by Tonia Brown
“He said, ‘Ask Mr. Jenkins.’ He must have meant you, because Dale’s tried to think of the hiding place all day, with no luck.”
“He never was very bright.”
“Yeah, but in his defense, Dale isn’t in the best shape right now. Being without a soul, well, I think it must take it out of you.”
“I can see that. He looks dead on his feet.”
Jonah winced at the accidental pun. “You have no idea.”
“How did you find me?”
“The letter you sent. We followed your return address.”
“Letter?” Mike furrowed his brow. “I never sent a letter.”
“Sure. I have it here.” Jonah dug around in his jacket and pulled out the still-sealed envelope, handing it to Mike.
The man took it and stared at it. “I never sent this.”
“Then who did?”
“I have an idea.” Mike then opened the thing, which Jonah thought was pretty rude. But instead of a letter, the man pulled out a postcard. Mike inspected the card for a moment, then passed it to Jonah.
Jonah took the postcard and eyed it with uncertainty. The front bore a beautiful photograph of a yawning cavern. Stalactites and stalagmites peppered the picture, reaching far back into the expanse of cave. A cartoon couple rested in one corner of the picture, in full bride and groom regalia. Bright yellow letters named the place as ‘Linville Caverns, North Carolina.’
“Turn it over,” Mike said.
Jonah did, discovering, to his surprise, that the postcard was addressed to one Jonah Benton. The physical address was that of the apartment in which he now sat. The empty space for messages had a few simple words written in a flowery script:
Wish you were here.
There was no signature.
No return address or name.
No indication of who it was from.
“I don’t get it?” Jonah half said, half asked.
“Linville Caverns is in North Carolina,” Mike said, as if that were supposed to explain everything.
“I still don’t—”
“My son was supposed to be in North Carolina for the last fifteen years.”
Again, understanding lit Jonah’s mind with burning clarity. “Ah.”
“Indeed.” Mike stretched his legs across the coffee table. “I’m going to give you one guess as to who both of these are from.”
“Lucifer,” Jonah hissed. If Mike’s letter arrived for Dale before they left for Reno, then the Devil had indeed planned all of this well in advance. Satan must have known Dale wouldn’t open the thing, and even worse, that Jonah wouldn’t let his best friend just throw it away. How many spies did the Devil have? And just who were they?
“He’s laughing at all of us, you know,” Mike said. “Dale. Me. You. Especially you.”
“I know.” Jonah clutched the postcard in a trembling fist. “But he won’t be laughing for long. I’m going to find Dale’s soul and fix this mess.”
“Listen, I know you just want to do good by your friend, but if I were you, I would give all of this up.”
“Give it up?”
“You are no match for him. He’s just stringing you along. There are no honest deals with Satan, trust me. Dale got off lucky once. But even he couldn’t get away with it forever. Call off the bet. Take your soul and go home while you still can.”
“But… but Dale is your son. How can you say that?”
Mike never blinked. He never flinched. “I lost my son fifteen years ago. That man in my bathroom is a stranger to me. Save yourself and forget about him. Go home.”
The man had a point. As callous and unfeeling as it was, it was still the truth. Dale had ruined his relationship with his father, and now the old man had no love left for the boy. Jonah supposed he couldn’t blame Mike. But he couldn’t just give up on Dale, either.
“I can’t,” Jonah said. “He’s my friend.”
“Suit yourself. I suppose we are done here?”
As if on cue, Dale returned to the living room. “You guys sort it out?”
Jonah nodded and got to his feet, slipping the postcard into his back pocket. “I think we are ready to go. Sorry to trouble you, Mr. Jenkins.”
“No trouble at all.” Mike showed them to the door. Before Jonah could leave, the man held out a small card. “Keep in touch. Let me know how it goes, if you can. And call me if you need anything. Anything at all.”
Jonah took the business card, which included Mr. Jenkins’s cell phone number, but not home. “Thanks for the offer.” He hoped Dale would make some kind of attempt at a farewell, but the zombie was already out in the hallway, anxiously pacing the length and waiting on Jonah to join him. Jonah tipped his head to the zombie. “I’m sorry about… you know …”
“Not a problem,” Mr. Jenkins said. “Like I explained, it’s nothing new. And just for the record, I’m sorry, as well.”
“Oh, this is nothing new for me, either.”
“No, Jonah. I mean for your soul. You won’t win. You can’t win. I’m very sorry my son got you into this hopeless mess.”
Jonah smiled and recited his mother’s mantra for troubled times. “As long as there’s a tomorrow, there’s always hope. And as far as I know, I have six more tomorrows to make this right.”
“Good luck,” Mike said, then closed his door.
Stepping back from the door, Jonah drew a deep breath and closed his eyes as he contemplated the long journey ahead of them. California to North Carolina in seven days? What was that, two or three thousand miles? Maybe thirty or forty hours, if they did it in a single, straight trip. Spread that over seven days, and it wasn’t impossible, but it wasn’t easy, either. Stick to the major highways. Drive during low-traffic hours and rest during rush hours. Cheap hotels and even cheaper fast food might see their meager gas budget from one coast to the next. Maybe they could even pick up a few so-called gigs along the way to make ends meet. That is, granted the zombie could still play.
