“How much do you go for?”
“$3,000 per night of hot action.”
“Weeeellllll....”
“Well what?”
“I was thinking more like...two hundred dollars.”
“Sorry. That's not enough. I have rent due. Terribly sorry.”
He sighed.
“No need to feel sour about it. I understand. The economy is dreadful. We're all in need of work. But if you can't do the job, there are other hunters in Hawaii. I recall my wife saying she heard great things about a Mr. Boss?”
Dammit. I was losing my client. I got a vision of my landlord kicking me out on the street. My voice came out high – desperate.
“No!” I said. “I'll do it. Two hundred is fine.”
“I thought you said you can't help me.”
“Never mind that. I was just testing you.”
“Testing me?”
“Yes – and you passed. See, I'm very picky about who I work for. I only do business with good people. People with heart. People with class. That, good sir, is you.”
He laughed.
“I'm blushing! So you'll take the job?”
“Sign me up.”
“Ma'velous!” the old man said. “Now listen to me very carefully....”
He gave me directions on where to go.
And so I went.
Welcome to Waianae.
As I drove through town in my dying, yellow car, I saw a group of local thugs beating up a white man with canoe paddles. They yelled at the guy to give them back their land. Ludicrous demands. Didn't make any sense. Locals just walked by. No one cared. The thugs were deaf to the man's screams for mercy. I hit the gas and drove into the mob and sent them flying. Locals just strolled by. No one cared. I gave the white man a knife, told him to be careful, and zoomed toward Loyd's pig farm.
It was night when I got there. I sat and thought things over.
Good Lord, what are you doing here? Your life isn't worth a pathetic two hundred dollars. You shouldn't be doing this.
“Shut up,” I told myself. “It's money. I'll take what I can get.”
I got out and opened the trunk, looking around at my various weapons: Small knives, nunchucks, a hammer, holy water, and a gun with some silver bullets. I put some knives and the gun in my pants and slammed the trunk. I usually didn't use guns, but with the rise in werewolf activity, it seemed like a smart move. No way was I gonna run up and wave a goddamn blade in a werewolf's face. The gun was over ten years old – something I found on a zombie years ago. You find a bunch of things on them: Candy, spoons, money, pills, dolls, tax forms, small cameras, and other odd things family members leave on them at funerals for unknown reasons. Whenever something falls out of a zombie, I take it and pawn it or try to make use of it. Usually pawn it. Why waste?
The farm spooked the heck out of me. I always had a problem being in the middle of wide, open spaces – especially at night. Pigs were all over the place, making all sorts of unsettling noises. Loyd, carrying a bucket of slop, walked up to me and shook my hand.
“Glad you could make it.” He looked at my arms. “A little skinny to be murdering zombies, eh? How old are you? 21?”
“I'm 33, sir.” I frowned and yanked my hand away. “You ain't gonna find no one cheaper – or better – than me, I can promise you that much.”
The rich man smiled. “My apologies. I'm depressed.”
He reached into his bucket and threw some slop at his pigs. The animals went crazy for their meal. So much noise. Sounded like kids being slowly run over by cars.
“Come get some!” Loyd told his pigs. “Come get some wonderful slop.”
Whatever was in that bucket smelt like dead things.
“Lovely creatures...these buzzing beasts,” I said with my hands over my ears. I was being sarcastic.
“So true!” he said. “And they're so smart. So beautiful – so full of life. Which brings me to why you're here.” He put an arm around my waist and walked me to the farmhouse. His touch was delicate. “I need you to watch my pigs while me and the wife attend a fancy party.”
“Me? Out here with these filthy, giant rodents?”
“I can't have those zombies killing my babies – not one.” He stopped walking. “We are scientists – me and the wife – and we've genetically modified these pigs to 'house', if you will, human internal organs. I've transformed these pigs into horizontal angels, and they will revolutionize how we do transplants. I'm a genius.” He motioned with his chin over to some pigs nearby. “That one there is carrying around human intestines, that one a liver, that one a kidney, that one a heart, and this one....” He reached down and picked up a pig that squirmed in his arms. “This one here is called Sandy. She's got human eyes.”
I looked at the pig's petrified face.
I pulled away my gaze.
A shiver went through me.
“You're mad,” I said.
He snickered.
“As a matter of fact, my boy, I'm quite happy. See, these creatures will make us very rich.”
“Us?”
“Me, the wife, and you,” he said. “With all the money that's going to be pouring in, I plan to buy a bigger farm, buy a bigger lab, and buy more guards. If all goes well tonight, my boy, I'd like to hire you to be head of security. Whaddya say?”
He put his hand out, and I shook it.
“I'm your man,” I said, smiling. I couldn't believe it! My luck was finally turning around. At last! The future was mine. There was a God.
We walked into the house. The smell of bacon and eggs filled the kitchen. A fat pig had been strung up in there, spread eagle and all. Loyd's wife cut the beast open with a sword, and all its guts spilled out and splashed into all sorts of buckets. The black woman was beefy – a giant meatball with extremities.
