by James Master
“Oh, you fucking nipple twisting troglodyte!” He threw the controller onto the floor, battery pack sliding out of Hank's sight. With a great effort, he stood and walked over to the object of his frustration. He unhooked all the cords and checked to make sure that the hard drive was secure. He then checked to see if the fan was clogged with dust. Sometimes if something is clogging the fan like a cloth, towel, or kitten, the machine can overheat and shut down thus the red ring of death. Seeing no dust or kittens, Hank set the unit carefully back where it was and plugged everything back in. He then spent some time trying to find the battery pack. It was ultimately underneath the table, how he did not know. When he was reaching for the pack, he spotted a yellow Skittle next to it.
“Hello there, how did I miss you?”
He stood, again with some effort, and tossed the candy coated treat into the air. If Roland were there, he would have thought of a fish opening his mouth when food was near when the Skittle landed in his mouth, he knew something was wrong when he opened his mouth and couldn't breathe.
He felt the candy coated treasure lodge in the back of his throat, Hank began panicking. Trying to remember his training in high school about how to perform the Heimlich Maneuver on yourself, but came up short on his unusual ability to recall whatever he wanted. After a minute he felt his face get cold and knew he was choking to death. His last thought before falling unconscious was how his father was right when he warned his son that “unless you want to eat yourself to death, you'll knock off a few pounds”.
He fell to the ground, sending the battery pack out of his hands and back underneath the table. Coincidentally, the Skittle was sent flying out of his mouth due to his weight knocking the candy free from his throat. The piece of the rainbow, now covered in spittle, hit the floor next to the battery pack and stayed there.
*** 3 ***
The day after her nail polish breakdown, Jessica was upstairs when she heard a noise from downstairs. Her first reaction was to grab a hair curler. “It must be my father; it's been two days since he left.”
She stood up from the vanity table and walked to the door, curler in hand. She paused listening for anything to prove that it was her father. After a minute, she heard a door open then close. Jessica cautiously walked into the hallway. The heels she wore made a click-clacking on the hardwood floor. She walked to the banister of the staircase overlooking the ground floor. She looked at the black and white checkered floor and saw dark red splotches it.
“Daddy? Are you back?”
Seeing the blood, she knew what it looked like once when she tried slicing some bread, but instead slicing herself, she felt fear growing. She tried calling out again.
“Father, are you here?” She waited a couple of minutes, still getting no response. A voice inside her head spoke, voicing her concerns. “Are you sure the zombies haven't broken in? You haven't done any of the trips around the wall. What if some made it over the wall? What if the wall has totally crumbled down and the zombies are coming for you?”
She noticed that she was shaking badly and forced herself to stop. The shaking didn’t stop, but only grew worse. The thought of zombies in her house was terrifying. It wasn’t the idea of them ripping her to shreds, but more so their dirtiness that frightened her. She tried to calm down, but it was useless. She remembered something her father had said once when she was little. It was when her mother was still alive, and Jessica herself was only four. She was afraid of dogs because her father let her watch the movie Cujo and ever since she has been afraid of the animals. Back then, Ben had friends that came over to hunt with him that brought hunting dogs. When he saw her shaking in front of the animals he told her that dogs can smell fear. For obvious reasons, this did nothing to comfort the young child. Ben told her “try and think of something that makes you relaxed, something that can be soothing”. The only thing she could think of was her Barbie dolls and everything she could accessorize with them. Bens’ advice worked and since then, she has never been afraid of dogs.
Continuing to shake, she took her father’s advice once more. She didn't think of her Barbie dolls, she just thought of painting her nails with Aqua Blue. The light touch of the brush on her nails soothed her, the sight of the color on her nails calmed her down, stopping the shakes. After a minute she was able to stand up, picking her curler up off the ground as she stood. She began walking slowly down the steps one at a time. Each time she started to shake, she stopped, thinking of another one of her favorite nail colors. That was what got her down the stairs. She had thought of twelve different colors.
She heard noises coming from the kitchen and calmly walked over to the door. Slowly, she placed her ear up to the door and tried to listen. This is what she heard.
“Mother of God this stings. Damn thing, can't believe I got bitten.” She recognized her father's voice. She pushed the door open and fell to the floor. She caught herself at the last second, saving her face from slamming into the floor. She was lying on the floor when her father's voice filled the room. “Now don't hurt yourself, can't have both of us on the injured list. Get up slowly and help me with this damn bandage.”
Pushing herself up, she slipped when her heel hit another spot of blood. She fell again, this time her face hit the tile. Her vision filled with stars. Her father laughed. “I told you not to wear heels around the house. They haven’t got traction.” On the third attempt to stand, she was successful.
Getting to her feet, she saw her father sitting on the countertop next to the sink. His left arm was held by his right. Jessica saw her blood soaked father. It reminded her of the time when her father had slipped in the mud last year. He came into the dining room muddy and was offended when she had walked out due to his smell. “Daddy, what happened? Are you alright?” She walked over to him, but stopped a couple of feet away from him, not wanting to touch her bloodied father.
