Black King of the Undead

In the movies and poorly written television shows, it's seldom explained. The dead rise, and start to eat the living. Some random bozos hide out at the mall, and what follows is not so much the living against the dead, but rather, social issues commentary. The zombie threat is always manageable, and all it takes is a stronghold, supplies and weapons. Small wonder that when the ravenous dead began to finally rise, humans were woefully unprepared.

In case you're wondering who this might be, the name is Ali. Like Muhammad Ali, the late great boxer. Tall, slim, dark-skinned, bald-headed and African American, that's what most people see when they look at me. You'd never believe that I've been around since before the time of the First Crusade. I was born in what is today known as Bandar Beyla in Somalia, but I've roamed just about every corner of this globe for many centuries. Why is that? I'm a bloodsucker.

When the zombie apocalypse began, I was working as a call center operator in downtown Ottawa, Ontario. The well-dressed, super polite and aloof guy who always sits far from the windows and never attends company picnics, that used to be me. I was living an okay life at the time. Decent apartment somewhere between the hood of Vanier and proper, respectable Gloucester. I made a few dollars above the minimum wage and all I had to do was harass clients about their credit card debt.

"Ali, got any plans for the weekend?" came a sultry female voice. I looked up to see Nora, the charming, curvy, bronze-skinned and dark-haired Moroccan gal with a penchant for Yoga pants and backstabbing. I sighed and took a deep breath, even though I haven't breathed in nearly a millennium. Nora is ambitious, smart and has no conscience. I know a predator when I see one. We tend to spot each other. It's a gift.

"Might take a drive out to the country," I replied nonchalantly, and Nora leaned against my desk. On that fateful afternoon, Nora wore a white blouse and dark Yoga pants, plus sneakers. The dress code at the call center is casual to the point of being absurd, and Nora takes advantage of that. A lot. All the guys on our floor ( with the exception of Derek the lizard, who tends to gawk at me ), tend to sniff after Nora. I don't get involved with co-workers, female or male. Nothing good can come from there.

"Ali, our man of mystery," Nora whispers and she leans so close that I can smell the Subway sandwich she had for lunch, hours ago. I smile politely, and wonder why Nora and so many other humans tend to be fixated on me. I've lived in Massachusetts prior to moving to Ottawa, so I guess I still have the remnants of a Boston accent. Other than that, I can't think of any reason why anyone would give me a second look. Humans, go figure.

"I'm secretly a spy," I say to Nora, in an almost flirtatious manner. Nora smiles, shrugs and walks away. I admire her fine behind as she sashays her way down the hall. There are one hundred and twenty people working on the floor, and Nora, as one of our supervisors, is responsible for twenty percent of them. Last week, she got this guy named Peter fired. Too bad, really. I liked Peter, a pudgy farmer lad type who was the master of bad puns. The dude couldn't hack it as a phone drone but he was passable as a comedian.

"Hey girlfriend, how's our African prince charming?" comes a familiar, and decidedly annoying voice. Said voice belongs to Derek the lizard, a chubby, balding guy with a penchant for green outfits and bowler hats. Derek has had the hots for me ever since I got hired by the call center. I had to talk to the human resources ladies to get him to back off. Me and my fatal allure, or something along those lines. Thanks but no thanks.

"Still tight-lipped," Nora replies to Derek, and they glance at me before walking away, giggling like school chums. I roll my eyes and continue working. I've got a list of calls to make. The next one is to Patrick Weinburg, age thirty four, residing at Gerry Lanes Road in Kanata, Ontario. He owes fourteen hundred dollars on his credit card and hasn't paid a dime in six months. I have been harassing him once a day for the past three weeks. He's blocked my number but I have so many alternates. I won't rest until he starts paying.

On this particular afternoon, not only did Patrick not pick up, but there were a whole lot of people who didn't answer their phones. Like the through collections agent that I was, I called them at home, at work and on their cell phones. Nobody was answering. I finished my shift around nine o'clock, and decided to walk from downtown Ottawa to the east end. I was bored, yet with a foreboding feeling. I was worried, but I couldn't tell you why. I haven't lived for nearly a millennium without paying attention to any feelings of threat. Like I said, I couldn't tell why I felt the way I did.

There aren't a lot of us, creatures of the night. For the most part, we blood suckers are solitary creatures. If there were too many of us blood suckers, there might not be a human species. Worldwide, there are perhaps a few thousands of us. Most live in small bands of three to ten members. I shed the need for Undead companionship ages ago. Sooner or later, we will turn against each other. It is virtually inevitable. Welcome to my life.

I reached my apartment, and heated the bowl of blood I purchased a few days ago from a medical student. I drank it all down in one gulp. I cannot go more than eight days without drinking blood. I will lose my mind and devolve into a mindless monstrosity if I do. That's the part of the blood sucker myth that the movies and television shows don't seem to get. I'm not crazy about sunlight, but I don't burst into flames come dawn. I can't fly, hypnotize people or turn into a bat. I'm just really strong, really fast, immune to disease and I simply don't age. Otherwise, what kills you is likely to kill me. That's why I stay out of trouble.

All I know is that there was something in the air. Twenty four hours later, along with everyone else, I began hearing about a spike of random violence in places like Toronto, New York City and Paris, France. Many were initially dismissive, as there were lots of social justice movements clashing with police in the western world and such randomness was to be expected in the 2020s. We would soon all learn better, unfortunately. There were riots all over the place, that's what the media told us. By the time we realized the truth, it was too late.

