“Clemens goes up in the windup and . . . turns around and scratches his nuts,” Jeremiah teased.
“Come on, Jer. Call the pitch.” Ezra eyed his target intently. The zombie’s teeth clacked together unnervingly in empty air.
“Clemens spits, winds up . . . it’s a fastball!” Jeremiah threw a mock pitch toward Ezra.
Ezra closed his eyes and reared back with the bat, then swung it across slamming into the zombie’s head just above its left ear.
The bat smashed into its head with such an impact the top of the skull dislodged completely and now hung down on the right side of the head, attached only by the scalp.
The brain was exposed and squished like gray Play-Doh to the right side. The zombie’s body shook violently, but the gruesome creature was undeterred from its insatiable hunger for living flesh.
“Strike one,” Jeremiah called.
Ezra shot Jeremiah an expression of disapproval, and brought the bat down with both hands on top of the zombie’s open skull. The putrid gray mass exploded in small bits mixed with blood and vile body fluids. It showered an area ten feet wide.
Ezra smiled as the zombie’s knees gave up its animation and fell limp. The body stayed upright by the bite of the barbed wire. He turned and gave Jeremiah a smirk of victory.
“You got zombie goo all over you,” Jeremiah said.
Ezra looked down at the splatter that had painted his chest and arms. He couldn’t see his face peppered with the gore, but the smell worked its way into his nostrils. He heaved twice, and finally give back his breakfast.
* * *
Jeremiah sensed an unusual tension during lunch, though the other children seemed to be oblivious to it. Zeke was up to something, he just didn’t know what. Rebecca had been quiet during the meal, rarely looking up from her plate.
Lunch was over. Rebecca cleared the dishes from the table and was busy washing them. Zeke had all the other children outside on the porch, assigning them chores for the afternoon.
Zeke stood before the crowd of his siblings and waved his finger in the air. “Paw said that it’s time to get the seed potatoes in the ground. I want all of you but, Jeremiah, to get out there in the field and work together. Ezra, you and, Solomon, start busting up the ground.
“Beth, and, Sarah, remember when you wash the seed potatoes to scrape off the extra eyes. Just make sure you leave three of them. You girls, you too, Esther, start planting as fast as the boys get the dirt ready.”
The children stood looking down at the peeling paint on the porch floor or staring off in the distance. The weight of lunch made them all a little sleepy.
“What are you waiting fer? Get!” Zeke said, pointing toward the field.
“What about me,” Jeremiah asked, again sensing Zeke was up to something.
“Well, before you get on to the field I want you to walk the fence again.”
“We just did that. Why not wait till this afternoon?”
“Two reasons. One, that stranger may have had someone following him. I don’t want anyone to surprise us. Two, you said you and Ezra left that deadwalker tangled in the fence. I want you to get it off before the dead weight hanging on it pulls that section of fence down. Three—”
“You said two reasons.”
Zeke frowned. His face flushed red. “Three, Paw said to do it.”
Their stares met. Zeke waited for Jeremiah to make one move toward him. He was going to make sure Jeremiah would never challenge him again.
Jeremiah’s vision clouded with anger. His breathing became more intense. He ground his back teeth together. His knuckles turned white as he clenched his fist.
Zeke taunted, “Well?”
Jeremiah let all the bad air he was holding out, turned around, and stood with shoulders slumped looking at the floor.
“That’s better. Now get,” Zeke said, as he turned and opened the front door into the house.
Jeremiah heard the door close, but before he took a step to leave, he heard the lock on the door click. Whatever Zeke was up to, he knew that it was no good.
Jeremiah stepped lightly on the porch back to the door. He tried the knob and confirmed that it was indeed locked.
As he ran to the side of the house by his room, he tried to open the window. It wouldn’t budge, and then he remembered Paw told Zeke to nail the windows shut now that the dead walked.
He ran to the other side of the house and looked through a window. Zeke and Rebecca were in the pantry. Zeke had her pinned against the wall, puckering his lips as she struggled in his grasp.
