by M. D. Massey
On the ground floor, to my right, sits a gigantic three-quartered square bar. Beyond that, a big dance floor with a high stand fills the entire right corner. A person’s head pops over the short wall of the stand. Industrial metal pumps from the speakers located all around. I recognize it as a DJ stand. It reminds me of trips to the skating rink in junior high.
But the setting isn’t what shocks me. The people. Survivors. My eyes sting from a flash of nostalgia. People are everywhere. I’m frozen, watching them dance and laugh as if the world hasn’t been overrun with zombies. “There are so many people,” I comment. A wistful sound if I’ve ever heard of such.
Glinda scoffs, striking a prissy pose. Her pursed lips are so glossy they seem to be blinking with the lights. “Wish sum of ‘em were dead ‘ems. I’d spend my hard-earned cash pokin’ big ole holes in ‘em.” She seems oblivious to my emotion.
It’s the most people I’ve seen together in four years. I inhale a deep breath, pushing away my uneasiness from her comment.
I grab her with a sudden thought, “Hey, Rudy can’t see me here.” She laughs as she walks to the makeshift bar. The closer I get to the bar, the more I can tell it’s made from various bars and smells a little moldy, like old, dirty rags. I crinkle my nose.
“Git a bitch smacked around, that will,” she says, eyeing me. “Didn’t figure Rudy the type.”
My eyes feel wide at her assumption. Saddening me, I hope she doesn’t take any abuse herself. “No, it’s not like that,” I tell her firmly, continuing to observe. “He wouldn’t hit me, ever. In fact, he’s saved my life.” Three times, since I’m keeping tabs. Looking her straight in the eyes, I say, “You shouldn’t let anyone hit you, either.”
She glances away. “Don’t worry, suga’. Guido and I gots an arrangement.” She clarifies no more.
People bob on the dance floor, their bodies a mass of waving synchrony. A flashing strobe light turns the scene into slow motion, but what catches my attention is the cage next to the DJ stand. It holds a woman zombie, and she’s naked. One can’t help but notice this zombie had an enhancement in her old life, a huge enhancement. Someone teases her with a fishing pole – a mouse squirms at the end. My heart jumps at the unexpected cruelty. The mouse jerks and so does the zombie, and her enormous breasts bounce. A hand reaches into the cage and gropes her. The zombie is oblivious to the assault, only wanting the mouse. The mouse yanks out of the cage, and she sticks her arms through the bars, grabbing at people. An open bite wound oozes on the zombie’s shoulder blade. Whatever zombie bit her took a big chunk with it. Fluid runs down her back in dark, red rivulets. The strobe on her makes it eerie as her assets bobble in slow motion. I tear my eyes from the gruesome game.
A song with a fast and easy beat plays. The rappers rap about dancing with dead chicks and implied necrophilia. Fitting. The dancers don’t seem to notice the song except for the beat. Dancing and bumping each other, the faces in the crowd turn up in pumping waves, their foreheads shiny from sweat.
I try to take it all in, and it’s almost too much. In the far corner stands what resembles a boxing ring. On a raised platform, and brightly lit, the ring is unoccupied. On the other side of the ring, a wheel with a zombie strapped to it is spinning clockwise. People throw darts at it. The mouth chomps of its own accord. Darts protrude from the body in various ways. When someone hits it in the forehead causing it to slump, a chorus of ‘awes’ and ‘boos’ ring out as people exchange money. I blink in amazement, not quite believing what I’m seeing.
“There’s that bitch, Candy! Tha fuckin’ hooka!” Glinda yells, as if she wants Candy to hear her. She points to the far end of the bar dramatically, where a little stage and stripper pole sits for easy access. A voluptuous woman with curly red hair dances along the pole. She turns around, jiggling her twins, and money lands on the stage.
I catch a familiar figure from the corner of my eye. My mouth twists in a half-smile as he takes a shot of something while Guido talks in his ear. Hopefully, the conversation is about our upcoming plans and not any more favors for Rudy. He has enough on his plate.
A big spray-painted sign hangs behind the stage and reads: Mago and Pappers, Tomorrow night! Glinda giggles and I turn to catch her flirting with the man next to her. Hunched over the bar, he is obliterated. The bartender obviously doesn’t care. The man smiles at Glinda and can’t keep his dry eyes from blinking. She must be on the clock.
