by Tonia Brown
“I thought I saw you at the car already.” Jonah wondered whether he had imagined the figure by the car or if, perhaps, someone else wanted him to think Dale was already waiting at the vehicle. Before he could follow this line of thought any further, Dale snapped at him again.
“I said give me ten minutes! I thought I could trust you.”
Jonah puffed up with righteous indignation. “Trust me? You’re the one who attacked that poor woman!”
“I didn’t attack her!”
“If you didn’t attack her, then why was she bleeding?”
Dale went quiet.
“Dale?” Jonah asked. “What happened back there?”
The zombie mumbled something incoherent.
“Dale?”
“She found me eating live rats, okay? She saw me, Jonah. She saw what I was doing, and she freaked the fuck out. Happy?”
All at once, Jonah lost his inflated bravado and found himself very sorry for the zombie. Here was a man who was used to the opposite sex dropping to their knees at the very sight of him. But in this instance, in this terrible moment of exposed weakness, a woman found him disgusting. Dale must have felt belittled. Berated. Betrayed. Jonah knew this to be true, because it was how he felt around women all the time.
“So the blood?” Jonah asked, just to be sure.
“Yeah,” Dale said. “Rat, one hundred percent. None of it hers.”
“You promise?”
“I swear it. I didn’t lay a hand on her. She screamed, turned to run, slipped on the blood and hit her head on the concrete. That’s what happened. Hand to God.”
“I doubt God is interested.”
What struck Jonah as odd about the whole affair was the fact that the zombie even cared what the woman thought. The thing certainly didn’t care what Jonah thought. Jonah wondered if it was a force of habit for the zombie to consider the woman’s opinion, or just unfiltered pride pushing its way to the undead surface.
“If you didn’t hurt her,” Jonah said, “then why the big getaway? Why not stick around and explain?”
Dale grunted. “Really? You expect them to believe me with a shirt full of guts and gore and some lady bleeding to death on the sidewalk? They would probably put me up for the night just for being a weirdo.”
“Ah, I see. And I suppose that the fact that we were shouting each other’s names back and forth won’t lead them to us. Or the fact that my car has identifiable tags.”
The zombie’s grin flared in the glow of oncoming traffic. “I took care of that.”
“What does that mean?”
“I smeared blood all over the tags before we took off. There is no way they got your numbers.”
Jonah slumped against the steering wheel. “Jesus, Dale! Way to make us look like a bunch of murderers.”
“What? Now they don’t have your tag number. Just the car. And excuse me for saying this, but I mean it in the politest way possible: a dark red, four door Ford Focus isn’t exactly a one-of-a-kind masterpiece.”
“I suppose you’re right. I’m just tired.” A stomach rumbled, and this time it wasn’t the zombie’s. It was Jonah’s. “And hungry.”
“I’m not.”
Jonah cocked his head at the good news. “Then it worked?”
“Sort of.” Dale rubbed his belly, which was swollen once again, ever so slightly. “I feel full, but not satisfied. Like, let’s see, it’s like… Remember when I tried out for the wrestling team?”
“Yeah.”
“I made it in, but the coach wanted me one weight class down?”
Jonah remembered all right. “He put you on that cabbage diet. You had gas for a month straight. It was awful.”
“That’s what I feel like now.” Dale patted his full belly. “Like I’m on a stupid diet where I can eat all the cabbage I want. But, the problem is I fucking hate cabbage. Especially when it squeals and wriggles around while you’re trying to sink your teeth—”
“Okay,” Jonah interjected. “I don’t need all the details.”
“Suit yourself. Seriously, though, we should stop somewhere for the night. Even though I’m not sleepy, I could stand getting out of this car for a bit. But what I really want is a shower. Now.”
The sickly sweet tinge of blood in the air forced Jonah to agree. “Let’s get a few miles into Nevada first. Okay? I want to put some miles between us and… what just happened. We can make it back to Reno in no time.”
“Sure thing, buddy. Hey, I think we can make our gig tomorrow, if you still feel like it.”
“I don’t think we should worry about it. We have bigger things to deal with right now. I’ll call them in the morning and cancel.”
“Aww, man.” Dale stuck out his lower lip in a masterful pout.
“I’m sorry I ruined our big out-of-state job.”
“No worries. I’m just having a bit of fun. Besides, I’m too frustrated to play now, anyway. I bet you’re excited to finally get to see Reno, huh?”
“Yeah, I guess,” Jonah answered, though, in truth, Reno was the furthest thing from his overworked mind. He was too busy mulling over the zombie’s last few words and how they emphasized the real difference between the living Dale and the dead one.
As far as Jonah knew, Dale Jenkins always felt like playing his guitar.
Especially when he was frustrated.
Chapter Eleven
Reno, Nevada
161 hours: 25 minutes: 42 seconds remaining
Before all of this, Jonah was excited about seeing a new city. Now, the most Jonah wanted to see of Reno was the inside of a hotel room, a shower stall, and a comfortable bed. Dale suggested shopping around for the best deal, but Jonah didn’t care if they charged triple the rates. He needed sleep, and he needed it now. The more he thought about the glory of getting a good night’s rest in an actual bed as opposed to sleeping curled up next to a hungry zombie in the tiny front seat of the Focus, the more trouble he had keeping his eyes open.
