by Stephens, L.
† His wittle paw was not bwoken, but it sure hwurt a wot. †
Benjamin didn’t stop running until he found refuge behind a dumpster where he cowered and licked his wound. After a few hours he finally got up the courage to step into the light of day and was immediately set upon by a horde of zombies. It was too late for him to return to the dumpster, so he ran as fast as his little legs could take him, before his paw finally gave out, and he found an overturned garbage can lying in the street and made his way into the back of it.
This was where he lived now. Nothing was going to get him out of there. He was exhausted, and in his previous life he would have turned his nose up at the spoils of the garbage can, but now the rotting food and some sort of sticky liquid were all he needed to survive. The screeching of tires and a massive impact of metal on metal woke him from his nervous slumber, and the next thing he knew the garbage can was rolling viciously and so was he. When the garbage can finally came to a violent stop, it knocked Benjamin out cold and he lay there dreaming of a past life, running in the woods, humping bitches on heat and doing whatever he wanted.
When he awoke, he wanted nothing more to do with his new home. Once again Benjamin was no longer in control of his world. He emerged from the garbage can with trepidation. The world was completely different now. There was wreckage and dead owners everywhere. Benjamin saw her lying on the ground. She was screaming in between sobs, she was covered in blood and her face was wrenched with pain and terror, but he wasn’t scared of her. He sat up and watched her intently, tilting his head to the side, hoping a different angle might help him figure out what in the hell this owner was doing and why it interested him so much.
“Max,” the potential new owner spluttered as dark blood spilled from her mouth.
That wasn’t his name, but Benjamin felt the name pulling him over like a tractor beam. He slowly limped over to the blood-drenched siren. The mixture of blood, perfume, body odor and panic in her scent was intoxicating.
“Max,” the potential new owner whispered with her last breath.
He licked her cheek, the one that wasn’t splattered with blood. The salty taste of her tears was delicious, so he made quick work of cleaning it up, and before long he was licking makeup rather than dry tears. The potential new owner didn’t move, and Benjamin followed the tear stream to their source, and in seeking out more salty goodness he licked her open eyes. They were devoid of moisture. They just stared into an invisible abyss. He stopped licking and sniffed at her. The scent had changed. Panic no longer formed the base of the bouquet. It had been replaced by death and thoughts of the doorman flashed through his mind for a second until her body developed a slight vibration. It was a small pulse that his acute hearing was only just able to detect before it disappeared, and Benjamin found himself growling at the potential new owner, the same potential new owner he had, sixty seconds earlier, fallen in love with.
The potential new owner sat upright, and Benjamin slowly and quietly moved away from her and found shelter behind the garbage can. He wanted nothing to do with her. She only had one arm after all, which would severely reduce the number of pets he could get, plus her smell reminded him of lost loves. Lost loves like the doorman and his darling hand. He watched on sadly as she limped away down the street, aimlessly wandering through the hellscape Benjamin now called home.
CHAPTER 105: THE GREAT ESCAPE
Jake sat on the ground of the small and dark maintenance shed, caressing his chest. Now that the adrenaline had subsided and he was seemingly safe, the pain from the blast rushed over him. He wasn’t bleeding, but his torso felt like it had been hanging on a meat hook while Rocky Balboa gave him the montage of a lifetime. The phone call with Daryl had given him a purpose for the time being. Finding Sarah was his ultimate goal but that felt like a needle in a haystack, and the haystack was on fire. He wasn’t a big fan of making promises, but even if it meant dying in the attempt Jake was gonna try his best. Having the company of a friend at the end of the world did have a certain ring to it.
