Zombie Lake: Still Alive Book One

by Javan Bonds

  She was here for a week, during which time I learned that she was evil incarnate, but for some reason I did not kick her out of my fucking house, and even agreed that it would be a good idea for her to fly back to Alaska, get her shit, and move down here with me. Yeah, pretty sure that was my dick’s idea. I’m not sure what kind of evil voodoo magic she put on it, but I know she had to be a witch or at least something that rhymes with that. She lived with me for just over a year, so I was obviously temporarily retarded. You can compare this episode to one of the drunken husbands on Cops who beat their wives. No, before you say it, she didn’t physically abuse me; I was just treated like a stray dog, cussed at and only fed a few scraps. Eternity had gone to college to be a music teacher and until I met her I did not realize they had dropped the standard so low that a psychotic lunatic could be excepted to educate children. Surprise! She was unable to find a full-time teaching job. She worked as a substitute and blew what little spare money I had on Applebee’s.

  One day, months after she’d moved in, we were messing around in the bedroom and I confessed to her, "You know, I’ve never put my mouth down...there." I then pointed between her legs and I was obviously willing to give it a go. She realized this and replied, "I’ve never had that done to me, either." We both dove headlong into new territory and as soon as I began this journey I realized that I should have brought my snorkel. I was able to bear prying the rolls of fat off her belly that threatened to suffocate me, and even overlooked the fact that though she shaved every day, she had more pubic hair than I had facial hair. But there was no way I could put up with that taste. You know those baby wipes at the Dollar Tree? The really cheap and shitty ones that smell worse than the baby shit they are intended to clean? It was sort of like that, only worse. I had to give up in, like, five seconds because I was close to vomiting. After a horrible experience such as that, I don’t believe the richest woman in the world could bribe me to try it again. I’ve heard some of my friends say: "It tastes like strawberries." That’s a malicious lie.

  Smokes and I meandered back to the group.

  My Dad picked up where he left off with questions for the zombie prophet. "Is there any indication of who the main group of villains—" my father’s question was cut off by the hissing of the radio at the center of the table.

  "...the area that is Douglas is now under the control of the United States Military. If any of the inhabitants surrender without resistance they will receive protection in exchange for work. All armed citizens will be seen as hostile and shot on sight. We will provide you with safety if you willingly turn in your firearms. Enemies of the state will be given no quarter and all hostile action will be reciprocated tenfold. This is Captain Jonathan Bobbitt; we will be stationed at town hall for an indefinite time. Surrender your weapons at that location and apply for work programs that will consist of…" the transmission continued for a while longer, but I doubt anyone at the table heard it. We all stared at the radio in dead silence, as if it were the cause of the current problem and looking at it sternly would put an end to our worries.

  Okay, am I the only one who remembers Lorena Bobbitt cutting her husband’s penis off? Wasn’t his name "John" or something? Either way, I am going to picture a victim of castration whenever I think of that Captain.

  My dad summed up the transmission: “We trade liberty for temporary safety."

  Gene simultaneously spoke his geeky summarization: "Resistance is futile."

  Smokes had a look on his face that said: "Told ya mufuckas!" This was unbelievable and it just proved the omniscience of The Oracle.

  We kept our eyes fixed blankly on nothing and it was easy to see that this information had affected my father greatly. The Similar, the people he felt responsible for, had been overtaken and some possibly killed while he was out vacationing. Even though his presence would doubtfully have made a difference, he wanted to leave by himself immediately to save his town. Someone had obviously alerted the ladies, who hurriedly rushed over and did absolutely nothing—the exact same thing we were doing. At my and Hammer’s arguments, he begrudgingly agreed that the two of us would accompany him—and I know you’re thinking it—I thought it was a stupid idea and characteristically wanted to stay here, but felt compelled to follow any immediate family member to our doom.

