by Shae Hutto
“And that was for blowing me up.” He grunted in response but shrugged off her comment and her sucker punch.
“You seem very different from the last time I saw you,” she said, trying a different tack. “You were a little kid not so long ago, more worried about cartoons and toys than anything else. You’ve changed.” Nick shrugged again. Amanda couldn’t see well enough in the gloom to detect his intense blush, but she surmised from his body language that it was there. “I guess experiences like this will age you quickly, eh?” She smiled sheepishly.
“Amanda, you have no idea,” he returned softly as he looked behind the front counter for a weapon of any sort. No luck, unless he wanted to lug around a dumbbell as a cudgel. He didn’t. He spotted a door and opened it, leading to a changing room with lockers. He went in and she and Weenie followed him into the blackness. As soon as the intervening door opened, Nick switched on a small LED flashlight and played it around the room. Amanda started opening lockers and was swiftly rewarded with a fleece hoodie that was both a bit too large for her and too warm for the season but had the welcome effect of covering her chest. ‘Georgia Perimeter College’ was emblazoned on the front.
“Being an inter-galactic traveler has changed you, then? Made you grow up faster?” she asked him conversationally as she adjusted her new zombie apocalypse hoodie. Its previous owner had been the user of an unfortunate amount of some form of body spray. It smelled how Amanda imagined a badger trapped in a cedar chest with a jar of moth balls might smell. She wrinkled her nose in distaste.
“More inter-dimensional than inter-galactic, I think,” replied Nick with a grin. “And yes, but that’s not all. I’m not sure Claire and Roger realize just how long I spent in other worlds. It was years. I think. Hard to tell, really”
“Wow,” said Amanda, looking at Nick with a mixture of wonder, envy and pity. “I’m speechless. I can’t even imagine how horrible that must have been.”
“It wasn’t all bad,” he mused, partly to himself. “I certainly did a lot of growing up. The downside is I forgot a lot of the stuff I was going to be tested over in school. Claire had to reteach me fractions.” He chuckled and Amanda joined in. Weenie looked at them, content for the moment that they were in no danger, but still anxious about how to get back to the right door. And something didn’t smell right. It was more than the musty rot of an unused shower. His anxiety did not abate.
“I would think the downside would be the constant threat of violent death,” joked Amanda.
“You’re forgetting the torture,” Nick said, only half in jest. Amanda sensed the kernel of truth and looked away, embarrassed. “Besides,” continued Nick, trying to lighten the mood, “I learned to do this.” He gestured with his wand and a dazzling shower of sparks sprayed across the ceiling like a galaxy of stars, eliciting a gasp of wonder from Amanda and illuminating the walls, the lockers, the shower and the slack-jawed zombie that was emerging from the shower with a purposeful shuffle. It’s groan of hunger mixed with Amanda’s squeal of delight to form a complex harmony of juxtaposition. The dead, naked man, who’s last shower thoughts were interrupted by undeath (or maybe prolonged indefinitely), cast a surreal shadow that alarmed Weenie, who in turn alarmed Nick and Amanda. Amanda’s happy noises of wonderment turned abruptly into screeches of panic as she fruitlessly fumbled for her blaster pistol.
Nick lost hardly a beat. Continuing to hold his spark-emitting wand aloft with his right hand, he pulled the masonry hammer from his backpack in a smooth motion, intentionally dropping the LED flashlight in the process. Nick, no matter how much he had aged mentally, still had the stature of a 10-year old, necessitating a bit of a leap, but with one jump and an overhead circular swing, he brained the zombie with respectable force. The zombie collapsed onto the mildewed tile for his final dirt nap and a creamy brain soup started to leak from his ears onto the floor. Slimy tendrils slowly oozed down the grout channels. Amanda was suddenly happy for the strong musky scent of her new hoodie; it made the stench of freshly smashed zombie brain goo less overpowering in the relatively small space.
