The Dead Don't Complain (Chapters 1-2)

Chapter 1
I read somewhere that most humans aren't ever actually happy. That it's a mere illusory feeling one gets when accomplishing a goal or reaching a destination they've always wanted to be in. Simply put, happiness is temporary, and anybody who tells you they live a happy and fulfilling life is a liar, because it's just not true. At least, that's what I got from the article. I actually disagree vehemently with this little "study". I'm not the richest woman in the world, and my job really doesn't help me get any closer to it, but I can't really recall the last time I've been sad. Isn't that what true happiness is? The absence of of sadness? I feel happy, gleeful in fact, whenever I'm at work. Even outside my work hours I simply can't wait to get back to the graveyard. Although I suppose saying that out of context may seem a little grim, so let me elaborate; I am a grave keeper, and just as I said before I work on site of a graveyard. I make sure the site is kept neat and tidy, the tombstones are nice and standing, the graves untouched by grave robbers, and I check to see if the dead are still in their coffins. If they aren't and left roaming around, I have to immediately bring them back to the hole they dug themselves out of. Otherwise they'll reach the town and wreak all sorts of havoc, and I will get the blame for it.

It's a job that nobody would want nor is it a career that anybody talks about in schools or job fairs. Hell nobody ever thanks me for what I do on a night-to-night basis, and I don't really mind because what I do is making me happy. Hmm, even with context my job still seems somewhat macabre. I might as well explain what a grave keeper actually does just a tad bit further. Like I said, a grave keeper isn't a career path they talk about in the papers. No, to learn more about it you'll have to do a little digging around, no pun intended. You have to know the right people to ask, and even then they'll be reluctant to talk about it. In fact that's part of the job, I'm not supposed to tell anyone about what I do, or rather, I can't tell them about the zombie part. If anyone were to catch a whiff of what was going on people would act irrationally by burning down graves all over the world and taking severe methods of keeping the dead, well, dead. Worst of all I'll lose my job, and that'd be a real bummer.

Fact of the matter is that the method we currently have of making sure the zombie apocalypse doesn't occur and that you can sleep soundly at night works just fine. It's a very simple method that involves two grave keepers and a shed full of weapons. You see zombies are stupid, and slow, and laughably weak; they can't harm a healthy human being, or hell, any human with functioning legs. Scratch that, if you can use your brain properly, you have a chance to survive. The romanticized zombies we see in the movies or video games are way too vicious and unbelievably strong. People seem to forget the glaring fact that zombies are dead people. Decaying bodies and mindless husks that roam around aimlessly with no real objective. The zombies I've dealt with don't even have a hankering for brains; I'm not quite sure where that even started. It's true though, one bite is lethal, but from what I've learn the bite does not cause zombification, it’s death that does it. So, in a way, I suppose a bite is the causation of some zombies, but not for the same reasons you might think.


Now you might be wondering, "why do zombies even exist". Well that's a fantastic question! The answer? I don't know! In fact I don't even think the people who worked on this graveyard before knew. To be honest I never really was too curious about the situation, and why should I be? The zombies are contained and predictable, unless they start sprouting out wings I have no reason to know why they respawn. Though to my knowledge the "epidemic", if you will, happened way before I was born. I'd say fifty or maybe sixty years ago. It's very ambiguous. The first sightings of zombies probably happened even before then, no one can really say.People die all the time, we can't be too certain when and where the first zombie came from, nor who he or she was. Your next question might be "how does one become a zombie". Again, a very good question! To my knowledge, every human on the planet will one day turn undead, but they don't turn until they are actually buried. Very strange, but again, I never inquired any further on the matter. However, some zombies aren’t “lucky” enough to actually escape their coffin. Have you ever tried to escape the inside of a hundred pound piece of wood? In fact, it sometimes makes me wonder if coffins were specifically designed to keep the dead inside their graves. It’s almost as if we grave keepers aren’t the only ones that know about this dark little secret.

