Dichotomous

Zombie apocalypses aren’t as cut and dry as some would think. Ng wasn’t sure what to make of the situation himself. The movies and books and all the media that milked the Zombie genre for a century or so was hardly preparation for the actual end of the world… or the civilized world, at least.

 

There’s something to be said about dying: it’s easy to do. He had been taking care of his garden when he had been taken by surprise, and bitten, by Manuel, his Mexican neighbor. It hadn’t been pleasant, the bite, but he didn’t take more than a few seconds to die. It was a blessing, Ng thought, that the virus or whatever the hell it was that caused the state of undeath was so fast-acting, so effective, that people died and turned in the space of a minute, if that much.

 

Ng hadn’t heard about anything amiss on the news, certainly no mention whatsoever of an outbreak of any sort, and so he didn’t have much to go on when his body rose up on its own and his body – corpse, rather – shambled on and out of his front yard. This is where it all struck him as being singularly odd; he was watching his reanimated corpse from outside himself. That is, he was disembodied, existing extraneously independent from his recently-deceased body.

 

He tried looking at himself, at his own feet – not those of his corpse but, out of habit, at the place where, from his solipsistic vantage point, his feet would have been – and saw nothing but the grass beneath him. He was a… ghost?

 

Funny, he never did wonder what happened to the soul, assuming then, before this, that there was one, when a character in a film or book was zombified. Come to think of it, now that he thought about the word “soul”, he couldn’t be sure that there was a soul. Wasn’t that a bitch? Here he was, clearly an incorporeal entity, floating – he thought “floating” was the only appropriate term – in the air, and he couldn’t tell if there was a soul. That was just like the universe, after all; answer one question – is there an afterlife? Apparently, yes – and get a combo of a thousand more – is there a soul? Can’t tell, what about God? Dunno, what does one do for fun after one dies? Too soon to tell…

 

One question he was considering was answered quickly enough; Manuel’s ghost was floating over from his house to Ng’s and it was smiling at him. It was thinking at him, too, not talking, but thinking. Telephathy, huh? Who’d have thought…

 

Manuel was apparently enjoying the afterlife for the time being, he said as much after apologizing for his undead corpse’s actions, deeply ashamed, he said telepathically. No need to apologize, said Ng earnestly, there wasn’t much an incorporeal being could do to stop the shambling corpse that formerly housed it, after all.

 

So who turned you? He asked Manuel. Maid, he said. What about the children, Ng asked with genuine worry. Out of town with the wife, said Manuel, with some relief, though they both knew it might be a toss-up whether anyone would survive this, the proverbial hitting of the fans by the world’s vast reserves of fecal matter.

 

What do you say we go over and enjoy the Hendersons’ getting eaten, Manuel suggested with a peevish smile under the thick, black mustache. Sounds like fun! With a disembodied chuckle, Ng and Manuel made their way down the street to the uptight Hendersons’ ostentatious house. Ng thought it would be something to see what the posh family made of the afterlife. Manuel quipped something which Ng didn’t quite catch until the end – yeah, apparently telepathy can be misheard, er, misreceived? He said it’ll be fun to watch those gringos running for a change.

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