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The Human Race
(© Rich Restucci)

Page 1

Bennett Towers stands twenty six stories tall on two point two acres of prime real estate on West Sunset Boulevard in West Hollywood. There are fantastic views of Greystone Park, the Hollywood Hills, the buildings of Downtown Los Angeles, and of course, the Hollywood sign. Just a stoneís throw from Beverly Hills, the Bennett Towers section of Hollywood is rife with affluence.

Towers is, perhaps, a misrepresentation of title, as there is only one structure. When I had it built, I hired a marketing and advertising firm to come up with a name, and they told me in a sixty six page document that I paid sixteen thousand dollars for, that the s on the end of Tower would have people flock to the state of the art, luxury apartment complex in droves. They were correct, sort of. I didnít need droves, just a few select people like myself.

Although there are twenty six floors, there are only eight rental agreements in the entire building. Those agreements, however, paid for my beautiful building in less than six years. My tenants, you see, are a specific sort of person. They, like me, wanted to be prepared just in case. All of them understood why the rent was so astronomically high, and none of them thought twice about signing a lease the instant they pulled up to Bennet Towers in their half million dollar sports cars, or stretch limousines. One man landed on the roof in his private helicopter.

I evaluated seven initial interested parties, declining only one. I already had two investors that were guaranteed living space. Two important people.† Regardless, the leases were signed the day before Bennett actually opened her doors for the first time.

The draw of this wonderful edifice was twofold. The heightened security that encompassed all aspects of the building was the primary driver. Everything from the private parking garages, to the sub-machine gun armed security force, to the surveillance suite had been perfectly planned and built. The very structure itself is comprised of non-flammable, reinforced plasticrete, that Iím told will withstand an armor piercing tank shell. The entrances are constructed of a metal alloy that one needs special military clearance to see the composition of. The United States government wanted the same doors for sections of the Pentagon, but the entries were too expensive. A small but powerful fusion reactor gives us a lifetime of clean, sustainable energy.

We have our own food source, hydroponic farms on three levels, with a small army of technicians and farmers to keep them going. We also have farm animals at a secure offsite location the whereabouts of which I will not divulge here. Itís all good stuff, and we never want for tasty meals from our chefs.

Bennet Towers is, I must say, impregnable, and it stands in one of the largest cities on the globe. This was the second concern for my tenants and me. We were considered survivalists by the mainstream media, which, ironically I own most of. Or owned I should say, most of it is gone. A fortress such as this in the center of a busy metropolis is also unheard of. Most survivalists live off the grid in a cabin in the mountains. That would not do for us. Not at all.

Before the dead stopped staying dead, I was an owner. I owned things. I got my start in entertainment. Mogul is the word. Although, if I were a mogul before, Iím a God now. ††The Resurrection has been a boon to me, both financially, and in terms of professional prestige.

So with the knowledge you are now armed with, you must understand that it was easy, quite easy in fact, for me to succeed in enduring. Everybody else was dying, or dead, and I sat back and watched it all on ninety inches of high definition television. With the surround sound it was like it was in my living room. I ate as much popcorn in those first few days as the dead ate their neighbors. The Resurrection ran twenty- four-seven on all channels. Well, all the channels that were still working, including mine.

Talk about unprepared. Those stations that let a little thing like the zombie apocalypse screw up their functionality. I was still watching, and if I was watching so were others. Where was the sense of customer loyalty those stations always bragged about? Where were the talking heads and camera crews and grip guys?† Dead. Either chewed or chewing, thatís where they were. Stupid, all of them.† Just dumb. A little bit of prep goes a long way, and that was me. A prepper.† My station was and is still running at top efficiency. Itís the only one left, and though I run several programs, everybody only waits for one.

[ Continue to page 2 ]

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Genre:Living Dead
Type:Medium length story
Rating:8.15 / 10
Rated By:50 users
Comments: 8 users
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