Zombies, Werewolves, Whores, and More!

by Jerrod Balzer

  “It makes sense now.” Roger stood up and paced the room, frustrated. “You had sex with a walking dead guy in an alley. It gave you some sort of zombie STD and you spent the next week or so spreading it to all your customers. Then you went on vacation while they wandered the streets for you.”

  The thought of his suggestion infuriated her. “But I used a condom!”

  Roger threw his hands up. “Did you check the box? Does it claim to protect against undead diseases?”

  “Well, why didn’t I turn?”

  “I don’t know. I guess you’re just a carrier. How should I know?”

  “You’re the genius figuring this out.” She handed him a box of tissues. “Here, do something about your nose. It’s leaking all over the carpet.”

  A special news bulletin caught their attention. “This just in: the body of recently deceased Senator Wilkins is missing. So far, authorities have no leads regarding its whereabouts or the vandals who took it. We’ll keep you informed.”

  “Oh my God.” Caitlin gasped. “Not him, too.”

  “Damn, we’ve even got a senator on the way?” Roger laughed at first, but this sent him into a coughing fit. Once he regained his composure, he said, “Your clientele sure is diverse.”

  Caitlin looked out the window again. A large group of undead was walking down the street, some pointing at her as she watched.

  “They’re here! They’re here!”

  “See, what did I tell you?”

  Caitlin looked at the door. It was still locked, though she was unsure how strong it would be against so many angry bodies. The bedroom window, however, needed her immediate attention. She went to a column of shelves on a wall and pulled the boards away, allowing books, pictures, and knick-knacks to crash to the floor. She set the boards on the kitchen counter and took a hammer and nails from a drawer. Her foot bumped the bowl of Meow Mush and it slid across the floor.

  “Wait a minute,” she said. “Where’s my cat?”

  Roger faced her stare while pulling a hairball from his mouth. He tried his best to give her puppy-dog eyes and shrugged. Now she knew the source of the blood around his mouth.

  “You bastard, you ate my Pussy!”

  Roger plucked a hair from his tongue and frowned. “Well, I paid for it, didn’t I?”

  Tears welled up in Caitlin’s eyes and she aimed the gun at his head.

  “Damn it, this hunger is driving me crazy!” he said. “It was either you or the cat. Plus, feeding seems to slow the decomposition enough to keep my wits about me.” He tried to change the subject by pointing at her current project. “Look, they’re on their way up here. You have an open window and a weak door. Face it; you need my help and you’d be better off saving bullets for the ones who actually want you dead.”

  “Good point.” She fired anyway, blasting a hole into the right side of his chest. He stumbled back against the wall.

  “That’s for my cat,” Caitlin said. “I’ve got more bullets in the bedroom.”

  Roger almost objected but gave up. “Fair enough.” While she gathered ammunition, he carried the boards, hammer and nails and went to work in the bedroom.

  Caitlin returned to the living room, pockets bulging with what few ammunition boxes she owned, and she rushed to the front window. After struggling with the latch, she pushed it open. “Maybe I can reason with them.”

  Roger paused from hammering long enough to yell back, “I doubt it.”

  “I can talk to you, can’t I?” She looked down at the crowd and said, “Hey! Please, don’t come up here.” Most of them stopped to look upward.

  “Look,” she said, “I’m sorry about what happened to you, but it’s not my fault. I didn’t know I had a zombie STD.”

  Someone shouted at her from the crowd. “No excuses! We want what’s owed to us!”

  “This isn’t Wal-Mart,” she said. “There are no returns here! All sales are final!” She was answered with middle fingers as they proceeded into the building. Other tenants yelled from their windows, saying “What the hell is going on out there?” and “I’m gonna call the cops!” Screams and gunshots were heard as the undead attacked anyone who crossed their paths en route to the third floor.

  When Roger was finished in the bedroom, Caitlin asked if he could help her reinforce the front door.

  “I would,” he said, “but somebody shot me and it took all my remaining strength to board those windows. Sorry.”