This could happen. This could work.
“Jonah!” Dale shouted from the end of the hall.
“Coming!” Jonah shouted as he rushed to join the zombie in the elevator. He slid between the closing doors just in time.
Dale’s eyes were wide with excitement, his inattentive attitude gone now that the two of them were alone again. “Man, you are not going to believe what I have to tell you.”
“That makes two of us, Dale. That makes two of us.” Jonah smiled with the assurance that, for once, his news was better than Dale’s.
Chapter Nine
Back on I-80, California
162 hours: 15 minutes: 45 seconds remaining
“North Carolina, huh?” Dale asked, rubbing his chin in a thoughtful pose.
Jonah nodded as he sped along the interstate, making a headlong dash for the Nevada border. The sooner they put California behind them, the better off they would be, as far as Jonah was concerned. “Specifically, Linville Caverns. Wherever that is.”
“It’s near Little Switzerland.”
“Little what?”
“Little Switzerland. The Caverns are just a few miles south of it. In Marion, I think.”
Jonah double-checked to be sure Dale wasn’t looking this information up on his cell. He wasn’t. “You’re shitting me. You know the place?”
“Sure, Clare used to talk about it all the time. She said it was her favorite place to go hang out when she was growing up. ‘Linville Caverns’ this, ‘Linville Caverns’ that. I never got to go, but she says I’ve got tons of family out there if I ever get the urge. Which I guess I got now. Huh?”
Things made sudden, sickening sense. Jonah could almost hear the Devil laughing at his back. He gritted his teeth and gripped the wheel even tighter. “And you don’t think that telling me all of this a little sooner might have helped in our search for your immortal soul?”
“Whatever. Is it my turn now?”
Whatever indeed. Jonah was beginning to see the way of things now that Dale was as dea
d as a doornail. Information was nothing to the zombie. There were no gray areas, only black and white. Only yes and no. ‘Maybe’ didn’t exist to him now. He dealt in absolutes and immediate needs. If Jonah wanted something, he would have to ask for it directly instead of implying. This was going to be a very long seven days.
“Okay,” Jonah said. “What did you have to tell me?”
Dale’s eyes lit up with delight as he wiggled his cell out of his back pocket. “You are not going to believe the dump I just laid at Dad’s place.”
Jonah sighed and rolled his eyes. “Of course your news has something to do with shit. Everything you do has something to do with shit in one form or another.”
“Seriously, dude,” Dale said, as he continued to press buttons on his phone. “You have to see this.”
“See it?” Jonah retched as he realized the implication of Dale’s words. “You took a picture of it?”
“Hell yeah, I took a picture of it!”
“Jesus, Dale. What is wrong with you?”
“Come on, Jonah. When you lay a deuce this special, you have to share it. Now look!” Dale held out the phone.
Jonah dipped his head away, doing his best to keep his eyes on the road while the zombie shoved the phone in his face. “Get that away from me! I don’t want to see your bowel movement!”
“That’s just it. It’s not what you think it is. There is no shit. I mean there was, at first, but then …” Dale’s words trailed off, as if the zombie were unable to explain.
Which left Jonah genuinely curious. Still disgusted, but curious.
They drove a few minutes in silence, Dale dejected because Jonah wouldn’t look at his masterpiece, and Jonah praying that Dale had something on the phone worth looking at besides a toilet bowl full of waste. The zombie gave a pitiful little sigh, at which Jonah eased the car onto the shoulder and came to a stop.
“Show me,” Jonah said, holding out his hand.
With a grin, Dale handed over the cell. Jonah, pre-wincing and ready to heave, flashed a glance at the screen before looking away as fast as possible. The images that lingered behind his closed eyes made little sense. He risked a second peek. Again, the sight that leapt out at him was not what he expected. There was a full toilet bowl, yes, but the contents were not as vomit inducing as he had anticipated. Jonah found himself willing to give the image a proper look. He glanced down at the picture, and what he saw baffled him.
“What is that?” he asked.
“My dad’s problem now,” Dale said, then chuckled.
Jonah pursed his lips and tutted away Dale’s indiscretion. “I mean what did you fill his toilet with, because that doesn’t look like… well… you know what.”
“Oh, but my fine scholarly friend, it is indeed you know what, straight from you know where.”
“You’re joking.”
Dale shook his head.
“You mean you …” Jonah whispered.
Dale nodded.
“And this came from …” Jonah whispered.
Dale nodded again. “Straight from the horse’s ass.”
Jonah looked down at the phone again and sighed. “That’s one way of putting it.”
