by Wallen, Jack
Tucked away in a can marked ‘Kohi’ was at least a half pound of unground beans, black as night and ready to fire us up for the morning. There was only one problem…no power, no grinder. It was time to channel my inner Zombie Response Team and make do. I found a plastic baggie and scooped out enough beans for two cups into the sealable pouch. With a rolling pin, I crushed the beans until they were a fine powder. Grounds ready, I turned on the tap and crossed my fingers for hot water.
“Crap,” I hissed as the water refused to warm even the slightest.
Square one and I were becoming besties.
Back to the scavenging.
Stashed away in a closet, I found chafing dishes, warming trays, and a box of Sterno cans.
“Mikko,” I called out victoriously. She missed the celebratory tones and rushed back, assuming I was under attack. When she arrived, I held up the box and smiled.
“What the hell, Jingo? You scared the shit out of me.”
I shook the box. “Look.”
“Yay, it’s a box. If I were a cat, I’d jump in it and take over the internet. Big deal.”
“No, dingleberry, what’s inside.”
I tilted the box so she could get a glimpse within.
Her eyes went wide and she squealed with delight. “Does that mean what I think it means?”
“Hot coffee coming up.”
“If you weren’t already mine, Jingo, I’d claim you here and now.”
I wrapped my arm around Mikko’s waist, pulled her to me, and sealed our lips together. When I pulled away, I offered a simple whisper. “Claimed.”
“Now make my coffee, damn it.” Mikko winked and walked away.
Like the pig my gender embodied, I stared as she sauntered out of the kitchen. Once the door shut behind her, I turned my attention back to the coffee. The setup was simple—a Sterno can burning under an old-time coffee pot. I wanted to conserve as much of the flammable material as possible, so I made sure there was only enough water in the pot for two cups.
I watched the setup carefully. The second the first bubbles emerged from the bottom of the water, I capped the Sterno and poured the water over the makeshift filter.
The smell was intoxicating. It took Mikko no time to return to the kitchen. No words were necessary. I poured the liquid love into mugs; we clinked the stoneware together and took our first sips.
“Oh, sweet jeebus, Jingo, that’s good stuff.”
I made a satisfied “Ahhh” sound and took another sip.
Mikko swallowed another gulp and asked, “Please tell me we can pack this stuff?”
“I don’t care if I have to toss out my clean underpants, I’ll make room in my backpack.”
We finished the coffee, stuffed every item of value into our packs, located the longest, sharpest knives we could find, and slipped through the door of Number One Take Out.
Mikko glanced my way. “What’s the plan, Stan?”
“We head back toward Asylum and take out a few beasties along the way.” I scanned the area for the nearest street sign and pointed. We walked the distance and then stopped. “Twenty-fifth and Oak. That means we’ve got about five or six miles of walking ahead of us.”
Mikko huffed. “You’re kidding, right?”
I answered with a shake of the head.
“You’ll carry me, right?”
Again, I shook my head.
“What kind of boyfriend are you?”
Before I could answer, a chorus of moans filtered into our space.
I sighed. “It’s too early for this crap.”
Instinctively, Mikko spun around and put her back to mine.
“That’s not going to work out here, Meeks. In this case, we need to gain the upper hand, find them, and drop the hammer before they know what hit them. Maybe we’ll get lucky and collect a day’s worth of heads on our first excursion. Then we can head straight for Asylum and tuck ourselves away to prepare for the main event.”
Mikko patted me on the back. “Always the optimist, Jingo.”
“Don’t knock it, Mikko. That optimism has managed to get us pretty far.”
“Not even Spock could argue with that logic.”
The moans returned.
I held my hand up to stop Mikko.
“What is it?” she whispered.
I answered softly. “The moans didn’t move. That means…”
“They’re standing still. Yeah, I picked up on that, Jingo. I think a monkey could have solved that riddle.”
She winked.
“You could get away with murder. You know that?”