  "Now is not the time to strike. The full commando unit should depart tomorrow," Smokes spoke with such finality (using his professor voice) that it was clear no one would be going anywhere, and even though my dad’s eyes flamed with defiance, he relented to The Oracle.

  Daddy pointed his finger. "Fine. We will go up there tomorrow—locked and loaded."

  Did Full Metal Jacket just flash across anyone else’s mind at that statement? I know he wasn’t referring to the Stanley Kubrick Vietnam classic, but I personally pictured Gomer Pyle sitting on the toilet in his underwear when my dad said that. "The commando unit" obviously consisted of our giant black ninja, the crippled ninja and his capuchin ninja, the metal-clawed, force-wielding ninja, the super soldier ninja, and plain old me. We would go shoot people and most likely get shot ourselves; maybe our womenfolk can make some damn decent food before we get back. I was sure this was one of those rare occasions my dad would lose sleep and I’m confident he would strategize with anyone that was awake. I, of course am not that stupid. I showed my mom and Sarah the captain’s quarters, then made my way to the crew quarters and set up a bunk before my dad could start talking and keep me above deck. I’m guessing that the majority of the crew being subjected to his war plans was not enough because after few minutes he came down to force me to come up and join his roundtable discussion.

  My mom and Sarah were most likely sleeping peacefully, Crow must have been fishing or formulating new, bland, and tasteless seafood dishes, but the newly labeled "commando unit" discussed our plans to increase our chances of dying painfully tomorrow. There were now thirteen of us. As I ascended the stairs onto the deck, I swear the scene at the table was taken from that "Last Supper" painting, redone in accordance with modern sensitivities: a handicapped disciple set over to the side and Jesus was now a cross between Fat Albert and Buddha, but still had a look of "I got dis" on his knowing face. Holy shit, does that mean Smokes is going to be The Sacrifice? If he dies for my salvation, I know I’ll never hear the end of it so we’ll have to make sure to keep Him away from crosses and thorn bushes.

  I had to shake off the mental image as I approached the table and listened to my father and Hammer strategize: "...take two vehicles with guns and I’ll come up on the north side. Hammer you can come up from the East.”

  Hammer readily nodded. "Okay. We just need to stay close enough to maintain radio contact and we need to use a frequency they won’t be on."

  Everyone believed what I had initially assumed. The Army guys didn’t send that radio message because they were not expecting anyone from the community to be gone or there to be another crew so close, but were only intending to reach the residents of Douglas who had radios; they had just been repeating the same message over several channels since discovering that some in the community had the ability to communicate. My dad would occasionally look over to Smokes as if seeking approval for each part of the plan, and throughout the entire war strategizing, the seer merely gave knowing nods.

  Near the end, he adamantly declared, "It gotta be me, you, an’ dat cracka ridin’ togedda." He pointed a meaty finger at me and I knew there must be some reason. All I could do was dip my head in ascension.

  The Expert added, "Oh, and we need to stop by Bottom Dollar on the way. I’ve got some grenades!" She smiled excitedly.

  Fucking seriously? I could do nothing but gape, the woman has been holding out on us! Hell, she probably had some rocket launchers in storage. My dad had apparently only wanted me to witness the planning, because he and Hammer laid out all the instructions, Smokes gave his seal of approval, and the meeting was officially over. Crow magically appeared at her girlfriend’s side, Bradley wheeled into his little shed, and
the other four went ahead to the crew quarters. I showed my father where to find my mother and Sarah, a small, but important task. I am hoping that I will be able to make another entry before we go to our deaths, but if there is no time and there’s anyone left alive to read this journal, I’d appreciate you carrying it and even making your own entries; just nothing too gay, and take it easy on the Star Wars references, Gene.

