Get Zombie: 8-Book Set

by Raymund Hensley

  IF I got home.

  The suspicion made me want to cry all over again, but I fought the urge. I had to be as quiet as possible. What time was it? I looked up at the sun. I guessed...three o’clock? I had no idea. Who was I? Crocodile friggin' Dundee? I had to hurry into the woods. I had to hide before it got dark. Maybe I'd make a little house of sticks. How hard could it be? If those fools in Survivor could do it, so could I. And I'm talking about the TV show, not the band.

  So I's tried to make a stick house, and it's impossible. Frakking impossible. Nothing worked. I needed strings or glue or I don't know what. I certainly couldn't waste time and dick around with a stick house. If it came down to it, I'd just sleep and hide under a stack of leaves and mud. Anything was better than freezing and getting the gangrene and losing my toes.

  What happened to Vol?

  Was she alive?

  Vol saved me. She bought me time to get away. She must've jumpkicked Granny right on the back. Vol sacrificed her life for me – FOR ME. How could someone do that? It was suicide. How does someone do that for another? And all I did was run, just like she ordered. I figured the was the best way to honor her now was to stay alive, or it was all for nothing. Ignore this paralyzing guilt. Just stay alive. Keep moving. Keep cliiiiimbing.

  My knees were at an all-time burn.

  I tripped on a rock and slid down the hill, screaming. I saw myself hitting that stream, my neck turned all the way around with my eyes all shocked at how bad a climber I was. But that didn't happen. Luckily, a tree hit me right between the legs. I was saved. Sore, but saved.

  Almost to the top. The first thing I thought of doing, once up there, was killing a rat or something and eating it. No, not a rat. I wasn't starving that much. Maybe a squirrel. They looked cuter. Cleaner. I'd hit it with a rock, and there would be no guilt. It was just the way of the world, the circle of life. What was the alternative? Death? So the squirrel lives but I, a being of higher consciousness, die?

  Pfft. I don't think so.

  Wait. Did we even have squirrels in Hawaii?

  I was losing it.

  I had to keep my mind straight.

  The hunger made my head dizzy, weak. I climbed. How was I even moving? Maybe aliens were controlling me, or at least shooting me with a kind of power beam. Of course! Yes! That had to be the answer. Thank you, aliens...you humanoids...you Andromedans...thank you! I know you're in the Bible. I know you helped make the great pyramids. You care about me. Thank you!

  The sun bit into my face. No skin cancer, please. I could hear my face sizzling. I scooped a handful of mud and smeared it all over my skin – arms, neck, face. Should I eat the stuff, too? I was so thirsty. That stream. Damn. I should have drank something – filter the salt through my shirt. That works, right? Sounds like it might. Maybe I could do that with the mud, and it worked! Sure, they were little drops, but they helped. No time. I had no time. I was shaking all over.

  So close to the top then. Food splattered into my mind like shit hitting a fan. All the time, just food, drink, food, ice cream, soda, cakes, rice, rice, rice, SPAM.

  Then my ears played tricks on me. I heard electricity snapping.

  I stopped, and my heart beats were in my throat.

  A thing was moving at the top of the hill, behind the trees...searching and stepping on branches. I was found out! I hit the dirt. She was going to splash her big mouth on my head and take my scalp off. My face would be in her pot, looking all sad. I wished her away. I prayed to the aliens for help. All I had to do was hold my breath and stay put. I'd just stay there all quiet-like.

  Then I heard a second person, and that made my eyebrow raise.

  “She'll come through here, I know it,” said the woman.

  “Yes, ma’am,” said some guy.

  “Where are the others?” the same woman said.

  “I did just like you asked and sent them all throughout this area.”

  Hands were on me.

  I screamed as someone scooped me up. I was under the arm of a beefy man that stank cologne.

  “Lookie what I found!” he said. “Can I keep it?”

  I was horrified. “No!” I said. “Put me down! She'll get you! Let me go!” Again, I felt like I was just wasting time. I had to keep moving. No one could protect me. Only Mandy's mum mattered. Only her arms around me would keep me safe. I had to get out of there. I beat my hands on his back.