Jeremiah’s insides shook with fear. He thought he was going to poo in his pants. He didn’t want Zeke to hurt his sister.
Jeremiah ran as fast as he could to the back door of the house. He grabbed the knob and twisted, but that door was locked too. His heart sank to his knees.
“Zeke, stop it! Get off me!” Rebecca pushed against him with all her might, to no avail. She turned her head away. His hot stinking breath assaulted her.
“Paw said we’s to be married. You better do as Paw says.”
Tears rolled down Rebecca’s face.
“Paw said if you gave me any trouble to bring you down to the cellar. How would you like that? How would you like me to lock you up with Paw for a spell?”
A noise came from the cellar, up the stairs, and into the pantry. It was a voice, faint, but it made the hairs stand up on the back of Zeke’s head.
Zeke froze and loosened his grip on Rebecca. She jerked away, not knowing why he had let her go.
“Zeke . . . .” the voice was clear now. Stronger.
Rebecca spoke first. “Paw?”
“You heard it too?”
Rebecca nodded her head.
“Zeke, come here boy,” the voice said.
“You better go down there and see him.”
Zeke looked puzzled. “Paw talks to me. He talks to me in my head. He ain’t never talked to me this way before.”
“You better go down and see him,” Rebecca repeated.
“Zeke. Come down here boy, now,” the voice said.
Zeke grabbed Rebecca by her wrist and pulled her reluctantly along with him down the stairs, and to the cellar door.
The black flies buzzed around Rebecca’s head. She waved her hand in the air to brush them away. Zeke didn’t seem to mind them.
The voice continued from behind the door. “Zeke. What are you doing to Rebecca? I heard her scream.”
“She won’t listen to you, Paw. She don’t want to marry me. I told her what you said. She still won’t do it. You want me to send her in there with you?”
“Come on in here by yourself, boy. Come get your Maw’s wedding ring from around my neck. Give it to Rebecca, and she will do anything you ask,” the voice said.
“I’m coming, Paw.” Zeke let go of Rebecca and unlocked the door. He opened it and turned on the light.
The emaciated figure of his Paw stood in the middle of the room. Flies covered more than half his body. The leather necklace around his neck still had the wedding ring his wife wore for the twenty five years they were married.
“Come get the ring. It’s what your Maw would have wanted.”
Rebecca froze in horror at the shock of seeing her wasted Paw as a member of the living dead. Bones lined the floor and human skulls crawling with maggots looked up as if crying for mercy. She gagged at the sight and smell of the waste and decay concentrated in the cellar.
Zeke took three steps toward his Paw before he heard the door slam closed behind him. Rebecca quickly put the latch on the door and snapped the lock shut, sealing Zeke in.
Jeremiah watched through the window at the top of the cellar, relieved that his deception had worked, and his sister was safe.
This time, he didn’t disguise his voice. “All hail, King Zeke.”
Zeke turned his head and saw Jeremiah waving at him from the opened ventilation window above. His eyes went wide in surprise.
An evil grin crossed Jeremiah’s face as he watched his Paw
tear hungrily into his panic stricken brother.
He wouldn’t have to worry about Zeke ever again.
But he did have a decision to make.
Would this be the last time his Paw spoke? Or would he now continue to bring Paw’s orders to the family in Zeke’s stead?
His newfound power brought with it carnal lusts that he had never felt before.
The End
Club Dead: Zombie Isle
“I didn’t think the line could move any slower. I was wrong.” Nancy pulled her seventy-pound suitcase forward another six inches. She turned to Rod, her boyfriend, and waited for a word of sympathy.
Rod, sporting an Australian style olive green jacura pulled low on his brow touching his sunglasses, ignored her. He was lost in a world of thrashing guitars and pounding drums mixing between his ears from his MP3 player.
She gave him an elbow to the ribs, pointed to her ears, and mouthed the words, I’m talking to you.
Rod jerked the ear buds out and let them dangle on his chest. “What? I’m on vacation!”
Nancy rolled her eyes and turned back around.
“It’s called ‘Island time.’ You have to get used to it,” Lisa said. “If they’d serve us cocktails while we’re in line it wouldn’t be so bad.”
