by Tonia Brown
“Yes,” the father said.
“He sure has, well, grown since last I saw him.”
“He’s a growing boy.” The father pulled the child away from the candy rack and twisted him about to face the woman. “Jack, meet Mrs. Johnson. She was a student of mine last semester.”
The woman held out her hand to the rotund child, saying, “You don’t remember me, do you, Jack?”
Instead of shaking her hand, the little chubster clung to his booty, stuck out his lower lip and announced, “I’m a big boy! I’m Mr. Hammond too!”
It clicked then, and all at once, Jonah understood. Like some chubby cherub’s sweet hosannas, the kid’s grinding whine made a perfect and glorious and blessed sense. Jonah tossed a ten at the cashier, which was a little more than he owed the man, snatched the bag from the counter, and ran back to the car. As he slid into the driver’s seat, he tossed the bag of jerky at the corpse.
“Dale, I need to know where your father lives.”
Dale ignored Jonah, instead unfurling the brown paper bag and staring at the contents with a frown. “Is teriyaki all they had? You know I like smoked.”
“Dale!” Jonah snatched the bag away from the zombie. “This is important. We need to talk to Mr. Jenkins.”
“Who?”
“Your dad. Satan said to ask Mr. Jenkins. He didn’t say Dale. He said Mr. Jenkins. I need to know where the elder Mr. Jenkins lives. Your father. Do you remember?”
The undead Dale thought about this for a moment, then shook his head as he announced, “Sorry.”
Jonah was surprised. He expected to wait for a few hours for the answer. He also hoped the answer was going to be more useful than an apology. “I know you guys haven’t spoken for quite a few years, but I was hoping—”
“No, it’s not like that. I mean, I don’t remember him at all, Jonah. I know I must have had a dad, and I can kind of remember what he looks like. But other than that, it’s just a blank. Like it’s been, I don’t know, wiped out or something.”
“’Or something’ sounds about right,” Jonah groaned. Of course, it wasn’t going to be that easy. “Satan must have blocked your memories to stall for time.” Jonah balled his fist and slammed it against the steering wheel, sounding the Focus’s horn with a sharp, angry honk. “Damn it! He promised he wouldn’t interfere.”
“Who?” Dale asked.
“Satan.”
Dale cut his eyes at Jonah. “Let me get this straight. The Father of Lies promised something, and you believed him? That sounds pretty stupid, man.”
Jonah groaned again. This whole thing was just plain stupid. Dale’s soul probably wasn’t even hidden in a reasonable place to begin with. It was probably sitting at the bottom of some lake in the middle of nowhere at the ass end of the U.S. Or down the gutted shaft of some coal mine that was condemned lifetimes ago because of its instability. Or in the nest of a rare species of raptor on some protected wildlife preserve. Jonah was a fool for thinking he could outsmart the Devil.
“What’s this?” Dale asked.
“What’s what?” Jonah asked.
“This?” Dale poked a wide envelope under Jonah’s sulking nose. “It fell out of the visor.”
Jonah narrowed his eyes at the letter from Clare, then at the zombie. “You don’t remember that, either? I guess I’m lucky you remember my name. Or your own name.”
“Ha, ha, jackass.” Dale snorted. “I’m not that far gone yet. I just can’t remember my dad. I can picture him, I know I grew up with a father for a few years, but I don’t have any specific memories about him.”
“I guess that’s why you don’t remember this, then,” Jonah said, as he took the envelope from Dale. “You said it was from your father.”
“Huh,” Dale said. “Shame there’s no return address.”
“Well, there’s not one on the outer envelope… because… your… aunt …” Jonah slumped back into his seat as he stared down at the envelope. Five hours come and gone, and he had had the answer with him all along.
“Jonah?” Dale asked. “Dude? You okay?”
Jonah nodded without taking his eyes off of the cream-colored square before him. With trembling hands, he tore at the flap, opening the outer envelope and removing the contents hidden inside. Sure as sunshine, the living Dale had been right. A second envelope was tucked away inside the first, and written in the upper left-hand corner was the answer Jonah sought.
