by Bible, Jake
“Take too long! They weak!” someone yells and the gang breaks out laughing.
“Yeah! What am I thinkin’, bro?” Barfly cackles. “Long Pork only got one arm.”
He tucks one arm behind his back and mimes trying to dig with the other. The whole gang copies him and in seconds, we are standing there, close to pissing ourselves with fear, as a couple dozen cannibals hop about a meadow at night pretending to only have one arm and dig imaginary holes while close to pissing themselves with laughter.
It takes them a long time to get it out of their systems. Like a really long time.
“Maybe I make the lady bros dig and we cook you bros up,” Barfly says as he suddenly stops with the digging act and stabs me in the chest with the rod. “Maybe we let those lady bros of yours show you what a little piece of shit bro you are. Would you like that, little piece of shit bro? Would you?”
“No need for name calling, bro,” I say as the rod keeps on stabbing, stabbing, stabbing right into my sternum. “I haven’t done a thing to warrant that.”
“You did so,” Barfly states.
“How can I get you to believe me, Barfly?” I ask. “What evidence do you need to see that we didn’t kill anyone? We got away fair and square.”
“Fair and square,” a few of the cannies say and Barfly whirls on them, his steel rod snapping through the open space between him and the front of the gang.
“Ain’t no fair and square!” Barfly shouts. “They stole my ride, peeps! Took it without permission! No fair and square for stealers!”
“No fair and square for stealers!” the gang yells in unison.
“And I applaud your sense of right and wrong as well as your established code of conduct,” I say. “It’s not easy keeping order post-Z. You have to have rules. I get that. And I’m sorry for breaking them when we stole your ride, Barfly. I’ll make that up to you, if you let me.”
“Make it up?” Barfly asks. “How you gonna do that, Long Pork bro? You’ll be too busy diggin’!”
The gang starts back up with the pantomimes and I just sigh. It’s like dealing with fucked up, full grown toddlers. How these people lost their minds so fast after Z-Day, I don’t know. Sure, we had our share of cannies in Asheville, but not whacked out gangs like this. It’s like they have created their own society and language in just a few years.
I weep for the youth of today.
Oh, and speaking of, I’m pretty sure the Crossville Cookers are all under thirty years old, easy. I haven’t seen a single one that I would say is even close to thirty. Some may look like they are fifty because of their lack of proper nutrition and all, not to mention some of their less than healthy extracurricular habits, but I would swear on the lives of my family that the gang before me is made up of late teens and early twenties psychos.
Except for maybe Barfly. I can’t get a read on that guy’s age. He could be twenties, he could be thirties, or he could be in his forties like me. He has this ageless quality that adds to the creep factor by a billion. Kinda like he gets strength from eating his foes’ hearts or something. Shit, maybe he does; weirder shit has happened over the years.
“We didn’t hurt your ride,” I say to Barfly, trying to get the discussion back on track. “Can’t be mad about that.”
The hopping and faux digging is making me nervous. Well, more nervous than I already am. Okay, maybe nervous isn’t the right word. How about they are annoying the living shit out of me? Yeah, that’s way more accurate.
“No, no, you didn’t hurt my ride,” Barfly agrees. “I checked. Just no go juice in it no more.”
Greta snorts behind me and I wince.
“You think of a funny, little girl bro?” Barfly asks as he looks past me to my daughter. “What your funny, little girl bro?”
“Don’t answer,” Stella whispers.
“Go juice,” Greta says. “That cracks me up.”
My daughter has unfortunately inherited my inability to shut the fuck up. It was endearing pre-Z, but has lost some of its appeal since the dead started to walk the Earth and try to eat us all.
And, as if on cue...
Several long moans get everyone’s attention and the gang turns around to see quite a few shadows come shambling out of the woods and into the meadow.
“Dammit, Long Pork bro!” Barfly snaps, forgetting that Greta said anything. “You brought the fatties after us.”
“That is the stupidest name ever,” Greta says.
“Oh, for God’s sake, Greta!” Stella snaps. “Shut the hell up!”
“You don’t like the name fatties?” Barfly asks as he focuses his attention back on us. “Why not? We call ‘em fatties because they never stop eatin’!”
A few members of the gang laugh, but most just watch the Zs come towards us. Hands grip weapons tighter and I can smell the adrenaline start to pump.
