by D. M. Guay
Earl's eyes lit up. “You know it.”
I cracked one open and handed it to Earl. He drained it in one swallow. I mustered a fake smile. Because that's what you do, right? Help the dying. Calmly, with a kind word. And booze. Lots of booze.
“Are you kidding me right now? Is that mine? Hell no.” Kevin crawled out from under the counter. He had a dozen Bic lighters taped to his body, all in a row like they were grenades.
“What are you doing?”
“You're buying me more whiskey, kid. Why's the first aid kit out? Has Earl been bitten? Where's the axe? Kill him now.”
“He's fine, and I'll buy you a big bottle, okay? He's had a rough night.”
“Whatever, kid. I've had a rough night. You've had a rough night. This guy's been walking in a field of daisies.”
“Why are you covered in lighters?” Come on. I'm dying to know, aren't you?
“Ask Earl if the grills at Monster Burger are still gas.”
I did. Earl looked confused. “Uh, yeah. Why?”
“No reason.” I turned back to Kevin and whispered, “What are you doing?”
He looked me right in the eye, knotted a black rag around his head, and said, “Live for nothing or die for something, am I right?”
Then he scuttled up and across the counter, grabbed a pack of cheap smokes off the carousel, and left through the front door.
Chapter 27
An hour later, Demon Mart was finally empty again, apart from the usual suspects.
Bubby and Big Larry swayed in the corner, claw arms and vines around each other's shoulder, smiling as they drained another keg. This one wasn't for nutrition, it was for fun. Apparently, it was hell beast happy hour.
Chef kunk kunked back and forth, refilling all the baby Larries' Spanish Fly slushies, because they were eating machines. Seriously. The rotten beef cart had been licked clean. And all that was left of the cleaning crew was a pile of boots and some empty coveralls. The baby Larries had squeezed the zombies out of them like they were Gogurts.
I stood by the hole where the front door used to be, sweeping up glass while I kept one eye on Earl—who sat at the end of the counter casually inspecting his second issue of Hustler, oblivious to the hell beasts around him—and one on Monster Burger, where zombies were still pawing at the glass, trying to get out of the restaurant.
DeeDee walked up with a mop in her hand. It was dripping with—nope. Don't want to know. “Have you seen Kevin? I'm worried about him.” She looked down and around on the floor.
I was worried, too. A roach didn't just crawl out the front door with a bunch of Bic lighters strapped to him for fun.
“I hope he isn't curled up somewhere eating again,” she said. “I still don't know why the salt didn't curb his appetite.”
“Aaah!! There! There! Do you see him?” Earl screamed and pointed. Oof. His arm didn't look good. His bandage was red, soaked through with blood. “It's Ed McMahon!”
Earl wavered and dropped like a stone to the floor. He must have passed out from all the excitement. Or maybe it was the blood loss.
“Oh no.” DeeDee huffed. “Not again!”
I was sure DeeDee was about to grab an axe and decapitate Earl. Instead, she pointed to the candy aisle. A gaggle of pixies hovered in the air, holding tight to the corners of a pack of cotton candy, struggling to carry it up into a heat vent with an unhinged grate.
Gah! Stupid pixies.
“Kevin's right. Cruelty free is a dumb idea.” DeeDee sighed. “If they get that cotton candy into the air duct, they'll have food for weeks. We'll never get rid of them.”
A few seconds later, DeeDee stood in the candy aisle, swinging her mop through the swarm of pixies, fwapping nudists like she was playing Whac-a-mole. That cotton candy went splat on the floor.
Big mistake. Cue pixie revenge, round two.
While she dealt the pixies a crushing blow, I checked on Earl. I found him splayed out on the floor behind the counter, lying in a pile of nudie and car mags. “Earl? Earl?”
I shook him. Oh God. Please don't die. Please don't turn. I didn't think I could chop the head off of the man who'd made me the best burgers I had ever eaten for the past seven years. I shook harder. His mouth opened, and his head lolled. “Earl! Earl!”
“Uuuuuuuuh.”
Oh God. He's a zombie. I grabbed the closest thing and raised it up, ready to crush in his skull. Sure, it was a weird magical gourd with a long twisted stem, but it'd have to do in a pinch.
“Uuuuuuuuuh,” Earl moaned. His eyes rolled back. His mouth fell open.
“Uuuuuuuuuh. Oooooo. Weeee!” He opened his eyes. “Wow. That whiskey went straight to my head. I swear I just saw Ed McMahon flying around with a bunch of naked Solid Gold dancers.”
