Teenage Wasteland (I Zombie)

by Wallen, Jack

  Mikko nodded. “You’re right. And Crowbar has to be getting something out of the deal.”

  “Exactly. The question remains…what is his endgame?”

  Mikko hoisted her leg over the bike and walked it over to the rack. I followed suit and pulled our haul from the basket.

  As we walked up to the entrance, every head turned our way and all eyes fell upon our string of trophies. Like some prodigal hero returned from war, I stepped up to the receiving window and swung our take onto the shelf.

  “Six Moaners and one Screamer,” I called out loud enough so that everyone could hear. Gasps and whispers fluttered through the air and tickled my hearing. Mikko snaked her arm down mine and intertwined our fingers. She gave me a reassuring squeeze.

  I returned the gesture.

  “That’s quite a haul there, kid. What’s your number?”

  I pulled my shirt collar away to reveal the number tattooed at the base of my neck. “8675,” I answered.

  The Receiver ran her fingers down a list until she found my entry. “Jingo. You’ve won last call almost every time you’ve returned.” She stared back up at me; beady eyes glancing over wire-framed glasses. “Would there be cause for an investigation here?”

  I shook my head adamantly. “No, ma’am. I’m just a damn good hunter.”

  The Receiver nodded her head. “I’d say so.” She glanced back at the remaining kids in line and slammed the Winner’s stamp down on the call sheet. She rang the final call bell and shouted, “We have a winner!”

  Every kid in line groaned. When it dawned on them who the winner was, they filed through the entryway, one at a time, and deposited their collected heads into a large plastic drum. Once the last of the kids had marched past, the Receiver handed me and Mikko each a card with a large number, one on both sides. “This will get you your winnings…but you already know that, don’t you?” She leaned in and glanced to the left and then to the right. “I hope you aren’t cheating. Crowbar isn’t terribly fond of cheaters.”

  That was the understatement of the year. The last time Crowbar caught one of the players cheating, he sent him off into the streets with a siren strapped to his back. It took no time for a horde of Screamers to pounce and rip the poor kid to shreds.

  I opted to remain silent. Mikko and I walked into the heart of the warehouse, but not before spotting a man in an orange jumpsuit appearing out of nowhere to roll the barrel full of heads away from the entrance.

  “Did you see that?” I whispered to Mikko.

  She nodded. “What the hell?”

  “You mean, note to self?”

  “That too, Jingo.”

  We made our way to the claiming station and flopped our cards on the counter. The woman behind the glass nodded her head and smiled. “Winner, winner…”

  “Please don’t say ‘Chicken dinner’,” Mikko huffed. “Every time we’ve won, it’s been chicken.”

  The claims worker canted her head to the left and dropped hands to hips. “Don’t tell me you’re pissing and moaning about getting a meal. I’m not hearin’ that from little Miss Aerie Nation.”

  Mikko bristled. I could feel the anger radiating from her flesh. I placed my hand on her lower back and gave it a slight pat…hoping she’d get the message to remain calm.

  She took in a deep breath and sighed. “You’re right, ma’am. I’m very sorry for sounding ungrateful.”

  The claims worker beamed with pride. “Well, aren’t you the sweetheart. Just for that…Winner, winner, Salisbury steak dinner.”

  Mikko reached up, grabbed the boxes from the woman, and said with way too much enthusiasm, “Yum! I can’t wait to sink my teeth into this. Thank you sooooo much.”

  My eyes threatened to roll back so hard, they’d explode from my skull. I closed my eyelids to avoid getting caught in flagrante teen-licto. Mikko grabbed me by the arm and yanked me away from the claiming station.

  “Come on,” Mikko whispered. “I want to eat in our room.”

  “If we have a room to go back to.”

  Mikko unleashed another sigh. “I hate this place.”

  “Home sweet home,” I responded.

  We hit the stairs two at a time. Before we reached the landing, a voice caught me by surprise.

  “Jingo! Holy shit, you’re back.”

  I turned to see Frenzy gazing up at me with his oversized, wild eyes. The kid was a total spaz, but could sneak in and out of anything when necessary. He also sported a giant blue mohawk, a dog collar, a ratty Sex Pistols tee shirt, and a plaid skirt he insisted we call a kilt. Outside of Mikko, he was my best friend.