  Mo Journal Entry 20

  He might as well have burst through the door banging a metal garbage can and shouting, "Reveille! "Reveille!" I can’t remember the last time my dad was so eager to wake everybody up. The sun had just risen when we were ready and made our way onto the deck, so it wasn’t that early, but it was a lot damn earlier than I thought was necessary. Having had no more than a few minutes to grab a drink and get a bite of fish, I found it strange to see that my Old Friend was already waiting in Hammer’s truck when we reached the vehicles. Even though I had already seen how he expertly raised and lowered himself from the ship, I would always be surprised to see a crew member in the parking lot before the gangplank had been dropped.

  The short trip to the pawnshop was uneventful and easy as we followed the leading pickup. If my two compatriots spoke, I was too busy sleeping to catch it. The expert slowed and turned on her blinker before making the left turn into Bottom Dollar, and if I had not been waiting for the minuscule amount of caffeine that I had consumed this morning to take effect, I probably would’ve laughed as my father pulled squarely into the parking spot beside her like we were in fucking driver’s ed. It was offered, but I really did not feel like joining the others to watch my father orgasm as he scanned Hammer’s armory of weapons. I chose to remain in the truck to begin writing in my journal.

  "E’en if we ganna take em out, we need to build some drawbridges or some shit." I jumped as The Oracle re-entered the truck.

  I had again somehow missed the ground shaking. He spoke to my dad, who was reaching for the driver’s door handle. I could not hear my father’s response; I assume they were talking about destroying the bridges at the center of each causeway, turning the island into an actual island…wait a minute—that was my idea! I already had this planned, and now my father would think Smokes was the genius. Dammit!

  "What all did you get?" I was genuinely curious as I had not seen Hammer’s gun collection. It would have been interesting; I just decided that cataloging the events leading to my demise was more important, and if I did not go to meet the Big Director in the Sky soon, I was sure there would be plenty of time to check out The Expert’s stockpile of firearms later.

  "She actually had a few cases of incendiary ammo for these AR’s. You’ll never believe this..." he reached into one of his many pockets and tossed a metal ball to me. "Willy Pete!"

  I could tell by his raised eyebrow that Smokes wasn’t aware of the nickname for white phosphorus grenades, and I think my penis just crawled up into my stomach. My dad just threw a live incendiary bomb at me! Yes, I know the pin was secure and there were no indications it would explode at the moment, but it’s fucking handheld napalm! Very few ways of dying more slowly or more painfully come to mind. Taking a bath in a volcano would be more pleasant.

  I gingerly lifted the device with two fingers and offered it back, "That’s great, Daddy. But let’s not play hot potato with the explosives."

  Once I had convinced myself that I was still in one piece, I noticed that he was wearing a tactical vest and had weapons similar to what Smokes and I sported; I guess Hammer had suited him up in the shop. We remained on recently paved roads for several miles, allowing me to continue the current entry for a while.

  Mo Journal Entry 21

  Before the zombie apocalypse, I’m pretty sure I, for one, did not make the kind of rash decisions that my entire group has taken to now, and I wonder if it’s just me. Do these people think before jumping head long into a firing range of automatic weapons? How the hell did they (my dad included) survive in the world before it was totally hostile? Next time we make any decision that could possibly end in the deaths of us all, we need to take a step back and think up the possible long-lasting repercussions, then choose the option that does not end in our complete annihilation. Shit, maybe running full tilt into a target rich environment might be the best strategy. I would just like the opportunity to discuss my choices, and my priority will be survival.

  I had to sigh as the leading truck slowed and came to a full stop at yet another red light before this time turning on their right blinker. We finally turned off the highway and took the twisting roads that approached my hometown. I’m not sure if he was simply being courteous, was doing it out of habit, or was as bat shit nuts as The Expert, but my father readily followed Hammer’s insane obedience of obsolete traffic laws.

  "Are you privy to what’s going to happen or do you just make guesses?" My father kept his eyes on the road as he asked, but I didn’t need to wonder who he was talking to. Also: "privy?" I know what that means but I believe it was poor word choice. He would probably have to explain the meaning to the prophet at his side. Once he had been given the definition I expected to hear something like: "No one knows except for the Father, not even me.”

