by Jack Wallen
I had no choice. It was kill or be killed. I snaked my hand under my back and wrapped my fingers around the handle of the gun. This will not end well, I thought. Before I had a chance to second-guess my plan, I pressed the barrel of the gun against the forehead of the nearest zombie and pulled the trigger. The muffled explosion sent blood and bits of brain flying from the back of his head. He dropped, only to make room for the next. I repeated the action, sending the second Moaner to its final grave.
I knew this was a bad idea. Stealth was the only true weapon now, and I’d blown that the second the knife slipped my grip.
Too late. The tattoo of gunfire would already have called the attention of every undead American within blocks. That meant one thing and only one thing.
“Mikko, we have to get the hell out of here now!” I shouted above the macabre din.
“You mean because you had to go all alpha male on their asses?” Mikko called back.
“Something like that, yeah,” I answered, and pulled off another shot. This time the back-splash arched upwards, only to rain down on everyone in my circle of death…including me. Instinctively, I turned my head, covered my eyes, and sealed my lips tight. No matter how well I closed up shop, the smell of rot would never leave…it permeated my sinuses and promised to hang about for a very, very long time.
“You okay?” Mikko shouted.
“Yeah, you?” I answered.
“I hate zombies,” Mikko said flippantly.
I opened my mouth to reply, and the last remaining Moaner shoved his fingers into my mouth, grabbed my lower jaw, and pulled me forward. I had to scramble to remain level, else the ruined man would wreck my face. He twisted his hand to send a shock of pain down my neck. My fingers reflexively opened and I dropped the gun.
This was the end. The undead douchewad was about to make a meal out of me until there was no more to come back to.
He pulled me in close. I could smell the hot and sour breath spilling from between his rotting lips. Brittle and blackened teeth crack-a-lacked in anticipation of brain stew.
I was on my own.
Here we go, I thought.
Before the bastard could clamp his teeth down on my flesh, the tip of a knife pierced through the right eyeball from behind. The zombie dropped to reveal a grinning Mikko.
“Divide and conquer,” she said, and offered a helping hand. “You know what this means, right?”
“Yeah.” I mumbled.
“Say it.” Mikko insisted.
Another muffled mumble from my lips.
Mikko grinned wide. “I’m sorry, I couldn’t quite make that out. What did you just say?”
A window-rattling scream punched through the area. Mikko yanked me to my feet and craned her neck in every direction.
“What do we do, Jingo?”
“We get the hell out of this dead-zone Dodge, that’s what.”
Mikko was near panic. “We can’t outrun Screamers.”
I scanned the area, and the solution to our problem appeared across the street.
“Bikes,” I whispered.
“What?” Mikko asked.
I pointed out two bicycles, tucked into a bike rack…neither sporting a lock. Mikko spotted them and nearly giggled with excitement.
“Oh, shit,” I hissed.
“What now?”
“My weapons. I dropped them both.” Before Mikko had a chance to stop me, I ran through the metal maze in search of protection. I could feel a sense of dread well up in my gut. “This is a mistake,” I said to myself. And yet I continued on; my guide, the blood-spattered hood of a rusted-out BMW.
The screech drew nearer.
Now was one of those moments where I’d like to kick the apocalypse square in the junk. No matter how many steps forward we took, the new world order always found a way to shove us back a few extra. It sucked the joy and youth from life.
“Found ‘em!” I shouted.
Mikko screamed; the sound carried a current of terror I hadn’t yet heard from her mouth. When I turned, my lungs and heart threatened to clamp up. Standing on the roof of a black SUV stood a road-raging sack of Screamer. Every muscle in its body flexed until tendons and ligaments threatened to snap. The thing drew in a deep breath and unleashed a scream to open the gates of Hell.
I scooped up the pistol, turned, and took aim.
“Hey, mother—”
Before I had the chance to toss out the perfect one-liner, the thing leapt from the roof and crashed down on the hood of an El Camino. Another leap, and he was one car closer to my side. I spotted my site, squared my shoulders, and took in a deep breath. Before the bastard sprung into action again, I pulled off the shot. The bullet crashed through the thing’s forehead like it was made of pretzel and Spam. Bits of bone and meat radiated outward like post-apocalyptic art.
