The name Ezoteric finds its roots in the very real word, esoteric. Esoteric is an adjective defined by Merriam-Webster as:
1 a: designed for or understood by the specially initiated alone
b: requiring or exhibiting knowledge that is restricted to a small group : difficult to understand
2 a: limited to a small circle
3: of special, rare, or unusual interest
In layman's terms, that which is esoteric is only known by a select few, a secret if you will. I find similarities between myself and this particular term, so I have taken to calling myself Ezoteric; a being known by few, and understood by fewer. Therefore, my mind is something of an enigma, my thoughts understood by no one, and sometimes not even by myself.
The main purpose of this blog will be to relieve my already troubled mind of the thoughts that seem to slowly strangle me. Its secondary function is to serve as an outlet for me to get my short stories to a wider audience. So without further ado, I give you my most recent work, a part of the whole. I call it...
Zombies Episode 1
By Antony
If you are reading this, then somehow, some way, we won. Somehow the human race pulled through. If you are reading this, then it is safe to assume that you possess some kind of intelligence. It is safe to assume that you’re not dead. On the other hand, I am not one for assumptions. At least not anymore.
I can’t tell you when it started. Nor can I tell you how. And I feel really dumb in admitting that. I mean you would think that someone willing to take the time to document something this horrible would at least know something. However, the sad truth is I know next to nothing about this whole incident. There are some nights that I find myself entertaining the idea of it being just a dream; a nightmare even. But low and behold, the screams of dying men and women along with the howls and guttural roars of the teaming undead bring me back to reality every time. It seems like they are getting closer and closer as the days drag on.
I forgot how long we’ve been living this way a long time ago. In my defense, I was too busy trying to survive to worry about how many days had passed. For now I keep tracked by counting the number of sunrises I get to see; I’m usually awake at that time, running for my life. So far I’m at 20.
But back to what’s important: documenting our horror. They came out of nowhere these creatures. Creatures that prey on the living, creatures that devour flesh ravenously. They seem to feed forever; I’ve never seen one stop eating unless it was to chase fresh meat. It’s like they crave more: more meat, more freshness, more chase. I wonder if they enjoy the chase. That would explain why, when chasing multiple targets, only two or three stop to feed once they’ve caught someone. The rest just keep running, jaws snapping at the air, tongues ready to taste human flesh.
Thinking about it makes me shiver. However I possess an odd fascination with them. There is so much I don’t know, so much I want to know. How are they still animated? Are they technically alive? How are they able to decipher live meat from decomposing flesh? Do they even have a sense of taste, and if so, do live victims compare to that of the tastiest of steaks? And just for shits and giggles, would a vegetarian in life crave vegetables after ‘death’?
If you haven’t gotten it by now, those who chase me as well as any other survivors are of the undead variety. That’s right: Zombies, otherwise known as the walking dead. I lose the taste in my mouth every time I say it. It’s a ridiculous thing to admit even when the evidence is devouring your late friend right in front of your eyes. The ridiculousness of it makes me think twice about the existence of magic and faeries and unicorns. But only for a second. It also makes me think about the existence of a God; there isn’t one.
It’s completely horrifying to watch your closest friends and family gorge themselves on your fellow survivors. I never thought of myself as the squeamish type but they proved me wrong. On one such occasion it almost cost me my life. That night we were on a raid for supplies; there were four of us. We chose four because it was tradition. We found that strength in numbers wasn’t exactly a good motto to follow these days, so we kept our numbers at four. Any more than four and you’re bound to come home with less man power and no supplies. Any less, you’re not coming home. Yeah, four seems to be the magic number at this point; four men out raiding for supplies, four colonies spread throughout Western New York, four commanding officers for each colony…four days for civilization to crumble. The fall of civilization left only our most primitive of instincts in command: Fear.
