Now he saw this as a personal challenge beyond just the obvious danger of being tossed into a caged oct-agon with a bunch of zombies. Obviously he was close to winning. So this is how Bilbo felt, Clint thought.
The poorly disguised Jasmina was scratching Shakespeare behing his ears. She immediately shifted to that mode she used back in the strip club when she wanted to empty a man’s wallet without him being able to do so much as lay a finger on her. In fact, that habit was so ingrained; it was the driving force behind all she did now.
Clint let her think that he was oblivious as she clumsily attempted to draw the answer to his riddle. He went so far as to feign drifting off to sleep.
“One killed not,” she said. “What is it?”
“A meth poisoned raven that was made into stew,” he replied.
When she had the answer to the riddle, she went to creep away, but he snatched the ruby-red wig from her head and Jasmina was forced to leave it behind. The next morning, no surprise, she announced that she had the answer to Clint’s riddle.
The cage fighting coterie was sent for to witness the answer Jasmina was eager to give. She got a bit of a twisted thrill out of seeing men—even though Clint barely qualified—tossed into the cage to fight zombies with their bare hands.
Clint asked to be heard and said, “She broke into my room in disguise and that is how she knows the answer. She obviously wasn’t going to figure it out.”
“Can you prove it?” the largest and fiercest of the female cage fighters asked after the four brutish women put their heads together for a moment.
Clint produced the wig. Jasmina tried to protest, but the quad of brutal hotties held up their hand to silence her. Inside the wig was a tag: Property of Bonnie Jones.
“We find in favor of Clint,” the tiniest of the fighters announced. “Give it up to him, Bo…er…Jasm-ina.”
So, Jasmina accompanied Clint to his room after casting one pleading glance over her shoulder. As it turned out, it was Clint’s first time and his eagerness made the experience a delight for them both. The two hooked up and are actually a bit of a couple now.
23
Buck’s Blunder
Based on:
Von dem Mäuschen, Vögelchen und der Bratwurst
He was big, bad, and black. His friends called him Buck. She was slender, long-legged, and Hispanic. Everybody called her Mami. He was shy, bookish, and pale. Everybody called him Cookie. They were an unlikely group of companions, but the zombie apocalypse makes for strange bedfellows.
The oddly matched trio were just one of several pockets of survivors hiding out on the outskirts of Memphis. They set up housekeeping and lived together for several weeks in peace and happiness. They achieved a symbiotic dynamic that was quite complementary, and increased their level of comfort remarkably given the circumstances. Buck’s job was to slip out, scavenge for supplies and firewood. Mami brought water from the hand-drawn well and kept the fire burning. Cookie rigged little gadgets like solar chargers so that each of their iPods worked, they had enough generated power to watch a movie or two at night, and he did the cooking.
Too much of a good thing can breed complacency. One day, Buck ran into a brutha-from-da-hood. He talked big smack about how plush he had it in his crib. The homie laughed at him and told him he was still a “slave to the old ways.”
“Keep doin’ all da work, step’n-fetch-it,” the dark-skinned brother laughed. “You tote and toil, while the white boy and his bitch live off your sweat.”
When Buck got home, Mami had already stocked the fire and boiled the day’s water. She was in her room napping until it was time to set the table. Cookie was stirring a pot of something that smelled like a spicy stew. Sitting on the table beside him was some sort of gadget that he was fiddling with.
Buck tossed his heavy load on the floor and stomped over to the basin to wash up, using plenty of Cookie’s homemade soap and water that Mami had fetched earlier. They sat down together for a silent meal, then checked all the warning systems Cookie had in place and climbed into beds between sheets and comforters that Mami washed every few days. In short, they lived a life of luxury compared to most survivors.
Buck mulled over what the brutha-from-da-hood had said. The next morning, he refused to go out and scavenge for supplies and wood.
“I been y’all’s boy long enough,” Buck spat. “I work like a slave for the both of ya. I ain’t nobody’s nigger. It’s time to flip the script. Ya feelin’ me?”
