That very night, they began calling the incident 'The Undead American Brawl'. I'm embarrassed to say that's how it, and I, will be remembered by most of the patrons. After the ghouls left, I sought out Griffin in his office.
"Hey, I'm really sorry."
"It's not your fault, Bob. Those ghouls are getting downright dangerous. Their witch hasn't called on them at all, they're starting to brag about it. I need to find her before they get too wild and start eating humans. If that leash isn't kept short they can easily run amok and start causing serious problems for us supers. I just know that Von Karolinas is going to hear about this, and give me hell for it." He sighed and rubbed his temples like a man fighting a big headache.
"Why didn't your mojo work on them?" I probably should have left, but I had to know.
"I don't know. It normally does. I wonder if there aren't other problems due to them never being called. I really have to find that witch." He then started mumbling and looking through the rolodex.
"What about the credit card they gave you? Us dead folks don't exactly have live accounts. It's possible she gave them a card in case they needed something." I shrugged and smiled an apology for interrupting him.
"Bob! You're a genius." He bolted up and ran for the bar. I smiled at his praise and slowly followed him, chuckling to myself how much the scene looked like a monster movie; him running away, me slowly ambling after him. I was chortling by the time I entered the main bar.
Face had put 'Highway to Hell' on the Wurlitzer and I joined my squishy, rotting brothers on the dance floor. For me, it had been a great day. People had looked up to me and been impressed with my gaming skills. I'd also been able to showcase my ass kicking skills. I felt like I was 'The Zombie'. I danced like I had no worries in the world and when the song stopped I was breathing hard and grinning like an idiot. The people around me were also grinning. There was a thick undercurrent of joy running through Martin's that its owner was not responsible for. I had finally stood up for myself and my brothers and had done what was right rather than sit back meekly and allow someone to bully us, yet again.
It felt great. A part of me felt badly about the Donkey Kong game, but mostly I felt like I was alive again, for real. As a zombie, one of the things that overwhelms me is the fact that we don't feel emotions as strongly as we did when we were human. It can be a little sad, but for the most part it's just a fact of our lives we have no choice but to accept. Today, though, I felt as proud and happy as I had when I was alive. I was grinning like a fool, and for once, I didn't need a single staple to hold the smile to my face.
"Hey, Bob, can you give me a hand?" Griffin hollered over the sound of 'Fortunate Son' by CCR. Without thinking, I ripped my hand off, (a few noses wrinkled with the wet sucking sound my flesh made, but thankfully nobody puked) and I tossed it to the owner of my new favorite bar. "Ew! Not what I meant, Bob." He tossed my hand to me and I stapled it back on.
"Sorry, I guess I got caught up in the fun."
"No apologizing. It was funny, just not what I needed." Griffin reassured me.
"What can I help with?" He pushed a shot glass filled with the beautiful amber ambrosia that is whiskey towards me. I gulped it down and nodded my thanks, appreciating the smooth caress of warmth and the slight aftertaste of vanilla and apricot. He hadn't skimped on me, it was the good stuff.
"I need someone to go with me to talk with the ghouls' necromancer. I'm worried she could use my gift as an expath against me."
"How is that possible?" From what I knew, expaths emitted emotion that other folks picked up on. I had never heard of anyone being able to influence an expath.
"To be an expath is to also hold some empathic ability. I can feel other people's emotions pretty strongly. It's how I know when to emote...emit...whatever you want to call it."
"I think emoting works, and is cooler sounding."
"Thanks, me too. Anyway, being a witch, she would be able to influence my emotions through the means of a spell or even some herbs."
"Creepy. Must be hard being you." I felt bad for the guy. Being a green man he wasn't able to get out into public much either, and having to constantly fret about being influenced had to be worrisome. Made my problems seem a bit smaller by comparison.
"Not really, I think it would be harder being a zombie. You have to tell me about how that happened." I synopsized it for him and he sat back astonished, "Wow, having your mom bring you back only to boot you out had to be painful as hell. I am so sorry, Bob." He seemed genuinely sorry that I had been hurt so badly.