“It’s the apocalypse, Jingo. Anyone can get away with anything at any moment.”
Another round of moans sounded off. Mikko took in a deep breath and released it in a sigh. “What do you suppose we do with this new intel?”
I considered the options. After the moans rose and fell a third time, I was able to call their location. I had no idea how accurate my estimation was, but knew it to be ballpark enough to get us there.
I pointed and whispered, “Two o’clock.”
Mikko turned to face the correct direction and nodded. She held her knife high enough to be ready, but not in such a way that it would hinder a dash toward destiny.
Without getting on our mark, we sprinted into the heart of a very dangerous darkness, unsure of what truly lay before us.
My heart and mind raced faster than my feet could carry me. This was the moment I hated most about the apocalypse…the thrill of an unknown that could end with our lives extinguished. The only thing that managed to dissolve that fear was the game. With the slightest bit of trickery, I could twist the narrative and any given moment of life-threatening danger could become just another inning in the game of death.
Batter up, bitches.
We stormed into an intersection filled with a maze of abandoned vehicles. Cars, trucks, vans, motorcycles, bicycles…all of which had been left to rust and rot.
Standing dead center was a horde of zombies. They swayed back and forth like chorus members in an off-off Broadway musical adaptation of “Waiting For Godot”. Each of them stared upward, their useless eyes missing out on a gorgeous blue and white sky.
I quickly scanned the area for anything that could give us the upper hand. There was nothing obvious. I leaned in and whispered to Mikko, “You feeling like a little divide and conquer?”
Mikko took in the situation before replying. “It’s our only option; so yeah, I’m up for it. Which side you want me to take?”
“You stay here. If this goes sideways, head back to Number One and wait for me there.”
“Always the gentleman, Jingo.”
I landed a quick kiss on Mikko’s cheek. “That’ll be my new nickname. Gentleman Jingo.”
“Only if you wear a bow tie and a fedora.”
I winked. “Deal. But you’ll have to show me how to tie one.”
Mikko shook her head and whispered, “Effing nerd. Get your ass over there so we can take down some Moaners.”
Without hesitation, I slipped away, skirting the perimeter of the area. Once in place, opposite Mikko, I punched my fist up in the air once, twice, three times. On the third motion, Mikko shouted at the top of her lungs, “Hey, you dirty bastards!”
I immediately followed up with, “Get your slimy bung holes over here!” The gathering horde turned one way and then the next. Precisely as planned, half of the Moaners schlepped off toward Mikko, and the other half toward me.
Mikko shouted, “Come on, clown bait!”
“You need to work on your trash talk, girl,” I replied at the top of my lungs.
“I got yer trash talk right here!” Mikko raised her knife into air and gave it a shake.
The Moaners continued to weave through the maze, slack-jawed and mopey-eyed. I dropped into my best Bruce Lee stance and waited.
“I see you’re bringing sexy back!” Mikko shouted with a laugh.
“Who are you kidding, girlfriend? Have you once seen this without
its sexy?” I waved my hands in front of me.
Mikko retorted, “I’d hit that.”
With a nod to the gods of perfect timing, one of the Moaners reached Mikko just as she swung out; her fist connected beautifully with its jaw. Being the slim and trim, ninety-pounds-when-wet girl that she was, the roundhouse packed no punch.
The knife, however, did. With a perfectly placed thrust, the blade of the weapon slipped into the mouth of the Moaner to sever the spinal cord. The zombie dropped without so much as a complaint.
My turn. One of the undead crew drew in close enough that my blade could reach into and through the eye socket.
“Another one down,” I called out.
In my moment of celebration, one of the Moaners grabbed my left calf and jerked. I dropped, unceremoniously, onto the hood of the car. Both knife and wind were knocked away. My lungs gasped for air and my hands grasped for steel. The weapon was nowhere to be found.