“My hero!” Mikko shouted.
I wasted no time celebrating or gloating and sprinted back to Mikko’s side. “Let’s go,” I said in haste. I stuffed the weapons into my pack, grabbed one of the bikes, and nodded.
Mikko stood her ground, eyes wide and lips pursed.
“What is it, girl?”
“You’re so going to hate me for this.”
“No way. Not possible.”
“Possible.”
I tilted my head. “We really need to get going, so now and fast might be the best time to explain yourself.”
“We need the heads, Jingo.”
“I hate you.”
We stared at one another, in perfect silence, for what seemed like minutes.
Mikko finally broke. “If we’re sticking with the plan, we need those heads for final call today.”
“You’re right.” I let the bike fall from my grip. “Damn it. I was so looking forward to surviving this pile of crap.”
Mikko held up her knife. “Let’s just get it over with before more party crashers invade our scene.”
Of all the despicable acts the apocalypse had brought about, what we were about to do topped the Oh, hell no list. Throughout our young lives, we’d been exposed to images of jihadists beheading their fellow humans for one lunatic reason or another. Taking part in the actual deed, however, brought a very special, very new meaning to the concept of insanity. That a single, grown man had managed to acclimate a small army of kids to the idea of slicing through neck, sinew, and spine put everything into perspective. That perspective completely and utterly wrecked what remained of my childhood.
“Of all the things I lost…” I started.
“I miss my youth the most.” Mikko finished.
“Goddamn Wasteland.” I added.
Mikko shook her head. “Goddamn game.”
Like two macabre mourners, Mikko and I set out to strip the undead bodies of their heads. The act had the added effect of ensuring, beyond a single shadow of doubt, the bastards were dead. There was no coming back from this.
For either side of the blade.
“You slice ‘em, I string ‘em?” Mikko asked.
I answered with a silent nod. She fished out a measure of rope from her pack and prepped for the incoming disasters. I quickly sank the knife into the neck of the nearest zombie. The spongy sound of necrotic flesh made me want to spew from every orifice on my body.
The knife bit through the skin like wet paper. When it hit bone, I bore down on the handle until the back snapped.
The head rolled off. I snatched it up by the hair and handed it off to Mikko for stringing. She fed the rope through the gaping maw until it popped out from the unsealed neck.
We went through this activity until every head had been removed. By the time the last zombie was taken care of, Mikko was struggling to hold up the string of undead pearls. I played the chivalry card and grabbed the rope.
“How are we going to carry that all the way back to the Asylum?” Mikko asked bluntly.
I turned back to the bikes and pointed at the cruiser with a basket. “That’s how.”
“I call that your bike, Jingo.”
<
br /> “I accept your punishment gladly.”
I slopped the heads into the basket; some flopped over the edge, but all held fast.
“I’m riding upwind of you and your pedi-hearse. The smell is rancid.”
We pedaled off, Mikko slightly ahead of me.
“I give you permission to fart, Mikko. Your girl gas might mask the stink of these rotting heads.”
Mikko flipped me off and called out, “Jerk face!”
five | asylum
The warehouse came into view with only a few minutes before last call. The sun was about to disappear into the night sky, and we could finally enjoy a solid meal and the comfort of Asylum.
Mikko stopped short of the entrance and turned to me. “Are you sure this is what we want? We’ve made it on our own this long; who’s to say we’re better off here?”
“Coming back isn’t about us, Mikko. It’s about them.” I pointed to the line of kids waiting to enter the building, Moaner heads in hand. Most of the kids were lucky to have a single trophy in tow. Those without held their heads low, knowing they’d receive nothing to eat or drink for the night. “Every one of them risked their lives, and for what? A scrap of bread?”
Mikko nodded. “You’re right. And Crowbar has to be getting something out of the deal.”
“Exactly. The question remains…what is his endgame?”
