Upon our descent, Priscilla and I were met with a scene of frantic activity. The survivors were desperately trying to fortify the barricade by adding more furniture to the door. I was taken aback by the sight of the planks and furniture that were on the verge of giving way under the relentless assault. The sheer strength and ferocity of the zombies during the night were bewildering. I found myself speculating about the speed of the runners in their frenzied state. Could they rival an Olympic athlete? Perhaps they could even outpace Usain Bolt.
The familiar man of considerable girth was trembling with fear, clutching several packs of chips while taking refuge under the fruit stalls in the food section. "What am I going to do!?" he wailed.
"Disgusting," I retorted, voicing my disdain for his cowardice loud enough for him to hear, before Priscilla and I made our way towards the rear entrance.
"You insolent child!" The rotund man hurled an insult back at me, his face contorted with rage, much to my amusement.
As Priscilla and I navigated our way towards the other survivors, the air was filled with the chilling sounds of monstrous growls and screams. It was highly probable that hundreds of zombies were swarming outside the supermarket. If that were the case, our situation was dire. We were all in danger of being killed. I knew that remaining stationary was not an option.
"What should we do!? It's not going to hold much longer!" Morrison pleaded, shaking with fear.
"Silence! Help us keep them out!" Jon commanded the terrified businessman. He, along with other survivors, were straining against the furniture and barricaded doors to keep the undead horde at bay.
"How is this possible!? What's happening to them!?" Marcy voiced her confusion about the sudden increase in strength and aggression of the zombies.
"And why are they attacking now, of all times!?" Harold echoed her confusion, perplexed by the zombies' sudden shift in focus to the supermarket. He felt as though the zombies had been toying with their hopes.
Desperate cries echoed from the main entrance. It was clear that the others were also struggling to keep the zombies at bay. The only way the zombies could gain unrestricted access was through the ceiling, but their inability to climb rendered that route effectively blocked. The real issue was the overwhelming horde pressing in from both sides.
"This is pointless," Mary-Anne muttered, clicking her tongue in frustration before stepping away and heading towards the center, knife in hand.
"What are you doing!?" Harold questioned, bewildered by her sudden departure as he continued to push against the door to keep the frenzied zombies out.
"Have you not seen the movies!? It's futile to try to hold them back! They're going to get in regardless!" Mary-Anne retorted, explaining her rationale. She saw no point in wasting energy on a lost cause. "We might as well face them head-on! We're trapped! At least we can die fighting!"
"What the hell are you saying!?" The fat bastard bellowed from his hiding place under the fruit stalls.
"Are you out of your mind!? I don't want to die! Stop your nonsense and hel-!" Morrison began to protest, but was abruptly cut off.
Suddenly, a zombified hand burst through the solid cement wall, seizing Morrison by the back of his head and yanking him into the wall. His screams of terror filled the air. The survivors, including Priscilla and I, were taken by surprise. Jon quickly reacted, dropping his pipe wrench and grabbing a fire ax from the floor, severing the zombie's arm.
"W-W-Wha..." Morrison stammered, too shocked to form coherent words after the unexpected attack.
After witnessing the zombie's arm penetrating the solid wall, the survivors were forced to acknowledge the validity of Mary-Anne's argument. The futility of their efforts to keep the zombies at bay became glaringly apparent. If they persisted in their current course of action, the zombies would inevitably breach the supermarket's walls, regardless of the time it took.
"Everyone, retreat! Regroup in the center!" Jon commanded the survivors, recognizing that their only chance of survival lay in confronting the horde head-on and emerging victorious.
Upon hearing Jon's order, the survivors from the main entrance reluctantly retreated to the center. As they formed a defensive circle, back-to-back, the undead horde continued to batter the door relentlessly. I estimated that we had mere minutes before chaos would reign within the supermarket.
My parents enveloped me in a tight embrace, making it difficult for me to breathe. I noticed Priscilla, seemingly unfazed by the impending danger, clutching her upper leg tightly. The sight of her action sent my heart pounding, as it brought to mind every zombie apocalypse scenario I had ever seen in movies. She had been bitten.
"Prepare yourselves, men! We must eliminate these creatures if we are to survive!" Jon rallied the survivors, his body trembling and his grip on his pipe wrench unyielding. He was not ready to meet his end, especially after enduring five years of homelessness. His premature demise seemed unjust.
"Damn it! I can't believe this is how it ends!" Marcy voiced her frustration, lamenting the wasted years of her life. She regretted not dropping out of school if this was to be her fate.
