Michael had tried very hard not to throw up in front of Diane. He only managed to make it to the taxi stand. Their porter set him off.

The baggage had finally been dragged to the curb and for a moment Michael forgot where they were. He reached into his wallet, grabbed a bill, and looked up to give the porter a tip. That’s when he saw the porter’s blue-gray skin and white jellied eyes, smelled the rotting of flesh and clothes, and remembered exactly where they were.

He fell to his knees and his lunch came pouring out.

“Daddy?” Diane asked in a little, sweet voice. “Are you okay?”

“I’m okay, sweetie,” he lied from the floor. His shaking hand wiped at his mouth. “It’s okay.”

The porter had already started to shamble away back towards the terminal. He had hoped the thing would actually place the bags in the car. Michael swore he saw the porter’s “juices” stain wherever it had grabbed the cases, and he really didn’t want to touch them. Diane would never be allowed near the luggage. Yes, in fact, he decided he would burn the bags right after they unpacked.

Fuck it. Forget the bags. He would leave them behind. He would just grab Diane’s hand and get in the cab. Or turn around and march right back on the plane. There was room, he was sure. They were the only ones on the flight in. And nobody was flying out today. He hadn’t seen anybody else - anyone alive.

Why had he come here in the first place? It had been some excuse about a new life for the both of them. But there was no life in this city, only the dead.

Hands picked up their bags.

“You okay, Mack?” said a gravelly voice.

Michael looked up in surprise. The man holding their bags was alive. His brown suit was decayed as a dead man’s and the same stench hung about him. But he had spoken, clearly, intelligently.

“You’re alive?” Michael managed to say.

“You must be new in town!” said the man. “Welcome to Necropolis! My name’s Bernie. Here, let’s get you and your lovely girl to my cab.”

Bernie marched off, leaving Michael to stumble up and follow with Diane in tow. They passed their porter who had stopped in front of yet another living being. Michael was relieved to see another breathing soul, but his relief stopped when he noticed the man glowering at him as they passed by.

Michael was stopped by Bernie who nodded back at the glaring stranger.

“He’s the Baggage Necromancer,” said Bernie. “He keeps the porters … working. You tip them, it goes to him.”

Bernie gave another nod, and Michael got the message. He hurried back to the Necromancer and passed a bill with one hand, trying for a friendly pat on the arm with the other. His nerves made the pat a bit too hard, but he still received a smile, though cool. He returned to Bernie and they continued on to cab.

The sight of the cab nearly made Michael puke again.

It wasn’t the sickly yellow it was colored with. It was the team of walking dead that was “hitched” in front. They shuffled in place, moaning. Michael’s eye for detail noticed a few of them dripped.

Bernie dumped their bags in the back, and then graciously held a door open for them. Diane got in curiously. Michael did so fearfully. Seeing his charges settled, Bernie walked around in front, got in the driver’s seat, and twisted a key.

The walking dead before them shook violently for a second and a smell like overcooked bacon filled the air. With a loud groan they began to march. The reins linking them to the car pulled tight, and strained creaks joined the cacophony of sound. The cab moved forward in fits and starts, picking up speed.

They soon stopped accelerating; the dead could only move so fast. Michael knew he could travel much faster by foot. But he had Diane and the damned luggage with him. Besides, a look outside told him he probably would have traveled this way anyway. The thin metal shell of the cab’s body gave the illusion of protection.

The city was filled with them, so many of them. They limped about stupidly, occasionally colliding with each other. They came in all kinds of shapes, sizes, and states of decay. Occasionally a living human walked among them. Most of them must have been Necromancers; they moved confidently, usually with a band of undead in tow. Newcomers like him instead ran from doorway to doorway. Old instincts of survival die hard.

Some of the “free” walkers actually drew close to their cab and marched in time to the pulling team.

“Get out of here, ya bastards!!!” Bernie yelled at them. He then looked in the mirror and caught Diane’s reflection. “Oh, jeez. Sorry, cutie. That wasn’t very nice of me. I’m sorry.”

He meant it.

Diane returned her attention to the outside.

“I … I don’t like those people,” said Diane. “There is something … wrong with them.”

She was a smart girl even for a six-year old..

“This place stinks as well,” added Diane. “I want to go home.”

It wasn’t an order, just a sweet statement of fact as was her nature.

