* * *
Danita didn’t have the luxury of contemplation that night. Instead, she had to placate the other inhabitants when they groaned about how a perfectly good game of Eats had ended before it could even begin. Hours passed before she managed to guarantee to each and every one of them that they would be back, and she would have accomplished that task sooner had she understood Ryan when he yelled, “I’ll be back!” but at this point, such details didn’t matter.
Even with her guarantees, the population of Colmera Springs was restless, so Danita resorted to initiating a game of Hides. She hoped that it would be a decent substitute for Eats and everyone would be happy once again. Several zombies croaked their objection to the game, some of them even calling the whole ordeal a Bait-N-Switch, but when Danita explained that a game of Hides could be a precursor to a game of Eats, they agreed to play along with the others. Some of the zombies liked the idea so much they even let her suggest new hiding spots.
It took a couple of hours, but Danita succeeded in tucking everyone away in the end. And once she was alone and her thoughts churned, what was left of her brow furrowed. I’ll be back echoed several times over. It was a hollow, chilling echo, and one that pushed her decision to find Jack to the top of her three-point to-do list. Hopefully, he could make sense of things. Fortunately for Danita, finding him never proved to be difficult, especially with all of eternity at her disposal.
She plodded around Colmera Springs but came up with nothing. Slowly, the image of the pen came to her mind, and she decided that Jack must still be fixated upon it. Danita also decided that since Jack wasn’t around discussing Eats, he must have wandered off alone someplace where the other zombies cared not to go. Her first stop was the dentist’s office, but he had the week off and Jack was not inside. She then headed for the marina since most of the populace couldn’t swim. With a little luck, the second time would be the charm, and the two of them could work out this I’ll be back business and then grab someone to eat.
* * *
Jack awoke to a partial hand on his shoulder. He took to his feet and saw Danita next to him with a happy look splashed across her rotted face. Before either could say a word, a bit of moonlight worked its way free of the clouds, darted between the trees, and managed to strike Jack’s 1941, catalog product number 31A, green metallic shell, ballpoint pen. The sparkle it gave rekindled the desire to answer the question of “Mrrrggph?” and so he asked it to Danita, hoping she would have an answer.
Danita did not. But she did say that she remembered a group meal escaping recently and that she’d felt depressed that a game of Eats had been ruined. At the end of her lament, she vowed to never forget about it ever again, whatever it was. But the pen looked nice.
Jack smiled and showed it off with pride. He gave it a wiggle in the light, demonstrating its reflective and hypnotic qualities. He then showed her the most marvelous trick he had discovered. With a half twist of the pen, a small tip appeared from one end. Jack pressed the tip into his arm and moved it across his skin. When he removed it, a wavy, black line remained.
Danita croaked and extended her hand, asking permission to give it a try.
Jack grunted with approval and handed the pen over to her.
At this point, there was a lot for Jack’s two-thought mind to take in and just as much to forget. He watched as Danita scribbled hastily on her arm, blathering on about finding a way never to forget something ever again. She then demanded that Jack distract her for a while, which Jack happily obliged by telling a few jokes and poking around in the dirt with a stick until he forgot what he was supposed to be doing.
Danita looked down, jumped, and screamed about a scribbled mess on her arm. When she calmed herself and stopped clawing at it, recognition replaced fright, and she rattled with glee.
Jack, still confused, stood silent and chewed his bottom lip. It wasn’t as tasty as a live lip, but it wasn’t bad either. Dry, with a hint of leather.
Danita grabbed his arm and pulled him through the forest. As she did, she jabbered on about three things. First, she wanted to play Eats. Second, writing something down was a fantastic way not to forget it. And third, she knew how to combine both.
Although Jack liked the idea of a game of Eats, he did not appreciate her bossy nature. So Jack planted his feet and ground their midnight march to a halt. When Danita turned to face him, he picked up a fallen branch from the forest floor and swung it at her head.
It hit her just above the left ear and broke in two.
Both zombies paused at the sound of stick turned sticks. It was a pleasing sound, one that echoed throughout the forest and one that was reminiscent of popping bones. Both zombies not only agreed that they would like to hear more of such sounds, but they also decided that it had been far too long since a human or two had come to their little abode. In fact, neither could remember when the last time even was. As such, they decided (again) that it was time to go looking for a new meal and to stop all this nonsense of standing around and doing nothing.
The two shuffled down the moonlit path, unknowingly headed straight for Seraville.
Chapter Eight
In 1914, there was a small spat about who killed who, and Europe decided it needed a great war to settle the matter. Everyone abandoned their rock searching ways for digging countless trenches and shooting those that happened out of them. While some played in the dirt, others played in the air, and as a direct result, leaps and bounds in aviation were made. The biggest driving factor behind these advancements were pilots filled with jealousy. After all, if the men on the ground got to kill each other, those in the air should too.
The pilots tried dueling with pistols from biplanes but soon abandoned the practice. Many found it too hard to count precisely ten paces, and so machine guns were installed as a fair substitute. At some point along the way, the pilots also thought they might want to come back down, sans plane. This thought gave birth to two notable things. First, the design of a lightweight, compact parachute. Second, and building on the first, it created thousands of men that didn’t want to fly at all, but still liked the idea of jumping out of airplanes while at war. They were the start of the modern paratrooper.
