“An equally naked woman was nearby, sitting on the couch. She had a beer in one hand and a needle in another – literally sticking out from the top of her hand, like someone stabbed her. A cigarette was in her mouth, and it had lit her whole head on fire. The flames were crazy, and I started to panic! I took off my shoes and started hitting her with them. Luckily, I was able to put the damn thing out before she burned the whole place down. Damn whores....I just don't understand them. The room was then filled with a strange sound, and I looked up and saw a mini, cloudy sky on the ceiling. It turned clockwise...made a popping sound. Things were in them – weird things...weird lights...weird moaning. I saw demon-faces. They flew out and went into Hanns and his prostitute. Their bodies twitched, like they had stuck their fingers in an outlet, and they stood up....They walked towards me, arms out, eyes red as gunshot wounds, tongues flapping in their mouths....They came right at me!”
The midget fell to his knees.
“It was horrible....” he said. “I ran out of there. This is bad for business, Mr. Boss. You can see that, can't you? Please....Help me.”
“Hmm,” I said. “Are they still in there?”
He thought for a second, standing up and dusting himself.
“I think so. YES. I remember now that I locked the door behind me.” He held my hand. “That hostel was handed down to me by my father. I loved him very much. He built his business during the 20's. He trusted me. I have to treat it well. I can't fail him.”
I walked him to the front door.
“I understand,” I said. “What's the address?”
He smiled and told me, reaching in his pocket for some keys.
Before I left, I woke Shells up and told her I had to go to work.
She said she understood...and for me to be careful.
I kissed her forehead.
Sweet kid.
Waikiki at night always made me feel dirty.
Here was a place spilling with drunken military people. They always seemed to be looking for fights. The streets were filled with slow-moving cars and cops and whores, and homosexuals that treated Waikiki like Halloween. Many arrests. You'd always hear a hip car go by – they'd always have a large speaker in the trunk. It was for attention, of course. The bass would send vibrations up and down your legs. At night, all the freaks come out to play. I walked with my head down, wondering how many of these people went to church. How many of them were God-fearing? How could they let themselves go? A very disrupting feeling in the air. Bad vibes. Uncertain frequencies. Anything could happen....And I hated that feeling. I needed control.
The bars spewed people – drunks. My ears were filled with a mix of all sorts of music: Country, R&B, Rock. My eardrums wanted to vomit.
A fight broke out in the middle of the street. White guys with military haircuts, dressed in bluejeans and polo shirts with the collars up, ran out from bars and formed a big circle. My heart raced. Big, muscular guys that meant business. Totally unpredictable personalities, capable of anything, afraid of nothing. Real men. I can't be seen. I forced my tiny body across the street to avoid that wild mess of screaming men & women and the thudding of fist on flesh. The crowd parted a bit, and I caught a glimpse of the combatants. A black army-man in full soldier attire, fighting with a Chinese biker-guy.
No one stopped them. I began to wonder, was this how it was in Waikiki during the 60's? 50's? 40's? Probably. Most definitely. Things never change, do they?
Where were the police? I imagined myself running in there – into that mob – and stopping the fight, telling everyone to go home. They'd respect me – be afraid of me, this little guy that meant business.
Crazy drunks. Crazy, bored tourists. To be honest, I feared those people more than the zombies.
Welcome to Waikiki.
I kept seeing these posters all over the place. They read, “Wanted! Have you seen this man?” There was a crude sketch of a man with an eye patch on them. Of ME. Apparently, I was wanted for kidnapping.
Goddamn.
I reached the hostel and walked up to the room the client told me about. Indeed, the smell was bad. My nose caved in. I took out the keys and opened the door. The place made me gag – turned my stomach. Those eggs were coming back up. I bit down on my hand to regain my control. It worked. I walked to the refrigerator and looked inside. I opened a soda and took a sip, soothing my innards.
No sight of the zombies.
The place was quiet.
But not quite.
There was a very soft sighing sound.
