“I may be an eighth grade dropout, but even I know that ears are connected to heads,” Zane shot back.
Kenny threw up his hands. “You know what I mean! A headshot’s gotta kill ‘em, not go all Vincent Van Gogh on ‘em!”
Freeman leaned over to say into Frank’s ear, “I’ll admit, I didn’t expect that reference.”
The Captain stayed quiet, arms crossed, looking contemplative as the hillbillies bickered back and forth. They finally realized the silence of their companion and turned towards him.
“Uh, Frank?” Kenny asked nervously. “What… what do you think?”
The Captain raised his chin. “I think if we’re going to do this, then we’re going to do it right.”
The other three blinked at him, confused.
“I’m sorry, I don’t understand,” Zane admitted.
Freeman raised an eyebrow. “Yeah, I’m a little unsure of what you mean, myself.”
“Well, you two were just arguing over what constituted a headshot, which is something we’re going to need to codify,” Frank explained, receiving two blank stares in return. “What I mean is, we need to come up with rules so that we know how to properly give points on the throws. Because in my view, if anything is worth doing, it’s worth competing in.”
The hillbillies hooted and high-fived each other, doing a celebratory jig that looked hilarious done by overweight rednecks.
“You want to have a competitive zombie killing league?” Freeman gaped.
Frank shrugged. “Why not?”
“Well. With such a compelling argument like that, how can I say no?” His friend rolled his eyes.
“Freeman, we have to find ways to keep morale up and people engaged,” the Captain explained. “The reality is that we may be here for years, and if we don’t keep spirits high, it won’t be a good situation. How many people have we lost over the years when they’ve lost hope?”
“Okay, I’m with you, Cap,” Freeman replied, nodding his agreement.
Frank turned towards the dynamic duo. “You did some good work here, boys. You feel like doing a little bit more?”
“Sure thing Frank, whatever you need!” Zane even saluted in his excitement.
“There any more of those spindles down there?” the Captain asked.
Kenny cocked his head. “I could be mistaken, but I think there were two or three more hiding down there.”
“If you boys don’t mind making up a couple more of them, Freeman here will find a good spot to set them up.” Frank motioned to his friend. “In the meantime, I’ll start drafting up the official rulebook and getting a few volunteers to be referees.”
“Referees?” Kenny wrinkled his nose. “What we need them for?”
The Captain crossed his arms. “To keep everybody in line and to make it a fair competition. If we’re going to do this, we’re going to do it right.”
Zane raised his hand like a child in the classroom, reaching so high his shirt rose up over his bulbous belly.
Frank chuckled. “Yes, Zane?”
“I don’t know if they got ‘em here or not, or if we have anybody to run ‘em, but man it would kick ass if we could get some of them cameras they used to broadcast the football games to use on this,” he said earnestly.
“Jumbotron zombie kills?” Freeman guffawed. “I’m in.”
Frank grinned, shaking his head. “I’ll see what I can do.”
Zane and Kenny let out loud whoops and high-fived again, turning to head away.
“One more thing,” the Captain said, raising a hand to accentuate his point. “And this is non-negotiable. Everybody who participates wears protective gear. Goggles, gloves, the works. After every turn they are monitored by the docs, and if they come down with so much as a sniffle, they’re in quarantine for a week. Safety comes first, is that clear?”
The duo gulped and nodded solemnly.
“Good deal,” Frank said, clapping his hands. “You boys get to work.”
The boys scurried off down the hallway, whispering excitedly.
“Two weeks ago, we were running missions in some godforsaken third-world shithole,” Freeman said, voice laced with awe. “Now you’re the commissioner of the world’s very first competitive zombie killing league.”
Frank chuckled. “Yeah, I’d be lying if I said I had that on my list of possibilities.”
“For what it’s worth, you’re doing good work, Cap,” Freeman said, all humor gone from his face. “You’re keeping us safe, keeping us fed, and taking care of shit I wouldn’t even think to notice.”
The Captain smiled warmly. “I appreciate that.” He took a deep breath, and the two let their thoughts sink in for a moment. “Hey, don’t worry about picking out the spots for the new rigs, I’ll take care of that. You go get out of your gear and get some rest.”
“You sure, Cap?” Freeman asked. “I don’t mind.”
Frank waved him off. “Nah, I got it. Need some time to think, anyway.”
His friend’s gaze softened, and he took a deep breath, extending his fist. “Frank, if you need anything…”
“I know where to find you,” the Captain finished, and bumped it with a smile. He watched Freeman saunter off, and inspected the chain wheel. He put on a pair of gloves and picked up the dumbbell, turning it over in his hands.
Zombie league commissioner, that’s something for the resume all right. But it’s what we need to do to keep the morale high-
He wound up his arm.
-to keep people engaged-
He lobbed the weight out over the zombie heads.
-to keep the dangerous boredom away… His thoughts trailed off as the weight smashed into the face of a young female corpse, caving in her skull and dropping her whole body to the ground.
The Captain smiled, proud of himself, and then shook his head at the absurdity of the situation.
To keep away the dangerous boredom.
END
Coming Soon: The action shifts back to El Paso as the survivors in Fabens branch out in search of necessities, while running in to some new (yet familiar) faces.
Dead America The Second Week (Book 7): Dead America: Carolina Front, Part 4 Page 7
