When Dead Men Bleed
Introduction
I got away from the police raid unscathed.
Mostly.
I’m separated from Etem and Cayla, and probably for good reason. I can’t stop staring at the blood on my left hand.
My own blood.
“This can’t be happening.”
Bile climbs up my throat, a familiar feeling. When in eminent danger, we zombies will spit up the acidic black goo that coats our insides to get away from our attacker. I was taught how to do it on command in school—all zombies were.
“Bleeder, are ye?”
I jump, my eyes locking on the face of a vampire who stands only feet from me. His hair is long and black, face pale and eyes red, dressed in all white; there’s no mistaking his kind in the moonlight. His face is that weird pretty, like all vampires, and his features are sharp and thin, making him appear more feminine. The shallow lines on his face and how paper-thin his skin looks tells that he’s up there in years, perhaps as old as my great, great grandparents would be.
“No,” I say automatically with more bite than intended. “No, of course not.”
The old vampire chuckles. “Mate, you can’t fool a vamp. Not when blood’s rushing through yer veins.”
My breath quivers as I watch him, my fist clenched as blood drips from its cracks.
“I’ve… I’m not a Bleeder. I’m a zombie. I’ve always been a zombie.”
“Fate has a way of changing yer plans, mate.” He takes a step closer, peering down at me. “All it takes is one scratch from them Bleeders.”
“One scratch…”
The girl in the ring. It was her. So she wasn’t human after all.
She was a Bleeder.
That cheat.
“Might I?”
The vampire appears directly at my side in an instant, reaching for my bloody, closed fist. It’s then that I notice the wound the girl had given me on my left arm has begun to bleed as well, startling me as a sharp pain sparks from it, my heart pounding so loudly in my chest, it’s almost all I can hear.
I hold in a grunt.
So this is physical pain.
I pull my fist away but his finger touches the gash in my arm, blood dripping from his long nail in the moonlight. He licks it, making a face as his pupils dilate for a moment.
“Ah. Zeke Mahelona. Age twenty-three. Blood type A-positive. Became a Bleeder twenty minutes ago. Was a first-generation zombie-born before the turn.” He grins as I stare, dumbfounded. “We vamps can tell a lot by blood, mate.”
A shudder rushes through me and I suddenly feel cold. Stones clank to the bottom of my stomach and I stagger back.
I’m really…
That really is my blood.
“Ye have no worries; I’ve had me fill. Bleeders taste bloody horrible compared to humans, so me’ll spare ya tonight. Might want to find a way to cover up the stink of yer blood. Bleeders and other creatures we hunt can let ya in on their many secrets. Like those humans yer kind hates.” He smiles again, a hard glint in his eye. “Right. Then I’ll be on me way. Cheers, Zeke the Bleeder.”
I watch as he walks away, his figure liquidizing as it falls then lifts to the air as a bat, the darkness of night swallowing him whole. There’s an ominous residue on my skin as the night shifts closer to midnight, the moon distorting the world through the smog floating high above the city.
I can feel my phone buzzing in my pocket. Someone’s calling me.
I ignore it. It doesn’t matter who’s calling. Nothing matters anymore.
My life is over.
~
“Another attack, Anne,” I hear my father grunting from downstairs as the sun hits my face between the blinds covering my window, exhaustion weighing heavily on my chest. “The humans had Bleeders with them this time. What a disgrace to zombie-kind.”
His words are like knives as they drift up the stairs. I cringe, my throat balling.
“Lance, I’m sure they’ll catch the terrorists. They’ll catch them and they’ll be put back into society as meals. Don’t worry, honey. Have faith in our boys in blue.”
“They deserve to be enslaved,” my dad continues, and I hear the clanking of plates. “Imagine if we could have humans as slaves. Then we could have fresh meat whenever we wanted! None of this genetically modified—”
“Lance, that’s a bit inhumane, don’t you think? Do you remember when the humans had enslaved different people because of their race or religion? Don’t you think that’s wrong, even if we do eat them?”
