend’s unfortunate passing. Jacob Forlorn. He hadn’t seen him in ages.

“How many do you think might be inside?” Barabbas asked.

“Only one way to know for certain,” Nicodemus replied. The last few churches we cleared had nests of about six or seven strong. And who knows how long it’s been since anyone’s been in this neighborhood.”

“Alright, let’s start with the basement this time, just to get it out of the way. Not exactly in the mood for surprises today,” Barabbas said. “Besides, it’s almost getting dark.”

“The basement?” Nicodemus asked. “You don’t want to warm up to it at least? Last time I damn near got my ass chewed off.”

“Hey, suck it up,” Barabbas replied. “Am I my brother’s keeper?”

Nicodemus gave him a wary look.

“Fine,” he answered as he looked up at the church. “Don’t start none, won’t be none.”

Just as Barabbas slammed the trunk door shut, the two heard yet another ghastly wail coming from inside.

“Fuck, we should’ve brought shotguns,” Nicodemus said.

The duo slowly approached the church, looking in nearly every direction as they made their way up the stairs. As Barabbas reached the last step, he placed his gun down and bowed before a statue of an angel looming above them.

“Are you gonna do this every time we clear out one of these places?” Nicodemus asked. “I mean goddamn-“

“Hey, watch the blasphemy,” Barabbas replied. “I still can never get used to this.”

Nicodemus gave him a perturbed look.

“Are we doing this or not?” Barabbas asked.

“Fine,” Nicodemus muttered as he knelt before the statue.

Barabbas bowed his head.

“Father we humbly come before you on this day asking for strength, patience, and guidance with what we are about to endure as we enter your house. We ask for your mercy and forgiveness as we are forced to slaughter innocent human life-“

“Innocent?” Nicodemus retorted. “B, these mother-“

“Shhh!” Barabbas interjected.

“We ask for your mercy and forgiveness as we are forced to slaughter innocent human life in a city that has either forgotten or neglected its duty to its people. We ask these things in your son Jesus’ name…Amen.”

“That was beautiful Rev. Francis. Are you done? Can we go to work now?”

Rev. Francis. The name sent a chill through the body of Barabbas Purify. During his more innocent and carefree years as a child in the ‘Big Easy’, the much-revered Rev. Francis was a man amongst men. He was one of those rare ministers who truly walked in the faith…and taken all too soon up to the new world to come. Barabbas had many fond memories of the man; the important of these was the day he was baptized. Following in the footsteps of his childhood friend Jacob Forlorn, he hoped that he too would one day bask in the light of ‘the upper room’ as the elders referred to Heaven. That was ages ago. Barabbas drew his machete as he grabbed the door handle. He looked back at Nicodemus, who already had his .44 drawn.

“Conserve the bullets,” he said. “Only if we need them. No need to draw out any more of them who may be lurking around.”

Nicodemus gave an annoyed look as he holstered his weapon in exchange for his baseball bat. The door easily gave away from the slight force of Barabbas tugging on it. With a careful glance at Nicodemus, the message was clear; someone was inside. They’d come across this on numerous occasions and prepared for the worst. The acrid stench of death and decay marched through their nostrils as a gust of dust blew their way while making it inside. The basement was an empty tomb of dust and debris along with turned-over tables and broken chairs. No people. No sounds. Nothing.

“You know, I’m thinking I could really go for a steak taco right now,” Nicodemus uttered.

Barabbas glanced back at him.

“What?” Nicodemus asked. “You know I get hungry when I’m nervous.”

“Stay focused,” Barabbas fired back. “I don’t want to be in here all day.”

