Smoking Dead

S. Bonavida Ponce

Smoking

Dead

The documentary about the Great Smoke

Translated by Santiago Machain

© 2016 Safe Creative

ISBN: 978-84-617-4370-4

Cover design

Anna "Artlekina" Smirnova

http://artlekina.deviantart.com

Beta Readers

Melisa Balaguer Muñoz

Genoveva Gutiérrez Ruiz

(a.k.a. genolu)

http://bit.ly/2aySiq6

Ignatiusbp

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Dedicated to my brother,

the best gift from my parents.

« And thank you very much Santiago Machain, tireless translator, for your expertise and patience in translating Smoking Dead »

Zone Zero

“Greetings, I'm Peter Whales. We are in what many people call Zero Zone, the worst plague in the history of human race...”

At that moment, Peter looked at the microphone in his right hand when an annoying buzz interrupted his professional soliloquy.

Tzzzz...Tzzzz...Tzzzz....

“Peter, Peter. We cut the shot.”

“What? Corinne, I haven't had diarrhea for three days so you can come and give me some bullshit.”

“We cut the shot and that's it. Give me ten minutes," Corinne replied.

Peter and Corinne were in the middle of nowhere, exactly in a jungle area of swampy soil lost from the God’s hand, translated into colloquial language: a shitty place. A green field full of spiked grass up to their ankles. The tips of those plants were put in an annoying way by all the parts of the body. Once upon a time, according to the local archives preserved in AngKor, that place had been a tobacco plantation. But Peter didn't care, a strong uncontrollable diarrhea had been lodged in his lower abdomen for three days. Water, food, or perhaps both were acting against him. Because of strict international laws he could not take his own canned food either. Then, he had to eat the swill he was served in Thailand.

"Maybe I've eaten a spoiled dog.”

So, with diarrhea and belly pains it's no wonder Peter was in a very bad mood.

“Shit. Fuck Marlboroach. Who sent me to do a report on the Great Plague of Smokers?”

Corinne didn't answer. Peter continued to observe her, although not precisely in the eyes.

"She's lucky to have the biggest tits I've ever seen on a woman, otherwise I would have sent her home weeks ago.”

Unaware of Peter's thoughts, Corinne lowered the portable shoulder camera and moved a few meters away towards the Jeep. There she used some tools, adjusted some of the technical parameters of that junky, and continued to be entertained for a while. Meanwhile, Peter was still like a stick in the middle of that old sown field.

"Fuck Marlboroach. I'm in shit up to my neck, if it wasn't for the mortgage... This documentary is a dead end.”

The last words of his boss, Mr. Belvedere still resounded in his head. "It's your last proof, Peter. Screw it this time and you'll be Big Mother presenter again or worse.”

Peter chewed a big KaBoom gum that helped him in moments of tension. Chewing. Inflate. Explode. Chewing. Inflate. Explode. And so he repeated the operation in an endless loop.

“Can you remain still with that little noise? It makes me nervous; I can't concentrate.

"What the hell's wrong with the buddy. Here it's cold from the milk, I'm getting muddy in the middle of this former tobacco plantation, and she has the holy balls to tell me she's bothered by the sound of my gum.”

As a good Alpha male dominator of the species, Peter did what only a man can do, stop making noise with gum and obey.

"I do it because I want to.”

Corinne did not keep her promise to fix the camera in ten minutes. It took her more than thirty. And Peter's dissimulated anger was on the rise.

“What took you so long?” Peter whistled.

I had to clean up the gamma-wave polarizer to remove some of the interference from the residual strontium in the environment. That took me about two minutes. Then I had to touch up my nails, which took me another twenty-eight minutes.

In an attempt at frustration, Peter threw the gum on the floor.

“I wouldn't throw the gum on the floor, it's a strange element. You can look for problems with the WFSP.”

This last sentence modified Peter's face.

“And who's going to tell the federation of foreign particles? It's just you and me in this shitty valley.”

“I wouldn't overestimate the World Federation Strange Particles. But it’s up to you.”

“Fuck the particle federation.”

However, despite those words, Peter bent down and picked up the chewing gum from the ground. He took a plastic bag out of the right-side pocket of his jacket and put the viscose mass into the plastic bag.

“Come on, let's move on.”