“Cows, pigs, chickens, and fish are under our dominion,” he says around a mouthful of food. The smell of genetically modified human meat has long since filled the house. “Humans are like cattle now and are treated as such. They’re no longer the top of the food chain, and we should take advantage of that. It’s the only thing we can eat, Anne. Would you rather all zombies starve?”
My mom doesn’t answer, but the clanking of silverware on ceramic plates continues. I sit up, wiping my eyes, and make my way to the bathroom. How in the world am I going to cover up the scratch I got last night? Zombie’s wounds don’t heal. In the same breath, we can reproduce and eat… It’s unexplainable until you factor magic into the equation.
Flicking the bathroom light on, I swat at a fly that darts out. They like to be around us; as we grow older, our flesh rots faster. The good thing about those who were born zombie from zombie parents is we live longer, fuller lives, up to ninety years. We don’t rot as easily.
I meet eyes with my reflection, shock making my body tingle. The scratch from last night has disappeared. It’s completely healed as if I’d never been scratched. Another Bleeder ability? I know they’re--we’re—a lot similar to humans, but the healing factor… I had no idea I’d be able to heal, let alone this rapidly.
Replaying my parent’s conversation, a cavity forms in my chest as several mixed feelings swell within it. They can’t find out about this. They can’t know I’m a Bleeder. And if they ever do…
My mind moves to the underground. I could live there. Fight under the presumption of my being a human like that girl. I could pass along like that as long as no one sees me “die”. What then? What would I do if I “died”? I wouldn’t be able to fight; my face would be well-known underground, right? They would know I wasn’t human if I came back from the dead.
I exhale. I can hear my parents talking to one another, their words unintelligible through the humming of the bathroom fan. Enslaving humans? I mean, the elves enslaved the orcs, vampires enslave each other and werewolves, centaurs and wizards enslaved fairies; the list goes on and on. The only difference is the why. Humans are considered food, just like cows, pigs, and the rest of them. It’s now argued that plants have sentience because fairies can communicate with them through various methods, so everyone’s up-and-arms about “saving the plants” and “going carnivore”. The other half of the world is the other way around, wanting to save the animals, including sentient humans, and eat only plants.
Newsflash, zombies can’t eat plants. Vampires can’t digest anything but blood. Werewolves are omnivores, sure, but their bodies can’t live on just plants. Fairies eat fruits, witches use everything. Even animals, both from the second world and the first, eat each other.
And now that I’m a Bleeder… what can I eat?
“Come on, Zeke, you’ve been in there for half an hour. You’re gonna be late for class.”
Standing upright, I automatically open my door. My dad’s standing just outside, his hairy, bronze skin sweaty from working in his garage early in the morning. He has insomnia, a common trait of zombies. We’re mostly nocturnal, but we’ve adapted otherwise… doesn’t help we’re always hungry.
Or, well… I guess it’s not we anymore.
“I have an hour until it starts,” I grumble. I don’t want to go today.
“Well then, get your bee-hind in gear before it dwindles down to zero,” he grins.
I shake my head, the skin on my left arm feeling stiff where my large wound had healed.
My dad sniffs the air and my body goes rigid. He eyes me.
“You feeling all right, bud? There’s a weird smell on you.”
He sniffs closer and I back up, struggling to find words.
“Uh, no, I’m fine. Mom got me a new shampoo.”
“Smells like blood,” he says, his brow furrowing.
I swallow hard.
“It’s a new shampoo,” I smile sheepishly. “Human blood is in it. It’s said to take the dullness out of our hair.”
His eyes flick up to my thick, curly-when-it’s-too-long hair and nods, accepting my lie.
“I think it’s working,” he says, ruffling my hair with his hand. “Hurry up, Zeke. It’s your last year. Don’t start slacking off now.
“Yes sir,” I nod as he turns to bound down the stairs.
My heart pounds in my chest rapidly, my brain working faster than it ever has, my fingers moving like they’re on a piano as nerves fry my insides.
I meet my reflection’s eyes.
Who knows what exactly happens to humans, to Bleeders when they’re found out. I don’t want to know. I have to keep up this lie for the rest of my life.
My immortal life.
Sickness washes over me.
There is no escaping it.
I will trip up.
