by Urban, Tony
Saw grabbed the rope in both fists and jerked it with all his considerable strength. The giant’s jaw tore loose and skittered down the street like a kicked can. Its tongue dangled unrestricted, black blood dripping from the wounds.
That’s when the old zombie grabbed him. It smelled like Ben Gay mixed with death but the old bastard had a hold of Saw’s arm and he wasn’t letting go. As he tried to pull free the giant zombie was back for round two. It grabbed Saw’s head in its oversize hands and caught hold of his ears, twisting them like it was trying to tune in a weak radio station.
The old man was leaning in for a bite of forearm a la Solomon when its face exploded from the nose up. A spray of bone and blood and chunks of flesh soaked Saw’s upper body. Even the giant zombie seemed shocked, peering over at its brethren like it was trying to figure out where its head went.
Saw used the distraction to tackle the zombie to the ground. It tumbled head first to the pavement where he stomped on its skull, over and over and over again until it was nothing more than a pile of chunky gore.
With the zombie finished off, he spun around trying to figure out from where the gunshot had originated. He saw nothing at street level and raised his gaze skyward. That’s when he saw the flash as the glass of the scope reflected the sunlight.
Are you going to shoot me too?
Saw raised his hand in a half wave, half surrendering motion. “Hello up there.”
The person peering out from behind the scope shifted it a few inches to the side, revealing a feminine face. “Hello down there.”
“Thanks for the good shooting,” Saw said.
She laid on her stomach, in a sniper’s stance, and she’d yet to set the rifle aside. “How do you know I was aiming for him?
“Wishful thinking.” He couldn’t see her well, but she had a heavy mop of black hair and Saw thought she might be Asian.
“If I come down there are you going to kill me?”
“I hadn’t planned on it.”
Her name was Yukie Endo. She was Japanese in name but born and raised in America and she seemed fascinated by Saw’s Birmingham accent. She was plain with a wide, doughy face and short, even by Saw’s standards. Despite her unimpressive physical attributes, she kept the rifle slung over her shoulder and Saw had a feeling she could handle herself.
As far as she could tell she was the last person alive in her Western Maryland village. She’d been working on clearing out the zombies over the last few weeks and, along the way, had amassed a sizable collection of firearms, one that impressed Saw. He knew how to use a pistol but his aim was for shit and he’d never fired a rifle or shotgun in his life.
Yukie was equally impressed with Saw’s dump truck. She peered up at it in a kind of awe and, when she reached up and plucked a chunk of flesh free from the razor wire, he knew she was a keeper.
Saw sat on the toilet inside a cramped bathroom stall. As he emptied his bowels, he passed the time by reading graffiti scrawled on the walls.
50 yards to the outhouse by Willie Makeit.
Call BJ Betty for great head - 130-4984
This place smells like ass.
He was disappointed there wasn’t anything more creative. Then, after scanning the scribbles, he found a multi-verse poem.
People who write on shit house walls, roll their shit into little balls.
People who read those lines of wit, eat those little balls of shit.
Saw burst out laughing upon reading it. “A regular Robbie Burns that one is.”
He grabbed a handful of toilet paper, wadded it up and reached under his bum to wipe, making sure to dig around for a few moments. He dropped the used paper into the bowl. He tried to flush but it only swirled lazily around twice, just enough to stir up the smell. Saw wasn’t too concerned. It wasn’t like he’d be returning any time soon. Or ever, for that matter. He closed the lid.
Let it be a surprise for the next bastard.
When he exited the restroom, he emerged into the dreary light of an overcast, gray afternoon. And into the company of more zombies than he could count.
There had been none when he went into the loo and he wondered where they’d all come from. Certainly, he hadn’t made that much noise. He tried to look over and around them, searching for Yukie, but there were too many to see past. The door banged closed behind him, and every zombie there turned their heads toward him.
“Bugger me.”
He had no weapons on him, a mistake he told himself he’d never make again if he got out of this.
