by D. C. Gomez
By the time I started my game, the other golfers were starting the other half. I was sure the solitude and quiet of the course weren’t helping me with understanding humanity, but the peace was terrific. It was like being in the flow when you play music. A feeling of belonging and purpose. My first three holes went reasonably smoothly—not great but not terrible. I made it to the tee box for the fourth hole. Nobody was around, so I took my time to stretch. I grabbed my driver and teed off. Out of nowhere, a guy walked onto the green. I had no idea where he came from, but before I could shout, the ball hit him on the head. How was that even possible? He was at least two hundred yards away. Maybe I should have aimed for birds.
I rushed to the golf cart and drove out to check on the guy. Typically I would have taken off running, but if he was hurt, I had no way to move him. That would mean running back to get the cart. I parked at least ten feet away from the guy. I wasn’t so sure how good the brakes were on that thing and didn’t want to add insult to injury by running him over. He wasn’t moving by the time I ran over to him. I got on my knees and tried to turn him over.
“Hey sir, are you OK?” I wasn’t sure what to say. My experience ranged from talking and calming the dead, not waking up the living.
“Ugh.” He mumbled something I couldn’t decipher. For a guy who didn’t look that heavy, I was having a hard time turning him over.
He moved on his own, and I took a deep breath of relief. I was sure he wasn’t dead, or Death would have appeared by now. I was hoping he didn’t have a concussion. He slowly turned his face toward me, and my smile faltered on my face. The eyes that were staring at me did not look human. He looked more like a rabid dog. I tried to back up slowly. Instead, I landed on my butt. The guy was now moving toward me. I didn’t care what Constantine said, we had zombies in Texarkana, and this one wanted to eat me. I scrambled to my feet and took off for the cart. Before I could get in, he grabbed my hair. Of all the days for me to have my hair down, why today?
Last year, if anybody had tried this, I would have ended down and beat up. But after eight months of intense boxing and martial arts training, my reflexes took over. Instead of pulling away, I leaned back and head-butted my zombie assailant. That was enough to distract him, and he released my hair. Our training had never covered zombies, so I was hoping a swift kick to the solar plexus would knock the wind out of him. The zombie staggered back, and I took off for the cart.
I rushed back to the clubhouse, trying to get to Ladybug as quickly as possible. I needed to get to Reapers now. I pulled the cart toward the parking area in a hurry and scared the hell out of everyone nearby. Mikey was talking to Pete when I tried to rush by with my clubs.
“Hey Isis, what’s wrong? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.” Mikey was halfway in my direction before I could stop.
“I need to get home. I just got attacked…”
“Attacked? Here? No way. Guys, we need help.” Mikey cut me off before I could finish. At a speed I didn’t think was possible, he arranged a search party.
“Mikey, no. Wait. This guy is dangerous and out of his mind. You guys could get hurt.” I had no idea how powerful zombies were, but I have seen enough of them in movies, and they looked scary. It was probably a bad idea to base my strategy on Hollywood’s folklore, but that was all I had.
“Isis, we got this. Pete, keep an eye on her. Giver her something to calm her down.” Mikey was taking off with at least ten other golfers, looking like the mob in Frankenstein. All they needed were pitchforks and they made a perfect picture. I tried to stop them, but Pete grabbed my arm and clubs and brought me to the clubhouse.
“Isis, can you remember what he looked like?”
For the first time, Pete’s voice was calm and soothing. I was sure it wasn’t good for business to have a woman assaulted on the grounds. Too bad I couldn’t explain he had no way of controlling zombie attacks.
“Not really. Average height, black hair, and maybe in his early twenties. I hit him on the head with a ball, but when I went to check on him…” I wasn’t sure how to finish that sentence. “He went crazy.”
Pete was looking at me, worried. I was visibly shaken up.
“Let me get you some tea. Please stay right here.”
I wanted to head home and come back with Bob and some firepower, but I nodded. I didn’t need Pete calling the police in a panic.
Twenty minutes later, Mikey and his mob walked into the clubhouse. I jumped to my feet and rushed over. I took a quick inventory, and they all looked well. I was hoping they hadn’t run into the guy. In Texas, over 80 percent of the population carried a gun, and most legally. The last thing we needed was panicking men shooting all over the place.
