by William Bebb
He sat up, opening his eyes, thinking of an even more likely scenario. What if the people in charge took the simple way out? It happened in a few movies and a video game too. The government might not send in anyone- they could just drop a nuke on me. A microsecond of bright light and I'd be nothing more than, as the old Kansas song, Dust in the Wind.
“Fuck that.” he said out loud. Sure it was great song, but it’s not how he planned on going out. Granted things were bad yet he'd survived bad situations before, maybe not this bad- but bad enough.
Like last month, when he'd been enjoying a pleasant visit to the bathroom at a Tex Mex restaurant called La Cocina Juanita. He had been sitting there minding his own business, when a guy at the standup urinal next to his stall began peeing first on his shoes then on his pants that had been down around his ankles. Being in a delicate way, at that particular moment, he couldn't do much except shout impotent threats. He heard the urinating prankster laughing as he left him sitting in the bathroom with wet pants and just to add the final injustice he turned off the lights on the way out.
Just as his horoscope didn't foresee a prankster with a urination fetish that day, this morning’s newspaper didn't mention a zombie uprising either. If it had, he was certain, he would have called into work saying he was sick.
He wracked his brain trying to remember what he knew about the undead from the movies he'd seen and in the video games he'd played. A silver bullet would kill one, or maybe that was just werewolves but then again maybe silver worked on zombies too. Realizing he didn't have any silver anyway, he kept thinking. A wooden stake through the heart kills vampires. Yet he'd killed, if you can technically kill something that was already dead, a zombie by bashing in it's skull. He looked over at the body by the doorway, a large black cloud of flies buzzed and feasted on what was left of its brain.
Of course, some of them didn’t actually seem to be dead just murderously insane as if that was a distinction capable of providing any degree of comfort. He looked thoughtfully at the body of Mr. Watch Me Gouge Out My Eyeballs, while listening to screaming people running outside the building, and more screams echoing farther away. Shuddering he looked at his knee again.
He had wrapped it tightly with a long bandage he found in his toolbox, and was sure it would be okay if he didn't run on it and walked slowly for a couple of days. A feat he felt he was almost certain to have trouble attaining under the circumstances. The problem with his trick knee is, once it pops out of joint it's likely to do it again if not extra careful for a few days. Sometimes he wouldn't trust it for a week after it happened.
When he’d lost his college football scholarship it was the same damn knee that was to blame. Standing six foot five inches tall, weighing in at two hundred and eighty pounds he was “Built for football” as his coach used to say. After the football season started, his freshman year at college, his knee was as reliable as an alcoholic managing a liquor store. Toward the end of the first game of the season it popped out of joint, or hyper extended as the doctor described it, when he was blindsided.
In all he was carried off the field six times, in six different games, with the same damn knee injury. The coach finally gave up and had to cut him from the team, and also revoke his scholarship. Of course, the school offered to pay some of his expenses but without a scholarship he soon realized his academic career was over.
He started to get angry as he sat and listened to the idiots outside the building grunting and screaming. I could have stayed in college if it weren’t for my stupid knee, he thought, feeling increasingly angry. I'd have a good job, lots of money, maybe even have married, had kids, and undoubtedly would not be spending a Monday morning surrounded by murderous undead trailer trash!
Screaming in frustration, he started hitting the washing machine next to the one he was sitting on with his crowbar. The loud crashing sound made him feel better while he pounded on it, but when he stopped hitting the badly dented machine he heard the undead screaming with a renewed sense of purpose.
“Great, now I’m a cheerleader for zombies.” He said, looking up at the sky. Several giant black birds circled above and he shivered even though it had to already be ninety degrees. A big ugly vulture landed on top of a wall and looked down at him with disturbing intensity. Seconds later four more birds, just as big and ugly as the first, landed and they all looked at him. Their eyes stared at him with what Josey felt was a wholly inappropriate appraising attitude. Feeling like a piece of meat, in the butchers display case, he sighed and shook his head.