Fear of an uncertain future. It was that fear that brought everyone together, only to tear us apart. Remaining survivors were drawn together with the original intention of survival. However it didn’t take long for the mass to create separate factions, each with their own agenda. One faction created for the sole purpose of eradicating the undead scourge; completely worthless, and I guarantee they numbers plummeted within the first seventy-two hours. The second faction was created with the intention of finding more survivors, with the stipulation that any survivors join their cause by default. The third focused on Darwinism, or survival of the fittest. They were the only faction that had a screening process for potential sheep.
Finally, the last faction was dedicated to solving the mystery of the zombie threat with the ultimate goal of eradication. In this way they were similar to the first colony but different in their approach. Come to think of it, the fourth organization seemed to take the best aspects of the first and second and meld them into a super organization. The main difference of the fourth was the founder’s belief in free will. Thus any and all survivors rescued by a member of the fourth were given the freedom of choice between the four different parties. I was a credit to the fourth colony, obviously due to my fascination with the creatures as well as my strong belief in freedom of choice.
Aside from the obligatory purposes of each individual colony there were also four secondary functions that were shared and understood betwixt the colonies. The first and most important was search and rescue; the second was hunting and gathering; the third was intel; the fourth was survival of the colony and its ideals at all costs. Despite this shared understanding, members of the first three groups were usually hostile and very uncooperative towards members of ‘rival’ groups. Being a member of the forth my fellow comrades and I are forced into the position of mediation, should we ever encounter ‘rival’ group members. Because of this we of the forth have come to dread contact with other colony members on our raids almost as much as contact with the undead.
On this particular night we weren’t lucky enough to avoid rival contact. We were raiding an abandoned supermarket on what used to be Transit Road. Our mode of transport was an H3 fresh of the lot. I remember because it was just days after we procured the monster. Once we reached the store we split into two groups; I was paired with a guy named Jason. The supermarket was dark and disgusting; blood accompanied the half open boxes of instant breakfasts and puddings. Next to those were boxes that would make Vietnam veterans salute, they’re labels indistinguishable from the multiple bullet holes they had sustained, their contents strewn along the floor next to the rest of the guts.
Jason and I stepped lightly over the torn limbs and scattered groceries. A thought passed through my mind as to how many salvageable supplies we could find in this rat hole. A look into Jason scattering eyes told me I wasn’t the only one to think this. Didn’t matter much though as this was only our first stop of the night. I held my AK tightly in my hands as I stepped over a half eaten and decaying hand. My eyes wondered quickly from my left to my right, and then back to my left. I didn’t like places like these; there were too many hiding places, too many blind spots to overlook. Jason stopped and signaled from me to do the same. We’d reached the freezer. Luckily, the back-up generators had kicked in nationwide mere hours after the chaos ensued.
Jason turned to me signaling with his hands to cover him as he filled his pack. We liked to keep things as silent as possible on our raids because noise seemed to attract them. Maybe it was just paranoia, maybe it was sound reasoning, but either way it was something we believed in and something that kept us alive. So I maintained a close eye on our surroundings, checking for the slightest sign of movement. While I watched I noticed our other two comrades at the opposite end of the store busy doing the same.
This was how a raid usually functioned: The work was broken up into ‘stuff’ and ‘cover’. Two members of the raid team would be the designated ‘stuffers’ while the remaining two would provide cover for said ‘stuffers’. Now each stuffer carried a pack as well as each cover. The stuffer’s job was to not only fill their packs, but to fill their respective cover’s packs as well. This was done through a simple stuff and switch maneuver; once the stuffer’s pack is full, he then trades his stuffed pack with his cover. Viola, a new pack to be filled with supplies. Only then, when all four packs were filled could a raid be considered complete.
It seemed routine enough; we had met with little to no zombies on the drive down here and the market seemed void of life, living or otherwise. Things were going smoothly. But that’s when you should expect disaster. And like clockwork, it reared its ugly head: just outside the market came the familiar guttural roar of our undead pursuers. All movement stopped within the market; you never quite get used to the sound of your possible death. Jason had finished stuffing his pack and had just begun handing it to me off when it happened.