Slowly making their way through the dimly lit basement, Barabbas took notice of an old, condemned elevator to his immediate left. Both doors were closed. Nicodemus made his way to the other side of the room, baseball bat cocked and ready. Past the mass collection of tables and chairs was the kitchen, where the congregation used to cook dinners every third Sunday. Barabbas remembered those well, as Cherry Forlorn, Jacob’s mother was a constant fixture in the kitchen. A beloved figure in her own right, he remembered her fondly, and could still see her smile beaming out from behind the kitchen window. His nostalgic musings came to a crashing halt at the screech of a chair sliding across the floor. Barabbas looked over at Nicodemus. Not being mindful of his surroundings, the kid nearly tripped over himself.

“Sorry,” he whispered.

It was then that it happened. That familiar staggering and shuffling of decrepit footsteps could only mean one thing. They were not alone.

“Showtime,” Nicodemus said.

“Alright,” Barabbas replied. “Just remember, no cowboy shit this time. Quick and easy, in and out.”

“Don’t worry, I got this,” Nicodemus muttered. “Come on out and show that pretty little face.”

They didn’t have to wait long. Just from out behind the kitchen wall came…one of them. Standing in the doorway, the ‘woman’s’ foul tattered clothing smeared with blood was enough to make one wretch. Her dark, desolate eyes sunk deeply into the back of her head, Nicodemus could see that a side of her face was missing. It had either been cut off…or chewed off.

“Goddamn, these bastards get more and more revolting every time,” Nicodemus said as he inched closer. Barabbas moved in behind him, watching his footing and surroundings. The woman crept closer toward Nicodemus as he readied his weapon.

“That’s it, come closer baby,” he whispered.

She reached out to him as she got closer, only to be met with a sharp whack to the head from his baseball bat. Blood and bits of brain splattered everywhere as he took her down. As he knelt to get a closer look, he never saw a second woman lurking out from the kitchen. Barabbas rushed over, splitting her head with his machete. Nicodemus lurched back from his rapid-fire swinging.

“You wanna give me a heads up next time?” he asked.

“Were you trying to give her a kiss?” Barabbas replied. “Take them down and leave them lying, just like always. What’s the matter with you?”

“Alright Pops, I got it,” Nicodemus replied. “Don’t get crazy on me already.”

Barabbas quickly searched the kitchen. A grotesque decay of kitchen equipment, waste, and blood was all that was left.

“All clear back here,” he said. “Time to check upstairs.”

The narrow stairway leading up to the church was almost too foul to climb, with its morbid paintings of blood plastered all over the walls. Gnats buzzed everywhere. The closer they got to the top; they could hear random movement about from inside. It wasn’t over yet, as they could hear the familiar ripping of flesh and gnashing of teeth. Barabbas looked at Nicodemus.

“Ready?”

“Am I my brother’s keeper?” Nicodemus replied.

“You damn right,” Barabbas said as they readied their weapons and made their way through the slowly swinging door into the church.

A gross and beleaguered display of a sanctuary ripped to pieces from its former state of glory, the sight was enough to bring Barabbas to his knees. Overturned pews, broken windows, bloodstained carpet, and dilapidated wood were all that remained. His bright memories were forever tainted by this horrible image, what came next filled him with dread followed by anger. A pack of decayed men and women were ripping into the flesh of an unfortunate homeless man as if it were their last meal. Bits of blood, brain, and bone splattered everywhere. Crows cawed and scurried about before one of them got caught in the clutches of a man who quickly bit its head off.

“Jesus Christ,” Nicodemus muttered to himself.

It wasn’t long before the man turned his attention to Barabbas and Nicodemus, slowly staggering his way toward them. His face was a pale, distorted mesh of decay and death, blood dripped from his jowls and his cracked, mangled fingers clawed through the air as he approached.

“Stay together like always,” Barabbas said.

