Zombie System: Ruling The Apocalypse

005 - Protector

Jonathan jolted to his feet, a searing pain shooting through his neck. He touched the spot, his fingers coming away sticky with green fluid mixed with blood from an open wound.

Eleanor was instantly beside him, her face etched with concern. "You're lucky it wasn't the head," she said.

Around them, the greens were still toppling, their bodies contorting in their final, twitching dance, yet a strange instinct seemed to guide them around Jonathan and Eleanor, leaving a clear, untouched space. He scanned the sky, a strange sense of fortune washing over him. He felt lucky he hadn't been shot in the head. Truly.

The distant whir of helicopter blades grew louder, then faded. He lifted his gaze to see the choppers receding with the President of York Isles a tiny, unreadable figure staring down at his daughter.

"Let's go," Eleanor urged, pulling at his sleeve.

"Where?" he rasped.

"You can work your cure out," she said, her eyes fixed on his. "Let's find a place where I can tell you what's happening, so you'd know what you'd do." He stared at her. He knew he should trust her. He could trust her. She knew too much.

They moved through the desolate streets of York Isles, a bizarre tableau of two figures, one a nascent zombie, the other a human, holding hands amidst the shuffling horde.

The Greens, driven by their insatiable hunger, passed them by, seemingly oblivious, or perhaps, in their twisted way, respectful. They arrived at their destination: a sprawling shopping mall with shattered glasses. Greens everywhere.

Inside, the silence was broken only by the distant growls of the infected and the scuffing of their shoes on the debris-strewn floor. Eleanor led him to a relatively secluded corner, near a forgotten display of mannequins.

"How do you feel?" she asked in a soft voice.

Jonathan struggled to articulate the complex swirl of sensations. "Strange. Aware. Hungry... but not for..." He trailed off, the unspoken words hanging heavy in the air. He touched his neck again, the wound still throbbing without pain. "Tired."

"So you can eat?" she asked.

"I. Guess. So," Jonathan answered. "Tell me. What you know."

Eleanor stood to her feet and stared outside the room where they were. At the Greens. Walking about. "The gas was released across all parts of York Isles. It wasn't an accident, Jonathan. It was planned. The rich... they've been preparing for this for years. They built those space stations, those 'safe havens' above the clouds. They're up there now, living in their perfectly controlled environments, while the poor are left down here to wander and try to survive."

Jonathan's green eyes narrowed. "Why?" He asked. He could see the point of it all.

"Control," Eleanor answered. "Pure, unadulterated control. The gas is meant to truly kill their brains. To make them think of one thing -- eat. Enough to live to eat, just like they're doing now. Think about it. No more dissent, no more protests, no more demands for better living conditions. They don't pay taxes; they don't produce anything, and they don't rebel. They’re just... consumers, now of flesh, easily managed.

Jonathan looked on.

"Look at them, doing what they are good at. Find something to eat and replicate. They're smart enough to find what they'll eat, to recognize a fresh scent. They're not zombies. They are self-sustaining population control mechanisms."

Jonathan processed her words, his reawakened mind connecting the horrifying dots. The blackness in his mind when he woke, the inexplicable calm amidst the chaos. It all made a terrible, coherent sense. "Are they... everywhere?" Jonathan asked.

"No, they're contained," Eleanor confirmed, her voice grim. "The city's surrounded by walls, a network of automated defenses and sonic deterrents that keep them from spreading beyond the perimeter. It's a massive, living prison. But that's not all, Jonathan. Soon, very soon, the greens will be wiped out completely."

Jonathan stared at her, the implication dawning on him. "How?"

"Once I'm taken," she explained, a chilling calm in her voice, "once I'm safe with my father, they'll activate the final phase. A biological agent will be released, designed to neutralize the infected. It's a 'clean-up operation.' They'll eliminate every last green, and with them... the last of the 'undesirables' down here." She met his gaze, a desperate plea in her eyes. "The only chance the remaining survivors have is to keep me here, in York Isles. As long as I'm here, they can't activate the kill switch without risking my life."

Jonathan's expression was unreadable. This was more than just a fight for survival; it was a political battlefield, a ruthless game of power and control. "Why. Are you? Here?" he managed the long sentence and then spat blood.

Eleanor's expression clouded. "The gas was released without our consent. Someone played a game. It was released an hour earlier than scheduled. A betrayal from within, a rogue faction, we think. That's why I'm stuck here. My extraction was set for a specific window, and it closed before I could get out." She reached out, her fingers gently touching the left side of his chest. "I know how this works. I know what the gas does. But I don't know what's wrong with you. Why do you still have your brain and your heart." She pressed her palm against his chest. "It's beating," she whispered, a strange wonder in her voice.

Jonathan felt a warmth spread through him, a sensation he hadn't experienced since... he couldn't remember. He stared at her, a jolt of something primal, something profoundly human, awakening within him. He felt a warmth in his pants, a startling confirmation of a forgotten part of himself. He hadn't even known his cock still existed.

"So what am I going to do?" he asked.

"I'll take you to the lab where the virus was created; maybe... maybe they can reverse it or at least understand what happened to you. You're... an anomaly, Jonathan. A walking, talking, thinking anomaly."

Before she could finish, a car zoomed past the shattered entrance of the mall, its engine sputtering, its tires squealing. Jonathan, drawn by the unexpected sound of life, rushed to the opening. He saw it: a small group of survivors crammed into a beat-up sedan, their faces pale with fear. He nodded, a grim acknowledgment that there were still others. He watched as a small cluster of Greens, their movements surprisingly swift, began to follow the car, drawn by the sound.

Eleanor appeared beside him, her gaze following his. "You should save as many as possible," she said. "I think, for now, that's why you are here. You can move among them, control them, protect others."

He nodded, the idea settling deep within him. A purpose. A reason for this twisted, unnatural existence. "Let's go after them," he rasped, his eyes fixed on the retreating car. The cure could wait. For now, there was something else he needed to do.