BT Noonan

Feast Your Ears:

Cam Mitchell's Legacy with Fido

by Malibu Keenan

Cam Mitchell was the greatest of the Phoenix Zombi-girls, an all-female group of artists, musicians and thinkers that rose from the chaos of the Apocalypse. In the aftermath, when Zombie and Human alike had returned to their respective corners, Mitchell pushed for not only a truce, but harmonious integration.

"The only hope for either species," she said in a speech in Washington D.C., "is to take a step beyond acceptance, into inclination."

Raised in the ghetto of Sector Z-B14, the Zombie Nation's second settlement, the orphanage she called home, could afford neither musical instruments, nor music lessons. Determined to be heard, she crossed the border daily to learn guitar from a human street musician. A man she remembers as Jack.

For a decade, she juggled a prolific music career with activism, proclaiming Zombieness a natural state, shedding the stereotype of a merely "repurposed" race. At the same time, she refused to consume her rations of FreshDead, sending a message to her fellow zombies that they should do the same. In a cover article for the New Stone, she proclaimed that not only were Zee's equal to humans, "but in some ways we're superior, having experienced the wisdom of death."

February 22nd, the release of Mitchell's long-awaited album, Deadbeat, will be a testament to how well Fido records remembers. The label has already pledged a percentage of the proceeds to the American Zombie Association, located on the coast of Arizona, Mitchell's home state.

Prior to the carnage that stains her legacy, it was not uncommon for Mitchell to incite both sides and she became known as the face that ignited a thousand riots. A very human-centric music industry waited for her to self-destruct. But rising album sales and sold-out tours left record labels and promoters in a difficult position: censor her or get on board. They chose to get on board, creating "LivingDead," a massive concert tour combining human/zombie acts for the first time. LivingDead was groundbreaking in its courageous attempt to bridge the divide between the species, once and for all. They centered the tour around Cam Mitchell and her band.

But after bearing witness to the most abhorrent incident in rock music history, Mitchell lost her will and her memory of the incident.

"Most of what I know comes from the hypnotherapy recordings," she said years later.

The culmination of Human/Zombie tensions at the Forum, and the carnage that ensued, was enough to force Mitchell into silence forevermore.

The "Feast at the Forum" concert, as it's come to be known, has made the natural progression from annual remembrance, to a decadal remembrance, and forgotten all days in

between and apparently altogether by Fido Records. Neither the album nor the accompanying press release will mention the massacre. In this journalist's opinion, that is a crime.[RT1] 

 [RT1]Ha. This was really good. If you don't see many edits it's because I was hypnotized by the story. Good work here. Very interesting. And different. Kudos. I haven't read World War Z but I hear it's very journalistic.

Ben leads the boy to the pond where the dinosaur sleeps. The creaking of their bicycles is distinct amidst the silence of Mayne Street. Ben knows the pond isn't really a pond, that it's a crater left by the destruction of the Cooke residence. It's also the home of the hungry thing that lives below its surface.

The air here is heavy with rot. The taste of stale water hangs on the tongue, and lingers in the nostrils. The abandoned demolition site came to be known as Cooke's Crater. Until water filtering in from a source unknown began to fill it's depths. The gaping hole left by the Tudor's destruction became something new, something that the town of Sheridan now accepted as a pond, Cooke's Pond.

Before the water, the subterranean levels falling deep into the earth were clear to see. Astounded adults and curious children would gather at the site to count the layers beneath street level. Never getting close enough to peer into the crater and witness it's true depth.

Ben likes the pond, the black mirror surface and swampy smell of decay. He likes all things dark and strange. It's a boundless source of torment at the hands of others, his love for the weird. It makes him an easy target for bullies. Even his mom and dad talk to­ him in a cautionary, distant manner. But, he doesn't want to stop liking the things other kids called creepy. He only wants everyone to stop punishing him for it.

Ben likes the dinosaur most of all, the Spinosaurus. He knows the Spinosaurus is the largest known predator to ever to walk the earth, and spends most of its time in the water. He also knows that what's in the pond isn't really a dinosaur, but he just learned about the Spinosaurus in science class, and it's the only thing that he can compare it to.

He likes it because it eats bullies. Not all the bullies, some don't follow Ben's promise of protection money. But the greedy ones do, and they get what they deserve.

Michael Peckman got what he deserved. And even though Ben felt sorry for Michael's crying mother when they fished his foot out of Cooke's Pond, he was happy that he could feed the dinosaur and get stop a bully at the same time.

Ben didn't need to bribe his latest tormentor, Jimmy Vera. Jimmy, not content with Ben's daily beatings, feeling he deserved more, threatened to make the beatings worse unless he was paid $5.00 a day. Now, he's followed Ben to the hidden money, impatiently awaiting his first payment. The bright orange fence that surrounds the site gives it a dangerous appearance. But Ben never feels in danger. The dinosaur is his friend, sort of. Although, he does wonder what would happen if he stood too close to edge of the pond. But he had no need to, no matter how many bullies he led to the water, there were always more on the playground.

"So, where is it?" asked Jimmy. "You better not be lying to me you little shit."

"They put up a fence now," said Ben, getting off of his bike. "I had to hide it around back."

In the rear of the abandoned site, the fence has been cut and rolled back to give access to the pond. Thick willows line the perimeter of the water. This area is hidden from the street, and from the windows of the neighboring homes. Blackened tree limbs lay piled in a circle of stones. Aluminum cans and paper bags left behind from the beer parties, are strewn across the gravel between the wildflowers. But the creature stays below the surface, and never shows itself to anyone but Ben. He thinks it came here to help him, make the world stop pushing him around, and putting him down. It must have heard his prayers.