  The man grunted.

  “No hitting!” And he put me down.

  I looked around at five people all dressed in black leather and utility belts, all carrying guns. Weirdos! I was surrounded by Gothic-wannabe freaks. Nowhere to run. The beefy man looked past me.

  “I always wanted a kid,” he said. “Would prefer a boy. Meh,” he shrugged. “Can I keep her, boss?”

  “No,” that woman said. She walked through the gang, and it was my asshole mum. She didn't seem at all surprised to see me.

  Nothing. Except, well...she looked a tad irritated. She had two pistols, one at each hip. They looked like pirate guns.

  Mum had a big ole cigar between her teeth. Her clothes were not what I call normal for her. She reminded me of a gogo dancer at a club for lonely businessmen. Something was very gross about her. I mean, more than usual.

  Mumma clapped her hands.

  “Ladies and germs...my daughter,” she said.

  Everyone whispered. The beefy man says, “Ohhh, so this is the one that got you in so much trouble.”

  I backed up.

  “I can't stay here. Pleasure meeting you all,” I said. “And Mum...I'll see you at home.”

  “Girl, don't you walk away from me.” She said it with such sass.

  I kept walking backwards. “Sorry. I have to go.”

  Mum looked to her army.

  “See what I have to put up with?”

  Mum's men stood in my way. She walked towards me.

  “How did you escape Thedral?”

  “Who?”

  “The aswang that took you.”

  “The old lady? Granny? We tried to make our escape, and...”

  “There's more of you?”

  “Yes, there are more of us. She has all these kids, all locked up. Had me in some dark meat room with this other girl. She saved my life.”

  Beefy-man raised his hand.

  “The aswang saved you??”

  I looked at him weird.

  “NO. My friend saved me. Vol saved me. And now she's dead with the other kids.”

  Mum's eyes widened.

  “Where are these kids? These little cash cows?”

  “They're all at Granny's trailer home.”

  “Granny?”

  “Thedral,” I said.

  Mum walked up and put her hand on my shoulder.

  “Take us there.”

  “NO! I'm not going BACK!”

  I tried to break free. Her hand turned into a vice. I cried out, “I'm not going back!”

  Mum shook me.

  “Take me to her! I'll kill her! Take me! You listen to your mother, or I'll shake the shit out of you!”

  The others looked away, embarrassed.

  I pointed back the way I came.

  She tossed me to the side, then paced around with her hand to her chin. I cried, yeah, but it was because I landed on a rock, right on my ass. I wanted her to go to the monster. Let her see for herself. Let her die. What did I care then? Mum.

  It was just a word. She was dead to me.

  Beefy-man walked up to Mum.

  “So this turns into a rescue mission?”

  Mum stopped walking back and forth.

  “No,” she said. “They didn't pay us extra for that.”

  She ordered them all to move out. One of her crew – a woman wearing shades – pulled on a rope, and three old women (looking like they were in their 80's) came out of the woods, all nude, all tied around the neck. Prisoners, I guessed.

  Aswangs. Beefy-man took my hand, and we were off, back down that hill, toward the stream. Ther
e was no point in struggling. This was it. I was being dragged along, and there was nothing I could do about it.

  About halfway down the hill, one of the old women starts hollering and bitching, screaming about how we are all going to die. She laughed the whole time. She's saying this all in Filipino. Mum translated for everyone.

  “Yes, yes, be warned, fools...” Mum said, not caring, picking her nails. “Powerful evil. BIG evil here. You all will die.

  You all will see our true power. Big, FAT evil. So strong. Hahahaha.”

  Everyone laughed and turned around, continuing their journey. The old woman went nuts and tried to eat her way through the rope like a rat. People were startled by all the ruckas and stopped to get their footing. Some people slid down some, holding onto branches and whatnot, hyperventilating and thanking Jesus.