"Thanks. Mom is a great lady, but she brought me back hoping I'd be the same. When my eyes clouded over with death, and I began rotting and moldering, she couldn't handle the pain of seeing her baby dead and decaying. I don't blame her...well, maybe a little. I would have been happy being reincarnated. She couldn't let me go, and now I'm forced to live an eternity of a life with no life at all."
"That's rough stuff, buddy." He pulled my shot glass closer, refilled it, and pushed the shot of Jameson Black Barrel back my way. I downed it and thanked him.
"Could be worse. I have a new life now; got my horde, found the coolest bar on the planet, and made some new friends. I think things are going to be ok."
"Glad to hear it, and thanks for agreeing to come with me."
"No problem! I'm just going to let Face know where I'm heading and that I'll meet up with him and the guys later." I hopped off the bar stool and fell on my face. I hadn't expected the whiskey to have such a profound effect on me.
Griffin came around the bar and helped me up "You okay?"
"Yeah, just a bit tipsy, I guess. Never had liquor affect me so much before, not since I was raised anyway."
"Ah, yes. The good stuff will knock even a werewolf on their ass."
"Must be really good stuff." I grinned at him rather dopily. After a few moments, the feeling of being drunk passed and I was back to normal...well, normal for me at any rate.
"It is, indeed. You head on over and tell your friends what's up. I'll see you in a bit, I have to talk to my bartender, Will." He gave me a small smile and headed into what I assume was the kitchen area, as it was behind the requisite swinging doors.
"Hey, Face! I'm heading off with Griff to check out the ghouls' witch. He wants to have a long talk with her. I'll meet you guys back at the bunk tonight?" We'd been staying at a bunkhouse on an old cotton plantation. The main house was in ruins, but the bunkhouse had survived, and with minor repairs, had become our home. We even had Dish Network and a big screen TV for playing videogames. Sure, most of our furnishings came from the dump and from garbage left out for collection, but it was home to me and my undead family.
"We'll wait up for you, brother." I could read between the lines and knew what he was saying. If anything happened to me, my horde would be coming after Griffin and that witch. For the first time, in a long time, I felt like I had true family again. Before this, Face and the guys were my friends, but tonight he proved he was my true brother. Happiness welled up in me and I smiled at my family.
"I'll be there, no matter what. Horde equals family!" I hollered it louder than I should, but it was true.
"Horde equals family!" They shouted back.
"You ready to jet?" Griffin asked me as he approached.
"Yup, let's head out, Griff." He raised an eyebrow at the nickname, and let it go. I assume other people must call him that and he must be ok with it because I get the feeling he isn't the sort of fellow who backs down to avoid a fight.
I waved goodbye and headed out the door, following Griffin to his SUV. As I climbed in the blue Expedition, I lost my foot. Not like I slipped, but my foot actually fell off my body and down onto the sidewalk with a plop. I blushed, as much as I can anyway, and bent down to retrieve it, splitting my jeans in the process. It wasn't a tiny little rip either. Nope, it was a full blown, seam splitting rip and it was loud. I was so embarrassed and could only think to joke "Whoops. That's last time I eat Taco Bell that's been in a du
mpster for four days." Truthfully I wanted to crawl under the truck and die, but I retrieved my foot, climbed in, stapled it on, and untucked my REO Speedwagon tee-shirt, grateful that it would be long enough to cover the rip. Yeah, I'm an REO fan, deal with it.
"You want to stop off somewhere and pick up a new pair of jeans?"
"That might be fun, both of us traipsing through Wal-Mart, terrifying the local gentry. Thanks, but I think I'll be ok."
"You sure? I know a thrift store for supers. We can run in and grab you a pair..."
"Really? That'd be great." I beamed him a thanks and we headed off to this super-store of a different sort.