Chapter Seven
Sacramento, California
162 hours : 45 minutes : 15 seconds remaining
Hosannas and hallelujahs!
As it turned out, Dale’s dad didn’t live in distant San Francisco after all. Instead, he resided in the lovely city of Sacramento, which, after they double-checked Jonah’s map, they discovered was less than thirty miles from the very gas station at which they sat. At first it was as easy as jumping into the swift highway traffic, but once they hit the actual city, traffic slowed to a crawl. Jonah never liked big-city traffic. He regretted ever leaving the easygoing state of Idaho.
Then there was the problem of Dale’s ever-increasing hunger. The jerky was a no-go on the appetite front. It didn’t even serve as an hors d’oeuvre. Over the course of thirty miles, Jonah stopped at fast food drive-throughs, a couple of restaurants, and even a grocery store or two, feeding the corpse everything from fries to chicken to well done hamburgers to raw beef, but nothing seemed to placate the beast of his belly. Jonah was beginning to worry that perhaps the movies were right, that the zombie required more traditional fare, as in—and he couldn’t bring himself to say it out loud—human flesh. To make matters worse, the zombie’s stomach swelled with every bite, every chomp, every swallow. Neither knew if the undead body would eventually digest what it ate, or if it would just swell until it burst. The end result of neither option held much appeal.
The hunger was a problem, a big problem, but one they could address after they found out where Dale’s soul was hidden. Soul first. Soul food later.
Parking in Sacramento was more of a nightmare than traveling with a hungry zombie. The tiny Focus circled the apartment high-rise for almost twenty minutes before finally landing a space within reasonable walking distance. As Jonah brought the car to a stop, he glanced at his regular watch and flinched. It was later than he would have liked, but they couldn’t wait ‘til morning. This had to be done now. He only hoped Dale’s dad was home, and not out for the evening.
“This is it,” Jonah said, cutting the engine and unbuckling his seatbelt. “I’m going to go get our answer.”
“You mean we are,” Dale said, pushing several fast-food boxes to the floor as he undid his own belt.
“I meant me. You are going to stay put.”
“Hell no!” Dale shouted. “Not this time. I’m tired of waiting in the car like a damned dog.”
Jonah closed his eyes and rubbed his temples. He was afraid that this would happen. For the last three hours, he had been trying to think of a way to tell Dale that he didn’t really want to explain the whole undead thing to the man’s father. Asking where Dale’s soul could be found was one thing. But telling the man his kid was now a zombie? Jonah didn’t think he had it in him.
“Dale,” Jonah started. “I don’t know if facing your dad right now is the best—”
“Jonah,” Dale said over him. “Pal. Buddy. Dude. I know you are having a really hard time with this and everything, but I have been stuck in this fucking car for eight fucking hours. I’m dead, I’m horny and I’m stiff all over, and I’m still hungry as hell!” The zombie was seething now, foam gathering around his clenched teeth as he twisted the seatbelt strap between his fists. “If you don’t let me get out of this fucking matchbox and stretch my goddamned legs, I am going to fucking tear you limb from fucking limb!”
Jonah believed the zombie might just do that. Eyes wide with fear, he stammered, “Oh-oh-okay. All-all-all right. We can deal with this. Umm, we can both go, I suppose. No need to get upset. Okay?”
; Dale’s feral look melted into a warm told-you-so grin. “Thanks, man. I knew you’d see it my way.” He left Jonah behind as he clambered out into the cool night air.
“How could I not?” Jonah squeaked. But still, there was that pressing father-son issue. Jonah climbed out of the car and hurried along the sidewalk to catch up with the long-legged dead man. “You know, your dad hasn’t seen you for a long time. Maybe he won’t recognize you, and… well …”
Dale stopped in mid-step to stare at Jonah, while the few people sharing the sidewalk skirted around them. “You don’t want him to know who I am. Do you?”
