by Mark Tufo
“Where are you going?” She was trying to stand. It was comical, her legs were so unsteady her ankles were wobbling, and she was in high heels so she kept rolling them over. I didn’t bother answering; I’d already wasted enough time on the dead end. I squealed the tires in my haste to get away from her. I could only hope I pelted her with small stones as I did so. I didn’t notice it at the time because I was slightly hammered, but I cut a car off as I exited the bar parking lot. Didn’t bother me none—well, because I didn’t know it had happened—but it sure as hell pissed off the guy I’d done it to. We’d gone about a mile when I noticed the asshole behind me had his brights on and was less than ten feet from my rear bumper.
For an intense second, I thought maybe it was a cop and I was going to get pulled over for drunk driving. I’d probably get out of it though, because our team was nationally ranked and nobody, and I mean nobody, wants to screw with that. When I realized it wasn’t the cops, I stuck my hand out the window and flipped the peckerwood off. I smiled when I realized I’d made him madder. He got closer and was actually laying on the horn.
“Douche bag is going to get both of us in trouble.” I looked up into the rearview mirror. I took a quick right onto a less traveled road and slammed on my brakes. Numb nuts behind me smacked into my bumper. His door flew open and a slightly bigger than average man came out quickly. He was screaming something about me being an asshole, his arms were flailing about in a wildly gesticulating manner.
“Oh, buddy, you picked the wrong person and at the wrong time. Nothing pisses me off much more than not dipping my wick.” I slowly opened my door, he stopped advancing when he began to get a decent look at the size of me. It was amazing how quickly the volume of his shouting diminished as well.
“Hey man, I don’t want any trouble,” he said, his hands now up in a placating manner.
“Too fucking late for that.”
My first punch caught him square in the eye, broke his orbital socket. If the way his eye was jiggling around in his head were any indication. He was fairly tough; he didn’t just call it quits. It would have been better off for him if he had. I wasn’t much in the mood for bending over to hit him. He was reeling from the strike I’d given him, but he still had the presence of mind to get his hands up and actually lash out. His depth perception must have been jacked, because he ended up tagging my shoulder. I hit him with a hay maker to the left temple, his knees buckled, and his one good eye began to roll up.
“Oh no, not yet, asshole. We’re just getting this party started.” He wasn’t taking direction too well, he was starting to fold in on himself, like a wet piece of paper. With my right hand, I grabbed the front of his shirt to keep him standing as I pulled him closer to me. I finally let go, bringing my knee to crash full force into his face. The satisfyingly sickening crunch of his nose, and maybe his cheekbone, sent him spiraling away. The guy had looked something like Kevin Bacon when he’d gotten out of his car. I’m sure he was a favorite with the ladies. At least, before he met me. Now he looked like chopped liver. Fuck, I love how funny I am. His features had been recessed a good half inch from their previous locations. Like he’d been run over by a truck or something.
I was going to start mercilessly kicking him in the ribs until I’d caved in one side, then I looked over to the douche’s car.
“A fucking corvette. You drive a corvette?” I asked the man.
He didn’t reply. He was too busy crying out in pain.
“Shut up, asshole. Maybe next time you should think before you get your ass handed to you. Got anything good in there I can take as compensation for your stupid actions?” I stepped over him and poked my head in. There was a handful of compact discs on the passenger seat, which I grabbed.
“Really? Barbara Streisand? Sandra Dee and Liza Minnelli? You don’t look seventy.” I tossed the discs across the road. “You better have something in here worth a shit or I’m not going to be done with you, asshole.” I leaned over and opened the glove box. “Oh what do we have here?” I pulled out a small pistol. There was also an expensive looking watch, and that I stuck in my pocket without looking at too long. The gun had all of my attention. “You should have maybe thought about pulling this out, although if you had, I would have shoved it up your ass and then pulled the trigger. I wonder what that would have done? Can’t imagine it would be good. Punching a hole in your colon is probably not a prescribed practice. But what do I know—you listen to Liza; maybe that’s your kind of thing.”