He winced when he moved his wounded arm. “Nothing some alcohol, a shower, and some bandages won't fix. Help me clean this will you?” He handed her a washcloth. As she took the cloth, she looked at it like it was something new to her. Ben sighed. “Well, I see that you haven't washed the dishes since I left. Use the sink and get that cloth wet, then get some soap on it and give it to me. Hurry now or I'll bleed out.” She moved a couple of dishes out of the way and did as he asked. When he took the cloth from her with his right hand, she saw the injury on his left arm. “What happened to your arm?” Ben laughed as he cleaned his arm. “Well, I was watching this family of deer across from Mike's garage when some zombies tried to attack me. That's where all this blood came from. When I killed the zombies, the deer were still there. They didn't run from the gunshots. For some stupid reason, I tried to pet the baby doe. Well, the mother didn't like that one bit; so that’s what she did. She bit me and naturally I had to shoot them. I get to try my hand at venison tonight. Perhaps tomorrow. Damn that stings. Get me the first aid box from the hall bathroom. Don't trip on the blood in the hallway.”
She walked out of the kitchen and into the hallway retrieving the box from the bathroom. When she returned, her father was stripping off his blood-soaked clothing.
“Dad, what are you doing?” Jessica said as she turned away embarrassed. Ben looked up smiling. “Now it's not like I am completely naked. I have my boxers on. Come on, I need those.” She turned and walked to her father, eyes focused on the black and white tiles. He laughed again.
“Thanks,” he said as he took the first aid box, “would you mind making dinner? Just set the oven on preheat 425. In twenty minutes switch to bake and take a frozen pizza from the freezer and toss it in will ya? I'm going to take a shower and slap a bandage on this son of a bitch.”
That night the two of them ate a meal that was prepared by none other than Jessica. Ben remarked on this, “You know honey; I have never had this good of burned pizza. It's really crispy.” He laughed a little as he ate with his right hand. Jessica sneered as she looked at her slice of pepperoni pizza. The cheese was burnt beyond all
recognition. She tentatively took a bite from it and almost gagged. Never in her life has she had such disgusting food. Her father was eating the pizza and laughing at the same time.
“It's not all that bad, Jess. Once in my college days, I had this roommate that caught the dorm on fire because he burnt a pizza worse than this. So all in all, you did good for your first pizza. I'm proud of you, but you need to learn to wash the dishes once in a while.” He looked back at the dish sink and grimaced. “I mean, the last thing I want to do is come home to a dirty house.” Glancing around the kitchen from the bloody tiles to the dirty dishes in the sink he laughed again, Jessica didn't. He saw her lack of humor and smiled faintly.
“What? I’m thinking that we both had some involvement in the state of this kitchen.”
“Father, this is not the time to be laughing, you’re seriously hurt.”
“No, I’m not; it’s only a deer bite. It's not that serious. At least it's not from those bastards out by the gates.” He scooted out of the chair, wood on wood sound replacing the silence. He staggered up from the chair, the right arm doing all the pushing. Jessica was worried about her father, he was not himself. Ben grabbed the bottle of Johnny Walker Blue, the one that he used to disinfect as well as drink for dinner, and started to leave the dining room. “I’m going to bed dear. Please try to do the dishes, maybe a patrol around the wall. Please, for your dear ol' dad.” He left the room; Jessica listened as he walked up the stairs into his bedroom. She had a bad feeling about her father's well-being.
It was two in the morning when Jessica heard her father heaving in his bathroom's toilet. She jumped from her bed, slipped on her robe and slippers, and ran to her father's bedroom door. It was slightly ajar so she peeked in to see if he was alright when she heard more throwing up on his part. The sound sounded familiar, too familiar. It reminded her of her own stage of throwing up food when she was thirteen. Her mother had passed and she was going through a bad time in her life where she being skinny meant losing your lunch. Her father saved her again that time so Jessica thought it was time to return the favor. She boldly walked into the room and turned the corner to find her father sitting in front of the toilet with his back up against the wall. His head was slumped down, eyes closed. If she was smarter she would have noticed that his chest was slowly rising and falling. She wasn't though and assumed the worst that her father was dead. She backpedaled, her hands covering her mouth until she hit her father's bed. She fell on it and started to cry.
Between one of the sobs, she heard rustling coming from the bathroom. Immediately she stopped crying, quickly coming to the conclusion that her father turned. She quickly covered herself in some blankets and tried not to sob too loud. She watched as her father staggered up onto his knees and started to vomit again, missing the toilet. He began to moan after the last of the vomit escaped his rebellious stomach.
Jessica started sobbing louder, drawing the attention of her father. He turned his head and started shambling over to the bed, letting out another moan. When he was about two feet from the bed, Jessica kicked her feet into his chest, driving him back. He tripped on one of his travel bags and fell backward, lying still when he hit the floor. She ran from the bedroom and back into her own, locking the door. She hid underneath her bed and after about an hour, cried herself to sleep.
*** 4 ***
Jessica opened her eyes in the morning and yawned. She tried to stretch, but her arms hit the bottom of her bed. She tried getting up but hit her head when she tried to stand. Then she remembered the night before.
