Man's New Best Friend
I never thought I'd be one of those people. You know, the ones who get all choked up over a pet. But here I am, trudging through the desolate streets of New Chicago, with my zombie, Fred, limping along beside me. The sun’s setting, casting long shadows over the ruins, and I’m on my way to see the necromancer. It’s time to put Fred down.
Fred wasn’t always a zombie. When I picked him up, he had a little placard in his pants pocket that said he was from a small suburb and was something called a “certified public accountant” back in the before times (whatever that means). But I never knew “Fred the accountant with two children and three ex-wives, who owned a pontoon boat on Lake Michigan”. To me, Fred was more than just another run-of-the-mill zombie, he was my friend.
In this world, where the comforts of my grandparents and great-grandparents are long gone, we make do with what we’ve got. So when I saw this chubby, bald, cutie with decaying eyes chewing on a severed foot in the abandoned Walmart parking lot, I knew he was special. But house-breaking zombies is no easy task. Obviously, there are certain risks involved, especially when it comes to training. It’s important to reinforce good behaviors and punish bad ones. Chase of an ambitious scavenger? Good. Try to nibble off my ear while I sleep? Bad. But Fred had a simple gentleness about him that made training a breeze.
Walking through the skeletal remains of the city, I think back to all the times Fred kept me company. The nights were the hardest, with the howling wind and the memories of what used to be. Fred was there, a silent sentinel, his groans a comforting reminder that I wasn’t alone. We’d sit by the fire, and I’d talk to him about the old world — the one with bustling cities, movie theaters, and the smell of fresh bread. Fred would listen, his vacant eyes fixed on me, and for a moment, I could pretend things were normal.
He used to love watching old movies. Any time we put on someone named “Will Ferrell”, Fred would make deep, undulating groans as if he were excited. Oddly enough, he was not a fan of scary movies and would hiss and claw at the screen whenever I made him watch one.
Fred wasn’t always the most playful or even the most cuddly zombie, but he was always keen on finishing all of his dinner. So when he barely touched his raw deer meat, I knew it was only a matter of time. The Necromancer warned me this would happen. Despite popular belief, Zombies aren’t made to last forever. It doesn’t matter if you’re dead, alive, or something in between - your time here is temporary.
Aside from his diminished appetite, I also started noticing some odd behavior from Fred. He’d lost a spark. The things that used to give him joy – chasing and catching birds, chewing on femurs, moshing with the hordes at the Zombie park, etc. – no longer interested him. He’d sit most days propped by the window, gazing out over the burnt silhouette of a skyline and sighing with a low growl versus his usual prideful snarl.
I’d start finding little bits of his fingers and toes all over the apartment – which, granted, he did only have a few intact digits when I met him, but still, I knew we had hours not days.
When we arrived at the Necromancer, the waiting room was full. I go to check us in with the cloaked wraith who hands me a clipboard.
“Ezekiel will be with you momentarily. Please wait.”
We go and find a seat in the corner to get some privacy. Most of the zombies snarl at each other in front of their masters, but good old Fred just sits at my feet, quietly groaning. I pet his head gently as the last remnants of his ear crack off onto the floor. Looking around, I can’t help but take in the sympathetic looks of other owners who know what I’m here for. And somehow in their half-sincere and silent sympathies, I find comfort. It’s really amazing when you think about life and death in this broken world. We’ve lost so much, and yet, we’ve adapted. We’ve turned our nightmares into our companions. And as I watch Fred struggle to breathe, It’s a strange, twisted reminder of our resilience, that even in this hellscape, we find ways to care and connect.
“Fred. R?” the cloaked wraith calls out. I take a deep breath and help Fred to his feet, which he now drags across the tiled floor and past the door into an examination room. Ezekiel, the Necromancer, wore a long white lab coat on top of a ragged shawl of torn linen with an assortment of trinkets and gems hanging from his neck.
“Ah, hello old friend. How are we feeling today?”
Ezekiel reached into a mason jar full of severed toes and offered one to Fred who shooed him away with a snarl. The Necromancer stroked his chin curiously.
“Perhaps we’ll try something else…”
Ezekiel began rummaging through cabinets until he happened upon a half-open container of some yellowy sponge wrapped in plastic called a “Twinkie”. Fred lit up at the sight and snarfed the whole thing down in one bite.
“Hmm, unfortunately, it’s as I suspected. Fred has reached the end of the line.”
“Wait!” I insisted. “But you got him to eat!”
Ezekiel shook his head.
“It’s not uncommon that Zombies begin to show signs of regression to their original human forms towards the end of their life cycles. Each day he exists is more agonizing than the last.”
He placed a reassuring hand on my shoulder. “It’s just his time. Are you ready?”
I do my best to choke back tears and nod. With that, the Necromancer began his ritual, chanting in a language I don’t understand and sprinkling all sorts of powders and elixirs into Fred’s drooling mouth. Soon, his snarling relaxes and the runes that Ezekiel has placed on the table begin to glow blue. The blue light grows stronger and stronger as Ezekiel finishes his chanting. For a brief moment, Fred’s once-red eyes look pearly white and he glances over to see mine full of tears and I swear I can see the faintest stretching along the edges of his mouth. Perhaps it was a smile or perhaps I just wanted it to be, but with that, Ezekiel blows a fine powder over Fred and a long breath passes through his body.
Now I sit at his favorite park bench, his cremated remains in hand, and gaze out upon the pack of feral dogs tearing apart the remains of a deer carcass. I can’t help but smile at the site. Fred loved chasing off the feral dogs. He was always so proud whenever he got there in time to pick off the last bits of skin from the bone. In a dark and twisted world, we should all be so lucky to have a friend like Fred.