I’d stepped out of the car and moved a couple of steps closer to hamburger face. He was rolling slightly back and forth. I was staring from him to the gun wondering if I should put one in his kneecap just for fuck’s sake. That would most likely keep him out from behind the wheel for quite some time, if not forever. “How much would it suck to have that beautiful car and never be able to use it again? You could just give it to me, and I’d forget about this whole unfortunate incident. How’s that sound for a deal?” Even drunk and an offensive non-thinking lineman, I knew this for the bad idea it was. I’d be hard-pressed to convince the cops that the pummeled man on the ground had consented to give me his car as payment for his transgressions.
“Keeping the watch and the gun. I’ll let you have the car … this time. I ever see you again, and that’s mine too. I don’t give a shit.” I was just stepping back over him, okay, okay, I was stepping on his chest, I couldn’t help myself, when I was bathed in the pulsing blue and red of cop lights.
“Fuck me.” For a guy that prides himself on not thinking too much, I actually let rip this one time. I dropped the gun I’d been palming. It was like the divine powers were watching over me. The gun hit his chest and bounced over to the side and not more than six inches from his hand.
“That’s really going to work out well for me.” I moved another step closer to my car and then turned to the approaching cops.
“What the hell is going on here?” the cop asked, shining that small beacon he was carrying into my face. I shielded the light as best I could.
“This guy road-raged me, man, forced me to pull over on this street. When he came out of his car with the gun, I had to defend myself,” I told the cop. Meat face groaned his disapproval at my version of events, but he really wasn’t in any shape to lay out his side.
The cop called for back-up and told me to sit on the curb and not move. It was only a few minutes before two more cruisers pulled up. I again told them my story. In the meantime, they called an ambulance and checked who the gun was registered to. When they found out it was Steven’s—guy’s name was Steven Gordon—they let me go. I’d beat the guy into an unrecognizable mess, but it was under the presumption of self-defense, and according to them I was completely within my rights. I was drunker than a skunk, but they didn’t even check and I’m not sure if they would have given a shit. If they called it on me, I was going to tell them I drank a bunch after the fight because I was so upset. Had to wait almost half a year before they could try him. The reconstructive surgery had only gone so well. He had better hope he was rich because that mug wasn’t going to attract a mate any time soon.
The guy cried up on the stand about how badly I’d beaten him and that he’d never pulled that gun on me. The “facts,” though, were not on his side. His car was parked behind mine and the gun was found next to his hand. Oh, and he had a previous conviction of abuse. All of that got him three to five in a state prison, where I’m sure Steven got passed around for packs of cigarettes. I’d told him to “have fun” after he’d been sentenced and they were leading him away. And, oh yeah, the watch was expensive, worth nearly five grand, was apparently from his dear departed grandpa if the engraving was to be believed. I might not have got laid, but the night turned out pretty well anyway. When one bitch bails, make another one. Oh, the good old days, I reflected. I missed that glorious, destructive body. Once I was through with Yorley, my new quest had to become to find something equally as magnificent as I had been. I pulled away from that happy time
within myself and gave a peek to what Manny was up to these last few hours. I was shocked to find that another day and night had passed.
Manny had been a busy little beaver, powering through most of Whale’s mass. How the fuck his jaw hadn’t worn out was a testament to his fortitude, stamina, and most importantly, his healing powers. The kitchen was totaled, probably the living room as well, though I couldn’t see it. We were lying in a thick muck, nearly two inches deep. Been through more than my fair share of gross ass things, even before becoming part of a zombie, but this was leaps and bounds beyond anything I’d yet to encounter. This would be most like diving into a port-a-potty without the added benefit of that blue chemical smell. Lard chunks floated along on the pond of excrement I found myself wading in, and still Manny chewed, oblivious to what was entering into his mouth.
I can’t begin to tell you how happy I was when Manny finally finished up. It was in the afternoon of that second day. Manny was about as sated as a zombie can be. He rolled over onto our back, shit was flowing into both my ears. I hadn’t had that sensation until any woman spoke to me, although not quite this literal.