Where the fuck is Yukie?
The closest zombie wore a highway worker’s uniform, its neon green reflective vest was stained with blood. The man in the uniform looked to be around forty with salt and pepper hair and a cigarette still tucked behind his ear. He pushed toward Saw who backed away until he hit the restroom door.
Saw reached behind himself, feeling for the doorknob and got it. The construction worker was almost on him and two others - a fit young woman in a spandex outfit like bicyclists wore and a middle-aged woman in mom jeans and a blouse with a pink rose print - were on its heels. Saw knew he was walking into a trap, but he couldn’t see any other option. He jerked open the door and dove back into the restroom, slamming it shut behind him.
He checked the cinder block walls, hoping he’d missed seeing a window on his first foray into the room, but there was none to be found. He could hear the zombies outside. Their bodies hitting the door. Their undead hands scratching and clawing in a desperate attempt to get him. To eat him.
Saw needed something he could use to fight but the room was almost empty. A dirty sink stood in the corner and under it, an overflowing trash bin. He upended it, sifting through used paper towels, cigarette butts, a used condom, but found nothing useful.
At the other side of the narrow room a mop leaned against the wall. Saw grabbed it. The handle was wooden. This might be something. He snapped off the mop end with his foot and the wood splintered into a jagged shard. He held it before him like a five-foot-long spear, poking and jabbing with it. As weapons went, it was rather pathetic but under the circumstances, it would have to do. He felt a little like a medieval soldier, ready to rush into battle and almost certain death. All he was missing was his shield. That gave him an idea.
The door to the restroom opened slowly. The nearest zombies had piled against it and they stumbled backward. The cyclist fell and a few others toppled over her. That allowed the door to open far enough for Saw to emerge. In his right hand, he brandished the mop handle turned spear. In his left, he carried the lid to the toilet tank. His own porcelain shield.
He charged forward like a bull, holding the lid in front of him and knocking zombies to either side. A gangly teenage boy in a plaid shirt and skinny jeans grabbed onto the mop as Saw passed him. Saw jerked it from the lad’s grasp and then thrust the spear forward, puncturing the teen’s skin just below his eye socket. The boy careened backward and the spear pulled free. Saw kept running.
He muscled by a fat man in a tank top and jean shorts, then came upon a skinny woman in bunny rabbit scrubs. She avoided the end of his spear, so Saw slammed her in the face with the lid. He felt her nose and cheek bones shatter under the force of the blow but, before he could even take a moment to enjoy it, he was grabbed from behind.
Whatever had him was tall and heavy and it had a hold of his shirt and wasn’t letting go. Saw lurched forward and heard his shirt tear, then felt it come free of his body. His chest, which was covered with hair so dense it almost looked like he was still wearing clothes, was cloaked in sweat. He saw the man that had grabbed him, a policeman that must have been six and a half feet tall, staring down at the now empty shirt it still held in its hands.
Saw stabbed it with the mop handle, catching it just below the breastbone. The spear went in deep, poking out the other side. The zombie staggered a step back, but recovered in an instant and came at Saw again. He tried to get the spear loose but it had impaled the zombie like a shish kabob skewer.
“Fuck it then.”
Saw spun away from it and came across a woman who didn’t have a spot of skin remaining on her face. He could see up the holes where her nose had been, her teeth biting up and down with no lips or cheeks to conceal them. Saw raised the toilet lid and brought it down over her head. She collapsed.
Ugly bitch. Did you a favor, I did.
But there were more zombies ready to take her place. Dozens of them. Each time he turned in a different direction there were more and more and more. They had swarmed like bees and he had no way out.
Solomon Baldwin wasn’t the type to go down without a fight. He destroyed two more zombies with the toilet lid and was swinging for the third when he was hit in the back. The lid fell from his hand and broke into three pieces on the pavement.