After grabbing a quick meal from a drive-through burger joint, Jonah stopped at the first inn they came across. As far as hotels went, the Shady Oak Rest was both affordable and comfortable. Their room had that lingering funk of stale air, antiseptic and cigarettes, despite the fact that it was supposed to be a nonsmoking room. A pair of twin beds dominated the space, leaving little area for moving about. But then again, Jonah had no intention of moving anything. He had every intention of lying very still for as long as possible.
The bathroom was also small, with the shower-tub combo no bigger than their facilities at home. The water pressure, however, was twice what he was used to, and it was glorious! Jonah whimpered and groaned in nearly orgasmic delight as he stood under the beating heat of cascading water, letting the worries of the long and troublesome day swirl away down the hotel drain.
Dale beat on the locked bathroom door and yelled, “Hurry up! It’s my turn!”
“I’m almost done!” Jonah shouted, though he had no plans of hurrying anything. It wasn’t his fault that Dale was more interested in checking out the available adult movie options instead of being first in the shower. The glorious, steamy, muscle-relaxing shower. Jonah wished, more than anything, that he could stay under that powerful showerhead for the next seven days and let the zombie worry about his own soul. Jonah moaned at the blissful thought of forgetting about the whole damned thing and just going home.
Another round of rough thumping sounded from the door. “And stop moaning in there, for fuck’s sake. It sounds like you’re jacking off.” A disgusted gasp rose from the thin barrier. “Is that it? Are you jacking off in there? Stop jacking off in the shower, man! I won’t take a shower in a stall you jacked off in!”
“Why break an old habit?” Jonah yelled, then smiled as the zombie expressed his revulsion from the other side of the door in various growls and snarls. But wish as he might, Jonah knew he couldn’t stay in the shower forever. For starters, he’d prune up beyond recognition. What a pair they would make then. Maybe they could i
ncorporate it into their act. Jonah could see the headlines now. The withered wussy and the soulless zombie! Watch them, as they are both stupid enough to make a deal with the Devil! Jonah stopped his moaning and scrubbing as he pondered a fact he had made an extra special point to avoid for the last few hours.
He had, indeed, made a deal with the Devil.
His soul was, most certainly, in mortal peril.
He might not win.
He might very well, in fact, end up in Hell.
“What have I done?” Jonah asked no one in particular.
He rinsed off and shut down the shower to the steady thump of Dale’s protests. After wrapping a towel around his waist, he took a long look in the fog-resistant mirror, unsure of who was looking back at him. Less than ten hours ago, he was a carefree lad whose most serious concern was whether or not his best friend would piss away their gas money before they could make it home. But now? Now he didn’t know who he was. When Jonah at last opened the door, the zombie seemed ready to tackle him.
Instead of beating the tar out of Jonah for taking so long in the shower, Dale got a gander at Jonah’s worried look, and asked, “What’s wrong with you? I’m the one who’s been waiting forever while you’ve been spanking it with Rosy Palm and her five fucking sisters.”
“Nothing,” Jonah said. He pushed past the dead man and collapsed onto the bed, a dejected pile of worthless human being.
“If you say so,” the zombie said, and left Jonah moping face down on the bed.
“What have I done?” Jonah groaned into the mattress. The bed had little to say to this. No one seemed to care about Jonah’s soul but Jonah. He whimpered, low and sorrowful, before he repeated his woeful question, “What have I done?”
Again, no one answered.
Jonah crawled to the headboard and sat up, stretching his legs down the length of the bed. He leaned back with a soulful sigh, resting his head against the board as he stared up at the ceiling. Or rather, the wall above him. Hanging on that wall, just above the headboard, was a glaring symbol of his spiritual struggle. The antithesis of his unholy wager.
A crucifix.
“Jesus,” Jonah whispered, then thought better of it. Getting to his knees, he turned around to face the cross. “Sorry. I shouldn’t have said that. I didn’t mean any disrespect.”
The cross didn’t seem to mind. It was very quiet about the whole matter.
Jonah stared at the little figure hanging from the religious icon and thought maybe, just maybe, there was one being in the whole world who would be interested in listening to Jonah complain about his situation. Even if he did bring it upon himself.
“I don’t know what to say,” he said, feeling a little bit silly for talking to a piece of art in a cheap motel. “I suppose there is some kind of prayer or something I should start with. But I have never really been a religious person.”
Neither the figure nor the old rugged cross on which it hung seemed to mind Jonah’s casual tone, so he continued.
“You know,” Jonah said, “I don’t think I even really believed in good and evil before all of this. When folks asked me, I told them that I believed in God and Satan, but I think, deep down, I didn’t. Not really. I didn’t believe in either of you. But now… now I don’t know what to think anymore.”
The crucifix was quiet, of course, but somehow this was soothing. It didn’t contradict him. It didn’t mock him. It didn’t light a cigar and try to share centuries-old road trip stories with him. The thing just listened. It let Jonah talk. Better than that, it allowed him to confess.
