Hey, there. My name is Zachary Etienne. I was born in the City of Montreal, Province of Quebec, to Haitian immigrant parents. I lived a fairly normal life in my hometown, enrolling at McGill University to study Criminology and living it up on weekends like everybody in the town of Montreal. I was twenty years old when the Zombie Plague hit. I mean, at first people didn't believe any of that stuff was real. I remember watching clips on YouTube and watching the news on CNN and RDI, as expert after expert dismissed the Zombie rumors as nothing but that. Rumors. Most people didn't want to believe that Zombies were real. Until the plague proved too big to contain by the authorities who previously kept it under wraps. By then, it was too late.
When the City of Montreal fell, I was one of the few people who stayed behind to defend it against the Zombies. Well, that proved to be a futile effort. The fortified shack in which I hid with my best friend Shawn and my sister Elisabeth was overrun by Zombies. I watched my own sister get eaten by the nightmarish ghouls. I'm not sure what happened to my parents, Odile and Franklin Etienne. We got separated. I found myself alone against the zombie horde. That should have been the end of me. Well, I was actually rescued by someone. A mysterious man who calls himself Baal the Messenger. The dude came in and he tore the Zombies apart with his bare hands. There must have been like twenty of them and he tore them apart like rag dolls. Man, you should have seen that. I was there and I didn't even believe it, though I saw it with my own eyes. Well, I thought Baal the Messenger had come to save me but the truth is, he came to recruit me.
Ladies and gentlemen, I've got a bomb to drop. Um, not literally, of course, since we live in dire times I thought that might be a poor choice of words. The world is overrun by Zombies, and the few humans who are left are on the run. They rule the world now, picking us off the way snakes pick off rats in a hole in the ground. Baal the Messenger gave me the tools to fight the Zombies. For you see, he wasn't human. Baal the Messenger is undead, but he isn't a Zombie. The dude was actually a Vampire, and he claims to have been alive since the time of the Carthaginian Empire, one of ancient Rome's biggest rivals. Not sure if I believe him but after seeing what he could do, my levels of skepticism have dropped. Baal the Messenger possesses superhuman strength and speed, and he also heals rapidly from any injury. He cannot stand the light of day, though. That's like his only weakness as far as I can tell. Vampires are real, and they're not happy about the Zombie Plague.
Why did Baal the Messenger recruit me? It wasn't out of the goodness of his heart. He needed a daytime driver and watchman. According to him, there is a Vampire community hidden deep below the earth somewhere in the City of Boston, Massachusetts. Man, traveling hundreds of miles from the City of Montreal, Quebec, to New England seemed like suicide to me, given the state of the world. Zombies are everywhere. I'm not sure how many humans are left but there are lots more of them than there are of us. I mean, Baal is a strong dude but he's not much good during the day. Nevertheless, he technically saved my life so I felt like I owed him. We found this old Ford, loaded it up with gas, blankets, guns and canned goods, and started our journey together. Now, I know what you're thinking. What kind of guy travels with a Vampire? Well, it's either I travel with him and he keeps the Zombies off my ass, or I make a go for it alone and end up Zombie Stew. Easiest choice I ever had to make, ladies and gentlemen.
Baal the Messenger is one weird dude, folks. And I don't mean just because he's a Vampire. He constantly talks about his wives, and claims to have been married more than two hundred times throughout his long life. Hmmm. We all have exes somewhere, that's for sure, but does he have to whine about his lost loves all day? Dude spends most of the day asleep in the back of the car, for he can't stand sunlight. I always thought Vampires were bogus, until the world went to hell and I actually met one. We make one weird pair, him and I. Although he claims to be several thousand years old, he appears to be a five-foot-eight, fifty-something chubby guy with Persian features. Black hair, bronze skin, brown eyes. Baal says he was once the bodyguard of Hannibal Barca, the legendary Carthaginian General who made war against the Roman Empire. Well, good for him. We are definitely strange bedfellows. I'm twenty, and stand six foot one, slim and fit, with dark brown skin and long Black hair braided into neat cornrows. Yeah, what a pair we make. The Haitian man and the Arab, the human and the Vampire, side by side against the Zombie hordes. Yay for us.
While traveling from the province of Quebec, Canada, to the United States, Baal and I encountered all kinds of hairy situations. And the Zombies weren't even the scariest part. With civilization gone and law and order just a memory, people banded together for survival as they had in the old days. And we soon found out that there were threats other than the Zombies out there. In western Quebec, we encountered a man named Guillaume Tremblay, a white supremacist and Quebec separatist whose name I remembered from the old days. He and about a hundred people formed a camp with fortified walls to defend themselves against the Zombies. Guess who they forced to build the walls of the camp? Men and women from the African immigrant and Aboriginal communities. They had dozens of them toiling away to build the twenty-foot-high cement walls which protected Guillaume and his pals from the Zombies.
Civilization fell, no more police or mayors, no government of any kind. And the first thing this bastard Guillaume does is revisit one of history's darkest chapters. The enslavement of non-whites by white supremacists. Baal wanted to skirt the whole place but when we arrived there just before nightfall, we had no idea what we were getting into. I was captured and immediately put in a holding cell, where Guillaume personally tortured me. The bastard wanted to break my will. I refused to give in. Since he wasn't much to look at five-foot-six and one hundred and thirty pounds soaking wet, I berated him for his lack of height and called him an atavistic throwback of the Aryan supremacy thing he loved so much. That struck a nerve, and Guillaume decided he wouldn't turn me into a slave after all. The Aboriginals and African immigrants who'd been living in the town of Ville-Marie, western Quebec, had seen me defy his white power and authority. He wanted to make an example out of me so the others wouldn't rebel.
I was resigned to meeting my fate with dignity. I am the son of immigrants from the island of Haiti. It's the only place on the planet where European colonialism and imperialism were defeated by a non-white population. The island of Haiti is the first independent Black nation in the New World. I sure hope my brethren are faring better against the flesh-eating, mindless Zombies than the rest of the Western Hemisphere. Guillaume and his wife, a chubby blonde-haired white chick named Paula, had their servants string me up in the middle of the Ville-Marie town square. And they were ready to lynch me good and proper. I thought I was done for. The two thousand or so white people living in the town of Ville-Marie were all gathered there to see me hang, and so were the African immigrants and Aboriginals whom they enslaved. Guillaume and his people were triumphant. And they were quite gleeful about it. I wasn't shocked. I always believed that deep down, people were wicked and the folks in Quebec were far more racist than anyone else in Canada, except maybe people from Alberta. They don't like racial/ethnic minorities down there.