“Put it on and get up,” said the raspy voice I had come to know so intimately in these times. I still had not come to terms with the creature’s existence at this point, so I found myself to be quite a bitch when it came to talking outside of safety’s embrace. I gripped my AK tightly and brought it back to my right cheek, preparing for anything but unready for everything. I was about to repeat myself to Jason, but he put on his pack and stood so quickly it was almost one swift motion.
He switched from his AK to the Desert Eagle he kept at his hip. It was another way in which we functioned as a team; two men equipped with AKs assume the role of ‘sweepers’, while the other two act as ‘snipers’. It was a waste of ammo and time for all four to use AKs, and a suicide mission for all to use DEs, so we found a healthy and effective middle ground.
Of course this tactic was only truly effective and necessary against swarms of the undead, and even then it was more of a shoot and run tactic. The sweepers would spray AK fire at the swarms shins while the snipers would pick off any that happen to get too close for comfort. Considering Jason was a superior shot, I didn’t feel at all worried. But that was before the others came rushing into the store.
It suddenly all made sense to me, the reason for the ‘warning’ roar. We had been silent as field mice; we even parked the H3 nearly a block away from the market. Why then had the zombies decided to give us warning? They usually are silent in their approach, not out of stealth or cunning, but because they do not know of the presence of food. Once one spots meat, the alarm is sound, and the pack comes running. So this interruption of sorts was the fault of the others. Or maybe I was being paranoid again. Still it felt better to place the blame on the others, rather than refer to it as dumb luck.
They came rushing into the store, breathing heavily as if they’d run the marathon. There were 5 of them in the store, but I knew they had once been more; I could hear their comrades’ screams over the cluttered echoes of their footsteps. Quickly the first of them raised his weapon at me, his flashlight blinding me momentarily.
“Wh-who’s there?”
He voice was quivering as if Death’s own bony hand was clenched on his throat. His aim was stuttered; he was completely afraid. He would die tonight.
“Hold your fire! We’re alive!” shouted Jason. His voice was booming and strong, almost void of fear. But I knew otherwise. Things were looking grim; they’d be on us within seconds and we were caught between a rock and a hard place. Another guttural howl could be heard seemingly just outside the store. The ground began to shake with the poundings of hundreds of feet and all around us various objects shook and fell from their shelves. Someone in the supermarket a glass bottle was caught by the ground.
“We gotta find a back way out! There’s no way I’m going out the way we came in!” one of others screamed, stating the clear and obvious.
“And there’s no way we’d ever suggest that.” Jason’s voice was calm and soothing. If only they knew the fear he possessed. But a good leader never cowers in the presence of danger. No a leader’s troops looked to him for strength and morale in times of overwhelming odds. Jason was a well of strength and an ocean of morale. He always maintained a cool head in even the tightest of situations. It’s how he survived for so long, and what now made him a great leader.
He turned to our comrades, Mallaki and Rick. He shouted over, “Is there a door of any kind on your end?”
“There isn’t one! I had Mallaki check while I stuffed.”
Jason’s nose slightly cringed upon hearing this, but only for a second’s passing. Quickly he regained himself and said, “Well then we’ll have to gamble our lives on this end.”
“We won’t have to,” I said, “I’ve found our way out!”
Picture this, if you will: I am standing in the doorway of our exit; Jason is a few feet in front of me, with Mallaki and Rick further behind him; the others are near the store front. In the same instant as my announcement, shit deteriorated from bad to worse. The entire store front shattered into millions of tiny crystallites, each glistening brightly as they reflected the bright moonlight. Like the sound of a starting gun, everyone within the store sprang to life.
A deadly silence hung from the rafters, its wings spread open like a curtain preparing to fall at a performance’s end, its observing eyes filled with an emotion somewhere between pity and superiority. My vision lost color as blood changed from a crimson red, to a dull gray. Gunpowder invaded my sinus, burning the hairs to their very roots. My tongue became drier than the Sahara, harshly scraping the roof of my mouth as I struggled to swallow my fear. My hands went numb, almost causing me to drop my rifle. Within a matter of seconds, the once peaceful store transformed into a warzone, and one soldier transformed into a mass of fear and sweat.
