Chad saw an image flash behind his eyes like it was being projected on a monitor. A group of creatures that looked like rocks were tearing apart everything in their paths. They went through cars and buildings like giant paper shredders, leaving a trail of fine mulch in their wake. The skin stretched over their lumpy bodies was like a hard shell, and their eyes were narrow, protected slits set into the sides of their heads. Each of them had at least six appendages, all fitted with sharp claws at the end. Chad shook his head, and the vision he was seeing of a row of these alien beasts demolishing a city block slowly faded.
“They're something else, aren't they?” Grandpa Joe remarked, letting out a long whistle of admiration. “Plus, their saliva is practically made out of acid so they can eat through anything with their mouths. Most importantly, for our purposes, they can lift hundreds of tons by themselves, which will come in handy once we clear off the surface and set up the heavy-duty mining equipment. They'll be doing the hard work while humans enjoy a new life beyond their wildest dreams.”
“So you're not moving in and taking over?” Chad asked. “I thought you wanted our planet.”
“We do, but we're more like what you would call hunter-gatherer types,” the old man explained. “We live in space, moving from one place to the next in search of resources to support our armada. You'll see for yourself one day soon, that is... if you live through this.”
“So you've come all the way out here to the middle of nowhere, as you put it, just to burn us to the ground and take all our shit? That's fucked up.”
“You've been given more than you will ever know,” Grandpa Joe laughed, “and what have you done with it? Squandered it fighting amongst yourselves. Our races are quite different. You think in terms only of yourselves and your immediate circle. We think in terms of the whole. You hoard wealth and resources for no reason. We share everything. In our world there is no cancer, no diseases of any kind. If something happens to one of us, it's like it's happened directly to all of us. There is no such thing as a billionaire in our society. A person like Donald Trump or Warren Buffet wouldn't be revered as a leader among our people—they'd be despised. Instead, humans put them on a pedestal and elect them to the highest offices of the land.”
“Hey, don't blame us for Trump, pal” Chad argued, feeling some of his former self returning with the anger. “He's practically an alien to us as well!”
“Your world has polluted the water, polluted the air, and children are dying of hunger and disease,” Grandpa Joe detailed. “You think of us as savage for what we're doing to you, as cruel lords torturing you like burning ants with a magnifying glass, but the truth is it is you who is cruel and selfish and unyielding in your lust for materialism and power. It is only because of us that any of you will survive, or even be remembered at all.”
The old man's lips moved, but Chad heard the words inside his mind like bad dubbing on a late night kung fu movie.
“Humans were bound to destroy themselves eventually. All we've done is speed up the process. This way some of you will survive. You will live perfect utopian lives beyond your wildest imaginations. There will be no more war, no murder, no suffering of any kind. You will have all of our medical expertise. You'll live to be hundreds of years old and explore the wonders of the galaxy; things you've never dreamed of in your life await you. All you have to do is find Skylar. She is your ticket to paradise, so to speak.”
Chad nodded his head, thinking over what he'd been told.
“So why would you bother saving any of us in the first place?”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, it is obvious you hate us,” Chad snapped. “You've made that clear with your little speech about how selfish and unevolved we are. So why bother keeping any of us around at all? Surely you could have just doused us all with your zombie virus and been done with it. Why go to the trouble of trying to preserve our corrupted, selfish species?”
“It's our way,” Grandpa Joe shrugged. “It's what we've always done, according to the oldest records we possess, which go back to a time long before the birth of your sun. These traditions have been handed down for millennia. First, we make deals with your world leaders in exchange for their cooperation. They in turn assure a smooth transition. We've estimated that we can take one million of your kind with us. They will live in a perfect version of this world, one that looks and feels just like this, like a simulacrum of what your world could have been.”
“You mean like pets in a floating space zoo,” Chad said sarcastically, reflexively jerking his head back as a fresh bolt of euphoria was starting to hit his brain, driving the sarcasm away.
