Monster Burger: A zombie horror comedy (24/7 Demon Mart)

by D. M. Guay

  “That's Big Larry and all the little Larries. He reproduces with runners, like a spider plant, so all the babies are clones. Technically they're all Larry,” she said. “He lives in the wetlands in circle three. He's an endangered species. We're part of a special breeding program. He's carnivorous. Pretty cool, right?”

  Carnivorous? There were at least ten ways this could go sideways.

  “He comes up when it's time for the babies to leave home. It's safer that way.”

  “Safer for who?”

  “The babies need a carbon dioxide boost before they can split off on their own. Hell's atmosphere has too much sulfur. Years and years of climate alteration. Mining. Running all those furnaces. It's so sad.” She sighed. “It's nice to do something good for the environment, to make a difference, isn't it? Look at all those Baby Larries. I've helped birth two generations of him. This batch will be my great grandplants. Aw. They grow up so fast.”

  Uh, I was looking at them, and it wasn't making me feel nearly as warm and fuzzy. Did the world really need more Larries? This shit could go full Resident Evil Plant 42 any second now. “How long is he staying?”

  “It usually takes about a week. Sometimes two. Hmmm.” She looked around. “I wonder where the construction crew put the pots? We need to cover his roots. He's probably been out of the ground too long already.”

  Apparently my job description included hell's gardener, because thirty minutes later, I had successfully transplanted Big Larry into a pot as big as a whiskey barrel. We sat him right next to the Spanish Fly slushy machine. The little Larries hugged me after I spread the last of the potting mix—the bag said “Cryptid's Choice: Honey Island Swamp Rougaroux Peat”—over his wiggling roots. Toes? Ugh, my brain. Whatever. They were short and white like plant stems, but they had joints and wiggled like toes. Yes. It was creepy.

  DeeDee supervised, flipping through an old leather-bound book entitled Dante's Guide to Flora of the Lower Circles. “It says here we need to keep the soil moist at all times. No fertilizer. Larry will get all the nutrients he needs from slushies and rotten meat. We usually feed him fifty pounds of spoiled hamburger every day. Hopefully Chef's got some in back. Larry gets really testy when he's hungry. Isn't that right?”

  DeeDee patted him on his biggest head. He leaned in like a house cat when she scratched him where his ears should be.

  “Can you stop messing with your pet plant and help me figure out the stupid Go Away charm? It's after midnight and your pal there is pretty conspicuous.” Kevin snipped.

  “Geesh, Kevin. Relax. I'm coming.” DeeDee huffed. “Here. Read this. Let me know if you have questions.”

  She handed me the book. It was open to a page with a red plant that looked just like Larry. A jumble of letters on the bottom said C2H5OH. See? This is why I don't read these books. What the hell did that mean?

  On the opposite page was a drawing of a pretty green meadow, with tall waving grass with red flowers on each stem. Aw, how pretty! That's what I'm talking about. Why can't we have nice plants like this up here?

  I looked closer. Gulp. Scratch that. Those weren't flowers. Each blade of grass had a mouth at the end, red and angry, open and lined with sharp pointy teeth. The title said “Hungry grass.” Nope. I flipped the book shut. Can't deal. I picked up the watering can and started in on Larry's pot.

  “Found it!” DeeDee announced. She stood behind the counter with her arms up triumphantly. “It wasn't on the console. Look. There's a separate button right here.”

  “What? Where?” Kevin asked.

  “Next to the stereo. Under this.” She held up an album with a fist and a rainbow on the cover. “Was 'Rainbow Rising' really worth putting innocent lives on the line?”

  “You shut your dirty mouth. Of course it is. That's the greatest heavy metal album of all time. A few stray customers is a small price to pay for that bit of ear gold. You guys clearly don't appreciate me.” Kevin crossed four of his arms. “I need a break. Hey, dumbass.”

  It took me a minute to figure out he was talking to me.

  “The line's died down at Monster Burger. I'm heading over. Do you want me to pick you up a combo? My treat! I owe you one, remember?”

  “But they're free tonight.” FYI, Kevin never did Venmo me the seven bucks he owed me.

  “Look. I told you I don't have pockets. How am I supposed to carry a credit card?” Kevin said. He'd zoned in on my brain. Again. “It's the thought that counts.”

