It was an opportune moment to say nothing at all. Bubba took a bite of the breast he’d served himself. Miz Adelia could cook. Willodean would probably burn chicken to a crisp or something worse. The poor chicken would likely come back from the dead to protest its wretched treatment.
But still, Willodean was about as perfect as a woman could come. Bubba even liked her family although most of them could shoot as well as she could. (The fact that they had aimed weapons at him upon a singular occasion should have deterred him, but it did not.)
“Kids?”
Bubba swallowed the bite of chicken whole. His eyes began to water as the bite got stuck in his esophagus. He coughed once and put the plate down. He choked and hit his chest with a fist. Willodean put her plate down and slapped his back. He choked again and she hit him again.
“Sorry,” she said. She whaled on him a third time, putting her whole hundred pounds and change behind it. The chicken flew out of his mouth.
Bubba watched the piece fly through the air and took in a gasping breath of air. This wasn’t going the way he’d wanted it to go. It was actually going the opposite of how he had wanted it to go. Maybe he should have hired the sky writer plane. His eyebrows came together in a frown as he remembered why he had choked. Willodean had said, “Kids?”
“What about kids?” Bubba asked carefully.
“I want to have children one day,” she said, patting his back but not as hard as she had done before. “I’d like two, but I wouldn’t say no to three. What about you?”
“Um,” he said because he had precipitously gone stupid in the head. This seemed like a test that Bubba couldn’t help but fail. If he said he didn’t want kids he was hosed. If he said he wanted more than three or less than two, he was hoist on his own petard. The damnable thing about it was that he didn’t know what a petard was. “I want kids,” he said.
“I don’t mean right now,” Willodean said forcefully. “I’m just thinking about the future, you know?”
Bubba eyed Willodean doubtfully. Had his mother and Miz Adelia picked up on something and spoken to the beauteous sheriff’s deputy? Had someone said something about his visit to the jewelry store two towns over? Had all of Lloyd Goshorn’s (the town’s biggest slack jaw and handyman) gossip about multiple bride’s maids and groomsmen finally gotten to Willodean? Where was a Magic 8 Ball when he really needed one?
He caught himself thinking quickly. This was a good thing, right? The woman of his dreams was asking him about children. That meant she was interested in more than being boyfriend/girlfriend, right? God, maybe this would be a good time for a sign from you?
There was a loud moaning.
Willodean blinked and looked over her shoulder. “Did you hear that?”
Bubba heard the squirrels making little squirrel noises. He looked and saw them pounce on the chicken bite and drag it off. They chittered anxiously at each other and suddenly their heads came up. They looked and then they vanished.
Another moan echoed through the cemetery. Bubba thought that someone must be in one of the higher sections mourning in a loud manner. There was another parking lot on the opposite side of the cemetery and people visited it often.
“Oh, jeez,” Willodean said, still looking over her shoulder. “I don’t believe this.”
Bubba said, “It isn’t what you think. Well, it is what you think. I don’t know who told you but I dint want it to be this way. I wanted it to be special and look—” Bubba pulled a bouquet of red roses from behind Dave’s gravestone “—flowers, for you.”
Willodean looked back at Bubba and then at the flowers.
A third moan resonated across the cemetery. Then the sun unexpectedly went behind the clouds. Although it was spring and the temperature was in the seventies, it felt like there was an icy wind tickling their spines.
“Pretty, but you shouldn’t steal from the graves,” Willodean said.
“I didn’t steal this,” Bubba protested immediately.
Willodean took the flowers and sniffed. “Sorry. Of course, you didn’t.”
“I um-well-look-I—”
A fourth moan sounded from behind them and Bubba finally steeled his shoulders and turned to look to see what was making the noise.
It was a zombie.
Bubba had watched Night of the Living Dead at least thirteen times. He knew a zombie when he saw one. There was the telltale shuffle, the gray skin, the ripped clothing stained with earth and what appeared to be blood. The zombie’s eyes were completely bluish white and his black mouth opened up wide and he moaned, “Braiiiiinnnnnsssss.”
Bubba looked behind the zombie and saw that the rest of the cemetery was covered in zombies. There were dozens of them, all shambling in zigzag patterns toward Willodean and Bubba as if the pair was the main entrée of the day.