While I was stuck in my own fear, the rest of my company was on the move toward my newfound exit. I was pulled back to reality the moment Jason, Rick, Mallaki, and three of the others came rushing through the threshold. I was shoved violently on my ass and left fumbling to regain my footing. Salvation in the form of a grasp to my shirt cuff lifted me off my feet, and in seconds I was running along with the rest.
A quick glance back brought a sensation I have not to this day been able to relive. All at once my senses came rushing back, and in my ears I could hears the screams and howls of the dead and the dying. I returned my attention to my escape, afraid to join to ranks of the undead, a shiver running the length of my spine as I heard the tearing of flesh and muscle from bone. Had I not stifled my vomit I do not know if I would have made it out alive. The next five minutes were a blur of gunfire, screams, and rushing scenery.
A majority of the zombies that broke into the store followed us out the back; a handful stayed behind to devour the poor saps that weren’t quick enough. We had made it several yards away from the grocery store before we were forced to confront our assailants. Jason, Rick, and Mallaki reacted as they were trained to, using the Snipe & Sweep. The others seemed to hesitate between using my team as a distraction for their own escape, and using their own firepower as a back-up; they came to their senses quickly. As for myself, I stood off to the side frozen with fear, eyes wide with shock.
My hands began to tremble as I gazed out into an increasing mass of undead. Slowly but surely more were coming, converging on our location and pushing us ever backward, further and further from our vehicle. And while Jason and the others were successful at keeping the undead at bay, we wouldn’t last much longer if things continued. We were strictly a raid squad equipped to handle minimal to no undead contact. Our ammo was limited, and our time was even more so.
A guttural roar came from my rear, chasing away the color in my face. How could I have let one sneak up on me like that? How could I have not noticed the ever increasing gap between us, the living and the dead? Panic and paralysis can do that to you; your senses become focused on a singular aspect of surroundings, your reaction time is slowed to an almost screeching halt. Paralysis always lead to death on the field; always.
A hand missing its ring finger gripped my arm just above my elbow. Out of sheer panic I was able to rip my arm from the zombie’s grip, but it didn’t matter much because at that moment they had me relatively surrounded. So many ideas ran through my head as time seemed to slow to a crawl, none of which made any sense. As I looked into the faces of death a tear ran down my face. The dead regarded me with ravenous eyes and drooling mouths, and through my muffled hearing came the low, dull roar from one of their mouths. There is not a doubt in my mind that I would have been dead had it not been for her. One of the three remaining others had rushed in to save me while Jason and the rest used their remaining ammo to supply cover fire.
She made her way into my undead cage using brute force. Using the butt of her rifle as her weapon she collapsed the skull of her first victim. As her momentum carried her body down with the zombie she then used her shoulder to ram into a second. This tackled zombie flew, like a ragdoll, into two more zombies. Finally, as she stood her hands shifted to the left of her hip. Her right index and thumb unlatched the button holding her revolver in place, and in moments her hand cannon was staring down the face of an undead. And then it wasn’t. As quickly as I had become captured, I was freed.
But before I could take my next breath it was stolen from me. Two zombies were already upon her, my eyes noticing them milliseconds before their attack. No other sight, natural or supernatural, could ever pierce me as deeply as what I saw that night. Two undead, mid-charge within arm’s length of their prize. And she knew it too. I could see it in her eyes. And even though she was very skilled, even though she was very powerful, even though she was extremely agile, she wasn’t invincible.
I watched as the two undead females pounced on her, tackling her to the ground. As one tore into her outer calf, she screamed a soul shattering scream that pierced me deeper than any blade could possibly penetrate. Then the other female ripped out her jugular and her scream turned into a gurgle as a gray liquid poured out of her neck and mouth.