“That's one way to look at it,” the old man consented. “As I said, we prefer to think of it as more of a floating paradise than a prison.”
“But that's essentially what it is,” Chad laughed. “You're not doing it for us. You just like taking trophies so you can point to us and say, ‘Look how primitive this species is.’ Is that about right?”
“You have a very unique interpretation of our actions. I will have to share it with the others. For now let's just get back to why you are here,” Grandpa Joe reasoned, looking annoyed for the first time. “The chosen ones are marked. They are chipped for tracking, and given an antidote to the stage one virus that prevents a stage two infection. Before you leave to go back up above, you'll be given the same.”
“And if I say no?” Chad tested. “What happens then?”
“You'll be condemning not only yourself, but the woman you love, to a horrible death,” Grandpa Joe vented. “Is that what you want?”
“What I want is to get you out of my head,” Chad said, wiping away what felt like snot from his nose. He looked down to see that his hand was covered in blood. “What the hell are you doing to me?”
“Your mind is resisting us,” the old man justified, his image starting to shimmer like a mirage. “Like I said, it takes a while for most of your kind to adjust. Let's wrap this up. If you succeed in finding Skylar, and don't get torn to shreds in the process, you'll be rewarded with a brand new life in New Los Angeles upon your return—including a mansion for the two of you to live in, along with many other perks. I don't think I have to tell you again what happens if you fail.”
“But how will I contact you once I do find her?”
“Don't worry,” the alien disguised as his Grandpa Joe said, patting him genially on the hand. “We'll find you.”
Grandpa Joe leaned in to hug him. Chad felt a wave of revulsion wash over him, like he was hugging a human-sized cockroach. Along with it came the same desire he'd had earlier to crawl away from this thing, but he found his body leaning in anyway, against his will, like he was caught in a tractor beam. He closed his eyes as gossamer dots of white light began to swirl around him in a clouded blur. The world felt like it was spinning, and just when he thought he wouldn't be able to bear it a moment longer, it slowed to a halt. He sat up sweating, completely naked, his heart racing. He was in his own bed.
“It was just a bad dream,” he told himself, his body shaking all over. “It had to be.”
But then he caught a glimpse of the back of his left hand, the one that Grandpa Joe had patted. There was a small blinking red light visible just underneath the skin. It burned when he touched the area, but there was no sign of a puncture mark. He had a brief memory float through his mind, one of lying on his back in what felt like a dentist's chair, as a long tube was inserted down his throat. General Franks was there, and so was the monster he'd seen. He shook his head to force it out of his mind.
I've got to find Skylar, he thought. It doesn't matter what else happens. I've got to find her and keep her safe from these things. But where would she have gone?
Then it hit him all at once—his favorite diner, Jan and Dean's. They'd gone there on their first date and it had become a ritual ever since, but Chad hadn't been back since she'd left him. He'd been too depressed to go in and face their favorite waiter Mort, knowing he'd ask where Skyla
r was and that he'd be hard pressed to come up with a good excuse. And with the bustling atmosphere the busy diner had all day long, it would be the safest place to hide in plain sight. For all he knew she was there now sipping the dark black coffee she loved, her eyes locked on the front door waiting for him to walk in and order breakfast.
“Hold on, baby,” Chad called out, hurriedly dressing and grabbing his keys. “I'm on my way.”
* * *
“I'm starting to get hungry again,” Skylar complained, jolting Chad out of his trip down memory lane. “Do you think they have peanut butter and crackers here?”
“Who doesn't have peanut butter?” Chad asked, getting to his feet and wandering into the kitchen. He could hear the moaning outside growing louder. The pounding on the front door and hallway walls had increased as well. They were drawing in greater numbers of the undead, practically ensuring they'd never make it out of the luxury apartments in the Miracle Mile alive.
It would take a full-blown miracle to make it out of here alive, Chad mused, imagining a spokesperson or leasing agent gleefully delivering the line like an advertising jingle. And just think, if you lived here you'd be dead by now!
