Day Thirty Five : Coup de grâce

Coup de grâce

Definition

1 : a deathblow or death shot administered to end the suffering of one mortally wounded 

2 : a decisive finishing blow, act, or event

Borrowed directly from French and first appearing in English at the end of the 17th century, coup de grâce (also sometimes styled without the circumflex as coup de grace) translates literally as "stroke of grace" or "blow of mercy," and originally referred to a mercy killing, or to the act of putting to death a person or animal who was severely injured and unlikely to recover. (In some contexts the term is used to refer to the final act of executing a convicted criminal.) Later, coup de grâce had come to mean "an act or event that puts a definite end to something."

“I mean, i’m just saying, maybe it would be better to just put them out of their misery.” My fellow
zombie compatriot, one Brian-from-accounting who never once got invited to the after works drinks on
account of his incessant droning about the tax code and now a fully paid up member of the undead
brigade, was clearly, in my opinion, holding onto a bit of a grudge. 

We stared up at the huge multicomplex before us. It had just been completed right before all hell broke
loose. True, it’s smooth modern contours and fresh white paint were now somewhat marred by the
various blood splatters but it still managed to somehow give off the feeling of elegance.

All the lights were on, neon and fluorescent strips blazing out in a symbol of defiance against the
encroaching dark. 

Which, to me, seemed like nothing more than a massive waste of electricity - and who knew how long
would last for. Surely, it would be far more sensible to conserve it than just throw it away on illuminating
mostly empty rooms, just because your were afraid of the monsters in the dark.  

Then again, i was that monster - and on the winning side to boot. Perhaps it was harsh of me to judge
them on fears that had once been mine.

“Brian, i sincerely doubt that us storming in there and killing the lot of them, then eating their corpses,
is going to sound like a merciful option.”

“It might.” He stubbornly argued. “I mean, look at that young girl last week. She went and climbed onto
the roof and then threw herself off! And her body fell well within the perimeter. What a waste of a lovely
piece of meat.” He finished, grumbling. 

I hesitated. It had been a waste - and not just of a food source. True, a zombie life was not for everyone
and not everyone bitten became a zombie (which was good otherwise you’d have a population
comprised of nothing but hangry zombies) but surely it would have been a better option than turning
yourself into a rotten meat pancake. 

I mean, yes, at first i hadn’t been all that enthused about joining the zombie horde but once the initial
all consuming rage and hunger had passed and my mind had returned to me (along with, unfortunately,
my sense of taste, just as I had taken a huge chunk out of a stock broker - ug. Overpriced champagne,
cheap coke and dodgy aftershave. I’d had to chug nearly an entire bottle of mouthwash swiped out of
a nearby, already pillaged, supermarket just to get rid of the taste. 

But once i got over the whole ‘oh my god - i ate people!’ stage (which most zombies went through and
many support groups had sprung up to deal with this issue, full of kinder and older mentor zombies
who gently explained that it was all part of the circle of life and God’s will. Or, for the more pragmatic
amongst us, ‘if they’re going to invent a super virus without adequate containment, what did they think
was going so in reality, this is all just Darwinism at work and you shouldn’t feel too bad about it’. Both
versions pretty much worked for me - but i did always ensure that i went after the ‘clearly evil in their
average day to day life’ people like call centre managers and those women in expensive shops who
made you feel like garbage when you walked in for even breathing the same air as them and the items
you clearly couldn’t afford. Never children of course. I hadn’t met a zombie yet who, even in their most
rage fuelled angry state, who would ever bite a child. In fact, we’d set up quite a few day care centres
and childrens homes for the orphans the Z War had caused and the children of zombies whose parents
were waiting until they were old enough to become zombies themselves before turning them. The bare
minimum age had been set for 21 in the recent referendum. It was just enough to be considered an adult
and was young enough that we could prevent ourselves from accidentally chowing down on them. 

Of course, if they didn’t want to  be a zombie, that was fair enough, but they had to understand that it
came with its own risks. Most of the children we had taken in couldn’t wait to turn and had to be
admonished with stern warnings after the kept smothering themselves in ketchup and mayonnaise
and, quite literally, throwing themselves at us.