“And that,” Nick added, deadpan, as he wiped the hammer on the protruding belly of the now un-animated corpse nonchalantly. His efforts to look cool were hampered by the utter failure of his wiping to clean the hammer. In fact, all he managed to do was smear zombie goo around and scrape off some skin from the swollen abdomen. He frowned in disgust.
“Awesome trick, dude,” said Amanda. “Amaze your friends; fun at parties,” she added. The addition of a foul shower corpse made the locker room less cozy than it had been a few moments earlier. Amanda was starting to feel trapped in the enclosed space. “Hey, Nick. Let’s get out of here. I’m creeped out.”
“Yeah. Ok,” he agreed. After a quick look through the lockers that yielded nothing else of value, unless you counted old shampoo and deodorant, he extinguished the sparks and the flashlight and cracked the door open to peer out. “Coast looks clear,” he said quietly and opened the door wide enough to slip out. Weenie scooted out before him and started sniffing around industriously. Nick held the door open for Amanda, who sidled out the door nervously and crouched behind some exercise equipment.
Nick tried to clean a small space on the front window wall so he could see out into the street, but most of the grime was on the outside. The front door was locked. After a quick search in the front desk, he discovered the key to the front door and unlocked it. A quick look outside showed the mob of zombies had passed by. The backs of the rearmost rank were just visible a couple of blocks up. A few stragglers meandered aimlessly in the mob’s wake.
“What do you call a group of zombies, anyway?” asked Nick, playfully. “You know, like cows are a herd or birds are a flock. I heard a group of crows is called a murder.”
“Woof,” suggested Weenie, but not seriously.
“A cemetery?” suggested Amanda.
“Maybe a morgue?” countered Nick.
“A morgue of zombies. I like it,” she replied with a grin. “What about a crypt of zombies?”
“Besides the obvious, why does it have to be death related?” mused Nick aloud. “It could be a class of zombies. Or an office.”
“A clique?” suggested Amanda quietly as they eased out the door onto the street and headed away from the freshly named morgue of zombies.
“A club?” countered Nick as they turned the corner and spotted the doorway out of this blighted world.
“Oh, I got it,” squealed Amanda a touch too loud. “A dance of zombies!”
“Ladies and gentlemen, we have a winner,” exclaimed Nick enthusiastically. Several of the outliers of the newly renamed dance of zombies heard and turned toward the sound. Fortunately, they were already at the door. “Later, suckers,” shouted Nick as they piled into the corridor happily.
“Woof,” insisted Weenie sternly, all business, as usual.
CHAPTER SEVEN: Old Enemies
“Never laugh at live dragons.”
- J.R.R. Tolkien
Last time they had graced the Ramses with their presence, they had learned from Commander Otto that the shuttle bay was lined with heat resistant material so it could withstand an accidental explosion of the shuttle’s fuel supply without destroying the ship. So far, that coating was also repelling a white-hot stream of dragon’s fire. Score that one a win for technology. The smoke and the heat were distorting the video feed, though. Claire wasn’t sure how long the camera embedded in the corner of the hangar would survive the hellish inferno.
“So, Roger,” said Claire to her companion. “This was your brilliant idea. What’s next? Are you going to go down there and talk to him or what?”
“Just so we’re clear, love,” he protested. “No plan of mine involved that divil being inside the ship. And I ain’t gonna chinwag with it in person. Cop on, would ya?” With that he smiled playfully and hit the toggle for the public-address system, isolated the hangar and pressed the transmit key on the control board. Apparently, Roger paid attention to
how the comm system worked last time they were here. Claire was mildly impressed in spite of herself. Feedback crackled and shrieked loudly throughout the hangar and the command deck. On the monitor, Connix stopped trying to burn the world down and cocked his head at the sound of the feedback, similarly to when he had attacked the spelling bee. It looked like maybe they had his attention.
