A Fate Worse Than Death
Chapter 7
We were on the last leg of the tour, making our way toward Little Rock
after a show in Tulsa. The commander had been acting strangely ever since we
arrived in Tulsa. Everytime we were alone, he would stare at me and then smile.
This behavior was totally out of character for him. Yesterday he actually sat
down and had a conversation of sorts with me. Naturally it was rather one-sided,
but I took in every word and tried to interprete as best I could what this
decidedly odd behavior meant. I remember his opening words perfectly.
"I'll bet you are one bored terrorist zombie these days. Just how many
ways are there to do you in? All these nasty things that people do to you must
be like water off a duck's back. If only you could be a participant in this
great show of pariotic unity, knowing and feeling what it must have been like to
fight and suffer for your cause. This is one of the reasons that I dislike you
so much. You have absolutely no emotions, no feelings. It's like you have this
boring job in a factory and you are punching a timeclock every day for the rest
of eternity. That's not the way for any sentinent being, even a zombie like you,
to exist."
Feelings and emotions were foreign to my kind. We were designed
expressly to do one function and do it well. The concept of boredom did not
exist in my makeup. I was either active or inactive. To my way of viewing my
current situation, I was active. I was continuously gaining new knowledge about
my prey; knowledge that would make me even more efficient once I freed myself
from the current state. The more I pondered the commander's words, the more
interested I became in understanding them. I bided my time and awaited more
information that he might provide.
The following day was quite arduous. We were required to take a number
of very challenging excursions from our planned itinerary, and made little
progress in reaching our destination. We encamped for the night, not willing to
risk traveling under what were adverse conditions of terrain. Once more the
commander settled down to have one of these strange "chats" with me. The
modification that had been made to install the speaker in place of my vocal
cords had made it impossible for me to speak, even if I was so inclined. He
continued to ramble about my lack of feeling, saying it was more evidence that I
was not one of god's creations.
I am not much for philosophy, except for logic. The rest of it is not
part of what I need to accomplish my objective. However I still struggled to try
to understand this new vector that was coming from the commander. Perhaps
understanding its meaning would aid in escaping from this current situation,
something upon which I was totally focused. Just before he ended this latest
sitdown, which is what he called it, he mentioned that once we reached Little
Rock, I would be meeting with two representatives from the New Freedom office of
technology. He went out of his way to make certain that I understood that this
meeting would not be part of the usual private sessions that were always held
upon our arrival in a new city.
It was almost sundown before we reached our destination, escorted for
the last hour or so by a number of motorized local militia. In a most unexpected
move I was reunited with my body, even though there was no private session or
show scheduled for this evening. I realized this was in preparation for my
meeting with the two persons from the New Freedom government. Surrounded by over
a dozen well armed militia, I was transported on my frame to a building located
some distance from where our trailer was parked.
There were two humans waiting for me as it turned out. They introduced
themselves as Drs. Stanton and Wylie, formerly members of the Neurological
Research Department of the now defunct University of Texas at Austin, which was
just a crater that glowed in the darkness. At first this meant nothing to me,
but as they started to decribe the type of research they had been doing and now
were continuing under the aegis of the New Freedom defense department, it became
apparent that there was a direct and terrible connection between what they had
achieved and my continued existence.
Even as they hurriedly explained what type of research they were doing
and its ramifications, I could see that the sight of my bound and very bare body
was having a decided effect on the younger of the two. He finally could no
longer stand the distraction that I was causing. It was obvious that he fell
into that category of human males that were strongly attracted sexually to my
appearance, a tribute to the Blue state designers who came up with me. He walked
over to where I lay and stared down at me, his breathing now rapid.
"I've seen plenty of pictures of the Mariah zombie, but they hardly do
this one justice. I have to admit that if she was human, I'd be all over her in
nothing flat. Those tits are extraordinary and I hear that her pussy is superior
to any woman on the planet. I have this on good authority from the few
survivors of sexual contact with the Mariah class zombie that we managed to
interview before their deaths." The older of the two laughed and chided his
companion.
"Come off it Dr Stanton, you're not kidding me. Let's be honest; you'd
love to tear off a piece of this sexy death machine, especially this one who is
the last of its kind and utterly helpless to prevent you from nailing her good
and proper. I'm sure the commander would be a gentleman and look the other way
while you and I made a few personal observations of her sexual abilities so that
we could incorporate the data into our future work. After all it is for the good
of the New Freedom nation."
