So when I saw a decent pair of pants on the figures coming toward us, I knew they were zombies. Then I confirmed my evaluation with the stiff, stumbling gait and the lack of claws. They were lurching down the tunnel at us three abreast, so I couldn't see past the first few to count their full number.
"Half a dozen at least," I guessed. "What's our plan?" Zombies are slow in most cases, so we knew we had some breathing room to talk strategy before they were upon us.
"The rounded tunnel is not so great for footwork," said Mikkel. "It's not like we can both swing in the same space."
"But it's likewise crappy for them," I said. "Zombie balance always sucks."
"Right, so we can either take them on one at a time -"
"And the other one of us just watches?"
"Or we need more room," finished my brother.
"What do you propose?"
"Well," said Mikkel, turning his head to look at the zombies and then behind us. "We have their attention, so they'll follow us wherever we lead. Didn't we pass a four way intersection?"
"Yeah, but we didn't scout the side tunnels."
"It might be worth the risk," he said. "Okay, we head back to the intersection. You stand off to the side a bit, I stand off to the other side a bit. And in between -"
"We crack some skulls," I finished. "Assuming we're not flanked, that will work."
"Well, let's get moving," he said. "They're already following, let's not waste any time and then fall flat on our faces like a bad horror movie."
We backtracked to the four way intersection he mentioned. I took position on one side and he on the other, a solid four, maybe five feet between us. I looked behind me at the side tunnel. It went a short distance then turned back toward the way we had just come from. That wasn't good. I hoped the zombies were just as dumb as zombies typically were and would walk in a straight line toward us.
I hefted my lead pipe while Mikkel raised his katana. These were batting stances for a game of zombieball. We were just waiting for the pitcher to send some zombies toward us.
When you see zombies, they're typically in a horde. A big group close together, as if they were just holding hands before you saw them and they quickly let go. When on their own they tend to mill about aimlessly, so I think that's why they're so densely grouped. But get them moving and they actually space themselves out. My belief is that's because their rates of decay and their wounds aren't similar. Some are a little more spry than others, so when they actually have a reason to move, they do so at different paces. Due to this, it's not that we still had a horde three wide for our ambush. If we did, our plan would have probably failed. Instead, we had them coming for us one after another, decently spaced.
"Batter up!" said Mikkel as a zombie came to our intersection. It was on my side of the tunnel, so it was mine to deal with. I made sure my footing was good; I wanted to swing without stepping forward, so I kept my feet in place and moved my weight to back foot. Once ready, I grabbed my pipe with two hands and then leaned into my swing.
With an ugly squnch the pipe bashed in the zombie's face. It immediately fell to the ground, falling forward between us. As I pulled back my arms for another swing, Mikkel's katana whipped out and sliced the top of the next zombie's head off. That likewise fell. A third lumbered forward into the kill zone and I swung again. That zombie collapsed to the ground.
We were like a well-oiled machine, and it was almost not fair for the zombies. Of course, zombies were really the easiest of all our foes. Their advantages are numbers, immunity to pain, not tiring, and close quarters. When we have room to deal with them or can separate them, they're really not a challenge. They're monster hunting easy mode. Right up until the moment they aren't.
I had just swung and killed a zombie, realizing that familiar feeling that my arms were starting to get tired. It doesn't matter what shape you're in, after a while, swinging a weapon gets tiring. It's even worse when you actually hit something, feeling the shock of resistance in your muscles when the blow lands. Zombies crumpled more than some creatures, but they still hurt your arms. I was appreciating feeling this very typical fatigue after so long away when I heard a moan from behind me.
Fuck.
I turned to face my new enemy, suddenly realizing they were much closer than I had realized. I didn't even get to fully turn around before disaster struck. Arms wrapped around me, pinning my own to my body. I felt the weight of the zombie pushing against me, the smell of decay suddenly far stronger than the dank scents of the tunnel and the stench of dismembered zombies.
I freaked out and that panicked reaction probably saved my life. Honestly, I think freaking out any time a zombie has a hold on you is a good idea. They can be strong, but they're not agile. So thrashing around when they're looking for a place to bite in some cases can keep you safe... for a moment or two. If you're lucky, they might topple over from poor balance. That was unfortunately not working in this case. As I wriggled in its grasp, I realized what I really needed was help.
"Brother..." I said, turning my head as much as I could toward him.
"Hold still," he said, already aware of the problem. Why would I hold still? But when I finally got my eyes on him, I saw him in a fighting pose, his sword held at shoulder height, parallel to the floor and pointed straight at me.
"Wait, what are you -"
I didn't get to finish as he stabbed the katana right at my face. Or that's what I saw as I froze up and that sharp piece of metal went rushing at me. Only at the end of its thrust did I realize that it wasn't aimed at me. It missed my face by two inches and stabbed over my shoulder. Mikkel didn't even pause as he pulled the sword back, dark blood falling from the blade onto my shoulder. The arms around me suddenly lost all their strength and I shrugged them off with ease.