"No! No! I don't want to die! I haven't lived my life to the fullest yet!" Morrison protested, unable to accept that his end was near. "I haven't even bought my dream car!"
As the remaining survivors vented their frustrations and lamented the ruination of their lives, I remained silent. I did not disclose Priscilla's condition to anyone. Perhaps their complaints had irked me.
Here I was, grappling with the harsh realities of life, having never been afforded any of life's blessings. Yet these individuals had the audacity to complain about their inability to enjoy life, despite having lived comfortably prior to the apocalypse. Their words of despair stirred up memories of the hardships I had endured over the past seventeen years.
This frustration led me to make a decision that would further complicate my life, a consequence I was oblivious to at the time.
As the zombies successfully breached the barricades and flung open the rear entrance door, they swarmed in. The frenzied walkers were steadily advancing towards us at a slightly accelerated pace, while a few runners charged at us with a speed reminiscent of Usain Bolt, driven by an insatiable hunger for flesh.
"Fire!" Jon directed, brandishing his bat at the zombies.
As the survivors opened fire on the advancing runners and walkers, my parents swiftly whisked me away to a safe hiding spot beneath the fruit stalls, the same refuge chosen by the cowardly rotund man.
"Stay here, sweetheart," my mother, Beverely, instructed me, planting a kiss on my forehead. "Your father and I will help fend off the monsters."
"Under no circumstances should you leave this spot," my father, Sean, sternly warned me. "I cannot risk your safety."
I found myself at a loss for words. I yearned to voice my concerns, to caution them, yet words failed me. I realized then that my fear of death was overwhelming. I was also too terrified to reveal Priscilla's condition... because I harbored a perverse desire for the other survivors to endure the same suffering as I was. The origin of this sentiment eluded me.
My mother cast a worried glance in my direction, uttering something to me one last time. However, her words were lost on me. My mind was consumed by the present chaos - the guttural growls of the zombies, the desperate cries of the survivors, and a perverse satisfaction in my heart at the prospect of the survivors' impending suffering. I was at a loss to understand my own emotions. What was happening to me?
I looked up, only to find my parents no longer within my line of sight. "Mom? Dad?" I called out.
It appeared they had joined the fray, as their cries of desperation reached my ears. I was paralyzed with fear, unable to move from my hiding spot beneath the fruit stalls. I cast a glance at the rotund man, whom I had earlier berated for his cowardice, only to realize that I was no different. I had merely put on a brave facade, but when faced with a dire situation, I was just as fearful as everyone else. I was human. I was terrified. I was not some fearless protagonist who could laugh in the face of danger. I was just a frightened teenager whose life had been a series of misfortunes since birth.
"Jarlath?" Priscilla's voice broke through my thoughts.
I turned to see Priscilla kneeling before me. The veins in her neck had turned a sickly black, and her eyes were slowly turning white. These symptoms hadn't been present earlier. It dawned on me then that she had indeed been bitten.
Priscilla offered me a weak smile. "I'm... sorry, Jarlath. I was bitten when I was on the rooftop earlier. It was part of a suicide attempt before you arrived."
I remained silent for a moment before finally uttering, "You're a liar... just like him."
Priscilla understood my accusation. She had promised to be my friend, which had given me a glimmer of hope. Yet, she could never truly befriend me if she was destined to become a zombie. She had lied to me about our friendship. She was no different from my previous "best friend" who had betrayed, hurt, and lied to me. The realization filled me with a sense of hurt and anger, overshadowing my fear of death.
Tears welled up in my eyes. I felt lost, overwhelmed by the enormity of it all. I yearned for an end to my suffering. I longed for death. If life was destined to be a continuous cycle of suffering, even amidst a zombie apocalypse, then I would rather embrace the sweet release of death. I felt like an unwelcome guest in this world.
"I didn't lie. I meant what I said," Priscilla reassured me, her voice growing hoarse. "It's just that... before I change... I wanted you to know that... you had one friend in this world. And I hope... you continue to make more... friends... aside from me..."
Upon hearing her words, I looked into her now pure white eyes. She said something else to me, but just like with my mother earlier, I couldn't comprehend her words. As she began to fully transform into a zombie, she ran away to prevent me from being bitten by her. Despite our brief acquaintance, my heart ached at the sight of her suffering.
"Priscilla!" I cried out, emerging from my hiding spot in defiance of my parents' orders.