A few minutes later after the two of them had satisfied their curiosity
concerning my sexual prowess, and returned to what they came to discuss with the
commander, things stopped making sense to me. They kept referring to
experimental work they had done on the "brains" of other Mariah zombies that
gave strong evidence that the use of prions, which they described as pure
protein that did not possess either RNA or DNA, caused substantial changes in
the zombies' brains. These changes occurred thousands of times faster than in
normal tissue since like the prions, the matter composing zombies' brains lacked
any genetic coding that typically determined how normal tissue developed.
The commander , who was not an educated man, did not completely accept
what they said, since he knew for a fact that a great deal of my body was now
composed of cadavers and animal matter, both of which were "normal" tissue. The
two neurologists dismissed his argument out of hand, stating that the zombie
brain would not accept traditional genetically coded tissue, despite the less
than perfect composition of the zombie's body. I began to lose interest in this
strange discussion until the two men finally got around to what they wished to
do to me in order to prove their premise about the use of prions to modify the
ability of the zombie to experience sensory stimulation.
Now I was once more paying very close attention to what they were
saying. I was also applying as much effort as I dared to testing the strength of
the bonds that held my body down onto the transportation frame. I had been
performing this exercise every chance I got ever since the tour began. I
reasoned that if I continued to apply force to my bonds, ultimately I might
weaken them sufficiently to allow me to break free. Of course I still had to
somehow immobilize the commander to prevent him from detonating the small charge
of plastic explosive buried deep within my brain. Then I might have a chance to
make a run for it and escape into the countryside. I still had not figured a way
to cloak my movements from being detected by the national surveillance system,
but that was a problem that was more tractable than the other two. One had to
wonder just how reliable such a system might be, considering the damage that had
occurred throughout what was left of the old United States of America.
The more I listened to what was being said, the more I realized that my
window of opportunity , which had originally been years, may now be rapidly
closing. The two men had produced a document that the comander was reading. From
the expression on his face and the stiffness of his body, it was apparent that
he did not like what he was reading. Finally he looked up from the document and
glared at the two.
"According to these orders, I am to immediately terminate the tour and
allow you to join my caravan as it returns to the capital by the quickest and
most prudent route available. We, in turn, will be joined by members of the
motorized Mississippi militia at a yet to be determined location, to provide
additional security for its valuable cargo, to wit, the zombie known as Mariah
47. Upon arrival at the capital city, control of the Mariah 47 zombie will be
transferred to the office of Technology Development. I wish to communicate with
my organization to verify the accuracy of what this document contains."
The commander had the militia stand guard over me while he used the
transmitter located on the outskirts of the city to contact his chain of command
for instructions concerning the document he had just received. There was nothing
I could do under these circumstances except bide my time. This however did not
prevent the militia and the two scientists from using me sexually. I took this
opportunity, while they were so occupied, to once more evaluate the probability
of breaking free, eliminating this group, and fleeing. The plan was too high
risk to attempt at this time. I had no way to be sure that I could take the
commander by surprise, meaning a high probability that I would be destroyed.
The commander did not return that night. However I had plenty of company
to keep me busy and out of trouble. Those were the words that the two
scientists used as they watched the militia take turns using me. A number of
times while this "ritual" took place I was sorely tempted to free myself and end
this charade. However I had to wait until the commander returned, since he was
the key to a successful escape. Once the militia were satiated, they left me to
the tender mercies of the two professors. Their behavior toward me was even more
excessive than what had occurred previously.
The younger one, Stanton, was still fascinated by my sexual prowess, but
unlike the militia, he was a bit more sophisticated, if that be the proper word,
this time around. By dint of effort he managed to insert his fist into my
vagina, and move it upwards until he was in me up to his elbow. This seemed to
excite him tremendously and he shouted to his companion to see what he had
accomplished. Dr. Wylie was not impressed, stating the obvious, that I had no
way of responding to this activity since I was devoid of almost all sensory
capability. This did not prevent his companion from continuing to use his closed
hand inside me. Immediately upon withdrawing, he inserted his sex organ into me
and from the look on his face, almost immediately discharged into my body. It
normally was my method of operation to begin killing once my assailants were
partially satiated and thus their response to my attack was slowed considerably.
However this could not be my approach in this situation, so I continued to bide
my time.
Now the other one took his turn, but he had other interests that were
just as ineffectual. He produced a small, extremely sharp knife which he
demonstrated by plucking a hair from his beard and then slicing it in two with
one motionof the blade. Then he proceeded to begin carving my breasts up,
cutting lines that all started at the nipple and moved out, creating sectors.
Then he began peeling the top layer of flesh, if I dare call it that, simulating
the activity known as flaying. Of course it meant nothing of significance to me.
I was highly perplexed at the visceral reaction this procedure caused in him. He
began to laugh maniacally, followed by remarks that made no sense.