Several decades prior to Jack and Danita’s romantic, moonlit stroll through the woods, Private First Class J.F. Reno sat quietly inside a C-47 transport plane. Twenty other students from Fort Benning’s Airborne School were with him, one of whom happened to be enthralled with his new 1941, catalog product number 31A, green metallic shell, ballpoint pen.
Reno nervously flipped the pen over a few times in his hand. “They say it has almost eight hundred uses,” he said to Pfc. M. Conner, raising his voice above the constant drone of the two wing-mounted Pratt & Whitney R-1830 engines.
“Eight hundred, huh?” Conner yelled back. “Nice pen, indeed.”
Reno nodded. “It’s why I bought it instead of the red metallic shell—which only had four hundred something.”
“Can you kill a Kraut with it?” someone yelled in the back.
“Use number five twenty-two, according to the pamphlet,” Reno shouted in reply. He then turned back to Conner. “That was one of the first things I asked the salesman. I thought it would be fun to kill a Kraut and write home about it with the same instrument.”
Conner reflexively grabbed Reno’s shoulder when the plane hit a patch of turbulence. Once the ride smoothed out, he asked, “What’s use number one?”
“I can’t quite remember how it was phrased,” Reno said, thinking. “I think it was something like, ‘Tool for the creation of written communication.’” He then added after a brief jolt from the plane, “You should order one when we get back. It’s a fine pen. It even writes in the dark.”
“Negative. We’re shipping out in a day or two for England. I wouldn’t get it in time.”
“Too bad. It’s a fine pen.”
Conner eyed the writing instrument. “You could always give me yours.”
Reno laughed. “Not on your
life.”
“After all I’ve done for you, too,” Conner said, throwing up his hands. “Maybe I’ll just take it when you aren’t looking.”
“I’d hunt you down and see if use number five twenty-two applied to backstabbing jump mates.”
“Shut up and get ready to jump!” their jumpmaster yelled. “And as long as you’re making promises Reno, be sure you only make ones your ass will be able to cash in.”
The class shuffled to the exit door.
“Fine,” Reno said, raising his voice even further so that everyone could hear. “Let it be known that I swear to God and all that is holy, if anyone takes my green pen, I will hunt them and anyone else down for all of eternity, biting their legs off if I have to, to get it back.”
“I’m going to stuff that pen up your ass if you don’t shut up.” The look on the jumpmaster’s face revealed a promise, not an empty threat.
Daring as always, Reno answered, "I don't think that's one of the approved uses, sir."
“I’ll see you on the ground, Reno,” the jumpmaster said evenly. “You’ll be seeing how many approved uses of pain I know.”
A moment later, the green light turned on. Like a batch of eager lemmings, the class began falling out of the aircraft. Pfc. Conner turned swiftly, flashed a wry grin and snatched the pen from Pfc. Reno’s hand. Before the former penholder could react, Pfc. Conner jumped out of the aircraft.
“Son of a bitch,” Pfc. Reno muttered, tailing the thief out of the plane. His static line pulled an instant later, and he felt the chute deploy. He glanced up, let loose a sigh of relief at the sight of the round blossom above. His relief, however, faded fast as the wind picked up and blew him far from the drop zone.
* * *
When Danita had initiated the game of Hides, she did a marvelous job at placing her fellow zombies in various niches and dark corners. Her effort was undoubtedly as good a job as anyone else could have done; that point would remain uncontested. Her scheme, however, was far from perfect. First, she chose spots that zombies liked to rest in. With no one around and town arguments never lasting long to begin with, the inhabitants of Colmera Springs would have gone to bed one by one on their own. That alone made her commendable efforts unneeded.
Second, history has shown that humans are rarely killed because of a skeleton in the closet. The vast majority of victims are done in by their own less-than-spectacular actions. Wandering off alone, or hiding under the bed, or trying to study zombies and so forth, all fall into this category. As such, to catch their prey, zombies do not need to start a game of Eats by playing a game of Hides first. They can just let people be people.
Last, and by far the largest of the gaping flaws, zombies aren’t known for their ability nor desire to follow instructions (games of Hides are often long over before any meal wanders in). This little point goes hand in hand with the previous point, as victims try to order zombies around by screaming things like, “Stop!” “No!” and the ever popular, “Don’t eat me!” But since most people are not avid students of history, let alone zombie history, they are doomed to repeat it—Danita included.
A couple of hours past midnight, long after she had disappeared from sight and sound, the citizens of Colmera Springs grew tired of decomposing alone and pursued other activities. Some ended their game of Hides by choosing to lie down, while others lumbered around to see what everyone else was doing or undoing. A few wanted to play a new game, but no people could be seen, smelled, or heard. Furthermore, no one could find Danita, and without their resident game maker guiding them, a new game was nothing more than wishful thinking.
While they were on the subject of new games, one of the zombies postulated the notion that perhaps Danita had already invented something new to play and the gist of it was to find her. Everyone agreed that it was a plausible scenario, as both games and Danita existed. Barry, the former baker, then suggested that while they might not know how to play just yet, points would be awarded as they were due.