I had no choice. It was kill or be killed. I snaked my hand under my back and wrapped my fingers around the handle of the gun. This will not end well, I thought. Before I had a chance to second-guess my plan, I pressed the barrel of the gun against the forehead of the nearest zombie and pulled the trigger. The muffled explosion sent blood and bits of brain flying from the back of his head. He dropped, only to make room for the next. I repeated the action, sending the second Moaner to its final grave.
I knew this was a bad idea. Stealth was the only true weapon now, and I’d blown that the second the knife slipped my grip.
Too late. The tattoo of gunfire would already have called the attention of every undead American within blocks. That meant one thing and only one thing.
“Mikko, we have to get the hell out of here now!” I shouted above the macabre din.
“You mean because you had to go all alpha male on their asses?” Mikko called back.
“Something like that, yeah,” I answered, and pulled off another shot. This time the back-splash arched upwards, only to rain down on everyone in my circle of death…including me. Instinctively, I turned my head, covered my eyes, and sealed my lips tight. No matter how well I closed up shop, the smell of rot would never leave…it permeated my sinuses and promised to hang about for a very, very long time.
“You okay?” Mikko shouted.
“Yeah, you?” I answered.
“I hate zombies,” Mikko said flippantly.
I opened my mouth to reply, and the last remaining Moaner shoved his fingers into my mouth, grabbed my lower jaw, and pulled me forward. I had to scramble to remain level, else the ruined man would wreck my face. He twisted his hand to send a shock of pain down my neck. My fingers reflexively opened and I dropped the gun.
This was the end. The undead douchewad was about to make a meal out of me until there was no more to come back to.
He pulled me in close. I could smell the hot and sour breath spilling from between his rotting lips. Brittle and blackened teeth crack-a-lacked in anticipation of brain stew.
I was on my own.
Here we go, I thought.
Before the bastard could clamp his teeth down on my flesh, the tip of a knife pierced through the right eyeball from behind. The zombie dropped to reveal a grinning Mikko.
“Divide and conquer,” she said, and offered a helping hand. “You know what this means, right?”
“Yeah.” I mumbled.
“Say it.” Mikko insisted.
Another muffled mumble from my lips.
Mikko grinned wide. “I’m sorry, I couldn’t quite make that out. What did you just say?”
A window-rattling scream punched through the area. Mikko yanked me to my feet and craned her neck in every direction.
“What do we do, Jingo?”
“We get the hell out of this dead-zone Dodge, that’s what.”
Mikko was near panic. “We can’t outrun Screamers.”
I scanned the area, and the solution to our problem appeared across the street.
“Bikes,” I whispered.
“What?” Mikko asked.
I pointed out two bicycles, tucked into a bike rack…neither sporting a lock. Mikko spotted them and nearly giggled with excitement.
“Oh, shit,” I hissed.
“What now?”
“My weapons. I dropped them both.” Before Mikko had a chance to stop me, I ran through the metal maze in search of protection. I could feel a sense of dread well up in my gut. “This is a mistake,” I said to myself. And yet I continued on; my guide, the blood-spattered hood of a rusted-out BMW.
The screech drew nearer.
Now was one of those moments where I’d like to kick the apocalypse square in the junk. No matter how many steps forward we took, the new world order always found a way to shove us back a few extra. It sucked the joy and youth from life.
“Found ‘em!” I shouted.
Mikko screamed; the sound carried a current of terror I hadn’t yet heard from her mouth. When I turned, my lungs and heart threatened to clamp up. Standing on the roof of a black SUV stood a road-raging sack of Screamer. Every muscle in its body flexed until tendons and ligaments threatened to snap. The thing drew in a deep breath and unleashed a scream to open the gates of Hell.
I scooped up the pistol, turned, and took aim.
“Hey, mother—”
Before I had the chance to toss out the perfect one-liner, the thing leapt from the roof and crashed down on the hood of an El Camino. Another leap, and he was one car closer to my side. I spotted my site, squared my shoulders, and took in a deep breath. Before the bastard sprung into action again, I pulled off the shot. The bullet crashed through the thing’s forehead like it was made of pretzel and Spam. Bits of bone and meat radiated outward like post-apocalyptic art.
