Zom-Be-Gone

Two eyes appeared between the slit in the giant metal door. "Who goes there?" 

"The name is Donavan Sullivan. I hear you had a bit of a zombie problem," the man outside the gate said, adjusting his tie.

"Who doesn't. Get lost pal," the voice behind the gate said without a care. 

Donavan stepped forward. "What if I told you, you don't have to live in fear. What if I told you, there was freedom outside these walls."

"I would say you are insane. Get lost before we ring the dinner bell on you!"

"I don't think the zombies out here are too hungry."

The eyes darted around Donavan and grew big upon seeing the reality behind him. A series of clicks and ticks occurred, followed by the slit in the gate being slammed shut. Donavan stepped back with a grin on his face. The gate opened enough for a bald man to come out, wearing a crown of spikes and barbed wire.

"What...did you do?" the bald man asked, letting his baton drop into the dirt. The battlefield of zombies laid motionless, enjoying the silence of the wind.

"The same thing you could be doing if you buy my product. It's called Zom-Be-Gone," Donavan said, waving his hands in a comical fashion.

"What is it?"

"It is a once in a lifetime, cure-all product. Zom-Be-Gone is a spray, not unlike your generic hairspray, that actively kills infections in zombies and humans alike! Designed with a revolutionary formula, our brand of Zom-Be-Gone will be something your ancestors will be talking about for years."

"How does it work?"

"I'm glad you asked." Donavan pulled out a small black can of aerosol spray with a green zombie painted on it. "It is simple to use. Just point and spray!”

The white mist floated over the bald man, causing him to hack and raise his baton.

"What did you do to me?" the bald man said, his eyes lit with furry.

"It is completely harmless to humans. If anything, it cures any infection you have. This is why zombies die. Their whole body is infected."

The bald man licked his inner cheek. It felt smooth like his gums. He felt the rest of his face. Where there were once blisters and acne, they had all disappeared. This spray moved like a thief, taking without leaving a trace.

"My sores! They are gone," the bald man said, still feeling his face.

"See what I mean, my good man. It is a natural cure for any infection."

"How much do you want for it?" the bald man ask, pointing at the can of spray.

"My good man, I don't want to sell you one of these. I have crates of them." 

On cue, a giant black truck with high suspension drove over the hill. Stacks of crates sat in the bed, waving at its new potential owner. 

"We'll take them all. How much?"

"Can you really put a price on health and no zombies?"

"I'm sure you can. We'll give you any supplies you require."

Donavan smiled. "How about a feast? Out here for the whole camp. To celebrate victory over the zombies."

"That's all you want?”

"For starters, we can talk about details then."

Needless to say, word got around quick of the magical spray and everyone came outside to witness its wonder. Donavan did a few demonstrations for some of the more sickly folk and the whole camp made a big feast in his honor. The smell of meat and other savory flavors kept the rotting flesh smell of the zombies at bay. Sun started to set on the land and the bald man tapped his glass.

"I would like to make a toast. To Mr. Sullivan here. He has brought us hope for our children! For our future! We are forever in your debt," the bald man declared.

The people cheered and clapped while Donavan climbed up on top of the truck. The people cheered louder, waiting for a speech from their new savior.

"Thank you. Thank you. You all have been so kind to me. When I created this product. All I wanted to do was save lives. Create a better humanity. A better future." The truck started up and the engine roared, emphasizing his last word. "The problem about a better future is it is always fleeting. Something to be cherished. But in the end it comes and goes like the wind."

Zombies from the ground started to twitch, waking up from what was thought to be their eternal resting place. People had not realized the danger around them, still focused on Donavan's speech. The truck started to slowly roll toward the open gate, away from the crowd of people.

"But one day it hit me. How do I save lives when the enemy is at the gates? By letting nature take its course.”

The truck stopped inside the camp and Donavan jumped off the back to shut the gate. A woman screamed as a zombie had bit into her thigh. People scattered and screamed, realizing the zombies that were thought to be dead were alive once again. The bald man ran to the gate but could not reach it in time. His people were being slaughtered by the moaning zombies while he banged on the metal gate. Two eyes appeared before him.

"Who is it?" Donavan asked, with a high pitched voice.

"You betrayed us! We trusted you!"

"My good man, you were a fool to do that. Which button do I click here to ring the dinner bell?"

The bald man pounded the gate with his fists. "You bastard! Why are you doing this?"

"Sorry, I'm not some supervillain who is going to reveal his diabolical plan to you, so you can somehow miraculously stop me. Just know, you died the fool." A giant gong rang, causing the zombies to roar with rage. "Oh looks like I found it. Good luck my good man. I'm rooting for you!"

The metal slid over the slit in the gate. Howls of the people echoed across the countryside, warning anyone within earshot to stay far away. Some managed to escape that night, but it was of no consequence to Donavan. He took pride in his work. Work that he knew was still left unfinished.

Human Bites Zombie

"You want us to do what?" Franklin said, taking off his glasses.

"Just take a bite. Like you would a hamburger," Greg said.

"But this isn't a hamburger. Greg what you're talking about–"

"Is what? Not sanitary? Not normal?"

"Complete insanity!"

"Oh, so they can bite us, but we can't bite them? Sounds like a double standard if you ask me."

The grotesque man in the jail cell rammed the bars. He reached his decaying arms out to grab them, but his arms were not long enough. His moans echoed in the small room, longing for their flesh.

"You want to eat a zombie? Fine. Go for it!" Franklin said.

"I didn't say eat...only bite a little."

"I'm not doing it."

"I see you're not convinced. I'll show you how it's done."

Greg turned to face the zombie still grasping at air. The zombie's skin was a puke green hue and puss oozed from its cheek. Greg took off his loud Hawaiian shirt and wrapped it around his hand. He grabbed ahold of the zombie's hand like giving a handshake. The zombie dug its chipped fingernails into Greg's covered hand, unable to reach the skin. Greg swooped his head down to the zombie's forearm and sunk his teeth into the zombie's squishy flesh. The skin gave way like Fruit Gushers, squirting a liquid into Greg's mouth.

Greg released the zombie from his bite and stepped out of reach. The zombie stopped trying to get at Greg and backed away from the bars. The zombie rubbed its skin where Greg bit it and the skin peeled off, revealing tan, healthy skin underneath. The zombie kept rubbing up its arm, revealing more normal human skin underneath. This continued until what stood before Greg and Franklin was no zombie, but a person. 

"What...happened?" the former zombie spoke.

Greg wiped his mouth with his rolled up shirt. "You have been cured my good sir. Just let the record show, Franklin was going to kill you.”

"I never said that."

The former zombie shook his head. "Cured? From what?"

"You were a zombie. Franklin didn't want to save you, so I took it upon myself. No need to thank me though. It's kinda my calling. Like a doctor. Or a race car driver," Greg said, putting his shirt back on.

The former zombie held his head and closed his eyes. "I'm so confused."

"Don't worry, so is Franklin here. I'm going to head out, Franklin will catch you up. Might even find you a job with that cute girl who makes those amazing deer sausages. What's her name? Wendy?" Greg said, walking backwards to the door.

"Where do you think you're going?" Franklin asked. 

Greg reached into his pocket and put on his aviator glasses. "To save the world.”