Archive for FaL – After the Bomb

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Zombies and Loathing: Part 10 – The Next Step

by on July 10, 2012 at 2:59 pm
Posted In: FaL - After the Bomb, Fiction, Keith

zombiefistGood morning and happy day. I say happy day not because the world is happy; it most certainly is not. The world has gone to hell, this isn’t news. What is news and the source of my own personal, albeit certainly fleeting, happiness is that I am very much alive. My faithful readers are surely happier than zombies at a genocide. As you have read, the past 24 hours have not been kind to old St-Brigid. However, things are looking up. The only thing remaining is to turn my energies towards cashing the cheque my mouth has recently written. It’s not that I’m not good for it. Don’t you worry, I will tear down the power structure in this mockery of modern society. The problem, as it has always been, is finding an appropriate time and method for my hydrogen bomb of truth.

My new associate has provided me with a safehouse and the promise of greased palms and suborned law enforcement to facilitate the next step. With the last of the drugs out of my system I am finally thinking clearly again. That reminds me, I need to see a man about some pre-Collapse military grade stims. Wasting 8 hours of every day sleeping seems criminally negligent given the situation I’ve found myself in. In order for the next step to work I will need to be as unyielding as the undead. After my run in at the bar I realize that the outside world has grown impossibly more hostile towards the champions of truth. I would be a fool to waste any amount of time in taking the plunge into political upheaval. ↓ Read the rest of this entry…

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Zombies and Loathing: Part 9 – The Agreement

by on July 5, 2012 at 4:22 pm
Posted In: FaL - After the Bomb, Fiction, Keith

zombiefist“Do I need to repeat myself?”

The faceless man tilts his head slightly in the direction of the ten foot mass of muscle that had just busted my face open. A behemoth of a man; I can imagine that a concoction of muscle enhancers and supplements have all but replaced the blood coursing through his veins. They’ve probably also significantly decreased both his capacity for independent reason along with his ability to get an erection. I think I’ll call him Darlene.

Darlene cracks his knuckles in a theatrical display straight out of a pre-Collapse gangster movie. He licks his lips and grins. He wants me to think that he’s going to enjoy working me over. I know the type though, chances are the thing he would enjoy the most would be getting dolled up like a girl and sodomized (possibly by his boss) while his mother spanks him. He performs an equally elaborate demonstration of cracking his neck.

I feel my mental faculties returning to me. I can’t let this man know what I know about Conroy. Even if he’s an ally there are some secrets that are best kept from as many as possible for as long as possible. Passage into the city was one thing, a necessity. This situation? Not so much. I’m banking on the fact that this man has severely underestimated my resistance to narcotics of all kinds. The fact that I’m even seeing straight in this moment is probably an advantage he isn’t even aware that I’m enjoying. I need to buy myself more time, let the toxins diminish. I turn to Darlene.

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Fear and Loathing After The Bomb – Part 8: Into the Black

by on June 26, 2012 at 10:07 pm
Posted In: FaL - After the Bomb, Fiction, Keith

zombiefistThe faceless man’s smile fades and again his face is completely featureless. I try to take some sort of a hold of the hallucinogens coursing through my body to will some sort of a face onto the blank slate. It is useless. Either the man has no face or the drugs have taken such a hold that I am only a passenger. It makes no difference if he is friend or foe; I am about to moved forward in time at the mercy of outside forces.

I try to imagine he is a friend. The infinitesimal part of my consciousness that has a grasp on reality does me the great service of reminding me that I have no friends. Only enemies and temporary allies. Fuck you, brain. No wonder zombies want to eat brains so badly, their whole lives they’ve been governed by a single organ that routinely sends them down idiotic and fruitless paths until they die. What more could you want than to devour the agent of all of man’s follies? We would have done better staying monkeys. Fuck the brain.