There was only one thing to say, so Bubba said it, “Don’t that put lumps in the gravy?”
Chapter 2
Bubba and the Fetid Filmmakers
Friday, March 8th
“CUT! For the love of God and all that’s Frank Capra, CUT! CUT! CUUUUUT!” someone yelled. A man wearing riding pants, a short wool coat, and a felt beret came striding out of the tombstones. He also wore tall leather boots and held a megaphone up to his face. He stared at the army of zombies and loudly asked, “By Cecil B. DeMille’s ghost, there’s no sheriff’s deputy in this shot, is there?”
“No, Kristoph,” a young woman with a clipboard answered promptly, appearing from another stand of towering markers. “‘Scene XXVII - Zombies moaning as they move through the cemetery,’” she read from the clipboard. “This is just stock footage for the cemetery scenes. You!” she yelled at Bubba and Willodean. “Yes, I mean you two with the picnic basket! Who said for the costume people to bring a frigging picnic basket?”
Willodean looked at Bubba. “I can shoot them, right?”
“You’re the deputy,” Bubba said, “and I would say I dint see nothing.”
The zombie nearest them moaned. Two men with large camera sets fiddled with their equipment and one lowered the gear to the ground with a deep breath.
“And did anyone tell the zombies to moan, ‘Braiiiiinnnnnsssss!’?” Kristoph demanded irately. He waved the megaphone around imperiously. “Really. Braiiiiinnnnnsssss. How Avant-guard. Do you see George Romero hiding in the shadows around here?”
“Sorry, dude,” the zombie said. “It was just the look on the guy’s face.” The zombie giggled as he gestured at Bubba. “He thought we were real. Braiiiiinnnnnsssss.”
“I did not.” Bubba frowned. There had been a brief moment. A very brief moment. Perhaps a nanosecond or less. He would never admit it. In fact, it would be like he had suddenly caught a case of selective amnesia.
“He probably sharted!” the zombie added.
Bubba hadn’t sharted. He didn’t know what sharted meant and he wasn’t going to ask.
“Seriously, Bubba, you didn’t know?” Willodean said. “It’s been all over town about the filming. They went in the sheriff’s department. Sheriff John nearly had apoplexy. The director over there—,” she pointed at Kristoph and they both watched as he managed to flip his shoulder length silver hair over his shoulder without losing his beret in the process,“—wanted John to play the gruff yet golden hearted sheriff in the movie. You can probably guess what John said about that.”
“I kin guess,” Bubba admitted. Sheriff John didn’t like any kind of media, even the mundane kind. Threats of bodily harm had probably taken place. Bubba was just sorry he hadn’t gotten to hear all the minute details.
The girl with the clipboard trip-trip-trapped up to them. “I was talking to you,” she said to Bubba and Willodean. “You’re totally in the wrong place. This kind of ineptitude costs the film thousands of dollars. You’re just getting paid scale and you don’t even have a line. So can you just toe the line?”
Bubba glanced at the half-eaten plate of food. Then he looked at the picnic basket. He should have gotten the sky writer. Z
ombies couldn’t have messed that up. Neither could Hollywood types.
Willodean got up and slung her Sam Browne belt around her waist. “We don’t work for you,” Willodean said slowly to the clipboard girl, as if she was speaking to someone with a mental deficiency, which was possible considering that the girl was working in the film industry.
“I’ll have you fired,” the girl threatened. “That uniform just sucks anyway. It looks about as real as a meter maid’s. A Sam Browne belt and a police baton. Please. What’s in the mace cans anyway? Spray cheese? Don’t the costume designers do any research?” She peered closer at Willodean. “Green contacts, really? We’re totally not going to need you today.”
Bubba saw Willodean’s hand twitch toward the mace on her belt and his eyes widened. He clambered to his feet, ready to prevent an incident.
“Not in your movie,” Willodean gritted. “Do you not speak English? And I am a sheriff’s deputy.”
The clipboard girl poked Willodean in the sternum. Willodean’s shoulders straightened as the girl said, “We’ve got permits to film in the cemetery today, and we don’t need the hired help ruining our takes.” Clipboard Girl looked heavenward. “And people wonder why we want to shoot on a soundstage.”
Bubba stepped up and put a hand on Willodean’s shoulder. “Ifin I had known the cemetery was booked, we wouldn’t have come here. It was an honest mistake.”
