Zombie Zoology: An Unnatural History

by Tim Curran

  "Yeah, but look at it this way. How many other people our age get their own house."

  Gavin picked up a rock and tossed it out toward the sunset. It landed near Harley's body, which was still twitching and bleating every now and then. "You wanna move in if he don't come back?"

  For the first time, Nick could see genuine concern in Gavin's eyes. It wasn't like Jessie had never taken off for a couple of days before, but this was two weeks, and that was something to think about. Could be he really was gone for good. He'd spoken about it enough times—going to Vegas, leaving Indiana in his dust. Maybe he'd finally convinced himself. "I can't," he replied, feeling a bit bad as he said it, "this place is too far from the city and I'd be late to work every day."

  "You call that work, being a waiter?"

  "It pays the bills."

  "What bills? Your parents don't make you pay rent?"

  "It gives me money for weed and video games. Point is, I don't exactly have the best resume, so waiting tables is what I can get right now." That probably wasn't what Gavin wanted to hear, so Nick dug deep into that part of his male psyche that forbade him to have emotions about guys and turned it off for a second. "Listen, you need help, you call me. My folks and I...we got an extra room."

  "I can't leave here. This is my home."

  "I'm just saying."

  "I can't."

  "Suit yourself."

  They sat in silence for a few more minutes while Harley's legs kicked in the grass. The sheep tried to roll over a few times but didn't make it up. "So how did she get sick?" Nick asked.

  "Harley?"

  "No, the old woman in the shoe. Yes Harley."

  Picking up another rock, Gavin shook his head, pitched the rock in to the corn. "No idea. She just showed up at the door that way last night. Animals get sick, you know. Had some blood on her, though. And some bite marks. We got mountain lions 'round here. That’s why I was thinking it’s maybe rabies. Funny thing is the couple of bite marks on her belly…couple of ‘em are round, like a human bite mark. I can’t think of an animal that has a round mouth print."

  "Probably something small like a raccoon. They have rabies. I saw one on the news once. Thing was hissing.”

  "I never much cared for her, you know. But she didn't exactly bug me neither. Jessie loves her pretty hard. Said she's a better pet than a stupid dog. I was surprised that he left her."

  "Loves her? You mean like in a baaaaad way?" Nick mimicked a sheep.

  Gavin chuckled, but it was half-hearted. Nick could see he was still worried about his brother and about the future of the homestead. "Aw hell, who knows with my brother. I wouldn't put it past him to get so drunk he wouldn't come out here and make Harley his woman."

  Nick's eyes perked up. "Serious?"

  "No."

  "Aw, I bet he did at least once, the sheepfucker. Your brother is a beast humper."

  "Well he did do your mama."

  "Hey. Mama jokes are no fair. I can't make them back to you."

  "I know, that's what makes it such a sweet deal for me."

  Nick indicated the sheep with a nod of his head. "So she got out of her pen somehow?"

  "Yeah, I checked it earlier. Looks like she just chewed through the wire. Her teeth are all ground up in her mouth, so that pretty much confirms it. Considering her state last night, she must have gone mad or something."

  "I gotta admit," Nick said, leaning back and stretching out his legs, "this is pretty weird. You think we should call someone? Maybe the cops?"

  "And tell 'em what? We been hitting a sheep with a baseball bat all day and it won't die? They'll think we're nuts. My brother already has a reputation 'round here, I don't need one too."

  The sunset was dipping below the horizon now, the last bands of golden light bouncing off Harley's blood-stained fleece. Nick thought of an old movie he'd recently seen on TBS. Bunch of Greek guys looking for something similar. The effects were crap, but he'd liked it anyway. Harley was even moving all herky jerky like the claymation figures in the movie.

  "Well, you want to try some more? Maybe get an axe and chop her head off or something?"

  It sounded cruel as he said it, but he felt so bad for the creature he wanted to find a way to finally let it move on to the great, peaceful sheep pen in the sky.