After the explosion, Jake had dodged, ducked, dipped, dived, and dodged but hadn’t even made it fifty feet before he had to seek shelter. The noise and destruction of the explosion had brought a horde of zombies staggering towards the school, blocking off the surrounding streets and trapping Jake in a maintenance shed. It didn’t take much work to get inside. The door already looked banged up, most likely from students breaking in to smoke weed and/or fuck. When Jake put his shoulder into it at full speed he was surprised at how easy it opened. The way his day had gone so far, he had expected a comical rejection and to be flung back into the waiting arms of the horde, but luck was on his side for once. He barreled through the door with enough time to close it before the crowd of zombies started to bang on it, trying to get in. They were relentless at first, banging and scraping at the door like the ugly girl at the house party, trying to take home her hot friend who was currently sucking on your dick.
The good news, if you could call it that, was that the massive fire that now raged from the explosion had created a new god for the undead to sacrifice themselves to. The ugly girl slash zombie horde grew tired of ruining Jake’s fun and left him alone, and Jake assumed they went to show their faith like a swarm of zombie lemmings.
“Fuck,” Jake whispered.
Jake had just realized how simple it could be to wipe them all out. All you needed to do was make a giant bonfire, then add a loud noise that attracted all the zombies to one place, and then they would just eliminate themselves by walking straight into the fire. He knew he wasn’t the smartest guy on the planet, and it had taken him the whole morning to come up with that plan, so he shuddered and a chill rolled down his spine like he had just placed his feet in the icy waters of Malibu. If he was thinking this, someone with a lot more brain power than Jake Meyers would already be considering dropping a large bomb in the heart of downtown, and it wouldn’t even have to be nuclear.
Loud noise, check! Large fire, check! Problem solved, maybe!
Jake pressed the home button of his phone and it kicked back into gear. The phone had gotten a few tiny spider web cracks from the explosion, but it was still working, so he tapped at the phone and the flashlight function turned on.
“Whoa!” Jake shrieked as he leaned back against the door.
A dead body with a single gunshot wound to the head sat in front of him, illuminated by the flashlight. Blood oozed from the hole in the corpse’s head as his dead eyes gleamed in the light, looking directly at Jake. The stream of blood was minimal compared to the bites and gashes that riddled his body. He at first assumed it was the driver of the garbage truck that had started the explosion, but the buttoned-up shirt and loose tie said otherwise. Jake shone the light down the man’s body and saw the gun resting on his upturned palm.
“This country, man,” Jake said as he reached over and grabbed the gun by its barrel. “Way too many fucking guns!”
Jake rested the phone on his lap so he could use it as a hands-free flashlight and released the magazine to inspect how many bullets were left in his newly acquired gun. After seeing the magazine was half full, he pulled out his gun from his waistband and checked their weight and maneuverability together.
“Well, I guess this will have to do,” Jake mumbled to himself as he looked at the two guns in the light.
The irony of the situation didn’t escape Jake. He now had two guns, both of which had been found next to their dead owners, and they had both decided the best use for their gun was to use it on themselves.
“Third time’s the charm,” Jake said, trying to make some levity out of the fucked-up life he was perversely getting used to.
Jake placed the guns on the ground to either side of him and reached into his pockets to pull out the last of his inventory. In his possession he had a money clip that contained his I.D., credit cards and a couple hundred in cash, a small bag of diamonds and a pair of headphones that were tangled in a ball. He looked at the bag of diamonds and sho
ok his head. Whoever wanted them back was most likely dead or on a plane to Tahiti, with Jake the last thing on their mind. He had planned to tell her there were diamonds in the music box one day, but that day never came. Now the small velvet bag was a bitter reminder of how he had probably gotten her killed. For the briefest of moments, he thought about discarding them right then and there, but Jake put the diamonds back in his pocket with the money clip. Sarah wasn’t dead as far as he knew, and until he saw her corpse or let her zombie teeth eat him alive, he wasn’t going to discard the whole reason he was in this shit. The guns were the most valuable thing he had but the headphones he had acquired came in a close second. Jake untangled them the best he could given the light and how fucking tangled they were and plugged the earbuds into his ears, slipping the cord under his shirt so it wouldn’t hinder him when he would eventually be running for his life again. With the completion of that operation, Jake inserted the headphone jack into the bottom of the phone, and he was now wired for sound. Cliff Richard would be proud. Jake tapped at the phone and the flashlight turned off, and he initiated the music app on the phone. A slew of music artists appeared on screen, and Jake used his thumb to scroll down as he cycled through the list.
