Occupation: A Zombie Apocalypse Theory-Part 1

”But some man will say, how are the dead raised up, and with what body do they come?”

-1 Corinthians 15:35

3 FEB 2013-19:30:45

“You see, the problem with this country nowadays is nobody has the gumption to bite into the heart of the problem anymore,” the man said as he cut deeply into the gorgeous mass of beef served on an elegant dish before him.

King cut prime rib courtesy of The Rib Room in the French Quarter had been a favorite of his for many years. A popular haunt for high society figures, celebrities, and the upper echelon of the city’s pecking order, the Rib Room was more of a tradition for his family than a casual dining experience. With its refined décor, impeccable service, and the finest selection of culinary delights, Joseph Devereaux savored every bit of juicy flavor as the fork entered his mouth. Medium rare; incredible flavor with just a little blood to satiate his refined palate. Man was made to devour flesh every now and then. It was natural, a primal way of life that he understood all too well and often incorporated into the business world.

A well-known and respected figure in Louisiana political circles for many years, he was a tall, boisterous figure of a man with his well-tailored suits and gallant Southern charm. Making his living off the family business in sugarcane, cotton, and various securities, he was also one of those guys behind the iron curtain of politics, which became the stuff of legend.

His father, the late Alexander Devereaux, was an old running buddy of guys like Huey P. Long and Clay Shaw. Through various contacts behind the scenes, he’d even helped Clay Shaw found the historic New Orleans Trade Mart. In those days, the Devereaux family also had a rather discreet history of gun-running. Coupled with their trade negotiations with Cuba, El Salvador, and various parts of Latin America, the profitable partnership helped the family live as high on the hog as possible.

Eventually, things began to turn sour in the summer of 1963, during the anti-Castro movement, when Lee Harvey Oswald was spotted handing out pro-Castro leaflets on Canal St. This was already a bit of a sore subject, as history would later prove Oswald to be a pawn of various channels within the U.S. government.

The American intelligence community in those days had plans of their own, not just on the Castro issue but also on organized crime along with the Vietnam War. Eventually, tensions would grow high, brimming to a fever pitch one humid day in November of 1963 when John F. Kennedy, the 35th President of the United States, was assassinated.

Sitting next to his wife Delphine, quite the respected socialite as well, the Devereaux clan’s historical ties in Louisiana corruption and organized crime made them a powerful force to be reckoned with for many years. From the days of working hand in hand with former governor Edwin Edwards, the family even had ties with the infamous ‘Godfather of New Orleans’ in Carlos Marcello.

Quite the formidable figure in her own right, while many saw Joseph Devereaux as the head of the family, many who knew them personally saw Delphine as the power behind the throne. Hell, in some social circles, she was on the throne and reveled in this knowledge as she bit down on a generous portion of prime rib herself. Rare. Bloody. Perfect.

“This country’s gone to Hell in a handbasket if you ask me,” Joseph continued. “All these illegals and whatnot destroying our economy, getting a free ride at the expense of decent, hardworking Americans. Got these gays running around screaming for their damn rights, destroying the very fabric of Americana, soiling the population with their degenerate indecency and disease…and that’s why we have this ‘problem’ now.”

With the precision of a determined and skilled surgeon, Joseph sliced away at his prime rib. The veins in the tops of his hands throbbed intensely as he made his point.

“Damn shame if you ask me,” he said. “Back in the 80s, the government had this little problem of ours contained, and with a very specific purpose. Now it’s all shot to Hell, breaking out not only across the country but other parts of the goddamn world. Complete and utter chaos…and what does our so-called ‘President’ do?”

He took a massive bite of the cut of beef.

“Well, it’s not surprising. See, that’s what happens when you open up the White House to a-“

And with that, Delphine waved her hand, cutting him off. Joseph looked across the table to see the slightly distraught face of his son Blake. A strapping young man at the tender age of 23, his striking features and figure had become a rather chiseled copy of his father’s from earlier years. A political science major at Loyola University, he was already pegged to carry on the Devereaux legacy in every way. Famous throughout the upper social class circles of New Orleans, the young buck’s penchant for women and drink became well documented. The apple certainly didn’t fall far from the tree. Beneath the polished, chiseled exterior of the young lad’s face was a longing that brought a bit of melancholy to the moment.

“Joseph, I’ll not have that kind of talk right now,” Delphine commanded. “Not civilized conversation at the dinner table, especially in front of our son.”

“I’m just stating the obvious, honey,” he fired back. “We’ve had these second rate protesters popping up all throughout the city, complaining about equal rights, affordable medical care and the like, all the while taking a free ride on the backs of decent Americans like you and I. This situation has gotten so out of control that we’ve had to cordon off the savages in cages around the city…and even that’s beginning to become a problem! Talk about ‘the 99%’…my ass!”

“Can we give it a rest for one day, please?” the young man commanded. “This city is out of control, and most of my friends have either skipped town or died. Pretty soon, there won’t be much of a city left to hold on to, and you’re sitting here having dinner like nothing’s happened. If only we’d been there to protect-“

“We’ve talked about this enough, son,” his mother added sharply. “This hasn’t been easy for us to accept at all, but she’s gone. Your father and I tried everything we could to get her back, but she wouldn’t listen. She made her decision, and it cost her. Best thing to do now is to focus on what we can salvage. Eat your dinner, Blake. It’s one of the few pleasantries we have left before everything is really shot to Hell.”

Blake looked at his mother and father consuming their meals under the bright lights that did nothing to illuminate his dark mood. His blackened redfish, coupled with his favorite cauliflower puree, would not fare much better to lift his spirits either. Not on this day. The son simply looked on with utter disdain coupled with nausea as the parents consumed their meal without a care in the world.

Joseph Devereaux took a moment to take it all in. Ingesting the splendor of the room as he sipped on a bracing glass of Macallan 25, the memories of ‘Old New Orleans’ seemed to march through his mind as vibrantly as a parade. Putting the glass down and slicing away at the flesh before him, he looked over to his son.

“New Orleans will be great again, son, I promise. It’s like I said, you just have to have the gumption to bite into the heart of the problem.”

***

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TO BE CONTINUED IN PART 2…