Corinne started recording.

“Greetings, this is Peter Whales broadcasting for the PPC. We are in what many people call Zero Zone, the worst plague in human kind history. According to the opinion of many experts, the tobacco plantations in northern Thailand, like the one we are in were the outbreak of the worst epidemic that almost brought humanity to the brink of extinction....

A matter of chemistry

"I hate chemistry. I don't know why my boss had the brilliant idea of including in my work plan the interview to this kind of old mummy extracted from the museum of national history. The scientific vision is important, or at least, that is Mr. Belvedere's opinion. Shit. If it weren't for these brainiacs who play Gods, maybe that would never have happened.”

The old professor, dressed in a white coat and sitting like an old cowboy on the wooden chair stared at the blackboard Peter had on his back.

“The Methyl Bromide or its scientific nomenclature, CH₃Br, so that you may understand it better, young man...”

"The young man doesn't understand shit.”

“...was widely used at the beginning of the 21st century. Curiously, my PhD thesis was based on it. A highly versatile and effective product. Effective in a wide range of temperatures and biocide action. The definitive fumigant. It served to control fungi, bacteria, viruses, mites, nematodes,” Peter silenced that list of names extracted from the underworld.

“Doctor, I don't care about the family tree of your family. Could you tell us about the Zombie Fungus?”

The old professor grunted badly.

“You're only interested in that shit. Let's see when the journalists mature. That was years ago. You always come to interview me for the same reason. After so much time, haven't more interesting news come out? By the way, young lady, wouldn't you like to get the phone number of a scientific eminence?”

Corinne recorded the whole interview from the side of the room. When she saw the old professor's attitude, she raised her fist to the height of her face and straightened her middle finger pointing it towards the ceiling in an unfriendly gesture.

“I like them to resist," whispered the professor. “That excites them.”

“Professor, I promise you by God, your mother and all the archangels that I will then pass you the telephone number of the camera operator, but please, can we start with the main topic?”

The professor grunted and smiled all at once, if that was possible. Peter thought that they would begin to enter into an infinite loop, in which the professor would insist on giving his telephone number to Corinne, she would raise her hand in a defiant gesture, and he would kindly insist again with a “Can we start with the main theme, please?”

Peter breathed a snort full of despair.

"Marlboroach takes me. Let this old mummy begin to release all his boring speech or I strangle him with my own hands. It also reminds me of my old college chemistry professor, Mr. Moriarty. When God created the human species, why did he allow chemists and biologists to exist? I know only two worse professions. Lawyers and computer scientists.”

To Peter's surprise the professor adjusted his crotch, smiled sarcastically at Corinne, and fell silent.

“Professor, may we begin? Would you be so kind as to tell us about the Zombie Fungus?”

“What kind of asshole invented that name? That's stupid. That name could only occur to a common newscaster. Surely some presenter from the FOXX network invented that name. But it is already known that not everyone can belong to the intellectual elite, as only a select group of people can do it. Its only correct name is Ophiocordyceps unilateralis.”

“Of course, professor, could you give us your opinion on the toxin Ophio or how the hell is called that?”

“Make no mistake young man, it is not a toxin. It's a parasite.”

“Thank you for correcting me. Regarding the parasite, could you tell us briefly what it is?”

The brief explanation lasted only three and a half hours. A really small time if we compare it with the usual talks and symposiums of these academics that could last weeks or even months. Corinne had to change the camera batteries twice. Between changing and changing the battery, the professor would lower his hand to the crotch and dedicate an affectionate virile male gesture to that beautiful female who resisted him so much.

The Professor's mobile began to vibrate and he picked up the phone. Peter took advantage of that moment of distraction, grabbed Corinne by the arm and fled like Marlboroach's soul from the headquarters of the World Federation Plagues.

"Why after the great plague did all the names start with World Federation? Many publicists survived after the great plague and yet the world remained devoid of ideas. Where did invention and imagination go? On these occasions I dream that it would have been better to have been annihilated by the great plague of smokers.”

The old van, a radiant white with the logo of the PPC was waiting for them outside.

"Old hysterical cockatoo. Three and a half hours of my life lost. It has been worse than the broadcast of a political debate.”