Nicodemus nodded as he readied his weapon. The man inched closer, his eyes glowing with rage as he snarled toward them. In a flash, they both took him down, swinging away with bat and machete until his head was completely separated from his body. The four individuals gnawing on the lifeless homeless figure now focused their attention on the duo, clawing their way toward them. Barabbas made quick work of one, giving a quick slice directly across the face that took half of the man’s head completely off. Clean kill. Not elegant, but efficient. Fatality. Nicodemus nearly found himself cornered by the other two before leg-sweeping the woman as Barabbas sliced away at the other man, taking him down. The woman grabbed at Nicodemus’ collar, reaching for his throat before he knocked her back. In a flash, he mounted the woman and bashed what was left of her face in, leaving a gruesome pool of blood and brain on the carpet. Looking at the figure, he took a moment to catch his breath.

“Well…that was easy enough,” he said.

Barabbas nodded in agreement.

No sooner than he’d uttered the words did the two of them hear a savage growling coming from above. Both looked up at the second floor of the church where a disheveled balcony remained to see two nearly naked and muscular men snarling down at them.

“Maybe not,” Nicodemus said.

What happened next couldn’t have been predicted if one tried. Without warning, the two grotesque men jumped from the second floor with the skill and balance of trained gymnasts. Barabbas stood stunned.

“What the fuck?” he said.

“Wait a minute,” Nicodemus said. “They’re not supposed to be able to do that!”

The two hideous figures were freakishly swift, screaming and running toward both of them. Nicodemus and Barabbas both ran as fast as they could, scrambling over broken pews and dead bodies up past the pulpit to the choir stand for higher ground. One of the men quickly caught up with Barabbas, knocking him over and pinning him down in one of the seats. His eyes filled with an almost demonic rage, Barabbas struggled to keep him from inching closer, baring rotten, mangled teeth. Meanwhile, Nicodemus was caught in a struggle of his own, trading blows with the second figure. Kicking and swinging wildly, Nicodemus managed a firm kick in the gut that sent the man backward for a moment. He quickly cocked his bat, swinging straight for the man’s head. To his astonishment, the man simply staggered back for a second. Nothing. This fight was not over.

“Goddammit!” Nicodemus screamed. “This fucker won’t go down!”

As the man began to approach him, Nicodemus drew his .44 and blasted two rounds directly into his head putting him down for good. He regained his composure as he stared down at the lifeless body, spitting on it for good measure.

“Don’t start none, won’t be none.”

“A little fucking help over here would be appreciated!” Barabbas screamed.

With the second man all over him, Barabbas couldn’t reach his machete in time to defend himself. Nicodemus aimed for the man’s head, blasting away. The man fell limp, directly on Barabbas with his head on his chest.

“Goddammit, this fucker is disgusting!” Barabbas said.

“I’m gonna need you to tone down the blasphemy,” Nicodemus retorted. “We’re in a house of mercy.”

“Fuck you,” Barabbas replied as he struggled to get out from under the man. “You mind telling me what the hell just happened here? I never came across one that moved that fast!”

“I don’t know,” Nicodemus said. “I’ve never seen them move like that either. Something’s not right.”

“Let’s get the hell out of here before we lose sunlight. I need a damn drink,” Barabbas groaned as he struggled to pull himself together.

Minutes later, the duo exited the church and surveyed the street one last time before getting into the car. All was quiet except for the lone figure of a single man, staggering in the street, slowly turning in their direction.

“You know…come to think of it, I think you may be right,” Nicodemus said.

“About what?” Barabbas asked.

“I’m starting to think maybe Felipe’s really does put crack in that queso. Fuck it, let’s get cleaned up and head over to Juan’s. I could use a burrito.”

Barabbas nonchalantly shook his head as they retreated to the car. As the engine revved, showing off its aggressive 4-liter prowess, the sound was soon accompanied by the radio changing stations to Pop radio…again. The MINI made a quick U-turn as the lone figure of a man slowly staggered toward the car. As it crept closer toward them, the hand of Nicodemus Jackson stretched out the window, holding his prized .44 cannon. One shot to the head dropped him. Clean kill. Not elegant but efficient. Fatality. The MINI then sped off into the waning hours of daylight as swiftly as it came.

***

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TO BE CONTINUED IN PART 3…