God Zombies Vs The Coke Demons

All powerful (not) zombies battle drug-addicted demons over the fate of humanity... Check it out.

Nailer 1: God Zombies Vs. The Coke Demons

A Cyberpunk Neo-Pulp Flash Fiction

By

Brian Nailer

Creative Commons Copyright License 3.0 USA

Copyright 2010 Brian Nailer

 

1

 

A HUGE EXPLOSION vaporized six thousand zombies and Zamble,

leader of the Coke-Demon battalion knows as the Zap Squad, high-sixed his

teammate on another badass victory.

Meanwhile, back at Cigarettes Bar and Grill, the God Zombies’

stronghold of doom, the ultimate God Zombie king of the universe, Lule,

smacked himself in the forehead. “Those coked-out demon b******s!” His voice

was like a cough that choked out words one crackle at a time.

He chewed a hole through the soft skin of his knuckle and then stood

up with a pissed-off face and scream-coughed, “WTF!”

WTF showed up instantly, Lule’s voice being powerful enough to

teleport his servants on command.

“Yes, Lord Lule!” cried WTF, falling sloppily to his green old rotten

knees, smooshing pus out on the barroom floor.

“W! Go right away to the Demon Hive which orbits slowly around

Moon chunk Fragment 12! See the Demon Lord, Ping, and tell him we must cut

a brand new deal! Tell him we will not put up with Zamble’s kind of justice

anymore! Tell him " this is the last time we send him any Pures!”

WTF bowed low and croaked out, “Yes Lord,” and teleported away,

leaving splats down on the floor.

Upon his coffin throne, by the pool table, Lule planned vengeance of

delicious, lasting kinds, and in his mind, drew up new plans for traps and cages

that could crack the hardest hearts.

 

2

 

She always wore white gloves, and far too often, they’d turn red.

She was a killer, a cutter, a burner, bomber, thrasher, choker,

nightmare of a woman. Her name was Da,

Her sweet gloves held a box of bullets and a gun.

Her current home had once been a factory, before the Demon/Zombie

s**t had started happening.

But screw the explanations.

“It’s all over now…” Da muttered to herself.

All around her, Pures were taking down portraits of children, women

and men who had helped keep hope alive for human beings " Pures " since The

Crack, when things got weird… Everything had to be preserved, continuity

ensured. In the offices at the front of the warehouse, others were printing,

printing, printing. Soon, all these computers that they worked at would be

smashed, and Da would lead them out into the world, to their doom or their

salvation.

The warehouse: Thirty-foot ceilings of white walls and fluorescent

lights trussed up on thick green struts, concrete stained by workboots, forklifts

and the occasional split-splat of gushing, accidental blood. The company that

had put the place together had done well, so well that they’d moved on to a

much larger, huge facility. Two months after that, The Crack came down, and

two months after that, Da found the place deserted.

She made the place a stronghold, figured it good enough to trust for

what had turned into a year, the year that killed the world.

Da and 13 Pures had set up camp, collected guns, and taught each

other how to kick, punch, fight and kill. They had gone out seeking others and

were now a hundred strong.

Some were now archiving information from Wikis on survivalism,

poetry, atom bombs, mathematics, martial arts, martinis, history, film, dance,

architecture, art, music, crafts, computers, sexuality, literature, music,

housekeeping, agriculture, you get the idea. None knew if Pures would make it

out alive, the essence of their culture simply had to be preserved.

…But who cares!... Da thought to herself, loading clip after clip after

clip.

…But I must never say that! I must be strong " I must lead, because I

can!...

 

3

 

The red-hot blade of WTF’s incinerator-knife had sizzled right through

neck after neck. Demon blood was halfway up his skin-peeled arms. A little bit

was pumping through his undead zombie cells, and with it, the drug " all

demons were just bursting at the seams with fresh cocaine " they made it, they

loved it, ate it, sold it, lived it.

That is precisely why they fought against the Pures with such

conviction " they simply did not want to share their precious drugs!

CONTRARYWISE, the God-Zombies could not live without the Pures to

chew on, swallow and crap out. It is how they survived. Sure, demonic blood

has its own special, sexy charm, but its not food, it’s more like candy - candy

that gets you hot and freaks you out, gives you confidence and power, makes

you fall in love with killing for awhile. But for a zombie’s real survival, it’s got to

be Pure, real Homo Sapiens rouge, straight off the tap, pumping hard from the

heart of one truly alive.

WTF was deep, deep, deep in the Demon Hive. He had stopped to

check and charge his weapons on the blasted-out hemisphere of Moon still

known as Fragment 12 - now a nest of maniacs and random freaks and thieves;

there he’d felt uncomfortably sane.

Teleporting off the chunk, he’d then landed on the space-bound

Demon Hive, where dark interstellar addicts ruled a world. Most of the Demon

Hive space station was impervious to God-Zombies and their powers, save a

small and guarded platform still reserved for the admission of one zombie at a

time, on the grounds of diplomatic interaction.

WTF had checked in safely at the site and shaken off a trail of guards

that were supposed to be his escorts in the Hive. After that, his path had been

two zigs and then one zag, into the inner infrastructure of the Hive. He was not

there to see the preselected representatives the Demons always took the

zombies to, he was here to see the Demon Lord Himself, Lord Ping, whom

zombies were not meant to meet or see.

But WTF had special cards up-sleeved, and one for sure that

guaranteed success…

 

4

 

Smashing the computers was an incredible experience " a real

catharsis, a letting out of rage and deep frustration at the dire situation. The

watchers and the smashers loved and loathed what they were doing. Screens

were smashed against each other, towers gutted and their motherboards

destroyed. Microchips were crushed and pulverized.

Da watched all in silence.

“Let’s move out!” she yelled.

It was now just after midnight and everybody knew that it was time to

hit the road.

No place was safe forever.

Nor could any vehicles be trusted, they were loud and full of stink and

hardly nimble. Cars and trucks don’t fly, sweetheart.

Packs and rifles loaded, bombs in place, Da plus ninety-nine took off

that night, a Pure force to reckon with, their precious culture cargo and their

lives their only prize. They did not seek a revolution, or peace talks, or true

love. The hope they followed now was just an instinct to survive.

Da pressed on.

 

To Be Continued In Nailer Part Two: The Cyberdance Asylum

 

Hey, thanks a lot for checking out God Zombies! You can always read more like this at and sign up for my mailing list by dropping a line to [email protected]

 

Thanks a lot for reading!

Author's Note

Hey, thanks for reviewing the old story, guys!