by Guy James
The sword clattered to the ground next to him, and he jerked away from the noise, trying to avoid being sliced.
The car made several clanging noises, and Milt was uncertain whether they were noises of gratitude, defiance, defiant gratitude, or just a vehicular death rattle.
Milt got up onto his haunches, slamming his lower back painfully into the car’s bumper as he tried to balance himself, then struggled to his feet.
He picked up his sword and cursed at the birds. The four little birds drew themselves up, flapped their wings at Milt, and flew away.
“Taunting devils,” Milt muttered in disgust. At least, he decided, he could take pride in the rapid-fire way in which he had gotten up. That was an unusual accomplishment for Milt, who usually took upwards of half a minute to heave his great body up into a vertical position.
As he rubbed his lower back, Milt considered that perhaps he was being too hard on Brian. After all, the car’s location was quite fortunate given the rain.
Then again the spot was an obvious bird attraction.
And yet again, parking without tree cover meant an overheated car to return to.
And yet once more, Milt remembered, Brian had done the parking at night, so the tree wasn’t likely to have been a consideration then.
Brian had likely not been in a thinking state at all. He’d probably been strung out and high and all he could think of were snacks, or “munchies,” as the marijuana tokers liked to call the packaged sweet and salty treats that marked a good high’s progression.
In the munchies’ context, the car’s position was a testament to Brian’s stupidity, in parking so far away from the Wegmans, at the far end of the parking lot.
Milt shrugged, admitting to himself that there may be other reasons that tokers take into account when parking their vehicles—reasons of which Milt had no knowledge. Perhaps there was no winning with this one, and perhaps Brian deserved no blame for his car positioning at all.
Finding himself suddenly empathetic, Milt resolved to be nicer to the baseball bat-clutching simpleton, whether he was a drug dealer or not. Milt decided that people deserved second chances, especially in the midst of the zombie apocalypse. He and Brian might be the last people on Earth, so Milt told himself he should make an effort to get along with the man.
Milt coughed at the mental image, realizing that he didn’t want that at all. To be left alone with Brian as the final remnant of humanity: it was horrible to even consider as within the realm of the possible.
Still, Milt knew he’d been too hard on the aspiring squire, and, oddly enough, Milt was anxiously awaiting his return.
It wasn’t only for Brian’s quick return that Milt wished, but for the arrival of more company—of more uninfected human company, to be precise.
Wishing for company was an odd thing for Milt, and he knew it. He had always been comfortable with his reclusive lifestyle, and he was more comfortable alone than as part of a group. Being secluded, to Milt, was always preferable to social interaction. Until now? Milt needed—desperately wanted—more people to join his party, more people with whom to adventure in this wondrous post-apocalyptic world that was now ripe for conquest.
He didn’t fully understand this feeling, but after a few moments of hands-on-hips introspection, he concluded that his new desire to interact with others must somehow be related to the restructuring of the social hierarchy brought about by the zombie apocalypse. Milt knew that he was a natural born leader—at least based on his video game abilities—and now the time had come for him to lead in real life, to lead the remaining uninfected humans.
Then, as if placed there by divine providence, Milt spied an SUV. He watched as the car slowly snaked its way through the stopped traffic of the access road into the strip mall, coming from the direction of Route 29. As it got closer, Milt could make out that there was a man and a woman in the front. The man was driving, and he looked big.
“Hey!” came a man’s voice.
Milt snapped his head over toward the source of the noise to find that Brian had emerged from the Wegmans, and was jogging over to where Milt stood.
“A car!” Brian yelled. “Milt, do you see it? A car! People!”
Then Brian was beside Milt, panting with his hands resting on his knees.
“Well?” Brian said as he pointed to the SUV, “do you see it? I’m sure it’s not zombies driving.”
“Yes I see it,” Milt said, containing his excitement. It was as if his wish was being granted. How strange, he thought, strange and delightful.
“Well aren’t you excited, or at least happy to see there are other people still?”