Jonah was wrong. Undead Dale was much cleverer than living Dale had ever been. “Yeah. Yeah, I think it might be hard on the man. You know? I went and lost your soul, but he doesn’t need to know you’re… you know.” Jonah nervously eyed the passing folks, wondering if anyone could tell what ‘you know’ meant.
Dale leaned in to whisper low, “That I’m dead?”
“Yeah.”
Dale leaned away again and shrugged. “No problem. It’s not like I can remember him, anyway. Hey, what is that delicious smell?” The zombie lifted his nose to the air and took a few steps toward the smell in question.
“Not now, Dale.” Jonah jerked the zombie back on track by the collar of his shirt, pushing him against the thin flow of traffic, toward the apartment building still a few blocks away. “We gotta find your dad.”
“But I’m hungry.”
“You’re always hungry. You’re probably going to spend the whole of the next week hungry. But if we don’t find out where the Devil has hidden your soul, then you might never stop being hungry.”
“Okay, but after this I have got to find something to eat.” The zombie patted his distended belly with a resounding thud. “Maybe we can find some action, too.”
“Action?”
“Women? Oh, sorry, I know you prefer dudes.”
“Jesus, Dale. Will you try to curb your lust until we get your soul back?”
“Seems to me fucking around while missing my soul might be the best time to try some really nasty shit.”
Jonah barked a laugh. “Like there’s anything you haven’t already tried.”
“I’ve got my limits, man.”
“Like what? Wearing a condom?”
“Naw, I mean, you know, some hard core S and M. Or golden showers. Stuff like that. I always felt bad about pissing on some poor chick, but now it seems like a really sexy idea.”
The thought of what else the soulless reprobate assumed was a sexy idea forced a shudder in Jonah. “I hate to bust your lusty bubble, but I don’t think there is a woman on earth who is going to want you right now.”
“Why not? I’m not that bad off. I’m still in one piece, and rigor mortis seems to have set in at all the right places, if you get my drift.” Jonah couldn’t help but get Dale’s drift, because the corpse grabbed its crotch and lewdly waggled the clothed contents to a few passing ladies.
“Cut that out! You’re going to get us in trouble.”
The ladies, though, didn’t seem to mind as much as Jonah did. One even giggled as she sidestepped the zombie and his waggling, wrapped wang. “Nice ass!” Dale called out after her. “Come on, Jonah. Promise me we will find us some chicks after this. I’m so hard it hurts.”
Even from a side glance, Jonah could see what Dale meant. It looked like the zombie had a few rolls of quarters stuffed down his trousers. Or maybe half-dollars. What was bigger than a half-dollar coin? Poker chips?
“Man, this place has some smoking hot babes.” Dale wolf whistled at a passing pair of blondes, who also giggled in response. “Even the hookers are hot. Why is it we never came here before?”
“Because you could lose your soul? Remember?” But the zombie had a point. The women, even the less attractive ones, were, for the most part, very pretty.
“Loosen up, Jonah. It’s Saturday night. We’re a couple of free spirits on the prowl. Stop being such a downer.”
“I’m not a downer. I’m just focused.”
“You should try to focus on that, then.” Dale pointed Jonah’s attention to the next passing beauty.
Jonah had a weakness for redheads, but even if she had been blond, he would have gawked. The woman was tall, easily six foot seven, and wrapped in a sparkling tube of shiny white fabric that started at her ample cleavage and ended just beneath her thick hips, making love to every vivacious curve along the way. Legs that never seemed to end finally did stop at a pair of wicked stilettos that left her with a jaw-dropping sashay in her step.
Swish! Swish!
Jonah tried to smile, as sexily as he could manage, at the tall redhead in the gravity-defying heels. She not only ignored his smile, she actually turned her nose up as she passed him. But when she saw Dale, she slowed down and seemed to pack a few extra swishes in her sashay. In yet another way, the undead Dale matched his living counterpart. It seemed even Dale’s corpse could attract more attention from the opposite sex than a live Jonah.
Dale growled under his breath as the redhead passed. “I wonder if hungry and horny are related. Maybe I should just eat some pussy.”