Jonah cleared his throat and said, “I suppose you have to be real. If the Devil exists, then logic says so do you. I guess I owe you an apology, you know, for not taking you seriously all those years.”
The crucifix didn’t press him for apologies or regret.
Jonah closed his eyes and, in a moment of desperation, was filled with the urge to just say what felt. So he did. He let down his guard and spoke the worry that lay on his heart. “I need help. I don’t think I can do this alone, and God knows… I mean you know… sorry… but you do know Dale isn’t going to be any help. I just wish I could ask for your aid without feeling, I don’t know, weird about it. I mean, I ignore you for how long, and now I need you? I bet you get that all the time.” Jonah let out a nervous giggle. The echo of his laugh was empty and cold in the quiet of the room, which broke the confessional spell. He hung his head as he whispered, “Great, now I’m talking to wall fixtures.”
“You might as well,” a deep, brooding voice announced.
Jonah snapped his attention to the only chair in the room.
Satan, still dressed to the nines, was seated in the only chair in the room, staring intently at Jonah. “Hello again, Mr. Benton.” He smiled a mouthful of white lightning and nodded as he spread his hands in greeting. “As I was saying, you’ll probably get a better response from a wall fixture. An old plastic cross is just as likely to grant your request as is His precious Almighty.”
Made uncomfortable by the unexpected company, Jonah scooted to the edge of the bed and pulled the towel more tightly about his waist. “What are you doing here?”
“Checking in on you. The real question is what are you doing here?”
“What do you mean what am I doing here? I paid to be in here. It’s my hotel room.”
“Really? You’re in a race to save your immortal soul and you got time to stop for a layover?” Satan leaned forward, raising his wrist, holding his watch—another and even more expensive-looking Rolex—face out to Jonah as he said, “Tick tock. Time’s a-wastin’.”
“I have plenty of time!” Jonah snapped.
“I’m only picking at ya, son.” Satan’s grin fell as he sat back and folded his hands in his lap. “I just wanted see how you’re getting along.”
Jonah grunted. “How magnanimous of you.”
“I’m just here to make sure you’re okay. Trust me.”
“Where have I heard that before?”
“What I didn’t expect was to catch ya half nekkid, on your knees in front of ye olde rugged cross. I didn’t think you had that kind of groveling in you.”
Jonah winced. How much had the Devil heard? “I wasn’t groveling. I was… thinking. Aloud.”
“Them were some funny things to think. Aloud.”
“Like you would know.”
“I would, as a matter of fact. And I can tell you right now,” Satan paused and pointed a very well manicured finger at the figure on the wall. “There ain’t no amount of begging that’s gonna make Him step in. He’d rather see you lose than intervene.”
“You think so, do you?”
“I don’t just think so, I know so. A few millennia of experience have taught me one thing. Be ye sinner or be ye saint, the same proverb applies to everyone. Once you make your bed …” Satan’s verbal pause encouraged Jonah to finish the thought.
With a small groan, Jonah whispered, “You’ve got to lie in it.” This was disheartening news, to say the least. Though he tried his best not to show his disappointment, Jonah couldn’t help but slump.
“Aww, kid,” Satan said. “Don’t take it so hard. He just doesn’t work with the public as directly as I do.”
“I thought He was supposed to work in mysterious ways?”
“He does.” Satan’s voice grew flat, aggressive. “Only the mystery is why anyone thinks He will help them at all. He never does. Oh, sure He has His favorites, but in the end, He makes sure that we’re all accountable for our mistakes. As long as His lily-white hands are clean, He’s happy.”
Jonah wanted to be pleased at having found a sore spot for Lucifer, but wasn’t in the mood for gloating. “Isn’t that the way we like it, though? Autonomy? Freedom to do what we like? The freedom to choose? Good or evil. Up or down. This or that—”
“Heaven or Hell?” A small grin crept back to Lucifer’s face.
“That, too. And I know I made my bed and everything, but I would like to say, just for th
e record, that I’d rather not go to Hell.”
Satan exploded with laughter. “Then let the record reflect your displeasure. I’ve got to hand it to you, kid. In light of the trials and tribulations you are going through, you sure are facing it with an amazing amount of grace. I admire that.”
“Thanks. I think.”
Satan flicked his fingers at the television, turning the set on and dimming the room lights with just a gesture. A few more finger flicks produced an adult channel, which claimed to be in the middle of a DP extravaganza. Jonah caught a glimpse of some poor woman sandwiched between two large men, tears of either joy or pain streaming down her face. Thankfully, the volume was still down. He looked away before the action had a chance to capture his interest. Or his libido.
“Speaking of trials,” Satan said, “how’s the stiff?”
Jonah crossed and uncrossed his legs and wriggled in place, unsure of what the devil the Devil was getting at.
Satan closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. “I meant Dale.”
Keeping his eyes on the Devil, and away from the myriad sexual delights, Jonah said, “He’s in the shower.”
“I assumed as much. How is he holding up?”
“Remarkably well, considering he’s a corpse. I have to admit I thought he would be more deadish by now.”
The smile returned. “Consider that a gift from me. His rate of decomposition has slowed. Considerably.”