Mami and Cookie tried to argue, but Buck wasn’t having any of it. He was doing all the work, and it was time to make a change. Eventually, the other two gave in, they agreed to Buck’s demands. The jobs were designated to be represented by three cards from the deck Mami had made for them to play with. They drew a card, and the way it ended up, Cookie had to scavenge, Mami became the cook, and Buck had to keep the fires burning and fetch water.
It went downhill fast from there. Cookie strapped on a few weapons and a backpack, Buck tossed a couple of logs on the fire and started hauling water, and Mami started prepping the day’s meals.
Hours passed and there was no sign of Cookie. Buck found himself becoming concerned, and finally went out to find the little guy. He hadn’t gone far when he came up on a fresh blood smear on the sidewalk. He followed it to an alley where he found poor Cookie. Both arms had chunks of flesh torn from them and there was a nasty rip where a zombie had clamped down on one ear and torn it and a strip of flesh down the side of his neck away. Cookie-zombie stumbled towards Buck with a mouth open and dead eyes staring with flat, undead hunger. Gone was that shy admiration Buck had grown accustomed to. Taking his axe, Buck smashed Cookie-zombie in the forehead, crushing his skull and putting him down for good.
Buck scooped up the meager supplies Cookie had managed to gather before being attacked and headed home. He fought back tears as he told Mami what happened. Despite their bitter grief, they agreed that it was now more important than ever that they stay together.
Buck set the table while Mami went into the kitchen to prepare the meal. She had everything ready, but couldn’t figure out the propane stove that Cookie had rigged. Try as she might she couldn’t get the burners to work. She leaned in with a lighter and tried to light the pilot light once she realized it had gone out. So much gas had built up that, when she thumbed the lighter, a ball of flame engulfed her head. Her gasp was her undoing as she sucked that flame into her lungs, scarring them. She slid to the floor, and slowly suffocated.
Buck was ready for dinner, but there was no sign of Mami. When he went into the kitchen to check, he saw the still-smoldering woman lying sprawled on the floor. He had no idea that the pilot light still hadn’t been lit and that the burner was still on allowing propane to continue to be pumped into the room. The lantern he held acted as a wonderful igniter.
There was a ‘WHUMP’ and a ball of flame exploded in the kitchen catching the drapes Mami had sewn on fire. Buck stumbled out of the room, smacking at his smoldering clothes. In a rush, he ran out to the well to fetch water to put out the fire. In his haste, as he went to lower the bucket, he lost his balance and fell over the edge. He plummeted down the shaft and landed with a splash. Buck couldn’t swim, and eventually drowned
24
Good Girl, Bad Girl
Based on:
Frau Holle
Widow Feller had two daughters, Kerry the beautiful and hard-working, and Eunice, the ugly and lazy. But she was much fonder of the ugly, lazy one, because she was her own daughter; and the other, who was the stepdaughter was forced to do all the work. It was sorta like a real-life Cinderella story without a prince and all the cute, talking animals. Oh yeah…and no glass slipper.
When the world was overwhelmed by the nightmarish rise of the dead, the widow and her daughters fled to a government-run FEMA shelter. Once there, those who were bigger and stronger began to abuse their power as mankind is wont to do. Everybody was expected to work and share in the burden of maintaining the compound.
Unfortunately, many of the women were selected for the unsavory task of providing the soldiers with certain diversions.
Of course Eunice thought it was an honor to be bedded by as many soldiers as possible, but most of them either demanded that the lights be out or she be facing away. As for Kerry, Widow Feller actually did her a favor by forcing her to remain grungy looking and tend to all the “household” chores.
Every day the poor girl had to take a shift beside the well and fill the compound canteens and cook pots. Kerry didn’t really mind because she liked doing for others. At the end of her shift, she was expected to peel and rinse the day’s allotment of potatoes, carrots, or turnips. Quite often, she had knicked or gouged fingers, and would draw just enough water to rinse her hand before returning home. Now it so happened that she got herself particularly bad one day and knew that she would be scolded if she brought the peeler home covered in blood. She bent to draw water from the well to rinse it off and dropped the peeler over the side. Kerry burst into tears, ran home to her stepmother, and told her what had happened.
