The Zombie Story The Chronicles of Orlando Read online

  It was an old motorcycle. Orlando moved the boxes out of the way in order to get a better view. It looked like it had been painted black at one time, yet it was definitely a Harley Davidson motorcycle. Based on the fork and blade design and V-twin engines, he identified it as a 2004 Sportster.

  “How’d you end up over here?” his grandfather asked from behind.

  Turning, Orlando noticed that the guy who ran the junkyard was with his grandfather. He asked, “How much for this?”

  “What?” his grandfather asked Orlando surprised at his question.

  The guy gave a crooked smile before saying cautiously, “Are you sure you want that? It didn’t do so well by its last owner.”

  “Are you crazy?” his grandfather nearly shouted at him incredulously.

  After a short discussion, Orlando was the proud owner of what he liked to think of as a “pre-owned” Sportster. The guy told him that he could have someone deliver it for him first thing in the morning, but Orlando didn’t want to wait. He told them both that he could walk the bike home. They didn’t live too far away and he didn’t mind. He wanted to start working on rebuilding it right away.

  He knew it was illegal to walk it on the sidewalk but it was worth the risk. He was only a few miles away from his house and the streets were busy. A car full of teenagers drove by him; it slowed down only enough so that they could laugh at him. Orlando didn’t care.

  The sidewalk began to narrow as he turned down a side street. He adjusted his headphones setting the volume up high enough to make him unable to hear the noise behind him; but he definitely felt the hand on his shoulder. Its grip was tight as it pulled him back.

  Orlando dropped the Sportster as his attacker whirled him around like a rag doll.

  His attacker was a strange looking man who looked like a street person. His hair was long and dirty. He had no shoes and he reeked of urine, sweat, and decay. His eyes were sunken into his face, looking dull and lifeless.

  “I need a fix, dude,” the man said in a lifeless tone.

  “What?” Orlando asked, not sure that he had heard him correctly. He couldn’t help but see blood dripping down the man’s arm.

  “This is the place where I always get it!” he snarled at Orlando.

  “Whatever,” Orlando turned to pick up his Sportster. He wanted to get away.

  A grunt dropped into the man’s throat becoming a slow growl. Orlando did not turn to look behind him. He was focused on making a quick exit.

  A hand clamped back onto his shoulder; throwing him into wooden slats that formed a wall. He hit it hard knocking the air from his lungs.

  The man was on top of him; his mouth wide opened. Several teeth were missing and his breath smelled of rotting gums. He began to foam at the mouth. An even stranger odor emanated from his mouth, nearly knocked Orlando out cold.

  There was a piece of wood from the broken fence lying next to Orlando, he reached for it.

  A zombie! His grandfather wasn’t crazy. He was right!

  The guy on top of him began making strange sounds as his face came closer to Orlando’s head. He was incredibly strong; Orlando could not push him off.

  With the piece of wood in his left hand, he instantly envisioned flames and immediately they burst forth into reality. He rammed it into the Zombies eye.

  The head lit up in flames as it jumped back. Its hands reached for its head in a poor attempt to put it out. The rest of its body caught fire and it gave a cry before dropping to the ground in a lifeless heap.

  Jumping to his feet, Orlando grabbed the Sportster making a mad dash down the narrow sidewalk. He did not look back.

  All the way home, the words of his grandfather and Maxwell played through his head like an old movie reel.

  How could there be zombies? How did people not know about this? He thought about that first day in Los Angeles and what he had seen in the street in front of his house. Did this mean that the guy with the gun could be a Zombie Hunter? If so had he killed a zombie in front of his house? Orlando had many questions. The most important question of all; would his sword fit into his backpack at school tomorrow?

  Chapter Three – Teammates

  It was the oddest looking school he had ever seen. Orlando knew Los Angeles was going to be a strange place. He had just not figured it would be strange in so many ways.

  Orlando rode up on his Harley Davidson Sportster. It had only needed a few minor repairs. He added oil, replaced a few parts and managed to get it running. His grandfather had warned him of the dangers of the motorcycle; emphasizing that the guy at the junk yard had told him about the motorcycle’s very dark history. He did not go into detail, but in a very serious tone had stated that Orlando’s mother would not approve.

  His grandfather had been correct, his mother did not approve. His father on the other hand, thought it was an amazing ride and had helped him with the repairs.

  His school was divided into parts along a jagged hill. The parking lot was located at the bottom of that hill. The hike up was not too bad. It gave him a chance to look things over. Get the lay of the land.

  He could not help but notice the peculiar looks that he got as he made his way up the hill. He thought it might be the odd looking object he had wrapped into a black binding that was creating the interest. He had rigged his sword to his backpack. It was awkward but he didn’t feel good without it around. Not after the attack he had experienced. He figured that if anyone asked him about it, he would just say it was for his fencing lessons after school.

  He heard the other students comment about him as he made his way up the hill. None of them seemed to care if he heard them or not. Orlando didn’t care either. They could think whatever they wanted.

  He walked into the main office; an older woman was seated at the front desk. She was typing on the computer and speaking on an earpiece as he approached her. The back wall was lined with empty chairs.