"Thank -" I started, but once again I was interrupted. To stab at me, Mikkel had to move into the center of the intersection. Now he had two zombies trying to grab him. Instead of pulling back to his own side tunnel or turning to face them, he instead stepped into my side tunnel, pushing both me and the dead zombie that had grabbed me forward. We both fell to the floor, my face uncomfortably smooshed against the dead flesh of the zombie. My skin crawled as I tried to stand.
As I struggled to my feet, I was conscious of two things. First was that my brother immediately went to work hacking zombies. Second was that there had been a zombie behind the one who had ambushed me. And when the dead zombie and I went down, this other one had stepped up for its turn to dance.
I was still on the floor when its arms started grabbing at me. I was lucky that zombies are stiff and awkward, as its arms swiped down at me with less precision than a person's, allowing me to duck them easily. But while I could dodge it for now on the ground, I knew if I stood up, he'd be up in my face. So I improvised. I decided I was going to break the cardinal rule of zombie killing: hit them in the head. Instead I swung my lead pipe low, slamming it into the zombie's knees. There was an ugly yet satisfying crunch. It crumpled, and as it fell, I pushed my off hand against it so it fell backward than rather on top of me. The zombie wasn't dead, but it was out of my space and now on the ground. In a moment it would be using its arms to claw its way toward me. I wasn't going to give it the option. I crouch-walked forward and fell upon it, using my pipe to bash in its head repeatedly. I won't say that it didn't feel good, and since it was the only zombie left on the side tunnel, I had the time.
Behind me, Mikkel finished up the last of the zombies.
"That appears to be all of them," he said, his breath heaving. He let his arm drop as he took a quick look around. Then he flipped on his LED and pulled the goggles off his face. I did the same.
"That was harder than I expected," I said.
"I know what you mean," he said, wiping the majority of the ichor off his katana on the shirt of a zombie, then pulling a cloth from his jacket pocket to clean off what was left on the blade.
"I don't think it was my fault, though," I said, automatically defensive.
"Huh?" he said, sheathing his katana.
"It's not because I'm a rookie again," I said. "That this went rough."
"Nah, it's fine, brother," he said. "We got flanked. That shit happens."
"Okay, so we agree it's not my fault," I said, fumbling in my jacket for my cigarettes. I pulled one out.
"Damn, you're cranky," he said. He let out a long breath and relaxed.
I lit the cigarette while still on the floor, surveying the dead bodies. In real light and darkness, they looked way uglier and realer than in the green of night vision. I heard Mikkel light another cigarette.
"I could kill for a drink right now," I said.
"You just did," replied Mikkel.
We packed up our gear and settled in for the ride home. Unfortunately, we got stuck in rush hour traffic. There was no helping it - monster hunting is going to take as long as it's going to take. It's not like we can schedule it to be done before everyone gets off work.
I got a text message. I looked at it and groaned, before putting it back in my pocket. It was Yasmin again. how are you?
"What's that about? Collections again?" said Mikkel.
"No, it was Yasmin," I said.
"And you're not texting her back?" he said. "Girl trouble?"
"When is it ever not?" I said. "I'm beginning to think I'm poorly suited for dating."
"Sometimes it's not being suited for it or not, sometimes it just works with someone or it doesn't."
"It's not working right now," I said glumly.
"That sucks."
There was silence. I watched Lola Mandragora, the hula doll we had on the dashboard of the van. Her hips gyrated to the stop and go of rush hour traffic while I formulated my next question.
"Mikkel, let me ask you. For a long time, you and Carly just didn't work - like relationship stuff. You fought, it ended, you moped about then moved on. You seemed wrong for each other like you said about me and Yasmin. But then when she came back from France, suddenly things were good. What happened? How did you make it work?"
He gave me a sidelong glance while not letting go of the wheel. His voice was neutral. "It was a variety of things."
"Well, how did you get over the hunting issue? She'd never approved of what we do. That always seemed the main thing."
He shook his head dismissively, but answered. "It was just coming to a mutual understanding. She realized that she needed to accept me for myself. If she made me stop hunting, I wouldn't be the man she loved. And I agreed to make things safer when I hunt."
"Safer? Heh, that's a good one. Glad she bought that," I said. Mikkel seemed to try to say something after that, but I was already onto my next thought and kept talking. "Accepting you for yourself... Hmm. Yasmin and Carly are alike. Do you think that might help me?"
Mikkel laughed. "Carly and Yasmin are not alike."
"Why not? They're two intelligent, college educated girls with strong opinions who are worried about their boyfriends."
Mikkel chuckled more. "If that's both how you group them and define them, I can see why you have girl problems."
"What's wrong with that?"
"Yasmin finished college, but Carly went on to get a master's degree. Carly is outspoken to the point of righteousness. She's an idealist. She knows the answers aren't simple, but she's trying. Yasmin is not an intellectual. I don't know what she is, since I haven't spent much time with her, but I don't think she gives a damn about major issues of the world like Carly does. If I recall from hearing her talk, Yasmin's favorite thing is watching docu-reality shows on cable networks. Yasmin's world just seems a little smaller than Carly's, her cares and ideals not as large. Of course, if she was actually like Carly, she'd piss you off." He paused. "More. She'd piss you off more."