“I take it you’re done?” I asked. Manny gave me the very human gesture of man to servant and “whooshed” at me with his hand, flicking his wrist. I thought about telling him to fuck off, then realized my position and instead took back control of Scarlett. I was thinking of her body as hers again, only because it was soon going to be my sole goal to find another. Although right now, this body housed the perfect disguise to get a hold of Yorley. I turned off the nerve endings on my skin as I stepped into the shower. I was relieved to see the water was running but certainly wasn’t expecting it to have any heat to it. Within a few minutes, the water was running over the lip of the shower stall and the drain was plugged up pretty bad. Roto rooter would be adding a surcharge after this visit. I was heading down the hallway to retrieve my clothes when I had to place my hands on the sides of the walls to keep from falling over. Cramps threatened to crush my loins and asshole. Then in one quick moment, my sphincter blew open like it had a jaw and had unhinged.
If I let go of the walls, I’m convinced the force from the thrust blowing out of me could have propelled me into the next room and beyond. Would have been like an ass-tronaut using my shit pack. “See what I did there, Scarlett? I used two esses instead of one. Oh screw it; if you’re too humorless to get it, then that’s not my problem.” She was not amused. My bowels ached as I evacuated them. I guess that’s what happens when you eat junk food.
“You suck, Manny. You couldn’t have done this before we got in the shower? Maybe even during?” It was then I got the distinct impression that Manny had done this exactly at this time on purpose, to just give me a hint of who still steered the ship, or in this case, smeared the shit.
“You think this up all on your own?” Scarlet berated me.
“Oh this hurts so bad but feels strangely good at the same time,” I told her. “Well, if this doesn’t turn your dainty little asshole inside out, I don’t know what will.”
We had to have been continuously eliminating for somewhere in the neighborhood of a half an hour, at some point I’d become so exhausted I’d got on my hands and knees, my head hanging down. I didn’t care it was getting all over me, there was a return visit to the shower coming in the foreseeable future.
“This isn’t right.” I was so worn out I’d had to lay on my side. Yeah, apparently, someone had stuck Energizer Bunny batteries up my ass because I was going and going and the end didn’t look like it was anywhere in sight. I had dozed off and had awoken to a stench much like you would expect after two days of binge eating bad food, because that was what Whale primarily was. Twice processed Twinkies, Ho-Ho’s, donuts, frozen burritos, potato chips, cheese puffs, chocolate, candy corn, toaster pastries, and corn chips were guaranteed to have their own pervasive funk, and let me tell you, it didn’t disappoint.
“You done, asshole?” I could have been asking my literal asshole, but I really meant Manny, who I was now certain was doing a little power play to show just how much he was in charge. Just great, I was housed with a virus that had a sense of humor. “I’m going to try this again,” I said as I pushed up through my own personal sewage. Back to the shower. I hope someone, some day had the good sense to plow this house over and then burn what remained. We’d scored a major feast at this house, yet I felt utterly defeated as I walked out.
Yorley had to be my salvation. I started off in the general direction of my next house on the list. Wish I could lie, but I had some serious discomfort in my rear region. I figure it felt a lot like what a new prisoner felt like after the first night. That’s graphic enough; I figure I don’t have to spell it out.
Again, Manny was being a dick and not only not repairing the damage, he wasn’t allowing me the opportunity to shut off the pain receptors. Yeah, this was a lesson for sure. I’d like to say tough love, but he felt nothing of the sort toward me. I was merely a vessel to do his bidding as he saw fit, and like a mean owner, he would gladly beat his cur.
“The day will come.” I fingered the lid on an antibiotic bottle. I’d replaced the one I lost with some at Whale’s house. Lord knew he needed something strong to counteract the infestation and infection of bed sores. I could hear things happening in the distance: an occasional truck engine, sometimes gunfire, every so often a scream. Nothing remotely close, and even if it was, I really didn’t care. I had enemies within and without, and that was all I was concerned with. I had to have been walking for nearly six hours, lost in my own thoughts. I’d truly been on autopilot, so much so, I was fearful I would have to backtrack to the house I was planning on going to. Would I? Did I really think I was going to find one woman in a city destroyed by an apocalypse? Despair, a feeling I did not have much experience in, was beginning to weigh me down. What was the point?
