“Smitty.”
I opened my eyes and squinted at the boy who stood before me, shading my eyes with a cupped hand.
“S’up, Ballister?”
Tommy Ballister squatted down and began picking small pebbles from the ground as he cocked his head first to the left, and then to the right.
“You hear? The Emperor picked the Thompsons to be the Fire Bringers this time.”
He spat a glob of spit into the dirt and rattled his collection of small rocks in his hand as he looked up at me.
“Yeah, Skinny Tyrell said somethin’ about it earlier. He was pissed ’cause his family has never been picked and this is the second time for the Thompsons.”
Tommy leaned in so close that I could smell the rankness of his breath as he rocked back and forth on the balls of his feet. He glanced over both shoulders before dropping his voice to a whisper.
“I bet old lady Thompson is sucking his cock.”
“Whose? Skinny’s?”
Tommy laughed and shook his head as if he’d just seen a trained mouse perform an elaborate trick.
“Fuck no, rotter brain… the Emperor.”
I turned this over in my mind and tried to imagine Mrs. Thompson with her head bent over the Emperor’s lap. This time, it was my turn to laugh.
“No way, Ballister. He probably just feels sorry for them. Because of Sarah and everything.”
“Shit, man, who wouldn’t feel sorry for them? Having that little zombie lover for a daughter? Probably why she’s so sick… done caught the walking death from her little friends.
I bet she’d suck off one of the bastards if she had the chance. Probably even go all the way with the stinkin’ sons of bitches.”
I felt my left hand clench and imagined how it would feel to drive that fist right into Tommy Ballister’s nose: the sharp crack of bone, the squish of blood and mucus, the surprise and pain in his murky eyes. But, instead, I simply glanced over at the flatbed where Freddy and Sadie had now launched into a duet about islands in a stream. What the hell did that even mean, any way?
“I’m thinkin’ about going for the pig.” I said, changing the subject. “I think I could probably take just about anyone who….”
“No, you’re not.”
Tommy had begun chucking the little pebbles in his hand at the flatbed and they pinged off the metal at erratic intervals.
“Oh yeah, asshole? And why’s that?”
He had no clue exactly how close he was to getting the beating of his life. Every frustration, every time I’d ever caved and spat insults at Sarah, every iota of pent up anger would be taken out on his freckled, little face and it would take all of the Emperor’s guards to pull me away.
“Because, “ he said with a smile, “I been talkin’ to Carlos. We’re in, man. We’re fuckin’ in!”
I sat up so quickly that a wave of dizziness overtook me and my anger dissipated like fog in the morning sun.
“The Nation? Don’t shit me, man. I swear to God if you’re….”
“I wouldn’t pull your leg, Smitty. Not about somethin’ like this.”
Inside, I felt like turning somersaults all the way to the Thompson’s home, scooping Sarah’s fevered body to mine, and planting a kiss on those dry, chapped lips of hers. I wanted to laugh and dance, to jump up on the stage with Freddy and Sadie and lend my voice to their pathetic song.
“Fuck, man. Fuck….”
Tommy was grinning like a toddler eating rat as a smile devoured the lower half of his face, revealing rows of crooked teeth marred with dark cavities. He tossed his last pebble and it thudded against Freddy’s guitar, distracting the man just long enough to elicit a jangled chord that otherwise would have rang out like the tolling of a bell.
“Yeah, I’m sayin’. Carlos says we just gotta pass initiation and then we’re full fledged members. You and me, my man… The Rotter Nation, all the way!”
“What we gotta do?”
“I dunno. Somethin’ he called skinning the freshy. Whatever the fuck that is. Doesn’t matter anyway, fuckwad. The point is, we’re fuckin’ in, man!”
VI. THE ANTICIPATION OF THINGS TO COME
The rest of the day passed in a blur. I hung around the judging table as the Emperor tasted each dish before him, nodding his approval for some and simply shaking his head at others. I watched the sun slowly make its arc across the sky, wishing there was some way I could help it on its way, that I could push it closer and closer to the horizon. I half-watched the wrestling but the cheers of the crowd sounded as if they were miles away and my mind kept turning a single phrase over and over, trying to decipher its hidden meaning.