He glanced at the dryers wobbling in the doorway, then away from the barricade and stared curiously at the dark doorway on the other side of the room. Being the only other way out he finally reached a decision.
“Why not?” he asked, and cautiously slid off the washing machine. He stood carefully, on his legs. The bad knee ached a bit, but it wasn't trembling. Using his crowbar as a cane, he picked up the toolbox and limped across the room. While passing an old gum ball machine, the kind with the big glass top, he saw a melted congealed mass inside with a rainbow of faint colors still visible. After the roof caved in the balls of gum were exposed to the weather and elements. Over the years, the individual colored pieces of gum had baked in the sunlight and melted turning them into a gooey sugary blob. Josey imagined they looked sort of like three or four Rubik’s cubes if they were put in an oven for a few hours on broil.
On the wall, by the open doorway, he read a large sign written in both English and Spanish- Tornado Shelter, Maximum Occupancy 200. Josey stopped and tried to imagine being in a storm, unable to go downstairs because there were already two hundred people downstairs. What the Hell would he be expected to do? Go outside and fly a kite?
He limped slowly through the debris, of the long ago fallen in roof, heading for the dark doorway thinking. What’s down there? A vampire? An alien that has tentacles and loves to eat septic tank truck drivers? A few naked nymphomaniac cheerleaders? He smiled at the thought of the last possibility and limped on.
There were old wooden stairs going down into the darkness. He tapped the top step with his crowbar. It sounded fairly solid as he stepped forward trying to peer into the darkness below. There was a whiff of mildew and dust, but that was all. While reaching for his little flashlight, in his coveralls pocket, he thought he heard something moving. Then there was the sound of running on the stairs. Screaming in fear as something ran into him, he fell over backward into a pile of roofing shingles and boards.
“No!” he screamed. While he fell two distinct thoughts flashed through his mind. I'd rather get peed on, at that restaurant again than be here. And, please let it be horny naked cheerleaders. That was his last thought before he hit his head against the cinder block wall and fell unconscious.
When he awoke a girl with long blond hair, wearing a pair of tattered denim shorts, and a tight green shirt with a picture of a unicorn on it was leaning over him. Through squinted eyes, as though she'd been hiding in the dark too long, she looked around nervously.
“Oh my gosh, I'm so sorry. I thought you were one of them,” she said, gesturing at the barricaded doorway. Squatting down next to him, she took his hand in hers as he looked up too stunned to speak. Her perfume was very strong and smelled of roses.
“Are you okay? I feel just awful about knocking you down. My name is Shannon, by the way.” She was extremely beautiful, yet Josey had a hard time looking at her face because as she squatted next to him he could see a bit of her panties between her legs. Her denim shorts were extremely short. He tried to speak but still felt too stunned.
“Oh, you poor man. I just feel awful about this,” she said, leaning down closer. She felt his forehead and ran her fingers through his hair. He saw her sparkling blue eyes as she leaned closer. She kissed him on the lips. Unable to resist, he kissed back as her tongue entered his mouth. Her warm wet tongue was amazing. It was long and extremely dexterous but he awoke when she started to lick his face.
Josey was sprawled on the
floor dazed and slowly became more conscious hearing heavy breathing nearby. Keeping his eyes closed he felt for his crowbar; only it wasn't there. A foul warm breath filled his nostrils and he realized the source was inches from his face. Remembering his knife, he reached into his pocket to grab it. He felt the wet warm tongue tasting his face again and couldn't feign unconsciousness any longer. Screaming angrily, he held the pocketknife and flicked the blade open. He heard distant answering screams and opened his eyes prepared for whatever monstrosity was terrorizing him.
The furry face of a combination German Shepherd and all around mutt came into focus with it's panting tongue inches from his face. Folding the knife shut, he put it back in his pocket embarrassed and relieved at the same time. The dog sat a few feet away, panting and looking at Josey, with it's head cocked at an angle that suggested curiosity. Using his crowbar as a cane he managed to get back on his feet. The dog whimpered and backed away nervously, watching the big man while it's tail wagged.
