For too long, John had lived in a world ruled by the living dead. He fought them all the way back home, to his family farm where he found his loved ones ripped limb from limb in a carnivorous frenzy by a single zombie. The creature soon noticed John as well, halting its feast to slowly turn its half rotted face.
"Oh, do join in," the zombie said with a cough, its voice hinting academia, "I never go for the intestines anyway, I am on a calorie budget."
Did it say something? That was impossible; it had to be a sign of his fever shock. He'd seen so much death, he'd dealt so much death, it had consumed him. And now his family wad dead too.
"Oh, you're human," said the zombie, "I guess that's just my luck, you guys are getting pretty rare these days. I was sort of wondering where my next meal was coming from. Kind of like when I was alive, given how the economy was. But that's neither here nor there is it?"
John got his bat ready. This was the shock, he told himself, I'm delirious, I need to wake up and get back on my toes.
"First off!" the zombie proclaimed, "I am not a hallucination. Secondly: my name his Carl." He motioned for a handshake, but they were too far apart, John wasn't moving forward for anything. He clenched his weapon even tighter. The zombie standing before him attempted to right his tattered clothing. "So it appears we are in the classical predicament: I want to eat your brains. But I presume you want to keep them?"
With a nervous gulp, John managed to get himself refocused, "How are you talking?" he said slowly.
"Brains of course," The zombie said virtually reeking with pride, "Since this whole thing began, most of us undead folks were satisfied just eating whatever we could get our hands on. And thus, neglecting the brains, if my calculations are correct, this is why so few of us have retained any cognitive function. It brings new light to that old saying doesn't it? You are what you eat."
"So eating brains makes you smarter."
"Smart enough to see how this situation is going to end."
"You mean, with me killing you for killing my parents!"
"Now don't be so hasty." The zombie explained, "It is reasonable to assume that since the outbreak, not only have you managed to kill every zombie you've come across, but that I have also eaten the brains of every human I've encountered. And thus, in this scenario one of those trends will not persist. Ergo, it would be reasonable for us to negotiate some kind of mutually equitable arrangement. Preferably, one in which I eat your brains and you don't make such a fuss about it."
Now that the shock had rolled off of him, the feeling was replaced by rage; it would have been enough to see his parents taken out of this world by the undead. But this one was ... pretentious. It added insult to injury.
"Nevertheless." the thing that called itself Carl continued, "I've discovered that brain consumption can not only be attributed to the restoration of cognitive function, it can also result in knowledge transfer. When I eat a brain I eventually gain its wisdom. For instance, thanks to your mother I know your name is Jonathan, they called you Joe for short, or Ethan. It just happened to be the last thing on her mind."
John didn't care what was happening here. He wanted vengeance; he wanted this thing dead, really dead. But as soon as he began his charge, it drew a pistol.
"I can also use these," the zombie explained, "So let's talk for a moment."
"You might get a shot off with that. But I'll still kill you."
"That might be true, but injured as you'll be do you really believe you'll out run the coming hordes when they are altered by the sound of this loud little device?”
"I'll take my chances!"
"That's what I wanted to discuss with you. Why take your chances? Why fight, why resist? You'll only die eventually. And do you really believe you'll make it that long? Up until now you've had a family to survive for. And now I've eaten them. Trust me, I know what it was like from when I was alive: so much running, so much fighting. It worn me down. Then I died and things got so much easier. I just want you to have that kind of peace ... oh my ... that may have been some of the mommy I just ate ... sorry about that tangent there."
"You aren't talking me into letting you eat my brain."
"I'm talking you into making a rational decision here. If I shoot this gun, it'll draw more zombies, and you'll be injured at best, it'll be difficult if not impossible to escape, and I'll miss out on eating your brains. Think about this, it isn't like you can go to a hospital. This is a lose/lose situation, but I can make it quick and painless. You can be with your family. Don't you want that?"
"I want you dead!" John said readying his bat.
"And what happens when you do kill me?” the zombie said, “Provided you pull it off and survive. What will you do next? You live in a dead world with no hope. That gets to people. I find so many suicide victims that should have just let me eat their brains before they blew them out!"
"People deserve dignity," John said, "Even in death."
"And a mind is a terrible thing to waste!" the zombie replied. He would have looked frustrated if his face weren't in decay, "It’s not like you're even doing anything with yours. You were so talented, yet you dropped out of school twice! Maybe if those brains went to someone with some work ethic things would be a little different."
He'd truly had enough this time. John lunged forward with a forceful swing that caused him to spin and stagger to the floor. The zombie stumbled back as he tried to fire his gun. But applying force caused his trigger finger to snap off. While John got to his feet, Carl got his gun into his other, sturdier hand and cocked it. He trained it on John's face; he looked like a man content with any outcome that might arise.
"If you want to shoot me, just do it" John said, "I'm tired of this…conversation."
"No! No! No!" Carl told him, "If I shoot you more zombies will come before I get to finish your brains, and those are of the upmost importance. Have you ever eaten a brain John? Have you ever tasted knowledge or savored the essence of the sickly sweet thoughts that run through warm, soft brain tissue? I have! I've cracked open skulls, and I've feasted on history, savored morsels of Beethoven and devoured the arts. Culture, math and sciences, they sizzle on my tongue, caressing my throat with the rich flavor of the human experience."
John was not moved. "Not only is that revolting, it is hardly a compelling argument.”
"How about this," Carl began, "you were an organ donor if I do recall? Think about it like that. You didn't think you'd need those organs after you died. So why do you need them now that you live in a dead world. And let's say you do weasel out of this. You'll only get other people killed when the rush of zombies descend on the grounds. Think about them."
"Ah ha," John said, "But if I'm going by your logic, those are only people that were going to die anyway! Why should I care about them?”
"Look, the point of this isn't to make a logically sound argument. The point is for me to break you down until you let me eat your brains already!"
"Enough," John sighed, "If you want my brain so badly, maybe you need to rethink your argument. What are you going to do with all that knowledge? Because at this point, it seems like you are going to just ostensibly keep eating people, much like I was going to just go around killing zombies."
"You're right aren't you? Maybe I should do something with the gifts I've been given." the zombie pondered. "I don't have to live such a bleak existence if I don't want to. I could teach other zombies, maybe even rebuild this world into something better. Something positive could come out of this apocalypse."
Distracted, the zombie didn't notice the swing of John's bat until it was too late. His head rolled, and John smashed that head. More zombies came, and the cycle continued.