“You let it fall in,” Widow Feller scolded. “So you can just get it out again.”
The poor girl went back to the well and she didn’t know what to do. In the end she was so frightened that she jumped into the well in the hope of retrieving the peeler. She was surprised that it was actually an underground brook. In a blink, she was swept away into the darkness. She hit her head on a low rock and lost consciousness, and when she awoke she’d washed to the bank, and found herself in the middle of a beautiful meadow. The sun was shining and there were thousands of lovely flowers.
She started walking across the meadow, and after a while she came to a road. Across the road was a tiny bakery. Looking around for zombies, she didn’t see any and hurried across. There were wire racks of only slightly stale bread and she gathered a bunch and put it in a large sack.
Going back outside, she searched for familiar landmark in order to return to the FEMA shelter. As she walked, she came upon some apple trees heavy with fruit. Setting down her bag, she gathered a bunch and, after taking the bread out first, placed them in the bag. Then she replaced the bread and continued on her way.
Finally she came onto a little house. She could hear crying from within and set down her bag, rushing inside. An old woman was on the stairs, pushing away a man who was obviously dead. The man had bite marks and dried blood all over his body.
“Help me, dear child,” the old woman wailed.
Kerry paused, struck by how large the woman’s teeth were, but shook it off. She picked up the poker beside the fireplace and rammed it through the back of the zombie’s head.
“Thank you so much,” the old woman sighed and sat down on the stairs.
“You are very welcome,” Kerry said.
“I’m so grateful you showed up, I don’t know what I would have done without your help.” The old woman squinted at Kerry making a thoughtful face. “What brings such a pretty thing as you out here in the unprotected zone?”
“I lost my vegetable peeler,” Kerry replied, a look of concerned sadness crashing down on her face. “And I still haven’t found it.”
“Bah!” the old woman scoffed. “Things are replaceable, but people…they are not.”
“But my stepmother—”
“Is a cruel person,” the old woman interrupted. “Why don’t you stay with me; if you do my housework and do it properly, you won’t regret it. Just so you take care to make my bed nicely and shake it till the feathers fly. And it would do nicely to have somebody keepin’ the ghouls away.” The old woman paused, then her eyes lit up. “I almost forgot, we haven’t been introduced. My name is Holly Snow, but all my neighbors used to call me Mother Holly.”
“Pleased to meet you.” The girl took Mother Holly’s gnarled old hand. “My name is Kerry Kessen.”
And so Kerry agreed to stay and help the old woman. She always did her work to Mother Holly’s satisfaction, and always shook the bed so hard that the feathers flew about like snowflakes. In return she had a good life, was never spoken to harshly and everyday she ate fresh produce from the garden out back. Sometimes she was even treated to fresh eggs, and on special days, fried chicken.
Twice a month the two would sneak out by the light of the moon. The bakery up the road had a wood-fired oven and they would bake fresh bread. Mother Holly always insisted that they leave some behind in case a weary traveller passed through.
Still, after she had been with Mother Holly for some time, she grew sad. At first she couldn’t figure out what was wrong, but then she knew it was homesickness. Though she was a thousand times better off than she had ever been at home, she longed to be back. One day she could keep it in no longer.
“Mother Holly,” she said, “I’m terribly homesick. I know how good I have it here, but I can’t stay any longer. I must go back to my family.”
“That’s wonderful, child,” Mother Holly said. “It is good that you still long for home, and because you have served me so faithfully I will take you to the FEMA shelter myself.”
Just as they reached the door, Mother Holly paused and opened the hall closet. She produced a backpack stuffed with seed packets for a garden as well as a small box that contained six baby chicks.