Clipboard Girl looked at Bubba derogatorily. Then she looked back at Willodean and poked the deputy again as she started to say, “And I’ll tell you another—” A moment later Clipboard Girl was on her knees and Willodean was gripping the other woman’s index finger so that it was twisted at an awkward angle. She had the younger girl’s whole arm bent behind her and was only touching the finger with her fist. It had looked practically effortless. Willodean wasn’t even breathing heavy.
The very sight made Bubba very nearly blurt out the words he’d practicing blurting all week long. But it wasn’t right and it most certainly wasn’t the right time. No, if he did, Willodean would probably do that to his finger and she wouldn’t talk to him anymore and he would sit on the ground and cry and eat dirt. That would be bad for everyone.
“That’s felony assault on a law enforcement officer,” Willodean informed the girl in a voice that sounded gentle but really wasn’t, “but I’ll let it go today on account that you’re uninformed. Regrettably woefully uninformed.”
“Uninformed,” Clipboard Girl agreed. Sadly, she had dropped her clipboard.
The scene had instantly made everyone else in the area go silent. Even the zombies had ceased their moaning.
Kristoph swept his hair over his shoulder and came closer. “Her name is McGeorge,” he said regally. “She doesn’t understand about honest mistakes.” He made a motion with his megaphone that indicated that the whole sorry affair would be swept under the rug, or in this case, under the gravestones. He looked down at Clipboard Girl, AKA McGeorge. “McGeorge, you should go get some lattes. You know how I like mine. Take your clipboard.” He wiggled his fingers in the direction all the zombies had originally come from. “Shoo, fly.”
Willodean paused significantly before letting go of McGeorge’s index finger. McGeorge snatched up her clipboard and cradled it to her chest and walked jerkily away, muttering under her breath.
Kristoph turned his attention to Willodean and the man smiled winningly at the deputy. (The man’s teeth glinted. Really they did.) Bubba growled. Kristoph turned toward Bubba and brightened. He tucked the megaphone under one arm and made a frame with his hands, centering it on Bubba’s face. “Square jaw. Muscles upon muscles. Broad corn fed shoulders. Button down shirt. Levi’s. Lord have mercy, are those real cowboy boots?” His eyes traveled back up to Bubba’s face. “And blue eyes, oh my.” The director smirked at Bubba in a way that made Bubba shudder inwardly. “How would you like to be in a movie?” The question was asked in the same manner that a questionable individual would ask a child if they wanted some candy.
Willodean shook her head just as they all clearly heard her radio go off with a request for deputies for a domestic dispute. “Got to go, Bubba,” she said. “Try not to succumb to them.” She jerked her head at the director. The zombies and the two cameramen milled about. One of the zombies picked idly at loose skin on his forehead and another one said, “Don’t pick on that. It’s going to all fall off and then you’re hosed, dude.”
Willodean pressed a kiss on the side of Bubba’s mouth, which made him sigh wistfully and he watched her trot to the Bronco. Abruptly he realized that all the men in the immediate neighborhood were watching her trot, as well.
“I never got arrested by anyone who looked like that,” one zombie said.
Bubba began to pack up the picnic.
“Everyone take five,” Kristoph announced. The first zombie took a pack of cigarettes out and inserted one in between his rotted lips. He lit it with a disposable lighter and drew in the first lungful with obvious pleasure.
Kristoph adjusted the megaphone and looked at Bubba. “Seriously, a big good looking fellow like you could make a few bucks and impress a few girls.”
Bubba snorted. He put the chicken back in the Tupperware box and popped the lid in place. He was still hungry, but he didn’t think he was going to be able to eat with all the fake dead people around. Wasn’t that just like the Pegramville Murder Mystery Festival, except they were still walking around, pretending to be dead? God, I know I asked for a sign, but this isn’t funny. Mebe it’s funny to you, God, and I accept that, really I do, but couldn’t you have given me a few more minutes? I was almost…
Wait. Did that man say something about money? Bubba wasn’t impressed with the movie making business in general. He didn’t want to be a star. In fact, he didn’t care for the publicity he’d received in the recent past at all. If put into a film, he would doubtless do something awful like knock over an entire movie set by accident, but there was a little rule that had been bouncing around his head of late. The owner of the jewelry store had said, “The standard is two months’ pay.” But two months’ pay for Bubba wasn’t all that much. Roscoe Stinedurf was his next door neighbor and since he had more than one of what Bubba wanted, Bubba had asked his opinion on the matter. Roscoe said, “The standard of two months’ pay is somethin’ done writ by jewelry companies. Besides you got to go to the horse’s mouth.” Since Roscoe hadn’t been more forthcoming, nothing else had been added. The brief words hadn’t been particularly helpful.