“Are you a good dog or are you as crazy as everybody else is around here?” He asked, keeping an eye on the scruffy dog. It whimpered again and backed away a few steps. He saw it's brown fur was mashed down in spots and fluffy in others as the tail still wagged.
A dog with a wagging tail usually means he won't bite but that's not always the case. If you ever meet a dog that's growling or foaming you best just back away slow and get inside the house. His dad's voice spoke clearly in his head as he looked uncertainly at the dog. Josey had grown up in the countryside and there were always stray dogs around when he was a kid. His dad had warned him, when he was old enough to go outside by himself, to always be cautious around a strange dog. His dad’s advice continued running through his head, Never run away if a dog looks mean it'll most likely chase after you and if it's mean it might take a bite out of your leg if you do. Just keep an eye on it but don't make direct eye contact, some animals see that as a challenge for dominance. When you back away from a strange dog don't look scared even if you are. Dogs can smell fear on you so act brave and use your head.
His dad had finished his long dog lecture by showing him the bite scars on his upper thigh he got when he was about twelve years old. That scar made all his advice seem like something worth remembering and he was damn glad he did.
“So this was your hiding spot, huh boy?” He asked, warily watching it for any signs that it was a bad dog. It backed up to the doorway going downstairs and cocked it's head looking up at him as his tail wagged faster.
“You look a little like a dog I had when I was a kid. His name was Frankenstein.” Josey said softly as he slipped off his left glove and held out his hand palm down toward the dog. Whistling and clicking his tongue softly he reached slowly, trying to relax, as he waited for the dog to sniff or bite him.
“Of course if you were a bad dog you probably would have bit me when I was knocked out back there, right? I hope you're a good dog because I really could use a friend today.” The dog wagged its tail faster as it stretched it's neck and sniffed Josey's hand. After just a few sniffs the dog sneezed three times in rapid succession and shook its head. Then it sat down and lifted a paw shaking it in the air. Hoping his dad, who might be watching from Heaven, wasn't looking on in disapproval he took a chance with the strange dog and shook it's paw gently. The dog yipped playfully and licked his hand.
Josey sat on a broken TV that seemed fairly solid and petted the dog's head. The dog made appreciative whimpering sounds and his tail whipped back and forth rapidly as Josey rubbed its ears lightly.
“Yer a good doggy aren't ya? Yes you are.” Reverting to baby talk, he smiled at the dirty dog. “What should I call ya?" He felt for a collar or ID tag and found none. Josey glanced under the dog for a second and said “So, yer a boy. Small world, so am I.” He looked thoughtful for a moment and then grinned.
“Since today seems a lot like all the scary movies I used to watch when I was a kid I shall name you after my favorite scary movie actor. I'll call ya Boris. He actually played Frankenstein's monster in a great film and if we ever get out of here I'm grilling you a steak and we'll watch it together. Okay?”, he asked scratching the dog's chin.
The dog quickly barked twice.
“Well Boris, I guess I should introduce myself. My name is Josey. And if you don't tell anyone about the way you French kissed me I won't either.”
Boris was dirty and he looked very thin, but his rich chocolate brown eyes and soft fur made him the perfect companion in his estimation. He pet the dog for a few more minutes then looked down the dark stairs.
“Well, come on Boris show me your dungeon.” he said standing up and limped forward, again using his crowbar as a cane. In his other hand he held a small flashlight that shined down the steps. Boris quickly trotted down the steps. At the bottom of the stairs he turned, looked back up at him and gave a short yip of a bark.
“OK, I'm coming.”