“Is everyone OK?” I was praying nobody was hurt.
“Everyone is fine. We didn’t find anyone in the first nine holes. What we found was a bloody shirt and some dead animals torn apart. Maybe a wild animal was loose.” Pete was looking at his peers, making sure he didn’t leave out anything. “I’ll call animal control and get it checked out. Maybe the guy was bitten by a wild animal and had rabies.”
Pete was watching too much TV and reaching for straws. We all looked at him a bit skeptically.
“I’m just glad everyone is OK. I’m going to head home now.”
“Let me walk you out, just in case. We’ll search the place again tomorrow morning during daylight. But whoever he was, I’m afraid he’s gone.”
Sometimes Mikey came across as one of those classic mobsters. I was sure if he ever found the guy, or a potential guy, he would make them pay.
“Thank you, Mikey. That would be great.” There was no point fighting Mikey. He was worried, and his Jersey accent was becoming more pronounced. He walked me over to Ladybug and stayed till I drove off. I waved several times, before gunning it. This was getting too weird for my taste.
Chapter 5
The first floor of Reapers was deserted. The lights in the loft were on, so I was hoping all the boys were home. I took the steps two at a time, trying to rush. I burst through the door out of breath and was stopped abruptly. I needed baby-cams in the house. I had no clue what my roommates did when I was gone. Bob was sitting at the kitchen table playing an intense game of solitaire. Constantine, on the other hand, was in the command center. That was odd enough, since normally that was Bartholomew’s area, but he was nowhere to be found.
The shocking part was that Constantine was doing Rap God. On top of his incredible memory for pop culture, Constantine was able to recite almost every song, with an excellent imitation of the artist. I had not witnessed his rendition of Rap God before, but I was afraid to admit Eminem had met its match. As I was staring at Constantine’s insane performance, Bob looked up from his game. He took a pair of earbuds from his ears and smiled at me.
“Don’t mind him.” He leaned back in his chair and eyed Constantine casually. “He was challenged to duel, and he couldn’t back down. Are you OK?”
“People keep asking me that a lot lately. I’m not sure.” I was still staring at Constantine when Bob cleared the cards from the table. He pulled a chair out for me and got up. Bob was always a gentleman. He headed toward the fridge and started pulling stuff from the shelves.
“Have a seat and tell me what’s going on. I baked you a quiche.” I was sure I had a look of pure bewilderment on my face, because Bob started laughing at me. “Don’t be surprised, child. It’s a simple recipe. I made two—one with meat and one without.”
Did he make two quiches? I was sure I couldn’t even properly pronounce the darn thing.
“Take a seat while I heat you up a slice.”
“How often does Constantine do duels online?” I was still wondering about the little scene to my right.
“That I’m not sure. What I do know is his human YouTube channel is tied to the TaylorSwiftVEVO. His ultimate goal is to take the throne from that PewDiePie guy.” Bob
shook his head, appearing as confused as I was with all this YouTube stuff.
“He actually has fans?” Who in their right mind followed a talking cat?
“He has millions. Based on what Bartholomew told me, Constantine was running a campaign for president, and Death made him stop it.” Bob was staring at Constantine in awe.
“Constantine for president. The world is not ready for that.” Who was I kidding? I wasn’t ready for that.
In less than two minutes, Bob had placed a plate of quiche in front of me that was out of this world. I was pretty sure Bob was a chef in his other life, and it was coming back. The quiche had the whole place smelling fantastic. I was sure it was the smell that grabbed Constantine’s attention.
“Take that, Butterfly-Twenty-Three-Twenty-Seven. I’m out.” Constantine had finished Rap God, and that was the first real sentence he said. I turned around just in time to see Constantine hit a key on the keyboard.
“Please tell me you were not having a duel with a seven-year-old girl.” With that nickname, it had to be a kid.
“She’s twelve, and age is nothing but a number.” Constantine was strutting across the room, looking proud.
“Says the five thousand-year-old cat.” I loved to point that out to him.
“Don’t be hating on the skills now. So why were you so upset early, anyway?” Constantine jumped on the table, and Bob put a plate in front of him.
