His nose twitched at the smell of warm flesh growing stronger and his heart jumped with the sensation it allured. He didn’t want to hurt anyone, he was sure. And he was certain he didn’t feel like taking a bite out of any of his friends… But the sadistic temptation was still rattling around inside, closer to the surface now than it had been just a few minutes before…
“So…” Desi’s chipper voice surprised him. He felt awkward when she approached, as if he just got caught staring down her shirt to get a peek at her breasts. “…I take it zombies don’t need to pee?”
He aimed his nose toward her and realized where the strong scent taunting his senses was coming from. The faucet no longer did enough to occupy his mind so he turned it off and took a step back to put some distance between him and the pungent fragrance of her positively edible flesh.
“Yeah, I uh… I guess not…” He took another not-so graceful pace in retreat and found himself cornered in between Desi and the counter beside the refrigerator.
“So, what’s it feel like?”
“I…I…I don’t know… I guess…I just feel like I don’t hafta go…you know?”
Desi smiled and took a step closer. She was used to her prowess making guys uncomfortable, but she was a little surprised it still had that effect on this guy since Marty didn’t seem affected by her at all.
“No, I mean…you know… What’s it feel like…being a zombie?”
“Oh…right… Well, I’m not… I’m not really a zombie, actually. I mean… I never really ate anybody, so…”
“Right, sorry…” She put a playfully awkward look on her face and shrugged. “I used to watch way too many cheesy horror movies.” She noticed him feeling a little crowded, so she broke eye contact and looked toward the refrigerator. “You don’t mind, do you?” She pointed to the fridge. “It’s not gonna freak you out if I eat in front of you or anything, will it?”
“No… I uh… I don’t think so…” He didn’t seem sure. “Yur not like a…a messy eater, or something, are you?”
She smiled. “I may not look very ladylike in this skimpy, white t-shirt, but I promise I still remember all my table manners.” She grinned smartly and he gestured for her to help herself.
The flashes of violence in his mind and the temptations of her flesh dissipated when she looked away. He hoped it was just a bit of leftover blood-magik working its way out of his system and that it’d be gone now for good. But nobody really knew what would happen to any of them and he wasn’t sure how that made him feel…
The only thing he knew for sure was that he didn’t feel as certain of himself as he did when he was under Imala’s spell… But he did feel like he’d been manipulated and taken advantage of, and that feeling evoked in him a demand for retribution. He may never need to use the restroom again, but he still wanted to take a shit all over the lives of whoever was responsible for him and his friends being the newest members of the zombie apocalypse…
5
Coach Gary Carver of the Los Angles Priests had a delightful habit of whistling while on the john. There was something about the acoustics in a small bathroom that brought his melodies to life and brightened his scornful days. Comrie’s head may’ve agreed with him concerning the vibrancy of his tune bouncing off the tile around the tub, but the knob of the hockey stick through his neck-hole replacing his torso negated his ability to remark accordingly. Fortunately, his hearing and capacity to appreciate a jingle didn’t seem to be hindered by the lack of him having any arms or legs. It was clear from his head’s position, leaning up against the sink, that he was seeing a side of his former coach he’d never imagined he would. And his coach seemed happy enough to share in his hidden talents, and may’ve even been open for critique if the situation had permitted.
Alas, the life of an aging, zombie slayer was one without the inspiring nuances of polite conversation. There would be many things he’d be forced to sacrifice in the coming of the New Hell, but so help him, Lord, whistling joyfully while taking a shit would not be one of them.
He paused in his rendition of “Zipidy Do Da” to spark up a dialog with his undead bathroom guest.
“I know there’s a joke somewhere in here about me ‘hittin’ the head’, but I can’t quite get a bead on it.”
It worried him how easily he took to the morbid aftermath of the demise of his ex-teammate. It struck him as being a bit “off” how comfortable he was conversing with a severed orifice, but keeping a good sense of humor about the end of the world was a personality trait his former life had certainly prepared him for.
“I hope the smell isn’t botherin’ you…” he shrugged. “I just thought we should have this last moment together before I start diggin’ around in that brain of yers to see what makes it tick.” His head tilted to the side with a contemplative frown. “Or, I suppose un-tick would be more accurate, since I plan on tryin’ to kill ya.” He glanced back over to Comrie who had a look in his eyes that any use of the word “ticked” would appropriately describe. “Here… I got an idea.” He tore off two squares of toilet paper and twisted them each into a cone. “This should help with the stink.” Leaning forward, he inserted one cone into each of Comrie’s nostrils to block both passages, then gave him a friendly slap on the cheek. “That oughta do it.”
A sigh of satisfaction breathed from his lungs as he eased back on the toilet and picked up his whistling repertoire where he’d left off.
The truth of the matter was he was scared shitless… And there wasn’t enough toilet paper left in the entire universe to clean up the mess the world had gone and made of itself. But he was a little relieved that civilization may very well be coming to an end. It seemed horribly selfish to think it, but the old, miserable bastard was tired of the rest of the world going on happily with their lives while he was stuck standing still, trapped in the hole that the death of his son had left him rotting in.