The moment I regained my footing, my gaze fell upon Priscilla, who stood motionless, her growls and moans echoing in the eerie silence. Saliva dripped from her mouth, blood seeped from her eyes, and the creaking of her bones filled the air. She had transformed into a grotesque creature of the undead, a zombie. Her demise must have been filled with excruciating pain and torment.
"Priscilla..." I murmured her name, my fists clenched in helpless frustration. The reality that my only companion, the first friend I had made since the betrayal, had now become a horrifying undead creature, was a bitter pill to swallow.
My frustration reached such heights that I began to hallucinate the familiar humanoid figure standing behind her, and my vision was once again bathed in an unsettling orange hue. I was at a loss. The pent-up pain and suffering I had been suppressing were now surfacing. I let out a scream so piercing that it alerted all the zombies in the vicinity.
As a result, zombies from a mile radius began converging on the supermarket. Unbeknownst to me at the time, I had sealed our fate. I had brought about the demise of everyone present, but my self-absorption prevented me from realizing this. I was consumed by my own frustrations, sufferings, and griefs.
"Jarlath!" My mother's voice reached my ears, but it was faint due to my temporary threshold shift.
"That damn brat!" The fat bastard behind me emerged from his hiding spot and shoved me towards the zombified Priscilla as a distraction.
As I fell to my knees and looked up at Priscilla, she slowly reached out to grab me. I was paralyzed, frozen in shock after releasing my inner turmoil. My impending doom was averted when my father shot her in the head.
"Jarlath, baby! You have to hide!" My mother's voice brought me back to reality.
The moment I regained my senses, I witnessed the survivors being overrun and devoured by the zombies I had inadvertently summoned. I was once again frozen in place, horrified by their gruesome deaths, a consequence of my ignorance and desire for vengeance. I felt as though I was trapped in a dream-like sequence, with everything still bathed in an orange hue from my perspective.
"Jarlath!" My father slapped me repeatedly, trying to bring me back to the present, but my gaze remained fixed on the zombies overwhelming the survivors.
Left with no other option, my father dragged me to a pile of deceased zombies. He concealed me within the pile to ensure my safety. My mind was preoccupied with Priscilla's transformation into a zombie, the survivors being devoured by zombies, and my overwhelming frustrations with life. I was mentally absent from the current situation. My mind was temporarily shattered.
Once my father covered the entrance with another deceased zombie, after exchanging a final glance with my mother, I found myself hidden beneath a pile of undead creatures. The only sounds that reached my ears were the desperate screams of my parents as they fought off the zombies, until their voices gradually faded away. I was unable to react, as I was still in a state of shock.
"...mom... dad...?" I managed to whisper before drifting off to sleep, the loud growls of the zombies echoing in the background.
———
Upon awakening the following morning, I found myself still ensconced within the pile of zombies. As I extricate myself from the heap, the stench of decay clings to me. My memory of the previous night's events was hazy, and I felt a sense of loss, but there was no time to dwell on it as zombies were still prowling around the supermarket.
As I prepared to take refuge under the fruit stalls, I was rooted to the spot at the sight of my parents' lifeless bodies. Their bodies bore the telltale signs of zombie bites and fatal gunshot wounds to their heads. My gaze was drawn to the gun in my father's hand, the same weapon he had wielded the night before.
"Mom... dad..." Memories of the previous night began to flood back. I understood why my father had taken his own life and that of my mother - to avoid the horrific fate of turning into those undead monsters.
I sank to my knees, my gaze falling on Priscilla's lifeless form. An intense headache seized me, and I cried out in despair. My world was crumbling around me. I was alone, bereft of my parents and the only friend I had made. I was left to fend for myself in a world overrun by zombies, who were now moving towards me in their normal state.
Suddenly, a phrase surfaced in my mind.
CAD... É... DO... MHIAN?
I gasped as I "heard" these words. My vision was once again suffused with an orange hue. The humanoid figure that had been haunting my hallucinations for the past few days since that dream about the zombie apocalypse was now kneeling before me, seemingly peering into the depths of my soul.
"Who are you!?" I demanded of the figure, tears streaming down my face as the zombies drew closer.
The figure remained silent. I was at a loss to understand what was happening, but I had a feeling it wanted me to answer the question. The same complex question I had heard from Priscilla the previous night. It was a question about my deepest desire. Overwhelmed, I cried harder, gritting my teeth until they bled and clenching my fists in a futile attempt to alleviate the pain brought on by the question.
