Like it did on the table after Jared injected me with his modified zombie virus, my mind kicks back on. I know better than to open my eyes, however. I gauge my brand new situation.

I can barely feel anything, as if my entire body is numb. It’s more a constant sensation of pins and needles. I check myself. Who am I? Eric Christenson. Lassie. The Storm Bringer. Still Human.

So Jared did it. I’m dead, but I’m still me. Except only my nervous system works (kind of shittily at that) and I really want to eat some flesh. He said my insides are also probably shitting and bleeding all over themselves, so there’s that.

One thing that’s weird is that I can hear the Wifi in my head. Simon’s Plague Net is able to reach me on some sort of psychic level. It’s broadcasting all kinds of different orders, everything from “maintain power plants” to “attack house at 428 Riverfront Way in 0o:48:11, 00:48:10, 00:48:09…” Oh yeah, I had forgotten about that.

I can also sense barely-functioning minds that are connected to the signal- other zombies. I reach out to the one that was blogging the play by play.

“What’s your name?” I ask it.

“Zombie,” it replies.

“What do you do?”


I realize that, being that my mind is far more powerful than his, I can just control him. I can also see out his eyes. The Plague Lord is standing over me, just looking at me. Smiling. Creep. He’ll get his.

“I’m taking your fingers, zombie.”

“I am powerless to stop you.”

“Shut up.”

Then I typed everything you just read. I also shut off that “attack 428 Riverfront Way” command.

The Plague Lord finally takes his eyes off me, looks up, and around from side to side, grinning from ear to ear. I open mine, lunge up at him, grabbing him by the neck and throwing him to the ground as I rise above him to pin him to the floor.

I’ve never seen such a sniveling look of pathetic fear on a face before in my life. And I punched a lot of kids in school. I feel something in my throat, hock it into my mouth, and spit a huge wad of diseased blood onto Simon’s face. I could just kill him and let him turn into a zombie, but who knows what kind of modifications he might have made to himself. Instead I draw my .357 Magnum revolver, and put it right in his face. His eyes widen and it almost seems that sweat literally leaps out  of his pores.

“It’s over, motherfucker,” I try to say, but all that comes out is “Grrrarararsquelch.”

I pull the trigger and blow his face through his head, out the back and onto the floor. With difficulty, I stand up. I’m actually kind of proud of myself I even pulled off the lunging maneuver I just did.

I level my revolver at zombie.

“Zombie.” Looking through his eyes, I can see down the barrel of my own gun.

“Thank you for your service,” I say and blow his brains onto the wall behind him.