by Bonds, Javan
“The monster was impaled with the blade sticking out of its back. The smart one knew it had been bested but pulled itself further down the blade as it grappled at his armored forearms. Iron Man planted a heavy boot against its crotch and kicked it back to die on the floor.”
“He sighed as he wiped the blade of gore on one of the fallen blue bodies and then turned to make his way back to his companions.”
“He now had a story to tell. Though the others probably wouldn’t believe it, at least it would be entertaining.”
☠☠☠
“That was it? You didn’t even come close to getting bit?”
“Of course not, this armor kicks ass!”
“So there was no point in telling us all that? I could have taken a nap for the past ten minutes!”
My brother scoffed and shook his head. “Fuck you! I just thought you might like to know what I was doing while you two were over here stuffing your faces!”
“And you know you’re not Neo right? There is no way you did all that in the five minutes you were gone.”
He opened his mouth to argue with me as Dr. Smokes interrupted. “Pay no attention to this ignorant fool.” He stepped forward and planted a congratulatory hand on my brother’s shoulder. “I thoroughly enjoyed the tale and I’m sure the audience agrees.” Easy look at me past Smokes and cocked a satisfied eyebrow. My brother smiled, thankful someone was entertained by his rambling.
I sniffed and curled my nose. “I think I could eat pickled eggs all the way back to the boat and just having you around would cover the vinegar. You’re nasty as hell!”
“I don’t think there’s any more Kool-Aid. Let’s get another buggy to load up on canned food and a few things on the list. Then we’ll get out of here.”
The gangsta resurfaced. “We got da Cheez Its, dawg!”
☠☠☠
“I swear to God, I’m gonna start carrying a fucking air horn everywhere I go!” There was apparently no one on the deck to hear me scream my voice out. I kicked at nothing and shouted again in vain, “Shit, Crow!”
The Cora was docked in some type of U-shaped port. My brother offered, “Go around to the other side and get on that hill and see if you can see anybody.” That was a reasonable suggestion. I only nodded as I began walking.
After at least a half mile of trudging over spattered shit and seeing absolutely no movement, I began climbing a steep and seemingly malevolent tiny mountain before me. There was no movement, no animals, and no birds could be heard. It was nearly like home just after May Day, just another quiet day in rural Alabama.
The only thing that brought me to the here and now was the fact that I was wearing a fucking Battlestar Galactica costume, carrying a Klingon bat’leth, and staring at sewage litter everywhere. I continually want to think that I just lost my mind, 98% of the population is undead, and I’m just dreaming about an episode of The Walking Dead. Where are Rick and Daryl?
My breathing could be compared to a dog, I was exhausted and had no clue how I could force myself back to where I had just left my brother and The Oracle. I considered simply laying down in the grass, it would take a while for peevies to get through this suit of armor.
Squinting, I looked towards the boat to see my bald and massive sibling standing on the deck, grinning from ear to ear. He threw up his hands and chuckled loudly and victoriously. “Don’t worry, we made it!”
I dropped to my knees and pulled the walkie-talkie from my belt. “I fucking hate you.”
Wait a minute! Why didn’t I just use the dam radio to call someone on the boat? I could have saved myself hours of walking and use the post-apocalyptic cell phone! I was never much of one to use the fucking thing anyway. That’s probably why I only rarely had a girlfriend, I would rather speak face-to-face than talk over mass communication.
It took nearly twice as long for me to walk back around to find exactly what I expected: the gangplank raised and the dam rope ladder waiting for me. I had to think of some way to return the favor to Easy. I needed to find some Preparation H!
I drew up to the rope ladder, about to probably fall to my death when the hammer of a gun could be heard cocking. A male voice asked angrily, “What the fuck are you, a ROBOT?”
12
Eyes For You
THE FEMALE HAD been following the floating construct. The construct would occasionally stop its travels on the running water and shelled figures would emerge. They always emerged from whatever cave they went into and usually argued with one of the darker skinned pale ones before returning into the construct.
The peevie had been hunting the shape for what seemed like its entire life time. Brief glimpses of the hairless pale one, the target, always sent chills down the females back.
The cannibal formerly known as Warden Slice could barely imagine the unbelievably perfect taste this one would bring. The only thing preventing the immediate mastication of the flesh of the large brute was the hated water. And the seemingly impenetrable construct. There was no way not to fall into a watery death most of the time and even when the construct did stop its movement, it was impossible to climb the outer skin. Impossible, but there might be other ways.
The object came to rest in an area with several other similar constructs gathered in the same location. The beast plotted a path in its mind. A floating construct near land was easily climbable and from that one, the next construct could be pounced upon. This pattern could be continued across several constructs until finally, the peevie would be close enough to end up on the top of the floating construct it had been following. The pale ones congregated all along the top, so it was safe to assume that is where Ezekiel Collins would be found.
☠☠☠
The blue cannibal spent hours climbing constructs and jumping from one to the other. The targeted construct was the next in line and it was exhilarating to see what the animal had been yearning for as long as it could remember. There sat Ezekiel Collins with an exposed, hairless head, completely unaware of the watchful stalker.
