“I’ve had enough. I’m not running solo. I’m walking after this one.” Legally, she couldn’t make him run alone unless he signed away his union rights.
Her eyes narrowed and she ran a hand through her hair. “You want back next season, you sign that damn waiver.”
“Well then I guess I don’t want back next season.”
She tried another tactic. “You’re this close to getting on the scaffolding full time. You don’t want to throw away five seasons of seniority just because a stupid kid got whacked.”
Sean stood his ground. “You said you were going to bring on two greenhorns at the end of last season and I believed you, but suddenly things ‘got tight’ and you could only hire one. Why should I believe you now? I think I’ll take my chances somewhere else next season.”
“You know something Kirkland? You’re a decent runner, but when it comes down to it, you’re a spineless maggot. My vessel ain’t got no room for bleeding hearts like you. Fine! Go ahead and walk, now, right now! We’ll make quota just from the trenches and traps. We don’t even need a runner. Go get your shit and get off my collector.”
“That’s fine with me. Union rules say I get a full share if you cut me now. Nice working with you guys. Noel, I hope you rot in hell.” Sean left to go get his gear. Not only was he getting his DBR back a week early, it felt like he’d gotten a piece of his soul back as well.
#
Horses were a pretty rare sight in the modern world. Cows and sheep were finally starting to make a comeback. Before humanity figured out that a six by six hole in the ground would trap just about any zombie in it, the living dead had feasted on everything they could find.
Still, people needed entertainment. There were electric car races, football, basketball, and the like. About twenty years ago, someone got the bright idea to put ten zombies out on a track like horse and dog races of old and place bets on them. It caught on like wildfire in this part of the country.
Sean lost more than his fair share at the track. Looking around, he saw the stadium filled with Western Pennsylvania’s finest. Women, with fancy large hats, thick sunglasses, and wearing enough perfume to make his eyes water, stood beside men in suits trying their best to ignore the summer heat and the damp stains under their arms. A sense of anticipation hung in the air. People enjoyed the marching band playing in the infield, but no one stated the thought that was on everyone’s mind.
Enough already! Let’s have ourselves a race!
Last weekend, Sean watched “Charlie Horse” win the last qualifying race going away, netting Sean a cool twenty-five creds. Even in death, the kid made it look so blasted easy. That’s why Sean was risking everything he had and even some that he didn’t on the four to one odds “Charlie Horse” today. If the kid pulled it off again, Sean wouldn’t be looking for work for the coming season, or any future seasons either.
His savings, the note on his hovel, and everything else he could scrounge up came to an unimpressive two hundred and sixty credits – probably what his old skipper cleared every ten days of the three month season. Knowing the kind of payout he needed to really set himself up for retirement, he’d gone ahead and mortgaged his DBR note to Harry “The Neck” for another fifty credits.
Sure it wasn’t much, but it was about to be a lot more.
“Ladies and Gentleman, welcome to the twenty-first running of the Pennsylvania Derby – sponsored by the Marcus Energy Corporation. It’s a beautiful day for a race and the track is in excellent condition…”
Sean listened to the announcer call out the temperature and other minor details while watching the owners maneuver their undead into the starting gates. He spared a minute or two to gaze at the generously endowed “bait” they would be chasing, as she partly stretched and partly posed for pictures from the crowd.
“Today’s celebrity pace runner is none other than actress Candy Newton. Let’s put your hands together for her and if you haven’t seen her new movie, ‘Chasing Disaster,’ in the theaters, well take a look at what you’ve been missing! Candy will be on Concourse A after the race to sign autographs and what she’s wearing right now will be auctioned off for charity at the conclusion of today’s events.”
The actress picked up a nearby microphone and began waving to the crowd, working them like a seasoned pro. “Thank you, it’s a privilege to be out here as the pace runner. I can’t wait to see how many credits the charity auction will raise! So, all you big winners today, remember to share the wealth.”
Not one to really care about a used jogging suit from a starlet known more for her double joints than her acting range, Sean glanced down at the racing form. “Charlie Horse” was in the third gate next to the five to two favorite “Spam On Rye”. The notes in the margin indicated that was what the body’s former owner choked on. “Smells Rank,” a twenty-one year old drug overdose coed was at seven to one and was on the downhill side of the zero to one year bracket, but had an impressive win record. The other seven were all higher than ten to one, making this essentially a three creature race.
Ten zombies with lightweight feeding muzzles on their face struggled in their metal chutes. Using his binoculars, Sean saw that Chuck looked a little pale and gamey. It reminded him of the hard night of drinking when Sean had “initiated” the greenhorn. There was a pang of regret and he looked away. There were too many fresh memories there.
A race official inspected each of the competitors for any of the usual cheats – like signs of organ removal to lighten the zombie’s weight and such. The referee signaled the all clear to the starter and walked across the board spanning the infield trench. Ms. Newton walked just outside the gates and the arms jutting out at her to give the undead a good look at what they were after and moved to her starting position, ten feet ahead of them.