I set my jaw.
But not today.
Mostly.
I’m separated from Etem and Cayla, and probably for good reason. I can’t stop staring at the blood on my left hand.
My own blood.
“This can’t be happening.”
Bile climbs up my throat, a familiar feeling. When in eminent danger, we zombies will spit up the acidic black goo that coats our insides to get away from our attacker. I was taught how to do it on command in school—all zombies were.
“Bleeder, are ye?”
I jump, my eyes locking on the face of a vampire who stands only feet from me. His hair is long and black, face pale and eyes red, dressed in all white; there’s no mistaking his kind in the moonlight. His face is that weird pretty, like all vampires, and his features are sharp and thin, making him appear more feminine. The shallow lines on his face and how paper-thin his skin looks tells that he’s up there in years, perhaps as old as my great, great grandparents would be.
“No,” I say automatically with more bite than intended. “No, of course not.”
The old vampire chuckles. “Mate, you can’t fool a vamp. Not when blood’s rushing through yer veins.”
My breath quivers as I watch him, my fist clenched as blood drips from its cracks.
“I’ve… I’m not a Bleeder. I’m a zombie. I’ve always been a zombie.”
“Fate has a way of changing yer plans, mate.” He takes a step closer, peering down at me. “All it takes is one scratch from them Bleeders.”
“One scratch…”
The girl in the ring. It was her. So she wasn’t human after all.
She was a Bleeder.
That cheat.
“Might I?”
The vampire appears directly at my side in an instant, reaching for my bloody, closed fist. It’s then that I notice the wound the girl had given me on my left arm has begun to bleed as well, startling me as a sharp pain sparks from it, my heart pounding so loudly in my chest, it’s almost all I can hear.
I hold in a grunt.
So this is physical pain.
I pull my fist away but his finger touches the gash in my arm, blood dripping from his long nail in the moonlight. He licks it, making a face as his pupils dilate for a moment.
“Ah. Zeke Mahelona. Age twenty-three. Blood type A-positive. Became a Bleeder twenty minutes ago. Was a first-generation zombie-born before the turn.” He grins as I stare, dumbfounded. “We vamps can tell a lot by blood, mate.”
A shudder rushes through me and I suddenly feel cold. Stones clank to the bottom of my stomach and I stagger back.
I’m really…
That really is my blood.
“Ye have no worries; I’ve had me fill. Bleeders taste bloody horrible compared to humans, so me’ll spare ya tonight. Might want to find a way to cover up the stink of yer blood. Bleeders and other creatures we hunt can let ya in on their many secrets. Like those humans yer kind hates.” He smiles again, a hard glint in his eye. “Right. Then I’ll be on me way. Cheers, Zeke the Bleeder.”
I watch as he walks away, his figure liquidizing as it falls then lifts to the air as a bat, the darkness of night swallowing him whole. There’s an ominous residue on my skin as the night shifts closer to midnight, the moon distorting the world through the smog floating high above the city.
I can feel my phone buzzing in my pocket. Someone’s calling me.
I ignore it. It doesn’t matter who’s calling. Nothing matters anymore.
My life is over.
~
“Another attack, Anne,” I hear my father grunting from downstairs as the sun hits my face between the blinds covering my window, exhaustion weighing heavily on my chest. “The humans had Bleeders with them this time. What a disgrace to zombie-kind.”
His words are like knives as they drift up the stairs. I cringe, my throat balling.
“Lance, I’m sure they’ll catch the terrorists. They’ll catch them and they’ll be put back into society as meals. Don’t worry, honey. Have faith in our boys in blue.”
“They deserve to be enslaved,” my dad continues, and I hear the clanking of plates. “Imagine if we could have humans as slaves. Then we could have fresh meat whenever we wanted! None of this genetically modified—”
“Lance, that’s a bit inhumane, don’t you think? Do you remember when the humans had enslaved different people because of their race or religion? Don’t you think that’s wrong, even if we do eat them?”