It was nearly sexually arousing to be only a few yards away from the pale one that had been hunted for months. The peevie almost screamed in frustration as it tried to find the best way from this construct to the other. Simply jumping would not be wise, the gap of the deadly liquid that lay below was too great.
After a panicked search, the animal finally located a way to get from here to there. The large, tree type-structure in the middle of this construct could be climbed easily and hopefully the plan would develop further when the top was reached. The former human reached a point near the top of this dead tree and found a long vine. This vine was literally made from small fibers and appeared impossibly sturdy. The animal could picture using this vegetation to swing from the dead tree to land on Ezekiel Collins. The excitement was palpable and a few practice chomps were taken before actually leaping.
The animal jumped with vine in hand and swung over the gap. Only feet away from the target now, the peevie let go and intended to fall directly onto the target. The pale, hairless one would not be ready for the attack and would fall easily. Teeth would rip into flesh continually until the enemy was no more. The other pale ones would be dealt with after the priority was taken care of.
The blue cannibal did not prepare for the momentum brought on with the swing. Letting go, it continued moving forward, far out of reach of its intended target. The peevie hit the railing of the construct and rolled off, crashing into the water at the edge of land. There would be bruises from this encounter, but the animal formally known as Warden Slice would survive to try again.
☠☠☠
“The fuck was that?” The Oracle looked questioningly at The Protector’s excited exclamation.
“Ain’t shit to worry bout, cuz.” Easy continued to look around frantically, despite Smokes’s calming words.
“Is Mo throwing shit onto the deck? The rope ladder is waiting.” The Oracle shrugged and eventually Easy let it go.
&nb
sp; The heavier of the two got a wicked gleam in his eye. “You thank zombies is livin’ dead or UNDEAD?”
13
Mo Journal Entry 4
“I WAS IN the checkout line at the Walmart. The real checkout line. They expect us old-timers to figure out them newfangled, do it yourself things. Frankly, I got too much other shit like remembering to take my heart medicine to worry about. I’d rather let the pretty young girl just out of high school scan my beer and applesauce.”
“So I was standing in line, see, and I saw a few people running into the store and screaming like they were being chased down. Turns out, they were. Right behind them comes a couple of naked people squinting their eyes. I had seen the people on the news talking about these infected folks not liking bright sunlight. I was guessing these were them sick people. It was kind of cloudy that day, probably why they could stand being outside at all.”
“Anyway, these naked people were able to see better in the building and got all bright-eyed and bushy tailed, started running up and biting everybody they came across. There was even a little old lady—bout my age—on a walker, the greeter, and one of the damn things took a chunk right out of the back of her hand. One guy was actually trying to fight the things off with a buggy—trying to slow them down. People were climbing the racks, trying to get away from the monsters. I heard a gunshot and saw a fat lady go rigid, grab her chest, and fall over like she had a heart attack. She must have died instantly, collapsing in silence. The fuckers swarmed in and started chowing down before they got interested in the idiot’s running and screaming. I cracked open a beer, watching the monsters chase people as if they was going to rip them apart, bend down to take a bite, and then run away. Some lunatic came over the intercom and started babbling about how this was the end of the world and we should all seek forgiveness. Wonder how that worked out for those retards?”
My interest was piqued, I wondered if the fact that he was drinking an alcoholic beverage kept the peevies away. Festus stopped to take a breath and I could imagine that he normally had an oxygen mask he would put up to his face after a long bout of talking.
This guy was old—really old. I’m talking about being one of the first people eligible for Social Security old. I almost laughed when he first started speaking; his voice resembled Herbert’s from Family Guy. I was guessing he was probably older than Mr. Scislaw, the pharmacist I met at the beginning of my first journal.
Well, maybe it’s not so surprising that I keep running into geriatrics. They survived the depression so I guess this is just another bump in the road. I was willing to believe people of my grandparent’s generation made it, but I could’ve asked this guy about the president getting assassinated and he would think I was talking about Lincoln! Seriously, this dude would call my pawpaw a whippersnapper.
And yes, he readily admitted to being named Festus. Why would you do something like that? I would use my middle name! Fuck, now that I think about it, I admit to being named Elmo and going by my middle name, Hoyt, doesn’t sound much more modern. I bet Crow runs into the same issue if she ever tried to use her real name, Rose. People would probably expect her to be an old lady.
“Most everybody didn’t know what to do when it started; we just stood there in line. It took a handful of people being attacked for the panic to start. People started running from the front of the store and screaming. Eventually people just joined in that weren’t up front and didn’t see the naked attackers, they was just screaming and running because everybody else was. I would call it a stampede if I was to call it anything.”
“Once people started running and the slow ones got bit, I just took my time and walked out with my Sam Adams and Mott’s without paying for it. I never found out what happened to all those dumb asses.”
I was thankful this geezer didn’t get the shakes and put a 357 in me. Actually, I had talked him down and he told me to come over to his yacht for a little chat. Too bad I didn’t get the chance to tell the Cora of my situation or location.