  The beefy man marched up to her and commanded her to stop her bellyaching, because she was giving him a headache. He pulled on the hag's yellow hair as he told her what he wanted, and the old crone jumped up and bit into his nose, pulling it off with a POP! He slapped his hands over his holes to stop the gushing blood. All the aswangs made excited sounds and had their mouths wide open, tongues all wiggling, all trying to drink his mess. They jumped up and down with their sagging breasts dancing about to-and-fro. I was disgusted. Beefy-man wobbled away like a drunkard and squatted behind a bush, balling his eyes and nostrils out. Mum walked up to the aswang and made to blow the hag's brains out with her pirate gun.

  The girl with the shades hit the gun up. It fired off, the BOOM echoing over the mountains. A bird above us squawked dead, falling out from a tree and landing right into the last aswang's mouth – who just swallows it whole in a satisfying gulp.

  I expected her to give me a thumbs up. The nose-biting witch stood there shocked, eyes wide, waiting and sorry. She messed up. Now what?

  Mum turned to the girl with the shades, sticking her pirate gun under her chin.

  “You dare!?”

  The girl held her hands up in surrender.

  “Look, man...each aswang you kill costs us $100,000,” she said. “And you've already killed five.” She gulped and said, with respect, “...Boss.”

  Mum thinks, nods, then goes, “Hmm, right, right, silly me.” But she sounds a tad unsure.

  Mum put her gun away and turned right-quick around, slapping that nose-eating aswang straight across the face. Everyone winces. The witch fell back, and all the other witches she was tied to went down like dominoes. The last aswang hit the ground hard and puked up her half-digested meal. The bird, all steaming and featherless, tried to crawl for freedom, but it ended up just sitting there after awhile, just sitting there on its butt like a human would, too dead to do anything...just gave up hope. It sighed, and the sight of that bird was a hurtful thing for me.

  I wanted to pick it up and nurture it – keep it away from these loons. But I was pushed onward. We were off again, and I walked with my brain pointed in the opposite direction.

  At the stream, Mum and her men caught fish and stripped them, cooking the meat with pocket blowtorches. We all ate – and even the aswangs had some fish. Right, I figured; no way would they let the monsters die, not with all that money to be had. We had bottles of water, but we still had to be careful. Mum told us to take little sips now and then. They nodded.

  These tough guys were all afraid of her. No one argued. Her demands (that's what they sounded like, demands) were always met with nods. A nod here, a nod there, a nod everywhere. People moved fast, moved like people that really believed they were going to be rich. I got another strange feeling, that these same people would have no problem killing her, and maybe everyone else, to go home with more mullah. For sure, I had to get away from those people. I was not (NOT) in the same field of vibration. I was repelled by them. I could smell the greed everywhere. These people wanted big houses and even bigger cars. I saw one of Mum's men sitting by the stream, on a big ol' rock, his eyes closed with a big smile on his face, hands up, moving them around like he was driving a car. Awkward. All very awkward.

  The whole time, Mum didn't look at me, not even once. When she handed me food, it was with her eyes down at her feet. But I kept looking right at her face, winning in my own way. Winning what? I'm not sure; but it felt good.

  I thought about running off the whole time.

  I'd do it when the moon was up.

  When night came, Mum ordered the guys to build a quick hut. It began to drizzle; nothing too major. The aswangs were kept outside, shaking and weeping, all hugging each other to keep warm. (Damn if I felt a little sorry for them.) Mum's army slept like little lambs. She stayed awake, on the dirt, hands behind her head, looking up, not blinking. She farted once and smiled a little, but that was it, I swear. Her little army snored – snored LOUD, and that was good, because I didn't want to go to sleep. I was planning my escape. I wasn't going to wait for Mum to doze off. The time for action had come.

  I sat up.

  “I'm going outside to give a piss,” I said.

  Mum said nothing.

  Was she even awake? Was she sleeping with her eyes open? I went outside, past a campfire, and walked between the trees, finding one wide enough to hide me while I did my business. I kicked dirt over my mess and walked back to the hut and found the shades-wearing girl walking out from behind her own toilet-tree. She sat by the campfire and shoved a stick through three rats, dangling them over the fire. I sat next to her. She looked nice enough. With some people you just get that calming sense. I reached out to her.