We pulled up to a storefront in the middle of a row of car dealerships and I carefully exited Griff's car so I didn't split, or lose, anything else.
"Hiya, Jeannie!" Griffin's whole face lit up as he greeted the woman behind the counter. She was as blue as he was green. I had no clue what sort of creature she might be.
"Griff! How are you doing, old man?" She had a merry twinkle in her aqua eyes as she turned them to me. "Who is your friend?"
"I'm Bob, the zombie. What are you?" So, playing coy is not my strong suit. Then again, I always preferred honesty to trite social rituals. I smiled the second I heard her call him Griff, it's always nice to be right.
"I'm a mermaid, Bob." She laughed and it's the first time I could ever describe a laugh as tinkling. It reminded me of wind chimes, but not in an annoying way.
"Cool! You're the first Mer I've met."
"Well, I hope I do my race justice."
"So far, so good." I blushed. Of course, I've been dead a long time so when I say blushed, I mean I looked just a tiny bit less green.
"Pleasure to meet you. How can I help you guys today?"
"Bob needs a new pair of jeans." I flashed Griffin a smile, thankful that he hadn't gone into detail as to why I needed the new pants.
"32 waist?" At my nod she led me over to a section of the store that was all men's jeans. She pointed out the section that would fit me best.
"I don't have long johns on. I can buy a pair to try the jeans on with, if you want." I was so embarrassed. I usually get my clothes from the Salvation Army drop off bin. As such, I've never really had to worry much about trying them on. I was pretty sure that nobody would want to try on jeans with the previous shopper's rotten flesh still clinging to them.
"No worries, Bob. Try on whatever you like. There's a hamper by the dressing rooms. I always rewash because those wolves can be pretty hairy. Get that on someone allergic to dogs, and whoa boy, have you got an angry customer." I had tears in my eyes at her kindness, but I blinked them back and rummaged through the rack looking for a couple pairs of Wranglers. I figured I might as well get some pants that fit now, rather than wait for the Salvation Army raids with the guys and divvy up what was found. My mom kept a credit card open for me and I decided to finally make some good use of it.
When I had six good pairs of jeans in my hands I headed around to look at the tee shirts. My mouth dropped when I found a great selection of vintage concert tees. Rolling Stones, Aerosmith, AC/DC, and Steve Miller Band made it into my hands and back to the changing rooms. I noted the large hamper in front of them and headed in to try on clothes. I felt a bit like Julia Roberts in Pretty Woman, except rotting, male, and not a whore. Everything I grabbed fit like it was meant to be mine. I practically skipped to the counter to pay. "I'll take it all, but can I wear these out?" I pointed to the black jeans I was currently wearing. "Also, do you have a garbage for these?" I held up my ripped pants.
"There's a recycle bin behind you on the far wall. So glad you found some things you like." Jeannie grinned at me.
"Some things? I don't want to leave, this store is amazing."
"Thank you, Bob." She blushed. It turned her more aqua than the light powder blue she normally was. I dropped the jeans in the bin, and went to pay for my new clothes. When I reached the register, I stopped. It wouldn't be right to get clothes and not grab some stuff for the guys.
"Can I have a few more minutes? I asked Griffin.
"Yeah, sure. Go nuts. I have to talk to Jeannie anyway."
I ran back to the concert tees and dug out several for the other zoms in the horde. I didn't know their jeans sizes, but at least I could get them some cool shirts. I took my new armload of clothes up to the counter and grinned as she rang up my purchases. The total was more than I had spent in a year. I put it on the card, took out my cell phone, left a message for my mom that I had bought new clothes, and telling her how much they had cost. Just in case the credit card company called her about suspicious activity.
