by JJ Zep
That’s how I preferred to think of her now. Ruby was special. Sure she was teething six months too soon, and her favorite meal was pureed beef, but she was my daughter and I refused to believe that she was one of these things.
Right now I had to focus on getting back to her. I was only a mile from the apartment, but alone in the dark, without a weapon, and surrounded by flesh eating ghouls, zombies, whatever the hell these things were.
I needed a car and spotted a red pickup with a bull-bar parked neatly at the curb on the other side of the road. I crossed towards it, noticing as I did, a man detach himself from the shadows of a building. He approached quickly, not running but walking purposefully, like an angry neighbor intent on a confrontation.
I reached the pickup, glanced through the side window and saw that there were no keys in the ignition. At that moment the man broke into a sprint and charged me, his face contorted with rage. He was almost on me when I swung the car door open and he ran full tilt into it.
But the man was not alone. In the side mirror I saw more of the things closing in from behind me. I dropped to the ground, rolled under the pickup, crawled until I hit the gutter then jumped up and sprinted towards the alley across the street.
I hit the alley without breaking stride. Behind me I could hear the angry cries and running feet of the mob. I sprinted into the darkness praying there were none of them coming in the other direction. I didn’t see the chain link fence until it was too late and I ran at full speed into it.
I found myself knocked backward as the air was expelled forcibly from my lungs. I landed flat on my back and felt the back of my head smash into the concrete floor of the alley.
Winded and dazed I heard them closing in. To my right I noticed the hulking shapes of a couple of dumpsters and started to crawl in that direction. I reached the dumpsters and managed to wedge myself behind one, as my pursuers blundered past in the darkness.
I heard them rattling the fence, heard angry, guttural words exchanged, then heard them slowly disperse. There were easier meals to be had.
I lay in the space behind the dumpster for what seemed like hours, until eventually the cramp in my muscles became almost unbearable. Then I crawled out and, still lying on my belly, looked around the dumpster towards the mouth of the alley. Nothing was moving in the street beyond and I was just about to get up when one of the creatures stumbled past the entrance to the street. He stopped and sniffed the air then moved on.
I decided it was probably safer to wait out the couple of hours until daybreak. I wanted to get back to Ruby, but I wasn’t going to be much good to her dead. And if she’d been alone this long another hour or two wasn’t going to make much difference.
I pulled myself into one of the dumpsters and closed the lid. It stunk to high heaven but whatever was in there was soft and I fell asleep instantly.
I woke to the smell of burning flesh. Shafts of light filtering through what looked like bullet holes in the side of the dumpster. I peered through one of the holes and could see someone crouching in the alley.
The man wore a brand new pair of jeans and a plaid shirt, with the price tickets still attached to the sleeve. On his feet he wore a, similarly new, pair of Nike hiking boots, with the laces removed. The new clothes were offset by his appearance, the brick-red complexion of a long time wino, filthy graying hair and matching beard.
The wino squatted next to a smoky fire into which had been thrown a side of bloody meat that looked like a pale thigh. The smell of the seared meat coupled with the putrid stench of the dumpster made me gag and I had to fight back the urge to hurl.
At the fire, the man was rubbing his hands in anticipation of his meal. He picked up a bottle of Chivas Regal and took a long pull. He looked like he was going to be there a while.
Which left me with two choices, either I could hunker down in the dumpster and wait for him to finish whatever it was he was cooking, or I could catch him by surprise and make a run for it.
The worse of it is that, despite my initial revulsion, the smell of whatever the wino was broiling in the fire was making me salivate. I hadn’t eaten in the last 24 hours and I’d burned off a lot of energy in that time. My body was telling me I needed sustenance and despite myself… No. I had to move, and it I had to be now.
I felt round in the dumpster for a weapon, a plank of wood, a bottle, anything. But there was only rotting vegetation, mainly cabbage leaves which explained the softness of my bed.