Milt cleared his throat. “To be sure, your alacrity is misplaced. We know nothing of these newcomers, or of their intentions, which may very well be malevolent.”
“What? No. People stick together in situations like this, to help each other.”
“Unless they having pillage and plunder on the brain.”
“Well, yeah, but...” Brian shrugged. “I guess we’ll know very soon what they’re up to.”
The car was winding through the parking lot, driving away from Milt and Brian.
“We should go after them,” Brian said. “They might not see us.”
Then, as if hearing Brian’s words, the car stopped suddenly with a screech of tires. It slowly began rolling again, and turned around a row of cars to face Milt and Brian.
“It seems,” Milt said, “that they have now ascertained our whereabouts.”
Brian nodded. “Here they come.”
The car began to advance slowly toward the shaded, far end of the parking lot, as if its occupants were examining Milt and Brian from afar.
Milt scratched at the sticky spot around his left nipple, which was no longer as sticky after the rain. Then he took two cold puffs of his inhaler, and sprang forward in barely-contained anticipation.
From a distance, he looked like an enormous, rapidly advancing Jell-O Pudding Snack.
85
Lorie sat at the edge of her seat. Her elbows were on the divider between the two front seats, and she was peering through the windshield as they slowly drove toward the far end of the parking lot.
She couldn’t believe what she saw there. She pressed the heels of her hands into her eyes and looked again. But it was still there.
An enormous blob of pudding was jiggling toward them.
Lorie blinked and looked again.
The pudding was wearing a trench coat and fuzzy slippers.
The pudding had a pony tail.
“Is that a pudding or a person?” Lorie asked.
“What?” Sven asked.
“Right there, next to the guy we spotted with the baseball bat.”
“Oh, oh God, right. I didn’t make that guy out at all.”
“So you’re going with person?”
“Yeah...I guess.”
“You should sell him some sessions,” Jane said weakly. “Not that the money will do you much good if the zombies take over.” Jane let out a frail laugh, and Lorie could tell she was trying to make up for what had happened before, with Evan and the gun.
Lorie understood what that meant of course. She understood what Jane was thinking, and she hoped that Evan did not. Though Lorie had said nothing, she hoped that Evan interpreted the whole thing as an overreaction on account of Jane’s understandably frazzled nerves. That was not an unreasonable interpretation given the way the day was going. Lorie fervently hoped that Evan was not...was not suspecting that he was...even if he was it would probably be better not to know, and—
“That,” Sven said, “is not someone I can help.”
“Why not?” Lorie asked. “Wait, look! He’s got a sword. A sword!”
“How do you know it’s a he?”
“Maybe we should go somewhere else,” Jane said. “I don’t like the looks of this guy.”
Lorie wondered why Jane should be worried about a guy with a sword when they had so many weapons with them now.
> “No, this is good,” Sven said. “Real good.”
Lorie thought she heard something strange in Sven’s voice, and she looked over and saw that he was smiling. “What are you so happy about?”
“I know that guy.”
“The pudding?”
“No, no, not the pudding, the other one, the one with the baseball bat, that’s Brian.”
“Hey, I think I remember him,” Jane said. “He’s the...he’s the delivery guy right?”
“Right. Gets me my protein and supplements when I’m in a jam. He’s a life-saver, a great guy too.”
The car was now pulling up in front of the two strangers. Lorie watched, bewildered, as the pudding man waddled out in front of the car, the soft parts of his vast body joggling with each step. Then he put up his hand, palm facing the car, in a signal of halt.
Lorie stared at the hand, trying to make out fingers, but all she could see were weakly differentiated protrusions of pudge, emanating from the remainder of the pudding’s arm. She decided it was a mitt, and not a hand at all.
“That pudding guy is creepy,” Lorie said. “I don’t like him.”
“You haven’t even met him,” Sven said. “He might just be quirky.” Sven sighed. “Then again, what’s with the hand in our face?”