Although Corinne was a freak and a somewhat special woman, deep down Peter knew badly that she would have put up with that old mummy. Since they had only recently been working together, Peter decided to take a small step forward in professional relationships.

“Corinne, I'm sorry for what you've had to endure.”

“What do you say?”

“I'm talking about that obsessed old man.”

“I don't understand.”

“Woman. The lascivious gestures, the macho comments...”

“But I liked him. I was just pretending to be interesting. I didn't want him to think I was a chippy woman.”

A drop of sweat rushed down Peter's left temple.

"This buddy is silly. Whoever understands her buys her. Where do they get the camera operators?".

Peter drove the van back to the hotel. Corinne was still painting his nails on the co-driver's seat, this time in a strange violet shade.

You have to drink a lot to become an Oxford-Cambridge University professor.

According to Peter, until now the report had two good things and one bad. The two good things were always hanging on Corinne's front. The bad thing was the exhaustion of travelling to such scattered and disparate locations all over the world. At times like this he remembered his boss very much, while Mr. Belvedere enjoyed all the pleasures of the comfortable office, they moved more than a mint candy in a child's mouth.

Mr. Belvedere had come up with the brilliant idea of giving them a little trip around the world, that way they could collect the different opinions, comments and various bullshit from the different smoking specialists.

"As good as it is at home.”

Before entering Ex Oxford-Cambridge University, careless Peter was struck with a small black post that was at the perfect crotch height of an average adult.

“Fuck Marlboroach and all his children.”

“Don't swear, Peter. They are forbidden by Clown President.”

“Do you know where you and Clown President can go? What a pain!”

Limping and still with a great annoyance in their noble parts, Peter and Corinne entered the Department of History of the 20^th century of the Ex-University Oxford-Cambridge. The old professor of the such division, the highest authority in knowledge about the 20^th century was waiting for them tanking refuge behind his table. It turned out to be the largest bottle-ass glasses Peter had ever seen in his entire life.

“Are the two boys from the TV crew? Excuse me, but I can't see very well, I'm half blind. Would you like a whiskey?”

Corinne and Peter shook their heads.

“It’s a pity, boys. Whiskey opens the doors of the mind, it's scientifically proven” Having said that, the old professor poured himself a fairly loaded, ice-free glass of Jackie Danyels. Then he lowered it in one drink.

“Then, you're interested in 20^th century history? Specifically, at the dawn of the Great Plague. Interesting. So, let me explain to you guys, but before...” Without wasting any time, the old professor arranged for the second glass of whiskey.

"YOUNG BUDDIES? Yes, Corinne's tits can be seen from France. Poor Professor, so much studying with Jackie Danyels is leaving him more than blind.

The old professor began to speak.

“The end of the 20^th century could be compared with the worst times of the Middle Ages. Things were getting very ugly because of a section of the population that used drugs. Smokers. Many anthropologists, my colleagues have not yet been able to determine exactly what was wrong with those people's brains. Many believe that they had a genetic dysfunction in the empathic zone of the brain that prevented them from controlling themselves. The most reactionary anthropologists are simply of the opinion that smokers did not possess brains.

A new sip to the glass with Jackie Danyels made the professor smile.

“And now there's hardly any material left from that time, fifty years ago. All the papers were smoked: academic books, novels, even the toilet paper. Everything burned between his fingers. He was consumed by the Great Horde of Smokers. The Great Clown delivers us from them.”

“Excuse me, professor, how do you think it all started?” Peter asked.

“At the end of the 20^th century the countries of the world, governed by a social class of misfits called Politicians passed laws prohibiting all kinds of drugs. This led to the consumers of tobacco, nicotine and strontium being repudiated by society. As a result, the companies that sold tobacco closed down. However, an illegal supply of joint-tabaco came up for sale clandestinely. The former country of China and another called Thailand were the ones which catapulted this secrecy. Nevertheless, something disastrous happened, in the tropical forests of Thailand there was a small fungus. The Zombie Fungus. This entity evolved and merged with the illegal tobacco plantations. As no one cared about exerting any quality control, it was uncontrolled in those areas, because it had the capacity to absorb the vital energy of the entity it inhabited and control it. If you'll excuse me for a second!” the professor interrupted his speech and poured himself the third glass of whiskey.

Peter was really excited.