Weapon or no weapon, I needed to move. I peered through one of the bullet holes and saw the wino still at the fire.
About ten feet behind him I could see the rusted chain link fence, still bearing the imprint of where I’d crashed into it during the night. It effectively cut off the alley, and I was glad I hadn’t tried to climb it in the darkness – it was topped with some lethal looking razor-wire.
I decided I had to regard the wino as dangerous until proven otherwise. In these crazy times, who knew how someone was going to react. The key was surprise. I had to move fast, hit the ground and be ready to fend off an attack. All things being even, the wino would probably be too involved with his food to care. I could then back down the alley and get out the way I’d come in.
I got myself into a crouch, rested my back against the lid and braced. I did a mental count of three then pushed up with both back and arms. The lid flew up and crashed into something metallic, but I was already moving, placing my hands on the edge of dumpster and hoisting myself over. I landed in a crouch on the alley floor.
The man at the fire reacted as though he’d just received a jolt of electricity. He shouted “Hey!” and scrambled back a few paces, landed on his butt and bounced immediately to his feet. The bottle of Chivas was still in his hand and he smashed it against the wall leaving him with the splintered bottleneck, which he waved in my direction.
Once he saw that he had the upper hand he broke into a grin, showing a mouthful of stubby blackened teeth. He was definitely not one of them.
“Calm down, mister. I’m not going to hurt you,” I said backing off.
“You one of those fucking things?” he said.
“No, no, I’m not.”
“Prove it.”
“No need, I’m going to go now so you get back to your…”
“Show me you fucking neck ‘for I cut you.”
I could have just backed off and left but for some reason decided to humor him. I pulled down my t-shirt to show him I hadn’t been bitten.
“Well, I guess you’re okay then,” the man said and lowered the hand holding the bottle. “Made me waste a damn fine bottle of scotch whiskey though.”
I sensed a movement behind me and started to turn. Then something crashed into my head and I went down hard.
I came round with a throbbing in my head and acrid smoke in my eyes. I was lying on my side, my cheek resting on the alley floor, my hands and feet tied. I could hear laughter and drunken voices. For a moment I couldn’t figure out where I was but then I remembered, the wino, and being hit from behind.
Someone started shaking me by the shoulder and a woman’s voice, rough with drink and cigarettes said, “Wakey, wakey, sleepy head,” and laughed.
“He awake yet?” A man’s voice asked.
“Nah, I got him good,” another replied, “He’ll be out for a while, yet.”
The woman bent her face close to mine and I could smell booze and sweat, tobacco and greasy meat on her breath.
“Sleeping like a baby,” she said.
When the woman returned to her companions. I opened my eye a crack. I could see the alley floor with the blue dumpster where I’d spent the night.
At the fireside there was more drunken laughter and I figured the only thing to do was to wait for them to pass out and then make my move.
“Garcon, a bottle of your finest Burgundy,” one of the men said in an upper class British accent.
“Fuck you and the horse you rode in on, professor” the other replied. “Get it your fucking
self.”
“You then Shirl, come on. Would you deny a dying, man?”
“Dying man my butter ass, but as I’m heading over there anyways.”
“Ah, bless you, bless you my child.”
I heard the rattle of bottles, and then Shirl said. “Ah huh, there’s a price to pay.”
“But all I have is already yours, my heart, my soul, my…”
“A story,” Shirl said.
“A story? Oh very well, you’ve twisted my arm.”
“Ah, Christ,” one of the other men said.
“Shut up,” said Shirl, “I like the professors stories, he’s an educated man. You two bums could learn a thing or two listening to him.”
“Yeah, yeah,” the other man said. “More stories about bum rushing Greeks. Some fucking education.”
“Actually,” the professor said. “Although this particular story is in fact based in Greece…”
“Told ya,” the other man said.
“Hush, Frankie,” Shirl said.
“Although it does take place in ancient Greece, on the island of Crete to be precise, it is most certainly devoid of bum rushing Greeks. This is about the Minator.”