Mikko hoisted her leg over the bike and walked it over to the rack. I followed suit and pulled our haul from the basket.
As we walked up to the entrance, every head turned our way and all eyes fell upon our string of trophies. Like some prodigal hero returned from war, I stepped up to the receiving window and swung our take onto the shelf.
“Six Moaners and one Screamer,” I called out loud enough so that everyone could hear. Gasps and whispers fluttered through the air and tickled my hearing. Mikko snaked her arm down mine and intertwined our fingers. She gave me a reassuring squeeze.
I returned the gesture.
“That’s quite a haul there, kid. What’s your number?”
I pulled my shirt collar away to reveal the number tattooed at the base of my neck. “8675,” I answered.
The Receiver ran her fingers down a list until she found my entry. “Jingo. You’ve won last call almost every time you’ve returned.” She stared back up at me; beady eyes glancing over wire-framed glasses. “Would there be cause for an investigation here?”
I shook my head adamantly. “No, ma’am. I’m just a damn good hunter.”
The Receiver nodded her head. “I’d say so.” She glanced back at the remaining kids in line and slammed the Winner’s stamp down on the call sheet. She rang the final call bell and shouted, “We have a winner!”
Every kid in line groaned. When it dawned on them who the winner was, they filed through the entryway, one at a time, and deposited their collected heads into a large plastic drum. Once the last of the kids had marched past, the Receiver handed me and Mikko each a card with a large number, one on both sides. “This will get you your winnings…but you already know that, don’t you?” She leaned in and glanced to the left and then to the right. “I hope you aren’t cheating. Crowbar isn’t terribly fond of cheaters.”
That was the understatement of the year. The last time Crowbar caught one of the players cheating, he sent him off into the streets with a siren strapped to his back. It took no time for a horde of Screamers to pounce and rip the poor kid to shreds.
I opted to remain silent. Mikko and I walked into the heart of the warehouse, but not before spotting a man in an orange jumpsuit appearing out of nowhere to roll the barrel full of heads away from the entrance.
“Did you see that?” I whispered to Mikko.
She nodded. “What the hell?”
“You mean, note to self?”
“That too, Jingo.”
We made our way to the claiming station and flopped our cards on the counter. The woman behind the glass nodded her head and smiled. “Winner, winner…”
“Please don’t say ‘Chicken dinner’,” Mikko huffed. “Every time we’ve won, it’s been chicken.”
The claims worker canted her head to the left and dropped hands to hips. “Don’t tell me you’re pissing and moaning about getting a meal. I’m not hearin’ that from little Miss Aerie Nation.”
Mikko bristled. I could feel the anger radiating from her flesh. I placed my hand on her lower back and gave it a slight pat…hoping she’d get the message to remain calm.
She took in a deep breath and sighed. “You’re right, ma’am. I’m very sorry for sounding ungrateful.”
The claims worker beamed with pride. “Well, aren’t you the sweetheart. Just for that…Winner, winner, Salisbury steak dinner.”
Mikko reached up, grabbed the boxes from the woman, and said with way too much enthusiasm, “Yum! I can’t wait to sink my teeth into this. Thank you sooooo much.”
My eyes threatened to roll back so hard, they’d explode from my skull. I closed my eyelids to avoid getting caught in flagrante teen-licto. Mikko grabbed me by the arm and yanked me away from the claiming station.
“Come on,” Mikko whispered. “I want to eat in our room.”
“If we have a room to go back to.”
Mikko unleashed another sigh. “I hate this place.”
“Home sweet home,” I responded.
We hit the stairs two at a time. Before we reached the landing, a voice caught me by surprise.
“Jingo! Holy shit, you’re back.”
I turned to see Frenzy gazing up at me with his oversized, wild eyes. The kid was a total spaz, but could sneak in and out of anything when necessary. He also sported a giant blue mohawk, a dog collar, a ratty Sex Pistols tee shirt, and a plaid skirt he insisted we call a kilt. Outside of Mikko, he was my best friend.