“Yo, Bart!” She yells for the bartender, and he comes right to her. Bart’s a middle-aged man with salt and pepper hair, bushy black eyebrows, and beady black eyes. A couple days worth of stubble covers his chin. A big-boned, medium frame houses a classic beer belly, and his denim, button-up shirt is rolled at the sleeves, and like Popeye, anchor tattoos decorate his forearms.
Bart wipes a shot glass with a bar towel. “What now, Glin?” he asks fondly.
“This is my new friend, suga’. She sumthin’, huh? Git her a drank.” She peers at me in serious scrutiny. “Pick you poison.”
Though I don’t want anything because of my jumbled nerves, I go for it anyway. It might help the sick feeling. “Uh, tequila?” I expel as everyone laughs for reasons unknown.
“Atta girl, you know whut you want, huh?” Glinda giggles as she puts her arm around me. I shrug, not sure what she means. Bart’s speedy and slides two shots our way.
A fair-haired guy next to me perks a little. “Who’s the cutie, Glinda?” Picking up our shots with her perfectly manicured fingernails, painted the color of her lip gloss, she steers us away before I get a good look at him.“Fuckin’ raunchy whore,” the guy sneers. She flips him off and hands me the drink. I gulp it, welcoming the burn and hoping it helps me relax.
“Be careful wit that nasty. He sniffs cherry pies two miles away. He gave Precious dim itches. Crabs, you knows?”
I grimace, not wanting to hear about someone’s crab problem. “What’s a cherry pie?”
She laughs. “Depends on who sayin’ it. My case, I say you a virgin.” Oh. Why would she assume that? Glancing at her, she watches me. Ah, she’s fishing, so I shrug it off. She booms with laughter, emphasizing the shots she’s taken.
“Sorry, not my bizz.” Yeah, no shit, but I smile at her. “But you gotta notice not many chickie’s here you age.” I glance around. She’s right. There are men, men my age, older men, and a few I would call boys. I spot one or two females who might be under thirty and a few more dancing on the dance floor.
“That’s strange. Why?”
She shrugs. “Dey come, dey go. Some stay, some don’t.”
Before I can comment further, a loudspeaker comes on from the DJ stand. “Five minutes ta beat down, so place yo bet now!” Every person in the place echoes the DJ in excitement as cheers accompany the announcement. The DJ waves his arms in the air. Looking toward Rudy, he’s still in the same spot but has gained Candy. Massaging his shoulders, she talks so close to his ear she could be licking it for all I know. Her bright red lips glisten in the dim light. Scratches adorn her face, the color of her lipstick. I almost smile with satisfaction, seeing the damage Glinda inflicted. With narrow eyes, I tighten my lips. I don’t know why, really. Rudy shakes his head at whatever Candy says. She grabs him by the arm, pulling him up.
I try to stay out of sight, but it doesn’t matter. He doesn’t notice anything around him and stares at the ring. Rudy doesn’t want to do it, but he has to because of me. The guilt following the thought makes me want to go to the room where he asked me to stay. They tread through the crowd as people gather around the raised ring. Just like the woods, he dominates the space as the crowd parts for him.
Candy struts the room. Glinda notices, too, because she gags beside me. She wears a pleated skirt with platform Mary Jane’s and knee stockings. Her enormous breasts squeeze together tight, pushed up awkwardly. They look ready to pop out at any moment, and the mystery of them staying still this long baffles me. Her red hair flows down her back. I shake my head, taking a deep breath as Glinda leads me t
o a secluded spot.
Smoke drifts like a hazy dream in the bright lights. I gasp, noticing the famished tied to support beams around the warehouse for the first time. The crowd walks around them without paying much attention despite the wiggling and groaning they’re doing. Bonded in various ways and dressed in what I suppose should be a provocative manner, they look crude.
The famished closest to me is tied around the waist and neck with leather belts, his hands raised above his head and bound at the wrist. Studded straps wrap his body like clothing, but leave his abnormally large endowments on display against the top of his inner thigh. With his head whipping back and forth, his bloodshot eyes are wild with the grinding and snapping of teeth. Thick blood courses down his neck with each movement. I can’t even begin to fathom why people want to look at the living dead in bondage gear. My stomach churns at the vulgar display.