  Caitlin ran to the door and checked the hall. “Oh shit, I see one coming, but it’s a woman. That’s strange; I haven’t been with a woman, not lately, anyway.”

  Roger joined her side and his eyes grew wide. “Uh oh, we can’t let her in here. Grab one end of the couch and we’ll put it against the door.”

  Amazed at his sudden burst of energy, Caitlin obeyed and they pinned the couch between the door and the island. She asked him why he was so afraid of her. He began dragging a chair to stack on top of the couch, saying, “She’s the other reason I got here first. That’s my girlfriend.” Once the chair was in place, he ran to the television set, unplugged it, and carried it to the growing pile of furniture.

  Something pounded on the other side of the door. “Roger, I hear you in there! I figured you’d be with that whore! You jerk! I’ll feed you your own asshole!”

  Caitlin grimaced. “She’s not very pleased with you.”

  “We were split up,” Roger said. “How was I to know that when I came home from being with you, she’d be there waiting for me? She was dressed all sexy with candles and music. She didn’t even give me a chance to wash up.”

  “Yikes, bad timing on her part.”

  “I died after sleeping with her. When I woke up, she was in bed next to me, also dying. I didn’t know what to do so I ran, and I’ve been dodging her ever since.”

  Caitlin rolled her eyes. “At least there’s one zombie out there who’s not after me.”

  “Yeah well, that’s the main reason I’m not blaming you,” he said, “I should have been making up with her instead of messing with you. I deserve whatever she does to me. I just want to prolong it if I can.”

  The zombie struck the door hard, causing it to crack in places.

  Caitlin pushed one knee against the couch. “Well, thanks for not blaming me. Do you think you could convince the others?”

  “They’re not in the listening mood.”

  More fists pounded on the door and it began to splinter apart. The pile of furniture rattled. Caitlin and Roger put all of their weight against it, keeping it from moving any farther. Then there was a crash in another part of the apartment, like glass breaking.

  “Fire escape,” Roger said. “Those boards are nothing compared to this door. They’ll be inside in no time.”

  Caitlin ran across the kitchen area with the gun held up, but a group of zombies met her as they entered the living room. She fired right away, nailing the first few through the skull but the others rushed too close for her to aim. She dodged a swing from one and darted to the window where she turned and continued to fire. Meanwhile, Roger was shoved back as the entire top of the door was pushed in by a combined effort on the other side. His girlfriend climbed through the opening and kept him occupied while screaming obscenities at him.

  *****

  The streets were illuminated by red and blue lights as the police arrived. The officers got out of their cars and surveyed the situation. There was gunfire and screams heard throughout the building so they were unsure where to begin.

  Someone approached an officer from behind and said, “You don’t need to be here. Leave and I’ll take care of it.”

  The officer turned to the speaker. “Senator Wilkins! I thought you were dead!”

  “I’m right here, aren’t I?” he said and announced to the others, “I’ll handle this. Does anybody know in which apartment a prostitute named Lindsay resides?”

  Caitlin opened a window and tried to jump to the sidewalk below. A dead man grabbed her leg, however. She was pulled
back inside, screaming for help.

  “Never mind,” the senator said. “I see her.” He called to the window while rushing to the entrance. “Hey, save some for me! I’m a senator, for Christ’s sake!” As he stepped through the busted entrance to the building, the back of his head exploded from police bullets.

  The officer in charge waited until the twitching body had fallen before addressing the rest. “All right, you know what to do. Aim for the heads and try to make sure they’re undead before you fire.”

  “Damn,” another said, “that’s the fifth whore-related zombie incident we’ve had this year. What the hell are they doing in the District?”

  *****

  Priscilla stopped walking and looked down the block at the chaos. She saw the police rushing into a building with guns blazing and decided to go up a block before continuing in that direction.

  “Wow,” she said to herself, “just when I thought the neighborhood couldn’t get any worse.” She noticed a dark figure staring at her from an alley.

  “What are you doing, taking a leak?” she said, and then her eyes lit up. “Wow, that’s a lot of cash! Hmm, I know what you want. Kinky!”