“No problem, mon, soon come,” Truett said to Lisa, his wife. “Everything is no problem. Just ask the locals. You want service? No problem. You want it right now? No problem. You’ve been waiting for thirty minutes for them to pour you a drink? No problem. If you try to get these locals to hurry it only makes them go slower. It took me a few trips to the islands before I figured out what ‘No problem’ was code for. It means, fuck you.”
“This is the smallest airport I’ve ever been to in my life,” Bo said to his girlfriend, Natalie, who was right in the middle of taking a swig of a homemade tonic for a burst of energy.
“Hey, I’ve got an idea how we can pass the time. This is a French resort, right? You know how those French women all go topless on the beach, right? Well, we can play a game and imagine what all the women around us will look like topless!”
Responding to Truett’s suggestion as if it was a subconscious command, Rod and Bo’s roaming eyes went to work with robotic precision targeting women both young and old alike, mentally freeing them of shirts and underwear.
Their three companions looked at each other and shook their heads in unison. They had learned long ago that boys never really grow up.
* * *
The staff checking passports eventually doubled, meaning the number of agents increased from one to two. The three couples and nearly one hundred others finally passed through immigration and climbed aboard vans waiting to take them for the three minute ride to Club Caribe. It took longer to load the passengers and their carry-ons than the drive to the resort receiving area.
Once at the resort the Captain of the village, Barke, offered a brief welcome from the stage after the guests seated themselves in the outside theater. His attire for the day was a pink shirt and matching sneakers. He concluded his introduction with a warm invitation to meet back at the theater each night at ten o’clock for live entertainment. The Goes, what the activity directors working at the village were called because they were ‘always on the go,’ performed song and dance routines for those who wished resort fun to continue into the wee hours of the morning.
“And be sure ladies and gentlemen to be here tonight for our special zombie extravaganza. The Goes will rise from the dead and dance, portraying the story of their transformation, and of the loved ones they leave behind. It is our most popular show and it will play only one time this week.”
Bo leaned over to Truett. “That ought to be right up your alley.” Bo knew Truett was geeky in that sort of way.
Afterward, the Goes led the guests to their assigned rooms after grouping them together according to location. The resort stretched across 80 acres, with the farthest room taking a full ten minutes to reach by foot.
The island was the quintessential definition of tropical paradise. Sandy white beaches kissed by the deepest of clear blue sea invited the weary of modern life guests a chance to explore or relax, and to recharge the batteries of the soul. Bright Caribbean yellow, blue, and green rooms offset in triangular patterns gave each a spectacular ocean view.
The three couples met in front of the dive center for a late lunch. The dining room was just above on the second level. A balding man exited through double doors wearing a blue colored rash guard to greet them.
“Ah, new arrivals! Welcome to Club Caribe. My name is, Jean-Luc. I am the Dive Master and head of all of Club Caribe’s water activities. Perhaps my new friends here will be spending some time under waters of the Caribbean with me, no? It is a time to discover the wonders of oceanic life from the smallest anemone to the great hammerhead sharks that lurk in the deep.”
“We-we, Mon-sewer,” Truett said
“Ah, Parlez-vous Français?
“No, just funning with ya. My buddy, Rod, over there will be taking a few dives, though. He’s Canadian. You need to end every sentence with ‘Eh?’ or he won’t understand you.”
“Really? How strange.”
“No, not really. I’m just funning with ya. Right now we’re waiting to go to lunch.”
A small dark-rust colored chicken stepped from around Jean-Luc’s legs and pecked at bits of debris on the concrete.
“Oh, look. A chicken,” Lisa said, bending down to pet it. “Hey little chicky. Aren’t you cute.”
“By any chance is its name, le diner de poulet gagnant gagnant?” Truett asked.
“No, Monsieur. Her name is not ‘winner winner chicken dinner.’ She is my pet, Calimero. A sad tale is hers. My sister, Gail, is an activist for PETA. She rescued a dozen eggs from a French Bioengineering facility in Paris. There is no telling what horrors awaited these poor innocent creatures of God had they hatched into a life filled with knives and needles. I incubated them here at the club. Alas, she was the only one to survive.” Jean-Luc reached down to pick up Calimero.