  “Can I have some?”

  “Sure,” she said, running a stick through a rat and handing it to me.

  I hovered the rat over the licking flames, and the rat, which I thought was dead, opened its eyes and cried and wiggled around. It sounded like an old bicycle screeching to a stop. Then its fur exploded in flames, letting loose little sparks, and then it was still. I was so shocked, I almost dropped the thing. I just wanted it to cook fast so I could get that meat in my sore belly. It felt like Granny's punch never left my gut.

  Shades girl gave me a bottle of water and reminded me to just take little sips, imagining that each sip fulfilled me. That was key, she kept saying, to imagine it working.

  “Pain, hunger,” she went, “it's all in the mind.”

  And it worked! Well, I mean it seemed to work. I handed the bottle back, thanking her, and I studied her face as she sipped. She must've been around 19 or so. Something about her told me she'd been through a lot of crap. She took her shades off, and I saw thick, black lines under her eyes. She hadn't slept in days. I sneezed. The girl didn't move. Her eyes were locked on her cooked rats.

  “I hope your soul doesn't escape your body,” she said.

  I shot her a strange look.

  “What?”

  “That's what bless you really means. That's why people came up with it all those years ago.”

  She pulled a rat off the stick and blew on it, sniffing it. She poked her tongue at it.

  “My name's Janice,” she said.

  I shook her hand.

  “My name's Sasha. Are you friends with my mum?”

  “Not really. I'm just here for money.”

  “How did you meet?”

  “Church, up in Kaimuki. I went to pray, all by my lonesome, so imagine my surprise when I walked through those huge doors and found the place packed with all these people, all hollering in Filipino and broken English and clapping and cheering.

  Your mum was standing in front all of them, her arms waving in the air. She was screaming about how the aswangs – these witches, these vampires, these monsters – had to die. 'For our children!' she kept hollering. She said it would cost a lot of money to go out and catch the monsters, but the families didn't care. They would pay through the teeth, but they wanted the aswangs alive. There was a disturbing discussion about torture. Your mum was nodding her head. She then asked for even MORE money. 'Whatever you want!' the people screamed back. I heard a couple behind me a'jibberi
ng and a'jabbering about just moving away. Your mum said more things, and these churchgoers all ran off at the mouth; some looked mad, some were crying; some were biting their nails. Your mum asked if anyone was fearless enough to help her hunt the beasts. Most of the people there raised their hands and agreed to hunt with her. Most, I should add, that ended up wussing out, running off later on. Others in the church just looked down, ashamed, too scared – all talk but no guts.”

  “Did you raise your hand?”

  “No,” Janice said. “At the end of your mum's great speech, she walked the aisle and stopped by me. To my shock, she pointed at me, saying how she felt all this strength in me, how I MUST join her posse. And I agreed. I felt needed for once in my life. I had a purpose; and here was someone I felt safe around – someone I could trust. Before that day, I had no dreams...maybe just a vague sense of direction, that maybe I'd get into accounting.” Janice looked at me. “Your mum's a great lady. She was pissed off. She thought you were dead. She's doing all of this because of you.”

  I just sat there and tore into my cooked rat. Mum cares about me? Haha, it is to laugh. Actions speak louder than words, and it sure didn't SEEM like she missed me or anything. I felt that old rage burning up in my brain. I had to chill.

  Breathe. And besides, I didn't want to start an argument with Janice. She was one of the good ones. The last thing I wanted to do was leave a negative impression.

  “Thanks for the rat,” I said.

  Janice smiled and ate.

  “How is it?”

  “Tastes like...chicken,” I said. “BAD chicken. And dirt.”

  “Finish up and get some sleep.”

  “And you?”

  “Naw,” she said. “I have to stay up and watch for trouble.”

  “I read that if you don't sleep for 10 days, your body gives up and dies.”