Lorie had a bad feeling about meeting the portly pudding. “I don’t like it.”
“We’ll do our best.”
Sven stopped the car and Lorie watched him put it in park and remove the keys.
“Wait,” Lorie said, “are you sure you don’t want to leave the car running?”
“I’m sure. We’re digging in.” Sven put the keys in a pocket of the duck pants and put his hand on one of the machetes. Lorie watched him staring ahead at the pudding, as if looking through the scene into another world—but that was silly.
Then Sven was getting out of the car. Jane opened her door next, and then Lorie scrambled out, clutching her knife at her side. She ran around the back of the car and helped Evan wobble out. Then she and Evan joined Sven and Jane, who were already standing in front of the car.
The pudding spoke first. “Halt I say! Please elucidate your intentions. As you may have discerned, there are zombies afoot.”
Lorie could see the pudding clearly now, and though she understood that what he had just said could be interpreted as funny, there was something so weird about him that she couldn’t laugh. It was clear he didn’t mean it as a joke anyway, he was serious.
There was a bandage wound around his head, and it made his face bulge in places. To Lorie it looked like his neck had thrown up to form the blob of his head, and then the top of his head had thrown up downward at the line of the bandage to form his face.
The pudding wasn’t a pretty sight, and he made Lorie think of the computer geeks at her school. The resemblance between some of them and the man now in front of her was striking.
“Ahem,” the pudding went on with an air of importance. “I repeat, please apprise me of your intentions.”
Sven looked at the pudding for a moment, then turned to the other guy, the one that he said was named Brian.
Brian was walking toward Sven. “I can’t believe it. Sven? That is you right?”
Sven nodded.
“Thank God,” Brian said. “It’s just been me and Milt so far—” Brian gestured at the pudding, “—and I wasn’t sure we’d be seeing anyone else.”
So the pudding is called Milt, Lorie thought, makes sense.
“Excuse me!” Milt bellowed, raising his sheathed sword and shaking it at Sven and Brian. “I am in charge here, you will address yourselves to me.”
Brian looked at Milt and shook his head sadly. “Milt, it’s okay, these are friends. I know Sven from way back.” Brian turned back to Sven. “Sorry, he’s had a shock I think, he’s alright though.”
“We’ve all had a shock,” Sven said, offering his hand to Milt. Sven’s gesture reminded Lorie of her general unease, and she began glancing around the parking lot, making sure none of those things were approaching them.
“Oh very well,” Milt said, and shook Sven’s hand.
Lorie watched as the adults all made their introductions, quickly relating a summary of their respective day’s experiences. Brian pointed and asked about the surgical masks, and Jane explained their experiences with the zombie odor so far.
Then Lorie and Evan were introduced. Lorie watched Milt’s eyes grow wide after looking her and Evan up and down, and she wondered what it was about her and Evan that Milt was reacting too. She couldn’t know that, but she did know that she didn’t like him, and she wasn’t going to trust him. He was the kind of guy to keep an eye on, even if the other adults dismissed him as just being “weird,” or “having had a shock.”
Lorie cleared her throat and spoke up. “It is very nice meeting you and all, but shouldn’t we be getting inside? Evan needs to rest.”
Sven nodded. “That is why we came here.” He turned to Brian and Milt. “Have you guys been in the Wegmans? We were planning on holing up in there for a while until we know more about what’s going on.” He paused and looked uneasy. “Is there a reason you’re out here and not in there?”
Brian looked like he was about to say something, but Milt beat him to it. “I concur, we do need shelter, and evening is fast approaching. Before your troupe arrived, I sent Brian on a reconnaissance mission into the Wegmans. He had just returned and was about to give me his complete report when you pulled up in your vehicle. Please Brian, you may proceed.”
