By Lisa Timpf
Muzzy from sleep, I worked my way up from under the soil.
The Alarm has sounded! We must rise!
After emerging, I dusted off my tattered clothing, working gently so as not to abrade the gray skin on my palms. My shirt appeared more frayed than last time.
Well, what did I expect?
I shuffled, stiff-legged, toward the oak tree where the other undead had begun to gather. Our self-appointed leader, LaRoque, cradled the brain that Tim had stolen from the university anatomy lab. Though nobody understood why, holding the brain seemed to stimulate our thoughts. Decayed as our bodies were, this provided an undeniable benefit.
“Mar-ceeee.”
Hearing my name croaked out to my left, I turned my head, spotting a bent form with straggly gray hair. Nance. I grunted a greeting, my vocal cords rusty from disuse.
“Wonder… why… summons?” Like all undead, Nance economized on words. Why risk wearing out one’s lips prematurely?
“Don’t… know.” Whatever the reason, I hoped we dealt with it quickly, so I could return to the slumber of sweet oblivion.
As Nance and I approached, LaRoque began the briefing. “More incursions.” A low, keening sound rose from my fellow undead. “Headstones overturned. Graffiti. You know duty. Make humans go away.”
“Yesssss.” Nance and I moved away to patrol.
I felt no allegiance to humanity, although I’d once lived and breathed among them. While some of the undead—Nance, for example—sometimes spoke of the past, I did not. LaRoque argued that indulging in memory would make us relive any trauma associated with our end-of-days experiences. I had no wish to revisit mine.
A commotion erupted behind us.
I looked around. “What—?”
Tim and Nico had wrestled the brain from LaRoque. Now, they tossed it back and forth. “Grey Cup game today,” Tim said. He dodged LaRoque’s weak attempt at a tackle, emitting the choking gurgle that served as his version of laughter.
I tilted my head. “Grey… Cup?” Even without purposely repressing memories, cajoling our rotting brains into yielding their secrets was difficult. I had no idea what Tim was talking about.
“Here. This should help.” Tim tossed the brain. I received it neatly, cradling my hands to offer a landing spot.
Where did I learn to do that?
“Nice catch!” Tim pumped his fist.
Grey Cup, I thought…
I’m sitting in front of a flatscreen with my granddaughter on the couch beside me. We both wore Hamilton Tiger-Cats jerseys and watched the annual Canadian Football League championship game. Just as we did every November. Yellow flowers sat in a vase on the table. She’d brought them. A tradition—
The smell of freshly cut grass. A clear autumn sky. Flag football practice, back at university. Taking a turn at quarterback…
I gestured to Tim, did a clumsy drop-step, and threw the brain. Not a perfect spiral but, then again, the brain wasn’t the perfect football.
“Enough!” LaRoque’s admonition signaled an end to the fun.
Just in time. Before releasing the brain, I’d sensed other memories amassing. A rainy night. Supertramp’s “Take the Long Way Home” on the radio. The windshield wipers, struggling to keep up. Headlights approaching in the wrong…
***
“Over there!” LaRoque pointed.
A dark-haired woman carrying a bouquet of yellow flowers strolled along the cinder path. She wore a black jersey with black-and-yellow-striped sleeves.
The woman looked familiar. If only I hadn’t thrown away the brain.
My fellow undead crept toward the woman, preparing for an ambush.
No! “Not… her.”
LaRoque curled his upper lip. “We… guard.”
A threat? A reminder?
Maybe both. I sucked in a breath. We undead had been animated for one purpose only: to maintain the sanctity of the graveyard. LaRoque said if we refused, we’d disappear under the soil again, never to return topside.
Isn’t that what I want? To sleep, with no dreams?
I knew the answer.
I liked to return back under knowing it wasn’t forever.
Nobody wants to die. Even if they’re already dead.
***
The woman hadn’t seen us, yet. I had to stop my companions before she did. But how?
I didn’t have the brain, but I had a brain, even if it didn’t work as smoothly as it once did. Think!
I glanced around, seeking inspiration. Movement in the far corner of the graveyard caught my attention. Crows spiraled into the air, cawing.
Maybe a distraction?
I raised my arm and pointed. “Look.”
LaRoque rolled his eyes, but he did look.
He glanced back at the young woman and sighed. “Fine. I agree, she seems harmless. But something’s going on back there. We need to check it out.”
After one last glance at the woman, I lurched along behind my companions.
***
We soon caught a group of teenagers trying to overturn a massive gravestone while one of them recorded the proceedings on his phone.
Tim snuck up behind the youth with the phone and tapped him on the shoulder. He dropped the device.
Good. We didn’t want our actions recorded.
Nico emerged from behind a tombstone. He stretched his arms forward and leered.
The teens ran, screaming in a most satisfying manner.
With the crisis over, it was time to return below. I’d always looked forward to oblivion, but today…
As I approached my headstone, my steps slowed. Someone had placed a bouquet of yellow flowers in front of the dark gray granite. Sunflowers.
Cautiously, I called up my earlier memory of watching football. Could that dark-haired woman have been my granddaughter? If so, she’d grown. Life had moved on without me.
I reached out, stopping just short of touching the blooms.
What if LaRoque had been wrong about memory not being worth the pain?
Maybe he was right. For himself anyway. Who knew what harms he’d experienced in his lifetime?
That didn’t mean his philosophy was right for me.
Perhaps remembrance held room for beauty as well as darkness. This time when I went below, I brought with me the memory of flowers.
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Loading...ABOUT THE AUTHOR
If only there was someone who could deliver her from her body of death…
What a surprisingly wistful zombie story.
What a beautiful ending.
Jdoran, Pamela, and The Librarian, thanks for your comments. It was a fun story to write.
Lisa
And fun to read! 😉👍🏻😎