“Awww,” said Bernie. “Listen here, cutie pie, you’re gonna love it here!”

“But I don’t know where here is?”

Bernie gave something of a disappointed look at Michael, as if he had failed in his fatherly duties.

“Didn’t your Daddy tell you?” said Bernie. “You’re in the greatest city in the world!”

Bernie waved an arm to capture the cityscape before them.

“NECROPOLIS! ”

“City of the Dead,” mumbled Michael under his breath.

Bernie gave another look.

“City of the FUTURE!” he corrected. “The dead are our future.”

“I don’t understand,” said Diane.

A light before them turned red. Bernie fiddled with a lever, his dead howled, and they all came to a halt. Another band of undead crossed in front of them.

Seeing that Michael was not going to offer any explanations, Bernie dove in.

“Well, you may be too young to remember, cutie, but a few years ago, trouble began in the world.”

“Trouble?” said Diane.

The light turned green. With a jolt and the whiff of burned flesh, they were off again.

“Yeah, trouble.” said Bernie. “You see, everything outside of Necropolis needs oil. All the cars, all the planes, all the lights, toys, movies, everything needs oil to work. You understand?”

“Yeah,” said Diane, hesitantly. “What’s wrong with that?”

“Well, like I said,” continued Bernie, “everything needs oil. But there’s not enough oil. It’s running out. So some things stopped working, like some people’s cars, and some people’s planes, and some people’s lights, and some people’s toys, and some people’s movies. And those people, they got angry.”

Bernie looked directly at Michael in the mirror.

“I think your Daddy remembers.”

How could Michael forget? Hiding with pregnant Sandy in their unlit apartment as screams and fire filled the street. Lining up for rations, hoping some would be left by the time he reached the head, because who knew when more was coming.

Weeping as Sandy’s last kiss became their daughter’s first.

“Do you remember, Daddy?” asked Diane.

“Yeah,” he grunted. For a second he wished he was as dead as those all around them.

“Bad times buddy,” sighed Bernie sympathetically. “But you see, cutie, that some smart people came together and decided to fix the trouble. They figured that because oil was running out, they needed something else to make everything work. And they needed something that wouldn’t run out like oil. Something we would always have a lot of.

“The dead.”

A corpse collector wagon passed going in the other direction. It’s red flashing lights added to the ghastly hue. Michael’s depression grew as he realized how familiar the “Bring out your dead! Bring out your dead!” crying repeatedly from the wagon’s speakers would become.

“Dead?” said Diane. “Dead like Mommy?”

Michael winced at that, and unconsciously smacked a hand against the window. His eyes clenched as he fought down emotions and tried to think of something to say. Bernie saw all this and came to his rescue.

“Oh no, cutie,” said Bernie. “Not like your Mommy. Your Mommy is sleeping dead. These dead are a different dead. They are un-dead.”

It wasn’t the greatest thing to say but what could be. Michael made eye contact and nodded his thanks. Bernie winked back.

“So,” said Diane. “How do these un-dead fix the problem?”

“Well,” said Bernie, “look at this car. See how they are pulling it? I don’t need oil to drive this car. It doesn’t cost me a thing

“And look outside. See how clean everything is?”

Michael had to agree to that. Apart from the walking corpses, the place was sparkling.

“The un-dead clean all the garbage, everyday,” explained Bernie. “They do simple things like that, you see. Pick things up, move things.

“Now of course, they can’t do everything!” said Bernie with a small laugh. “They aren’t clever enough to do things like I am doing; driving this car! Or like what your dad does. What do you do, Mack?”

“My daddy works with computers,” said Diane proudly.

“Yeah,” said Bernie, his point being proven. “They are not as smart as your dad and me to do things like computers or driving. So smart guys like us, we can make a good living here in Necropolis. Like I said thanks to the dead, we get everything free. Free power, free cleaning, hell … whoops sorry … free food, as we can teach them to help us farm.

“And it does not cost much. Not much at all!”

That’s right, thought Michael. Not much. Just his soul, to help the Necromancers keep the dead moving.

Only his soul to get his daughter and him in and safe. He had secured her future, and it only cost him his own in heaven.

“Yeah,” said Bernie. “Necropolis is the city of the future. The future is the dead.”

Michael sadly agreed.