Not that any of them gave a shit, I’m sure they didn’t even look over the damn side of the boat to check if I had fallen to my death climbing the rope ladder. Why were they content to remain docked for so long, anyway? My fucking brother is probably eating all of my pickled eggs! And not because he even likes the things, just out of spite.
I cocked my head at the senior citizen. “So how did you get here and how are you not dead?” I would have been thinking the second half of that question even if there had not been a zombie apocalypse.
His nose whistled as he chuckled. “This is my grandsons’ boat, the Forever Young, and the whole family was planning to go out on the river for a few days when all this shit started happening. We already have food onboard and I had at least a month of all my medications in my room just in case. Now I’m glad I did. I came here when I left Walmart and nobody else showed up. I reckon they all got killed.”
What a loving way to think about the end of your entire family. Not “maybe they’re still hiding out somewhere” or “I hope to see them again,” just “yeah, them bastards are probably blue, naked, and shitting in the woods.”
Festus was pretty set up. The old man had a stocked yacht that he can live comfortably on for the remainder of his life. However many more weeks that would naturally be. If you were in your twilight years, would you want to outlive the entire world?
“Why are you still docked? Why haven’t you gone out into the river?”
He scoffed, “I don’t know how to drive a damn boat! Besides, there ain’t no reason to go nowhere.”
I guess that was sound reasoning, he probably didn’t have a destination that required travel. I can imagine Festus and Crow having a lot in common.
I raised a finger. “You know, I could probably give you a few pointers on driving a boat.” I wasn’t an expert at captaining a vessel, but I could show him how to get it started.
Another thought came to me. “You want to come with us? You can follow the Cora, we are going to make our way to the ocean!”
I hate being a good person that is willing to lend a helping hand to the less fortunate. Smokes has apparently turned me into a fucking saint! I didn’t even know this strange old coot and I was inviting him for a sleepover. Hell, for all I know he’s got a bunch of women chained up in strange positions down below.
“It is just you, right?”
“Yep. Ain’t seen a soul in quite a while. Some guys got on one of the boats up there a while back. But they didn’t see me, sailed off, and I ain’t seen them since.” I was kind of a relieved. It’s nice to find out that he’s not a perverted ax murderer after I’ve already offered to travel with him.
He looked at me quizzically. “Cora?”
Dear God. I pinched the bridge of my nose. “The Viva Ancora. It’s a replica pirate ship, like the Columbus caravels.”
He brightened. “I’ve seen that! The boat goes down the Tennessee and I think the Mississippi.”
I could only sigh and nod. “Yeah, we do. I’m the acting captain and was on the crew for about a year before May Day. And yes, you can have a tour.”
The old man acted surprised. “What the hell is wrong with you, son? The world is over, I ain’t worried about a damn wooden boat.”
If he had not been Methuselah and I was female, I’d be swapping spit with Festus right now. I might have been too quick to decide this old fart was going to be a pain in my ass. Maybe we will have more in common than I originally thought.
I spoke with more enthusiasm. “Come over to the ship with me, I need to introduce you to the crew.” I was going to need to radio and remind those sumbitches that I wasn’t on the boat and I would be bringing a guest onboard.
“Sounds good to me. I was actually getting kind of lonely.” He leaned then to whisper conspiratorially. “Got any young blondes?” I was going to have to make sure Sarah didn’t bend over around Festus, he might have a coronary!
☠☠☠
Th
e old man and I stood next to the rope ladder hanging down from the deck. We watched a peevie rip a small house cat into pieces. Yellow and green organs spilled out from between the bloodied fingers and made a sickening wet slap as they impacted the ground. The macabre beast greedily swallowed each gushing morsel. It hissed at its zombie partner who attempted to lap up the scraps leaking onto the ground.
I readied my rifle and Festus cocked his revolver. The undead might decide we were interesting after they were finished bickering over the feast of fresh, raw meat. Thankfully, they were too busy with the food in front of them to worry about us.
“Crow! I fucking told you to drop the damn gangplank.” I screamed over my radio.
“I’m busy, white boy! The exercise won’t hurt you.”
Why, God? I turned from my companion and tried to be covert. “I’ve got an old dude with me and I don’t think he could make it half way up the ladder.”
She interrupted, “You brought another one of your damn white--“
“Give Easy the damn radio!”
She mumbled about “mother fucking white people” before shoving the walkie-talkie to my brother.
“Have a fun walk?” Easy ask.
I wanted to make some kind of threat of physical harm against him, but I knew he would just frog me and leave me lying in a crumpled heap. I ignored his question and remained calm. “I need you to lower the gangplank. I’ve got a senior citizen with me.” I knew my sibling’s respect for the elderly would require him to show kindness, even if I took advantage of it.
☠☠☠
The Expert questioned the guest on his life after the zombies came to town. “And you haven’t seen anyone besides tangos?”
“Not for a good while. I’ve got enough food that I don’t have to go out around them creatures.”
