as you guys know oor Kornies
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as you guys know
Yth esov vy owth assaya gul henna.langbot langbot
The Aussie looked as if he’s just stepped off a cattle-station: tall (6’4” or so), rangy and raw-boned. Incongruously, he sported a closely cropped moustache (almost Hitlerian, but not quite). The stare in his eyes also suggested he was the sort of bloke who’d rather have a fight than a feed. “Well, that’s where you’d be wrong, brother,” replied Gately. Gately, on the other hand, looked as if he’d not be out of place as an extra on a Hollywood set. He was big, muscular – and very determined. (And, perhaps, he didn’t much like the talk of ‘lynching’.) The Aussie soldier put down his glass of beer – a serious move in any situation – and challenged Gately: “Oh, yeah? And how’s that?” “There’s a guy, a guy they captured with the zombies while you were away. He’s at the camp now – recovering in the infirmary.” “So?” replied the rangy Aussie, lifting his glass to his lips once more. “Don’t you get it?” replied Gately. “He was living with the zombies. He says he was with them for the entire first two weeks after the outbreak in Melbourne.” The Aussie took in the significance of this – and placed his glass down once again. “And they didn’t eat him?” “No, sir!” asserted Private First Class Gately. “And he’s not a zombie himself?” “Nope. We all saw him,” said Gately. “The guy was as alive as you or me. They had him in a cage, on-stage, at one of the Captain’s lectures – you know, that Doctor Captain.” “Bullshit!” replied the Aussie dismissively. “How can a guy live with the zombies for two weeks – and not get eaten or turn into a zombie himself? That’s just plain bullshit. How can that be?” (Bullshit was something, apparently, that the tall Aussie was fully conversant with.)
Yma dhedhi mab aral.langbot langbot
“I was there on Day One, sister! I saw all those kids bitten by those first zombies – the ones who appeared from nowhere. I saw most of the guys who got bitten become zombies – or just be torn apart, destroyed. But, I also saw guys, very close friends of mine, get bitten, get sick and then recover! They ended up as well as you or I are now – or, at least, as well as you are now...” I saw her wince a little at this oblique reference to the injuries that I had suffered (at least, indirectly) at her hands. Good! I continued: “...I saw this happen with my own two eyes. Those guys recovered completely – though they’ve probably been burnt to a crisp by napalm now. All they had to remind them of their infection were the scars of the zombie bites.” I paused and sighed. Ingrid remained silent. So, I pressed the attack: “But you can believe whatever you want, doctor,” I said, “ because, actually, I don’t care anymore. I know that I’m going to die, too – and, unless I miss my guess, the “Angel of Death” will be arranging for my, very painful, passing very shortly – when he has no further experimental use for me or David. Maybe he can arrange for a ton of napalm to be dropped on me as well? What do you think?” This was a bit of theatrics on my part. I didn’t really believe that my death was so imminent – I considered that I was still far too ‘useful’ to the Captain’s research – whatever that really was (apart from sadism). I thought he might kill me but that, if that happened in the near future, it was more likely to be by experimental error or oversight. Furthermore, you will have noted that, in talking to Ingrid, I had glossed over one very salient fact: my friends had indeed survived zombie bites but they had never become zombies themselves. I knew of no case where a zombie had reverted to normalcy. As far as I knew, this was impossible. It was a definite one-way street – but Doctor Ingrid did not need to know that. “So, these guys, the ones who recovered, what do you think made them different from all the other guys – the ones who stayed being zombies?”
Hi a leveris y vos teg.langbot langbot
Nevertheless, I had to try. As I approached the pair, apparently locked in a deathly embrace, I yelled all sorts of threats and curses at my beloved brother. I can’t remember exactly what they were except that they were dire and foul. No response or acknowledgement was forthcoming from David, in any event. And, just as I expected that David would deliver the coup de grâce to the small man, an amazing thing occurred: David released his grip, stood up and walked away, making the same type of grunt he had made when I had, so recently, offered him an apple – utter disgust. The small man lay on the ground, passed out but physically unhurt. The door to the crypt opened a crack and a quavering voice croaked: “Are you okay, Charles?” “Charles”? Yes, of course, I knew this guy. His real name was Peter but he called himself ‘Charles’, as in Charles the first, beheaded king of England. He imagined himself as royalty – and even grew the royal goatee of the period. All his special friends bore the names of the royal court. Jude – you know, the one who, presumably, was still holed up in the Baillieu Library – was dubbed ‘Henrietta-Maria’ (Charles I’s wife) and, for what it was worth, Charles had dubbed me ‘Oliver Cromwell’. (I only realised much later that, coming from Charles I, this was a dire insult – since Cromwell had been responsible for Charles’ beheading. But, I’d not been at all fussed by this at the time of my ‘christening’). Charles, at that time, was the only openly gay friend that I had. He was very brave. At that time, male homosexual acts were still punishable in Victoria as felonies under the Crimes Act of 1958. (“The abominable crime of buggery”, as it was therein described – very strange, non-legal, language.). So, ‘to come out of the cupboard’ was not without serious risks in those days. The law was still routinely enforced against men such as Charles. So, who was ‘Paul’, still cowering in the crypt? That could wait. More to the point, why had David scorned a fresh meal of Charles? Were zombies homophobic? Surely not. Any meal of living flesh is a meal. Isn’t it? Who could be so picky? Besides, zombies seemed perfectly happy to devour either male or female flesh – but not, of course, the flesh of lawyers. So, why reject the flesh of a gay man?
Eus arghans dhedha?langbot langbot
4 sinne gevind in 6 ms. Hulle kom uit baie bronne en word nie nagegaan nie.