I walked to the bedrooms. The first one was filled with empty potato chip bags – hundreds of them, all littering the floor. Roaches saw me and froze. I walked to the next room...and saw the zombies. They were on the bed – sitting on the edge of the bed, eating something that looked like....
They were eating themselves.
The man was eating his own hand, and the woman....She was eating her own breast. The left one. I turned away for a second but then remembered I had a job to do. I reached back and pulled out my knives. The zombies were at me. They were faster than what I was accustomed to. They speed-walked! I couldn't believe it. I remembered Nora saying something about how zombies run sometimes, but I thought it was just a myth.
I went, “Yarrghh!” and fell back into the hallway, right through the wall, landing on my butt. I was in the bathroom, and my head had hit the toilet. Blood came out and covered my face. Those hyper zombies were at the hole in the wall, sniffing the air. My brain locked.
Now what???
I sat up, and the zombies were on me, holding me to the floor. I raised my knee and got the male in the genitals. He make a retching sound, and two bloody round things landed on my chest (I was lucky they didn't get all over my face). The female tore at my hair. I kicked the male away and grabbed the female's head and forced her face down the toilet, slamming the cover on her and pressing down hard – bashing her head over and over until I saw brain shoot out from her ears. She was still. The male growled and came at me again. I turned around and did a roundhouse kick and took its head off. It landed in the sink, looking around confused, mouth shaping vowels. The female came to and moved around. I took off the top toilet lid – damn thing was heavy – and slammed it over her head. She just blew up, and I made sure to shut my eyes and my mouth. I stumbled over to the bathroom sink. I washed her goo off my face. The zombie man's head was looking up at me. I picked it up by the hair and whacked it against the wall a few times until the skull cracked and green stuff came out. I had to jump back, not wanting that crap on my shoes.
I yelled, “Yaaa!” and threw the head down on the tiles, then grabbed that heavy toilet lid and dropped it on the head. It cracked in two, and the eyeballs came rolling out.
I stepped on them, and that was that.
After showering while trying to swat flies away from my face, I went outside and made my way to the nearest bus stop. I tore away as many of those dumb “Wanted!” signs as I could get my hands on, crumpling them up and tossing them behind bushes. I looked down at my feet and let my bangs cover my face when people walked by. One time, I heard a couple whispering to themselves, staring at me, pointing at me, so I sped up and turned a corner. I was having trouble breathing. My mind was betraying me: I kept getting visions of prison – hardcore prison, where they pass you around for cigarettes and do things to your body that make the baby Jesus cry.
I heard a woman arguing with someone.
Not being able to see too far, I squinted and slowly made my way toward her. It was a prostitute. She was trying to get out of a car. A real fancy one, too. The doors didn't open sideways, they went UP. It was a DeLorean, just like the one in Back To The Future. I was impressed and immediately jealous. The woman kept getting pulled back in. She screamed and whacked the guy – hitting him with her purse. She looked at me.
It was Lynn.
A look of shame crossed her face. Before she could say anything, the driver pulled her back in, and one of her high heels flew of
f and hit some woman in the eye. I ran to Lynn and grabbed her foot and pulled. The man inside was an older gentleman with white hair and a cigar in his mouth.
“Let go, you fool!” he yelled at me.
Lynn snarled at me.
“Get out of here, Boss!” she said. “Leave!”
That old man yanked on her hair.
“Gimme back my money!” he kept saying. “Gimme back my money, you useless whore!”
That old man began punching her in the face. I dove in with my elbow out – like a damn torpedo – and got him right in the nose. Blood shot out in clumps, and he slapped his hands over his face, crying like a baby, just, “Wah! Wah! Wahhhh!”
It was a little disturbing.
I took Lynn by the hand and dragged her away.
“Let go of me!” she said, hitting me with her purse. “You shouldn't be here, Boss! He'll see you!”
I was about to ask her a whole bunch of questions, when a beefy hand clamped down on my shoulder. My knees buckled, and I was on the ground, kissing concrete.