"It's at the edge of the pond," Ben tells Jimmy, "in an empty beer can."

The surface of the murky water begins to ripple, and then undulate as the older boy mills around, picking up cans, peering inside, then tossing them down.

Jimmy holds an empty can up to his eye and turns to let light break the dark inside.

"I think that's the one," Jimmy says, as he steps back, and his eyes watch the horror break the surface of the pond. Water cascades off the reptilian hulk as it ascends from the depths, its crocodilian eyes focused on its target.

Jimmy twists and bends, trying to catch the afternoon sun in the mouth of the can. The sound of something massive cutting the air makes Jimmy look up to see the open maw, and the rows of teeth. He turns his frightened eyes to Ben and emits a tiny squeak, before the snapping of jaws severs him at the waist. His torso-less legs wobble for a moment before the Spinosaurus lunges in for a second bite, finishing his meal.

But then, the creature does not disappear beneath the surface as it usually does. It stares at Ben, and a growl rumbles in its throat. Ben is scared, but also curious. It's as though it wants to come home with him. The boy takes a step back, and the dinosaur takes a step forward, out of the pond. Ben didn't think his friend would ever leave the pond. He knows now, the creature can help him. Maybe even rid Sheridan of all the bullies in one night, and then all the people who yell at him and call him a weirdo. Maybe he could even make his mom and dad love him.

Ben gets on his bike, and throws a look to his friend to follow, and as he makes his way home, thunder breaks the silence of Mayne street.

Her name was Pam.

We were fishing at the creek in early April you and me.

Skipping out, pretending we were on our own, no parents. Walking along the water's edge, she was sitting there, our dream girl.

Jeans rolled up to her knees, glasses, long brown hair. She glanced at my Star Wars shirt,

"You into Sci Fi?" she said.

I didn't know what to say, so you said, "Yeah. He's a nerd." We all laughed.

We took turns impressing her, but I let you win. I was willing to fade into the background as a sidekick, a henchman. I didn't want the girl, I wanted you to be happy. I wanted you.

She came up again when you were living at my place. We were talking about Gracie, how strong she was, being faced with the divorce of her mom and dad. I thought of the girl we met at the creek that day. She was that kind of strong.

"You know this is all a mistake," said Pam.

"Yeah." I said before you, before I even knew what she said. You were really listening.

"I mean people. Why do we live if we're just going to die anyway?  That seems like a mistake."

You clenched your teeth. You were thinking hard. I wanted you to understand what she was saying, because I did, and I agreed with her. I wanted you to figure it out and feel good about yourself. I wanted you.

"Oh yeah." I said, then realized how stupid I sounded. But it made us laugh, and her too.

I agreed with Pam then and still do. Seems like a mistake.

I'm sorry you couldn't find love on the internet. I would have told you that dating was no good for you. I wanted you to reevaluate. I wanted you.

It wouldn't have meant anything, our night together. You would have called it a mistake. We needed a connection, a new level of commitment. Something you would never forget.

I like your doctor, she's cute. The dark hair and glasses. She reminds me of that girl we met at the creek, the day in early April, when we were fishing and pretending we were on our own. The day I let my self love you.

She says we can start Chemotherapy, but HIV has weakened your immune system, and that makes it risky.

I'm sorry.

I admit that I planned some of what happened. But I didn't seduce you, and I could'nt have foreseen cancer. I don't regret it. Now, we will be together forever. Don't think of it like "I infected you," think of it as our "Link," our "Bond." You would have called it a mistake, our night together. Now, you got me to help you through it, and I got you.

I got you.

What's up doc? I assume you're a doctor. All the dealers are doctors. Government shrinks who feed my sister drugs and lies, turn her away from who she is, who we are. You, my good doctor, would be just one in a long line of sterile, manipulative, white coats, except that her trail ends with you. You're the one who broke her, snuffed out the real Eve. Making her a stranger to her friends, her family —to herself.

But you didn't erase my memory. The childhood we shared, the fate we share, they reign supreme. We don't let go that easily doc. My family, we like the fight, and you took a good warrior away from us.  We are the defense against your legion of so-called Healers. Take Eve, she is yours now, and the family carries this burden without her.

I called her by a secret name, one that I made up. No other brother or sister knew, just me and her. Now, only me.

Take this personally doc. All the things that we're going to do to you and your family, won't pay your toll. It will only scratch the surface of your debt. So, for every healer-dealer on your staff, we'll take one child. That seems fair. I mean, one fluffy, spoiled rich kid, for one quarter of the Magnificent Eve. Why should you alone suffer, right? Why not share the glory —the blame.

This is the first battle in the war doc. I hope you feel special. My family, we're going to fight back. I don't believe we have a chance of stopping you, not in the big picture, but we like to fight. In the end, your personal Armageddon won't really make a difference. You and yours will still hold the power. That may never change, despite the carnage.

What is going to change? Someone's going to organize, arm themselves, and do it right for once. And if other families know how to fight, maybe they'll rise up. Maybe we can beat you, maybe not. The thing is, we can't let you march into our homes and steal our families, like you're snatching white mice from a cage.

This may be the final fight for me and my family, and I'm feeling pretty satisfied. We'll see if all your Big Government money and muscle can save you. I know it can't get you closer to truth, that belongs to my side. We are the Ushers of change. No amount of oppression can alter our fate.