“Gonna need something fast and fucking furious,” Jake whispered as his fingers kept scrolling.
He got to the artists starting with the letter “P” and stopped when he found what he was looking for.
“This will do perfectly,” Jake whispered as he picked an artist from the list.
A small grin formed as he thought how ironic it would be to rock out to the Canadian, politically correct, vegan, hockey-loving, punk rock band Propagandhi as he went through a crowd of zombies, taking them down and hoping they wouldn’t do the same to him. Jake wasn’t one hundred percent sure if the band would be for or against the use of their music as the soundtrack to his zombie rampage, but he didn’t really care. Any port in a storm in this case. There were four albums by Propagandhi on the phone, but there was only one album Jake knew would be the best fit for this type of predicament, and he selected the album “How To Clean Everything” and hit play. He put the phone in his pocket and grabbed the guns as he got to his feet, and by the time he had completely stood up the first song “Anti-Manifesto” was already filling his ears. He knew it was now or never. With both hands tensing the grips of the guns in unison, Jake took a deep breath and leaned against the door as he steadied himself. The music was loud in his head, there was nothing else to do—it was time to rock!
@KillingJake survived an awesome explosion, fucking John McClane shit. Found another gun to use unsupervised and improperly. Thank fuck for shitty gun laws. #GunNutz #SkaSucks #SongForThoseWhoHitAndMissed
CHAPTER 106: KARMA
No one likes me, Lynne thought. They never did. I deserve all of this. I have nothing to offer but my body, and no one wants that anymore. No one likes me. They never did.
Lynne was a little concerned that Sarah and Daryl were talking to each other as they looked into the distance, exchanging knowing looks and smiles. They seemed like old friends, contrary to the confrontation they just had. He still had Lynne’s phone. He was the enemy as far as she was concerned, and now Sarah was fraternizing with him, like everything was forgiven. Lynne didn’t know any of these people, and she only had become fast friends with Sarah because they had a few things in common, those being that they were women, they were stuck in the zombie apocalypse and they were acting rationally.
The last time Lynne had snuck a peak at her the wound, it still remained a small bite with red streaks stemming from it, but she could feel the infection progressing through her body. Just how long it would take to takeover was anyone’s guess. Along with the pain, the sense of doom was growing inside her, and she knew it was only a matter of time until she turned into a zombie, but she didn’t care about that. Her number one priority right now was getting Ava to safety. Lynne peeked into the tent and looked in on Ava. She wasn’t proud of what she had done but she’d needed to do it. Seeing Ava sleep peacefully filled her heart with warmth. Sure she had drugged her young daughter, but she’d had no choice. Daryl had been threatening them and Ava’s crying had showed no sign of stopping. It was just a tiny piece of Xanax, she told herself, enough to keep her sleepy for a little while. Not forever, but long enough for her to think of a way out of this mess. For the good of her sleeping beauty, Lynne had to go see what they were talking about. The rooftop felt like an island and the inhabitants were on the reality show Survivor. Alliances formed in an instant and betrayals were thick and fast.
“What are you staring at?” Lynne whispered over Sarah’s shoulder.
“Remember that guy? The guy who drove you to my house,” Sarah said, trying not to give away any threads of hope in her voice. “He’s out there, trying to get to us. He’s a friend of Daryl’s.”
“Don’t hold that against me,” Daryl said with a smile.
Lynne looked at him for a moment. She couldn’t believe he was trying to make a joke after all the shitty things he had done since he came into her life. Her eyes were like fire, and Daryl’s smile disappeared and was replaced with a frown.
“That was your boyfriend, right?” Lynne said, putting her hand on Sarah’s shoulder. “He saved us.”
“Boyfriend? No, no,” Sarah said adamantly. “He actually killed my boyfriend.”