Frenzy rushed up the stairs and slammed into me with his skinny arms wrapped around my chest. “This place was a sodding droner without you here.”
Frenzy also affected a British dialect.
He was from Indiana.
The kid was crazy enough to pull it off…skirt and all.
“Where’ve you been, mate?”
I tilted my head up the stairs, indicating for Frenzy to follow. He winked and fell into step beside me. We marched up the remaining two flights in silence.
“What’s this all about, Jingo? Why all the secrecy?”
I nudged Frenzy in the ribs and tossed a warning glance his way. The last thing I needed was to share a single conspiracy theory with the kid out in the open. Thankfully, Frenzy spoke a fluent paranoid and sealed his mouth tight. He nodded in understanding as we made our way down the dark hall to the door of our room.
Mikko glanced back at me, grasped the handle, and crossed the fingers of her free hand. She twisted the knob and pulled the door open without a hitch.
The room was just as we’d left it. A single mattress on the floor, against the back corner of the room, stood as the focal point. Surrounding the bed was a twisted mess of sheets and blankets. A handmade quilt spread across the window as the only means to protect the innocent from the cruel world.
Mikko stepped into the room and took in a deep breath. “Oh, how I missed this funk.”
Frenzy coughed. “Smells like open ass.”
Mikko spun around and slugged Frenzy in the chest. He squealed and shouted, “Oi! Why you hafta punch like a bloke?”
She mocked his fake accent as she spoke. “Why yoo haveter speak wif such a doiahlect?”
“Ha ha,” Frenzy spat.
“Is that all you got?” Mikko challenged Frenzy.
I stepped between the two sparring partners. “Enough. We’ve got issues to talk about. The last thing we need is the two of you up each others’ butts.”
“Arses,” Mikko chided.
Frenzy leaned in and surprised Mikko with a kiss on the cheek. “Love ya, girl.”
Mikko shook her head. “Who’s the girl here?”
“Noice one. Yer such a drawn out Betty.” Frenz
y spoke the odd phrase with ease.
“You’re reaching, Frenzy,” I said with my best mocking tone. “What the hell is a drawn out Betty?”
“What? You can’t keep up wif the times?”
Mikko flopped onto the mattress, her arms and legs spread wide, and dove into her Salisbury steak. I lowered myself down and set out to take off my shoes. Once my Chucks were off, dinner was on. Frenzy sidled up to the window and did his best to steal a glance of the street below.
“What are you looking for, Fren?”
“Them,” was all Frenzy would say.
Mikko glanced up and slowly removed the fork from her mouth. “Still paranoid, Frenzy?”
“Why shouldn’t I be? Better to be overly paranoid and alive than naive and dead.” Frenzy’s dialect spilled out awkwardly, almost as if he had better things to focus his energy on. He caught me catching him and winked. “So…it seems like you’ve a few beans to spill.”
I nodded and gestured for Frenzy to sit before his nervous pacing got the best of my Zen. “What we’re about to say cannot leave this room…at least, not yet.”
Frenzy dropped to the floor and crossed his legs together. “All ears and no mouth, mate.”
“We’re taking Crowbar down.”
Frenzy’s lower jaw nearly slammed into the floor. “Are you fekking outta your minds? The last of us to stand against that walking pile of bollocks got themselves a case of Soylent Green. He’s a bad, bad man.”
I punched a pointed finger his way. “Exactly, Fren’. It’s time we put an end to his reign of terror.”
Frenzy raised both hands in a gesture of surrender. “I…I don’t know, Jingo. This sounds like some seriously dangerous drama you’ve got working.”
“Why are we doing this?” I asked.
“What?” Frenzy responded.
“Risking our lives for that bastard.” My voice rose a few decibels above secretive. “Have you ever asked yourself what he does with the heads?”
Frenzy’s face twisted into a mask of confusion.
“I didn’t think so. There must be a reason why Crowbar has us trading trophies for food; I don’t buy that he’s helping to rid the world of the undead.”
Mikko chimed in. “There has to be an ulterior motive.”