Skinning the Freshy.
I couldn’t even begin to fathom what secrets were cloaked in those three words. Would it require strength? Agility? Cunning?
Skinning the Freshy…
Or maybe it was just some sort of ritual that was completed; I’d heard rumors that Los Muertos required their new initiates to slice their thumbs with a special knife that was kept in a velvet lined box and used exclusively for this particular rite. Supposedly, each member of the gang also did this and then allowed their blood to drip into a cup shaped like a human skull.
When they’d collected enough, the new members would make some sort of solemn pledge and then drink for the crimson stained cup until not even the smallest drop remained.
Skinning the Freshy.
Was it something like that then? Nothing more than some silly little ceremony and an oath of allegiance? No, that didn’t seem like The Nation’s style. They were the toughest of the tough, the most daring gang to walk the streets of Free Town. I was sure that gaining entrance into their club would require something more extreme. Something that would actually demonstrate the loyalty a new member could otherwise simply mouth.
All I knew for certain was that Tommy and I were supposed to meet Carlos by the dump truck once darkness had fallen. Everyone else would be on the platforms, listening to the Emperor’s speech as the dead below attempted to scramble up the side of the wall. The corpses would be clustered in the trench that had been dug so long ago and, at the appointed time, one of the royal guard would tilt the red, plastic can into the end of the pipe that ran through the wall. A smell unlike any other in Free Town would waft from the end of the pipe as liquid gurgled through its passageway and fumes wavered in the air above its opening. The Thompsons would then bring the ceremonial torch and light it with one of the matches reserved especially for the celebration.
From past experience, I knew there would be a great whoosh and a mushroom of flame would rise from the end of the pipe, bathing the Fire Bringers in a reddish-orange glow. At the same time, the fire would race along the inside of the pipe, burning the sharp smelling liquid that had been poured into it, and emerging from the other side like a river of flames. The fire would quickly engulf the rotters below and the night would be filled with the crackling and hissing of sun-dried flesh as the crowd above let out a deafening cheer.
But, for the first time in my life, I wouldn’t be there to help rain down sticks and wood upon the fiery zombies who still tried to scale our defenses; I wouldn’t breathe in the stench of burning bodies and laugh as what was left of their brains boiled away into a thick sludge that oozed from every orifice in their heads. I wouldn’t see their crispy forms drop, one by one, into the trench, robbed of whatever strange magic had kept the alive even after death.
No, I would be taking the first steps to becoming a member of The Rotter Nation. I would be proving my worth.
I would be skinning the freshy.
And I couldn’t wait.
VII. THE INITIATION
Carlos led Tommy and I through the deserted streets of Free Town at a quick pace and we scrambled to keep up with him. Even though the rest of the population were gathered along the platforms on the outskirts of town and we were cutting through the very center, we still spoke in hushed tones.
“You guys want to have an alibi at the ready.” Carlos
instructed. “People’ll want to know why you weren’t at the burning and ya gotta tell ’em something. And ya gotta keep your stories straight, dig?”
“What about you? What’s your cover, Carlos?”
Carlos glanced back over his shoulder and flashed a toothy smile in the moonlight.
“Oh man, I got it made. My aunt and uncle? They were picked to be the Fire Bringers, right? Only with that little bitch bein’ so sick they were worried ’bout leaving her all by herself. Afraid she might do us all a favor and up ’n die while they were away or something.”
Carlos’ voice almost cracked with delight as the words spilled out of his mouth.
“So I says hey Auntie Juanita, no sweat… I got you covered, man. You guys go to the Burning and I’ll keep a close eye on Sarah for ya. ”
Tommy giggled like a little girl and slapped his hand against the side of his leg.
“Oh, man… and they bought that shit?”
“You bet your sweet ass they did. ’Course they tried t’ play it off like it was too much t’ ask, ya know? But I could tell by th’ look in their eyes that they’re just as sick of bein’ ’round that little cunt as me.”