He grabbed the biggest piece - it had a nice, sharp point - and used it to puncture the eyeball of an elderly woman with her hair rolled up in curlers. He was about to stab a boy who looked to be no more than four years old when he heard the horn.
It was loud, aggressive, and very familiar. The zombies looked toward the sound of it. Saw did too.
His dump truck came barreling in. The first of the zombies were punctured by the steel rebar he’d welded to the front end. More followed. And more after that. They were stacked on the long poles five or six deep by the time the truck was within ten feet of Saw.
He found Yukie behind the wheel. He could see her plain, round face was full of determination even though blood had splattered the windshield. He was so caught up in the sight of her that he almost let himself get run down. He dove to the ground at the last minute, making himself as flat as possible.
Christ, I hope that bird can drive a straight line.
The engine of the dump truck roared as it rolled over him. He covered his head, not that it would do a bit of good if Yukie was even one foot too far in either direction, but he could still hear the bones being crushed under the oversized wheels. And then it was past him.
Saw didn’t waste any time. He jumped to his feet and found a clear path behind himself, like the red sea after Moses had parted it. This path too was very red, very bloody. Several smashed corpses littered the path, but Saw ran over them, paying them no heed. He almost slipped in the gore but kept moving.
The beeping that signified the truck had shifted into reverse began. Saw turned back and watched with admiration as Yukie made a three-point turn, running over more zombies and catching others in the razor wire that lined the vehicle’s sides. She steered the truck a few feet to the right, widening the path, then stopped when she reached him.
Saw jumped onto the sideboard, flung open the door, and joined her in the cab.
“I sure am happy to see you, love.”
She grinned, her chipmunk cheeks puffing out with glee. “Bet you’ll be more careful where you take a shit from now on.”
“Hell, I might never shit again.”
There was no great hurry now and Yukie took her time running down the rest of the zombies, leaving behind a new kind of red sea, this one comprised of mangled and smashed bodies.
Yukie looked downright gleeful throughout the process and Saw thought again how glad he was that he’d found her. He even thought he might love her a little and hoped she’d end up being more loyal than his slag of a wife, but that was a low bar.
Chapter 18
The sun was hot on his back and Aben could feel sweat soaking his shirt. He wanted to move into the shade, away from the rays that beat down on him, but first he needed to get the dog to come to him.
“Come on, dog. Let’s go inside and get you some water. Some for me too.”
The dog ignored him. It was more interested in sniffing around a hedge of mountain laurel that was so thick it could serve as a wall. He’d been trying to get the dog’s attention for almost ten minutes and his patience was almost up.
“Damn it, dog. Come here!”
The dog’s only response was pushing its upper body further into the bushes.
“Son of a bitch!” Aben kicked the ground, splashing up a cloud of dust that rose and hit him in the eyes, further annoying him. “Goddamn!” He wiped at his face with his remaining hand.
“Smooth move.”
Aben turned and through bleary eyes saw Mitch watching from a few yards away. He wondered how long the kid had been spying on him.
“What are you doing?”
“Watching you make a fool out of yourself.”
Little smart ass. Aben didn’t like him much but had a modicum of admiration in the way the kid so clearly had no respect for anyone.
“How about helping me instead?”
Mitch strolled toward him but rather than lending a hand, he sat down in the grass. In the shade.
“Thanks,” Aben said.
“Sit down. The dog isn’t going anywhere.”
Aben wondered what made the teenager an expert on canines, but his own attempts to cajole the animal were doing no good so he followed suit, moving into the shade where he flopped down beside Mitch. “So, what’s your plan?”
“Don’t have one,” Mitch said as he watched the dog. Only its hindquarters were visible now against the sea of green foliage. “How long has it been with you anyway?”
Aben did the math in his head. “Three weeks now.”
“And you’re still calling it ‘dog’?”
He shrugged his shoulders. What was the big deal about names anyway? The only thing names were good for were remembering people when they were gone. While they were alive, you didn’t need to use their name, you just looked at them and spoke.
“How about Prince?”
