Get Zombie: 8-Book Set

by Raymund Hensley

  “Get down!” Shells said.

  I did and heard a BOOM!

  The top of Shoehorn's head came clean off, leaving a jaw that was like a nest for that wiggling tongue that reached for the sky. Shells dropped her shotgun and threw her hands over her mouth, crying in a crazy way and shaking her head. She was muttering something about devils and the Bible. The beast gurgled its innards and fell on its back, legs twitching. The little demon in the center of its belly ran a sword in its stomach, committing that old samurai suicide. I jumped on the big demon and poured holy water down its open neck. Fire shot out and almost burnt my eyebrows off. I kissed my cross and yelled out, “ARRGHH!” shoving the thing down the neck and pushing down as far as I could go. Shoehorn exploded, sending me flying into the kitchen. I hit the refrigerator. It opened up, and then I was covered in milk and eggs. Shells was slapping the mess off me. She kept saying, “I'm sorry! I'm sorry!”

  Lynn got me up and started yelling in my face.

  “Why didn't you tell me!” she said, shaking me by the shoulders. “Don't you trust me? You idiot!”

  Shells was yelling at her to stop.

  The room began spinning, and I fell down.

  They picked me up and got me out of that kitchen. I looked at Lynn. It was hard to talk. My tongue felt like iron. “How did you find me?”

  “You scream in your sleep,” she said. “I had to stuff a sock in your mouth. I had no choice.”

  I shrugged. “It's fair.”

  Shells told us to wait a bit. She ran to a statue of a large cat, turned the knob on its belly, opened it, and took out a bunch of money, stuffing them in my pocket.

  Police cars were in the distance, driving up to the house. The top of that demon's head was on the ground, eyes looking up at me, all upset. The thing grew spider legs and tried to make a run for the couch. I tried stepping on the disturbing sight, but it was Shells that got the win. She twisted her foot down on it. The thing made a nice popping sound – like she was stepping on one of those plastic bubble sheets you find in packages. Then the half-head burst into flames...and we were out of there.

  Dreaming again....

  I'm on a boat....I'm all alone on this big boat....I know that everyone jumped off and left long ago....I stayed behind....I hate being alone....I hate being alone....White birds fly all around me....Zombies standing on the ocean....Looking up into the sky....White birds fly out from the top of their heads....

  No bird flies out from mine....

  Tremendous feeling of loneliness....

  I want this boat to take me home....

  Where is this thing taking me???

  I woke up in the backseat of a car. Shells was asleep with her head on my shoulder. As I feared, she was drooling. Lynn was in the passenger's seat, chatting with the driver. The man had a mustache and a deep Russian accent.

  “I can't have the cops on me...” he said, “...not again.”

  Lynn cleared her throat, and I got the impression she had been crying while I was out cold.

  “Thanks for helping us, Slovoth,” she said. “I owe you one.”

  “Damn right you do,” the Russian said. “I have more jobs for you, so don't go running off and disappearing again. Remember, I saved your butts back there. If it wasn't for me, you guys would be in jail; I guaran-damn-tee it! You allll own me one. Ha ha ha!”

  I knew right then that I hated this guy.

  He stopped at a light and looked back at me.

  “You hear me, friend? You owe me one.”

  I smiled.

  “Yes, sir, I sure do.”

  The man sucked his teeth and drove on.

  “Damn straight,” he said, lighting a cigarette.

  Lynn coughed.

  “You're gonna get lung cancer smoking too much of those.”

  He stepped on the gas.

  “And you're gonna get skin cancer getting too much sun. Anymore brain busters? Bwa ha ha!”

  I held Shells close as she snored.

  Through the whole ride back home, Lynn didn't look at me once.

  The condo was empty.

  A letter in the sink read:

  Went to North Shore to live off land. Sensing negativity from you. Don't tell us what to do. We don't ever want to work. Bye forever. Love, Hippies.