“I hope you guys be hungry,” she said. “I'm on a roll.”
Loyd seemed nervous. He was shorter than her by many inches. I found it an odd, almost humorous sight. He dragged me into the kitchen.
“This is that zombie expert I was telling you about, dear.”
She looked me up and down.
“He don't look tough,” she said, and put her arm on the table. “Let's arm wrestle.”
I was shocked.
“What the hell for?”
“I wanna be sure.”
“Of what?”
“That you're as good as you think you are,” she said. “I don't wanna be payin' handsomely for no loser. Now let's arm wrestle! Prove your worth! Don't make me mad. Don't get me irked.”
She reached out for me, hand opening and closing. Loyd took her giant paw and kissed it.
“Broomhelda, please...let's not scare the man. He's our guest.”
She threw up her arms like she was giving up on the world. The fat under her massive arms jiggled.
“If a little lady like me scares him, what makes you think he gonna handle those zombies? I have to be careful. My life's work is on the line!”
I raised a finger.
“Wait. You made those pigs?”
She smiled.
“Years and years of research and experimenting, little man.”
“I thought Loyd was the genius.”
She laughed.
“What? He just gets me them pigs. He ain't no thinker.”
Loyd hugged her.
“We make a good team.”
They kissed – tongues darting in and out – mouths making all sorts of wet noises. After that revolting scene, Broomhelda went back to cutting her dangling pig. She shoved a fork into its face and yanked out an eye, throwing it onto a noisy frying pan.
“I told you to call that other one...that Doktor Boss,” she said. “I heard he be real good. I trust them news folks on the TV. Get this little man out of my kitchen. I ain't hiring him. What am I? Psychotic?”
This meatball was onto me! I had to think fast. I sat at the table and slammed my arm on it. Dishes and forks rattled.
“Fine!” I sai
d. “You wanna arm wrestle? You wanna SEE what I gots to give? Let's go! Me and you!”
She smiled.
“Ahhh, good. Realll goood.” She sat down and took my hand, pumping it. “Loyd, honey, count us down.”
It was then that I noticed a bandage wrapped around her wrist.
Loyd shook his head.
“My friends, please. I have a better idea. How about we have tea and bacon? No need for this weirdness. This is completely unnecessary.”
Broomhelda never took her eyes off me.
“I'll say it ain't. Hmph! This be my money you paying him. Now count us down. I'm in heat!”
“Whatever you say, lover. I'm sorry to have angered you.”
He put his hand over ours.
“Ready? On the count of three.”
The kitchen hushed. The split-pig dripped its gore – that tongue sticking out. Loyd looked like he was ready to jump back.
“One...two...THREE!”
Broomhelda's eyes exploded, and down my arm went – but I stopped her – able to hover my hand just an inch over the table. She seemed surprised.
“You ain't nothing!”
The fat on her face jiggled. She poured sweat. I was grinding my teeth. Summoning everything I had, I turned my wrist and pulled to the side. Our hands were upright again. I had her. I had her good, and she knew it. Broomhelda frowned, staring dead at me in disbelief. Then something got my attention.
As our hands continued to shake, my eyes were drawn to the TV in the next room. A priest was being interviewed on a talk show. As I listened to him, all the other sounds around me – Broomhelda's moaning, those utensils dancing on the table – all faded away. The TV wanted me. I was hypnotized.
“Life is like a video game, and we're all being played for fools,” the priest said. “That game character on the screen is you. Everything feels real. Being in that TV box is all you know. But,” he said, “you're being controlled the whole time. You think your actions are yours, but they're not. And you're not being controlled by some stranger or unloving god. You're being controlled by yourself. Your higher self. That wiser part of you.” He leaned forward. “And of course people have such a hard time getting in contact with their spirit – believing they even have a spirit. It would be like you, as this video game character, turning around and looking the gamer in the eyes. It can happen. December 21, 2012, is the key. It's when we transform. It's when we connect with our higher selves and...evolve.”
Reality slapped me in the face, and I was back at that table, arm wrestling. Loyd was jumping up and down, grinning, excited. Broomhelda shook her head like a crazy person, hair whipping, sweat flying everywhere. She was moaning in capital letters. And then God smiled down on me. Broomhelda's wrist exploded in a rain of blood. Her bone stuck out – veins wiggling around like excited worms. Loyd screamed and ran up the stairs. Broomhelda gripped her wrist. She didn't shriek. She just looked mildly disappointed.
“Goddamn,” she went. “That's the third time this year. Oh, well.”
Loyd came running back and wrapped her wrist with a bandage. He was crying violently. It was embarrassing. Broomhelda sat back and exhaled and looked at me, squinting, nodding her head and going, “Hmmm. Hmmmm.” She smiled to the love of her life. “Loyd?”
“Yes, lover?”
“Pay this man.”
Loyd handed me an envelope and smiled at me and messed my hair up like a dad would his son. The envelope burned in my hand – a reminder of the sad amount inside. The Devil, complete with red leotard and plastic pitchfork, was leaning in the doorway and smoking a cigar. He was counting money, fanning them like playing cards. He laughed at me and said, “So, I hear your selling your soul for $200? Deal!”