The crowd around Sean in the grandstands began to cheer with an ever increasing volume. Undoubtedly, some of the zombies would lose track of the bait and end up in the trenches or trying to get at the crowd. The fervor reached a new high when the starter raised his pistol in the air and fired a single shot.
“And they’re off. Candy got a bit of a slow start there, but she’s pulling away from the pack. Smells Rank ahead by a few feet with Charlie Horse and Spam On Rye jostling for position behind it. Knife to the Chest, Unlucky Adulterer, and Third Rail giving chase. Back of the pack is Triple-E, Sir Osis, Falls but Doesn’t Get Up, and Some Homeless Bum bringing up the rear.”
Urging the kid on, Sean watched them pass the first marker. With his eyes fixed to the binoculars, he repeated like a mantra, “C’mon Chuck, you can do it! Don’t let me down.”
Watching the kid move, he could almost hear Chuck’s gloating. “They can’t lay a finger on me, Kirkland. I’m just too fast … like lightning!”
“Smells Rank starting to fade. Charlie Horse making a move. Spam On Rye in third place. Charlie Horse in second place. Charlie Horse takes over the lead. Smells Rank still in second. Spam On Rye close behind. Third Rail moves to fourth.”
Excitement began bubbling in Sean’s chest at the halfway marker and every time the announcer’s voice seemed to drawl the “Charrrlieee,” his smile got just a little bigger. Charlie had a ten foot lead on the next zombie and was starting to pull away. Wryly, Sean knew that the kid had really been the fastest thing this side of the three rivers.
The young woman next to him shouted, “Look at that thing go! It might even catch that bimbo!”
Her boyfriend clapped. “Damn! It’s faster than a lot of people I know! C’mon, Charlie Horse!”
A shiver of fear passed through Sean’s body, partly at the thought of Candy getting mauled on the course and the possibility of Charlie Horse getting disqualified. Beyond that, there was a deeper, more profound realization; if all of them were actually that fast, humanity might not have emerged from the Dark Ages.
“Charlie Horse on a record pace. Spam On Rye, Smells Rank, and Third Rail…”
The actress got a clue that she was in a bit of trou
ble approaching the one mile mark. Charlie was only about fifteen feet behind. Unlike her, the kid showed no real signs of slowing down. On the Jumbotron, one of the TV cameras caught that look of panic on her face and there was a bit of commotion in the infield as a group of security guards headed to intercept.
All around Sean, there was a nervous murmur. The mass of cheers turned into an uncomfortable groan. What were the rules in this case? No one seemed to know. True, all the zombies had feeding muzzles on them, but that wouldn’t stop them from clawing her flesh and maiming her.
Ms. Newton was gasping for breath and clearly starting to panic, when the dozen guards leapt over the retaining wall and started sprinting for Charlie. The kid’s left arm pawed at her and pushed her off balance. Candy sprawled to the ground as Charlie towered over her. Part of Sean was amazed that Chuck had done it. The rest of him felt the bile and revulsion creep into his throat. Anyone who’d ever been in the similar position could emphasize. Like some old horror video, the zombie raised his hands above its head and prepared to pounce.
Fortunately, the first security guard slammed into Charlie at that instant. The crowd let out a collective gasp as the rest of the humans moved in to regain control of the situation.
“Ladies and gentleman, it is complete mayhem on the track. The security detail is getting Candy into the infield and to safety. Charlie Horse is down and being restrained by three officers. Other people are moving in to corral the rest of the runners. In all my years of calling this race, I’ve never seen a zombie actually catch a runner! I think we are witnessing history in the making!”
#
Over ninety minutes passed before they sorted it all out and declared Charlie Horse the winner of the derby. Rumors and speculation ran rampant through the crowd as people waited on the results. If Sean didn’t have a vested monetary interest in all this, he’d have laughed at the stupidity of it all.
Breathing a sigh of relief, he headed to the cashier to collect his payout. On his way, he passed the throng milling around Candy Newton, as she gave the details of her harrowing ordeal and announcing the ridiculous price her garments fetched.
While standing in line, he recalled the first day the kid was on Noel’s Zombie Ark. Back then, Chuck was a bundle of uncontrolled cockiness.
The ghost of his voice haunted Sean. “Stick with me, old timer, and just watch the money roll in. People will be talking about me for years to come. Wait and see, I’m gonna be famous!”
Stepping up to the next available window, Sean gave a melancholy chuckle at the irony of that statement and handed his ticket to the smiling cashier. Muttering under his breath, he said, “Helluva way to get your fifteen minutes there, Chuck, but thanks just the same.”
The Rally
by Jim Bernheimer
Steven Avery wasn’t used to being under the lights and on stage. He was a “kingmaker” – a “power behind the power” type. The Veterans of Foreign Wars convention hall here in Clearfield had hosted numerous political rallies over the years, but never one like this.
“Thank you all for coming out. Congressman Albright and his wife are very grateful.” Steven scanned the crowd crammed into the main room. Many were just the political equivalent of rubberneckers, looking for a spectacle. Glancing behind him, he spotted the large flat screen scrolling the campaign slogan; All Day All Night Albright! Working for YOU 24/7!