Slovoth had his other hand in Lynn's purse, digging around.
“Where's my money? I know it's in here, dammit,” he said.
Lynn was kicking him in the knees.
“Let go of him!”
He grabbed her face...and pushed hard. Lynn stumbled back about twenty feet, landed on her ass, and I heard something crack. She cried out. It was something I never heard before – a horrible sound of pain, like someone strangling a cat.
“My back....”
She said it soft, like it hurt too much to even speak up.
“My back, my back, my back. Jesus, my back....”
I took hold of Slovoth's fingers and bent them until they snapped. He shrieked like a fancy school girl and let me go. He brought his hand up to his face, holding his wrist, staring and drooling over his broken fingers. His hand reminded me of a swastika. I took him by the hair made his face meet my knee. He bounced back and did a cartwheel through the air, landing on a passing dog. The owner, he screamed and ran off, his dog whining behind him. At this point, a crowd had gathered, mainly military folk, men and women, black, white, Asian. They formed a circle around us. I jumped on Slovoth and bit him – sunk my teeth into his neck, his arms, his stomach, his nipples, and I tore away much flesh. All my anger just went into each bite, and I snarled and made wicked animal sounds as I worked. I felt alive! It felt right!
I helped Slovoth up by his broken fingers. He spat in my face. I punched him right between the eyes. My hand cracked a little, and the pain was like lightning shooting up my arm. The crowd cheered. They clapped and cheered for me, and it felt good.
Some of the people watching were looking at me all funny...like they somehow knew me. Many of them were on their phones. I heard police sirens in the distance. Slovoth just stood there on wobbly knees, head spinning, eyes to the stars – just standing there, covered in bite marks. Pieces of him – chunks of him – were all over the place, steaming, nerves twitching. I shoved my finger in my mouth and felt around, picking and spitting out whatever remained of Slovoth between my teeth. I pulled Lynn up and was about to walk away, when a van pulled up.
It opened, and the Pope reached out for my hand. His goons helped us in, and we drove off. I looked out the back window and saw that crowd running after us – cheering at us.
At me.
The walls of the van were covered in what appeared to be kid-drawings: There was one of a man conquering a tall demon and one of the same man fighting on the street. The man had an eye patch, and it didn't take me long to realize that it was me. That same woman I saw earlier – the one with the wires coming out of her head – was there, still sitting in the dark next to the doctor. A crayon was in her hand, and she was drawing something: Me in a giant van, surrounded by some people. She stared at me, and I was impressed how she could draw so well without looking down. Lynn had her head on my lap. She stared up at me. It was like I could read her mind.
Everything will be all right, she was saying. I won't let anything happen to you, she was saying. I love you. Boss, I hope you can hear me. Hear me, she was saying. Boss...I love you. I will always love you, no matter what happens.
I ran my fingers through her hair.
“I know,” I said. “I love you, too.”
She smiled.
A throat next to me grunted. That Pope held out his little offering plate.
“I think you know what I want,” he said, shaking the plate. I was drawing a blank. What was he talking about? The Pope seemed to understand. He smiled. “That little gig you did at that house – with the giant demon. Our holy psychic got the vision a little late, so we couldn't get there in time to collect. But now that we're finally all together....” He shook the plate again. A few coins were in it.
So I paid them their share. I figured it was fair. They DID just save us from the cops.
I reached back and took out my wallet. The Pope's eyes grew wiiiiiiiide in anticipation. He licked his lips. Before I could place the money on his rattan plate, the van JUMPED, and we all flew up into the air and hit the ground hard. The Pope's goons were moaning and massaging their limbs and their heads and grabbing at one another, helping one another. The van made a loud scream, took a tight right turn, and then...SPLASH. I just knew...I just knew we were in the Ala Wai Canal. Bad water. Bad sewage. A man died in that canal. After a fight, covered in bruises, he fell in and went to the hospital. His body pretty much swelled to a comedic state, and he blew the hell up. I just kept thinking, Don't fall in. The last thing you wanna do is open your mouth, eyes, or ass. All holes are doomed. All-holes-are-doomed.