Instead of the usual fare one flushes away, the bowl was full of food. Some chewed-up and mashed together, but some were in pieces whole enough to be recognizable. An entire chicken nugget here. A slice of tomato there. All food that Dale, in his ravenous hunger, chomped and ate and swallowed, but didn’t digest. Couldn’t digest.
“You… you evacuated this?” Jonah asked.
“If evacuated means pooped,” Dale said, “then yes. Yes I did.”
“It looks like everything you’ve eaten all day just, I don’t know, passed right through you. Hey! Is that a Happy Burger wrapper?”
“I said I was hungry.”
“This is just weird.” Jonah shot a glance to Dale’s belly, which was no longer swollen, before he was drawn back to the unusual picture. “Didn’t it hurt?”
Dale made a noncommittal noise.
“Weird,” Jonah whispered.
“But what does it mean, Jonah?”
The worry in Dale’s voice forced Jonah’s eyes away from the cell phone. Dale’s face was drawn tight with concern. Why should the zombie care about the real Dale’s body? Perhaps the undead creature was more human that Jonah gave him credit for. Perhaps the lack of a soul didn’t make him entirely soulless. “I’m not sure. But I suspect this means eating regular food is out.”
“Then what will I eat?”
“I don’t know,” Jonah lied.
Dale’s stomach roiled, filling the car with a resounding grumble of disapproval. The zombie clutched his belly and whined, “I’m getting really hungry, man. I don’t know how much longer I can stand it.”
Jonah had been giving the issue some thought and, with his limited understanding of the situation, he formulated a loose idea. An idea that he knew the zombie wouldn’t like . He braced himself as he confessed, “Dale, I have an idea, but you might not like it.”
“Lay it on me.”
“I think, perhaps, the reason you didn’t digest any of this food was, well, because it’s already dead. Like you.”
“Okay.” Dale was either unwilling to pick up any hints or he just didn’t get them.
No grays, Jonah reminded himself. Only black and white. “I think, maybe, just possibly… I think… you might have to eat something… well… not dead.”
Dale pondered this a moment before he said, “Sounds good to me.” His stomach burbled in excitement.
“Okay then,” Jonah said, relieved the idea was going over so smoothly. He started the car again and eased back into the flow of traffic. “I was thinking a convenience store somewhere on a side road will be the best place to find some vermin for you.”
“Really? I was thinking a bar would be best.”
Jonah was delighted by this turn of events. Dale was really throwing himself into the spirit of this. “The dumpsters behind convenience stores are usually bigger than most places. They should be easier to catch there.”
“Why mess with dumpsters when I can just find one passed out in the gutter?”
“Why would a rat be passed out in the gutter?”
Dale snorted. “Who said anything about a rat?”
Jonah gave the zombie a sideways glance. “What are you talking about?”
The zombie regarded him with an air of suspicion. “Why? What are you talking about?”
“I think we should catch a couple of rats so you can, you know, eat them.”
Dead Dale pushed his black tongue out of his mouth. “Gross, dude!”
“This from a man who wants to pee on some hooker?”
“Kinky sex is one thing. But I am not going to stick some nasty-ass rat in my mouth.”
“Your dead mouth,” Jonah reminded him.
“Dead or not, I’m still not going to stick some diseased rat inside of it. Ugh. That’s just wrong.”
“Then, if you weren’t talking about rats, what …” Jonah groaned as he realized what the zombie had in mind. “Dale, you can’t be serious.”
“What? We find some bum and roll him. Drag him to an alley and make a meal out of him.” Dale’s stomach sounded as if it couldn’t agree more with the plan.
“You can’t eat a person!”
“Why not? It’s not like it would be a real person.”
“Dale!”
“Some drifter. Some waste of the human race. No one will miss some drunk passed out on the sidewalk. People don’t even see homeless people as people anymore. I bet I could eat one in broad daylight and no one would even flinch.”
“No. Absolutely not. I forbid it.”
“Like I give a fuck what you think.”
Touché. The dead Dale didn’t have to care what Jonah thought. What worried Jonah more was what the living Dale would think once he was back in control of his body. There had to be a way to stop this before it started. “I don’t understand how you t
hink a rat is filthy but you’re willing to eat a live human being.”
Dale held his grumbling belly and grimaced. “I don’t know, man. It just feels like a really good idea. A really tasty idea. God, the more I talk about it, the more it seems like a person would just hit the spot right about now. In fact, you’re starting to look pretty tasty yourself, buddy.”
Jonah was horrified. Sure, he supposed the undead Dale would require unusual means of sustenance. But never for one moment did he suspect the zombie would want to eat him. “Dale, please tell me that was a joke.”
The occasional gurgle and bubble of Dale’s growling intestines punctuated the growing silence between them.
“Right then,” Jonah said, after a bit. “We can deal with this.”
“How? I’m not eating a filthy rat.”
“Dale, please. I know killing a person seems okay now, but without the guidance of your soul, everything seems okay. Deep down, you know that killing is wrong.”
Dale contemplated this for a moment, then shook his head. “I don’t see it. Sorry.”