  “If you hadn't noticed, Kevin is so cheap, free is his favorite four-letter word,” DeeDee said.

  “Oh, ha ha,” Kevin snipped. “You know I'm saving up for my own place. You know how bad my roommates are!”

  “Sure I'll take a combo.” Why look a gift roach in the mouth? “But, how are you gonna carry it back?”

  “I've got a portal between here and there,” Kevin said.

  “How long have you had that?” You mean all this time all I had to do to get a Monster Burger combo was reach through a hole?

  Angel eight ball rolled out from behind Larry's pot. “We didn't tell you because you'd be as big as a house by now. No shortcuts for you, chubby.”

  I am so done with you. I smacked him away.

  “Faust set it up years ago,” Kevin said. “Sometimes, I go over there after they close and lick crumbs off the deep fryer. Makes me feel better.”

  “That's kinda gross,” DeeDee said.

  “You need to relax. I'm a roach, remember? So, that's two number one combos for the boys and a big fat nothing for Miss Eats Carrot Sticks and Judges the Rest of Us here. Hold the fort. I'll be right back.”

  He scuttled across the counter and stood by the cheap cigarette packs, staring at them, as if waiting for them to dance. Nothing happened. “Hmmm. What's taking so long? Why isn't it opening?”

  He snapped his leg tips. Nothing happened. “God dog it! My portal's broken.” He kicked the lighter display onto the floor in a fit of rage. “Wait til I get my hands on Steve! Well, kid. You're up. You're coming with me.”

  “Okay.” Anything to get me out of hell's greenhouse.

  “Uh, he's not going anywhere,” DeeDee said.

  “I'm not?”

  “The gate has a routing error, and it's opening and closing randomly. Plus, Larry is pregnant,” she said. “We all need to be here if things go south. I shouldn't even let you leave.”

  “How am I supposed to carry all that food back alone?” Kevin huffed. “How am I supposed to order? Earl can't hear me.”

  “That's why we have Chef. He can make you something.”

  “Chef's good, but there's no substitute for the deep fried fast food delight that is Monster Burger. Right, kid?”

  They both looked at me. I agreed with Kevin. Plus, now that I knew Chef was dead, I didn't really want to put anything he touched in my mouth. But I didn't dare say that. DeeDee's dagger eyes had lasered in on me. I wasn't stupid. My lips were zipped.

  “Way to grow a spine, kid.” Kevin huffed. He jumped off the counter, tucked and rolled across the floor mat, then slid between the metal threshold and the rubber weather seal on the bottom of the front door. He flipped us off as he scuttled off across the parking lot toward the glowing yellow burger across the street.

  Chapter 10

  Fifteen minutes later, the store filled up with headless men. No joke. These guys had no necks and no heads. It's like the bit where those were supposed to be was flat and smooth. But oh, they had faces all right. On their chests, which I knew because I nearly fainted when the first headless guy rolled out of the beer cave and split open his shirt to ask for directions. His eyes were where his nipples should be and he had a mouth in place of his belly button. With lips and teeth. Surrounded by hair. Because it was still a belly. Nope. Can't unsee that.

  Thankfully, DeeDee stepped in when it became clear I was unable to listen to or process anything the dudes were saying. Because I had so many questions about the mechanics of it all. Plus, when someone's eyes are on their chest, it's
hard to know where to look. The whole “eyes up here” thing just didn't apply.

  I did absorb enough to know they were on their way home from a convention and had been rerouted here accidentally, due to an internal portal error. A convention. Of headless dudes. It must have been quite an event. They all wore polyester suits with button-down shirts opened to their waists, and red fez hats strapped to where their actual heads should be. Every bit of their exposed skin was dotted with lipstick kiss marks.

  “You have my sincerest apologies, gentlemen. The portal at the hotel was supposed to take you to Isle Brisone,” DeeDee announced. “We're having a gate routing problem, but there's no indication that it's system wide, so please help yourselves to a snack, complimentary of course, then step back through the portal. It should take you home. Thank you!”

  A handful of headless conventioneers hit the chip aisle, others surrounded DeeDee, peppering her with questions. I kept my head down. Because you cannot not stare at a guy whose eyes are where his nipples should be. You just can't, so in the interest of being polite, I kept busy with other tasks, like refilling all of Larry's Colossal Super Slurp cups and sweeping off the welcome mat.