I felt as if my soul were tied to the center of the rope in a cosmic game of tug-of-war. I thought of Sarah: the soft contours of her cheeks and chin, her long wispy hair blowing in the breeze as she smiled and cast her gaze toward her feet. I thought of her and wanted nothing more than to speak up, to tell Carlos and Tommy that they had it all wrong with her. She was good and sweet and funny and if they lost their baby brother they’d probably be a little wigged out, too. She wasn’t all that bad… in fact, she was the closest thing to perfection this town had to offer.
I cleared my throat, feeling the need to say something but also like my neck was being squeezed by an infinitely strong hand. Carlos and Tommy turned to look at me with arched eyebrows and the older boy shrugged as if to say, “What gives?”
“Dirty fuckin’ zombie lover.”
The moment the words crossed my lips, I felt as if an invisible rotter had devoured everything within me that was ever worth a damn and left only a hollow shell in its place.
“Damn straight, brother. Ain’t no room in The Rotter Nation for zombie lovers. You’re gonna fit right in. Living Power all the way, baby.”
The next few moments were spent in silence. As we walked, we could hear the Emperor’s voice delivering his address; but the celebration was so distant that it sounded as if the words were reaching us through the corridors of time. Finally, we stood before the flaps of a familiar tent and I felt the contents of my stomach churn as I bit my bottom lip.
Carlos had turned to face us and his pock-marked skin almost seemed to glow in the soft light of the moon. He was smiling as if the greatest surprise in the world lay just on the other side of that mud-stained canvass.
“What… what are we doing here?”
In the distance, the crowd roared amid thunderous applause. The Emperor, then, had concluded his speech and The Burning was about to commence. And, at that moment, I wanted to be there on the platforms; I wanted to be wedged shoulder to shoulder with my mom and dad, all of our neighbors, to be just another face in the throngs of people peering over the edge of the wall.
Carlos’ grin widened and his eyes seemed to twinkle with mischief.
“You boys ready to skin the freshy?”
Tommy and I were so quiet that you could have heard the sweat drip from my armpits. I wanted to turn and run, to forsake the Rotter Nation and all they stood for; I wished for an antique firearm or a heavy wooden club, anything that would bolster my strength and confidence. But in the end, I simply shuffled inside as Carlos threw back the flap and swept his free arm in a beckoning motion.
A few lanterns flickered inside the tent and caused shadows to dance across the walls like demons celebrating the return of their master. A threadbare carpet with interlocking shapes was spread across the floor beside a pile of books and personal effects were strewn about almost haphazardly: mounds of clothing, cooking utensils, a smattering of faded photographs propped against rocks and bricks and metal shelving that seemed to defy gravity with its bent frame.
In a way, I felt as if I had somehow stepped inside one of those old photos. Like I was hovering somewhere just outside the camera’s scope, looking on at the scene before me; not a participant but a casual observer, distanced and aloof.
Sarah was tied to and old bed like someone who was about to be drawn and quartered.
Her arms and legs were splayed out wide, the ropes digging so deeply into her wrists and ankles that the surrounding skin seemed to overlap the tight cords. She struggled against the restraints, writhing and pulling as if she could somehow rip the bedposts from the frame. Lying in the floor was a white nightgown that looked as if it had been ripped and shredded by some wild animal.
Tears had begun to sting my eyes and I felt cold inside, so cold that I doubted if I could ever know the warmth of the sun again. I tried to speak, to say something, to say anything; but that powerful hand now gripped me so tightly that I began to swoon from lack of air.
Sarah’s skin was pale… so damn pale. Her bare midriff, the curves of the breasts I had so often dreamed of seeing and touching and tasting…
But not like this, good Lord, not like this, not like this….
Not a single goosebump or dimple to mar its alabaster surface. Just a thin network of bluish veins spreading like roots just beneath the surface of her flesh.
Her head was wrapped in some kind of clear plastic so tightly that her eyes and mouth formed small dips.
Her eyes, sweet Jesus, her beautiful eyes….