The van was on its side.
Everyone was in a mad panic, stepping over themselves. I caught a glimpse of the Pope. His goons were running all over his head, crushing him. They had no idea what they were doing. One of them reached UP and pulled the side door open and climbed out – they all climbed out, thanking Jesus and kissing the air. The van began to sink – it rumbled. A black box labeled “Van Tools” slid next to my foot. I heard the goons outside screaming. It was a fight! I could hear meat being tenderized. I grabbed Lynn and pushed her UP through the van's side door.
“My back....” Lynn begged.
“Jump down,” I told her. “I'm right behind you.” I looked down and saw the holy psychic and her doctor. They just sat there, smiling at me, holding each other. I was about to say something, but the psychic seemed to already know, which makes sense.
“We're staying,” she said. “Our time has come.”
The doctor nodded.
“I've been praying for this glorious day!”
And then they embraced and kissed in a sloppy way, hands going into greasy areas. I believed they were turned on. So be it. Lynn jumped, and I heard a splash, followed by her screaming out in pain. I climbed up and looked around. A cool breeze slapped me in the face, and I got goosebumps. All these people were standing on their balconies, pointing at us – at this van in the stink canal – taking pictures – flash, flash, flash. Japanese tourists chattered in excitement, giggling with their hands over their mouths, nodding and going, “Oh! Sugoi! Sugoi!”
I looked down to the street.
Slovoth was beating the hell out of the goons with a big-ass wrench. The oafs were all on the ground, all on their faces, shivering in pools of their own filth, scalps dark and bloody. Slovoth was riding someone's back, sitting on them, hammering away at the back of their head. Slovoth looked exhausted, sounding like he had asthma. He heard Lynn moaning again as she tried to swim across the canal. He pointed his wrench at her and began screaming at her – screaming hateful things. A canoe filled with kids floated by the van. They were all on their cell phones, and I just kept thinking, Dammit. The cops!
Slovoth jumped in the water, and Lynn turned around, making her way back to the van. I went back down and opened the toolbox and took out a hammer. The holy psychic and the doctor were naked and doing normal things. They ignored me. I put the hamm
er between my teeth and reached up and climbed out. What I saw next shattered my insides. If this were the movies, the camera would've zoomed in fast on my face to showcase my horrified reaction.
Slovoth was strangling Lynn, forcing her head under the water. He cried while he worked.
I jumped down and swam toward them (amazing, because I didn't know how to swim).
Slovoth, blinded by his rage, by his strangling, didn't notice me come right up and swing that hammer upside his Russian head. I gave it all I had – ALL MY POWER – yelling out as I did so. Something flew out of his face, and I think it was an eyeball. I jumped on him and made a real mess of his face. Slovoth made a sound like a baby and splashed on the water, sinking, sinking.
I dragged Lynn to the street and gave her CPR, pumping her chest, doing all the things I saw people do in the movies. Tourists were on the sidewalks, staring. I yelled at them for help, but they just stood there, stupid. A legless woman on one of those motorized carts rode up.
“I just called the cops!” she was crying. “Oh, God!”
I said, “Thanks,” and held Lynn's head close to my ear.
Nothing.
I said her name over and over. She wasn't moving or anything. Her hands were cold...limbs lifeless. I did the thing where I checked for her pulse on her neck and wrist (both wrists), but I couldn't feel anything, couldn't feel a pulse. Was I even doing it right?? Her eyes were open, and that wasn't good. Police sirens again, getting close. I could see their lights. The itch to flee consumed me.
I didn't want to leave her side. I said something...whispered something.
Wish I could remember what that was.
When I went home, the place was swimming with cops. I hid in the bushes, shaking, scared. It was strange. All I wanted to do then was kill zombies. Just run away and kill as many zombies as possible. Nauseous. The police lights made me wanna throw up.
Get Zombie: 8-Book Set Page 44