I will admit that there are times where I am left with my own thoughts and fall deep within my imagination about this matter. It’s best that I don’t think too much of it because it will only alleviate the love I have for my job. It’s a mystery really, and it’s what makes the job a bit more fun. Sort of like believing in ghosts or monsters; are they real? Could they exist in the very abode you feel sanctions you from the cruel, cruel world? It’s fun to think about, and you certainly don’t want anyone to spoil the fun by declaring that ghosts don’t exist. Those are the kind of people you don’t want around, the kind of thoughts you’d rather not have, not while you’re having fun at least. That is why I adore my partner, Roth.

Ah, right! You may also be wondering who I am, and who the second Grave Keeper may be, yes? Well then, let me satiate your hunger little minds by giving you what you want. I am Rebecca Hart, a simple woman with simple needs. I do not desire expensive clothing nor do I care much for make up. Quite frankly, in my line of work, there’s no need for beauty, so why would I fret over the status of my skin? No, looking young and pretty is something I have no interest in. Where my interests lies within the graveyard. The dead that rise and dare to challenge the living, and I, the guardian of the living. That is just an exhilarating though. The thought that, if I fail, we could all suffer a new dark age. Does that discomfort you? The thought that only two people are what stands between you and the apocalypse? It shouldn’t. We’re professionals after all. Besides, you rely on several people every day to not kill you, don’t you? The drivers on the road who you hope are not drunk, or the power plant workers you hope won’t cause an “isolated incident”, it’s all the same really. We could fail, sure, but we haven’t.

That brings me to my dear partner, Roth. Now please be aware, when I stated he was my partner, that in no way means we are lovers. Also, just because I said I “adore” him does not mean I am in any way sexually attracted to him. No, Roth is simply the man I trust will be able to salvage whatever mess is left over once our shift is done. I rely on him, and vice versa. He is a rather intimidating figure, standing at monstrous 7’2, and is made up entirely of muscle and meat. I’m willing to bet he can grab a zombie’s head and squish it with just one hand. I’d love to see that someday, if it’s possible anyway. Though we wouldn’t want his hand to be bitten now would we? Imagine just how terrifying it would be to have a man like Roth zombified. Nothing would stop him, he’d be a walking tank, he’s already that way in his waking life! A terrifying image indeed.

An interesting character, that Roth. I barely hear him say a word when I see him, and I know nothing of his private life. Would I say he’s a gentle giant? Well, judging by how he treats the dead it’s hard to imagine he’s any gentler during his spare time, though I haven’t seen him outside the graveyard so I can’t rightly say how he is during the day. He could own a flower shop for all I know.

We have our differences in terms of how we kill and how we treat the bodies. Roth tends to be very impatient and rather violent with the dead, ruthless even, while I am a bit more respectful of them. It does not matter what religion or race or political faction they have belonged to in their past lives, in the end they are just lumbering, wandering skeletons with chunks of meat and viscera hanging around their bones. We don’t look all that different from one another when we’re dead, nor do the ideologies of the past carry on in pit we rest in. For that reason, I make sure everyone is brought back from whence they came. The body may be a bit more torn up than the family remembers, but they’re back nonetheless.
Roth and I respect one another, despite our methods of execution. I understand his way is still effective, and he sees that I enjoy my way so he does not dare bother me. We’re close to one another, we have a bond that most co-workers don’t develop during their work days. I suppose it’s to be expected, because I said before I rely on him to keep everything in order when I cannot be trusted to do so. He is the one that keeps me alive when I have fallen, and I am the one who is prepared save him when the situation becomes dire. In a way, when you’ve spent time with someone who keeps you safe and assures you they will always do so, then your relationship with that person becomes a bit more intimate. I’ve worked with him for nearly five years now. Roth is a reliable man, and I will protect him with all my might, as I know he’d do the same.

Now then, I believe I’ve explained most of what I need to. I’m sure you still have plenty of questions, but it’ll have to wait. Don’t worry, all will be answered soon enough, but right now night is approaching. The dead become restless during this hour. They seem to be very tired and weak during the day, but when the moon arises, well, that’s their cue to wake up and start knocking. We’ll be the ones answering.