It seemed a terrible weight had been hoisted from his shoulders. Before, he was expected to move on and make a life for himself in a world where no one could truly know his pain. Now the whole city of L.A. had sunk to his level, and he felt like he was at the top of the trash heap; king of the utterly fucked. He’d been suffering quietly for so long that he didn’t have any suffering left in him. All he had left now was a large collection of wrath and firepower, and coincidently, the world around him just went and turned itself medieval and crowned him a shining knight. Ten to twelve years ago he might’ve considered it “God’s will”. Today he’d just settle on labeling it rotten fucking luck for the bad guys. If Los Angeles, California was one, giant porcelain bowl filled to its brim with urine and human excrement, then the Coach would prove himself to be the shiny, metal lever that would graciously flush them all back to the sewers of Hell.
The pitch to the tune he whistled this night had never sounded so inspired before today. And to think, it only took the beginning of the end of the world for him to finally feel at home.
“Ya know, it’s a shame I had to blow you all to hell to stop you from… Well, I guess I don’t know what the fuck you were plannin’ on doin’ since I didn’t get the chance to ask…” Even through the frustration of being a bodiless head stuck to a hockey stick, Comrie could clearly see the gears spinning in the Coach’s mind. “I wonder what it’d take to find you a fresh pair of lungs so we could have a chat…”
He looked through the open doorway of his bathroom and Comrie did his best to follow his gaze. He couldn’t be sure, but it looked like the Coach was sizing up the torso of his flea-bitten, pet feline licking itself clean in the hallway. The old man’s eyes shifted back over to his friend, the severed head, and he threw out a question that might not have been as random as it sounded.
“Are you much of a ‘cat person’, son?” Comrie’s eyes widened in realization of what his former coach may’ve been suggesting. “Me? I can’t stand the damn things. It was my son’s. He found it wh
en it was a kitten and brought it home. I didn’t have the heart to tell him he couldn’t keep it… Then, of course, he died a year later and left me stuck with the bastard thing.” He shook his head. “I keep expecting the little turd to keel over dead every passing season, but the sonovabitch just won’t die.” He looked back over to the aging, gray flea-bag lying lazily atop the hamper outside the restroom. “But…maybe it could finally prove itself useful after all…”
He appeared to be deeply studying his thoughts then abruptly snapped out of his trance, reaching for the toilet paper.
“I gotta admit,” he wrapped his palm in the scented 2-ply and chuckled at his own ponderings, “this’s been one of the more…inspirational dumps I’ve had the pleasure of takin’ in my life.” He laughed before he wiped and gave Comrie a patronizing grin. “It sure is mighty nice to have someone here to share it with.”
6
Alex shifted uncomfortably in her seat, trying to avoid the awkward silence that filled the cab. Officer Buterhanz shifted after she did. It was as if her unnerved adjusting was contagious, like another person’s yawn or itch. She tugged on her seatbelt and he squinted and sneered at the cab’s stale air.
“You guys mind if I crack open a window?” It wasn’t much of an icebreaker, but he figured it’d have to do.
Todd just glanced back at him through his mirror and Alex shrugged politely and sort of smiled.
“No, go ahead.” She wanted both of them to be as comfortable as possible. As if the end of the world wasn’t awkward enough, she’d hate to end up hot-boxed between two grown men who might have gastrointestinal anxieties…
Buterhanz lowered his window a sliver to let in some air…but outside was just as sultry as in. He inquisitively leaned forward to address his driver.
“Doesn’t this thing have—?”
“AC’s broke.” Todd already knew what he was going to ask. Cutting the officer off and not allowing him to finish his sentence didn’t do much to ease the tension.
Buterhanz leaned back in his seat, took a second or two to weigh his options, then reached over and rolled the window back up. Alex looked over at him and he made a face.
“Blood-fog or body odder… Pick your poison, am I right?”
She forced a smile, not really sure how to respond to his shot at Smalltalk. He quickly realized his subtle complaints weren’t actually helping the situation and probably not doing a whole lot as far as him redeeming himself for nearly jumping into her lap earlier like a frightened Pekingese pup. Sooner or later he would have to get some answers out of them and figure out what the hell was going on… But he could tell Alex wasn’t in the mood for talking.
It astonished him that even in the midst of a life-threatening situation he still wanted to do right by her. A man’s feelings toward a woman were a very powerful, driving force… Especially with a woman as gorgeous as the one sitting next to him.
He shook his head at the thought, amazed that even as a grown man he was still easily compromised by the distractions of a schoolboy crush. His heart skipped a beat every time a streetlight pushed through the cab’s window and touch her lips, and it was all he could do to just keep himself from staring. He could see the vibrance of strength in her posture and was overawed by it.
He peered out his window and tapped his forehead expressively against the glass a few times in frustration. He was a police officer, for god’s sake… He was the one who was supposed to have his shit together. She should be looking to him for strength. But the only way that was going to happen, he realized, was if he dug down deep and found some strength to present her with. And he could start by turning that uncomfortable sensation in his gut into an air of confidence and control… Except, half the feelings churning in his insides were stemming from something more along the lines of “nature calling” than nervous tension…
“Does anybody else have to use the little policemen’s room?” That wasn’t exactly the strong, confident, or manly thing he’d hope to say to prove himself, but he realized he was having trouble thinking clearly for more than one reason. “…I think my back teeth are floating.”