  I could imagine them all in a long line, all walking toward North Shore from Honolulu. They'd be singing their songs and holding hands, heads up to the clouds. People would think they were nuts, but they wouldn't care. I respected that. So be it. It was then me and Lynn and Shells. This just meant we'd have to work more to pay off the condo's berserk rent. That, or move. But I liked it there. It was a quiet, clean place. I'd work my ass to the ground to stay there.

  Shells was in the kitchen, cooking us eggs. Lynn stood with me out in the balcony, staring out at all the hotels.

  “I've got to tell you something,” she said. “That man was my boyfriend.”

  “Was?”

  “...Is.”

  The news hit me right in the gut, but I didn't show any emotion. After all, I was a man, wasn't I? I wasn't allowed to show weakness, especially in affairs of the heart. Believe me, I wanted to cry. I was already seeing myself, after that conversation, running off into the bathroom and weeping in a hot shower. With my eyes forward, all I managed to say was, “Boyfriend?”

  Lynn sounded scared.

  “I was too afraid to break it off with him. You see, he's violent. Big and violent. I was too scared of what he might've done to you.” She hugged me. I didn't hug back. She hugged tighter. “I don't want to work for him.”

  I looked at her.

  “What exactly do you do for him?”

  She looked away.

  “Stuff.”

  “Where do you work?”

  “Waikiki. Please don't ask anymore questions,” she begged. “My job for him means nothing. My heart's not in it. I'm just doing it for our rent money, that's all. Trust me on this.”

  “Whatever you want,” I said.

  She raised an eyebrow. I could see the gears in her head turning.

  “I have a plan,” she said. “You could kill him.” Something in the center of my chest said NO. But I let her talk. “See...” she went on, “...he has a lot of money, and I know where he keeps it all. We just have to go into his bedroom and dig open his bed. It's all in there. We'd be set for life – all three of us!”

  She was smiling in an evil way, and the whole time, all I kept thinking was, What do you do for him? What is IT???

  Lynn touched my cheek with the back of her hand.

  “He deserves to die, babe. He's a monster, and you kill monsters. See where I'm driving at?”

  “He's not a zombie, Lynn. We're talking about a living person.”

  “So what? He's dead on the inside.”

  “I can't kill a person.”

  “What? Why??”

  “I have a thing for going to Hell. I don't wanna go there.”

  “Who's saying you're gonna go to Hell??”

  She sounded very much surprised. I tried to make it as clear as possible to her, speaking slowly, clearly, enunciating.

  “Didn't you ever read the Bible?”

  Lynn folded her arms across her chest. She looked serious.

  “So you're really not going to do it?”

  I felt like throwing up.

  “I can't do it,” I said. “Feel about what you're saying.”

  She was already walking away.

  Did I do something wrong? I thought. Do I have to prove my love by taking a man's life? The world makes no sense.

  Shells called out to us.

  The eggs and rice and Spam were done. Shells had already set the little table. I sat on one end, Lynn sat on the other, and Shells sat in the middle.

  “Let us hold hands and pray,” she said.

  I held her hand, then Lynn's hand. Our eyes met, and I could tell that she was pissed off. Her hand felt strange in mine. It felt wrong, and I wanted to let go. When She
lls was done with her prayer, we all said, “Amen,” and ate our food. Lynn smiled at the child.

  “Do you like it here with us?”

  Shells smiled back, nodding with a mouth full of rice.

  I wiped her mouth with a napkin. “Do you want to stay with us?” I asked.

  She swallowed and said, “Yes! I'd love it.”

  Hearing it made me smile. I could see that Lynn felt the same way, and this eased the tension between us a little. Shells played with her food.

  “Do you think you guys are wanted for kidnapping?”