Chapter 2

I prepare myself for the night ahead, scrounging around my dinky little house that, honestly, I’m amused is still standing even to this day. I’m looking for the appropriate garbs to wear for tonight, the right weapons to bring, the essential snacks to take, et cetera. I even humor the thought of bringing a movie tonight to project on the graveyard. Nights aren’t often too active, most of the time the zombies can’t actually escape their coffins or sometimes get stuck between the dirt and land. It’s just a thought, but it does make me wonder if Roth is the type to enjoy a good horror flick. In any case, I am equipped with the necessities to make it through the night. Weapons, armor, food, everything seems to be in order for another beautiful night.

Although, I should explain what the “right tools” are for this job. For weapons I make sure not to bring anything too heavy, after all there are occasions when I need to be extra mobile. This is why I bring a small pistol. Although zombies don’t always come out frail and decrepit. Some of them were very strong men in their past lives, this is why I make sure to bring a shotgun or two. This is only for the ones I feel need that extra “push” back to the grave. However, ammo can be very expensive, so I try to rely on melee weapons more than I do my guns for economic reasons. Again, with mobility in mind, I carry a hand axe with me. It’s very efficient in kill, one good whack to the head and the dead stop moving. One must always make sure to sharpen the axe every now and again, otherwise the axe will be totally unreliable in combat. A swift knife can also be very handy at times, but I prefer the axe. The other most important thing to bring is, of course, a flashlight. Being that a flashlight uses at least one of your hands, you want to make sure to get a tactical flashlight. It can easily be used as a weapon, and it can blind zombies if you direct light into their eyes. Last but not least, you’re going to always need your shovel on the yard.

I exit my little shack, lock the door, and double check to see if I have everything. Once I’ve confirmed everything is in order, I toss my weapons in the backseat of my car, start the engines and begin to drive away. It’s a shame that I can’t just walk to the graveyard myself, the place is only a few blocks away after all. But I suppose witnessing a 5’6 woman carrying a shovel and two shotguns in public probably isn’t the best idea. Aside from that, I do need to be there as quick as possible, otherwise I might miss out on all the fun. During the day the zombies beat on the coffins and wear them down slowly, and when day breaks and night comes, those coffins get hammered on. Mind you, it takes quite a couple of days for a zombie to actually break his or her coffin, and probably a few hours to dig itself out of the ditch, but it’s usually during the night that a zombie actually musters up all of it’s strength and begin to pummel it’s coffin and dig as if it’s life depends on it, despite it having no life left in it. I’m not sure why they get stronger at night, but it is something to note when working here.

Finally, I arrive at the cemetery. I exit my car, lock it, go to the back, try to open the door, realize I locked the car, unlock, open the back seat, and grab my weapons all in that sloppy order. I walk away from the parking lot and towards the graveyard. As soon as I pass the gate, the groans of the wicked become audible. Those sounds are then quickly followed by large banging sound, which leads into silence.

“He’s here”, I thought, “Either he’s really eager to start work, or he brought the van today. God, I hope he brought the van”. The aforementioned van I speak so fondly of is Roth’s means of transportation. Although that’s not it’s only function. No, you see the van harbors weapons; many, many weapons. From the exotic to the cruel, it brings all kinds of trinkets and toys to suit the carnage that ensues on the busier nights. You can, if you like, think of it as my very own ice cream truck. I get excited whenever I think of what new flavors it brings every night.

However, Roth doesn’t always bring the van. I never asked why, as I feel that’d be rather unprofessional, but I have a feeling he knows I adore it, and that I’d much rather he bring it than nothing at all. Ah well, nevertheless the night isn’t spoiled if the man doesn’t bring his arsenal, although it would make it better. It makes me wonder though, why is it he brings his van on only a few nights per month? At first I thought it had something to do with the phase of the moon, or perhaps the mood he was in, but it’s difficult to determine the ladder factor, and the former is just ridiculous. Roth is an enigma shrouded in viscera, can’t quite understand what he’s thinking unless you see the way he kills that night, and even then it’s hard to understand him.