If there had once been handrails they'd fallen apart long ago. Tapping the steps with his crowbar, he felt the rottenness of the stairs and walked gingerly as he could on the side edges of the steps where the wood seemed the least rotten. The boards creaked ominously and the whole staircase swung from side to side a few inches as he slowly came down the steps. The dog stared up at him, his head cocked at an angle with his tail wagging impatiently. He flashed the light around the basement, while still on the stairs, in case there was something unpleasant waiting in the shadows.
The room was about thirty foot square with a couple of rusting water heaters attached to pipes that seemed to go upstairs, a fuse box, a large utility sink, several old rotten cardboard boxes, a few buckets, mops, brooms, and various unlabeled bottles. The whole room smelled of mildew and rotting things. The concrete floor was slick here and there with traces of stagnant water.
A squeak came from near one of the boxes and a rat scurried across the floor as he shined the light in the far corner of the room. Boris caught sight of it and gave chase through a doorway that was the only other visible way out of the basement. Josey finished coming down the steps and heard the rat squealing as Boris apparently caught him.
At least he's got something to eat, he thought, again wishing he'd got his lunchbox out of the truck. He counted the last of his nicotine gum- eight pieces. He popped one in his mouth after spitting, the older tasteless gum into the corner of the room.
Doubting it still worked, he walked over to the sink attached to the wall and tried the faucet. The pipes rattled loudly for several seconds, followed by a rusty brown splash of water, and a small stream of slightly yellow tinted water began to fill the old sink. He shoved his head under the spigot and felt the wonderfully cool water running through his sweaty hair. After shaking his head he cupped his hands and drank his fill.
Hearing the clicking sound of Boris's toenails walking up beside him, he turned around to see the dog’s bloody lips and a satisfied look in his eyes. After filling a plastic bucket with some water he set it in front of the dog. Boris gulped from it as soon as it was on the floor. The dog drank until the bucket was nearly empty and Josey wondered how long it had been since he had any water.
Boris had in fact had nothing to drink for three days and felt he would soon die before he smelled and saw the man at the top of the stairs a few minutes earlier. Before all the men in the trailer park started smelling of madness and death he had wandered around the valley for several months. His former owner took him for a ride in his car after he found Boris chewing on his prized baseball autographed by Hank Aaron.
His owner, at first seemed really mad, then took him for the last ride he'd ever had. He pulled the car off the road and threw his tennis ball, that Boris loved to fetch, into the dirt. Boris had jumped from the car and almost reached the ball when he heard the car quickly driving away. The dog chased after it for a while then felt scared as he realized he was a long way from home and didn't know where he was.
Some people say dogs can't feel emotions, but had they seen Boris sitting in the dus
ty road watching the car disappear with his big brown eyes filling with tears they might have changed their minds.
Boris, who used to be called Duke, had wandered in the desert until he smelled water and found his way into this valley. It was a nice place. There were rabbits and other small animals to eat and none of the men down here seemed bad, at least until a few days earlier. He had been visiting the men the night of Juan's wake and was eating some burritos someone had thoughtfully left out the night before. It was the last good meal he'd had.
When he sniffed Juan lying on top of the table, in the early morning darkness, he had sensed something was wrong. Juan smelled of death, but under that there was a bad scent also. When the dead man started to twitch he had tried to warn the other men by barking. He barked at a man asleep in the dirt who held an empty beer bottle in his hands. He awoke just long enough to throw the bottle at Boris. The dog barked louder and ran around the men who had without exception all drank too much the night before.
After a second man threw a bottle at him and yelled at Boris, he whimpered and ran away as the man who smelled of death and something worse stood up and climbed off the table. As Boris ran away he heard several drunken yells but did not look back. Since that night he'd been chased and nearly caught several times until he found a hiding spot in the old building's basement.
He looked at the big man walking around the basement and felt better as he watched him. The big man didn't smell of death or madness and that was good enough for him.
Looking at the old cardboard boxes scattered around on the floor Josey doubted his chances of finding anything useful. But with nothing better to do he spent the next twenty minutes disturbing several scorpions, crickets, and a few giant spiders, the size of softballs, as he searched.