by Jeff Strand
"What if they check the money?"
"They won't."
"I dunno, that seems like something they might be inclined to do."
Stanley still couldn't see Donald's expression, but he was pretty sure it continued to not be a smile. "Well, I hadn't intended to be riding in a trunk. I figured I could keep them from going through the money if I were actively talking to them."
"So we're screwed."
"No. They won't be pawing through a suitcase filled with money while they're driving and somebody could see."
"Are you sure?"
"I'm sixty percent sure."
The car turned, slowed, and stopped.
"We've only been driving for fifteen minutes or so," said Donald. "It should've taken us half an hour."
"Maybe they stopped for a potty break."
"Okay, I have a really bad feeling about this all of a sudden," said Donald, his voice panicked.
"Do you want to use me as a shield if they start shooting?"
"No, seriously, I don't think this is good. Aw, Christ. What the hell was I thinking?"
The lid of the trunk opened. Tom had his gun pointed at them, and did not look happy.
"Get out," he said. "Slowly."
Stanley suddenly felt like he was going to vomit. Fear had a lot to do with it, but it was something more. His skin was starting to itch and burn.
Donald climbed out of the trunk and glanced around. "This isn't where I told you to--"
The gunshot cut him off. Donald dropped to the ground.
"Shit!" cried Stanley, pushing himself tightly against the back of the trunk as if that would protect him.
"Think you can screw me over?" said Tom, looking down. Stanley couldn't see Donald's body, but he assumed that it was in poor shape. Tom fired twice more, and then pointed the gun at Stanley. "Get out."
The itching and burning was almost unbearable. He tried to push himself up...and then his arm gave way, folding underneath him.
He let out a squeal.
"I said, get out!" Tom shouted, as Hugh walked up beside him.
"I'm...I'm having a problem here..."
Tom stomped over to the trunk, reached inside, grabbed Stanley by the collar, and pulled him forward. "Your buddy just cost you, big time," he said.
Working together, Tom and Hugh dragged Stanley out of the trunk. He fell onto the ground, feeling his ass cheek flatten underneath him more than it should have. They were behind a warehouse, or at least something that looked like it might be a warehouse from behind.
Donald lay on the ground in a pool of blood, unquestionably dead.
"It wasn't my fault," Stanley insisted. "You can still get the rest of your money!"
"So you can screw us over again? I don't think so!"
"I wasn't involved in the screwing!"
"We're just gonna sell you off in parts," said Tom. "Probably worth big bucks that way. Should've kept the other arm."
"C'mon, let's be reasonable!"
"Let's not." Tom pointed the gun at Stanley.
Stanley instinctively threw his arm in front of his face to protect himself. His arm stretched out to about twice its length, smacking Tom in the face.
Tom, Hugh, and Stanley all gaped in surprise.
"What the hell was that?" Tom demanded.
Stanley threw another extended punch, this one striking Tom in the nose. It wasn't a particularly hard blow, but the second hit surprised Tom just as much as the first, and he stumbled backwards.
Stanley pulled on his right leg. It stretched like it was made of elastic and popped free of the rope.
Tom fired the gun. The bullet struck Stanley in the chest. Though he'd rather not have been shot, the pain was a welcome distraction from the itching and burning.
He threw another stretchy punch at Hugh, missing by a few inches. Hugh grabbed his hand in a panic and tugged, pulling Stanley to his extremely wobbly feet.
"He's fuckin' Plastic Man!" Hugh shouted.
Stanley got him with a stretchy kick to the groin. Hugh howled and doubled over in pain.
Stanley wanted to say something intimidating, but his jaw wasn't working right. It kind of felt like it was hanging free.
Tom shot him again.
Stanley threw a punch his way. Again, this one didn't hit with much force, but what it lacked in power it made up for with the fact that Stanley's extended index finger got Tom right in the eye and sunk deep.
Tom let out a wail that more than matched Hugh's howl.
Stanley tried to pull his finger free, but it was stuck. His legs gave way beneath him and he dropped to the ground, one of them sticking up at a strange angle.
Hugh turned and ran.
Tom fell to his knees, bellowing.
Stanley felt something slimy trickling down his cheek and realized that Tom wasn't the only one with eyeball issues. Stanley was staring at Tom with his good eye and at the ground with the eye that was slipping out of its socket. He passed out pretty quickly after that.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
Stanley awoke to find himself staring into the eyes of heaven.
Well, Veronica, anyway. Close enough.
He was back in his old bed in the bunker, underneath the fluffy pink blanket. Veronica and Martin were each seated on opposite sides of the bed. Brant stood against the far wall, speaking to Dr. Arnzin.
"Stanley, can you hear me?" asked Veronica.
"Yeah." Stanley wiggled his feet. They seemed to be more or less normal. He touched his forehead and found only a small dent there, like a dimple on a golf ball.
His left arm was still gone.
"Donald, is he...?" Stanley trailed off, already knowing the answer.
Veronica nodded sadly. "The funeral was yesterday."
"Shit."
"It's the way he would have wanted to go, I think: Top news story."
Stanley closed his eyes. "It's all my fault."