Phew. Still human.
He looked up at me, holding a curly red gourd over my head. “What are you doing?”
“Nothing.” I lowered it. “How about we get you a new Band-Aid?”
He looked at his wrist and seemed surprised by all the blood. “Oh. Yeah. Okay.”
I helped him sit up, then peeled the bandage back. Sweet Jesus, it smelled! Like dead raccoon frying on hot pavement. Not good. The bite mark looked even worse. Weepy with lots of pus. Deep purple veins feathered out, longer, angrier. “Maybe we should take you to the hospital. Get this looked at?”
“What? No way, man. For one bite? I'll be fine. Just squeeze some of that antibacterial stuff on it. It's all good.”
I nodded, and I did it. Because the more I thought about it, the less the hospital seemed like a good idea. The ER staff probably wasn't ready to chop a guy's head off over a hand injury. The zombie apocalypse wasn't even on their radar. It was fiction. But we knew better. And if it came down to it and Earl changed? Well, if I couldn't do it, DeeDee would.
I ruffled around in the first aid kid. I squeezed out an entire tube of bacitracin on a clean cotton bandage, covered up the bite, and taped it all up.
“Uuum. I'm so....hungry. But I don't know what for. Mmmmmm.” Earl rubbed his belly. “You know what sounds good?”
Brains? Please don't be brains.
“Funyuns. You mind if I snag a pack? Wait. Never mind. I left my wallet at the restaurant.”
Funyuns? Not brains? Yay! “It's on me,” I said. “Be right back.”
DeeDee stood in the candy aisle waving a pair of rusty scissors and a net at the errant pixies, who had retreated inside the vent.
I went to the chip rack and dug through the bags the burger zombies had left behind, which wasn't much. I gathered up all the Funyuns, about three bags, and nabbed a few PBR tallboys, too. Earl may as well go out with a bang, right?
“Dinner is served!” I piled it up around him and put on my best fake smile.
“Wow. Thanks man.” His eyes lit up.
And my smile slid off. He was sweating a lot, and he was pale. Maybe I should tell him. He deserved to know, didn't he? Then at least he'd have the chance to make peace with the higher power of his choice. I'd want to know. Well, okay. Maybe I wouldn't want to know. But I wasn't Earl.
“Earl. I—”
“You saw him, right? Ed McMahon?” He popped the tab on a PBR and looked up at me with the most sad, desperate eyes. He looked like a golden retriever in time out.
“I sure did. And you're right. He is a jerk.” In that moment, I changed my mind. I couldn't tell him he was gonna be a zombie. I just couldn't, but I could try to make the end of his life as good as it could be. “You were robbed. You should have been on Star Search. Your caterpillar is the best I've ever seen.”
“Lloyd, help! I've got them cornered!” DeeDee screamed.
“We're gonna take care of Ed for you. Right now. We'll show him.” I winked at Earl. He smiled.
All right. Time to go kick that pixie's ass for good.
BOOM! The store shook like an earthquake.
“Aaaaaaaaaah!” I screamed. And ducked. And covered my head. What the hell was that?
BOOM! The windows ble
w out, and glass rained down all over us. The store shook, and a bright orange light filled the store. I rose, slowly, and poked my head just far enough above the cabinet to peek outside. Holy. Shit.
The front half of Monster Burger had blown off. It lay in pieces in the grass and in the street. The rest of it was engulfed in flames. A plume of fire that looked like an erupting volcano tore through the roof. “Oh. My. God.”
“What is it, b-boy?” Earl moved up beside me. “Noooooo! That restaurant was my life!”
Earl descended into tears as the two of us stared through the hole where the window used to be.
BOOM!
Another fireball blew the bun right out of the neon Frankenstein's hand and sent it crashing into the parking lot. The remains of the restaurant crumbled into a heap of molten brick. The heat of it singed my eyebrows.
“Everyone get down!” DeeDee rolled up out of nowhere and pushed us both down to the floor. She crouched down next to us. “Do you smell gas? There might be a leak in the lines. The whole block could blow. I need to get to the shut-off valve. I'll be right back.”
She started to go, but I stopped her.
“No. That's not it.” Gulp. My insides were jelly. It all made sense now. The cigarettes. The lighters. The gas grills? “I think Kevin blew up the Monster Burger. Because of the zombies.”
“What?”