He threw the money in my face. The bills exploded into smoke, as did the Devil. I looked away and shuddered. Broomhelda got up.
“Lover, help me put on that purple dress I like,” she said. “We have a party to go to.” As she walked by, she put a hand on my shoulder. “You just taught me a valuable lesson.”
We had a moment. It was nice.
As they went upstairs and got dolled up, I thought about that priest on the TV. If I could turn to my personal gamer, I'd say:
“Give me a hand here. Help me out. Help me win this game.”
But how to do it? How to suddenly – turn around?
Broomhelda and Loyd came back down, wished me luck, and drove off in their beat up, white truck. The thing was a dinosaur – a time traveler right from the 1930s, and it looked like it was having a seizure as it rattled off into the night. So there I was, waving them away, all alone in that field.
Well, not totally alone. Did I mention I was surrounded by a whole mess of smelly-ass, weirdo pigs?
It was a full moon.
An hour went by.
Keep your brain open. Get ready. Get ready for anything queer.
My legs hurt. I was instructed to just stand there in the middle of those pigs, next to the woods, and keep my peepers open. So that's what I did. Well, for a little while. After a few minutes of standing, I said to hell with it and goofed around. I sat on a pig to rest my legs, even rode around on one. They didn't like it and started shrieking. So I got off and apologized. Did they understand me? Did they also have – dare I say it – human brains? I thought, If I see a pig with a human face, I'll shit.
I reached into my pocket...looked around out of habit...and pulled free a bottle of whiskey. I gulped half of it down and started to feel real good. When the field started to spin, I heard a motor – a truck coming my way. I narrowed my eyes to get a better look. Were they already back so soon? Did they forget something? It was their truck, yup, but Loyd wasn't driving. What I saw behind that wheel froze my bones.
The white truck was driven by a werewolf – the first I'd ever seen with my own eyes. All the strength went out of my legs. I wanted to scream like a little girl. The werewolf was HUGE and barely fit inside the truck. It parked – those ancient brakes complaining. The werewolf got out. It was eating someone's leg. It took a final bite and threw the leg away and stretched and yawned. I ducked, and the pigs cried out. My mouth jumped.
“Shut up, you pigs. For the love of all that's holy, keep quiet.”
I grabbed one – Sandy – and put my hand over her mouth.
“Please, you'll get me eaten out.”
The werewolf saw my tiny car and looked around and sniffed the air, then shrugged and tore my car apart – yanking out the tires and engine. My soul gave up. All I could do then was sit there and expect to die. The werewolf opened the fence and started taking some pigs, filling the back bed of the truck. The monster went to get more. It was getting too close to me. What if it finds me? What do I do? Fight the damn thing? Am I mentally ill? Maybe I can make a run for the woods. Maybe, maybe, maybe. Then the pigs in his truck start crying and such, running here and there. I saw Loyd and Broomhelda in that truck – looking like they were trying to eat those screeching hogs.
They're zombies, I thought. Praise Jesus!
The werewolf ran to save his pigs – ran and tore those zombies apart. Arms and guts flew high into the air. Loyd's torso landed right on my head. His nervous eyes were on me. Sandy licked Loyd's face. His jaw went up and down like he was trying to tell me a secret. I leaned in.
“I'm sorry,” I whispered. “I hope you make it into Heaven. Put in a good word for me.”
The werewolf very carefully got more pigs and filled the back of the truck until no more could fit, then it got in and drove off. I got up. My hands and legs shook. I just stood there for a long time, weeping with that pig oink-oinking at me. I almost died. Total shock. You know how people say you see your whole life flash behind your eyes? Lies. I saw nothing. 100% paralysis.
After a few minutes of me just staring into the night with my brain filled with static, another truck drove up to the house. Time to skedaddle. I put piggy down and ran to the woods. I hid behind a tree and watched as this other werewolf with large breasts got out and fi
lled the truck with pigs. It zoomed away, and another truck came right up after it and did the same. Werewolves stealing pigs. Why? Were they gonna sell them?
I started thinking about the police and panicked and got out of there – ran fast as shit with my heart thudding in my ears.
I woke up at a bus stop across from the ocean. Morning time. Orange sky. Where was I then? Still in Waianae? Was I dead? Was I finally in Heaven? No idea. Too tired to think. I wasn't in the mood to ask the bum sleeping next to me with his head on my lap. I felt something in my pants and pulled it out.
The gun.
I “forgot” to use it.
Screams for help. Down the road, those same local thugs from earlier were beating up a white woman with canoe paddles. I ran up and shot my gun in the air and scared the bad men away. I gave the woman my gun.
“Don't let them spoil your stay. We're not all assholes. Hawaii no ka 'oi.”
And then I took the bus home.
Took me two hours.
End of sample.
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ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Raymund Hensley is the author of Filipino Vampire, Get Kilt: A Zombie Pill, and Transdolphin. He lives in Honolulu, Hawaii.
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Get Zombie: 8-Book Set Page 59