“Hey, big guy,” said Roger to the dragon, conversationally. On screen, the one-eyed dragon that took up more of the shuttle bay than the shuttle ever had, looked at the camera with his remaining orb; a brilliantly colored sphere with a vertical pupil like a cat. Claire found it hauntingly familiar; likely because she had once touched its twin. A shiver ran up her spine. Connix growled menacingly, a tone deep and rich and powerful in a bestial way, but expressive enough that Claire was convinced there was intelligence behind it. It looked at the camera and waited. “I thought we might chat,” continued Roger. Greenish black smoke started to curl from Connix’s nostrils and the massive scaled chest expanded as he drew in breath. “Now, don’t be a bowsie, you great bloody eejit. With one push of a button, I can have your scaly arse sucked into space. So, calm down and let’s talk about your eye.”
The dragon slowly released its indrawn breath and the smoke abruptly stopped coming from its huge nostrils. It turned its eye to the closed shuttle bay door warily and then looked back at the camera.
“Talk, little man. Connix listens,” said the dragon in perfectly intelligible English, with an accent that sounded vaguely German. Claire had been concerned that communication with the beast might be impossible. It could be incapable of understanding human speech, or unable to speak, itself. If it could speak, who was to say what languages it would know? Her apprehension was ill founded, it would seem. “You have not seen with the eye, little man. Connix knows this. But the one who saw… She is near. I can feel her like mites under my scales. She itches.”
“She does that,” Roger agreed and Claire punched him in the arm. He grinned back at her. “But I thought you might be interested in our help. Maybe we tell you what we know and you agree not to roast us alive, yeah?”
Fire suppression is a big deal on space ships, because people fear having all their oxygen burned up or the walls that keep the vacuum at bay breached. They write programs for onboard computers that emphasize putting out fires as quickly as possible. Claire was using the computer to prevent the ship from venting the atmosphere from the shuttle bay and cutting short their little video conference. Everyone (besides Roger and Claire) onboard the ship was trained in fire-firefighting and organized into teams. Team Alpha chose this unfortunate time to override the access door to the shuttle bay and, equipped with fire resistant suits and the latest in fire suppression technology, burst in on the dragon’s end of the conversation. To say that a massive fire-breathing, winged reptile from myth and legend was not what they were expecting would be understating things, and they were not armed with the latest in dragon suppression technology. The mic picked up the shouts of disbelief and alarm as the team discovered Connix behind door number one and instantly wished they had chosen door number three. The sounds of them running away were muffled and distorted by the crunching noises as Connix ate the team leader, noisily and with much apparent enjoyment. This improvised snack was in full view of the video feed and Claire turned very pale. Roger looked like he might throw up.
“Also, you would have to promise not to eat us,” Roger amended his proposed deal. “Please,” he added.
“Or,” said the dragon as he licked his bloody talons clean. “Connix can hunt you down, roast you alive, eat you and find my eye without your puny help.” He looked at the camera, then shoved his head through the open hatchway in an apparent attempt to come eat them right this instant. His head was all that would fit outside the hangar.
Claire opened the outside hangar doors about halfway, venting the room to open space. Connix couldn’t fit through the resulting opening, but the outrush of air shot him out of the interior hatchway like a tuber from a spud gun, his razor-sharp talons leaving long furrows in the steal decking. He stuck to the partly open door, splayed across it like a bug on the grill of a speeding Mack truck. His flaming breath followed the evacuating air out the open door into space where it burned nothing. His bellows of rage cut off abruptly as the access hatch slid closed, sealing the hangar off from the rest of the ship’s air supply and the last of the hangar’s atmosphere streamed out between the dragon’s legs. His one remaining eye began to bulge in its socket. Claire abruptly closed the outer door and pressurized the hangar, but immediately regretted her soft-heartedness. She had the dispiriting feeling that she had just missed an opportunity to rid herself of a major life complication.
“Are you ready to be more reasonable?” asked Claire over the intercom. On screen, Connix held up his tail with one reptilian talon and examined the bloody stump where the outer doors had sliced off the last couple of feet. His one-eyed gaze turned to the camera, filled with pure, rancid hate. Instead of replying, the dragon let loose with a violently roiling billow of white hot flame that incinerated the camera.
“Guess not,” said Roger.
