Like a Drug

In the dark silence of the Armory, Brant leaned close to his pal and whispered, "Mike." With the exception of patrolling officers sweeping flashlights across aisles of mattresses and sleeping bags, the refugees slept undisturbed.

"Yes, Brant?" In response, Mike awoke and sat up to confront him.

With quivering fingertips, Brant blurted out, "I can't continue like this." "I feel terrible. I want to kill and consume people when I see them. Jenna, I want to murder you, but I'm resisting.

Mike whispered, "Let me see the wound." When Brant removed his sleeve, he saw a scratch that had turned a bright scarlet. "That appears to be infected."

"I know, I know!" Brant's voice rose in panic as he snapped. I'm driven by a desire for people, not food. I once believed that others were sentient beings just like me. I wonder now what their blood tastes like.

"Have you already killed anyone?" Mike inquired warily.

Brant admitted, "No, but I'm afraid I can't control it." "I really crave it—it's like a drug." Do you think that just we are aware? Does Jenna have any suspicions?

"I'm positive. Mike soothed Brant, "Don't worry. "You're still human at your core; you're simply suffering from a terrible illness. I'll carry it to my grave, and only you and I know.

With a tone of relaxation, Brant responded, "Thanks, man, thanks."

"Just go to sleep. Don't think about it," Mike said. "They'll find a cure, and things will improve." Try your hardest to avoid killing or infecting anyone.

"Thanks, I will," Brant said as he eased back onto his cot. With a stab of terror in his chest, Mike watched him fall into a sound sleep. He laid next to a zombie, but this was patriotic father of a baby girl, Brant Dicambrio.

He felt a pallid cloud of anxiety. He turned over, slipped his revolver under his covers, and snapped the slide back, giving himself over to sleep.

"Is she here?" Tobey inquired.

Robson said, "Yes, it is," while carrying the body of a young zombie woman on his shoulders. Previously a priest, he was now Tobey's confidant and a vicious killer of those who were not afflicted. In Fort Lee Park, where Tobey's group had established a makeshift stronghold, he dumped the body upon the grass. Named for their leader, the Tobeyans were rapidly becoming known as a formidable group of fighters.

"We're fighting a Bronx tribe led by a man named Kesslers, but our Tobeyans have hit civilians in Fort Lee," Robson said. Additionally, an American mortar and machine-gun attack yesterday night almost destroyed Vedders' group.

Tobey moaned, staring at the body Robson had brought—Angel—"less competition for us."

Although he couldn't be positive, she was emaciated, with a dirty face and a thin, ashen body that suggested a user's life. After infecting Tobey, Angel died the morning before during the zombies' suicidal attack on Farrell's trenches close to Route 9W. He was unaware that she had been killed by John Gordy's hollow-point bullets, which had passed through her stomach and back twice.

Tobey stated to Robson, who was leaning against a worn park bench, "She turned me into a zombie." "I've heard that she fell at 9W with a group. She merits some acknowledgment.

A rough voice rasped, "Tobey!" When the lank-haired Briton looked up, he saw four warriors on either side of a square-jawed, scarred zombie that was advancing on him. "Give me a word, Toddy!"

"Yes, Vedders?" Tobey gave a polite response. High-ranking Tobeyans observed with fascination as Robson backed away. Vedders, short and frail, made up for it by carrying a.22 Luger and cutlass. Armed with WWII Army helmets and swords, his four guards stood firmly.

With an accusing finger, Vedders yelled, "The Army massacred almost all of my men last night." "Your zombies denied the remaining 100 people food, causing them to starve! In the suburbs, my warriors and I ambushed some citizens, but your Variant Cs pointed weapons at us and ordered us to leave. My men require flesh and blood, thus they prevented us from feeding!

"And?" Tobey inquired in a sarcastic tone.

"And I insist that your men retreat so that mine can eat!" Vedders drew his Luger and hissed, his growl mock-tough.

Tobey quickly took his sword out of its scabbard and slashed Vedders' arm deeply. "Death the assailants!" he bellowed. The guards of Vedders pulled out blades, prepared to die for their boss. Tobey's men, including Robson, defended themselves by brandishing pistols and sabers.

Vedders' brains were blasted into jelly between his eyes when Tobey leveled the fallen Luger and fired. A dozen Tobeyans charged into the battle while Robson leaped at the guards brandishing a tomahawk.

Robson was breaking down his opponent piece by piece while Tobey swung his sword and cleaved guards apart. Tobey's team slew the five Vedderites, leaving bloody husks on the immaculate grass, in front of the neutral zombies observing from across the park.

Tobey severed Vedders' head and raised it for everyone to see, saying, "Let me be clear—I don't tolerate threats." "Don't dare draw a gun on me if you have territorial or feeding rights issues; instead, talk to me like a man."

"Talk to Vedders' hundred survivors," Tobey commanded, turning to Robson, who was covered in blood from his vicious attack. Try to get them to join the Tobeyans. Otherwise, murder them.

Robson said, "I will, sir," and then he left after giving a salute, which he had never done before.

The zombie hierarchy was governed by a single law: protect your rights or forfeit them. Leaders had no place for weakness or slave morality. Due to a lack of food, the tribes had to be strong to capture human prey. The loss of Vedders reduced the number of leaders, which strengthened Tobey's position of power. He did, however, predict a brief period of harmony between the groups.

With its soft waves cutting through the county park's sloping meadows, Overpeck Creek flowed calmly. A granite and rock monument stood at the far end of the field, dewy in the fall dusk.

It was topped with an American flag bearing the names of the people killed on September 11, 2001. Embossed inscriptions honoring the dead glinted in the rising moon as flowers grew along its base.

John Gordy, down to his final M-16 clip, pressed his shoulder against the stone. Running over the dark field to join him was Daniel Pressley.

“Have you seen them?” With a pant, Pressley dropped next to Gordy, his weapon aimed at the darkness.

"No," Gordy answered.

How is the rearguard doing?

Pressley said, "We're leaving Leonia to the zombies and crossing Overpeck." "Delany and Ignatio will be here shortly; they are on their way back from the Civic Center."