  Tom Sawyer’s Last Adventure

  If I was to tell you my real name, this story would only be more confusing. Instead, I’ll go by the name given to me by my old schoolmate, Sam. In his novel, The Adventures of Tom Sawyer, he referred to me as Tom’s friend, Joe Harper. Anything you might need to know about my background or relationship with the others was covered well enough by Sam, so there’s no need to get into all that.

  I don’t write as eloquently as my much more famous friend. I’ve also spent most of my adult life in Rhode Island, so my accent isn’t the same as when I lived by the Mississippi River. Don’t expect this to be the typical Mark Twain story.

  All that aside, I implore you, the reader, to hear this old man’s addition to the legendary tales. I couldn’t convince Sam to write it because he’d been too busy trying to forget it. He even altered the truth as though none of it happened. I can’t let that happen to ol’ Tom. People need to know the whole story. It shouldn’t die with me. If nothing else, those things could still be running around McDougal’s cave and the public should be warned.

  There is just one other person I’ve told this to, a young boy who is growing to be quite the author. Little Howard said it was inspiring, but doubted he’d ever write it. This leaves the task to me.

  I suppose I should start with Huckleberry Finn’s death. He’d been staying in the woods with his father when he up and disappeared. They found blood everywhere and an axe with his hair on it.

  Rumors spread like lightning through our village of St. Petersburg. Folks thought bandits broke in and did it. They thought his father killed him for the six thousand dollars in Huck’s name. They even thought the widow Watson’s slave, Jim, had a hand in it since he disappeared at about the same time as Huck.

  For a while, Tom Sawyer, Ben Rogers, and I were unconvinced. It wouldn’t be the first time he’d allowed everyone to think he was dead. Lord knows Tom, Huck, and I had some good times on Jackson Island while everyone else thought we’d kicked the bucket. Weeks went by, though, and it seemed more and more like he wasn’t coming back.

  We were all powerful distraught, none more than Tom. He was so down; even a smile from Becky Thatcher couldn’t lift his spirits. I found a dead cat once and thought for sure he’d like seeing that, but he just kept moping around. He said it reminded him of the one he took to the cemetery with Huck, which I found confusing because mine was completely different: lighter colors and about twice the size due to bloating.

  Ben Rogers also withdrew a bit. He stayed in his room all day long, drawing pictures in a notebook. His parents talked with Widow Watson about him and they decided to encourage his growing talent. Ms. Watson used a portion of Huck’s money to bring in a fancy tutor for Ben. His name was Mr. Pickman and he was a fantastic artist. Ben took to it like a fish to water. Even today, I still haven’t seen anything that looked more realistic, like a photograph except in color.

  By and by, there came a morning when Widow Watson was found dead in her home. Her runaway slave, Jim, would have been blamed for it if Ben hadn’t seen the whole thing. He was a quivering wreck and his story didn’t make sense.

  He told Judge Thatcher, and later Tom and me, that Mr. Pickman had just left when they heard some rustling outside the house. A series of bleats got them thinking a bunch of goats or sheep had wandered to the lawn. Widow Watson carried a lantern outside and yelled, “Scat!”

  Squeals followed and she screamed. Ben cringed and then jumped when the bloody body of Ms. Watson was thrown through a window. She landed on the living room floor, right in the middle of a wool area rug. She twitched. One eye opened, staring at Ben. She pointed one broken finger at him and said with a strained voice, “Get… help.”

  That’s when the creatures leapt after her through the busted window and front door. They had to have seen Ben cowering against the wall, but paid him no attention.

  The creatures were hideous! They stood on two feet, but weren’t human in any way. They looked like some sort of dog and man all blended together, hunched over with clawed hands and half-hoofed feet that clopped on the wooden floor as they moved about the house. Their faces were a lot like a St. John’s dog, but with pointed ears and bloodshot eyes that glowed red.

  Well, nobody believed him. From the way Ms. Watson’s bones were gnawed on, we all thought a pack of wild dogs had stormed the house and somehow left Ben alone. The rest was made up by the boy’s terrified mind.