For any zombie that laid a hand on a child...bad things. Very bad things. Truly, with zombies, justice
was red in tooth and claw.)

As i was saying, once i got over my, ‘i ahte myself for eating people’ stage, zombism was loads of fun.
I mean, yeah, the whole corpse pallor thing was a bit off putting when you looked in a mirror and the
way my jaw could now dislocate and stretch was all kinds of gross - but I thought my fangs looked
kind of cute in a kinky way and now that i was superfast! superstrong! and superbendy! I would never
again have to face the horror of going to the gym. Ever. 

Nor did i have to go to work anymore. Now that I didn't need to eat (except the off meal here and there
(once we went through all the free range humans, zombie-farmers from outside the city shipped us in
meat - soooooo much tastier than human) or sleep or, really, do anything but leap around looking like a
badass, i saved a boatload of money. 

And now that the city was under the control of the zombies basically under the rules of civilized
anarchy, i could live anywhere I wanted rent free! (I did go for a new build empty penthouse suite that
no one had lived in yet. It’d be super awkward to live in someone else's place with all their stuff strewn
about. I mean, yeah, they might be up and about the city, zombified and living large, or they might be
someone who was eaten. Either way, I thought it best to start fresh and clean. Did not stop me looting
those fancy department stores for furnishings that I could never have afforded when i was alive though.)

Basically, being a zombie was pretty much the best thing that had ever happened to me. 

In fact, i truly did pity the humans huddled in abject terror inside the multicomplex.

I mean, the other, still living, humans hadn’t even ventured outside to collect the poor dead girl’s body
for some sort of funeral or remembrance ceremony, which to me said less about how they were willing
to waste food, and more about a fundamental lack of respect. Perhaps, caged in their walls, with an
invading army they had no chance of escaping, with literally no rescue in sight, perhaps they had lost
all human decency and had now just succumbed to nihilistic savagery. 

Was Brian right? Could an act of slaughter be considered mercy? That still didn’t sound right. 

Distracted by my own thoughts, I realised that I had tuned out Brian. I tried hard to tune back in to the
conversation.

“So yeah, like, when Ed went and shouted up at the gate if they could maybe toss him over some hot
sauce, as he knew they have that fancy gourmet place in there and i’m sure they could have spared
some, cause the head he was chomping on was a bit bland - they went and shot him! With a frikkin
arrow of all things!” 

“Was he ok?” I asked, curious. 

“Oh yeah, whoever it was was a shit shot so they only got his leg. But it’s the principle of the thing!”

“They probably just got a bit freaked out by the fact he was eating a human head in front of them.”

“So they shot him!?”

“It wasn’t a completely unreasonable reaction on their part, you have to admit.” I half-argued, still
contemplating the ethics of the situation. 

Just as I was, just a little bit, coming round to Brian’s idea, he went and ruined it. 

“It’s unfair is what it is. After the other place got trashed when those lunatic humans blew it up in an
effort to hide their escape, this place is the only place in town with a cinema. I still have seen the latest
Bond movie and it’s been out for age.” he grumbled. 

Suddenly, things became clear. 

“Are you proposing we storm in there and kill them all just so you can watch a movie?” I demanded,
outraged.

He shifted on his feet, eyes not meeting mine. “No.” he mumbled. 

So, yes then. 

I whacked him round the back of his head. 

“Ow. What was that for!” He yelped. 

“For putting me in a moral quandary.” I snapped. For God’s sake, what's wrong with you?! If you want to
see it so bad, go to the next town over.”

“But it’s such a hassle.” he whined. “i’s so far to walk.”

“Then do what everyone else does and hot wire a car - or take the bus!” I shouted over my shoulder as
I stormed off in a huff.

To be honest, the thoughts he’d put in my mind never quite left me and i spent the next couple of weeks
putting helpful pamphlets through the mail slot of the building, like ‘So Now You’re a Zombie,
Now What?” and “Ten Greatest Things About Being Undead’ in an attempt to maybe help them
through this difficult time. 

I never did get a response, but at least i felt better for trying.