The Necromancers or Love Zombies of San Diego

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Prologue: Los Dias de los Muertos
I was wandering down Main Street in the Hispanic section of El Cajon, which means “the box.” It was November 2, the second day in the celebration of the dead, and I could see all the little poor kids running around wearing their skeleton and ghoul costumes. They were really cute, but I also noted that they were being protected by several adults who were armed with AK-47s. I, too, was wearing a skeleton mask and costume because I didn’t want to get shot.
They should have been celebrating me because I was one of the dead. In fact, as I looked around, I could see the signs of my predecessors. The stores were broken into and looted, and the cars were smashed along the street. There were bloody stains on the sidewalk where still-live bodies had been dragged by the real living dead. Me? Yes, I am dead, but I’ve discovered that I am also alive. When I was around ten years old, about the age of the kid who is running past me right now, I ate my first human brain. 
At that time, I thought I was still a zero, a z, a zombie 1.0. The change must have happened in an instant because one moment I was a drooling, mindless, brain-eating ghoul, and then the next moment I began to talk. What did I say, you might ask? I said, “Man does not live by bread alone.” 
Why did I say that? I could have said a billion different things, but that’s what erupted out of my lungless diaphragm. I don’t know where I get these thoughts. I haven’t read any books. All I know is what I find on the Internet. I do know we’re in the middle of a Zombie Apocalypse. I also know that I don’t want to be associated with these monsters.
That’s why I’m now carrying a sword with me. It’s a big one, and I call it “Rockstar.” I use it to slice the heads off these unloving zombies. Unloving? Yes, you might say, that would make me the opposite. Indeed, I did discover I was one of these “love” zombies when I walked past a vacant lot near Euclid and El Cajon Boulevard. I had just cleaned up the street of some walkers, one of my prime duties, when I spotted another one standing alone in the middle of this vacant lot. 
It was a lot between a pawn shop and a tavern called Los Hermanos. She was wearing a ripped-up cheerleader’s outfit of some kind, and her face, legs and arms had the hallmark greyness of the living dead. I expected her to groan and stagger toward me at any moment. 
I was about ready to charge her and remove her head when I noticed something strange. She suddenly began walking around in a circle talking to herself! Up to that moment I believed I was the only one of my kind in existence. How could there be another talking dead? Was she just a crazy human who was painted up for La Dia de los Muertos? No, she was certainly a zombie, but she was talking. I moved closer to listen.
“Who am I? Where am I? Is this for real?” she was saying.
“I think you’re a love zombie,” I said, and I watched as her head snapped around to stare at me.
“Who are you?” she asked. “Get away from me!”
“Now, now, I won’t hurt you,” I said, and I took off my mask and held it to my side. “You think you’re one of them, don’t you?” I asked, pointing to a dead head down the street who was standing still and gazing up at something that was making more noise than we were.
“I don’t know who I am! Who are you?”
“My name is Joshua. I don’t know my last name. I only know my first. I thought I was the only talker around here. Now I found you. We should talk.”
I knew she was a teen like me, and I also knew if I didn’t convince her soon that she should stay calm, I might lose her. “C’mon, let’s go over to a place I know across town. It’s quiet, and it’s a place we can be protected.”
“No! I can’t remember anything, and I don’t want to go with you. You’re a monster! Look at you. You’re death warmed over. You stink, and you have that stupid skeleton suit on,” she said, moving away from me.
“Hey. Seriously? Have you looked in the mirror lately? You’re not exactly Miss America, you know?”
“What? How do I look?” She suddenly broke into a trot and headed over to an office across the street. She stared at herself in the reflection of the broken shards of window. “Oh my god!” she yelled. “What’s happing to me?”
I ran up to her and put my hand over her mouth. “Hey, quiet down! Do you want the entire walking dead army down on us here?”
“Do something for me…please?” she pleaded, her beautiful green eyes sparkling.
“Anything,” I said.
“Kill me,” she said, her eyes looking down at the sword on my hip.
“Sorry, no can do, sweetheart. I’m a love zombie. So are you, by the way, or you wouldn’t be talking like this. You just haven’t realized your true nature yet, but it’ll come soon.”
“No! I hate you! I don’t remember anything about where I came from. I just want to die!” she screamed, breaking down completely into heaving sobs.
That’s when the mob of zeros came at us, and we had to exit, stage left. I did note, however, that there was a picture of a pretty young woman in an advertisement on the window where this young lady was looking at herself. It said “Tasha Likes Blue Boy Soap.”
“C’mon, Tasha. You’re coming with me,” I said, and I dragged her, kicking and screaming all the way, to my hideout uptown near the San Diego Zoo.
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