  Hunting parties searched around and shot a bunch of coyotes, but it wasn’t enough to satisfy the parents in the area. None of us were allowed to venture from home unless it was straight to town and back.

  That didn’t stop ol’ Tom and me, but Ben wouldn’t leave the house even if his folks let him. I’m telling you, that boy was as wild-eyed as a cat with hot candle wax on its butt! So Tom and I snuck out every chance we got and we went down river to our secret tunnel into McDougal’s cave. No one suspected us of being in there. Judge Thatcher had closed the main entrance off after Tom and Becky got lost inside for a few days. They didn’t think we’d know another way in. We had some good times playing robbers in Injun Joe’s old hideout, but it wasn’t the same without Huck Finn or Ben Rogers.

  By and by, Tom’s Aunt Polly was tired of missing him and was afeared the dogs would eat him, so she sent him to visit some relatives down South. My folks thought that without Tom around I’d stay home more, and they were right. I wasn’t worried about no dogs in the caves, but being in there all alone sure wasn’t any fun.

  The months went by - at least, it felt like months - and I thought I might go crazy with boredom until I heard a familiar voice in town.

  “Ahoy!” he said from the street as I was leaving the drugstore. “I am Tom Sawyer, the Black Avenger of the Spanish Main. I have returned from many pirate adventures and have acquired a whole lot of booty. State your name!”

  I was thrilled! “I am Joe Harper, the Terror of the Seas. State your business!”

  Tom crossed his arms and grinned from ear to ear. “I have traveled far, to the darkest corners of the world, even as far as Louisiana, and have rescued our long lost comrade from his captives.”

  I wasn’t sure what a “comrade” was, but didn’t have time to ponder it. Another boy jumped out from the alleyway and scared the tar out of me! He said, “It is I, Huck Finn, the Red-Handed!”

  I was afeared at first. I thought maybe I had the brain fever and began to swoon. After they explained everything to me and I was convinced that Huck wasn’t a ghost, I did cartwheels in the street.

  As usual, Tom and Huck weren’t together long before they started stirring up mischief. It’s sad to say this was their last adventure together, but I’m getting ahead of myself.

  It began with Becky Thatcher. She caught sight of us and ran to Tom’s side for a hug and a peck on the cheek. “Oh
, Tom Sawyer,” she said. “I’m so happy you’ve returned! I have so much to tell you.” Then she realized Huck was among us from the dead. She screamed and jumped back.

  It took more time to calm her down than it did me, but she was a girl anyhow. When she’d gathered her senses, she got back to what she was so anxious to talk about. “About a month ago, I overheard my father speaking with my uncle in the sitting room. He was talking about Injun Joe! He didn’t die the way we were all told. He didn’t just hang out there at the sealed entrance of the cave until he starved to death.”

  “Wait, wait, you’re right!” Huck said. “Why didn’t I think of that? Surely, he knew of the other entrance, the same one we’ve been using. His hideout was near there, after all.”

  Tom looked like someone slapped him in the face. “Holy smokes! You’d think when he found the front closed off, he’d just head out the other way.”

  I scratched my head. “So why didn’t he?”

  “Because he was trapped there,” Becky said, and it was obvious from her face how excited she was over our reactions. “Something had cornered him and he died of fright.”

  Us boys exclaimed altogether, “Fright?”

  “Yes! There’s something in those caves.”

  “Now hold on,” Tom frowned. “We were lost in there for days and nothing got us. How does the judge figure that?”

  “He talked about that, too. Half the town was roaming around looking for us. Whatever got Injun Joe was probably hiding until things settled down. Then they hunted him down and scared him to death. That must have been about the time when Tom told everybody about him being up there. When they reopened the cave, it scared them off again and Injun Joe’s body was laying there.”

  “Well,” I said, “What does he think it was?”

  Becky’s eyes got bigger. I think this was her favorite part and it was just eating her to tell it. “My father thinks it was the same creatures that murdered the widow Watson. Remember, her house is over there by the caves, so she was easy for them to get to. I bet they opened the cave just before they gobbled him up. My uncle was calling them ‘ghouls.’”