I filled her in, but I whispered so Earl wouldn't hear. The zombie staff pawing at the front window. Kevin covered in lighters and cigarettes.
“Kevin? No. No way. Nothing could survive that blast. Not even a roach.” Tears welled in her eyes. “You're wrong. He's not in there. He would have said something.”
“He said 'Live for nothing or die for something.'”
She howled. “Noooooo!”
And sobbed. Tears flew. Her mouth twisted up.
Holy crap. I'd never seen her cry. She was always so...together.
I put my arm around her, and tried to come up with something profound to say that would make her feel better, but nothing came to mind. I just held on to her for a while. Her body heaved as she sobbed.
“I'm sure Kevin's all right?” Maybe? We could feel the heat from the fire all the way over here.
“No. He's. Not.” She sobbed. “He only quotes Rambo when he thinks he might not make it. It was a suicide mission.”
“But—” Suicide mission? My bottom lip shook, and my vision went blurry. I blinked. Really hard. Like really, really hard. Might not make it. She was kidding, right? A wave of feelings crashed down over me. Kevin can't be dead. He just can't. Sure he ogled my Mom and bossed me around, but he'd grown on me. Deep down, he had become my friend.
“Uuuuuuuuuuuuuuh,” Earl moaned.
Oh, no. He'd turned. I wiped my tears away. Weapon. Quick! This time, the closest thing to me was that weird bottle of curse breaker floor wash Henrietta had left me. The explosions knocked it off the shelf. I raised the bottle and aimed it straight at Earl's brain.
“Uuuuuuuuuuuh,” Earl moaned. “Uuuuh. Those Funyuns didn't agree with me.”
Pffffft. Yep. He farted. Then he pointed. “Look! Ed McMahon!”
The good news? Earl was very much alive. The bad news? Chef stood at the end of the counter, blocking the way. A tiny, naked Ed McMahon stood on his shoulder. He flipped us all the bird. Then he kicked Chef right in the neck.
Tink. Clunk.
Chef's containment collar fell to the floor and broke into pieces.
Chapter 28
Long story short: We're screwed. We're trapped behind the counter by a zombie Chef in a mech suit, and one of us has been bitten. There's only one way this story can go: South.
Chef growled and closed in. Kunk. Kunk. Kunk.
Shit! Shit! Shit! My heart jumped into my throat. “Move!”
I hopped up, grabbed Earl by the tracksuit, and pulled him to his feet. “DeeDee, get up!”
She looked up at Chef, at his grabby hands and bared teeth and said, “Chef. No. Not you.”
Tears streaked down her cheeks, but don't be fooled. Any minute now, she was gonna flip into ultimate zombie killer mode. She'd jump up, chop Chef's head off, and his body would join his soul, singing front row center in the choir invisible for all eternity. Amen.
Kunk. Kunk. Kunk. He staggered closer.
“Uuuuuuuuuuuuh.”
And no. That wasn't Earl. Earl had gone completely stiff from sheer terror.
Chef lunged. I kicked him in the ribs, and he fell headfirst into some speakers. While Chef ran his hands around knocking things over, trying to right himself, I pushed Earl past him and yelled “Run, Earl. Run!”
I whirled around. DeeDee was still on the floor. “Get up! Let's go!”
I put my butt on the counter and was about to swing my legs across and jump out of there, when I realized DeeDee hadn't moved. She didn't hop up, didn't grab a weapon, and didn't look even remotely interested in chopping Chef's head off. She just sat there, blank staring. It's like she had shut down.
Chef, once again standing, hungry, and sniffing the air like hell's rabid bunny rabbit, kunk kunked right past me, straight for DeeDee. She looked up at him and whispered, “No. Not you. Not you, too.”
Chef fell on her. He had her pinned, mouth open, ready to bite, but DeeDee didn't fight. Why wasn't she fighting? Holy shit, she's not gonna fight!
So I kicked Chef in the shoulder with both feet. He moved, but not much. The mech suit was heavy, and he was hungry.
Chef growled “Grrrrrrrrrrrrraaaaaaaaaaaaa.”
DeeDee looked at him, eyes filled with tears, and still didn't whip out any sweet ninja moves.
Chef opened wide.
“DeeDee. No!” I jumped on his back, put him in a headlock, and put my hand in front of his open mouth.
He bit down.
Right around the bottle of curse break floor wash in my hand. He opened so wide, his mouth slid down completely around the end of it, and it got stuck there. I mean, that thing was so deep the cap had to be tickling his tonsils. Apparently, zombies didn't have a gag reflex.