She had given me a cell phone because, although she couldn't stand to look at me, she did want to keep in touch. I think she just pretended I moved out of state for a job. It hurts, a lot, but I have no choice but to keep going. For a while I tried suicide. Having lived through being hit by a train, jumping from a fourteen-story building, hanging myself, shooting myself in the head with a .22, and one truly awful attempt at self immolation, I came to the conclusion that I was alive now, no matter what. Even if I wasn't genuinely alive and was actually more... undead. The train debacle had taken an awful lot of staples, no matter how depressed I get, I won't be trying that again.
It's not easy being a zombie. It's a damned hard life when you're dead but can't ever rest. It sucks when the people you once cared about look at you with terror (or worse, pity) in their eyes. Mom may have liked to pretend I was still alive, but I hated it. I rarely called her anymore, and wouldn't have called her then if I hadn't needed to warn her about the credit card bill. Before you call me a deadbeat, pun intended, you should know that I send money regularly to my mom. I don't get much, just what we find laying around and earn through recycling. We have a bunyip (An Australian werecreature that looks human but changes into a frightening mish mash of a monster.) that works at the recycling center. He pays us for the scrap metal and wood we find. He even opens the place up for us after hours so nobody will see us. We made a killing in copper from the ruins of the plantation house. Like I said, not an easy life. I'd like to be a chef. I love cooking, but let's be honest for a moment, who is going to hire a decomposing man to cook food in their restaurant? I'm sure there are hundreds of health codes that would prevent me from ever even stepping foot in a kitchen, let alone preparing food in one.
Unlife can be just as unfair as life ever was. I took the bags Jeannie handed me, and after we said goodbye to her, we headed back to Griff's SUV.
"Thank you, for bringing me here." I hoped my gratitude came across as sincere.
"You sort of have a knack for getting into trouble don't you?"
"Not really trouble, it's just like the song says 'If it weren't for bad luck, I'd have no luck at all'."
"That's rough, you seem like such a nice guy."
"Well, we all have tests and trials in our lives. Mine just happen to be more ridiculous than most."
"True. Never seen a zombie lose a foot and then split his pants within seconds."
"Like watching a dark comedy isn't it?"
"Yeah, kind of is. Sorry you have to live like that."
"It's ok, Griff. I find it kind of funny now, and it's always nice to make other people smile and laugh. I cover a lot of my own pain with humor so I guess a Griswoldian life is the life for me."
"Griswoldian?"
"After Clark W. Griswold?"
"Oh, I get it now. Well, it sure fits you."
"Yeah, it does. It used to bother me a lot. I cursed my unlife because of it."
"And now?"
"I've come to terms with being a comedy of errors. I feel like there is something big coming up ahead that will make everything I've gone through worthwhile, you know?"
"Bob, you've got the heart of a wonderful person."
"No, I don't! I swear, I only eat animal meat." I winked at him and he chuckled and shook his head.
"I'm glad I met you." He smiled at me and looked down at the address in hi
s hand when we stopped at a light. He looked back at me and sighed, "Here's hoping this witch will help. I'm thinking that maybe she doesn't know she has to call the ghouls every so often to rein them in and keep them from getting too wild. The alternative is, she's doing it on purpose to create mass chaos and eventually out us to the humans. If that's the case, the Council will surely have her tortured, killed, brought back, and tortured for eternity."
"Yeah, they're pretty reasonable like that." I nodded and Griffin chuckled.
"Yup, about as reasonable as the Spanish Inquisition."
"Nobody expects that."
"What?" Griffin looked puzzled.
"Nobody expects the Spanish Inquisition! Our chief weapon is surprise...surprise and fear...fear and surprise, our two chief weapons!" I did my best Michael Palin impression and hoped he had watched Flying Circus. Otherwise, I just sounded insane, and let's face it, rabid zombies don't last long.
"Oh jeeze!" Griffin burst out laughing and I sighed in relief. I was pretty sure he had to have seen at least the skit, if not the show, because it was fairly popular. "You know, Bob, you have a great sense of humor for a zombie. Most of the shamblers I've met are grouchy."
"Well, it's not easy being green." I shrugged. I never did take compliments well.
Bob The Zombie Page 2