Necrophage - (definition) an organism that consumes the soft tissue and muscle of dead animals to obtain nutrients.

Example: “A zombie apocalypse is a smorgasbord for a necrophage.”

-01-

“You Need To Eat, Xander”

Drill Sergeant Xander Xanthus Xapper awoke to a low rumbling. It was his stomach. He sat up in bed and was drenched in heavy sweat. His stomach roared eagerly. He could feel it quaking within.

It was two in the morning and the night was still hot. Summer was always brutal on Fort Blackwood. Xapper’s air conditioner was always breaking. He had his suspicions that it was the new recruits getting revenge.

He was a drill sergeant, it was his job to make people’s lives hell and toughen them up.

Xapper slowly rose off his cot and the waft of his own sweat filled his nose. His mouth then watered before he could think. His stomach continued to plague him, he actually heard it talk to him.

“You need to eat, Xander.”

Xapper wiped his sweaty face off with his sleeveless shirt. It removed nothing from his brow because it too was drenched. Xapper, without much thought, slipped on his boots and staggered out of his hut. The air was humid and heavy with a rotting aroma.

Xapper sniffed the foul air and groaned, “It’s that beef they threw out. Such a shame. So much good prime cut gone to waste because that damn freezer broke. A little of it was still good. No harm in having a slab as a midnight snack.”

“Need to eat, Xander. Stop yapping and get to munching.”

The voice was like an old ham radio vibrating in his head. Xapper shuffled towards the kitchen as he recalled his childhood. Back when his father used to listen to horror stories on the old ham radio. The static voices always gave Xapper nightmares.

Xapper passed by the dumpster that was not far from the kitchen. The tragedy of spoiled American beef filled his nose. He should have been repulsed and disgusted. The pungent odor, for some reason, made his saliva glands kick into overdrive. He stared at the dumpster and drooled before entering the kitchen.

Xapper raided the fridge quickly, his stomach growling again, and that distorted voice speaking.

“Hurry up and eat, Xander.”

Xapper took the best cut of beef and turned on the stove. He dropped the raw steak in a pan and waved the pan over the flames. He used a fork to flip the steak as it browned. He planned to use the same fork to eat the beef once it was done. A meat cleaver would do for cutting.

Xapper was not looking to make a gourmet meal, he just needed to eat.

“Pain is coming, Xander. Better eat and fast!”

“You don’t rush fine American beef when it’s on the grill!” Xapper shouted using his commanding voice he always used for work.

“Stop wasting time and eat, Xander!”

The beef was rarer than Xapper usually would have it. But he pulled it from the pan and dropped it on the plate as it continued to sizzle. Fork and cleaver in hand, Xapper cut the first piece and shoved it into his mouth.

Despite how red it was, the piece tasted burnt. An ashen aroma filled his sinuses and Xapper spat out the beef. A muddy black dirt slid from his lips. Xapper stared in disbelief and dropped his utensils.

“You ruined it, Xander! Get another one.”

Xapper ignored the voice and grabbed the cooked steak. It was still hot and the juices fried his fingers. He bit into the steak but the meat turned to ash the moment his teeth sank into it.

“Stop screwing around, Xander. Get another one.”

Xapper dropped the steak he quickly prepared and looked at the fridge. Some primal thought screamed at him to grab a steak. A raw one. The voice did not help.

“Don’t ruin it this time, Xander. Eat it as is.”

Xapper, half screaming internally in vain, opened the fridge. He took one of the raw steaks. He never would have had it this rare before. But still he sank his teeth into it.

“Not ripe enough, Xander,” echoed the voice.

The bloody juices fell onto his tongue then turned to ash. All the raw meat in his mouth turned to dirt. Xapper threw the steak to the floor. A blackened bite mark remained where he bit into it.

“What in hell is going on?!” cried out Xapper.

“Not ripe enough, Xander. It’s not ripe enough!”

“It’s damn beef! Not a fruit!” screamed Xapper.

“Pain’s here, Xander. Better find some that’s ripe.”

Xapper suddenly felt his stomach caving in on itself. The shooting pain went up his back then crawled all the way to his fingers and toes. The kitchen spun around him. He staggered and his foot fell onto the raw beef on the floor. He slipped and staggered to the door he came from.

