Read The War On Horror: Tales From A Post-Zombie Society Page 14
“I know I’m asking a lot,” Miles said, “but please don’t release that footage.”
“The world needs to see this, Miles,” Clea replied. “They need to know what’s going on inside those facilities.”
“I’m begging you, as a friend, that you do me just this one favour. I’ll never ask you for anything ever again.”
If Miles looked up the word “futile” in the dictionary it would probably include some description of what he was doing now.
Fabian had sent the video he had recorded to Clea, and Miles was praying that a miracle might occur and Clea would agree to let Elliott off the hook. He even considered offering Clea free rent for a year in exchange for deleting the incriminating footage, before deciding he couldn’t quite go that far. Besides, money never seemed to be a problem for Clea, and she was rich enough to turn an offer like that down.
“This is an issue that’s bigger than both of us,” she said. “When this is released, the public can see for themselves what’s happening inside those processing centres. It could change the way former humans are treated in this world.”
“You know what else it could do? It could make things a lot worse for them.”
“How do you figure that?”
“If that footage gets out, then it could put Dead Rite out of business.”
“And I’m supposed to care about that why, exactly?”
“Because if Dead Rite gets shut down, that leaves Z-Pro as the only remaining UMC contractor in town. You and I both know that they’re a hell of a lot worse than us.”
“The lesser of two evils is still evil, Miles.”
“What happened with Elliott was an isolated incident. But that sort of thing goes on every day at Z-Pro. They’re always being accused of mistreatment towards the undead, or torturing them for their own amusement. The only difference is that the charges never stick.”
Despite the frequent allegations of rough conduct levelled against them, Z-Pro had so far managed to avoid any charges or penalties. They claimed this was due to their disciplined workforce and strict adherence to correct protocols, but it probably had more to do with Jack Houston’s political connections. Whenever a potential controversy arose, it only took a couple of phone calls to the right people to make it disappear.
“Don’t worry,” Clea said. “Z-Pro are next on our hit list. We’ll take them all down, one by one if we have to.”
“Can’t you find it in your heart to forgive Elliott?” Miles pleaded. “You know, as a Buddhist?”
“Ha,” Clea snorted. “Nice try.”
Miles could argue with Clea until he was blue in the face, but he knew he was fighting a losing battle.
By the end of the day, those twenty-seven explosive seconds of wobbly cell phone footage would travel around the world at warp speed, appearing on thousands of news broadcasts and video blogs, and lighting up every media platform known to mankind. Critics who had long suspected that zombies were being abused inside processing centres now had irrefutable proof.
The video would spark new waves of protests from supporters of undead rights, and renewed calls for tougher penalties for anyone found guilty of mistreating zombies.
Steve flicked through the TV channels with the remote. Every network was running the same story – the shocking footage of the UMC worker caught kicking the crap out of a defenceless, semi-naked zombie. Several news anchors and pundits added their own commentary to go along with the footage, describing the “brutal” and “confronting” methods that UMC workers employed on former humans inside processing centres. Others simply let the vision speak for itself.
Elliott’s eyes remained firmly glued to the floor. The past twenty-four hours had been a never-ending sequence of miseries, and it didn’t look like things were about to get any better for him in the foreseeable future. It should have been a private matter; an act of betrayal by a friend, and the betrayed’s violent-yet-possibly-justifiable outburst. Instead, it had blown up and was now very public. If Trent had still been human, this sorry saga wouldn’t have been the least bit newsworthy. But he was now a former human, and so the story had exploded into the public consciousness. It seemed as though everyone had an opinion on the matter.
Steve switched the TV off once he decided his point had been made.
A charged silence filled the room. A pregnant pause.
Elliott wasn’t sure if Steve was waiting for him to explain himself, or if he just wanted Elliott to squirm a little while longer.
“Steve,” he began. “I know this looks bad, but–”
Steve held up his hand, and Elliott immediately fell silent.
“Let me give you some idea of the problems we are now facing,” Steve said.
He spoke in a voice that was outwardly calm, but a slight quiver suggested he was doing all he could to suppress an enormous reservoir of rage.
“We have been caught violating protocol in the worst possible way. There is no way we can talk or negotiate our way out of this one. So this is what’s going to happen. We’ll release a statement to the press taking full responsibility for the incident. We’ll plead guilty to any charges brought against us. And we’ll announce immediate measures to be put in place to ensure this sort of thing never happens again. Which will include terminating the employment of the UMC worker in the video.”
Elliott looked up. “You’re firing me?”
“I’m afraid you haven’t left us with much choice. If we do all that, we might escape with just a fine. But if they really want to make an example out of us, Dead Rite could have its contract torn up.”
Steve gulped down what remained of his glass of water. He took a series of slow, calming breaths. He could feel another migraine coming on.
“Although at the end of the day I doubt it will make much difference if they end our contract or not,” he continued, “since the fine is likely to be so astronomical that we won’t have a hope in hell of paying it.”
“So why don’t you keep me on and I can work off the fine?”
Steve almost laughed out loud at that proposal. “You’re not serious, are you?”
Once Elliott gave it a moment’s thought, he realised how preposterous his suggestion was. The fine coming their way was likely to be in the six-figure range. They would have to garnish Elliott’s wages for the next thirty years before it was even close to being paid off.
Steve shook his head sadly. He liked Elliott, and he understood the reasons behind his sudden brain snap, but he had no other option but to fire him. The cliché about being disappointed rather than angry rang true.
“I don’t think there’s anything more for us to discuss here, is there?” he said.
Elliott took that as his cue to leave. He stood up and left without saying another word.