I gulp, moving my attention to Rudy as he approaches the ring. Pulling the sweatshirt and undershirt off in one quick motion, female catcalls erupt as a small smile appears on his lips. I know how he looks, sure, but now I can really look at him. Following the lines of his stomach to the patch of brown hair trailing down, I let my imagination go farther than his jeans will allow my traveling gaze. Fingers catch his belt as his thumbs stroke his happy trail. Unbuckling the belt makes his abs and forearms flex. In one jerk, he pulls it out of the belt loops, and his jeans slide low. The contoured V inside his hips is especially appealing. Finding it hard to catch my breath, I think my imagination has run off with me until more female whoops and screams follow, including Glinda’s.
I peer sideways at her, and she shrugs with a cocked brow. “He’s easy on tha eyes, is all. No worries.” She raises her hand, clasping money. I can’t help but stare at the old, crumpled bill. It looks like something I wouldn’t touch in fear of contracting the clap. A man appears out of nowhere. “Twenty. On Rudy doll,” she breathes. He takes her money, writing something on a small flip pad. He goes to another woman who has money up. The woman’s hungry gaze never leaves Rudy as she speaks her bet. Peering around, I see other women are betting as well.
I laugh, figuring Rudy uses sex appeal on purpose and turn my attention to him. Easy on the eyes – that’s one way to describe it. He knows what he’s doing. Shaking my head, I watch him subtly show off his features. Candy walks around to face him, blocking my view. Rubbing her hands all over him like a cougar, I wouldn’t be surprised if her butt finds its way in front of his face, like a bitch in heat. He doesn’t want her attention because he shrugs her off. That’s what he gets for being a tease. I chuckle to myself. Candy looks unmoved and steps away.
The square ring is enclosed with steel rails. Grabbing the rail, Rudy hops over in one bound. Everyone cheers as another guy hops over the rail, bouncing on the balls of his feet and boxing the air. The man is scraggly with long, nappy, brown hair tied in a low ponytail. I swallow because he’s as big as Rudy, if not bigger, and looks like he lifts weights, a lot.
“Don’t worry so much, suga’. Rudy doll got this on Russell.” I nod, still watching the ring.
A scratchy voice comes on the loudspeaker. “Yo! We ready to rumble, tumble, and see some blood!” The crowd screams and jumps, yelling at whomever they’ve placed their bets on. An odor of sweat, perfume, and B.O. drift to my nose. After the clank of a cowbell, Russell charges. Rudy watches Russell’s tactic, looking bored.
Rudy must’ve counted on Russell’s charge because he feigns away, sticking his foot out. Russell fails to control his momentum and sprawls chin first into the rail. The crowd wails as I smile. He hasn’t even touched him yet. Russell rights himself with blood spouting from his chin. Rudy says something I can’t make out over the crowd, baring his teeth in a menacing sneer as his mouth moves. I recognize this ploy. Rudy’s trash talking to anger him so Russell will lash out and make mistakes.
Russell lingers, feeling him out, absently wiping at his chin with his forearm. They dance in circles, and Russell swings from his right. Rudy isn’t fast enough at ducking, and instead of hitting his eye, temple, or nose, Russell’s fist connects with the underside of Rudy’s jaw. It’s the same place I elbowed him mere days ago. He recovers and bounces around Russell, looking for an opening. His arm flashes, punching Russell in the gut. Russell bends and Rudy slams his elbow in Russell’s face, showing no mercy. The trace of a smile comes to Rudy’s lips.
This only pisses Russell off, and he dashes low, shoving into Rudy at the waist with his shoulder. The audience cheers and jeers loudly. They fall backward. The sound they make going down isn’t pleasant. Russell straddles Rudy, punching his face, first right, then left. I cringe as Russell’s arms move with speed. I imagine spots dance in Rudy’s vision. Rudy grabs Russell’s neck, squeezing. Russell’s arms falter and Rudy flings him to the side without letting go of his neck. I take a deep breath as Rudy gains a squatted stance over Russell and spits blood in his face. Russell breaks the chokehold as he smashes Rudy in the ribs, hard. Rudy visibly gasps and most of the crowd jeers. Rudy backs away as Russell stands straight. Rudy’s demeanor changes, and he drops to a defensive crouch.