  Gavin considered this, but ultimately shook his head. "You know what I think? She obviously don't want to die, and she don't look worried about the pain. I think she's earned the right to live. I say we just let her go."

  "You're kidding?"

  "Nope. Let's pick her up and see if she can still walk."

  Together, they crossed the grass and looked down at the pathetic animal. Her eyes moved to follow them despite the fact her head was bent at the completely wrong angle and her brains were starting to ooze out of the fist-sized hole in her skull. Some chunks of gray and pink meat dotted the ground nearby. They bent down and got their hands under her belly and hoisted her to her feet.

  "No way she's gonna stand," Nick said.

  But when they let go, sure enough, Harley stood. Wobbling, swaying, kind of staggering even, with her head swinging down between her legs like a grandfather clock's pendulum, but standing by definition. "I don't believe it," Nick said.

  "Your parents cooking dinner tonight?" Gavin asked, rubbing his hands together to get the stink of death off them. It was clear he was hungry, and judging by the state of the house, Nick could tell there wasn't any food inside.

  "Yeah, grab your jacket. Let's get out of here."

  Before they got to Nick's truck, they looked back at Harley one last time. Slowly, on shaking legs, the sheep pushed its way into the rows of corn, let out a feeble farewell bleat from its dangling head, and disappeared from view. The corn stalks swayed for a bit, then slowly went still. Harley had left the building.

  "Damn. Strange sheep," Nick said.

  "Yeah. Strange sheep."

  They climbed in Nick’s truck, backed down the driveway and turned onto the road, narrowly missing a disheveled, staggering drunk who looked liked he'd spent the last three nights sleeping outside. The man moaned in protest, moved a bit like Harley did, Nick thought. The man’s sallow eyes were glazed and his mouth was stained with crimson. Nick flipped him off. "Watch out, you idiot."

  A minute later, the truck was speeding down the road toward the center of town, jokes about beer and girls lifting out of the open windows and disappearing into the summer night sky.

  THE END.

  Gift Horse Mouth

  J Gilliam Martin

  Lightning lit the sky every thirty seconds or so. The rain was gentle, but the thunder was deafening. Between claps, Terry could hear a faint slapping sound outside the window. Wood on wood, creaking and cracking. He rose from his chair, spilling his sour mash as he stood.

  “Oh motherfucker,” he shouted at the broken glass. “Janet! Clean up this mess while I see what the fuck is making all this noise outside.”

  He was sure she wouldn’t budge. Ever since their six-year-old son, Levi, was slaughtered by a truck while riding his bicycle on the main road, Janet hardly made the effort to breathe. Terry kicked shards of glass under the coffee table, and made his way to the window.

  Upon looking outside, he noticed the yard gate ajar, whipping open and shut in the wind.

  “What in the fuck? It better not be running around the field goddammit. “

  The farm was anything but a farm these days. A few pigs, too many chickens and a goat. Just one goat, with its pen door swinging wildly in the storm. Terry crossed the living room and tore his jacket from the coat-hook, cursing with each arm he put in it. Mumbling obscenities illegibly under his breath like a cartoon character, he made his way outside and into the yard.

  Sure enough, the goat was not in his allowed area. Neither could he be seen anywhere in the visible vicinity of the farm. Terry yelled the goat’s name into the dark a couple of times, until the lightning flashed so bright, he was given a daylight view of the scene. On the c
orner-post nearest the loose gate, he spotted Billy’s collar, complete with an annoying bell. It had not been snagged or torn on the fence, it was hung there neatly like a successful ring toss. The goat hadn’t escaped, someone had taken it.

  “Janet call the fucking sheriff, someone’s run off with the goat.”

  She stared through him, bottom lip quivering.

  Terry reached under a cabinet pulling tape from its bottom, releasing a key. He unlocked the cabinet and withdrew his shotgun, checking the chamber and cocking it for action. He looked at his wife, still drooling in a depressed half-coma, shook his head and went back outside.