“The what?” Frankie said.
“The Minator, a man eating beast with the head of a bull and the body of a man.”
“Sounds like a load of bull to me.” Frankie said and the other man snorted with laughter.
“Frank!” Shirl reprimanded.
“The Minator,” the professor continued, “was a fierce monster created by the god Poseidon. To punish the king Minos. Poseidon had Minos’ wife fall in love with a bull and by their coupling, the Minator was created.”
“Now you’re talkin’,” Frank said and he and the other man laughed again.
“In order to contain the beast, the king constructed a labyrinth…”
“A what?”
“A labyrinth, kind of a maze.”
“Ah, right.”
“But the beast needed to be sated. And so every year, seven young men and seven maidens had to be sent into the labyrinth to be devoured by the Minator.”
“Jesus,” one of the men said, “how’d they decide who got to go?”
“They drew lots,” the professor said.
“That’s so sad,” Shirl said.
“Yeah, and also bullshit,” Frank said, “Everyone knows bulls eat grass, not people.”
“Yes well, it is a fable old boy, not meant to be the truth.”
“What happened to the bull thing,” the other wino wanted to know.
“He was killed, by a feller named Theseus, but that my friends is another story.”
“Another bullshit story,” Frank said, “but it does give me an idea.”
“Well that’s a first,” Shirl started to say before Frank cut her off.
“Shut the fuck up, Shirl, shut up and listen. This feller here, one that tried to kill Zeke. What are we gonna do with him?”
“Well he didn’t actually try to kill me,” Zeke started then thought better of it.
“What we gonna do with him?” Frank asked again.
“Let him go?” the Professor suggested.
“Hell no,” Frank said emphatically. “I say we feed him to these fucking things.”
The other three started to protest but Frank cut them off. “Listen up you lilly-livered dip shits. Man jumps out of that dumpster and near scares Zeke to death, I say he had it coming. Besides, I been itchin’ to see these things at work close up. Old Zeke here’s seen ‘em ain’t you Zeke? ”
“Seen ‘em eat up some woman,” Zeke confirmed, “they chewed her teets clean off.”
“Right. I’d pay good money to see a show like that. What you say, prof. Ain’t that what they done in them gladiator stories you told us about. Throwin’ people to the lions and tigers and stuff?”
“Yes but…”
“No buts about it,” Frank said. “Here’s how it’s going to be, you in or out?”
“I’m in,” Zeke said immediately.
When the other two remained silent Frank repeated the question. “You in or you out?”
“Well, okay. Yes, okay.”
“Shirl?”
“Frank, I…”
“You fuckin in or not?” Frank screamed.
“Jesus Frank, keep your hair on. I’m in, I’m in.”
“Right,“ Frank said here’s how it’s gonna be. We gonna wake ‘lil sleeping beauty there. You all be real nice hear, don’t let on anything’s going on, or nothing. Then when the time is right, we jump him. We tie him to the fence and we skedaddle through the hole to the other side.
“We tie the fence up good so none of those things can get through. Then we start makin’ a ruckus so as to attract their attention. They come in the alley, see our boy and it’s chow time. We stand on the other side of the fence and watch the show. Ringside seats at Madison Square Garden.”
“I have a question,” the professor said. “What if all this noise we make attracts others? What if they come up the other side of the alley?”
“You obviously ain’t spent much of your life hanging out in these alleys,” Frank laughed. “There is no other side. It runs to a dead end back there.”
“But what if they break through the fence? We’d be trapped wouldn’t we?”
“Negatory prof. This chain link got put up ‘cause the Chink restaurant out front got tired of people breaking into their storeroom. The door is just round back. We see them comin’ through the fence, we scoot round back, through the Chinks and we’re out on the street before they’re finished their dessert course.
“But…”
“Ain’t no more buts,” Frank said and the professor shut up.