The sounds of banging get louder as I approach ground zero. It gets dark during this hour, pitch black even, so I prepare myself, grab my flashlight with my right hand, and hover my left over my gun holster. I follow the trail leading towards the heart of it all, and that’s when I see a familiar figure looming over a grave. Roth seemed a lot smaller than before, but then I looked at his legs which were kneeled down. He seemed to be particularly interested in this one grave. I wondered why so I grabbed my flashlight and pointed at his general direction. I’d rather not sneak up on a man like him, especially considering our environment. The light grabbed his attention and he turned his head to look at me.

“Rebecca” he muttered.

“Roth” I replied. “You’re here early. Special occasion?” In my mind I prayed that he had brought the van.

“I had a bad dream. Couldn’t sleep, so I just got here an hour ago” Shoot. No van tonight. Still, that doesn’t answer one thing…
“What’s going on with that grave?” I asked. Roth didn’t reply, instead he gestured with his hand the common “come here quietly” sort of motion. I shrugged and approached carefully. For what reason I’m not sure, but I had a feeling I was going to miss it if I carelessly advanced towards the grave. I was directly behind Roth when I saw it; a zombie whose head poked through the dirt. It’s head shook violently, desperately trying to get out of it’s hole. Couldn’t really make out if it was male or female, the skin was already halfway to being eaten by maggots, which flew off it’s head like dandruff every time it would shake it’s head. The tombstone was of no help either as it said “Jamie Foster”. It didn’t matter though, it needed to get back into the grave either way, but it was rather humorous to see a living “whack a mole” replica.

“Well,” I said, “it is kinda funny, but we should make sure he gets back in his coffin.” Roth nods and starts pushing the head back in with a sledgehammer. “Roth?”

“What?” he asks, still shoving the hammer into the zombie’s skull.

“We can’t just do push him back in there.”

“Why not?”

“Our jobs aren’t to plant them into the dirt. We’re supposed to get them back into the coffin. You know how it is.” I said, annoyed by his unprofessionalism. “We have to dig out the dirt and physically put him back in.”
He scoffs, “Fine.” Clearly Roth was not in the mood. Well, he never is, but he was in a much crankier state today than usual. He removes his hammer from the dirt, underneath was the zombie’s face, which was visibly poking through the surface. It gnawed at the air, almost as if in spite. I wondered if it actually got angry at Roth’s deeds. I don’t think too often about what they feel or what they themselves think about, I’m just the one who drags them back home, like a police officer who brings back kids to their parents after curfew.

I kept staring at it’s face, or what was left of it anyway. I was wondering what it could have been thinking. The next thing I knew, however, was that the zombie’s face was suddenly buried into Roth’s hammer. The hammer came down so hard that I felt the ground quake slightly, and dirt splashed onto my jeans. Just as I was about to remark on his actions, the sledgehammer went back into the air and immediately crashed onto the soil. The same results occurred, that’s when he started to lift the hammer over his head again. This time I stood behind him, as to save me from being sullied any further. The hammer came down harder than ever before, and then he let go.

Roth left his hammer on the exact same spot the zombie’s face was, then he walked away, looking for his shovel I assumed. My curiosity got the better of me; I had to ask why he was in such a foul mood.

“Something bugging you, champ?” I asked with sincerity. Although I think he took it as a sardonic response because he didn’t respond. Instead he simply approached the gravesite and began digging.

“Check the perimeter while I dig.” he said in a deadpan tone. Not the sort of response I was looking for. Nevertheless I still had a job to do, so as he continued digging, I began searching for any lurkers. It’s not just zombies I need to worry about, there are also times when a living human being enters the graveyard, either to mourn their beloved ones or to pillage the graves. Either way it didn’t matter, they weren’t allowed in here. As far as I know there’s only three people who are allowed to be in this graveyard after hours, and that would include Roth, myself, and the owner of this venue, Giovanni Fulci. What a hideous man.