  The woman looked up as Orlando approached. She had black hair with silver streaks and she wore colored contacts that made her eyes look like a cat’s.

  She held out a hand to Orlando, motioning for him to wait while she finished. Her nails had been manicured into pointed tips and were painted gray.

  Pressing a button on her earpiece, she ended her phone conversation. “You are?” she asked, not looking at him. Her attention focused on the computer in front of her.

  “Orlando Drake,” he said. He noticed that the others in the office were trying to make themselves look busy while they surreptitiously watched him. They weren’t any good at it. They were all dressed oddly– like characters from an emo musical. Also, he couldn’t help but notice that even the guys wore makeup. He returned his gaze to the lady at the desk.

  “Drake, Orlando, hmm, where are you in the computer?” she asked, as she typed in his name again. “Let me have your I.D. card or drivers license.”

  The moment he handed over his license she jumped from her chair and ran into a backroom.

  When she disappeared, one of the emo kids cautiously walked over to him. He tried not to look at her. He tried to keep his focus on the door through which the woman from the front desk had disappeared. He was not successful for long.

  “Hi,” she said with a crack in her voice. “I’m Issa.” She cleared her throat and waited for him to respond.

  Orlando was a head taller than her; he looked at her for a moment before answering, “Hi.”

  Issa waited for him to say something more.

  Orlando turned back towards the door waiting.

  Issa did not give up she asked, “We were wondering,” she gestured with her head to where her friends stood waiting for her. “We were wondering about you. Are you new?”

  “Just got into town,” he replied.

  “Oh, because we noticed what you have attached to your backpack …” she paused as if waiting for him to finish her sentence. Orlando noticed the look of exasperation that she gave to her friends. “Do you fence?”


  Orlando tried to cover the startled expression that he knew had crossed his face, “What?” he asked not sure he had heard her correctly.

  “We have a fencing club. We meet on Fridays.”

  Orlando recovered quickly, “I’m not looking to join any clubs.”

  “If you do, we meet on Fridays.” She gave him a friendly smile before joining her friends.

  The woman from the front desk returned. She said, “You have not been tested for your levels yet?” She looked at him with disdain.

  She was referring to the test regarding the level of his magick skills. Each student was tested when they entered high school in order to assess the level of their abilities. Orlando simply explained to her that he had just moved from Oklahoma and had not yet had time to be tested.

  She gave him a brush with her claw like hand and said, “Not a problem, we will take care of that for you.” She handed him a printed copy of his schedule and directed him up yet another hill, to his first class.

  Orlando was slowly making his way to class when he turned the corner to find a tall severely well groomed young man standing before him. He had an unpleasant look upon his face.

  “Saw you coming up the hill on your motorcycle.” He raised a clenched fist and placed it directly in front of Orlando’s face. His eyes squinted at Orlando as he looked over his shoulder at his backpack, “What do have wrapped up? Are you in a gang?”

  “What?” Orlando asked, with a confused look in his eyes.

  Lowering his clenched fist to his side, “This is not the school for people like you.”

  “Like me? You don’t even know me.” Orlando took exception to the remark.

  “You ride a motorcycle to school. You carry a concealed weapon. Your trouble, that’s what I know about you.”

  “Then step aside and let me get to class.”

  “I could. But I’m not going to.”

  Orlando looked at him, still confused by his belligerence, “What do you want?”

  “This is your warning, stay clear of me and I will see to it that you have a nice, pleasant year.”

  “I don’t even know you, why should I care about your ‘warning’? Orlando asked; a cocky look in his eyes.

  Orlando didn’t see it coming; the swing to his face knocked him backwards landing him on his backpack. He looked like a turtle with his feet up in the air. It took him a minute to sit up. With his hand at his jaw easing the sting from the blow, he looked up at his attacker.

  “A nice, pleasant year,” the stranger said as he walked away.

  Orlando moved his backpack to his side, a pair of legs came into his view. He followed them up to find a young girl staring down at him. She had her hair pulled back into two pigtails and she brushed her bangs out of her eyes.

  She squatted down at his side, “That was George; they call him ‘King George’ because he uses his parents’ connections to scare everyone.”

  She gave him a hand and helped him to his feet. “I’m Elodie,” she said with a smile.

  “Orlando.”

  “George is suspicious of everyone. Don’t take it personally.”

  “He punched me in the face, kind of hard not to take that personally.”

  “True, he did.”

  “You said his parents have connections?”

  “Yes, and not to mention that George’s godfather, is the governor, kind of makes him feel entitled and that we are all the little people who must abide his bidding. Hence the name, ‘King George’ it fits him perfectly.” She gave a laugh.

  “It does.”

  “Where is your class? I can show you the way?” she offered.

  Elodie led him to his class where she made a face once they came to the classroom door.

  “What’s with the face?” Orlando asked curiously.

  She gave his arm a pat as if she were offering her condolences, “It’s only an hour, at least.”

  “What is so bad about this class?”

  “King George,” she said before hurrying back the way they had come.

  She was right; –at least it was just an hour.

  ****

  Orlando was slowly making his way to his next class when he turned the corner to find Maxwell standing before him.

  “What are you doing here?” Maxwell asked irritated.