I heard all of this and knew that I was in deep trouble. The ropes around my wrists were tight, but by working them a little I could feel a bit of give. Not that it would help.
Even if I could somehow work my hands free it was the feet that were the problem. What was I going to do, hop down the alley like some demented version of the Duracell bunny? No, I’d have to bide my time. Bide my time and wait for a chance. I prayed that it would come.
Someone was shaking me by the shoulder and I could smell booze and cigarettes and greasy meat again. “Hey mister,” Shirl whispered, not two inches from my ear. “Hey Mister, wake up.”
I let her continue for a while before I pretended to be roused from a deep slumber. “What? Where? Where am I?”
“Now, don’t you worry honey, you’re in good hands,” Shirl assured me.
She helped me into a sitting position with my back resting against the wall. I could see the blue dumpster opposite, a metal ladder fixed to the wall above it.
I followed the ladder upward to the bright rectangle of blue that was visible in the gap between the buildings. By the color of the sky I guessed it must be getting on to early afternoon. Ruby had now been alone for nigh on twenty hours.
Someone coughed and I brought my eyes earthward and saw three men by a smoky fireside. I assumed that Zeke was the guy that I’d met earlier. The professor was easy to spot, tall and balding and wearing a filthy tweed jacket and a once-white shirt.
That made the other guy Frank. He and Zeke had obviously shopped at the same store, except he wore navy Chinos, and his Nike’s were laced. Shirl had been shopping too, and had on a garish flowered number and white shoes of the kind nurses usually wear.
All of them looked at me with false glee, make-believe smiles plastered to their faces.
It was Frank, a big guy with a pock-marked face, who spoke first. “You took yourself a tumble, mister.”
“I think someone clubbed me from behind,” I said, looking straight back at him.
The smile slipped slightly, as he said, “Thought you was one of them things, we had to be sure.”
“Well I’m not, so why don’t you untie me?”
“We uh…” Zeke started, but Frank cut him off.
“Truth is we still ain’t sure, you ain’t been bi
t. We need to keep an eye on you for a while, be sure it’s all good, fore we cut you loose. We need to be sure, you see.”
“Fair enough,” I said.
“It’s for the best, old boy,” the professor said, then held his wine bottle in my direction. “Fancy a drink, it’s a pretty decent vintage.”
I shook my head, no. “Wouldn’t mind something to eat though.”
“Look at our manners,” Shirl said in mock exasperation. “Zeke, we got any of that chow left for our guest?”
“Sure do,” Zeke said, still wearing his fool’s grin. “It’s a tad greasy. Been standin’ a bit.”
“No bother,” I said.
Shirl carved a chunk of meat from the undercooked joint and carried it towards me. “What is it?” I asked, not sure I wanted the answer.
“Why it’s a leg of…” Shirl started, and the burst out laughing. She laughed so hard she was almost bent over double trying to control it. “Why it’s…why it’s…” she tried several times before succumbing to new gales of laughter. The others watched her with bemused expressions.
When she regained a measure of composure there were tears on her deeply creviced face.
“It’s a leg of lamb silly.” Then she turned to the others and said, “He thought we were eating some poor bastard’s leg.” Then she broke into laughter again and the others joined her, laughing long and hard.
Eventually, Shirl seemed to remember the chunk of meat in her hand and gave it to me. It was as greasy as I’d hoped. I bit into the charred flesh making sure to get as much grease onto my hands as possible.
“Good?” Shirl wanted to know.
I nodded.
“We don’t even know your name,” Shirl continued and I noticed Frank give her a look.
“It’s Chris,” I said.
“Pleased to make your acquaintance, Chris,” Shirl said and giggled.
“Hear, hear,” the professor said.
“So where you from, Chris? Around here?”
I was about to answer when Frank, cut in, “Enough with the chit chat,” he barked, his mood changing in an instant. Then he turned to me and grinned, “If you’re about done, mister. We got plans for you. Zeke get your ass over here.”