When a passersby captured a video of Canadian military forces putting down the living dead in Alberta and uploaded it on the web, it went viral. Many were initially dismissive, until outbreaks occurred in places like Boston, Calgary, New Jersey, Austin, Winnipeg and Vienna. Across North America and parts of Europe, the authorities desperately tried to contain the living dead. The outbreak spread to Africa and Asia. The zombie apocalypse was upon us, and we were caught woefully unprepared.

The zombies were quite different from what we'd come to expect from movies and television. During the real-life zombie apocalypse, the zombies didn't slouch and roam about mindlessly looking for human beings to devour. They looked completely normal, save for the fact that their eyes were completely black, and their teeth and fingernails are sharpened to the max. One bite, one scratch, and that's all it takes to transform a normal human being into a zombie. The zombies don't make a sound. They don't feel pain. And it takes a lot to bring them down.

"What is happening?" Nora asked me, the very last time I saw her at work, right before the Quarantine Zone became a thing. I showed up at work, somehow getting through the increasing police and military presence in downtown Ottawa, and I was one of perhaps fifty people in a building that's normally host to a thousand. I took a look around, and didn't see most of my co-workers. Derek the lizard was absent. So were most of the others. What was happening to my world?

"Something is happening, Nora, and it's really bad, I think you ought to get out of town," I replied, and Nora nodded sagely, eyes full of fear. I resisted the urge to hug her, for neither of us is the warm and cozy type. Instead, we shook hands and then parted ways. I went to the only place I could think of, a townhouse in Barrhaven, Ontario, where a few of my friends live. Alright, friends is a bit of a stretch. Friendly acquaintances who happened to be fellow blood suckers is a tall order, right?

"Ali, you little shit, about time you showed up, Nguyen and Singh thought you would be gone by now," said Adelaide, greeting me at the door. Tall and curvy, with short red hair and green eyes, the blood sucker Adelaide doesn't look a day over thirty. The lady hails from the Camargue region of France, and has been a blood sucker since 1477. I shook hands with Adelaide, and she ushered me inside. The others were already there, seated in the plush living room, watching the flat screen TV. Like everyone else, they were fascinated by the new developments.

"Hey, Ali," said Vincent Nguyen, and the tall, slim, dark-haired and sharp-featured Asian blood sucker rose to greet me. We shared a manly hug, and he beckoned for me to sit next to him. Nestor Singh, a chubby, brown-skinned and dark-haired blood sucker originally from the Punjab region of India glowered at me. We have different views on a lot of things. I advocate us blood suckers keeping a low profile. Nestor, a vampire old enough to remember the reign of the conqueror Ashoka of India, definitely feels differently about humanity. The fellow has delusions of grandeur, that's for sure.

"Ali, looks like your precious humans are in trouble," Nestor teased, and I resisted the urge to throttle him. See what I mean? Blood suckers aren't great company, even for each other. I looked at Adelaide, Nestor and Nguyen. Three blood suckers from different parts of the world, hiding in plain sight among the human populace in the Capital region of Canada. The zombie apocalypse was happening, and we had to figure out what it meant for us and the humans whom we depend on for living. Our survival was at stake, that's for damn sure.

"If the humans vanish, if they go extinct, so do we, we can't survive on animal blood," I said quietly, looking at each of them in turn. Adelaide, Nestor and Nguyen held my gaze. We're all predators. Monsters. We are smart, attractive and appealing, and mother nature made us that way so that we can seduce our prey, and destroy them. Hawks, diamondback snakes and sharks are all beautiful creatures, and they're designed to kill. So are we. The question is, as predators that feed on humanity, what will we blood suckers do now that our flock is endangered by the fucking zombies?

"There are seven billion humans, little fool, we're not going to run out anytime soon," Adelaide said, and then she laughed at me quite mockingly. I felt like driving a stake through her heart. I took a long look at Adelaide, Nestor and Nguyen. I don't know why I came to them in search of fellowship and support. When we blood suckers band together, it's not like a human family or like a wolf pack. It's more like a group of sharks. If a shark gets bloodied, the other sharks will feed on it. Among predators, the weak deserve their fate...

"You are fools, all of you, and you're as good as dead," I said, and Nestor and Adelaide laughed while Nguyen looked away, apparently wounded. He rose to his feet, trying to placate me, and I shook my head vehemently, dismissing him. I walked out of the Barrhaven townhouse, home of the only blood suckers that I considered to be decent acquaintances, rather than enemies. I am all alone in the world, an outcast among the blood suckers, and if the humans find out what I am, I'm a dead man. Well, deader anyways.

I didn't go home after I got off the bus downtown. I went to Parliament Hill, and looked at the City of Ottawa, Ontario. It is a boring town, full of government workers, bureaucrats and student types. Lately, a lot of tech people have come to live here for some reason. For ten years now, it's been home. I'm a well-adjusted blood sucker. I work hard. I pay my taxes. I drink human blood but I don't kill human beings, not anymore. I get human blood from various sources, cash in hand, and no questions asked. I thought I had my eternal life on a string. Why did the zombies have to come along and fuck it up?

Around the world, the zombie apocalypse is spreading. The cops and military are utterly ineffective against the hordes of flesh-eating monsters. There are hundreds of thousands of infected, and soon there will be millions. In today's high-tech world of airplanes, helicopters, cruise ships and international travel, the infected are spreading at a geometric rate. Lying on top of a downtown tower, I feel quite despondent. What is a vampire like myself to do in the age of the zombie apocalypse? I can hear the sound of pitched battle around the City of Ottawa. Cops, soldiers and civilians are fighting the zombies. They're losing, but they're not giving up. I think I'll go join the fray. Care to come along?