Spying his hand as it came toward her, the chicken thrust her head forward and gave him a peck on the soft skin between his thumb and forefinger.
“Sacrebleu!’ Jean-Luc said and jerked his hand away.
“Maybe you should have named her, Pecker,” Truett said.
“Monsieur, my chicken is normally calm, cool, and collected. She is merely upset over your incessant prattle. Now, if you will excuse me, it is time for my Calimero to have a nap. I wish you to enjoy the lunch. Might I suggest chicken nuggets swimming in a pool of ketchup to excite the palate of someone with such self-acclaimed esteem as you?” Jean-Luc snatched Calimero up without further incident and slammed the door to the dive center shut.
The five others stared at Truett in various degrees of disgust.
Truett raised his hands to his shoulders. “What’d I say to piss him off?”
Nancy looked over at Lisa. “How do you put up with that?”
Lisa sighed. “I’ll give you my answer in French. Champagne. Lots of it.”
* * *
Emile navigated the dive boat from the cockpit located on the upper deck. The stars twinkled above like illuminated diamonds on black velvet as the sweet sounds of steel drums warmed the air in the background playing over the radio.
“Hey, Emile, what’s the name of the dive site?” Rob asked, calling up from the bow.
“The sea . . . I’m taking you to the sea. Ha-ha! Always with the questions you guests. I am the boat captain. You place your trust in me. I will show you a time you will never forget,” Emile said, with his thick St. Lucian accent. He was a hulking, intimidating man to look at, but he was a gentle giant and loved to tease.
Diesel fumes mingled with the constant sway of the boat. Rod contemplated hanging his head over the side and call for Buick. The party of five other divers and two dive team members huddled in the stern excitingly reminiscing over previous dive adventures. Each story topped the one told b
efore. A lovely Italian couple, Roberto and Louisa, had traveled the most. They delighted the others with stunning photos of previous dives on a touchpad.
The roar from the engine subsided. Emile called down to Lauren to hook the mooring line to the buoy. She hopped to attention, still dressed in her Goes attire, a pink shirt and white shorts. Tonight she wouldn’t have the duty to dive with the team. Recent dental work had her mouth wired shut for a minimum of six weeks. There was no way she could hold a regulator in her mouth. Thankfully, the cage didn’t prevent her from enjoying a few adult beverages after work.
Once the boat was secure, Lauren joined John-Luc midway through his instructional. Emile climbed down the ladder and began suiting up for the dive.
John-Luc excused himself and took a sip of water while dabbing his brow with a soft towel. He continued, “The darkness of the waters will make you consume more air from your tank than you would in the daytime. You will understand why once you dive underneath, as you can see only where your light shines. Your imagination will run wild as to what sea monster awaits to attack. Be not afraid. There is nothing to fear. Emile, and I, will be there to guide you along the way. Now, everyone suit-up.”
Lauren grabbed an air tank for Jean-Luc and brought it over to him. “Are you okay? You’re sweating and it’s not from the heat. You don’t look so good.”
“A touch of fever, perhaps. It is breaking.”
“Don’t go. Emile can handle it.”
“Yes, he could. However, safety rules will not allow. For a group this size we both have to dive or some of the guests will have to remain on the boat.”
Jean-Luc took the tank and strapped it around his chest. Lauren knew he was right and there would be no talking him out of going. Every employee of Club Caribe made individual sacrifices in order fulfill the obligations to their job. It would take more than a little fever for Jean-Luc to deny any guest an exciting night dive.
Bodies splashed over the side of the boat. Beams from flashlights mingled with the blue waters turning the surface mystic green. Rod felt immediate relief once off the boat and in a free float above the frigate wreck. His head was no longer hostage of the cascading waves. He mouthed a difficult smile around the regulator and followed Emile and the others to the forty-foot destination below.
A Fistful of Zombies: 12 Zombie Tales Page 6