  I struggled to say something. The news on the TV got my attention. We watched. People on the streets were shrieking and weeping and praying to Jesus. Demon-possessed people ran every which-way, terrorizing the elderly and stealing purses and automobiles and kicking yappy little dogs. The police were shooting at three, seven, nine feet tall, nude demons that rode on hell horses and hell pigs. The cops even used bazookas. It was impossible. The news anchor said, “This was the scene this morning in the rich portion of Aina Haina, which is all of Aina Haina. Police were useless in combating these so-called demons. An identified nun showed up and threw holy water onto the demons, effectively scaring them off. She vanished before police could question her. Eyewitnesses report that an unmarked van chased her away. Governor Jade Granator issued a statement on her Facebook, saying that these were not demons, but in fact crazy people that escaped from Borthport Mental Institution two days ago. Hawaii residents, however, are skeptical.”

  I looked back at Shells. I tried smiling.

  “Well...” I went, “...something tells me the authorities have their hands too full at the moment to bother with us. With a bit of luck, the police will blame everything on the demons. The neighbors saw everything.” I looked at Lynn. “Did anyone see you guys leave the scene?”

  She thought.

  “I didn't see anyone on the street. Everyone was probably hiding under their beds, totally freaked out.” She looked at Shells and said, “But just to be on the safe side, we should cut and color your hair. Are you okay with that?”

  Shells stared at her plate.

  “I don't care. Do what you want,” she said. “I want to erase my past. I want to start over. I want a new life.”

  I ate my food.

  “Do you want to hold a little ceremony for your dad? I can find a shoebox or something, and we can put something inside...some kind of item to represent him.”

  “I HOPE HE'S BURNING IN HELL!” Shells said.

  This blew our hair back.

  Lynn leaned in.

  “Why would you say such a terrible thing?”

  Shells looked up at us. Her face was burning mad.

  “That demon came because of him,” she said. “It's all his fault!”

  I put my hands together into the shape of a steeple and held them against my lips. “Explain,” I said.

  Shells looked at me for a long time, thinking of what to say...remembering...digging. Her mouth trembled. Lynn stood up and put her hands on the little girl's shoulders.

  “Honey,” she said, “you don't have to say anything,” and then to me, “How dare you. She's just a little girl. Can't you see this is killing her?”

  Shells waved her away.

  “No, no. I want to. I want this all out of me. I'm exorcising my own demons.”

  I was impressed. Tough girl, I thought. It was fantastic. Shells took in a deep breath.

  “Dad...he was always going on about 'the angels'...about how they were always watching us, protecting us, helping us. He was always in that bathroom, chanting, lighting candles, casting spells to make us rich. He always came out smelling like wet dog. Strange thing was, we didn't even have a dog. It was always money with him. 'Don't worry, my daughter,' he used to say. 'I don't have to work today. The rent money will come. I have friends in high places.' His breath was weird – like bad garbage water. As opposed to good garbage water.

  “I never brought my friends over because of him. I learned the hard way about that one. Last year, my pal Janice wanted to come over after school to use the bathroom right quick. After much thought, I told her fine, go right ahead. I knew I shouldn't have let her go up there. She saw my dad in the shower all naked with the water on super hot, steaming up the place. He begged her to try and understand his situation. He was trying to communicate with the angels, he said. Janice screamed and fell down the stairs and broke her face. Her parents wanted to take him to court, but I guess dad paid them off or something, 'cause that court thing never happened. I was never allowed to play with Janice again. And that was when my rage began.”

  I squinted at her.

  “I'm sorry. I didn't hear you. Did you say rage?”

  “Yes,” she said. “I started getting these terrible headaches. Sometimes I just got so mad, I punched through walls and pulled out pipes. One morning, I found myself with a dead chicken in my hands. It was gutted, and I had feathers in my mouth. I have no idea what happened. Another time – I think it was a Monday – I woke up in the middle of the night with my hands inside a semi-dead cat. I asked my dad what happened, and he said that he made the mistake of 'igniting' my rage by insulting my taste in pop music. I have no memory of that fateful night. Sometimes, when I'm tired, my blinding rage makes me forget things. And sometimes I forget about things like physical pain, too. I remember one Sunday, at church, I got so mad at this woman that wouldn't stop crying over her dead son, I shoved my hand in her mouth and grabbed hold of her tongue. She bit down on me, but I didn't care. I felt nothing! It took three fat men to pull me off that woman. Even with my hands bleeding, I felt no pain. They wanted to throw me out on the street. My dad stood up for me, explaining to the church that it wasn't me doing all those nasty things. I was possessed by thee Devil, or at least maybe one of his cretins.”