Kristoph smiled fetchingly at Bubba and turned away to bum a cigarette from the zombie. They immediately began talking about “aerial shots” and “cinema verite” and something about “David O. Selznick.” Bubba stood up and flapped the checked blanket, dislodging the last of the hopeful ants. He checked his watch before he began to fold the blanket.
Someone said, “Hey, Bubba,” and Bubba turned to see a zombie with blonde dreadlocks standing beside him. The dreadlocks were askew and sticks and leaves protruded from them. Bubba jerked backward at the sight of the hazy, solid white-blue eyes staring interestedly at him.
“Kiki?” he asked.
Kiki Rutkowski was a college student who lived next door to Willodean. She had helped Bubba on several occasions with information on the various evil whatnots that had happened in Pegram County. She had even helped Bubba when Willodean had mysteriously vanished. She liked to wear t-shirts with names of rock bands on them and sometimes she didn’t like to wear underwear, but Bubba thought she was a good person.
Brushing some dreads over her shoulder, she smiled at Bubba, showing a mouthful of black and red teeth. Bubba winced as he took in her ripped t-shirt (Rolling Stones) and begrimed capris. Even her pink Crocs were splattered with dried blood.
“I always wanted to be in a movie,” Kiki said. “We haven’t had this much fun since the Murder Festival.” She reconsidered. “Well, some of it was fun, except for that guy who really got murdered. I guess he didn’t have a good time. I’ve never seen so many peopl
e with knives and weapons before. Are we going to do it again this year?”
Another zombie shambled up and Bubba determined it was Dougie, who was Kiki’s roommate and, Bubba thought, her boyfriend. It was kind of hard to say since Dougie didn’t say a lot.
“Mrgenvennopd,” Dougie said.
“Don’t mind him,” Kiki said. “They’ve got the thing on his face so that it looks like his jaw is falling off from decomposition, so he can’t talk.”
“Derph,” Dougie agreed. Bubba eyed his face and silently agreed that it looked like his jaw was about to fall off from decomposition. It looked realistic enough that Bubba almost expected the man to smell bad, but all Bubba could smell was Givenchy. His aunt Caressa had given him a bottle of toilette water the previous Christmas.
“So how long has all this nonsense bin goin’ on?” Bubba asked, folding the blanket three times.
“The last week or so,” Kiki said. “Kristoph Thaddeus rode in with all the vans and a meager cast, ready to throw money at the town. The mayor was so happy he nearly tinkled. The Red Door Inn is completely booked. They’ve got people staying all over the town. Folks rented rooms to the crew. They’re shooting on a budget and should be finished in about three weeks. They’re filming all over town. In fact, they’re shooting—”
“Mrdut,” Dougie said.
“Oh, yeah,” Kiki nodded at Dougie. “Kristoph shot Mutant Vampire Zombies a few years ago. He’s won a Saturn award for…what was it?”
“Rwqurt mna Zippels,” Dougie said.
“I don’t remember that one,” Kiki said. “This makeup itches like a sonuva…oh, hey, there’s the assistant director. He’s been nominated for an Oscar. Back in the nineties. His name is Risley Risto. Doesn’t that sound made up, dude?”
Bubba wasn’t sure if he was actually supposed to answer or not. He’d heard worse names.
“That girl who was poking Wills is Kristoph’s go-to girl. Her name is Liz McGeorge. She comes from some old Hollywood family. Used to work in special effects before she became his executive assistant. She thinks her kaka doesn’t smell. I suspect it does smell. Nevertheless, I wouldn’t be poking Wills. Wills practically broke the McGeorge’s finger. I would break the McGeorge’s finger if I had the chance. You know she is the McGeorge, don’t you?”
Bubba and the Zigzaggery Zombies Page 2