“But Zs don’t get fat,” Greta says. “Just because they don’t ever stop eating doesn’t mean they are fat. It’s a dumb name.”
“Like Zs is better, little girl bro?” Barfly asks. “That’s one letter! Z!”
“It’s short for zombie,” Greta snaps.
“If you do not stop talking now then I will shut you up myself,” Stella says as she grabs Greta’s arm.
“No, no, lady bro, it’s all good,” Barfly says. “Little girl bro is just havin’ a debate. Better than some of these poop stains. They just want to hunt and fight and sniff fumes.”
“And fuck!” someone yells.
“And fuck,” Barfly nods. “Lots of fuckin’ ‘round here, but no babies. I know what makes babies and all the fuckin’ don’t make none. Ain’t that weird?”
That line of thought shuts Greta up. Apparently, one way to make a teenage girl be quiet is to talk about cannies having sex. It’s like talking about parents having sex. Ewwwww!
“Maybe there’s some pollutant in the water,” I suggest. “I bet a factory or some waste treatment dump broke down and all the industrial waste got into the ground water. Could have made all of you sterile.”
“Which ones?” Barfly asks. “The guy bros or the lady bros?”
“Uh, I don’t know,” I shrug. “I was just making a suggestion, bro.”
“Does that mean I’m sterile now?” Charlie asks. “That would suck.”
“Yeah, bro! It sucks! I want to see some little Barflies runnin’ about, but none of the lady bros be poppin’ ‘em out! What the fuck, bro?”
The Zs get closer and the gang starts to move forward. I don’t have to say a word to my family to tell them what I’m thinking. I also don’t have to say a word to Barfly, either.
“Don’t be thinkin’ of runnin’, bro,” Barfly says as his rod catches me in the ribs. I still don’t go down. “My peeps can kill some fatties right fast, no problemo. Right, bros? You peeps be killin’ some fatties right fast?”
“Fuckin’ A yeah!”
“I kill all the fatties!”
“Fatties fall down and they don’t get up!”
“We kill the shit out of those fuckin’ fatties!”
“Shit killin’ fatties! Yo we do, yo bros! Shit the kill fuck outta them! Bros kill shit fuck fatties, bros!”
Barfly turns to the gang and starts laughing. “That bro been sniffin’ too many fumes! Shit the kill fuck outta them? That’s messed up, bro.”
Shit the kill fuck outta them? Huh... I’m pretty sure I know that syntax, as well as that voice.
“Jace...,” Stella whispers barely loud enough for me to hear.
I don’t look back at her, but just nod my head.
“Shit the kill fuck,” Barfly snickers. “Who said that? Which one of you peeps is heeelarious? Shit the kill fuck is heeelarious!”
I can see a few heads turn in the gang as they look for the source of Barfly’s amusement, but no one speaks up. What happens next is pretty predictable.
“I asked a question, bros!” Barfly snaps. “Who said that? I like it and want to know who said it! Some heeelarious mother fucker be
tter step out and show their mother fuckin’ self right fast!”
Still no one admits to the words.
I can see Barfly’s body start to shake with rage. The man likes to be answered when he asks a question.
He turns on me and starts with the steel rod stabbing into my chest again.
“Did you see, Long Pork bro? You see who said those words?”
“I didn’t, Barfly,” I reply quickly. “Sorry.”
“Yeah, you sorry, bro,” Barfly sneers. “A sorry piece of shit.”
He lifts the rod above my head and starts to bring it down fast. I duck my head, and close my eyes, ready for the killing blow he’s been promising since we were first captured, but it doesn’t come.
I open my eyes to see a hand gripping Barfly’s arm, keeping the rod from cracking my skull open.
“What the fuck, bro?” Barfly shouts as he jerks his arm free and whirls on the offender. “You tryin’ to save these peeps or somethin’?”
“Or somethin’,” the voice I know replies. “Hey, bro.”
“Oh...it’s you,” Barfly snorts, his body tense and ready for the fight. He looks at the young woman that stands in front of him. Even though I’m at his back, I know he’s studying her like the predator he is.
What the stupid fuck doesn’t know is that he’s already been studied thoroughly or the young woman wouldn’t be standing there.
“Ready to die, crazy chick bro?” Barfly laughs.
“I ain’t crazy.”
“If you ain’t crazy then what are you?” Barfly snarls.
“I’m family,” Elsbeth grins.
True dat, bros.