The proceeding quiet was almost worse than the bind itself until Alex spoke up to mitigate the unease.
“I could use a minute to freshen up a bit, yeah.”
Buterhanz was relieved he and Alex had something in common. Todd figured he should speak up, if nothing else, just to be a cooperating member of the trio.
“I went before we left.”
Buterhanz shifted his eyes to the side and mumbled, “Is that what that smell is?”
Alex’s eyes widened in embarrassment and Todd’s pinched into slits.
“You try havin’ your life threatened by a nine-foot demon from Hell on a steady diet of coffee and soda!”
The officer quickly realized making fun of the scrawny cab driver wasn’t going to impress anyone. He nodded and offered up a truce.
“You’re right. I’m sorry.” He sighed. “I guess it’s not any worse than me springing into a girl’s lap who’s half my age and a third my size.” Alex traded a smile for his offering. He looked over to her in the hopes of actually speaking to her on equal terms for once. “So, what’re the chances your pet Sasquatch will give us a minute to lighten our loads?” …Maybe not the most charming way to put it, but Alex didn’t mind.
“I think the question is: are you willing to take the risk?”
He thought about it for second then decided on a reply.
“Ask me again in about fifteen minutes and I’ll give you an honest answer.”
She almost laughed. She’d already forgotten what that felt like…
7
“Yo, Bob-O!” Mac called out to his young friend keeping to himself near the kitchen. Jimmy and Terry were sitting on the couch discussing the state of things while Desi poked at her leftover spaghetti at the dining table between them. “Me and the boys worked it all out.” Bobby paid his group of friends some mind, eagerly awaiting the announcement of their brilliant scheme. “We’re gonna need somebody to go undercover and draw Shit-Face and his crew of ass-bags away from the cemetery. And we think you are the perfect dead-dude for the job.”
He was less than impressed with their conclusion.
“Me? …Are you serious?”
“Yeah, man. All you gotta do is go in there, make up some story about how you got away after Marty smoked me and Donny. Then you just tell ’em you know where we’re headed and draw ’em out.”
“But…they’re gonna know I’m not the same, man! …What if they try and make me eat somebody? I mean…Jesus…you guys know I’m a fucking vegetarian!”
Mac walked over to his young friend and put his hands on his shoulders.
“Bobert…bro…” He gave him a firm smack on the side of his arm. “I’m kidding.” Bobby’s shoulders drooped in relief as Mac laughed, in no way aware of how terrible that joke had been for him. “Lighten up, man! We’re already dead! There ain’t anything else that asshole can do to us.”
…But Bobby’s discomfort wasn’t about what they could do to him, but what he might do to someone else…
Tara walked out of Alex’s bedroom afterward and dropped a folded pair of jeans and a shirt on the table in front of Desi. She looked up from the plate of food she’d been pushing around and Tara tried her hand at being cordial.
“Here, I found these for you. And the bathroom’s free if—”
“I don’t really have to go.”
“…If…you wanna use it to get changed?”
“Oh…” She figured it might be a wise decision to show some level of cooperation. “Sure. Sounds good.”
She smiled tightly as a courtesy, dropped the fork on her plate and headed for the restroom, garments in hand. Jimmy and Terry both peeked her way as if to take one last gander at her nearly naked ass teasing under her t-shirt while she le
ft the room. Tara caught them in the act and they split their stares up opposite walls. She shook her head and sighed, amazed that even under the direst of circumstances a man’s mating instincts were still in full control of his faculties. Would it kill a guy to not check out a girl’s ass every time she left the room? …She also noticed Bobby looking Desi’s way, but his eyes weren’t glued to her posterior. His were definitely above waist-level and she couldn’t quite place the uncomfortable glaze in his dead eyes… He almost seemed…afraid of her…
She dismissed the curiosity in her mind for matters more pressing and headed toward her ex-man.
“Marty?” Her voice was a delicate twig propping up a roof of worries. She didn’t know how long it’d hold or even if it’d hold at all. A whole assortment of ardent ramblings were parading through her head, but deciding which ones were relevant was a little like asking a blind woman to pick her favorite color.
He didn’t budge when she spoke. He just continued patrolling his visual spectrum through the broke-open wall. She realized he wasn’t trying to ignore her…but instead appeared to be…looking for something… She decided now probably wasn’t the right time to talk about their relationship, especially since he seemed particularly unconcerned with it, so she set those feelings aside for the moment to address him on a more platonic level.
“What is it? What do you see?”
“I’m not sure…” The haze of fog forced him to see everything under a reddish tint, and his dead eyes could pierce through the mist better than those who were still alive. But as far as he could tell…they were alone. “I think…something’s watching us…”
“A Hound?”
“No… It’s…” It was just a feeling, but he didn’t know how to describe it or assign it validity to someone who couldn’t feel it too. “It’s something in the shadows… It’s like there’s…a presence in them… But…there’s nobody out there…”
Blood Magik- A Cold Day In Hell Page 47
