6.
‘Hello,’ the Battler said. ‘I suppose it’s nice to see you again, but I really wish it was under better circumstances. At least you’ll have your chance for revenge.’
The zombie’s low moan was enough to make a wild dog’s skin crawl.
‘I actually don’t think I’d mind dying as long as it was by your hands,’ the Battler said.
‘Grrraww. Ssss.’ The zombie, like all the others, did not seem to be the conversational type. Its permanent expression of displeasure said all that it needed to.
‘Are you ready?’ the Battler asked. The zombie seemed to shuffle lightly in response. ‘Okay, let’s go.’
The zombie wore a trench coat, though the Battler had to doubt if it had actually been buried in it. Was it possible that the zombie was intelligent enough to seek out and don such a thing? Perhaps it was simply an instinct left over from its previous self, when it had worn a trench coat every day. Its face had been scarred before, back when it was a living person, but now its face was falling apart as well, becoming a jigsaw puzzle of missing flesh. The Battler remembered the zombie’s progenitor’s eyes being a warm orange back when they flashed with life, but now they were haunting yellow orbs, blind from peering into the infinite abyss of death. Somehow the zombie was smoking a cigarette.
This was what remained of Detective Disposable Archway – the man who had changed the Battler’s life and put his brother in prison. They stood across from each other on Toothpick Street, the main street near the police station. It had been known for some time that Detective Archway’s zombie was hovering around the police station, harassing the prostitutes and generally making everyone uneasy. The zombie had not made any kills yet but everyone believed it was only a matter of time; despite this, however, nobody had made any attempts to take the zombie down. The public perception was that it was more dangerous than the regular run-of-the-mill zombie, probably because Detective Archway’s journals had been made public shortly after his death, albeit in slightly censored form, and revealed that Disposable had known far more about the zombies than anyone had thought possible at the time. It was this intimate knowledge of the zombies that made Detective Archway’s walking corpse more frightening – it meant it had the ability to work with its strengths and weaknesses to further its own survival.
This was what the public supposed, anyway. It explained why the zombie detective merely lingered ghostlike in the vicinity of the precinct whereas the other zombies blindly ate human flesh and rended their victims asunder. The Battler had hoped that some other vigilante would come along to take care of Disposable’s zombie, but all the other vigilantes quickly became zombies themselves and had to be taken care of by the Battler. Now he was the only one left. He decided he would take care of Disposable’s corpse himself, the most fearful of all the zombies, to show people that anyone could rise up to help fight against the zombie epidemic; as long as they knew what they were doing, anyway.
There were neon red umbrellas littered across the ground, left behind by fleeing pedestrians. They caused the ground to glow. Rain kept cutting in and out, as it always did, forever unsure if it wanted to pour or if it wanted to drizzle. The zombie detective smelled like wet rotting meat, but that was why the Battler now wore smell filters that allowed him to breathe without taking in the vomit-inducing stench.
It was time to battle. The Battler began stepping nimbly between the umbrellas, not once taking his eyes off the zombie. When he started closing in, he bent down and then threw up several opened umbrellas to work as cover, distracting the zombie as he whipped around to its back and uppercut its spinal cord. This stretched out the zombie’s neck and caused its head to wobble, and in fact the zombie’s head spun around so that the Battler was looking up at the detective’s unimpressed face.
‘Graagh,’ the zombie roared, spitting blood and pus onto the Battler’s mask. Then it bared its jagged yellow teeth, which looked sharp enough to cut through diamonds. The Battler quickly punched its neck, tearing through the flesh, meat and bone, and the zombie’s head popped off, becoming a large ball of teeth and death. The Battler quickly tried to dodge but lost an ear in the process.
The zombie’s body fell lifelessly to the ground, though the Battler was sure it was a trap. He tried not to touch the bloody stump where his ear used to be. The zombie’s head was rolling around on the ground and seemed eager to bite at the Battler’s feet, so the Battler danced away from it, grabbed an umbrella and impaled the stubborn head with it. Then he grabbed umbrellas and speared the zombie’s body with it, filling it like a pincushion. There was blood and pus and neon red everywhere.
Pedestrians, prostitutes and police officers all came out of hiding, gathering around the bloodied Battler. They all wanted to thank him, but all he wanted to do was breathe. He pulled off his mask, though it hurt like hell when it brushed against his ear stump. The rain felt like the kisses of angels as it hit his skin.
‘Who are you?’ somebody asked him in awe.
‘I don’t have a name,’ the Battler said, but then he decided to change his answer once he saw how disappointed the crowd was with it. ‘I’m everybody here – I battle for you because you battle for me. Now it’s time for us to end this.’
Everyone nodded and grabbed an umbrella, some pulling the umbrellas out of Detective Disposable Archway’s peaceful, headless corpse.
The war waged on and was eventually won, battle by battle, with the remains of the zombies being sent to the centre of the earth. The Battler never revealed his true identity, instead opting to live quietly as the president of Charlie Drink, which he drank every day. He married his girlfriend but only after she forced him to get a synthetic ear, and they eventually had a child, a son they named Disposable Archway.
The Battler never achieved immortality, not even through fame. But that was fine. He knew that the only thing that lasts forever is death, and he had experienced enough death to last him a lifetime.
Part 1
Part 2
Part 3
Part 4