Zombie Chow

What to feed a garden variety zombie.

"So,"  I asked my old friend, "how long have you been a zombie?"  I had been wondering what happened to him for a while.  He'd disappeared two years ago.

"About two years," he said, confirming my thoughts.  "I'd have sent you guys an e-mail, but I was afraid I'd be hunted down and killed."  He was shifting aside containers in the refrigerator.  I wondered what we'd be eating...  liver perhaps.   Maybe someone's intestines.  I was certain I'd have to choke down some gray matter when Tucker slid a plate in front of me. "Bon Appetit!"  He said, brightly.  I forced myself to look down at my plate.  Instead of a pile of bloody entrails, I was looking at two slices of cold pepperoni pizza, a couple of bread sticks, and two AAA batteries.  I looked at him quizzically.

"What's with the batteries?" I asked, selecting the least bizarre of the questions bouncing around inside my head.  Honestly, I was wondering why we weren't making a buffet out of some guy's head... not that I was complaining.  I hadn't been looking forward to the typical zombie diet.

"Think of them like vitamins."  Said my old friend, fishing around in the cupboard.

"I wasn't aware I wasn't getting my recommended daily allowance of battery acid."  I asked, confused.  I took a big bite of the cold pizza, relishing the familiar taste.

"Brains you goofball,"  he said, twisting open a bottle of bargain brand soda.  "This guy I know, we call him Doc, has been studying us zombies for a few years.  One of the first things he told me was that zombies, for some weird reason, need electricity to survive.  Brains are full of the stuff."  He popped one of the batteries into his mouth and swallowed it like a pill, washing it down with a glass of fizzy brown liquid.

"So why do zombies need electricity?"  I asked.

"Haven't the foggiest." he said, biting into a slice of pizza.  "You should ask Doc if you want to know things.  I pretty much stopped listening after he told me how to live brain free."

I washed down a battery with lukewarm cola.  It wasn't exactly pleasant, but it was better than the alternative.  "So how did you get pizza?"  I asked him.  "Zombie's can't exactly stroll into town and order take-out."

"The old subway tunnel.  IMC zombies patrol it heavily to keep the feral ones out, which makes it safe for human ones to deliver supplies.  You know, like food, groceries, clothes and junk."

"Wait, isn't IMC the company that runs the zombie hot-line?" I asked. "The Infection Management Company right?"  I was halfway through my last bread stick.

"That's them.  They keep the sane zombie's safe, and eradicate the feral ones.  They're also sponsoring our search for a cure."  He said.

"So all that money they get from asking for donations is really used to help us?"  I asked.

"Pretty much.  If it weren't for them, we'd all be dead by now, feral or not."  his expression was deadly serious.  He bit into the pizza, the hole in his face becoming a portal to carnage as the food was crushed and squished into a disgusting paste.

Reviews

[Alskar]

I just love the ideas in this, this is so interesting. The vegan turning back into a meat eater was a nice touch, perhaps a slight dig to people who are vegan that they restrict themselves! I'm very interested in this idea of 'sane' and 'feral' zombies, what defines whether you are sane or feral? I hope to find this out in the next chapter!

[torments_scribe]

Still going strong. Keep up the good work. I have to give you kudos again for your play on words. Like using "derailed" right after mentioning the subway. Loved it!!! This reads so fast and smoothly. Awesome work :)