  I was sweeping by the front door when I noticed a white orb hovering a foot above the ground at the far end of the parking lot. Floating toward the store. Oh Jesus. What now? It'd already been a doozy of a night. “DeeDee,” I whispered. “Something's coming.”

  She was too busy ushering headless conventioneers through the portal, one by one, like she was hell's gate agent.

  “DeeDee!” I whisper screamed, desperate to get her attention.

  She was by my side in a split second. “What is it? I'm kind of busy here.”

  I pointed at the orb, floating ever closer. She squinted out into the darkness. “Is that...?”

  She pushed open the door and ran out into the lot.

  Shit! Shit! Shit! She left me. She left me! With the headless dudes! Aaaaaaaah!

  I turned around and saw one of them eating Twizzlers, sucking red licorice into where his belly button should be. It had teeth. Belly button mouth teeth. Nope. Didn't want to see that. I immediately wished I could take out my eyes and scrub them. But there was no time. Something was coming, and I needed a weapon.

  I grabbed that wonky weird hammer and whirled back around, ready to face the horror creeping across the lot. DeeDee stepped in, her arms around a giant pile of Monster Burger carry out bags that had been bungeed together and strapped to a dirty pink roller blade. Kevin stood on top, chest puffed up and proud like a victorious general.

  What the hell?

  “Well, Kev. I'll give you credit for ingenuity,” DeeDee said. “But where did you get the skate? It's filthy.”

  “Out of the dumpster,” he said. “I had to get creative after you two jerks refused to help me. Hold up. What are these guys doing here? They're never supposed to leave Africa. Was it the damn gate? Give me the phone. I'm calling Steve again.”

  “No, you're not.” DeeDee sighed. “It's taken care of. They're on their way home now.”

  “They better be,” Kevin said. “Jesus. Look at them. Chewing with their damn bellies. Disgusting!”

  The last of the headless conventioneers popped an Utz cheese ball into his belly button mouth, then shot Kevin two nipples worth of stink eye before he stepped into the gate.

  “What are you looking at, freak?”

  Well, that was rich coming from a talking roach.

  “What did you say, kid?” Kevin glared at me.

  “Uh, who is all that food for?” When in doubt, change the subject, right? Kevin had brought back one, two, three...fifteen combo meals.

  “For me. Duh. They're free!”

  “Are you saying they gave you fifteen meals for free?” DeeDee laid the bags by the register and wet-wiped dumpster roller blade goop off her arms. “Didn't they have a limit, like one per customer or something?”

  “Maybe. I don't know. I filched them off the counter,” Kevin said. “Earl was too busy cooking to notice, and his new coworkers? They had a ton of bags lined up, filling them like a factory assembly line. I grabbed a few off the end. They won't miss them. Besides, the new guys were too dead on their feet to stop me. Heh? Get it? Dead on their feet?”

  We looked at Kevin. Kevin looked at us.

  “Geesh. Tough crowd. Not even a chuckle? Really? They were zombies, stupids. All zombies! And here's the best part: Earl has no idea. I'd kill to see the look on his face when he figures out his coworkers are dead.”

  Chapter 11

  The bad news? Monster Burger had a zombie crew. The good news? One of the fifteen combo meals Kevin pulled across the parking lot strapped to a greasy dumpster roller blade was actually for me. The rest were for him. Seriously. Fourteen combo meals. Just for Kevin. That had to be a hundred years' worth of food for a roach. Apparently, Kevin planned to enjoy the sweet sweet taste of Monster Burger in perpetuity. For free. He really was an epic cheapskate.

  “You say that like it's a bad thing,” Kevin said, zoned in on my brain. Again.

  DeeDee went in back to stash Kevin's hoard in the employee lounge and to prep some rotten meat for Larry. Kevin unrolled two burger wrappers and spread out a burger and an order of fries on each. When I walked up to the counter, he bit open a ketchup packet. It squirted in two thin arcs up into the air. He then picked up a fry, drug it through the ketchup lagoon, opened his mouth and shoved the end of it, whole, into his mouth. He swallowed it all without chewing. Like an anaconda. Or a sword swallower.

  Jesus. How did he do that? That fry was as long as he was! Blech. I couldn't watch. He ate like an absolute pig.

  “You're no Hemsworth either, kid,” Kevin said.