Claire grimaced and activated the controls to open the hangar door all the way. Oddly, the ship shuddered and almost seemed to ripple around them and a low gong sound, more a feeling than a noise, rang through the ship. She found the exterior camera, expecting to see a dragon floating in space, but there was nothing other than a small cloud of debris speeding away from the Ramses.
“I don’t think we spaced him,” said Claire as she continued to search the inky blackness for any sign of the malevolent red wyrm.
“That’s too bad, redser,” replied Roger. “I don’t think we made a new friend today.” Claire shook her head in agreement.
“And I don’t think we can stay here,” said Claire as she activated a camera showing a growing crowd of crewmembers outside the door to their command deck. There was an alarming accumulation of tools and weapons among them. As she was flipping through the feeds, something caught her eye.
“What in hell is that?” she pointed at the video feed she had just activated that showed a fire truck in the cargo bay. Its lights were on and the ragged remains of a hose stretched behind it. Its doors were open and nobody was in it, even though it appeared to be running.
“That’s the rig that chased us,” said Roger, clearly puzzled. “How’d it get here?”
“We need to leave,” said Claire. “And that fire truck just means we need to leave even more.” She used her wand to unlock the suit storage locker and Roger opened it to reveal an angry, sweaty Commander Otto.
“Hey, Julie,” Claire said as she hauled the disheveled commander out of the locker. “You’ve got some situations to deal with.” Commander Otto looked around at the command center and then at them.
“What situations?” she asked suspiciously as Claire closed the locker and reopened it to reveal the corridor. Roger climbed through.
“Well, your hangar was burnt to a crisp by an angry dragon and assassins of unknown origin parked a fire truck in your cargo bay,” she explained briefly as she followed Roger through the door. “Have fun with that. Later,” she added and closed the door on the astonished Commander Otto who was already opening the command deck door to let in the frantic personnel on the other side.
“Now where are we off to, then?” asked Roger as they shut out the scene of mayhem behind the door.
“I was thinking we could maybe go wait outside the Halloween door for Nick and ‘Manda to come out,” she replied lamely.
“You serious? It could be months before they come out of there.”
“Only an hour, actually. Unless they’re not in there anymore. We could go in and find them.”
“You are gone in the head,” Roger said in disbelief. “We’d be lynched the first time we were seen by anyone. The only thing we could do more dangerous would be to go visit the Queen.”
“You’re right, of course,” said Claire wit
h an air of consideration. She got a nasty gleam in her mismatched eyes. “Let’s do that then, shall we?”
“Wait. What?” asked Roger as Claire started off down the hallway with a purpose. “The first or the second thing?”
“The Queen, Roger,” she responded. “Let’s go visit our friend, her majesty.”
“I dunna think that’s such a great idea, lass,” replied Roger gravely. “We’ve no friends there, you know. And that dragon could show his poxy face when we least want it.”
“True,” replied Claire. “But I can’t stand the thought of sitting around doing nothing for who knows how long, waiting on Nick and ‘Manda. Besides, if Connix shows up, it’ll be a great distraction and might get us into the castle. Who knows, maybe the Queen and Connix will off each other and save us the trouble.”
“If only we could get so lucky,” said Roger with a theatrical sigh. “Do you know where the door is?”
“It’s got to be around here somewhere,” she replied, then halted in surprise as another door with a corroded and dilapidated handle opened, disgorging into the corridor a woman with horrific burned and stiffened hair, who was wearing way too much rouge and black eye shadow and a fleece hoodie. Claire already had her wand out before realizing this awful looking person was Amanda who was quickly joined by Nick and Weenie. Nick also had way too much red and black on his face. Weenie looked abashed but unscathed. Most of whatever jealousy Claire felt toward Amanda evaporated as she stood there looking at her much worse for wear friend.
“Jaysus,” exclaimed Roger.
“You guys look like you had fun,” remarked Claire, joking but with some sympathy in her voice. She glanced at the door they had just emerged from. “Y’all take a little side trip?”
“We, uh. That is,” Nick started to explain.