  But I guess I wasn’t really surprised when Smokes answered with a calm and cryptic, "Let’s say that I do know...would you really want me to tell you when you are gonna die?"

  Well, a rabbit just ran over my grave; that was fucking creepy. Apparently my dad had been mulling over the same questions I had about our predestination and the plans of the screenwriter. At this chilling, rhetorical question the conversation was over and my father lowered his head in knowing admission. Wait, did that mean my dad would die during this saga? If he does and it is sometime soon, I’m going to beat the shit out of Smokes for not giving us forewarning so that we could have done something about it. I think I’m envisioning a movie where this guy travels back in time to save his wife and no matter how many times he saves her, she always dies from one thing or another at the exact same moment, like, it was just her time and there was nothing any action could do to prevent it. So I really don’t guess it would matter if he did tell me. Does that mean Smokes is a time traveler? I’ve got to stop letting my mind run because the theme song for Quantum Leap is running through my head.

  "We are about three miles from our target. Gray Fox: over."

  "I reckon we are close to the same distance from ours. Will buzz you on approach. Red Witch: over and out."

  My dad had finally found the woman of his dreams: one that used proper radio etiquette and had napalm grenades. If he had not been married to my mother, he’d probably be swooning.

  "Red Witch?" "Gray Fox?" Why the hell are we using radio handles and when did they decide on these two? Let’s say that Capt. Needs-a-Penis and his army buddies are listening in on the radio broadcasts. I doubt he’s going to know "Randy" or "Hammer" and if he somehow did, it would be impossible for him to know they are planning to ambush him or any of the other fine details.

  When Daddy lowered the walkie-talkie he ordered, "Lock and load boys.”

  The two of us checked our rifles, sidearms, and pouches of grenades, which included a few white phosphorus. Our firearms were ready and I was getting that jittery/nervous/anxious feeling you always get right before you do something really stupid; the adrenaline was pumping. I looked over to Smokes and was going to ask: "Are we going to make it?" As much as I bitch about marching to my death, I’m not really worried about it because once you get right down to it, the zombie prophet has convinced me without a shadow of a doubt that I am the main protagonist and this is nowhere near the end of the story so that means I am basically untouchable. I’m fairly certain Smokes will survive as long as I do, even though I could see a tearjerking parting at the end. I was mainly thinking of asking for my father’s sake.

  I almost jumped when I saw that The Oracle was already looking at me and he whispered, "Mickey Mouse, dawg."

  What the fuck? I could do nothing but stare at him in confusion
: Mickey Mouse? Rats? Are we going to be saved by the Pied Piper or A Fairy Godmother or something? Until the bullets start flying, I’m going to be pondering this. What a weird way to enter a shootout.

  Mo Journal Entry 22

  Due to a minor hiccup in our rushed plans, I have the opportunity to make a final entry before our D-Day. I am sitting in the office of the First Presbyterian Church of Douglas and I should probably stop writing and start praying that I don’t get horribly maimed or disfigured during our coming battle. As I will detail, Cock-less and his buddies are clearly pyromaniacs–at least a third of the houses within the town limits have been burned to the ground, proving that resistance against the government was heavier than I would have assumed.

  Smokes had quite a bit to say about this paramilitary group and how they fit into our plotline. Not to be confused with the Main Antagonist, (the zombies, in this case), the Villain or Villains is a group of humans with malevolent intent. There is always more than one group of villains in the saga, but they normally never meet. The sadistic biker gang, for example, does not run into the pack of insane cannibals, the ironfisted, power-hungry ex-military unit, or the ragtag band of deviants that exist to cause as much havoc and destruction as possible. One group of bad guys will be terminated or temporarily disappear before the Main Protagonists come upon the next group. Not every set will necessarily be a large obstacle, but there will assuredly be at least one group of human enemies that will define the main characters and that the audience will find memorable. Others will be eliminated in a timely fashion.