“It’s only fitting that we launch Brian’s reelection bid here at the VFW. Everyone knows the stories of his heroism in World War Zed, how he and his tanks stopped the attackers in their tracks at St. Louis and held the Mississippi!”
He waited for the genuine applause to die down. It was a good sign. Maybe this wasn’t just a shot in the dark. “The fighting didn’t stop there! With your support, Brian went to Washington to make certain that your voices would be heard. He not only stands on his record, but he built a fortress on it!”
Steven slapped his hands on the podium for emphasis. “He wasn’t afraid to challenge the broken system in Washington, championing economic reform, health care, and the rights of the common man. When faced with a problem, Brian Albright didn’t take the easy way out or the path of political expediency. He met the problem head on regardless of the opposition.
For the last two decades, Congressman Albright fought against the policies that those people in the Capitol casually inflicted on the everyday working men and women. Each time, you rewarded him with reelection. That’s what we’re asking for once more.”
A voice belonging to a burly man heckled him, “This whole thing is some kind of sick joke! Its bad enough putting up with them on the jobsite; you think I’m going to vote for one to represent me? Screw this! I’m outta here!”
Steven expected this, “Sir, I respect your opinion, but let me ask you something, what do you do for a living?”
The man crossed his arms and glared, “I’m a construction foreman.”
“And how has the Tolerance Act affected you?”
“I’ve had to hire a buncha them and they ain’t worth a damn! They can’t take orders for nothing. Hell, they can barely understand me!”
A murmur of agreement passed through the crowd, “I know. Congressman Albright knows. He fought tooth and nail against the Tolerance Act and was betrayed by the self-serving party system – those fat cats on the right who wanted cheap, inexhaustible sources of labor for their greedy corporate buddies and those in his own party, who saw nothing more than the ability to register thousands of voters with the mental faculties of a three year old.”
The man didn’t leave – another good sign. Steven toggled the remote control to start the stump speech. “I could explain, but I think I know someone better equipped. Let me play a message recorded six months ago by Congressman Albright.”
Turning, he saw the scene once more. It was a hospital room. Albright sat in his bed looking both bald and gaunt from the radiation and the chemo, but his eyes still held a shadow of that famous commanding presence.
“My fellow ... My friends, there comes a time when even an old warhorse has to admit defeat. This damn disease got the best of me and it’s only a matter of time. It’s widely known that I, like a fifth of the population, carry that despicable genetic marker. Originally, I intended to be cremated, but after thinking about it and doing some serious soul searching, I decided to let the reanimation happen. Why? Well, for one thing, I can still serve your interests. The Zombie Tolerance Act and other detestable legislation has hurt our economy and endangered our livelihood. These policies call for fair treatment of creatures that without feeding muzzles wouldn’t hesitate to attack. Trying to give human rights to monsters is wrong, just plain wrong!”
Brian broke into a fitful cough that lasted a full fifteen seconds. Steven sensed the building empathy in the crowd. The tide was turning.
“What I’m asking from you is a chance to stick it to the other five hundred and thirty-four members of Congress. Send me back there and make them have to play by the rules that they don’t mind saddling the rest of America with. Heck, you might even get better representation. Sorry, that’s a bad joke. Either way, showing them the direct effects of their folly will be the first step in reversing this perilous course they’ve set this country on. Thank you and God bless America.”
Steven cleared his throat, fighting off his own emotions. “I was Brian’s friend before I was his campaign manager. He believes in this and thinks it will work. I do as well. If you really want to stick it to Washington this year, vote a true zombie in, instead of all the phony ones already there! Are you ready to meet your once and future Congressman?”
The crowd cheered, led by the construction worker’s whistles. Steven motioned and aides escorted Brian and his wife out. In his red, white, and blue muzzle, Brian walked stiffly with head held high. His vocabulary was reduced to a mere fifty-seven words. They’d spent hours working on “Vote for Brian.” Unafraid, Steven shook his friend’s hand, helping him to the podium, and crossing his fingers fo
r the three words Steven wanted most to hear.
The voice was raspy, “Vote... Vote for... brains! Vote for brains!”
Steven’s stomach knotted. Just when he thought it was over, shouts of “Brains!” erupted from the crowd. He shrugged off the gaffe, joining in. Even in death, Brian was a genius.
Reality Bites!
by Jim Bernheimer
“My apologies, Mister ...” the woman temporized while she pulled his file from her valise and opened it, “ah, Merrill. I had expected traffic to be much lighter at this hour, but I was quite mistaken. I hope you weren’t kept waiting.” Cheryl slid behind her antique desk and regarded the man in front of her.
“I want my money!” the dark haired man occupying the red leather guest’s chair demanded as he beat his fist atop the fine oak desk.
“I quite understand sir; however, as a member of the legal team here at Fundamental Insurance, it is my fiduciary responsibility to my clients to represent their best interests.”
Horror, Humor, and Heroes Page 5