  Frenzy rushed up the stairs and slammed into me with his skinny arms wrapped around my chest. “This place was a sodding droner without you here.”

  Frenzy also affected a British dialect.

  He was from Indiana.

  The kid was crazy enough to pull it off…skirt and all.

  “Where’ve you been, mate?”

  I tilted my head up the stairs, indicating for Frenzy to follow. He winked and fell into step beside me. We marched up the remaining two flights in silence.

  “What’s this all about, Jingo? Why all the secrecy?”

  I nudged Frenzy in the ribs and tossed a warning glance his way. The last thing I needed was to share a single conspiracy theory with the kid out in the open. Thankfully, Frenzy spoke a fluent paranoid and sealed his mouth tight. He nodded in understanding as we made our way down the dark hall to the door of our room.

  Mikko glanced back at me, grasped the handle, and crossed the fingers of her free hand. She twisted the knob and pulled the door open without a hitch.

  The room was just as we’d left it. A single mattress on the floor, against the back corner of the room, stood as the focal point. Surrounding the bed was a twisted mess of sheets and blankets. A handmade quilt spread across the window as the only means to protect the innocent from the cruel world.

  Mikko stepped into the room and took in a deep breath. “Oh, how I missed this funk.”

  Frenzy coughed. “Smells like open ass.”

  Mikko spun around and slugged Frenzy in the chest. He squealed and shouted, “Oi! Why you hafta punch like a bloke?”

  She mocked his fake accent as she spoke. “Why yoo haveter speak wif such a doiahlect?”

  “Ha ha,” Frenzy spat.

  “Is that all you got?” Mikko challenged Frenzy.

  I stepped between the two sparring partners. “Enough. We’ve got issues to talk about. The last thing we need is the two of you up each others’ butts.”

  “Arses,” Mikko chided.

  Frenzy leaned in and surprised Mikko with a kiss on the cheek. “Love ya, girl.”

  Mikko shook her head. “Who’s the girl here?”

  “Noice one. Yer such a drawn out Betty.” Frenzy spoke the odd phrase with ease.

  “You’re reaching, Frenzy,” I said with my best mocking tone. “What the hell is a drawn out Betty?”

  “What? You can’t keep up wif the times?”

  Mikko flopped onto the mattress, her arms and legs spread wide, and dove into her Salisbury steak. I lowered myself down and set out to take off my shoes. Once my Chucks were off, dinner was on. Frenzy sidled up to the window and did his best to steal a glance of the street below.

  “What are you looking for, Fren?”

  “Them,” was all Frenzy would say.

  Mikko glanced up and slowly removed the fork from her mouth. “Still paranoid, Frenzy?”

  “Why shouldn’t I be? Better to be overly paranoid and alive than naive and dead.” Frenzy’s dialect spilled out awkwardly, almost as if he had better things to focus his energy on. He caught me catching him and winked. “So…it seems like you’ve a few beans to spill.”

  I nodded and gestured for Frenzy to sit before his nervous pacing got the best of my Zen. “What we’re about to say cannot leave this room…at least, not yet.”

  Frenzy dropped to the floor and crossed his legs together. “All ears and no mout
h, mate.”

  “We’re taking Crowbar down.”

  Frenzy’s lower jaw nearly slammed into the floor. “Are you fekking outta your minds? The last of us to stand against that walking pile of bollocks got themselves a case of Soylent Green. He’s a bad, bad man.”

  I punched a pointed finger his way. “Exactly, Fren’. It’s time we put an end to his reign of terror.”

  Frenzy raised both hands in a gesture of surrender. “I…I don’t know, Jingo. This sounds like some seriously dangerous drama you’ve got working.”

  “Why are we doing this?” I asked.

  “What?” Frenzy responded.

  “Risking our lives for that bastard.” My voice rose a few decibels above secretive. “Have you ever asked yourself what he does with the heads?”

  Frenzy’s face twisted into a mask of confusion.

  “I didn’t think so. There must be a reason why Crowbar has us trading trophies for food; I don’t buy that he’s helping to rid the world of the undead.”

  Mikko chimed in. “There has to be an ulterior motive.”