He pawed at his face, confused, while I grabbed his Chef's jacket, planted a foot on a shelf, and tried to pull him off of her. Man. He was so heavy. Stupid metal! “Run! Run!”
But DeeDee didn't roll away. Or run. Or fight. Or anything. She sat there staring wide eyed at me, then at Chef, who was gluck glucking, trying to hack that glass bottle out of his mouth.
I pulled on Chef, but I wasn't strong enough to move him off. He didn't budge. “Earl. Help me!”
“His face. He's.” Earl stuttered behind me. “Oh, geez.”
I glanced back at him. Earl was full-on cold sweating and Popsicle stiff with fear, like he was reliving the trauma of his own zombie battle. “Oh God. Is he? Not again.”
Earl looked at me, at Chef, then his eyes rolled back and he passed out, splayed across the floor.
Well. Shit.
Crink. Crunk. Slurp. Chef tried his best to spit out that glass bottle. It was in there deep, but it wasn't gonna hold forever. And neither could I. I pulled and pulled on him, and he pawed and pawed at DeeDee. She held her hands up, more so she couldn't see his face than to defend herself.
“DeeDee, run!” I was losing my grip on Chef's jacket, but she didn't run. I held on as long as I could. My arms, my legs, every muscle everywhere burned from the strain. This wasn't working.
I let go, then kicked down hard on Chef's shoulder. He face planted into the floor, his growly mouth barely missing DeeDee, who thankfully—finally—took the opportunity to slide out from under him. He flailed, but he wasn't down for long.
Kunk. Kunk. Kunk. He stood up and sniffed the air, looking for me.
I looked for anything vaguely resembling a weapon.
Chef turned back to DeeDee.
No. No way. I couldn't let him get her. “Chef! Here! Here!”
He stopped lurching for a minute, listening. He heard me, all right. But he appeared to be considering his options—the fat dude or the chick wh
o was already on the floor. He turned back to DeeDee. She was the easier meal.
Gulp. I yelled and poked him in the back with my finger. “Over here! Don't take her, take me! She's too skinny. Not enough to eat. Look at me! I'm fat and delicious, like a Christmas ham. Mmmm. Look at me! Eat meeeeeeeeeee!”
I rubbed my fat belly and grunted yummy noises until I convinced Chef that I would be more filling. The irony. The guy who fed me was gonna be the guy who ate me. The diner becomes the dinner.
Chef came at me. I backed up, and he followed me. Behind him, I could see her slowly snapping to. She stood up and looked around. Yes! Yes! Run, DeeDee. Be freeeeeeee!
Chef kunk kunk kunked at me, arms out ready to grab. Woah boy. Boss battle. Lloyd vs zombie in a mech suit. Shit. How was I gonna get out of this mess? I thrust my leg out and kicked Chef right in the nuts. Well, that part of his man brain still worked because he hunched over, cupped his nuts and looked stunned for a minute. He looked at me like, “how could you? Nuts!”
Oooooh. “Sorry, dude.”
He did not accept my apology. He looked extra mad. He started chewing. Crunk. Crunk. Crunk. Tink. He crunched that glass bottle down to nothing, then swallowed the shards. Ouch. Milky green curse breaker dribbled down his chin, soaking his Chef's coat.
Huh. Well, that stuff didn't work. Still cursed!
He came at me. I planted one hand on each counter, swung my legs up and kicked him right in the face. He reared back and fell into the stereo. Speakers and turntables and albums flew in all directions. I watched in slow motion as Kevin's Zebra album arced through the air, slid out of the sleeve, and onto the floor. Chef stepped right on it, and it broke into pieces.
Oof. It was a small mercy that Kevin didn't live to see that.
But that vinyl must have been slippery, because as soon as Chef stepped on that record his foot when out from under him. His arms waved as he tried to catch his balance.
Ha! Take that! I started to jump out of his way, but Chef landed hard on me and the two of us slid down to the floor. Shit! Shit! Shit!
I clawed, but there wasn't anything to dig into. The new doughnut case was Plexiglas and bolted to the counter. My hands slipped right off. I grabbed everything I could on the way down, hoping to come across at least one potentially skull-crushing object. Magic rocks. Nope. Mason jars of sticks and leaves. Nope. Weirdo magic trumpet? Seriously? Y'all couldn't put a knife or a baseball bat back here?