The faceless man’s skeleton hand takes my own and he leads me away from the bar. It comforts me. To be holding someone’s hand on the march towards damnation. Where else would he be leading me? A darkened endless corridor stretches out before us as I risk another glance back to the perceived safety of the bar. Six men are being led to the back room, they are already completely nude. I see past the lies in their smiles. Deep into the pit of horror that is just behind their eyes. One of these men is about to die. All bravado is for show. There is no courage here. One will have his dick chewed off and die or turn. Five will promptly forget about their companion’s fate as some diseased whore sucks them off. ↓ Read the rest of this entry…

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Fear and Loathing After the Bomb 7: Gloryhole

by on June 7, 2012 at 2:06 pm
Posted In: FaL - After the Bomb, Fiction, Keith

zombiefistFed up and disgusted by the spectacle that takes place on a daily basis at the gates of New Bunker, I grease the wheels of the machine and pass through it like unwanted shit and fall into the cesspool of humanity that is this supposedly great city. I’m supposed to meet some shadowy figure in a  recondite little bar that I will omit the name of for the safety of everyone involved. How this meeting will occur is a puzzle that I can’t quite make sense of. I don’t know who this person is, and as I’ve said before, there’s about as many people who know what yours truly looks like as there are survivors of a zombie bite. The whole thing makes me nervous and has my stomach in knots. As almost an afterthought I realize that I’m actually in a bar. It’s been years since I’ve had the pleasure of imbibing  anything other than home-made moonshine. I catch the bartender’s eye with a lazy gesture and order whatever passes for scotch.

It is then when I take notice of the evenings’ entertainment.  ↓ Read the rest of this entry…

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Fear and Loathing After the Bomb 6: The Price of Admission

by on May 31, 2012 at 4:50 pm
Posted In: FaL - After the Bomb, Fiction, Keith

zombiefistAfter slumming it in the caverns beneath New Bunker for a few days I finally have a few leads and am ready to make my way into hostile enemy territory.  I reflect a moment on my predicament, I have nowhere to go except directly into the city. The city run by a man who wants me dead. The city built piece by piece from scum skimmed from the pot of greed and gluttony that feeds desperate humans’ base desires. I’m looking forward to it really.

I spent some time watching the meat grinder that is the public entrance to New Bunker. With hundreds arriving per day and only dozens allowed admission, sections of the caves and tunnels have degenerated into a slipshod refugee camp, an entire sub-city. With the help of a few guards sympathetic to my cause I can come and go as I please from these areas. I keep my head down and observe the demoralized system that keeps this city alive. I can’t help but be amused that even though Conroy knows I’m here, he cannot seem to find me. Those few who know my identity know better than to sell me out. They’ve got a bigger reward coming their way if they play along. ↓ Read the rest of this entry…

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Fear and Loathing After the Bomb: Part 5 – The Filth of the Living

by on May 22, 2012 at 2:31 pm
Posted In: FaL - After the Bomb, Fiction, Keith

zombiefistCitizens of New Bunker! I have not even yet breached the walls of your city with my insuppressible canon of truth and already I have been exposed to atrocities committed by the very hands of your leader Vincent Conroy! I suppose if you don’t live in New Bunker you can just skip this column all together. Of course I’m kidding you fool! The state of things in this city are surely indicative of the plight of us all. In some varying degree we are all oppressed by those who would deceive us with their greed and play upon our fears.

The logistics of your city has always baffled me. New Bunker is one of the largest settlements in the world. I have heard estimates that nearly a hundred thousand are found within its walls, though much fewer calls it home. Most settlements cap their population at under a thousand. New Bunker indulges one hundred times that number. Indulge it does.  People come and go. New Bunker thrives for one reason and one reason alone: it is one of the last places on Earth where you can descend into the base activities that have corrupted humanity since the day we realized that there were two great feelings in the world. Fucking like animals and getting something for nothing.

Prostitution and gambling. ↓ Read the rest of this entry…

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Fear and Loathing After the Bomb: Part 4 – A Walk in the Park

by on May 16, 2012 at 1:48 pm
Posted In: FaL - After the Bomb, Fiction, Keith

zombiefistDay 5:
The following is a minimally edited transcript of the digital voice recording I dictated while passing through a dense horde of the walking dead as I drew close to New Bunker:

As I mentioned previously, the entire valley is packed with unyielding walking corpses, hungry for human flesh. I can’t be certain, but I would imagine that they are congregating towards the flaming remains of the small settlement I called home. Hold still you filthy fucking undead motherfucker, I will fucking kill you for a second ti-

*The next few seconds are incomprehensible, mostly due to the loud buzzing of the chainknife detaching head from neck*

-onroy has another thing coming to him if he thinks I’ll just lie down and let him walk all over me. I may not be the heir of a pre-Collapse oil empire but I have something he doesn’t have: an uncanny and unyielding eye for the truth. I will stop at nothing! Nothing I say! His lies and greed will be exposed and the life of comfort he lives from high atop the mountain of corpses and hollowed husks of humanity will be stripped away from him. A new era of peace and freedom for the good city of New Bunker! ↓ Read the rest of this entry…