  “Or maybe he just likes playing with our lives for no reason at all,” Frenzy said pointedly. “That would make the man seriously evil.”

  “Agreed. That’s why we have to do something.” I laid out the plan to Frenzy. He balked at the idea. I found myself in shock at his resistance.

  “So the great anarchist is afraid to stand up against tyranny?” Mikko finally sat up. “Isn’t that your whole shtick?”

  “Piss off, Mikko.”

  I considered Frenzy’s bristling and opted to take a different approach.

  “Do you think it’s fair we have to risk our lives every day for the chance to win a scrap of food? How many times have you gone to bed hungry since joining Asylum?”

  Frenzy shrugged.

  “You can’t remember, can you?”

  Another shrug.

  Frenzy grew increasingly uncomfortable. “We don’t live in the same world that once spoon-fed us everything. Now we all have to do our part…”

  I waved my hands before me and shouted, “Whoa, whoa, whoa. Our part? Are you kidding me? Our part is probably paving the way for that rat turd’s return to the lush life. He’s probably stockpiling those heads in order to pay some deadly piper to gain entrance into the sacred trust of the Zero Day Collective.”

  “We don’t know that, Jingo.”

  I slammed my hand onto the mattress, causing a puff of dusty air to rise from the material. “We don’t not know that, Frenzy. This is the apocalypse; we have to work on what we don’t know as much as what we do know. I think Crowbar is using kids for his own gain. That in and of itself should be enough to make you want to go after the man with a rage-fueled passion.”

  Frenzy leaned back into the wall and raised his hands high. “What I know is that Crowbar is a mad bastard. What I don’t know is whether or not the man would fold me inside out for even entertaining these thoughts.”

  I closed my eyes and shook my head. “Look, Frenzy, are you in or are you out on this mission? I don’t care, I just have to be prepared, either way. You just have to promise me, if you opt out, you won’t tell anyone what we’re up to.”

  Frenzy paused to consider his options. Before he could answer, a furious knock rattled our door. I slipped to the entrance and spoke pointedly. “What do you want?”

  “New kids. New kids!” the anxious voice shouted.

  I cracked open the door to see Truck peering back at me, his chubby cheeks pressed between the door and the jamb.

  “Who is it, Truck?” I asked.

  “Don’t know, but there’s three of them, and it looks like they’re hauling a lot of crap with ‘em.”

  Truck turned and padded down the hall toward the stairs. I closed the door and turned to my dynamic duo. It was Frenzy who spoke first.

  “What are we waiting for? Fresh meat awaits.”

  I yanked the door open, and we all crashed into the hall. Like a mad dash for cash, we raced toward the stairs, pushing and pulling to vie for the lead. Somehow, I managed to hit the stairs first. Halfway down, I caught up with Truck.

  “Faster, Truck, kill kill.” I shouted the homage to the kid’s favorite exploitation film. He laughed as his legs continued to bumble and stumble down the steps.

  We arrived at the bottom of the stairs to the back of a gathered crowd. Like some anointed king, I pushed my way through the throng until I stood front and center.

  The intake officer stood between me and the new kids, clipboard in hand. She was barking out questions like she was enlisting soldiers.

  “What’s in the cases?”

  One of the kids, a short, curly-haired take on the intense artistic dreamer, answered emphatically. “Our equipment.”

  “Insufficient answer. Let’s try that one more time. What’s in the cases?”

  The same kid replied, “I already answered your question. It’s our equipment, end of story.”

  The gathering crowd gasped in a cartoonish unison.

  The intake officer snapped, “If you want to enter Asylum, we must catalog everything you bring in.”

  “Look, lady, we’re a film crew, and this is our equipment. ‘Nuff said, okay?”

  “So, cameras, lights, stands, backdrops?”

  “Something like that, yeah.”

  “Names, please?” intake asked.

  “I’m Kubrick. This is Nicco and Fay. Our production company is called ‘Cut’. If you think you’re going to confiscate our equipment, think again. We’ll turn around and find other shelter.”

  Another gasp from the crowd.

  The intake officer jotted some notes on her clipboard and nodded back to Kubrick. “Fine.” She turned to the crowd; our eyes met. “Jingo.”

  I acknowledged her with a nod.