  “Useless cunt.”

  Part 1: Don’t Look

  Willy Marsh sat in his room scribbling through some homework, staring out the window at the barn below. It was math, various algebra problems, to which he made guesses at the value of “x” and declined to show his work. A guaranteed grade D paper, since Ms. Wilkins would never fail him due to his misfortune over the last year.

  Willy’s father, Leroy Marsh, was locked away in the county prison after coming home from the bar in the early afternoon last May. He was not only drunk, but had passed out at the wheel before his truck went off the road into a tree, pinning a little boy and his bike to it. In these parts they lock you up for a good long time simply for a driving while intoxicated offense. Never mind getting out of prison at all, should you add manslaughter to it.

  Since Dad’s incarceration, Mom was never home. A promiscuous whore, Silvia Marsh filed for a divorce almost immediately, and spent her time a couple hours far, in the city, fucking with or for drugs. She came home every Sunday to drop off groceries and some money, and a brief interrogation into Willy’s life during a grilled-cheese and tomato soup dinner, which Willy prepared. Before sundown she was gone back to the city, but not before a short ride on Willy’s horse.

  Black Beauty was the horse. Not an original name, sure, but Willy had received the horse as his seventh birthday present, to satisfy a child’s obsession from after seeing the movie. B.B. certainly fit the part: a muscled and long-legged jet black horse the family had bought during better times. No one knew what kind of horse he was, but his size and strength suggested they had paid far less than he was worth. Without a single hair on him in any other color than black, and with a patient temper that made him a gentle companion but an energetic mount, he matched his namesake perfectly.

  After finally deciding that the final “x” was four after you took “a” from “b” and whatever, Willy grabbed his music player and ran out to the barn. You might think a thirteen-year-old living by and raising himself would skip homework altogether, but the agreement he had with Ms. Wilkins was that she would not fail him as long as he made an attempt. Willy had no desire to fail at anything. He had grown up seeing both his parents fail at almost everything, time and time again. They were a gap between Willy and his very successful and hard-working Grandfather, the farmer. The farm itself was too far gone for Willy to save, but he was determined to keep house, barn and horse in working order.

  The horse was more than thrilled with the visit. Some carrots were exchanged as Willy equipped Black Beauty with the necessary gear for riding. He fiddled with the music player until heavy metal filled his ear-buds, hoisted himself into the saddle, and rode the evening away with his best friend.

  There were trails throughout the woods behind his house for riding. Parts of the trail were extremely rough, but Willy and B.B. had rode this exact course every day for six years, so the horse did not hesitate to jump a downed log, or take shortcuts through rougher terrain past the muddy areas. On the drier parts of the trail the horse dug in and achieved great speed, hooves pummeling the path with great haste and force. A horse, black as night, raced through a road carved by nature (and frequent riding). Dust and dirt kicked up behind them and trees slapped at Willy’s torso, their pace kept by fast and raw heavy metal, house and homework left behind.

  Hours passed before Willy was ready to turn his steed around and head for home. Sleep came easily that night, as it did most nights he got a good ride in.

  The next morning while waiting for the bus, Chad brought him a new album to listen to. Something about “coffin nails”. Chad was a metal-head through and through, and possibly the only other in the tri-township. This made friends of Willy and Chad by default. The world of heavy metal music was vast. Willy had preferred the faster, violent metal like thrash and death, like his favorite band, Splatter Infection, a gruesome death metal band, each song themed to the murder of some undeserving wretch. The faster the drums and guitar, the more adrenaline Willy felt while riding Black Beauty through the trees.

  Chad indulged in black metal, a branch of metal coming mostly from Scandinavian countries, full of hate and Satan worship. The artists often donned “corpse paint”, bland combinations of black and white face paint, often used to illustrate permanent expression of sadness or anger, as well as to portray the wearer as deceased.