In the aftermath of my inability to respond, I was consumed by a profound rage directed at myself. I was the architect of my parents', fellow survivors', and my friend's demise, all due to my own cowardice and self-centeredness. As I regained my footing, the undead were merely a few strides away.
"Stop... please just stop," I commanded them, yearning for solitude. I desired to grieve my parents' passing in peace, without any disturbances, and I wished for them to depart.
However, predictably, the undead continued their relentless advance. A sprinter burst through the rear entrance and, upon spotting me, charged at full velocity. More walkers began to infiltrate through the main entrance. My heart pounded fiercely against my chest. I was not ready to embrace death. I should have been prepared for the inevitable, yet, for some inexplicable reason, I was paralyzed with fear.
"STOP! JUST STOP!" I bellowed with such intensity that it echoed throughout the supermarket.
Astonishingly, fifteen of the undead froze in their tracks. I was panting heavily, bewildered by their abrupt halt. I was at a loss for what was transpiring, but they had indeed ceased their movement. It was reminiscent of the incident from the previous day when a group of runners abruptly halted. I glanced downward, catching a glimpse of my reflection in a shard of shattered glass.
My eyes were a fiery orange, the dark circles around them had intensified and appeared to be a permanent feature, and the same black veins traced the sides of my forehead. Yet, I bore no bite marks. I remained a normal human. I turned my gaze back to the immobilized undead, the realization dawning on me. I had the ability to... control the undead.
A manic laughter erupted from me in sheer exasperation, "Really!? Why do I possess these abilities now!? Why!? Why!? Why were they not present last night!? Why did my parents have to die!? Why did those survivors have to meet their end!? Why did Priscilla have to die!? Why am I endowed with this now!? Why!? Why!?"
I was overwhelmed with frustration at this enigmatic ability I possessed! I was irate that I couldn't utilize this gift to rescue those individuals! I could have intervened last night! I could have averted their untimely deaths. I could have even saved my parents and Priscilla! I was useless! I was a coward!
I stared into the face of an undead with an expression of pure frustration, and struck it, "Why does life persist in making me suffer!? Why can't I lead a normal life!? Why can't I form genuine friendships!? I want to survive in a world devoid of betrayal and bullies! I wanted safety and happiness! Why is that so hard for me to have!?"
I was on the verge of another breakdown. My mind was inundated with painful memories spanning from my childhood to instances of bullying, betrayal by a friend, and the death of my parents. My entire body trembled under the weight of immense sorrow and despair. I was on the brink of releasing another scream to vent my frustrations.
And then, a realization struck me, prompting another bout of manic laughter. I had just comprehended the implications of my ability. As soon as I observed the undead that had obeyed my command, a thought crystallized in my mind. A thought that I embraced without any reservations. A thought that irrevocably altered my existence.
I laughed maniacally before smirking with a deranged expression, "Hold on. Could it be that life finally treating me fairly!? Is this why I've been granted this ability, to ensure my survival!? Can I finally live without any worries!?"
I childishly and sadistically convinced myself that life had finally begun to treat me equitably after all these years. I was too elated to mourn my parents' death because, for the first time in my life, I had a clear purpose. I had been bestowed with a blessing.
"And you all," I addressed the obedient undead with a smile. "You're my newfound friends! Let's spend time together, shall we!?"
I exited through the main entrance, trailed by the fifteen undead that I had manipulated. When the horde of undead attempted to assault me, I smiled with a sadistic expression. I no longer feared death. I was now their puppeteer.
"Attack those bastards!" I commanded my undead minions with a surge of exhilaration. "I have become the Zombie King! What a thrilling prospect this is! If life has finally decided to treat me with the dignity I deserve, then I should embrace it, correct!? A new chapter awaits me! Yes, a new chapter after all these tumultuous years! How exciting!"
I commenced my journey down the path of Hylan Boulevard, a smile gracing my visage. No longer a captive of suffering or a victim of depression, I had finally attained liberation. I had undergone a transformation. To whoever bestowed this ability upon me, be it God, Buddha, or any deity, I expressed my profound gratitude for granting me a second lease on life.
Thus, the enigmatic ability known as the King of the Dead was born within a young man who had endured years of despair, adversity, and hardship. A fleeting glimpse of a humanoid figure could be discerned emanating from Jarlath Mavely. This marked one of the numerous mysteries in a world ravaged by a zombie apocalypse.
———
Unbeknownst to him, an individual ventured into the HL Supermarket, their shadow ominously hovering over Jon's pipe wrench. After a few moments, they seized it and departed, pondering the possibility of other survivors.