"It's not your fault. He was stupid. At least that's what the kidnappers said."
"Did they catch them?"
"Yeah."
"Can we cut off their arms?"
"No, probably not."
Stanley opened his eyes. "I'm so sorry about all this. I just went nutzo, I guess."
"Why?" Veronica asked. "I don't understand what made you do that."
Stanley looked over at Brant, who was eyeing him intently. He returned his attention to Veronica. "I don't know, either. Probably stress."
"You need to get some more rest," said Veronica. "They've fixed you up pretty well, but you're still not one hundred percent."
"We did get the bullets out of you, though," said Dr. Arnzin, approaching the bed. "You're a much better patient when you're unconscious."
"The one in my brain, too?"
"Yes."
"Good." Stanley sighed. "I don't suppose there's anything you can do about my arm, huh?"
Dr. Arnzin frowned. "No. I'm sorry. I could sew it back on, of course, but it would just flop around."
"You can't do a ritual or something?"
"Excuse me?"
"Nothing. I guess I deserve this."
"We'll fit you for an artificial arm. They're actually better than the real thing." Dr. Arnzin patted Stanley's remaining arm. "I envy you this opportunity."
"Whatever." Stanley looked over at Martin. "I'm sorry. You were right. You forgive me, don't you?"
"For being a complete reckless idiot and getting an innocent man killed?"
"Uh, yeah. That."
Martin shook his head. "Not yet. Ask me later."
"All right, everyone, Stanley needs his rest," said Brant. "Please excuse us so I can have a few words with him."
"No," said Stanley.
"I beg your pardon?"
"No. I'm not going to be alone with you."
"Is that so?"
"Yeah."
They stared at each other for a moment. Then Brant shrugged. "As you wish. Anyway, we're glad to see that you're more or less back to normal. It took a lo
t of special injections. I hope you appreciate it. Maybe next time you'll behave yourself, hmm?"
Stanley had every intention of behaving himself, but didn't want to give Brant the satisfaction of knowing this, so he didn't respond.
Brant left the room with Dr. Arnzin.
"What kind of special injections?" asked Stanley.
"I'm not sure," Veronica admitted. "Not my department. Oh, by the way, somehow the bunker's location got leaked, and you have a lot of fans who are worried about you. There's quite a crowd out there."
"I still have fans? This wasn't a PR disaster?"
"Stanley, this was a PR disaster beyond anything you can imagine. People think you've gone mentally ill. But don't worry about it for now. For now, get some rest."
"You know, while I was locked up in that room I thought of the rest of the states and their capitals."
"Really?"
"No. But I did think of you flashing me."
"I'm glad you're back, Stanley," said Veronica. "Sleep tight."
She left the room.
Martin sighed.
"You're really pissed, aren't you?" asked Stanley.
"Yes. But I'm here."
"Y'know, I'm madly in love with Veronica, but you can woo her yourself if you want. How about that?"
"That implies that I was worried about competition from a one-armed zombie."
"A rich one-armed zombie."
"Go to sleep, Stanley. I'll be here to make sure that Brant doesn't kill you. I'm sure he wants to."
"You're a good friend, Martin."
"I know. Shut up."
* * *
Stanley sat in Dr. Arnzin's office. Physically he felt fine. Mentally, he was still not up to par, and he'd woken up screaming in the middle of the night.
"Everything looks good," said Dr. Arnzin, shining his penlight into Stanley's right eye. "You know, not many people can take a bullet to the forehead and be back to normal the next week."
"Yeah, yeah, it's a gift. So what's up with my injections?"
"They keep you alive."
"Duh. What's in them?"
"A series of chemicals. Long names that I can't even pronounce. I don't synthesize them, I just put them in you."
"Virgin blood?"
He saw Dr. Arnzin flinch, just a bit.
"That might be part of it."
"So you know?"
"Yes. And I know that you know. But I wasn't supposed to know that you...ah, if we continue this conversation we'll get into that old joke about me knowing what you know but you're not supposed to know that I know that you know, so let's say that we both know and drop it."
"Where do you get the blood?"
"I don't."
"Where does Brant get the blood?"
"I don't know." Dr. Arnzin fidgeted nervously. "Listen, Stanley, you don't think less of me, right? I'm still a real doctor. I did yank bullets out of you."
"You have my utmost respect," Stanley assured him. "But I have to know what's going on."
"He's not murdering virgins, if that's what you mean."
"Then what's he doing?"
"I don't know."
"Then how do you know he's not murdering virgins?"
"Because that would be wrong."
"Doc, you've got to help me. This is important."
"No, what's important is for you to relax and not concern yourself with things like that right now. You've had a traumatic experience. Mr. Corpse needs to get all better."
Stanley decided to drop it for now, but he wasn't convinced. "Yeah, you're right. Thanks for digging the bullet out of my brain."
"My pleasure."
* * *
"Veronica, I need you to do me a huge favor," said Stanley. She sat at her desk, eating lunch while typing on her laptop. Brant had gone out, fighting his way through the crowd that Stanley had yet to face.
"I'm pretty sure you owe me a lot more favors than I owe you," said Veronica.