Once outside, Xapper’s nose was again filled with that rotting odor from the dumpster. He stood and stared at the dumpster in abject horror. He knew what was coming next and shook his head.

“No, no! You can’t make me! I’d rather die!” bellowed Xapper.

“You can’t die now, Xander. You can only eat. Or feel pain all the time.”

That burning, creeping, stabbing pain grew as Xapper tried to step away from the dumpster. He took an experimental step towards it and the pain lessened. He held back his tears and opened the dumpster.

It was all in a black trash bag that Xapper had to rip open by hand. There was so much beef and it was already turning green. The humid and hot air sped up the decay. White puss and freshly birthed maggots decorated the former prime cuts.

“So ripe, Xander. Get it!”

Xapper reached in and picked up a cut. It felt squishy and almost slipped from his grasp. That smell, that stench made Xapper so hungry. He closed his eyes and slid the rotten steak into his mouth.

And . . .

It was the most delicious and sweet thing Xapper had ever put into his mouth.

He tore off a piece, the rotten meat stretched like gooey cheese on a freshly baked pizza. His teeth chewed and the beef squished and popped. He rolled the beef with his tongue and a savory sensation tickled his taste buds.

Xapper wondered if his mouth was salivating more or if some plump maggots were popping in his mouth. He dared not open his eyes. He just ripped and tore through the rotten beef and prayed the nightmare would end soon.

“Aw! That dank umami flavor just hits the spot, doesn't it Xander?” asked the tormenting voice.

“What the hell is umami?! And why is it dank?!” asked Xapper as he chewed.

“Don’t worry about it, Xander,” said the voice dismissively.

“Who are you? Why are you doing this to me? How are you doing this? What did I do to deserve this?” Xapper’s questions exited his lips as more rotten beef entered his mouth.

“Shut up and eat, Xander,” ordered the voice.

Xapper, like a defiant child refusing to eat their vegetables, finally gave in. He then pulled the whole bag of rotten beef from the dumpster. He sat down, back against the dumpster, and broke open the bag further. Xapper then commenced eating the dank umami beef.

He ate and ate and ate some more. Each bite was a new experience in texture and taste. Xapper lost count after three slabs which was more than he thought anyone could eat. He ate until he could not physically eat anymore. His gut was a sizable food baby.

“Good eating, Xander,” complimented the voice. “Rest up and get ready to eat some more.”

Xander forced himself to his feet. It was then he realized he was still in his underwear. He shuffled towards his hut, praying he would make it and not be found outside eating garbage in his tighty-whities.

His prayers were answered, he entered his hut but collapsed the moment he locked the door.

🍴🧠

Xapper lifted his head off the concrete floor. A puddle of drool with rotting bits greeted him. He felt hungover, like he downed a whole bottle of Jack Danels last night. The banging at his door did not do his head any favors.

Xapper clumsy rose off the floor and fell onto his door. He unlocked it and opened the door slightly. Someone stepped into the hut and patted him on the shoulder. Xapper’s eyes were too blurry to focus on his visitor’s face.

“Sergeant, you alright?”

“No, I got a headache the size of Texas,” grumbled Xapper. “What do you want?”

His visitor wandered over to Xapper’s dresser and dropped something onto it. Xapper’s eyes were too wet to make out what was on the dresser. The visitor spoke but Xapper was so dazed and confused that he only made out a few words.

“. . . missed roll call . . . wild animal last night . . . maybe intruder . . . broke into the kitchen . . . dumpster raided . . .”

The word “dumpster” made Xapper nauseous and jittery.

“I know nothing, now leave me alone,” said Xapper as he pointed at the door. “Get out!”

The visitor then left without a word and Xapper slammed the door shut. After locking the door, Xapper went to his cot and lay down. He shut his eyes and fell into a deep sleep.

🍴🧠

Xapper dreamed of a month ago, while he was dealing with personal business off base. He returned late one night and the recruits were partying on the lawns. Xapper counted dozens of rules being broken with just a mere glance. Neon lights and booming noise filled the scene.

Xapper screamed and the terrified recruits stood at attention. There was an outsider, a DJ, playing something Xapper refused to call music. It was all beeps and boops, garbled electronic gibberish that assaulted Xapper’s ears. Upon crashing the party, the DJ confronted Xapper.