"Once we have you in our laboratory and can work on your brain with our
prion therapy, you will have the delightful pleasure of feeling what a procedure
such as the one I am currently performing can create. I am sure you will not
enjoy it. It is called pain and so you will have taken one small step to
becoming a little less like a robot and more like a sentient being. Regardless
of how successful our work might be, you will never be human. The pleasure we
will have making you feel pain, knowing that no matter how much pain you endure,
you can never die from it because of that godless ability of yours to
reconstitute yourself, will be reward enough for our years of research that has
put the final nail in you eternal coffin. In truth, yours will be hell on
earth."
"Imagine, if you can, going back on the tour to serve as a true symbol
that will bind up the wounds of our glorious nation. This time your screams of
agony will be genuine and make an enormous impact on our nation's population.
You will be a constant reminder of what the face of our foes looked like to
those who never experienced the horror and terror brought on our nation by your
kind. There is still more in store for you that you cannot even begin to
understand. I believe that ultimately our research will create a method of
allowing our people to bond with you as you suffer the fires of hell here on
earth. However they will be shielded from your pain, but not the terror that you
are experiencing as you are tortured beyond belief, surviving travails that no
human could. You will experience the pain and possibly even the humiliation of
being raped by hundreds, no, thousands of angry men who were injured in one way
or another by your kind."
"I do not expect whatever happens to you to cause irreparable damage to
your mind, since your brain is more reptilian than human. Then again it may be
possible for you to be driven insane, which might be a blessing for you, but a
minor setback for what we are striving for here on earth. You will be the first
of your kind, and for that matter, any kind, that can truly make the statement,
"Mine is a fate worse than death!"
He got so carried away that his knife slipped, removing my nipple and a
chunk of protoplasm beneath it. He grew more agitated and spittle flew from his
lips.Then he began slashing away at my face with that sharp blade, gouging more
pieces of my oft reconstituted flesh that fell onto the floor. When he began
mindlessly stabbing me in the chest, his associate called for help from the
militia stationed outside the room. They came quickly and restrained Wylie from
damaging me further, even though I felt nothing and realized that within perhaps
an hour or two, all of this superficial evidence of his loss of control would be
gone.
After checking me, the other professor took his leave as well, leaving
me to my thoughts about what I had heard from Stanton. I knew the word "pain",
but had no idea what it meant. His statements about having a method of making me
feel something that I had never experieced held no fear for me at present. What
the future held for me in this matter was something I could not fathom. On the
other hand the way he responded to me was so inimical that I began to form a
plan to extricate myself from this situation very quickly.
I resolved that as soon as I was in the presence of the commander I
would eliminate him immediately after breaking loose from the manacles that were
now so weakened that I knew I could free myself within moments. This would give
me the element of surprise and might allow my plan to be executed as designed. I
waited and went over my plan again and again to make sure that under the
circumstances it was optimal.
Just before dawn I heard voices outside the door; the commander had
returned and by the tone of his voice was not very happy about something. I
heard him tell one of the militia that he wished to see me before he left the
convoy that would be taking me to Jackson. He cautioned the guards that I was
still extremely dangerous and therefore he was putting the mechanism that would
detonate the explosive lodged in my brain in their possession.
"If she comes through that door, I'll be already dead, so don't waste
time, just press the button or she'll kill you all." My confidence of escaping
plummeted. There was little chance of me doing away with the commander and
getting past the guards if they had the detonator in their possession. I was now
forced to wait for a better time in hopes for a more fortuitous opportunity.
The commander entered and took a position above me, his eyes looking down into
mine. He sighed deeply and announced that he had been relieved of his duty and
from now on the two scientists would be in charge of my security. Then he did a
very strange thing, reaching down and touching my face.
"We had an arrangement and as far as I am concerned, it's still in
place. You are the enemy and in normal times I'd be doing my damndest to kill
you. The war is over for us both and I'll be damned if I'll turn a good soldier
over to a couple of perverts who want to play god at your expense. Take my
advice and when you get out of here head south for Central America. You won't be
bothered by the radioactivity and the left over biological blooms, so you have a
good chance of escaping. Now do what you have to do and take this with you." He
held the detonator in his hand. Seconds later I broke his neck and in less than
a minute I dispatched the four militia who waited outside. The one who thought
he had the detonator had a strange look on his face just before I tore his
throat out; the fountain of blood distracted his cohorts just enough for me to
send them to wherever humans went when they died. I leaped from the trailer,
noticing that the sun was just rising over the crest of the small hill that
provided some degree of shelter for the convoy. I quickly headed west and
minutes later I was in dense underbrush. Even as I put the miles between me and
the convoy I wondered why the commander had done what he had done. My function
had not changed and it never would. I wondered what would happen to me after I
killed the last of the Red state folk.