  Shit. Zoned in again. I glanced at my paunch. Well, he wasn't wrong, and I was too hungry to care. Pure joy welled up inside of me. I never thought I'd get to eat Monster Burger ever again. I took a giant bite out of my burger, preparing for the endorphin flood of pure salty meat happiness to pulse through me.

  Wait for it. Okay, any minute now. And nope.

  Weird. Monster Burger usually gave me a fast food high. “Does this taste different to you?”

  “Mmumm mummbup.” Yes. He was talking with his mouth full. He swallowed, thumping his chest a couple of times so he didn't choke. “Different and better. See?”

  He pointed to the empty carry out bag. “Monster Burger: The new healthy fast food treat you can never get enough of!”

  Then it listed all the things that it didn't have in it. No sugar. No sodium? No wonder Kevin liked it. He hated salt.

  Fuck me. Was nothing in this world sacred? The new owners had changed Monster Burger's recipes and were magically marketing it as health food. No wonder they were giving it away for free! If there was one pure truth in the universe, it was this: Healthy food was not nearly as delicious as junk food. Period. The second you tried to make junk food healthy was the second you made it taste like crap. Or cardboard. Or both. What was the point of french fries if they weren't covered in salt? I'll tell you: There was no point.

  I marched to the grocery aisle, filched a can of Morton's off the shelf, then liberally applied it to my burger and fries. I mean, I turned that umbrella girl upside down. I offered some to Kevin, but he held one leg up to stop me. “Nope. I like my fries like I like my women. Naked.”

  Uh. Weren't all roaches technically naked, even the lady ones? Like, all the time? Now that you mention it, Kevin was naked, wasn't he?

  “Duh,” he said. “And you can stop lookin'. Pervert.”

  I kept shaking on the salt, but no matter how much I put on it, I couldn't get my burger to taste right. Maybe it was mental. I mean, Kevin did say they were assembled, in part, by zombies. No zombie could make a burger as well as Earl. Plus, the more I thought about it, the idea of a dead person making my food wasn't exactly appealing. I lifted the bun a few times just to make sure there wasn't a lost finger or ear in there. I mean, would zombies feel it if one fell off?

 
That's when Bob the Doughnut Guy stepped in through the front door, silver-streaked mullet in top form. He was clad in elbow-high pink rubber gloves, holding a fresh pink box of doughnuts. Or should I say nightmares? Dolly's doughnuts were bad news.

  He stood still for a hot second, soaking in the music. “Hey is this Zebra? Man, I haven't heard these guys in ages,” he said. “Most underrated album of 1983, that's for sure. Man. The eighties. Those were some good times, right brother?”

  “You know it.” Kevin nodded like strip-mall preacher.

  Bob the Doughnut Guy hummed as he walked behind the counter to the doughnut case. “You wanna give me a hand, new kid?”

  No, sir. I do not. But Kevin jerked his head toward him like I should follow. Resistance was futile, so my body moved on auto pilot. Autopilot of doom. I moved in next to Bob the Doughnut Guy, and my heart nearly kicked out of my rib cage as I watched him open his demon box of cursed fried deliciousness.

  He lifted full doughnut trays out and stacked them in the brand new display case, which looked exactly like the old case. He filled it with tray after tray of the same cursed flavors. Devil's food with chocolate frosting. Glazed with pink frosting and sprinkles. Straight, unadorned glazed. I'd say plain, but come on. There was nothing plain about Dolly's.

  Then came the last tray. It had two strange new doughnuts on it. Bob the Doughnut Guy pointed to them and leaned in close to me.

  “Pssst. Looky here. Dolly's very own pumpkin spice fritter. First time we've ever made 'em. Totally new recipe.” He whispered and looked around conspiratorially. “Kevin doesn't want them here, but someone ordered them for you. When Dolly says deliver a doughnut, I deliver a doughnut, so the doughnut stays. Got it?”

  He pointed to the pumpkin spice fritter. There were two of them. The way Bob the Doughnut Guy talked about them, I expected them to look majestic, to glow gold like the holy grail. But no. They were brown bumpy blobs, like an apple fritter, only with some sort of orange icing on the top. The icing looked suspiciously like a slice of prepackaged American cheese that had been slapped, unmelted, on top. Honestly, they looked kind of gross. And this is coming from a guy who, two weeks ago, would have eaten any doughnut, any time.