A Fate Worse Than Death
Chapter 5
Well, it's been nearly six months since my grand tour of the Red State
nation, now called New Freedom, began. I've appeared in some sixty-two
presentations, and to quote my handler/manager, the good commander, "I'm still
alive and kicking." Despite the fact that we have been in close proximity most
of this period, I know nothing about him, not even his name. In some of my less
lucid moments, I imagine that he would make a fair zombie soldier due to his
fixation that everything involved in this morale building project shall be "by
the book", as he often says.
We've covered the nation starting from what was left of Montgomery, then
following those highways still open to finally reach New Orleans. I was a huge
hit in that city ,especially with its history of things magical and the zombie
tradition that had been brought to that part of the country by settlers from the
Caribbean and Africa. We did two events over a three day span, allowing one day
for me to reconstitute what was left of my body after the first morale building
appearance. By then the event protocol had been totally established. Upon our
arrival there would be a private session for those entrusted with governing the
city, ranking members of the Church of the Crusader and decorated heroes who had
fought bravely in Civil War 3.
No matter where the city, these Red staters that make up the majority of
every private session seem to also be following some type of protocol when it
comes to venting their anger and hatred on me. The commander would make a short
speech addressing whatever significant events occurred in and around the city
during the last civil war, provide some very general information concerning my
role in the war and then introduce me to them. I will be rolled into the meeting
room securely manacled to the metal frame that is an essential part of the
presentation.
To make me less threatening, so I'm told, I'm stark naked, my body oiled
so that it glistens. If you recall my original description of a Mariah, you can
imagine the effect that my totally naked and most vulnerable body produces in
all but only a small fraction of the male population. The thing that is most
amazing is the way the women respond to me. I honestly think that if the makers
of the clone armies had decided that they be female, my side would have been
swept from the field in a matter of months, instead of the nearly three years it
took for things to wind down.
I've never been able to be absolutely confident about why women react so
violently towards me. Yes, I am beautiful and extremely well built. Yes, I and
my fellow zombies have been the cause of many a widow. Yes, I am not white.
These are good reasons for women to be jealous and at the same time hate me for
my "crimes", but I know there is still more beneath the surface. This is what
causes them to totally lose control and attack me with their fists and
fingernails, not to mention the butcher knives, lead pipes, lengths of chain,
hat pins,ice picks and the lady from Biloxi who actually managed to hack two of
my limbs from my body with a hand axe before she was dragged away, screaming and
frothing at the mouth.
The men on the other hand prefer to use their fists, sometimes enhanced
by brass knuckles or spikes, the latter can do some terrible damage in a
superficial sense. I often look over to the commander and can see him wince as
some male tears my face open or worse. It is not pity that causes this reaction,
rather the knowledge on his part that I will have to be allowed some time to
reconstitute myself before I'm turned over to the tender mercies of the
assembled mobs that have come to see me literally torn to pieces before their
very eyes.
In many cases the by invitation only viewing is attended strictly by
men. It is these times when I am raped savagely as they lose all the trappings
of civilization and turn to what mankind must have been like many thousands of
years ago. It is time for the ritualistic mutilation of my femininity, my
breasts sliced and hacked from their moorings, my vagina stabbed and slashed
with huge hunting knives and the like. It is during this frenzy I always go back
to my first encounter with the inbreeds and the one who opened me up with one
pass of his knife; now that was impressive!
Naturally my restraining frame can be turned over to expose my back and
hindquarters for even more violent fun and games. I've had heated pokers
inserted into my anal passage, an item as useful to me as is the appendix for
humans. They've pounded wooden stakes into that tight orifice until it split
apart, and yes, they have sodomized me almost as often as they raped my vagina.
It may sound strange to hear me say this, but after enduring this type of
treatment over and over, I sometimes long for someone with a bit more
inventiveness or originality in what he or she does to my body. Unfortunately
these members of the New Freedom nation are in many respects much closer to the
clones and, yes, even we zombies, in that they lack the capability for
independent action.
What is currently being done to my helpless body is so typical of the
private sessions. Except for the fact that one of my eyes has been popped from
its socket as the result of a blow with what looks like a piece of lead pipe,
it's business as usual. I am amusing myself, so to speak, by predicting exactly
how many slices it will take for them to totally remove my breasts. The ones
working on my right one seem to have more enthusiasm and slightly more muscle
than the group amputating my left breast. It's my guess that the right one will
go first, but the left one will take more cuts to remove it from my chest wall.
As is usually the case, especially after the Biloxi incident, the blood pump has
been disconnected, so the entire process is decidedly sterile, truly bloodless,
although the speaker lodged in my throat is producing some outstanding versions
of the human death agonies as they continue to wittle away on these outstanding
examples of human femininity.
When they are finished venting their lusts on me, it will be time for a
period of reconstitution and then out to the main stage to be torn to pieces
before nearly three thousand Red staters from the area of Oklahoma City. With
some luck I'll be capable of performing tomorrow night in Tulsa, our last stop
before heading south to Little Rock and finally ending this segment of the tour
in Jackson. I've noticed that there are a growing number of hooded and robed
people now attending these "patriotic manifestations of unity", those are the
commander's words not mine. I have a footnote somewhere within the brief
implanted history of the former United States of America that informs me that
these hooded ones are members of a once outlawed secret society called the Ku
Klux Klan, now once more flourishing in the New Freedom nation. I find it
strange since there are no people of color allowed in New Freedom. What is their
charter these days?
To pass the time until my assailants finish with their mutilation of my
private parts, I begin reviewing the last four stops on the tour, recalling what
was done to me at each once the public display took place. Let's see, the tour
started its Texas leg in Longview, reaching it three days after finishing up in
Shreveport, our last stop in Louisiana. We had a pretty good crowd for out
initial stop in what was left of the lone star state. West Texas no longer
existed as far as being a place where life could flourish, and the southern
portion of the state had been obliterated by a combination of nuclear and
chemical weapon attacks.