"I know, and I'll make them all up to you. But I have to know where my injections are coming from."
"Why?"
"Because I think it's something bad."
"Why?"
"I can't tell you that."
"I think you should."
"Okay, look, I just need to get inside the lab."
"Stanley, do you know why unauthorized personnel aren't allowed inside the lab?"
"Because it contains a dark secret."
"No, because it contains hazardous chemicals. Decontamination suit-type stuff. I'm not about to let you inside there so you can blow us all up."
"I'm not going to blow anybody up," Stanley insisted. "You've got to trust me."
"And what part of your behavior over the past couple of weeks leads you to believe that I consider you trustworthy?"
Stanley sighed. "I understand. I just think something really bad is going on, and I want to see it for myself."
"Suppose I did want to help you. I don't have access to the lab."
"I know. I thought you could get a hold of Brant's badge."
"How?"
"Ummmm...maybe seduce him?"
"Stanley--"
"I don't mean sleep with him or do it against the wall or anything. I just mean to pretend to be attracted to him. Use your womanly charms."
"It won't work."
"Sure it will. If there's anybody in this world who needs a boner, it's Brant. Just bat your eyes, brush against him, maybe call him a stud muffin or something. You'll have the badge in no time."
"You really expect me to put my job at risk like that?"
"It's important."
"It won't work."
"Yes, it will."
"No, it won't."
"Why not?"
"Because he knows I'm a lesbian."
Stanley started to say something, but decided that he needed a long moment to reflect upon that last comment. "You're what?"
"You heard me," said Veronica, obviously wishing that she hadn't blurted out that particular revelation.
"A practicing lesbian?"
"I don't want to talk about it. Quite frankly it's none of your business."
"So, not only am I a grotesque partially dismembered zombie, but I'm the wrong gender. That really solidly fucks up any chance of a relationship between us, doesn't it?"
"Stanley, no offense, but you could look like Jennifer Garner and I wouldn't date you."
"That stings."
"It was meant to."
"Wow. So, back to the badge thing. Do you think you could pretend you were cured?"
"Stanley!"
"Bad suggestion, bad suggestion, I know. So do you have a girlfriend?"
"I don't discuss my personal life with clients."
"Oh, c'mon. I'm more than a client. Is she hot?"
"Of course she's hot."
"Fingers or tongue?"
"Okay, no, we are not getting into my sex life, not even in jest."
"Why not?" Stanley protested. "Why can't I be interested in your homosexuality? I think we should share more intimate details with each other. You go first."
"Yeah, right. I'm going to share my personal life with a chauvinist pig who gets off on the idea of two women going at it."
"So you do go at it?"
"Enough!"
"Five more minutes?"
"Enough! This is exactly why I don't share these kinds of things with you."
"There are more of those kinds of things to share?"
She smacked him on the shoulder.
"Ow! There was genuine malice behind that!"
"No, genuine malice would be to smack you on the shoulder that no longer had an arm."
"You're right. That would be mean. Okay, forget the idea about flashing your goodies at Brant. I just need to see what's in the lab. Anything you could do, whether it's distracting him or bashing him over the head with a lead pipe would be hugely appreciated."
Veronica traced her finger across her chin. "You're really serious, aren't you?"
"
Yeah."
"I'll see what I can do."
"That's all I can ask. Well, and to see videos. Can I see videos?"
She smacked him again.
* * *
Stanley sat on his bed. Though the first twenty minutes of his conversation with Martin had focused on Veronica's sexual orientation, they'd finally moved on to the subject of the lab.
"I don't get it. Why do you need to know so bad?"
"I just do," said Stanley.
"Not good enough."
Stanley hesitated. "What if I were to tell you that I'm not a scientific miracle?"
"I'd say, no kidding."
Stanley leaned forward, eyes wide with surprise. "So you know?"
"Maybe we're talking about something else. I was referring to you being a miracle. It was kind of an insult."
"Science had nothing to do with my return. It was witchcraft."
"What an odd thing to say."
"I mean it! Brant told me! I was brought back to life through rituals and virgin blood and shit like that!"
"And you believed him?"
"Yeah, I believed him!"
"That just seems like a concept you might want to take with a rather large grain of salt."
"I know it sounds far-fetched, but I have to get in there to find out for sure. Veronica is going to try to get the badge for me. At least she said she'll see what she can do. That probably meant no. In fact, I'm sure it meant no. She'd have to be a complete idiot to go along with this. I shouldn't have asked. I suck."
"Why be subtle about it?" Martin asked.
"What do you mean?"
"If you want the badge, take it. Beat the shit out of him. What's he going to do, shoot you?"
"I hadn't quite thought of that approach."
"The question is this: could you handle the awkward situation of discovering that you were completely wrong?"
"I'd get over it eventually."
"Then let's do it!"
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
Stanley felt extremely nervous, which he blamed on the fact that he was planning to physically threaten the man who was responsible for his well-being. Lots of ways that could turn out bad. But he had to see what was in the lab, even if it just turned out to be a shelf filled with jars labeled "Virgin Blood - Do Not Gargle."