Lynne’s eyes widened. Mark was a piece of shit, but he wasn’t a murderer.
“What?” Lynne said, removing her hand and moving around so she was facing Sarah. “He killed him? That’s why he needed to go to your house?”
“Damn!” Daryl said as his head snapped in Sarah’s direction with his eyebrows raised. “That guy is gonna get it if he makes it here!”
“I’m sorry, let me start again. He didn’t kill him, that’s not what I meant, but it was one hundred percent his fault,” Sarah said with a wry smile. “It’s complicated, okay. Everything about Jake is complicated.”
“Amen,” Daryl said under his breath.
“Are you okay?” Lynne said soothingly. “Why didn’t you tell me? I feel like such a bitch!”
“Oh, it’s okay, don’t worry about it. It’s a long story. It feels like years ago, now,” Sarah said with a forced smile. “I’m sure if we do ever get out of here, I’m going to need a team of therapists to get me through.”
Lynne’s eyes showed Sarah her understanding of the situation as she unleashed a caring smile, and she was happy that Sarah gave her one back. She was getting paranoid. She knew the end wouldn’t be pretty for her and she needed an ally to take care of Ava, and Sarah was right at the top of the list, a list with only one name on it.
Being a porn star, Lynne had had her fair share of complicated relationships, and if you were in the industry you knew the deal. It came with the territory. Having sex with a porn star is every guy’s dream, but it takes a special breed to be in a relationship with one, and all too many of Lynne’s relationships ended with her being mistreated and abused. This wasn’t something she learned to avoid, this was something she turned to, subconsciously and consciously. The drama and everything that went with it had become an addiction and a gauge of how well a relationship was going. She pitied the poor guy who only wanted to take care of her and make her happy. Lynne would go out of her way to push his buttons and make him act out of character, and if he didn’t turn into the asshole of her design, she would try one last Hail Mary that would either end the relationship or breathe life back into it. Even though these guys understood Lynne was going to work once or twice a week to take another man or two’s dick in her mouth, they were never prepared to come home to find the love of their life getting smashed into oblivion by another man. After Ava was born and she moved away, she thought this type of behavior would end, but no, it only got worse. With the meticulous planning of a Bond villain, Lynne would cater each scenario to what would set her partner off the most, be it his best friend, rival or, worst yet, a guy so unattractive or disgusting that
she could be assured drama would ensue.
Lynne thought about all the crappy things she had done to the nice people in her life and wondered if today was karma coming to bite her in the ass or, in this case, the ankle. She put her paranoia away and started walking back to the best thing that had ever happened to her, Ava.
“I know your secret,” Ryan whispered through his large shit-eating grin.
He had intercepted her a few feet from the tent, his oily face invading hers. She tried to side step him, but Ryan matched her move and got closer.
“Yeah, yeah, I fuck for a living,” Lynne whispered. “Trust me, everyone knows.”
Ryan snickered and looked around to see if anyone was watching or listening.
“Oh, that? I don’t care about that,” Ryan whispered, still smiling like it was the best day of his life. “I saw your ankle, when we were in the car. You’ve been bitten, haven’t you?”
All the blood drained out of Lynne’s face, and she could feel herself go faint. She swayed a little, but Ryan was quick to grab her by the arms and bring her in close.
“Hey, hey, it’s ok!” Ryan whispered in her ear. “We’re all in this together. You have no need to be worried. You’re with friends.”
Lynne followed his advice and snapped back into reality. She knew she would be been found out eventually, and she was grateful it was this jerk and not Daryl, who would probably shoot first and ask questions later.
“You okay, Lynne?” Sarah said. “You need help with this guy?”
Lynne turned to see Sarah and Daryl looking at her with concern printed on their faces. The grip Ryan had on her arm increased, and Lynne got the message.
“Yeah, I’m fine,” Lynne said confidently. “We’re just talking about a friend.”
“Yeah, an old friend,” Ryan said, trying not to sound creepy but failing as usual.