  “I’m at school. I’m supposed to be here,” he replied. Orlando did not like finding Maxwell at school. It was going to be hard enough and he didn’t need Maxwell to add to it.

  “School?” he asked, looking around as if he just realized where he was. “You have training to do. We don’t have much time to get you ready.”

  “It will have to wait.” Orlando tried to move past Maxwell.

  Maxwell stepped in front of him, “If you must attend school, then you must.”

  “Okay, so move,” Orlando again attempted to brush by; he was again stopped, as Maxwell stepped in front of him.

  “School will still be here tomorrow, but you may not be. Do I have your attention now?”

  “What is it?” he asked although he did not really want to know.

  “There is someone I want you to meet. It won’t take long.” Maxwell extended his left arm out for Orlando to go forward.

  “Where are we going?” Orlando hesitated.

  “A hunter is only seen a moment or two before they attack.”

  Orlando looked at Maxwell oddly, “What kind of attack?”

  “An attack from hunters, you will see.” Maxwell had a proud tone in his voice as he pushed Orlando forward.

  “So, they are hiding before they attack me?”

  Maxwell began to laugh, “Just to see how fast you are. Don’t worry there is only one other hunter here today.”

  “You want to do this at my school?” Orlando didn’t like the idea of this meeting taking place at school.

  “A zombie can attack anywhere,” he said.

  With those words spoken, Orlando began to scan the nearby area looking for places of attack. Nothing looked suspicious. There were trees but they were too thin to hide behind. Next were the tables and benches but nobody could hide within those.

  Trash bins? Orlando laughed, maybe in there.

  “I thought you said no one else could be a zombie hunter but me?”

  Maxwell thought about that for a moment before saying, “Maybe I was being a little dramatic.”

  “Yeah, maybe,” Orlando took a cautious step forward. He had not reached for his sword. He left it where it was, attached to his backpack. He felt odd doing this but he was curious as to who the other hunter was and where the hunter might be hiding.

  It was the one place Orlando hadn’t thought to look; the benches and the tables were beneath an open enclosure. The roof was made out of wood. He didn’t give it much thought because it looked very unstable.

  A huge shadow covered him from above. Releasing a fierce battle cry, the shadow leapt from the roof. Landing a few feet from Orlando, the hunter’s sword was drawn. Orlando wisely backed up a few steps.

  “Dude, I could so totally have had your head.” It was a young man with blonde hair and gray eyes about Orlando’s age. Looking over at Maxwell, the young man added, “Is this the guy you were talking about?”

  Maxwell vigorously nodded his head, “Orlando, this is Ruben. He will help you with your training, which begins now!”

  Ruben looked Orlando over from head to toe. All he saw was a young kid who looked like he had never been in a fight. “Let’s go hunting; see what you can do.” Ruben said doubtfully. He knew he wouldn’t be impressed with Orlando’s hunting skills.

  Chapter Four – China Town

  Ruben took Orlando into the city; the streets were crowed with cars and people. Orlando didn’t think that zombies could possibly be hanging out in the open. But Ruben seemed to know what he was talking about. He told Orlando that he had been hunting zombies for a while. That he enjoyed it, he liked the rush that it gave him.

  Orlando
rode his Sportster; Ruben had his own ride, his was a blue Kawasaki sport Z1000. He expected Orlando to follow him, yet as he made turns down streets he would make the turns at the last possible second.

  Orlando reconsidered the thought that just maybe Ruben didn’t have any idea where they were headed.

  They rode by Union Station headed south towards North Broadway. Ruben came to a quick stop without signaling his intent. He had pulled up to a bakery.

  “Why are we stopping here? You hungry are something?” Orlando asked as he parked alongside him.

  Removing his helmet Ruben responded, “Or something. This place can get pretty crazy. You’ll see what I mean, dude.”

  The place was busy, filled with tourists who made their way up and down the streets of Chinatown.

  Ruben and Orlando began to walk away from their motorcycles, Ruben paused and without looking back, he raised his right arm and pushed a button on a keychain. The noise of two beeps sounded securing his ride.

  “Seriously?” Orlando asked as they continued forward.

  Ruben ignored the question, instead he pointed out a small shop that sold herbs and teas. “This place is known for its underground fighting. I think it would be a good place to test you.”

  “Underground fighting? In that place?” He asked uncertain about whether or not Ruben was being straight with him.

  “Yeah, man. Come on I’ll show you,” an eager smile on his face.

  Ruben entered the shop first; the door bell chimed alerting his presence. Orlando was hesitant to follow. Through the huge windows Orlando noticed that no one was at the front counter. Again the door chimed as Orlando strode in, not quiet sure what was really going on.

  Ruben headed into the backroom, “Looks like they’re all downstairs already.” He came to a stop in a small hallway, which oddly held no doorways. Kneeling down Ruben removed a piece of board that was covering a narrow opening. Looking intently at Orlando he asked, “How’s your magik? Are you a classified novice or mercurial?”

  Orlando didn’t know the answer to that, for he hadn’t been tested yet so he said, “Guess we’ll find out.”

  “Fair enough,” Ruben was about to lead the way down when he was stopped by Orlando’s question.