  Lynn looked scared.

  “Oh, my God,” she said, eyes watering. “Oh, sweet Jesus...you're so sweet.”

  Shells nodded.

  “One time, we went to the market, and I bit the head off a live chicken! I didn't know what I was thinking. I just did it. Almost like...like I was being controlled by some outside force. Yes. Yes, that's the ticket....And that was when Dad put his foot down. He was determined to help me. He called over a priest that threw holy water all over me. The rage boiled up in me again, and I jumped on that priest and urinated on him, out my mouth somehow. The priest was calm. Cool. Precious. Dad, he picked me up and took me out back and hosed me down with cold water. That usually made me all better. The priest said sorry, but he had to go home. It was understandable. I saw my dad at the kitchen table that night crying in his hands. Times were hard. I felt guilty; and so I started hating him more for making me feel such awful things.

  “More and more priests came, throwing water on me, but nothing changed. I was still urinating. The priests were told to wear race car helmets when they came over. It was for their protection – to keep them clean and smelling real good. No one understood my pissing. I kept telling them I was an artist. Some people used fancy paints and pencils. I was original. You see, it all seemed so normal to me. I wasn't attacking people and disgracing their faces, I was just being artistic. I could never tell if it was me talking or Shoehorn. Very confusing.

  “Then one day, a nun came over, all dressed in white. Dad said she was special – that she came alll the way from Rome. The nun wasn't going to pour water or any liquid over me, and for that, I was grateful. At that point in my life, I was tied to the bed and very stink. The nun looked me over, wrote in her notebook, and told dad that I was a real mess. Only my father could save me. Only the other half of my soul could save me. The stronger side of my soul could save me. My soul mate. Dad said that he WAS my father. But the nun shook her head. Dad wasn't my true father. He might have been my physical father...but not my spiritual father.”

  And with that said, Shells touched my hand, squeezing it.

  “You are,” she said.

  We were both crying.


  Five minutes after Lynn went off to work, and Shells went off to bed, there was a knock at the door. I was about to head into the shower, so I had just a towel wrapped around my boney waist when I opened the door. I looked down to see a boy looking up at me.

  “Can I help you, boy?” I asked.

  He frowned.

  “I'm no 'boy',” he said. “I'm a midget.”

  My face turned red.

  “Sorry,” I said, stepping aside. “Please...step into my office.”

  He walked in with a brown bag. He had my flier in his other hand.

  “My name is Kopit Kityur. I hear you hunt zombies,” he said. “I have a job for you.”

  I was relieved to hear it. I didn't want anymore exorcism gigs. I wasn't good at it. Zombie hunting, that was something I was eager to do. Those jobs made me feel useful – and that was the point of living, no? Feeling useful?

  The midget opened his bag and looked in. He seemed concerned. “I didn't know how much to pay you....”

  I raised my hand.

  “Don't worry. I take what you can give. Tell me more about your problem, Mr. Kopit.”

  He nodded and turned around, talking to the window, to the Moon.

  “I own a hostel in Waikiki called Mahalo House. Three days ago, I did my alcoholic cousin, Hanns, a favor and gave him a free room. That was a mistake. He over-drank, and I guess his liver exploded. But that wasn't all. As we know, Mr. Boss, Waikiki is flooded with prostitutes. They saunter around, shaking their tails for a few bucks, tempting good Catholics and Mormons and Protestants...and my cousin was no exception.” He shook his head, looking at his feet. “Dammit, Hanns....I always told you, just stay away from dem whores! Oh, noooo....” He turned to me. “Sniffing something awful, I ran up to his room. Blood ran out from under the door. I kicked the damn thing down and found Hanns on the floor, naked with a big, purple bruise on the side of his stomach. His eyes were open; and I knew he was DEAD.