“Don’t you ever get tired of being so crass?”
“No,” Dale said with a smirk. “Do you get tired of being such a wuss?”
Jonah chose to ignore the dead man for the rest of their short walk.
A few minutes later, as they approached the apartment complex, Dale asked, “What if he recognizes me? What do you want me to say?”
With a shrug, Jonah said, “I don’t know. Wing it, I guess.”
“Sure thing, buddy.”
Jonah tried to swallow the rising worry as he pressed the button for penthouse three-eleven, the address on the envelope. The intercom gave an annoying high-pitched buzz, followed by an eerie silence. Jonah waited a moment, then pressed it again. Once more there was a buzz, then nothing. The worst had come to pass.
“He’s not home,” Jonah said.
“Well, shit,” Dale said. “What now?”
“We wait. Find a place to put our feet up for a few hours. I’m getting sleepy anyway.”
“Good,” Dale announced as he rubbed his hands together. “Let’s get some food, find us some women and get back to a hotel room. Chicken and chicks, then hit the bricks.” The zombie gave a low laugh at his own silly rhyme.
“Dale,” Jonah groaned. “Hitting the bricks means going out, not going to bed. And we aren’t doing either. We’re going to catch a meal then nap a few hours in the car and try again first thing in the morning.”
“Hotel.”
“Car.”
Dead Dale squared his shoulders and drew closer to Jonah. “I said hotel. I need a shower.”
Jonah decided that perhaps the zombie much larger than he and with no life to lose should be given at least one concession. “Okay, then. Hotel it is. But no women.” He proceeded to punctuate his meaning by stomping away. He was a king of the stomp-away, both of the righteous and angry varieties, each of which he employed now.
“Aw, man!” Dale whined as he followed Jonah back to the car.
“Sorry, but we don’t need the complications women will bring. They might start asking questions, and it could get… well… messy.”
“It doesn’t have to be complicated. Or messy. I’d actually prefer messy, but we don’t have to pay for either if you don’t want.”
This brought Jonah to a stall in his stomp, where he whipped about in place to shout at Dale, “Pay for it?”
“I’ll tell you what. I’ll pay for messy. You can pay for complicated.”
“Dale! We aren’t paying for anything!”
“Well you sure ain’t getting it for free with that attitude.”
“I don’t want it for free. I don’t want anything. Why can’t you go just one night without getting laid?”
“Because sex does a body good. Even an undead body. Of course, you wouldn’t know anything about that. Would you?”
Jonah ga
sped at the implication, as did several others. To Jonah’s surprise and embarrassment, a small crowd had gathered to watch the ongoing argument. The fact that no one gasped at the word ‘undead’ didn’t surprise Jonah. Why worry about something so strange when there was something even weirder in their midst?
Dale turned to an onlooker and commented, almost offhandedly, “Twenty-four, and he’s only been laid three times. Says he wants to wait until he’s in love before he fucks again. Can you imagine that?”
The group chuckled at Jonah’s shame.
Though, to Jonah, in his heart of hearts, it wasn’t a shameful thing.
It wasn’t that Jonah never thought of sex. Like all other healthy young men, he thought about it a lot. Quite a lot. A lot a lot. But those were just fleeting fantasies on the backs of erotic dreams when compared to the possibility of being with someone he loved. Jonah’s three experiences with sex were all brief and awkward, filled with lots of fumbling and apologies, and each ending with an embarrassing, and not to mention premature, mess. It was after the third time—a ten-minute romp in a closet at a party with a half-drunk friend of a friend who denied she had slept with Jonah the next day—that Jonah decided to wait for a real relationship before he attempted sex again. He wanted to wait and share his body with someone he loved.
He knew most other men—make that all other men—felt differently on the matter, but he didn’t care. Dale often said Jonah’s uptight attitude about sex confirmed that he was indeed super gay, but Jonah didn’t care about that either. Because one quiet night a while back, when Dale was blasted out of his gourd on weed and booze, he confessed to Jonah that he too thought the idea of waiting for real love was a beautiful thing.