Any glow which had once taken residence there had now fled, leaving only two lusterless orbs which tracked Carlos’ movements through the room. Through the plastic wrap, I could barely make out these little black specks that seemed to somehow float in the whites of her eyes.
No, no, no….
Carlos ripped the plastic away from her face and she immediately tried to lunge forward, her teeth clacking like stones as she gnashed at the air. She seemed more animal than human. Not at all like the girl I’d fantasized of taking into my arms, of nuzzling and kissing and caressing.
“Time to skin the freshy, boys.”
It was the voice of the devil, dripping poison with each syllable.
“I don’t… I…”
A scowl passed over Carlos’ face and his eyes narrowed into mere slits.
“Look here, you little pussies, you wanna be in The Nation or not? We got fifteen minutes tops before I gotta put on my little production, turn on the waterworks, and tell everyone how poor little Sarah went quietly in her sleep and how I had to take care of her when she reanimated.”
“We don’t know what to do.” Tommy stammered. “You tell us what you want and consider it done, Carlos. Ain’t that right, Smitty?”
Carlos laughed and I felt a shiver race along my spine.
“Do I gotta spell it out for you rotter brains? Take off your fuckin’ clothes and do this zombie bitch. You shoot your load without getting’ bit and you’re in.”
I watched the thing that had once been Sarah as her jaws continued to snap at the air, as she twisted and turned and arched her back to the point I was sure we’d hear her spinal cord snap like a dry twig. Where had the goodness gone? Where was the shy smile, the fluttering of eyelashes, and the embarrassed flush in her cheeks?
My legs had begun to tremble and I felt as if a million needles were jabbing into my skull. I had to look away, to focus on something else, anything other than this snared, naked creature.
For some reason, it was a box of matches that caught my attention. It was a nice wooden box with little jewels embedded around the strip of sandpaper on it’s side. Such a pretty little box, such….
“What the fuck, Smitty?”
I turned to look at Tommy. His clothes were in a pile by his feet and for a moment I was confused: why was he naked? Why was he showing me hi
s private parts and looking like he expected something from me? What the hell was going on?
“Don’t you fuck this up for me, man. Take off your damn clothes!”
I stood there and blinked like a frightened animal as I struggled to make sense of everything that was happening. Sarah was… dead? And they wanted me to… to….
“Shit, Smitty, don’t tell me you’re a fucking zombie lover, too?”
Tommy’s words cut through the haze that my thoughts had struggled to force their way through… I pictured a future where I was ringed by taunting boys, where spittle rained down on me like a thunderstorm; I would be ganged up on, beaten within an inch of my life, and left lying in the mud with only my bloody tears to keep me company. Los Meurtos, The Free Town Freshies, The Rotter Nation… they would all rally around a common enemy, would take turns degrading me in ways I couldn’t begin to imagine. My life would become a hell on earth. Like poor Sarah’s had….
“Fuck this! I’ll stick it in. I’m no pussy.”
Tommy stormed forward but Carlos blocked the way, holding his hands on his hips like some mythic sentinel to the gates of Hell.
“Uh-uh. Your friend’s gotta go first. Otherwise neither one of ya are getting’ in.”
Tommy spun around and if his eyes had been weapons I would’ve been a rotter by now.
Every inch of his face was twisted by rage and it somehow seemed to draw his features out, to make them longer and sharper.
“Smitty, you son of a bitch, take off your damn clothes!”
I looked from Tommy to the thing tied to the bed… Sarah Thompson. The only girl in this entire town who’d ever caught my eye. Gone forever.
“Why, you no good, zombie lovin’ piece of shit!”
I couldn’t do it.
I couldn’t live out the rest of my days being the object of ridicule, being mercilessly pursued and baited, shunned by the very people I’d once called friends. I just couldn’t.
I felt as if I were moving through a thick sludge as my pants and underwear slid down around my ankles. I stepped out of them as I peeled my shirt off, grateful for that brief second when the cloth blocked the horror of my situation from view. My cheeks and chest felt warm enough to cook a bird’s egg, but I knew this embarrassment was nothing compared to what lay in store if I didn’t go through with this.
Sex in the Time of Zombies Page 13