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Fear and Loathing After the Bomb: The Smell of Death

by on May 1, 2012 at 6:02 pm
Posted In: FaL - After the Bomb, Fiction, Keith

Day 3:
I made good time through the hills, a day of brisk travel and I was ready to begin my descent. Travelling through elevated ground is always cathartic. Even the slightest of inclines is often enough to dissuade one of the undead from going any further. A zombie stumbles or slips a few too many times and whatever locomotive automaton drive that propels the thing switches from “straight line” to “go around”. Unless there’s a sure chance of fresh meat, no zombie will exert themselves in their directionless wanderings. I dream of one day retiring to a self-sufficient mountain cabin, miles above the altitude any zombie would conceivably reach.

Bring a fresh corpse into the picture and you’ve got another story. Some years ago I saw the most amazing feat of disorganized chaos from a horde of undead. A group of survivors had holed up in a 3 story building. The first two floors had the windows bricked off, reinforced, exterior and interior stairs completely destroyed. Garden on the roof and ample supply of rations, the only way to come and go would be a rope ladder lowered from the roof. They could have survived this way forever, small group that they were. Completely off the radar. No militia to pay “protection” money to. Far and removed from gang warfare. Far enough away from any of the major settlements or perverse “cities” that they could avoid becoming tainted by the sick and twisted souls that inhabit those places. ↓ Read the rest of this entry…

Fear and Loathing After The Bomb: The Road Never Travelled

by on April 24, 2012 at 7:10 am
Posted In: FaL - After the Bomb, Fiction, Keith

zombiefistI will spare you the more mundane details of the past seven days of my trip to New Bunker, the only so called city I could conceivably walk to from my own shit hole of an outpost. The journal I’m keeping tracks everything from my bowel movements to what the variety of insects I forced into my mouth tasted like. For you, I have saved only the entries relevant to my ongoing commentary on this fucked up, corrupted filthy world that we call home:

Day 1:
My presence in my little community must have had a more calming effect than I had previously perceived.

It took me the better part of a day to travel the 50-odd kilometers to the mountain range. I feel as though I could’ve made better time had I not indulged in effectuating a little test of the chain-knife I had pilfered from the still warm corpse of a New American Pirate. NAPs seem to think that by ripping off and bastardizing the fashion and ethical sensibilities of nautical pirates from 400 years ago and tacking on the concept of a “New America”, they’re somehow a cut above the average run-of-the-mill organized group of psychopaths. The irony, surely lost on its members, is that there is nothing new about the combination of America and piracy. The poor fuck looked out of time and out of place, hundreds of kilometers from the sea, hundreds of years away from a time his clothing made any sort of practical sense.

He must’ve been “marooned”. Poor sap probably had no idea he was only 30 km from a twisted sort of civilization. ↓ Read the rest of this entry…

Fear and Loathing After the Bomb: Introducing St-Brigid

by on April 17, 2012 at 8:45 am
Posted In: FaL - After the Bomb, Fiction, Keith

zombiefistThese fucking kids. Before the Collapse, before the zombies, before society went to hell in the handbasket that sways back and forth in the clutches of only the cruelest and most cut-throat of the ‘survivors’, before any of this shit; kids had video games. Children, by their nature, are violent assholes. Lock two kids up in a room for a couple of days I will guarantee you that one or both will be dead when you get back. Maybe their grubby little hands will be around each other’s throats, locked in an adorable double-murder. Or maybe one, greedier and crueler than the other, will end up ankle deep in the entrails and viscera of the other. Worse, he’ll have a smile on his face, a real shit eating grin (the fact that he may have also resorted to actual shit-eating only a part of the problem) like he had done nothing wrong. Fucking kids.

As the 20th century came to a close and the 21st century came kicking and screaming into existence (assuming that the savvy reader of my articles still uses the Gregorian calendar and not some either ancient and useless or modern and useless measurement of chronology) we found that the way to temper these violent little shits’ predilection for killing each other was with video games. Digital wars were waged in their living rooms and other than spouting racial and sexual slurs and profanity at each other, not a single larval human being was harmed. ↓ Read the rest of this entry…

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