He pulled open the fridge to reveal that it was chock full.
Thank God for small graces, he thought. At least we won't die of hunger for a while.
Skylar pushed him aside and unwrapped a promising looking wad of tinfoil to reveal a honey-baked ham. She peeled off a slice and noisily scarfed it down, stopping in between chews to take big swigs of orange juice right from the carton.
“Slow down and chew your food,” Chad teased her. “You're going to choke.”
“I can't help it,” Skylar rationalized. “I'm just so hungry. Aren't you?”
“Not really. But I guess everyone deals with stress differently.”
“Is that cherry pie in the back?” Skylar asked. It was. She pulled it out and set it on the checkered tile counter top. “That sounds so good right now. I wonder if they have vanilla ice cream? A la mode sounds like heaven right now.”
I'm so in love with her, Chad thought as Skylar plunged into the freezer, pulling out several quarts of Breyers and setting them on the counter next to her fruit pie. She had the lid off in seconds and was soon up to her wrist in the stuff with an oversized spoon. It was worth it; worth being trapped here just to spend one more day with her. How many people ever get that?
He pulled her to him and kissed the top of her head.
“What's that for?” she asked through a mouthful of ice cream.
“No reason,” he said. “Just an end-of-the-world kiss.”
She laughed and covered her mouth to keep from spitting up her dessert.
The skies filled with a terrifying roar as fighter jets passed overhead. A moment later several loud explosions sounded in the distance, out past the freeway and towards the ocean. The world went dead quiet for a brief moment, and then the low moaning and pounding returned as an army of flesh-hungry corpses demanded to be let in to feast on them.
“I'm scared,” Skylar wailed, tears welling up in her eyes.
“Me too, babe,” Chad admitted. “Me too.”
“Chad?” Skylar turned her eyes to his.
“What is it?”
“I'm pregnant,” she whispered.
* * *
The day the zombie apocalypse struck, and the whole damned world came unglued, started out just like any other day. Just as he'd expected, Chad found Skylar hanging out at Jan and Dean's, except she was lurking in a booth near the back of the restaurant rather than their usual spot at the counter. He explained his visit with her father on the walk back home, and she begged him to forgive her. They'd agreed they wouldn't talk about what was coming. They'd agreed to put time on pause until they'd had a chance to catch their breath and come up with a plan. They'd stayed up well into the early morning hours making love until they passed out from sheer exhaustion and lack of body fluids. Chad woke up first and snuck in a hot shower. Skylar wasn't far behind him, the sound of the running water luring her in like a siren's song. Chad didn't complain, even though the cold draft of air she let in made his skin crawl and his balls shrivel up. An involuntary shiver raced through him like someone had just walked over his grave, but he pushed it from his mind, yearning to focus on her alone. He felt like he hadn't seen her in years instead of just weeks. He wanted to drink in every inch of her while there was still time. He watched in childlike wonder as her petite white hand, laced over the top with tiny white scars like rivulets of frost from years of cutting, delicately pulled the moldy tropical fish shower curtain back before she scurried in with a squeal.
“Close it up,” he barked, as she rushed into his arms shivering so hard her teeth chattered. “You're letting all the heat out.”
“It's cold,” she protested. “This wouldn't be an issue if you didn't keep your thermostat set lower than the morgue, you know.”
“Enjoy it while you can,” he said, gracefully sidestepping one of their longest running arguments. “Once the power goes the only time we'll feel cold like that is during the winter months. In fact the normal weather conditions and lack of water will drive out most of the survivors.”
“Only because Los Angeles is a desert wasteland that was never meant to have millions of people living here,” she countered.
He sighed and leaned over, the tips of his fingers catching the gummy plastic and yanking it shut again. He got a good look at her in the process and felt himself stir back to life anew, her nudity still a shock despite the previous evenings unrelenting carnality.
