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T he talented actor who played Bond in five movies–alive centuries ago and leading an army of zombies. Insanity. But there was no mistaking that unwavering expression. Especially once you’d seen it from up close while trying to get away from a corporate party gone terribly wrong.

There went my concern that I might have bluffed my way into the war room. My suspicion about the zombie king’s identity had just been confirmed.

“He isn’t dead. Not permanently,” I told the gargoyles. “At least, he wasn’t six months ago.”

“Speak freely. Let us hear what you know, and then my brethren and I will talk in private.” Xaniban sounded serious. Dinner and teasing time was over.

“I’ll tell you all I know, but I want answers, too.” I gave him a firm look. He would not be sidelining me.

Xaniban looked at his warriors, who responded with a flap of wings. Only then did the king nod at me.

I got up, and he let me step away. I suddenly felt uneasy without his tail around my waist and his solid presence at my back, but I quickly pushed the strange feeling down. I had to focus.

I stopped next to the Zombie 007 vs. Gargoyles painting and faced the room. I could do this. It was simply a regular presentation to my bosses, not a report in front of a supernatural war council. Mhm, nothing out of the ordinary here.

“I met him half a year ago.” I put a finger next to the face of the actor I used to have a crush on in university.

“He’s a famous person in this century, and as such was invited to attend this special party at my workplace–today’s battlefield, as you call it.

My bosses had pulled some strings and filled some wallets and, voilà, he would be the face of our new product.

An anti-wrinkle cream based on cutting-edge technology in cosmetics.

My team believed it would revolutionize the industry. ”

Yeah, more like obliterate it along with the world.

I stopped for a breather, half expecting the usual questions I’d gotten from friends.

“How is this cream any different from all the other useless goo companies are trying to sell us?”, “How do they expect us to believe such creams work, when the actresses advertising them are too young to have wrinkles in the first place?”, and “Will the frequent use of your cream make my face as rock-solid as the villain’s in that Catwoman movie? ”

No one raised a hand–or tail–to ask a question. Instead, Xaniban’s eyes narrowed. “You do science? Experiments?”

“Yes?”

“Some of my brethren have become victims of science over the centuries. Caught in a moment of weakness, such as a claiming-turned-mating. Or captured while fighting to protect a female from the many dangers on the ground.”

“Oh, no, no, no,” I said ardently. “I’m not that kind of scientist. I have never been involved in animal testing.

The company did not do it, either, or I would have spat on their job offer.

I’d never hurt an animal–that is, unless it’s trying to eat me.

I’m all about protecting animals and nature, I swear! ”

Silence followed, broken only by audible sniffs.

“You speak the truth,” came from Xaniban, his look my way reverting from suspicious to soft.

I heaved a sigh in relief. Thank God for Gargoyles having an in-built lie detector.

“You are an environ-mentalist, then?” The modern word caused a hiccup in his English.

“Yep, that’s me.” A biologist researching plant-based compounds that could protect skin cells against the aging effect of the environment, to be exact. “I’m a tree hugger and animal lover.”

A pleased smile played on Xaniban’s lips. He gestured for me to continue.

So far, so good. But now the hard part of the story was coming.

“At the party, I was introduced to the guest of honor. I even shook his hand. He was a living, breathing human, not a cold corpse hungry for flesh. An hour or so later, a group of colleagues returning from the ladies’ room…

They started attacking others. Jumping on their backs, bringing down waiters…

” My voice hitched as the memory dragged me back into that gruesome day.

“There was blood everywhere. That’s when everyone realized this wasn’t some brawl caused by intoxication… They were eating people!”

So much for my scientific neutrality. My report had turned into the emotional confession of a patient to their psychologist. Only in my case, the psychologist was winged, tailed, and multiplied by twelve.

“Come.” Xaniban beckoned me with his tail. “I cannot stand to watch you upset.”

His offer of a hug was tempting. In his powerful arms, I would feel protected at a moment when I was reliving the beginning of this whole nightmare… But I would also go soft and might break down into a shaking, teary-eyed mess. I had to finish my report like a proper soldier.

“I’m okay,” I assured both him and myself, and stayed next to my presentation screen. It was a good reminder that my story was a retelling of the past, just like the painting. It couldn’t harm me now.

“So,” I marched on, “panic erupted. New flesh eaters, as you call them, kept showing up.

People were running, screaming, overturning tables and pushing each other in an attempt to escape.

I was too shocked to move. I just stood there and watched in disbelief how the dead were standing up and going for the running masses.

“Amid the carnage, the only other person not running was this guy.” I pointed at the plague doctor in the painting.

“He wasn’t staying out of fear, though. His eyes were bloodshot, almost to the point of glowing, and he had blue veins pulsing across his face.