  “Take our new residents up to room…” She glanced back at her clipboard “…Room 203.”

  “Yes ma’am,” I answered.

  “And make sure to fill them in on Asylum’s little rule book.”

  Again, another nod.

  I gestured for Kubrick and his gang to follow, and led them to and up the stairs.

  Kubrick was the first of the trio to speak as we ascended. “Is this just some haven for wayward orphans?”

  “Something like that,” Frenzy answered.

  “What are your names?” the girl, whom I could only assume was Fay, asked.

  We made our introductions before reaching the door of room 203. The newbies filed into their new home, followed closely by myself, Mikko, and Frenzy. I eased the door shut and turned to Kubrick and the gang.

  “How did you find this place, and what have you heard about it?” I asked in a hushed whisper.

  Nicco answered. He was tall, with a shock of jet-black hair sweeping down over his eyes. Emo…or damn close. “We just stumbled into it; haven’t heard a thing.”

  Fay added, “Should we have?”

  Me, Mikko, and Frenzy nodded slowly.

  “Care to fill us in?” asked Kubrick.

  I gave the new kids on the block the Cliff’s notes edition of the issues at hand. “It’s simple: every day the residents of Asylum spill out onto the streets, makeshift weapons in hand; their only task to kill as many Moaners and Screamers as possible. Once killed, the heads are removed and brought back. The individual or team with the most kills wins. The winners get fed. The losers go hungry.” As my description unfolded, Kubrick’s eyes grew wide.

  “That’s messed up.” He glanced to Nicco and Fay before returning his gaze to me. “We should be filming this.”

  Nicco made to unlock one of the cases when the idea hit me like a kangaroo punch to the groin.

  “Wait.” I gestured high and wide. “I have a better idea.”

  Nicco stared at me and shook his head. “There is no better idea than film. It’s pure, it’s untouched by the soiled grasp of society.”

  I laughed. “You clearly didn’t see the same movies I saw just before the apocalypse. Not
hing but reboots, remakes, sequels, and prequels. Hollywood lost its mojo long ago.”

  Kubrick nodded. “I must admit I cannot disagree with you. But we’re not working from the same frame of reference. Everything we do is smaller and, therefore, more focused. There is no longer an academy to pander to.”

  Frenzy interrupted Kubrick’s spiel. “Wait, wait…you’re serious, aren’t you?”

  Kubrick nodded.

  “And your name…is that after the great Stanley Kubrick?”

  Another nod.

  “This is bloody brilliant.”

  Fay stared around the room. She was gorgeous in that shiny, happy Hollywood kind of way—a sort of modern-day, teenage Ingrid Bergman. As soon as she stepped up to speak, Mikko wrapped a possessive arm around my waist. I snuggled up against her in a show of romantic solidarity.

  “We haven’t done a documentary yet,” Fay announced. “This might be the perfect timing.”

  “You don’t get it,” I said emphatically. “This is our opportunity to figure out what Crowbar is really up to. We need to know what he’s doing with those heads.”

  “Who’s Crowbar?” Nicco asked.

  Frenzy offered up the best description I’d ever heard. “He’s the douchewaddle responsible for each and every one of us risking our lives for a damn TV dinner every day.”

  Kubrick shook his head slowly. “Why in the hell would you do that?”

  “A hot and a cot,” was Mikko’s quick reply.

  Fay picked up Kubrick’s train of thought. “Yeah, but you’re not guaranteed a meal. In fact, only one of you winds up getting fed. Why not just find eats out there, ignore the rules, and return when it’s time to sleep? I’d think that plan would be significantly more conducive to survival.”

  Frenzy scuffed his shoe on the floor and blushed as he answered Fay—clearly smitten. “That neglects one tiny bit of fine print in the rule book. You fail to return with the spoils of war for more than three days and you lose your bloody cot. I’ve seen it happen; kids getting turned away, not even able to pick up what few belongings they have to their name.”

  We all stared at one another for an extended period. It was Kubrick who broke the silence.

  “Okay. Yeah…let’s do this. Nicco, grab the action cam and the solar charger. We’ll hide it wherever Jingo says. With the charger in place, the sun will keep the camera running. We can set it to only go off at certain times to conserve even more power.”