“But I don't want to live anywhere else,” he said, returning to their intimate huddle under the jet of piping hot water. “Including New Los Angeles.”
“Neither do I,” she agreed, standing on her tiptoes and arching up to kiss him. He ran his hands over her warm, wet curves, pulling her deeper into their kiss, their lips parting as their slick tongues met, and just like that he was painfully hard once more, pressing into her soft belly. She'd put on a little weight in her time away, but he didn't mind. In fact, he thought it looked good on her. Probably all that high quality food, instead of Taco Bell and Norms like he usually fed her.
She pulled back, her lips curving into a smile as her fingers curled around his throbbing member.
“Easy there,” he teased. “That thing's dangerous.”
“Don't I know it,” she exhaled, turning around and pressing her hands into the tile of the shower wall. She arched her back and leaned towards him, her deep hunger arousing him further still. He was inside her, warm, tight, slick, his hands roaming from her pert breasts and taut stomach, up over her smooth ass cheeks. The water pounded down on his back, spraying past him, and coating her in a shimmering rainbow of light as he drove deeper and deeper into her.
When they'd finished, they dressed and walked down the block holding hands just like any normal couple on any other normal bright and sunny Southern California afternoon heading out to get breakfast. They strolled across Fairfax, running through traffic to make the light, then down to Wilshire, walking past the light display at LACMA, and passing by the La Brea tar pits. There was an amazing cafe inside the museum with an omelet bar that featured black truffle oil and crispy pancetta. Chad would have loved to eat there, but he knew they were living on borrowed time, that the odds of them making it through their meal and back to safety were slim as it was. If he was going to have one last meal out in the world it was going to be at his favorite greasy spoon. They passed the El Rey Theater, and walked past the long line out in front of Jan and Dean's, heading straight for the counter. Chad took a moment to appreciate the interior design for once, knowing it might be the last time he laid eyes on it. The place was done up in 60s surfer chic, with pictures of James Dean, the Beach Boys, Elvis, and Janis Joplin. Each table had it's own little jukebox, the selection ranging from “Mr. Sandman,” by the Chordettes, all the way to “Enter Sandman,” by Mettalica. Every hour they'd play “Surf City” or “Deadman
's Curve.”
I'm really going to miss this place, he thought, as they snagged the last pair of stools at the counter, and their favorite waiter, Mort, came over with a smile and two plastic, grease-coated menus.
“Well, if it isn't my favorite couple!”
“Hey, Mort! How's tricks?” Chad said with a wink.
“Been busier than usual,” Mort declared, pouring him a coffee without asking. He brought it with a fresh glass of water for Skylar, taking care to add an extra lemon wedge. “Where have you been hiding? I've seen your lady here almost every day for the last two weeks, but there's been no sign of you in a while.”
“TCB, my man,” Chad hedged, popping open one of the non-dairy creamers from the ceramic dish sitting on the counter, and dumping it into his sludge-black coffee. “Taking care of business.”
“You look amazing, as always,” Mort sweet-talked Skylar.
“Thanks, Mort,” she blushed.
“I'm serious,” he said, fixing her with a curious stare. “There is just something different about you. You look like you're glowing. What's your secret, kid?”
“I'm in love,” she smiled coyly. “That's all.”
“Ain't life grand?” Chad broadcast with an ear-to-ear grin. “Say, Mort, can you bring me the usual?”
“One heart attack on a plate, coming right up,” Mort sang out, dinging the bell for emphasis. “And what about you, little lady? You want a poached egg with four strips of bacon and a side of hash? Maybe fry you up a jalapeño to go with it?”
“Not today, Mort. I'll just have something light. How about a melon and some cottage cheese?”
“For you, my love, anything,” Mort replied, turning to walk back to the kitchen and put in her order. Chad looked at her like she had lost her mind.
“You sure about that, babe?” he asked. “You know, this might be the last chance we get to eat out.”
Undead L.A. (Book 2) Page 18