“My father is dead and he turned into one of those things. What am I going to do now?” As if in response to her question, she heard a familiar groan. It was getting closer to the door to her room. She crawled to the edge of the bed and looked up at the door, expecting her undead father to crash through the door. She didn't hear anything for a moment and was about to crawl out of her hiding spot when the door handle jiggled, then jiggled again a moment later. She crawled back into the darkness of the bed and grew silent.
“Jessica, it's your father. Open up please.”
“Do zombies talk?” she thought. She never thought about it until now, never actually being too close to heard if they did. “Open the door right now young lady, or I will break it down.”
Still, she remained silent. Jessica wasn’t going to be fooled by the undead because that was exactly what a zombie would say if they could talk. No, she thought; better to stay silent than to be eaten. The door shook violently once, then twice. On the third try, it exploded off its hinges and crashed onto the floor. She could see her undead father's feet walk into her bedroom, stepping on the door then onto the purple carpet. Jessica suddenly remembered the time when she had argued with her father when she wanted to have the carpet changed from the ugly tan to the beautiful purple.
“Jessica? Where are you honeybee, I won't hurt you. I am not angry with you concerning last night.” She watched him walk into her bathroom that was attached to the bedroom. He walked out and traveled to the closet.
“Jess, you probably thought I was a zombie. I am neither dead nor undead so please let's go downstairs and have breakfast.” He opened the closet and rifled through the hanging clothes, thinking she was behind them. He finally turned and walked to the edge of her bed.
“Alright miss, come out from under there, please. I could use some breakfast. I’m willing to bet your about as hungry as I am, huh?” He dropped to the floor and Jessica could see her father's eyes. They were not the decayed yellow she had seen in all the other zombies. Jessica started crying again this time because she knew her father was not dead.
“Jess, don't cry. Come on out, let's go.” He backed up and stood, watching her crawl out. As soon as she stood, she wrapped her arms around him. He winced when her arms squeezed the wound on his arm. She quickly let go, making Ben laugh. Jessica stopped crying and looked at her father.
“I thought you were a zombie.” Ben shook his head in a negative way.
“Then why were you not moving in the bathroom?”
“I was drunk and passed out from all the vomiting.”
“But, you stood and started shambling.”
“Yep, drunken people shamble.” He laughed again as if remembering some lost memory from his youth.
“But you moaned like one of those things.”
“Still drunk.Drank that whole damn bottle of Johnny Walker Blue. Good stuff. Too good I'm afraid.”
“That means I kicked you. Are you hurt?”
Ben laughed again. “Well, if I was sober, that hit on the head when I fell would have done more, but I do have the worst migraine ever.” Jessica was at a loss for words. Ben hugged her again.
“You sure did give me a good knot in the head and my rib cage is sore as hell. I guess those Tai Kwan Do classes did some good after all. C’mon, let's go downstairs and I'll make some breakfast. Then after, I'm going to let you do all the dishes. Call it punishment for knocking me unconscious last night.”
Jessica groaned making Ben laugh again.
*** 5 ***
Roland searched through the manager's office at the McDonald's. While he did that, John was busy making burgers and fries. He was glad that the place owned a generator. He didn't think it would last long, but that wouldn't matter when they left. Ashley leaned up against the door frame.
“So was Starke here?” Roland glanced up at her.
“Well, someone was, they obviously ate quite a lot of food. John thinks someone made chicken nuggets and burgers.” Ashley nodded.
“Why does he think that?” John answered from where he was at the make line table. “Well, for one thing, someone had cut fresh tomatoes. Some are still left on the counter top here. If they were from the time the outbreak started, they would have gone bad a long time ago. For another thing, the fryer over there has fresh grease.”
Ashley turned, “Now how do you know that?” John beckoned Ashley over to the fryer. “See that grease? It's a fairly clear color.
Used grease is not as clear. You wouldn't see through it as well.”
Roland walked out of the office. “Were you a McDonald's worker at one point John?” John shook his head. “Shit no man. I was a Deli Manager at the local Citgo when I was twenty-three.” He looked at Ashley. “Pardon, my French kid.” She waved off the curse word. “I've heard worse at my job.” John walked out of the kitchen and returned with three red trays. He lined each one with a clean paper tray cover. Filling each tray with burgers and fries, John took his and sat in a corner of the kitchen. Ashley was going to sit on the floor when Roland brought out the manager's executive chair and motioned for her to sit in it. She nodded her thanks and gladly sat in the comfy chair. Roland sat down next to John and began to delve into the greasy food.
Somewhere in the middle of the food, Roland spoke in between bites. “You know, we should find some Pepto Bismol.” Ashley looked at Roland curiously. All Roland did was shrug. “We are bound to have some level of diarrhea because we haven't had greasy food like this in a while. Take it as a precautionary measure.” Ashley was grossed out by the warning, but John shook his head. “Normally, that would have made me not eat this, but since I haven't had a Big Mac since this shit began, I’m going to eat some more, diarrhea be damned. Again pardon my French kid.” Ashley responded something, neither of the guys understanding it because of the burger in her mouth.
Roland finished his fries and washed it down with a mouthful of Diet Coke. Roland thought that the taste of the soda, even a little stale, felt great. Caffeine flowing through his blood he stood and stretched.