Brian rolled his eyes. “You didn’t send me, Milt. Remember? I left. You didn’t want me to go because you were afraid that those—” Brian made eye contact with Lorie and stopped mid-thought. “Never mind. Yeah, there is a reason we’re out here and not in there, and I was about to tell Milt about the Wegmans when you guys got here.” Brian smiled. “Damn it’s good you’re here Sven. You too Jane, it’s been a while. And the kids too, of course. This is a real good sign. We’re gonna pull through this. You guys have some mean-looking weapons and...we’re gonna get through this right?”
“Please,” Milt said, “put your blubbering under control and commence your report.”
“Milt,” Brian said sternly. “Relax, you need to sit back down in the shade. You have heatstroke.”
“I have no such thing!”
Brian turned to Sven. “Do you see what I’ve had to put up with here?”
Sven shook his head and sighed. “Yeah. So what’s the deal with the Wegmans? We need to rest, and Evan—” Sven pointed behind him, “—he’s not feeling so good.”
Brian glanced at Evan, who had by now sat down on the wet pavement. He was seated, and looked wobbly.
“Okay,” Brian said. “I imagine you all know what’s going on with the zombies...well...there’s zombies in there.” He jerked a thumb at the Wegmans. “A decent amount. I counted twenty-one, but I think there are a few more than that.”
“That reminds me,” Milt said. “Where is the Coca-Cola that you were supposed to fetch for me?”
Brian ignored Milt.
“Okay,” Sven said. “Let’s clean it up and lock it down. You in?”
“Of course I’m in,” Brian said. “I’m sure as hell not gonna stay out here all night.”
“Very well,” Milt said, “I will lead you into battle.”
“Maybe you should take it easy,” Lorie said, locking eyes with Milt. “Aren’t you hurt?”
“Thank you for your concern, little girl, but I am quite well.”
“Someone needs to stay out here with the kids while we do this,” Jane said.
Lorie was angry at once. “What do you mean stay with the kids? I was pretty good back there with those zombies in the restaurant, and in the gun store! Why do I have to stay out here?”
“Because,” Jane said, turning to Lorie, “it’s dangerous, and, well...you’re kids.”
Lorie pouted. “The children are our future and all that?”
Sven shrugged. “Lorie was
really good with the knives back in—”
“Sven!” Jane hissed. “You’re not helping. Look Lorie, if you stay out here and help to look after Evan, I’ll give you a short shooting lesson. How does that sound?”
Lorie was speechless for a moment. “Yeah? Really?”
“Really.”
“Let’s shake on it.” Lorie extended her hand to Jane, and Jane shook it.
“We have a deal,” Lorie said.
“We do,” Jane agreed.
“Alright,” Sven said, “let’s go.”
He began to walk toward the Wegmans entrance.
Jane took a few steps after him. “Do you wanna leave Ivan with me?”
The cat’s meowing head was resting on Sven’s shoulder, the rest of its body hidden in the backpack.
Sven turned around. “No, Ivan stays with me.”
He turned back to the Wegmans and took to walking again.
“Hey tough guy!” Jane yelled after watching him for a while.
He turned around.
Jane put her hands on her hips. “How would you feel about loading that shotgun, and maybe learning how to use it?”
Sven looked dumbstruck. He hung his head and walked back to Jane. “That’s a good point. I’m getting a little ahead of myself.”
Lorie looked on as Jane showed Sven how to load the shotgun and how to use it. Milt sniggered and pontificated the whole time, going on about the Queen of England and using what Lorie assumed was video game jargon. The guy was too much, and Lorie wished he wasn’t around. She also didn’t like the way he looked at her, her serrated knife, or Evan. Come to think of it, she didn’t like the way Milt looked at any of them, like he was better than all of them.
After Jane had finished with him, Sven started off toward the Wegmans again, looking far less confident than he had before.
“Hey,” Brian said, coming up behind Sven, “watch out for that area over there.” He pointed to the middle of the parking lot. Lorie looked where he was pointing and saw a mass of zombie flesh, bodies and parts strewn about, soaked by the rain.
That’s interesting, she thought, maybe Jane and I can do some target practice.
