Xombies: Apocalypso by Walter Greatshell Read Free Book Online

silence—the truth of it was plain to all.
    Langhorne continued, “Obviously, this is uncharted territory. We’re not only reinventing ourselves, we’re inventing an entirely new mode of existence—one that goes far beyond anything our human psyches can comprehend. It’s not a damn makeover. The only frame of reference we have is mythical: zombies, vampires, angels—that kind of Hollywood baloney. We all know the reality is not quite so … glamorous. We think something profound is going to happen, some kind of Armageddon, and we were altered to survive it. So we’re just hanging around, waiting for the other shoe to drop. Cosmic loitering. And if we’re not careful, we’ll all disappear right up our own black holes.”
    Julian Noteiro stepped forward. “So what did Lulu suggest?”
    “That we need a new script to follow—something that touches upon all the basic aspects of human society without all the oppressive limitations of that society. A stylebook that we can live by, day to day, to keep our humanity intact. So we don’t lose it.”
    “You mean like the Bible?”
    “Not exactly.” Langhorne picked up a stack of magazines out of a carton and slapped them down on the table. They were old comic books with titles like LOVE and PEP and PALS ’N’ GALS . “Lulu was thinking of something a little easier—something more along these lines.”
    The crowd came forward, inspecting the comics as though they were peculiar alien artifacts. Inside the box were many more comics, as well as vintage paperback books and DVDs of old television shows. On top were discs of The Andy Griffith Show and I Love Lucy .
    Langhorne said, “Let’s get started, shall we?”
     
    I sat alone in the dark, reminiscing as I watched dawn creep over the horizon.
    Xombies didn’t sleep. Nor could it be said that we were ever truly awake—not in the human sense. Xombies did not live in the present. Our minds wandered freely in time and space; they drifted in and out. I knew the human conception of reality was a façade erected by mortal minds to block contact with the inconceivable vastness of genuine reality. Living creatures needed this mechanism in order to forget they were doomed. Xombies did not. So in that sense it could be said that Xombies were deeply awake and that human consciousness was a mode of dreaming. A delusion.
    My mother came back to me again and again. This time we were driving to McDonald’s in a borrowed Cadillac. I remembered: My mother got a job working as a housekeeper for a family in Lake Tahoe. It was a large house on a remote mountain road, and I shared a cozy room over the garage with the children of the family who owned the place. The three girls welcomed me like a sister, and their unexpected generosity filled my parched heart. Even the local elementary school was incredible, a woodsy, progressive place where the kids were friendly and the teachers funny and sane. One day, while the family was away, I made the mistake of trying to climb a steep gravel bluff, lost my footing, and slid to the bottom, badly skinning both knees. My mother found me bleeding on the doorstep and rushed me to the bathtub, where she washed the wounds and dabbed them with Mercurochrome. Once I was patched up, stiff with pain, my mother said, You know what this means, don’t you?
    What? I sniffled.
    You get a wish. A freebie.
    I was propped on the couch in front of the TV, watching pornographic close-ups of golden fries. I want a Filet-O-Fish, I said.
    Honey, the nearest McDonald’s is fifty miles away.
    What about the Caddy? I meant the family Cadillac, a pristine black limo that never left the garage except on the most special occasions—the Baxters used their two other cars for getting around. The Caddy was strictly for show.
    Lulu, you know I’m not allowed to use that car. Mr. Baxter specifically said so.
    My tone turned tragic; waifish tears welled up. Why not? It’s just a quick ride into town and back. They’ll never