  Chad Barry hadn’t had life any easier than Willy. When he was seven, Chad’s sister took her own life, claiming in the note that she was regularly molested by their father. Chad’s older brother Curtis took it upon himself to punish his father, caving in their father’s head with an aluminum baseball bat. Curtis now rots in the same prison that houses Willy’s father. Chad and his mother got by with a mix of marijuana, merlot, and music. Both denounce people, society, and God. While Chad’s mother simply ignores all of these things, Chad has taken the alternative route seriously, and vows loyalty to Satan. He truly believes that through his commitment to evil ideals, the Devil will eventually embrace him and bestow strength upon him to deal with life as he pleases.

  “I found this CD in my brothers old shit. I looked into it a bit on the internet and this was their only recording before the entire band ended their careers in a suicide pact. How cool is that? It was in the box I had been looking for, with all these ritual texts.”

  “Ritual texts?” Willy asked, staring at the album cover.

  “Yeah, fucking Satanic rituals. Like 15 of them, from making a girl love you, to causing an enemy to choke to death on air.”

  “You really believe all that possible? I mean, if it were really that easy to take someone out, don’t you think your brother would have left a trail of corpses behind him? Or anyone else, for that matter?”

  “There have been plenty of people to walk this earth and leave a trail of corpses behind them. Anyway, you need people to assist with most of these rituals, Will. My brother had no friends, and neither would I if it weren’t for you. But together, I think we could actually pull off a couple of these incantations, and fuck some shit up!”

  Willy shrugged as the bus pulled up. He put the compact disc in his player and went to the back of the bus. This was no different than any other school day. Chad and Willy had slight conversation before the bus arrived, then both proceeded to the rear seats and strapped on their respective headphones. They wouldn’t talk again until math class, last period of the day.

  This new stuff was definitely some pure-evil music. The lyrics were totally incoherent, but the low tones they accompanied were so dark, Willy felt a hatred seething inside him, boiling just below the surface, on the low flame of this music. He listened to it twice on the ride, before handing it back to Chad as they stepped off the bus, and it remained fresh in his mind all through the morning.

  Until lunchtime, when Sarah crossed his path.

  Sarah was, in Willy’s eyes, not only the best looking girl in school, but the only one worth looking at. For years he spent much of his waking state thinking about her, however unreachable she may be. Today, for whatever reason, she chose to sit with him.

  “I didn’t know you rode, Willy.”

  He said nothing, still shocked that after six years in school together, this was the first time they shared words.

  “I had Chad as a volleyball partner yesterday in phys-ed, he told me all about your Black Beauty.”

  Still no re
ply. He couldn’t imagine Chad talking to anyone.

  “I’d like to meet her.”

  “It’s a him,” he finally replies, “and you know where I live, stop by anytime.”

  That seemed reasonable to Willy. Rather than indulge in conversation and risk saying something completely stupid, he simply corrected her mistake and extended an invitation.

  “I just may come by,” she smiled. “Maybe even tonight after band practice.”

  She played the flute. She had the blackest hair, running down to her ass-cheeks. She was a scrawny girl, with a funny nose. She was a nice girl, a band geek. She never got less than a “B” in her life. She had a normal life, and a normal family. Every word and every motion she displayed overflowed with kindness. She was perfect in Willy’s eyes, and she was talking to him.

  “Just let me get your phone number, Will,” she said through a blush. “You know, in case I can’t make it.”

  “I don’t have a phone, Sarah. But no worries, B.B. is always there, even if I am not.”

  He was proud with not leaking his excitement. Not showing her how much he was anticipating her visit. He wouldn’t be leaving the house tonight, in hopes that she did make her visit.

  “No phone? I can do it tomorrow if that’s better, no band practice.”

  “Whatever.”

  At the end of the school day, Chad and Willy never took the bus home. The walk was over two hours, but this was when they spent their chunk of time together, talking almost solely about metal. Today was no different.

  “That album you had me listen to this morning, its almost too dark.”