“Quite an academic and intellectual. You can see that for many years he has been instructing himself in the noble art of enduring alcohol. The kind of man I'd like to be when I grow up.”

“Then something happened,” the professor continued: “The fungus transmitted its properties to the tobacco plant. Some of those tobacco crops from ancient Thailand were exported to China, and these corrupt shoots ended up in almost all tobacco plantations.”

A new pause interrupted that condensed history class. The old professor was delighted with Jackie's cup in his hand.

“The physical change was barely imperceptible. Glazed eyes. Weak pulse. Skin in a state of putrefaction. In short, the normal physical state of a smoker. No one could tell the change. But some people did start to notice something. The great medical professionals intervened. They held many conferences, great symposia, and after all these talks throughout the world, after living at everyone's expense, they agreed on one opinion: it was a serious worldwide case of conjunctivitis. Hips!

The teacher's free hand came between the cup and his mouth. The hiccups had hit him hard.

“But the truth was much more terrifying. Hips! Smokers began to be dominated by the fungus-zombie-tabaco.”

“Excuse me Professor,” said Peter, “do you mean to tell me that no medical professional at that time detected the real root of the problem?”

“Well, at that time it was very difficult to find honest doctors. I told you those were bad times. They were either dishonest or stupid. The most common phrase in the medical profession at the time, ‘That's just a virus. You'll be cured,’ has gone down in history. Hips! On the other hand, there was the maladjusted social class of the Politicians, who received succulent sums for doing nothing. Well, if they were good for anything, for talking.”

“Unbelievable. How bad the world was!”

“After all,” continued the old professor with a crisp blur between small, uncontrolled burps and various hiccups, “that disease only attacked the outcasts of society. Hips! Smokers. People who were sick and without resources. All their money was spent on the illegal substance. It was then that the great demographic debacle happened, and at the beginning of the 21^st century the majority of smokers began to die. Their bodies, apparently lifeless, were deposited in areas called cemeteries.”

“What is a cemetery?” Corinne asked innocently.

“She will not like the answer.”

“A place where the dead were buried, guy,” replied the professor calmly, who still did not recognize a woman in the figure of Corinne.

“Bury?” replied Corinne visibly upset. “Like plants? Didn't they burn them like now?”

“No, they didn't burn them.”

“How disgusting! But where did they bury them?”

“In the earth or in small vaults, something like small houses.”

“Don't go on, don't go on, professor. I feel like vomiting.”

“What delicate boys there are these days. Well, as I was saying, Hips! a few years went by like that. Smokers died and were buried; they died and were buried and so on...”

Corinne put on stone-faced expression before all that talk, the last words of the old professor were impressing her very much.

“Luckily, in historical journalism class they already explained to us beforehand the old legends of the ‘burial’ rite. How barbaric.”

“Well, as I was saying,” the old professor continued animatedly, moving his eyes in a nystagmic way, “inside the lifeless bodies, the Zombie Fungus continued to generate new spores. These were transmitted at an alarmingly fast rate between the buried bodies of the cemeteries. Above all, in those lifeless bodies full of tobacco, which favored the growth of the fungus, since the combination of nicotine and strontium boosted the fusion. The prevailing humidity underground favored the effect called Buried Steam Pot, with which the disaster was, Hips! served at the table.”

“And then, one day, the worst happened...” he made a theatrical stop. “The smokers came back to life. And an immense horde, led by Patrick Swuaize, Nat King Cole and Errol Flyn, among many others, came back to life wanting to smoke everything and everyone.”

“Horrible, Patrick Swuaize!”

Unfortunately, that wonderful history talk ended after Jackie Danyels' sixth cup. The old professor collapsed irreparably on his table, from the corner of his lips began to regurgitate small slimy slime, and his body, almost at the edge of the ethyl coma, also began to emit small noises similar to snoring.

“These academic types bore me to death, they think only of drinking and studying.”

“But what do you say, Corinne, a man of great wisdom and knowledge like the professor? Six glasses of whiskey. He must be very wise to put up with so much. Do you know that in order to be accepted into the former Oxford-Cambridge University, applicants must undergo severe drunkenness tests?”

“Huh! What was the point of burying people? What nausea has come over me.” C’mon Peter. Mortally boring I am. Besides, he hasn't looked at my tits once. What a nerve.”