“Oh, you pussy. Are you going to get all existential on me? Maybe we should find a shoe store and get you some Birkenstocks and a braid for your pony tail.” I slapped the side of my face, letting the sting of it burn away the momentary weakness, what my father so eloquently called “the cunting.” Like the depths were rewarding my renewed attention to the quest, I looked up to find I was less than a block from my next destination. I couldn’t help but notice there was an edge of desperation, gilded with a hint of hope to Scarlett. I had been planning on strolling on up like I usually did, but Scarlett had inadvertently let me know that this time, I might be on to something. Well, one good thing about being a petite woman, it was much easier to hide. I dashed from bush to large tree to car all in an effort to get closer while also shielding myself.
“Two forty-two Pesky Place, well there you are.” I was looking at a two-story Tudor, fairly common for this neighborhood. What was strange was the color palette. The house itself was a purple much like a certain dinosaur on most parents’ hit list back in the nineties. “Yeah, I love you too, Barney, as long as I can stick a switch blade in your eye.”
“It was a children’s show. How can so much be wrong with you?” Scarlett asked.
“I was wondering when you were going to make an appearance, my dear. Are you going to try and dissuade me from going to that house? Perhaps distract me at an inopportune time?” Nothing, she was as quiet as my mother after my father would knock her around for a bit after a night of tequila shots. Oh she’d say things at first, call him all manner of low life, despicable things, that would only enrage him further. Sometimes I wondered if she wanted to be beaten, because it was only when she became stone silent and stared unflinchingly at my dear, old dad as he struck her that he seemed to become unnerved. He’d then weakly call her some filthy name and then fall onto the bed and be instantly asleep. Why she never beat his skull in with a hammer while he was so incapacitated still eludes me.
“That’s Yorley’s house, isn’t it? Oh, don’t worry, you really don’t need to answer me, the gold trim paint around the windows kind of says it all. Gives it a garish look that all Latino
s seem to have a flair for. Why do you think that is?”
“Please, Tim,” Scarlett begged.
“Well holy shit, we’ve finally come home.” Elation flooded through me.
“They’re my babies.”
“And now they’ll be mine too,” I said as tenderly as I could. “How confused are they going to be for what’s left of their lives, as their beloved mom starts chewing on them? I should maybe find a camera so I can save those memories! Naw, screw it, I can just sort through my mind. I can pull those images up any time I want. Oh, what fun we’re going to have.” I mentally clasped my hands together and rubbed them furiously.
I peeked around from the vehicle I was hiding behind, just down the street and to the right of my target. I was trying to get a peek at Yorley. If she was indeed in there, it was certain she would have a guard position set up. I looked down at myself. I was not in Clarence’s body anymore, but would she believe her friend Scarlett was really here? Maybe for a second or two, but she’d been there when Scarlett had turned. And she knew I’d inhabited Clarence’s body, she’d have no reason to think it couldn’t happen again. No, this little surprise had to wait until later, when we were up close and personal and the second or two it took for her to process what she thought she knew, with what she was seeing, would shift the advantage to me.
I needed to do more recon. The front of the house wasn’t going to do. The street approach was unusually clear, as if the automobiles had been removed for cleaner fields of fire. There was that … and the six-foot privacy fence that had been bolstered. I don’t think it would hold up to a horde, but it would easily hold off some stragglers. I was just about to move when the wind shifted ever so slightly, and a small breeze came downwind from the house. Smelled like beans and shit, well more like shit-out beans. I propped myself up far enough that I could see through the driver’s side window to the house. A man with a dark complexion and darker hair was standing on a small porch. He was cautiously looking around from side to side before he descended the steps. I noticed he had a small plastic grocery bag in one hand. I hadn’t paid much attention to it then. Maybe should have, would have realized how much they’d had their shit together. (That pun will make more sense later.)