"I could see that," I said.
"And Yasmin doesn't believe in monsters or hunting."
"She said she's fine with me doing it," I pointed out.
"But that doesn't mean she believes it, and that's a huge point. For all her criticisms of what we do, Carly believes it, she believes it's a real thing. She's seen a zombie. Yasmin doesn't believe. I see the way she's looked at me and you. It's like, 'oh, here are the friends of my boyfriend who also believe his silly delusion!'"
"It's not that bad," I protested.
"When you worked, did you ever have those bunch of guys who played paintball? Seems like there are some in every office. There's always some group of guys who are paintball fanatics. Not just guys who play paintball, but who are really into it. Like really really into it. Like, they plan upcoming weekend events like it's the goddamn Superbowl, living their lives for a chance to get out in the woods to shoot paint at other people. Those guys."
This was a strange non sequitur, but I decided to roll with it. I thought for a moment and nodded. "Yeah, I remember them." They weren't part of my direct team at Helping Hands, but they were guys like that in the office on some other boss's team.
"There's some at sanitation too. Okay, my point is, that in her eyes we're like them. We have some hobby she can't understand that we're really enthusiastic about, we buy special gear for, that we go on trips that she can't come along. Except, maybe it's worse. Because paintball exists and is accepted. For her, it's like that but instead a situation where she didn't think paint actually existed. You're going on a paintball weekend, and she's sitting there thinking paint's a delusion made up by conspiracy theorists."
"That's a really dramatic comparison, isn't it?" I said.
"That's what I'm trying to get you to understand. As much as she says it's okay, you have to realize that she knows you go off to do something with me or others that she doesn't think exists. On some level, she's waiting for you to realize it's stupid or immature or even crazy and then grow up."
"Do you really think that's the case? That's a bit much."
"Well, I admit I have had a talk about this with Carly, I think it was after the first or second time we met Yasmin. She agreed with me that this is probably the case. Yasmin just doesn't believe monsters exist, so how can she not think you're being crazy or immature?"
"Maybe we can take her along and show her," I suggested, not really thinking it through.
"Another liability who doesn't even want to be there messing up our hunt? No thanks."
"What if I could bring her proof?" I said. "What if I went back to that drain tunnel in Kensington? I could bring her a zombie part. A head or something. To prove there really are zombies."
This time he did take his attention completely from the road to look at me. "You're going to show up at her apartment with a severed head?"
"Okay, now that you mention it, that sounds bad..."
"'Oh hi, honey! I know you didn't believe me when I said I fought monsters, so I brought you a decapitated head to show you I'm sane!'"
"Alright, alright, I get it," I said glumly. I pulled my feet up on the seat, leaning my chin on my knees.
"I wish I had better advice, but I really don't know what the solution is to that situation." He paused. "Do you even really like her?"
"What?" I said. "What do you mean?"
"It's just that you bitch about her more than you ever say good things," he said. "It's like when you're not having sex, she's just a weight on your shoulders. And mom didn't raise us to think of women in only that way."
"No, no, it's not that," I said defensively. I paused and considered things. "I just... I want to like her more. But sometimes when she says how much she likes me and is verging on the L-word, I feel like I should reciprocate, but when I go to do that... there's just not anything there, y'know? I want to give something, but there's nothing to give. It's all dried up."
"Are you sure we're not talking about sex?" said Mikkel.
I smacked him in his arm, luckily not affecting his driving. "That's not what I'm talking about. I'm talking about emotions and shit. The tough stuff."
"Have you ever considered that you're just not right for each other?"
"Why wo
uld you say that?" I said.
"Because you two don't seem good together," said Mikkel.
"But when things work, everything is really good!" I said.
"And when they don't, it's terrible," he countered.
I said nothing for a long moment, ready to clash, to fight, to tell him how wrong he was. But I had no rebuttal, no response, no counter to the truth he had just spoken that I didn't like admitting.
"Yeah, I know," I said, conceding defeat and trying to bury my face in my knees.
Mikkel dropped me at home. We were both going to meet at Twin Eagles, but we both needed a shower after our hunting. The dank tunnels were bad enough, but zombie bits never smelled good, and it's hard to kill them without getting blood on you. Luckily their blood was always black and congealed, so we didn't quite look like we just murdered someone. Either way, we stank. And Maybell, the owner of Twin Eagles, had told us in no uncertain terms that while she understood and appreciated what we did, if we're going to sit in her bar, we needed to clean up first. This was fair. The proverb is to not shit you where you eat, so I guess you should also not wear monster entrails to the places you drink.
My brother texted me when he was heading to the bar. He still had an apartment in one of the untouched parts of Chinatown after the Spring's arson, while I was now only living about a block from Twin Eagles. I waited a few minutes then headed over. I was still the first to arrive, so I pulled out my phone to check my funding campaign.
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