Aben raised an eyebrow. “Seems a little pretentious. It’s just a mutt, after all.”
“When I was around ten, me and some friends were playing kickball at the playground. One of them kicked it into the woods at the far end of the field and I went in to find it. But before I found the ball, I almost tripped over a little black dog. I think it was a cocker spaniel. It had those long, floppy ears. It had its foot stuck in a rabbit trap, the snare kind. I thought it was going to bite me when I set it loose but it didn’t. It hung around and watched us and seemed kind of lost so when we were done playing, I went back over to it and petted it for a little while.”
Mitch reached into his pocket and pulled out a bag of mostly smashed cheese curls. He took one of the more intact ones and lobbed it toward Aben’s dog. Soon after, the dog popped free of the mountain laurel, its nose twitching. In less than two seconds it homed in on the orange treat and gobbled it down. Then it looked to the men and began to amble toward them.
“It stank bad. Like old potatoes when they go bad. You know the smell?”
Aben nodded.
“Looking back, I guess it had been eating out of trash cans, getting by on whatever it could find. Its fur was all knotted and clumpy and as I tried to get my fingers through it I found its collar. It was just one of those cheap plastic ones, the ones that are supposed to keep fleas away, and there wasn’t a license or vaccine tags or one of those ‘If lost, please return to 123 Elm Street’ badges. But someone had written on the collar. It was so faded out I could barely read it. But I worked it out anyway. It was his name.”
Aben watched as Mitch tossed another cheese curl toward his dog. It wagged its tail as it ate the snack.
“I pulled one of the shoelaces out of my shoes and tied it around its collar and used it as a leash as I took it home. I was all excited because I’d always wanted a dog but my parents were totally against it, especially Senator SOB. He always said, ‘You’re not responsible enough to care for a dog, Mitchell. I don’t believe I’d entrust you with a gerbil.’ But I figured, if I found a dog, not just found but rescued one, saved its damn life probably, how could they say no? I was practically a hero after all.”
Aben’s dog lumbered into the shade and Mitch fed it another cheese curl, scratching its ear with his free hand. After eating, the dog licked orange coloring from Mitch’s finger
s.
“No one was home when I got there so I filled up a bowl with water and another bowl with some leftover chicken alfredo and we sat in the kitchen playing and eating all afternoon. And when my father got home I was a proud little fucker. I was all, ‘Sir, I found this dog on the playground. I saved him from a bear trap’ because I always tended to bullshit a little and I don’t know why but I really expected to get a pat on the head like I was a good boy. Like I’d done something he’d approve of for once. Something moral and noble. The kind of shit he always preached.”
“Instead he flipped his fucking lid. How dare I bring some bug infested stray dog into his home? How could I be so careless? All that horse shit. He drew back his hand and I knew he was going to smack me. It wasn’t like a rare occurrence or anything. But when he pulled back, that dog must have known what was coming too and it ran over on its little legs and can you believe that dog chomped down on Senator SOB’s ankle?”
Aben could believe it. From the look on Mitch’s face, the boy took great joy in remembering the event.
“Bit right through his fucking cashmere dress socks and drew blood. And my father squawked like a baby. You’d of thought he got bit by a timber wolf. Fucking asshole.”
“Well, he started screaming about rabies and grabbed the dog and took off for the garage. I watched him drive away and saw the dog standing up on its hind legs and looking out the window like it was going for a ride. All excited. And that was the last time I ever saw it. Don’t have to be a rocket scientist to know what happened, right?”
Aben wasn’t sure, but he thought Mitch’s eyes looked wet but he only saw then for a moment because the teen looked down and dumped the remaining cheezies onto the ground for the dog to eat. When it finished, it looked up expectantly and Mitch held up his empty, orange hands.
“Sorry, pooch. I’m all out.”
“So that dog’s name was Prince, huh?” Aben said.
“No, it was Jerome. Now that’s a stupid fucking name for a dog.”