A low moan came from the horde, signifying that everyone was in agreement.
Despite the large consensus of those wanting to try something new, a couple of dozen others refused as they were purists at heart. Any game other than Eats was substandard, and they weren’t about to settle for mediocrity. They also had a different hypothesis as to the whereabouts of Danita. They surmised that Danita had gone off to play the solitaire version of Eats (Eats Alone), for neither Danita nor a tasty meal was anywhere to be found. The logic, of course, was irrefutable.
In the end, however, each group set out to find Danita. And although their goals were identical, their motivations and their methods weren’t, and it wasn’t long before the two groups argued until all focus had been lost. That is, until the unmistakable sound of snapping bone echoed through the forest.
In perfect unison, the inhabitants of Colmera Springs became quiet, turned toward the sound and offered an inquisitive Urrmmmmggghhh.
The mob headed in the direction of the noise. A half hour later, they stumbled upon a small zombling by the name of Dexter. Little Dexter stood alone, head crooked to the left and looking skyward. Half of a broken stick lay at his feet, but since his eyes were up, the horde only gave it a cursory glance.
No one understood what little Dexter was doing or why he was doing it, but the empty stare the little zombling held told everyone everything that they needed to know; he was in deep contemplation about something worthwhile. And like all things worthwhile, it would be beneficial to discern exactly what it might be. They could all comment on how cute he was later.
Any remaining thoughts about the recent, mysterious, bone-snapping sound vanished in an instant from the crowd. They asked what Dexter was doing. Dexter, in turn, asked what they were doing. Back and forth the questions went, and eventually everyone grew tired of standing in the forest, and a few suggested they should return home. During the course of this conversation, more and more zombies arrived at the meeting spot, having followed the same snap of bones to the same spot.
Just before the horde achieved a consensus to return home, little Dexter found a blood trail and pointed it out for everyone to see. He also pointed to the blood-stained leaves and reminded everyone that if something bled, they could eat it.
Praise from everyone showered Dexter for his fine thinking. With Dexter’s rediscovery still fresh in mind, someone suggested that a game of Eats for All must be played. Due to the large volume of bodies that would participate, the suggestion was put forth to a vote. Dexter, being a zombling who hadn’t fully fermented yet and could not vote, took up the count as mangled limbs were raised.
Auggghhhhh (one).
Augghhhhh (two).
With the pinnacle of counting being reached in record time, the provisional council of dead affairs approved the unanimous decision and stated that as long as the group was out and about, it would indeed be good to get a change of scenery and start a new game of Eats for All. No one knew where they wanted to go, mostly because no one could remember anywhere to go or what might even exist. All that they were certain of was that where they wanted to be was not where they currently were.
Dexter suggested they follow the trail of blood, as it looked like it knew where it wanted to go. Though no one paid attention to him at first, when Dexter headed downhill, the mob followed close behind.
Chapter Nine
Clarice spent the night in a restless state. When she wasn’t watching the ceiling stare at her, she was checking the window to see if anything was lurking outside. When she wasn’t doing either of those, she was sulking over the fact that her insensitive and uncaring fiancé had somehow managed to fall asleep and had left her alone, despite the fact that he had sworn to stand vigil. Occasionally she would offer a sharp nudge of her elbow into his ribs as a subtle reminder of her insomnia, but he had always been a heavy sleeper. Maybe the French maid outfit wouldn’t be coming out after all.
Well past exhaustion and a half step through delirium, Clarice rolled out of bed
and trudged into the bathroom. The sun had finally shown itself, and it seemed pointless to try and sleep any longer. Her usual morning bathroom routine had turned predictably tense and troubled. Aside from the previous day’s events and the lack of any real sleep, she had also left her toiletry bag in the car. And to top things off, the frigid water made sure she wouldn’t enjoy any sort of shower, though it did give her a jolt of energy. She threw her old clothes back on, squirted some Visine in her bloodshot eyes, donned her sports cap (complete with a Jolly Roger splashed across its crown), and slipped out the door. Hopefully, breakfast would brighten the day.
Coming down the stairs, Clarice took a quick inventory of the house and was relieved to find it much as she had left it. The living room was still on her right, the kitchen to the left. Couches, chairs, tables, books and various odds and ends still appeared to be in the proper location. The television had been left on and was currently showing some random talk show, the topic being a fresh look at love triangles and trailer parks. The smell of scrambled eggs wafted from the kitchen, and while she was confident she hadn’t left such a smell lingering the previous night, the change was a welcomed one.
“Good morning Ms. Clarice,” Ryan said as she came around the corner. He was sitting at the breakfast table, cup of coffee in one hand, cheap, red, ballpoint pen in the other. The morning light accentuated his ashen, semi-paralyzed face.
She stopped in the doorway and held back a gasp. “You look awful,” she stammered. “Maybe you should see someone.”
“Do I?” he asked, patting himself down. It seemed as if this was the first time he had ever considered his appearance. “I think you’ll find that this attire is well within policy.”
“You look like you’re one step away from the grave!”
Death and Taxes Page 6