Sarcophilia

The engineers set off the high explosives with a tremendous roar, causing the earth to tremble. Above their buried ruins, the Hudson River churned into a seething cauldron as the Lincoln and Holland Tunnels collapsed in a conflagration of fire and dust. The Lincoln Tunnel's Weehawken entrance exploded with debris and flames; the soldiers on the Manhattan side could only hope that some of the zombies had been killed by the blast.

“You copy, General Rylan?” From the general's radio came a crackling voice.

Rylan brought it up to his mouth. "Over, loud and clear."

"Verification that the Holland Tunnel and the Lincoln Tunnel have been completely destroyed, over."

"Thank you very much."

Tobey entered the barren area of 124th Street, where sporadic groups of survivors gathered around bonfires or stumbled in confusion. At a look, he was able to identify the three Variants: Variant Bs wandered aimlessly, talking like madmen, their hazy, pink eyes searching for uninfected blood; Variant As lay prone and dying on the tarmac or stood staring blankly into nothingness.

He quickly focused on a circle of roughly thirty Variant Cs who were whispering to each other. He knew several of them, including the woman who had infected him, Angela, as well as faces from his neighborhood and apartment. A closer look showed that they were listening to a man at the center of the circle who was dressed like a doctor. Tobey moved closer to listen in.

The doctor was stating, "Based on our research and understanding, the Variant C disease is especially difficult to manage." "They have an equal chance of killing their victim or spreading a Variant when they feed on fresh, uncontaminated human blood, which they crave in our subjects."

He stopped when he saw Tobey. "Newbie? Are you Variant C?

“Yes, I am,” Tobey said, grinning slightly as he looked around at his bleeding, confused friends. "Last night, I contracted an infection." Angela gave him a sly smile.

The middle-aged man held out his hand and introduced himself as "Doctor Mason Green." "I have the infection, just like the rest of you. I had this after my brother passed away from AIDS.

“I’ve studied Mauer’s Syndrome and explored the nature and symptoms of the disease,” Green added, gathering his thoughts. He cocked his head, showing a new cut close to his jaw, covered with gauze. "We might as well form a band since we're all in this together."

Tobey looked about at his fellow "zombies." A few tough-looking ladies stood among them, but the most were guys. There were no kids around. There was an air of cruelty and hardness about the group, as though they were cornered and prepared to battle to the death.

"Yes," Green remarked, observing Tobey's close examination. Nobody in this room is younger than twenty-four or older than fifty-seven. Age groups appear to be affected by the disease at different rates of death. The elderly and children are helpless against the condition.

An Asian woman in her early thirties with a large gash on her midriff questioned, "What's wrong with us?" She was held up by a lanky man who was probably her lover.

"How am I supposed to know?" Green gave a rough response. "I am aware of the symptoms, but not the cause or remedy. Unlike Variants B or A, we are still able to experience pain and human emotions. We have endured despite the pain of our illness, the scars from our wounds, and the loss of our beloved seniors and children.

A man brandishing a long gun came out from behind a 7-11 forty meters down the street. The thirty zombies, including Tobey, turned from Green to him when he blew a sharp whistle.

From behind the business, a dozen armed citizens charged across the parking lot. While some held knives, others flashed handguns or shotguns. Among them was a tall, swarthy man with a short, Roman-style blade. The Variants stiffened, ready to disperse.

“Zombies!” yelled the crowd. "Killers! Murder them! We're reclaiming this community!

Green said, "Oh, hell," and turned to run as the uninfected started shooting.

The man steadying his enormous elephant gun, who had initially seemed to be within thirty yards. "You fucking killers, give up! Fucking infant murderers! Beside him, his fellows arranged themselves in a phalanx, one hooded figure holding a Glock sideways in a gangsta position. With their hands up, a zombie emerged from Tobey's group.

Another zombie whispered, "Yo," and nudged Tobey. Taking a revolver from his waistband, he pressed blue-tipped bullets—a Crip, according to the ammunition—into Tobey's palm. "Take this, you. We will battle these men. He gave Tobey one pistol, gave another to a buddy, and retained the third.

With hands raised, the zombie emissary stepped gingerly into the no-man's-land between the groups and shouted out, "Come on." "We're not looking to murder you. We simply have an infection. The virus is here. You don't have to—

When the citizen fired, the envoy's stomach was torn apart by the elephant gun's two barrels. He stumbled back, a huge hole ripped through him by the massive game-killing weapon.

Tobey fired his pistol and rushed into the fallen man's position out of instinct. The opposition was caught off guard by Tobey's audacity and hesitated until the gangsta and the elephant gunman were dropped by his steady aim. With their pistols blazing, the two members of the zombie gang leaped into action.

The battle was short and intense. The leaders of the inadequately armed rabble writhed on the ground as the three zombies charged. The civilians dropped their weapons and fell back. As the enemy withdrew, Green and the other non-combatant zombies slithered forward.

In a last heroic thrust, the dark-skinned man with the long blade slashed Tobey's thigh. With his newfound strength, Tobey pistol-whipped the man's forehead, almost breaking his skull as dark blood soaked through his pants. Tobey grabbed the abandoned blade and stabbed his prone opponent in the throat.

That was the end of it. The battle was over.

The blood pooling from shotgun blasts and bullet wounds, which ought to have been the most gory scene, turned out to be the most enticing to the undead. As he gazed lovingly at the people' groping wounds, Green whispered, "Sarcophilia." "The affection for flesh." The last sign...

"Should we..." Newly afflicted and uncomfortable with her cravings, the Asian woman ventured out.

With his two-foot sword dangling by his side, Tobey declared, "Save the elephant-gun-man for me." He marched over to the trembling, babbling leader and pushed his blade to inflict the coup de grâce.

Green yelled, "Young man, your leg," as the zombies surrounded the dozen dead people. Tobey looked at the cut on his leg and was amazed that it didn't hurt.

"I had no idea... In reality, I didn't feel "Tobey said."

"When you were infected, was there anything else in your bloodstream?" Green asked sneakily. "It could support a theory I was investigating as a doctor, prior to I

"Just..." Abashed, Tobey started. "I no longer require it, Doctor. I feel fine and don't need smack to survive.

With a tone of slight victory, Green remarked, "I think the opiates in the heroin combined with the virus have dulled your nerve cells." "You are incapable of experiencing pain or, for that matter, sexual pleasure."

Tobey gave Green an intense look, smiled curtly, and leaned down to eat his victim. He immediately dug his teeth into the elephant gunman's tender stomach, carefully removing flesh with surgical accuracy. He took out the fat, bloated liver and feasted. He had lost humanity and disgust; the blood evoked an instinctive desire.