He vaguely recalled seeing her before in town. Her nickname was “Broadway” because she had aspirations to be a stage actress. She was also the daughter of a rich and important politician. Xapper did not care though. Fort Blackwood was his domain and no one invaded his turf.

Broadway was dressed in a fluffy pink coat and was pale as white bread. Clips of rainbow colors adored her smooth platinum blonde hair and a pink headset with cat ears hung around her thin neck. Her pink platform high heels gave her an extra half-foot and her short-shorts and tube top left little to the imagination.

Broadway blew bubble gum as she argued with Xapper.

“They just want to have fun, you stuck up asshole.”

“It’s a bootcamp! It’s not meant to be fun!”

The argument was heated. Xapper was a gentleman by nature. He was all about using words. And he said one thing that really pissed off Broadway. He made fun of her music. It was at that point Broadway called the police. The police came and arrested her for trespassing on government property.

Xapper later heard that Broadway’s family were none too happy that she turned a local bootcamp into a rave. Such an incident promised to dampen their reputation. So, Xapper heard no more about it.

Then, on the night of his dumpster banquet, flashes of Broadway filled Xapper’s mind. She was dressed in black, holding a weird and ancient book, chanting in some guttural language, and a blue fog was all around her.

In front of Broadway was a pedestal. And on the pedestal was a crochet plush doll. The plush was fashioned like a voodoo doll, with red button eyes and a pink cross stitch smile. The whole doll was made of gray yarn and had metal pins stabbed into its gut.

The doll wore a tan uniform with a brown hat. The uniform looked just like one a drill sergeant would wear. Broadway waved her hands, the doll’s button eyes lit up like an old ham radio’s dial. A static voice echoed from the doll and it said:

“Wake up, Xander. Wakie-wakie, eyes and entrails.”

“Don’t you mean eggs and bacon?” grumbled Xapper.

“Not for you, Xander. Now wake up!”

🍴🧠

Drill Sergeant Xander Xanthus Xapper awoke to a low rumbling. It was his stomach. He sat up and hoped it was all a bad dream. He looked to his dresser and there sitting on top, staring at him, was the voodoo doll. The button eyes flashed crimson as it spoke.

“Get dressed, Xander. Time to eat.”

“I ain’t eating more rotten beef,” said Xapper. “If that stupid girl wants to torment me, then she’s going to have to do more then some voodoo—”

“It's not voodoo, Xander. And we both know you can’t say no.”

Xapper sneered and stood with his arms crossed. “Right. I’ll get dressed. But I ain’t listening to some stuffed toy. I am my own man! I decided what I eat and—”

His stomach roared and caved inward. The hunger grew with the pain. Xapper slapped the doll off the dresser. He then found himself flying in the air and he crashed into a wall.

“Hurt me, get hurt back, Xander,” warned the doll. “Don’t do that again.”

“Hell, I should have seen that coming,” said Xapper as he stood up, his head spinning. “Of course that bitch would curse me! Spoiled brat!”

“She really doesn't like you, Xander.”

“No, really? What gave you that idea?” asked Xapper sarcastically.

“Don’t feel special, Xander. She doesn’t like anyone.”

“So did she give you a name or am I going to have to give you one?” asked Xapper.

“Xeak will do, Xander. With an X.”

“Xeak, huh? Right. I’m getting dressed. No peeking now.”

“Hurry up, Xander. It’s time to eat.”

Xapper got dressed into his uniform. The hat belonged to his father, who was also a drill sergeant. He wondered what his late old man would think of his current predicament.

“Hook me to your pants, Xander. That way we can stay together.”

Xeak had an extra string so Xapper could tie it around a pant loop. He looked into the mirror and felt foolish to have such a weird accessory. Then the siren blared outside.

“The hell? Is it an air raid?” asked Xapper.

“She doesn’t like anyone, Xander. You’re not the only one who made her mad.”

“What did she do?” asked Xapper.

“Step outside and find out, Xander.”

Xapper exited his hut. The campgrounds were littered with chaos and fire. Some of the recruits were screaming in horror and fighting each other. The recruits attacking were covered in gore and their eyes were a dead white.

“Ah, hell no! Zombies?! Really?!” cried out Xapper. “That dumb bitch brought on the zombie apocalypse?! Hells-bells!”

“Hey, Xander?”

“What, Xeak?”

“They all look so ripe, don’t they Xander? Eat!”

To Be Continued . . .