Russell smiles. It’s a grisly sight, with blood and spit smearing his face. When he gets close enough, Rudy straightens, swinging his body and foot. The momentum of Rudy’s foot lands a roundhouse kick making Russell’s head whip with blood spraying the concrete and Rudy’s boots. He drops to the ground as Rudy strides to him. Russell gets to his knees, but Rudy kicks him and he tumbles to the concrete. Using his boot, Rudy rolls him over. To make sure he stays down, Rudy crushes Russell’s throat.
Rudy’s lips move as he speaks to Russell as he struggles, clawing at Rudy’s leg. Rudy is unsteady, striving to keep his balance through Russell’s advances. After a few seconds, the bell clangs. The scratchy voice booms, “Finished! Rudy’s still got it!” Apparently, keeping your opponent down and on their backs is needed for a win.
The crowd screams and cheers for Rudy. Blood runs from his nose and left eyebrow, his jaw is shiny red. His lip is cut and plump, but otherwise, looks fine.
I turn to beam at Glinda, but come face to face with a pockmarked and skinny-framed guy. His chin is at my eye level, and his breath smells like alcohol, fish, and some other stinky, foul substance that reminds me of a dumpster. A bumpy nose dominates his face. Dark, greasy hair clumps on his head.
“Let’s dance.” He grabs my arm and propels me with more force than I would have thought possible. We hit the dance floor with him still clutching my arm. I let him only because I don’t want to draw attention. People crowd around us to dance. Turning me, he gropes my hips and grinds into me in time to the music. Bile stings my throat. Bodies mash together, bumping and shoving. I locate Glinda as she searches for me.
I switch the crossbow into my left hand. No longer caring about drawing attention, I ball my fist tight and swing, hitting him in the eye. He falls backward and tries to catch himself, but bumps people, and the bodies part to allow him to descend. Triumph surges through me, even as I shake the pain from my hand. Stinky rubs his eye and sneers at me.
I spot another guy with curly hair, looking from me to Stinky, who still sits on the floor. So much for not drawing attention.
Curly wears a fitted, pristine white shirt which glows from a nearby blacklight. Green canvas pants tuck into polished, black combat boots. A gun sticks out from the front of his pants.
He taps Stinky with his shiny boot to get his attention. “Get the hell out of here!” he snaps, surprising me with his vehemence. Stinky jumps to his feet and scurries off into the crowd.
The white of Curly’s teeth flash as he smiles. Even being short for a man, he’s attractive with an athletic build. His smile is charming and contagious. When I return his smile, he disappears into the crowd.
I stand on my tiptoes to call out to him when Glinda steps in front of me. “No time fo fun, girl! We got to git you back,” she says, as if I came to dance and have a good time. She snakes her arm in mine and scowls in the
direction Curly went. We march through the crowd to the door where we first entered the Clap Trap. When it opens, she looks around. Her lips tighten, but she forces me forward. A chill seizes me from the night air. I follow her gaze to several putrids creeping along, starving, and mashing their blackened teeth. I point my crossbow, getting ready to shoot.
“Don’t worry ‘bout it, suga’.” They groan when they see us and she quickens her pace, dragging me across the street.
Something inside me screams to kill them. Suddenly, shots erupt. I instinctively duck, eyeing the putrids as they hit the ground with soft thuds. I glance to where the shots came from, spotting silhouettes on the rooftops. Several men are stationed along the edges of the buildings. Lookouts guarding the community. Perfect. I soften my grip on the crossbow.
When we get inside the other door, she slams and bolts it. “We ain’t should use that doe. It’s quick, anyhow.” I assume there are safer ways to travel through the community.
Knowing I’m out of bounds when she eyes me, I take a chance with, “Hey Glinda, can I get a shower?”
“I got to git that money fo Guido…ta pay rent.” Okay, so maybe she doesn’t have time. She worries her hands together, glancing down the hallway before she sighs. “I always got one I can go to. Big ‘ol fat fuck. Nasty. I’ll do ‘im real good fo you. You do need a shower, you fuckin’ stink, anyway.” She shrugs, unashamed.
I gape, realization dawning on me. Not that I stink, but her way of referring to her lifestyle. “No. Glinda, you don’t have to do that.” I shudder.
She purses her lips, which aren’t as glossy as before. Her gaze turns hard. She sniffs before looking away. “Let’s go, I’ll show you tha ropes.”