He smiled at me and tipped his cocktail glass in salute. ”

I paused in case there were questions, but my audience was all ears, expressions unreadable.

“I started running after that. Looking at his face had me convinced our cream was somehow to blame for the zombie outbreak, hence I had a duty to stop it from spreading. I caught up with one of my bosses and told him to lock down the building with his security clearance. I myself would go seal the underground labs. We had to prevent whatever this was from reaching the nearby city.” A heavy sigh escaped me.

It had all been wishful thinking, but at the time I had been so clueless.

“I managed to shut those labs with the help of a brave colleague,” I continued, “but he lost his life for nothing. Because when I got to the lobby, the doors lay wide open, living and nonliving pouring out into the parking lot. My boss had not failed: he had not even tried to put the building on lockdown, as I discovered later. The weasel had headed to the roof and the company’s highly automated helicopter, only to get killed steps away from safety. ”

“The coward was awarded accordingly,” Xaniban rumbled.

“Damn right… With the zombies unleashed, I finally started thinking about my own survival. The communications were strangely down, the parking lot was infested, so running outside looked suicidal. Instead, I got to the roof and the helicopter. I was confident that between its automated functions and the amateur flying lessons I had been taking over the past year, I could fly that thing.”

And now, the trippy part of my presentation.

“I climbed into the cockpit without sparing a glance at the passenger cabin. The aircraft took off on its own, then I directed it away from the city. Too many flight risks there, not to mention I feared I was infected.” At the time, I’d thought zombie scratches were deadly; only later had I discovered blue goo in the mouth of zombies did the infecting.

“Shortly after getting clear of the building, I heard movement behind me. That was when the zombie king squeezed past me into the co-pilot seat.”

Wings rustled as the warriors’ attention peaked. Xaniban’s tail swished vigorously beside his leg.

“At the sight of that monster, I almost lost control of the helicopter. The only reason why I didn’t was the speech that followed.

I told myself I was hallucinating due to the infection.

He still had that unnerving smile from earlier as he told me he was impressed by my bravery.

So impressed, actually, that he wished to grant me a place among his generals.

A ‘gift from a king,’” I air-quoted. Those words were how I had made the connection between Zombie 007 and Xaniban’s “king of the flesh eaters.”

“He said he could turn me into a brainless minion or make me like him,” I specified.

“Alive-looking and mind intact. That would be the royal gift. I asked for a third option where I got to die quickly and painlessly as myself, if he was being so generous. He said I deserved to see the new world he’d create, so permanent death was not on the menu.

‘Maybe some time will help you come to your senses,’ he said afterward, still with that unnerving smile on.

‘The trip to our destination is long.’ And then,” I took a deep breath, “he told me the exact coordinates I must fly us to.”

Xaniban exchanged a hopeful look with his warriors. “You remember these coordinates?”

I grinned. “Yes. I did not get to see what’s there, but I’m great at memorizing numbers.” I repeated them for the war council. “Do you think he’s still at that location?”

“It is probable.” Xaniban got up. “Anyone have better intel?”

Not a single wing flap.

“Then we shall look further into these coordinates,” the king said, and returned his attention to me. “What happened next?”

His question caught me unprepared. I had assumed that with the coordinates divulged, my reporting time was over. Everything else was details that concerned me, and not his war.

The hint of a smile appeared on Xaniban’s lips. “You refused to obey him, did you not?”

“Yeah.” I shrugged. “I still believed him to be a hallucination caused by the zombie infection. My scientific explanation was that it was pushing me subconsciously to go somewhere it could thrive. You know, like those freaky hairworm larvae that mind-control their insect hosts with chemicals to force them to jump into a body of water?”

Wide eyes stared back at me.

“Um, anyway… The king knew how to fly the helicopter and threatened to turn me into a mindless zombie, unless I cooperated or sat peacefully next to him as he flew us to our destination.”

“And you chose…?”

“I chose to stop myself from getting any more people killed while I still had control over my actions. I told him–or what I believed to be the infection messing with my brain–that I’d rather die free. He moved to grab me, and I jumped off.”

Xaniban’s smile grew. “How did you survive?”

Well, since he was so interested, for some reason…

“By some crazy luck, I fell into a river deep enough to break my fall. I hadn’t been flying high, anyway.

When I re-surfaced, I saw the helicopter staying on its course.

I figured the machine had automatically switched to autopilot…

I’ve been pushing that whole episode to the back of my mind ever since.

There’s no such thing as talking zombies, and also–What? ”

Xaniban was giving me a triumphant smile. He took the distance between us in two strides and pulled me into the circle of his arms. Then kissed me.