“This is your reward for working so hard,” Mother Holly insisted as she helped Kerry slip into the straps of the pack. With the world being what it was, this reward was greater than if the pack had been filled with gold in the days when money mattered. “Oh, one last thing.” Mother Holly reached into her pocket and produced a vegetable peeler.
Before long they had passed through some woods and reached the other side. The security towers and high fence of the FEMA compound was just down the hill. Kerry turned to thank the old woman, but she was gone. She hurried down the slope to the entry gate of the compound. The soldier on duty allowed her in.
“Lookie, lookie…a fresh piece of nookie!” one of the patrol sentries crowed.
Kerry ignored the crass comment and hurried to the dorm where the cubicle was that acted as home to her stepmother and stepsister. She walked through the opening, and her mother and sister made a great fuss over her because of all that they were shown from the backpack.
She told them everything that happened, and when Widow Feller heard how Kerry came by such riches, she wanted the same good fortune for her lazy and ugly daughter, Eunice. So, the next day she told Eunice to go sit by the well and peel the vegetables. To make the peeler bloody she pricked Eunice’s fingers with a needle. Then the ugly and lazy daughter simply tossed the peeler into the well and jumped in after it.
She hit her head on the same low ledge and woke up next to the same meadow. Taking the same route, she eventually came to the bakery beside the road. The smell of freshly cooked bread made her mouth water and she hurried inside and wolfed down as much as she could then left; not bothering to leave any behind that she hadn’t torn into the middle of.
Next she came to an apple tree. She didn’t much care for apples, but instead of leaving them for others who might pass, she plucked the best ones from the heavy branches and threw them at passing zombies.
When she arrived at Mother Holly’s house, a few of the zombies she’d hit with apples followed her. The old woman hobbled out to the yard with the poker from the fireplace clutched in her gnarled hands.
“Land’s sakes, child!” Mother Holly exclaimed. “You’re bringing them ghouls right on your heels and to my little home.”
Eunice didn’t bother to stifle a laugh as she pointed. “What the hell is wrong with your teeth? Ain’tcha never heard of an orthodontist?”
Mother Holly ignored the cruel jibe and dispatched with the zombies that were trudging up the path to her cottage before they could get to the garden and mess things up.
Of course once it was done, Eunice hastily agreed to stay on and help Mother Holly. That first day she even forced herself to do the work by reminding herself of the reward to come. But on the second day she bega
n to take it easy, going so far as to sleep in when she was supposed to accompany the old woman to the bakery. And on the third day it was even worse. Eunice didn’t bother getting out of bed when she heard the old woman out in the yard fighting off a few zombies. She never once made Mother Holly’s bed, much less shake it out until the feathers flew.
It didn’t take long for Mother Holly to grow tired of Eunice and her slovenly ways. She woke the girl and quoted one of her favorite television shows before the world fell apart.
“Eunice,” Mother Holly said with a smile. “You’re fired!”
The lazy girl didn’t get it and thought this was all part of the routine. She climbed out of bed and followed Mother Holly to the door. When they reached it, the old woman opened it and shoved the girl into the arms of a waiting zombie. She closed the door on the horrible screams that followed.
“That’s your reward for your services,” Mother Holly smirked.
When the screaming died down, she slipped out back and came around the house. Eunice’s zombie was just getting up and her insides fell out of the gaping hole in her belly and onto Mother Holly’s porch.
“I’ll have to get to that later,” the old woman said.
She quickly got the attention of the zombies on her porch and led them through the woods and to the FEMA shelter. As they reached the edge of the tree line, Mother Holly ducked behind some brush. The stupid zombies continued along and the old woman slipped back towards her house. She hadn’t gotten far when she heard a short burst of automatic weapons’ fire.
25
Violet and the Seven Zombies
Based on:
Die sieben Raben
There was once a man who had seven sons, and still he had no daughter, however much he wished for one. At length his wife again gave him hope of a child, and when it came into the world it was a girl. They named her Violet, and the joy they felt was great. Only, the child was sickly and small.
Gruesomely Grimm Zombie Tales Page 17