“Cows, pigs, chickens, and fish are under our dominion,” he says around a mouthful of food. The smell of genetically modified human meat has long since filled the house. “Humans are like cattle now and are treated as such. They’re no longer the top of the food chain, and we should take advantage of that. It’s the only thing we can eat, Anne. Would you rather all zombies starve?”
My mom doesn’t answer, but the clanking of silverware on ceramic plates continues. I sit up, wiping my eyes, and make my way to the bathroom. How in the world am I going to cover up the scratch I got last night? Zombie’s wounds don’t heal. In the same breath, we can reproduce and eat… It’s unexplainable until you factor magic into the equation.
Flicking the bathroom light on, I swat at a fly that darts out. They like to be around us; as we grow older, our flesh rots faster. The good thing about those who were born zombie from zombie parents is we live longer, fuller lives, up to ninety years. We don’t rot as easily.
I meet eyes with my reflection, shock making my body tingle. The scratch from last night has disappeared. It’s completely healed as if I’d never been scratched. Another Bleeder ability? I know they’re--we’re—a lot similar to humans, but the healing factor… I had no idea I’d be able to heal, let alone this rapidly.
Replaying my parent’s conversation, a cavity forms in my chest as several mixed feelings swell within it. They can’t find out about this. They can’t know I’m a Bleeder. And if they ever do…
My mind moves to the underground. I could live there. Fight under the presumption of my being a human like that girl. I could pass along like that as long as no one sees me “die”. What then? What would I do if I “died”? I wouldn’t be able to fight; my face would be well-known underground, right? They would know I wasn’t human if I came back from the dead.
I exhale. I can hear my parents talking to one another, their words unintelligible through the humming of the bathroom fan. Enslaving humans? I mean, the elves enslaved the orcs, vampires enslave each other and werewolves, centaurs and wizards enslaved fairies; the list goes on and on. The only difference is the why. Humans are considered food, just like cows, pigs, and the rest of them. It’s now argued that plants have sentience because fairies can communicate with them through various methods, so everyone’s up-and-arms about “saving the plants” and “going carnivore”. The other half of the world is the other way around, wanting to save the animals, including sentient humans, and eat only plants.
Newsflash, zombies can’t eat plants. Vampires can’t digest anything but blood. Werewolves are omnivores, sure, but their bodies can’t live on just plants. Fairies eat fruits, witches use everything. Even animals, both from the second world and the first, eat each other.
And now that I’m a Bleeder… what can I eat?
“Come on, Zeke, you’ve been in there for half an hour. You’re gonna be late for class.”
Standing upright, I automatically open my door. My dad’s standing just outside, his hairy, bronze skin sweaty from working in his garage early in the morning. He has insomnia, a common trait of zombies. We’re mostly nocturnal, but we’ve adapted otherwise… doesn’t help we’re always hungry.
Or, well… I guess it’s not we anymore.
“I have an hour until it starts,” I grumble. I don’t want to go today.
“Well then, get your bee-hind in gear before it dwindles down to zero,” he grins.
I shake my head, the skin on my left arm feeling stiff where my large wound had healed.
My dad sniffs the air and my body goes rigid. He eyes me.
“You feeling all right, bud? There’s a weird smell on you.”
He sniffs closer and I back up, struggling to find words.
“Uh, no, I’m fine. Mom got me a new shampoo.”
“Smells like blood,” he says, his brow furrowing.
I swallow hard.
“It’s a new shampoo,” I smile sheepishly. “Human blood is in it. It’s said to take the dullness out of our hair.”
His eyes flick up to my thick, curly-when-it’s-too-long hair and nods, accepting my lie.
“I think it’s working,” he says, ruffling my hair with his hand. “Hurry up, Zeke. It’s your last year. Don’t start slacking off now.
“Yes sir,” I nod as he turns to bound down the stairs.
My heart pounds in my chest rapidly, my brain working faster than it ever has, my fingers moving like they’re on a piano as nerves fry my insides.
I meet my reflection’s eyes.
Who knows what exactly happens to humans, to Bleeders when they’re found out. I don’t want to know. I have to keep up this lie for the rest of my life.
My immortal life.
Sickness washes over me.
There is no escaping it.
I will trip up.
I set my jaw.
But not today.
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