“My hero!” Mikko shouted.
I wasted no time celebrating or gloating and sprinted back to Mikko’s side. “Let’s go,” I said in haste. I stuffed the weapons into my pack, grabbed one of the bikes, and nodded.
Mikko stood her ground, eyes wide and lips pursed.
“What is it, girl?”
“You’re so going to hate me for this.”
“No way. Not possible.”
“Possible.”
I tilted my head. “We really need to get going, so now and fast might be the best time to explain yourself.”
“We need the heads, Jingo.”
“I hate you.”
We stared at one another, in perfect silence, for what seemed like minutes.
Mikko finally broke. “If we’re sticking with the plan, we need those heads for final call today.”
“You’re right.” I let the bike fall from my grip. “Damn it. I was so looking forward to surviving this pile of crap.”
Mikko held up her knife. “Let’s just get it over with before more party crashers invade our scene.”
Of all the despicable acts the apocalypse had brought about, what we were about to do topped the Oh, hell no list. Throughout our young lives, we’d been exposed to images of jihadists beheading their fellow humans for one lunatic reason or another. Taking part in the actual deed, however, brought a very special, very new meaning to the concept of insanity. That a single, grown man had managed to acclimate a small army of kids to the idea of slicing through neck, sinew, and spine put everything into perspective. That perspective completely and utterly wrecked what remained of my childhood.
“Of all the things I lost…” I started.
“I miss my youth the most.” Mikko finished.
“Goddamn Wasteland.” I added.
Mikko shook her head. “Goddamn game.”
Like two macabre mourners, Mikko and I set out to strip the undead bodies of their heads. The act had the added effect of ensuring, beyond a single shadow of doubt, the bastards were dead. There was no coming back from this.
For either side of the blade.
“You slice ‘em, I string ‘em?” Mikko asked.
I answered with a silent nod. She fished out a measure of rope
from her pack and prepped for the incoming disasters. I quickly sank the knife into the neck of the nearest zombie. The spongy sound of necrotic flesh made me want to spew from every orifice on my body.
The knife bit through the skin like wet paper. When it hit bone, I bore down on the handle until the back snapped.
The head rolled off. I snatched it up by the hair and handed it off to Mikko for stringing. She fed the rope through the gaping maw until it popped out from the unsealed neck.
We went through this activity until every head had been removed. By the time the last zombie was taken care of, Mikko was struggling to hold up the string of undead pearls. I played the chivalry card and grabbed the rope.
“How are we going to carry that all the way back to the Asylum?” Mikko asked bluntly.
I turned back to the bikes and pointed at the cruiser with a basket. “That’s how.”
“I call that your bike, Jingo.”
“I accept your punishment gladly.”
I slopped the heads into the basket; some flopped over the edge, but all held fast.
“I’m riding upwind of you and your pedi-hearse. The smell is rancid.”
We pedaled off, Mikko slightly ahead of me.
“I give you permission to fart, Mikko. Your girl gas might mask the stink of these rotting heads.”
Mikko flipped me off and called out, “Jerk face!”
five | asylum
The warehouse came into view with only a few minutes before last call. The sun was about to disappear into the night sky, and we could finally enjoy a solid meal and the comfort of Asylum.
Mikko stopped short of the entrance and turned to me. “Are you sure this is what we want? We’ve made it on our own this long; who’s to say we’re better off here?”
“Coming back isn’t about us, Mikko. It’s about them.” I pointed to the line of kids waiting to enter the building, Moaner heads in hand. Most of the kids were lucky to have a single trophy in tow. Those without held their heads low, knowing they’d receive nothing to eat or drink for the night. “Every one of them risked their lives, and for what? A scrap of bread?”
