Jews vs Zombies by Daniel Polansky, Adam Roberts, Sarah Lotz, Ofir Touché Gafla, Rena Rossner, Shimon Adaf, Benjamin Rosenbaum, Anna Tambour
Authors: Daniel Polansky, Adam Roberts, Sarah Lotz, Ofir Touché Gafla, Rena Rossner, Shimon Adaf, Benjamin Rosenbaum, Anna Tambour
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the scruff of the neck, altogether indifferent to the fact that we have ‘improved’ in the meantime.
We are punished most for our virtues.
Vices, she presumed he meant to write there. And –
He who fights with monsters might take care lest he thereby becomes a monster. And when you gaze long into zombies the zombies also gaze into you.
Cold blue eyes. But, though young, Jonie had enough experience of the Zayinim to know that when they looked at you, there was nothing behind the look. They could not gaze. Most were repulsive-looking, but even the good-looking ones were no better than beasts: naked, filthy, dangerous. At breakfast the next day, she challenged Daniel: ‘Do you write it out, Uncy? Is this book I borrow-éd in your handwriting?’
Daniel glowered at her. They were expecting Jacob back soon: later that day maybe, or maybe tomorrow, or the day after; and until he came back Daniel had to conserve his tobacco. Accordingly he was grumpy. ‘You’ve a problem with my handy writing, maybe? Stealers can’t be choosers, my girl.’
‘It’s hard going, and your spelling is a shocker, and I don’t know,’ Jonie said, haughtily enough. ‘Tell you what the problem is? The problem is the book has no story.’
‘No story,’ snorted Daniel, rubbing the palm of his hand over his tall, lined brow. ‘Stories you want, eh? But we’re beyond stories now. The world has ended, and we’re living in the afterwards, and there are no stories any more.’
Her mother nodded sagely at this, sipping her tea.
This was hardly a very satisfying answer, and Jonie vowed to give Daniel the book straight back – or burn it, or throw it in the lake, just to annoy him. But she didn’t. She kept reading. There was something weirdly compelling in the mumbo-jumbo of it. And that night, as she drifted off to sleep, it occurred to her with a force like revelation – maybe this was a holy book. Maybe it contained the answer to the problems of the Jews and the Zombies.
She was jolted awake by raised voices. She knew immediately what the shouting meant. Sat straight up in bed. Slapped herself on the face. But she knocked her lighter on the floor when she reached for it, and wasting time scrabbling around before she could get a candle lit. Then she put shoes on, and put on her leather coat and gloves, the material stiff as thick cardboard in the cold. Cradling the candle she came out and along the corridor, and clanging up the metal steps to the top of the tower. Even before she reached the top she heard the snap, snap of rifle fire.
Everybody was there: her mother, Daniel, Elisheva, Esther, K. and Ash. K. swivelled the spotlight, and the others took turns at shooting at the indistinctness below. Ash handed Jonie a pistol (all the other rifles were away with father), but the moon was no bigger than a toenail clipping and some mocking clouds were playing peekaboo with even this small light. The Zayinim could be heard rather than seen, rattling the wire fence, making their distinctive ‘ch’ hissing noise, occasionally letting out dog-like high-pitched whimpers.
‘It’s not good, them being out at night,’ Jonie gasped, excited despite herself. K. moved the spotlight, and three of them were visible in the circle. They turned their eyes up at the sudden Illumination, and mother shot the one on the left – drove a groove right down the crown of its head, like parting its hair. It danced backwards as a spray of black fluid appeared above its head like a rooster’s comb. Then it fell out of the light.
Abruptly, the Zayinim started shambling away. They were dumb, ‘severely mentally impaired’ as mother put it, but they were not wholly brainless. The fence was not giving way, and they weren’t getting through. ‘It’s not good, that they’re out at night,’ Jonie repeated.
‘Indeed not,’ said Elisheva. Zombies usually got active in the warmth of the day. Unless they got food, that was the only way they could get active.
We are punished most for our virtues.
Vices, she presumed he meant to write there. And –
He who fights with monsters might take care lest he thereby becomes a monster. And when you gaze long into zombies the zombies also gaze into you.
Cold blue eyes. But, though young, Jonie had enough experience of the Zayinim to know that when they looked at you, there was nothing behind the look. They could not gaze. Most were repulsive-looking, but even the good-looking ones were no better than beasts: naked, filthy, dangerous. At breakfast the next day, she challenged Daniel: ‘Do you write it out, Uncy? Is this book I borrow-éd in your handwriting?’
Daniel glowered at her. They were expecting Jacob back soon: later that day maybe, or maybe tomorrow, or the day after; and until he came back Daniel had to conserve his tobacco. Accordingly he was grumpy. ‘You’ve a problem with my handy writing, maybe? Stealers can’t be choosers, my girl.’
‘It’s hard going, and your spelling is a shocker, and I don’t know,’ Jonie said, haughtily enough. ‘Tell you what the problem is? The problem is the book has no story.’
‘No story,’ snorted Daniel, rubbing the palm of his hand over his tall, lined brow. ‘Stories you want, eh? But we’re beyond stories now. The world has ended, and we’re living in the afterwards, and there are no stories any more.’
Her mother nodded sagely at this, sipping her tea.
This was hardly a very satisfying answer, and Jonie vowed to give Daniel the book straight back – or burn it, or throw it in the lake, just to annoy him. But she didn’t. She kept reading. There was something weirdly compelling in the mumbo-jumbo of it. And that night, as she drifted off to sleep, it occurred to her with a force like revelation – maybe this was a holy book. Maybe it contained the answer to the problems of the Jews and the Zombies.
She was jolted awake by raised voices. She knew immediately what the shouting meant. Sat straight up in bed. Slapped herself on the face. But she knocked her lighter on the floor when she reached for it, and wasting time scrabbling around before she could get a candle lit. Then she put shoes on, and put on her leather coat and gloves, the material stiff as thick cardboard in the cold. Cradling the candle she came out and along the corridor, and clanging up the metal steps to the top of the tower. Even before she reached the top she heard the snap, snap of rifle fire.
Everybody was there: her mother, Daniel, Elisheva, Esther, K. and Ash. K. swivelled the spotlight, and the others took turns at shooting at the indistinctness below. Ash handed Jonie a pistol (all the other rifles were away with father), but the moon was no bigger than a toenail clipping and some mocking clouds were playing peekaboo with even this small light. The Zayinim could be heard rather than seen, rattling the wire fence, making their distinctive ‘ch’ hissing noise, occasionally letting out dog-like high-pitched whimpers.
‘It’s not good, them being out at night,’ Jonie gasped, excited despite herself. K. moved the spotlight, and three of them were visible in the circle. They turned their eyes up at the sudden Illumination, and mother shot the one on the left – drove a groove right down the crown of its head, like parting its hair. It danced backwards as a spray of black fluid appeared above its head like a rooster’s comb. Then it fell out of the light.
Abruptly, the Zayinim started shambling away. They were dumb, ‘severely mentally impaired’ as mother put it, but they were not wholly brainless. The fence was not giving way, and they weren’t getting through. ‘It’s not good, that they’re out at night,’ Jonie repeated.
‘Indeed not,’ said Elisheva. Zombies usually got active in the warmth of the day. Unless they got food, that was the only way they could get active.
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