“You were listening?” I tried to speak with my mouth full.
“I can multitask. Besides, I have incredible hearing.” He took a bite of the quiche, and I was sure he was grinning.
“Bob, this is delicious. I thought you were only going to make gluten-free stuff.” According to Bob, Bartholomew’s diet was his inspiration for cooking. I enjoyed cooking, but I was never too creative in that area. Bob made it his life passion.
“Oh, it is. Experiment number twelve, but I finally found a good combination for a good flaky crust.” Bob smiled like a proud dad. It was crazy the things that made my boys happy.
“Congrats. And I hate to burst this amazing moment of cheering, but a zombie attacked me.” With food in my belly, it was a lot easier to deliver bad news.
“I thought we agreed not to use the Z word.” Constantine was trying to talk and swallow at the same time.
“We can call it whatever you want, but something crazy is going on.” I was not dropping the issue.
“Was it the same one?” At least Bob had practical questions.
“I’m pretty sure it wasn’t.” They were dressed differently, I thought.
“Was he dead?” Constantine threw me off with that one. It was hard for me to tell the living from the dead. Only if I touched a departed soul was I able to say the dead were cold to the touch. Bartholomew had designed a pair of glasses for me to help me identify the living and the dead by heat signatures, since souls don’t have any. Unfortunately, most of the time I forgot to wear them.
“I don’t know. I never touched him with my hand, and I kicked him. I wasn’t expecting to be attacked at the golf course, so I didn’t bring my glasses with me.” I was sure I had a good theory.
“So technically we can’t be sure if it was a walking-dead, a crazy guy, or a demented soul?” Constantine had a point.
“Does that mean we just ignore the whole thing?” I did not like the sound of this conversation.
“Of course not. I didn’t get to be this age for not taking precautions. We just need to do a little research. Bob, give Bartholomew a call. Isis, check with Eric for anything unusual. I’ll finish my quiche.”
I was pleased to see Constantine’s priorities had not been changed by a potential zombie attack.
Bob grabbed his phone and walked over to the kitchen to called Bartholomew. I wondered where he was that Bob needed to call him.
“Where is Bart?” It was true I was as curious as a cat at times.
“Where do you think? In his shop, working on his robot. I’ll be so happy when that silly contest is over.” Constantine never bothered to look up when he spoke.
I got up and walked over to the computer area. I needed a quiet space to make my call. I pulled my phone from my pocket and dialed Eric. At least I had remembered to transfer it from my golf bag. I usually left it in the bag while I played.
“Isis, this better be an emergency.” Wow, that was fast. I didn’t think the phone rang once.
“Oh I’m sorry. Are you busy?” I was sure he was, just by the way he answered the phone, but it never hurt to confirm.
“Yes, on a date,” Eric replied, but got cut off by a female voice that said, “honey, is everything OK?” I couldn’t hear what Eric replied. I guess he put me on mute. A few seconds later he was back. “Make it fast, Isis.”
“Sorry, didn’t mean to interrupt.” Unlike what the boys popularly believed, I didn’t have a crush on Eric. OK, maybe a little one, but I was happy for him. At least somebody had a real life. So I did feel slightly uncomfortable interrupting his date. “Constantine wanted me to check with you and see if you noticed anything unusual lately.” I was trying to sound formal and businesslike, since I was sure I drove Eric insane, and he probably always wanted to kill me.
“More than usual? Besides the hotels getting packed with people for the College Bowl, you might need to be more specific.” I was pretty sure he wasn’t paying attention to anything I was saying.
“You haven’t noticed any walking-dead around town?” Constantine was glaring, but at least I didn’t say the Z word.
“What, zombies?” It was the strangest thing he was trying to whisper and shout all at the same time.
“I’m not supposed to say the Z word, but yeah. Have you seen any?” I was aiming for casual, like this kind of stuff happened every day.
“Isis, if this is a joke, it’s not funny.”
I could tell Eric was moving on his side of the line. I guessed the hot blonde didn’t have full access to all his secrets. “I’m sure if something like that were happening, we would have noticed.” There was another short pause when I was sure Eric put me on mute again. “I don’t have time for this right now. We can discuss tomorrow during training.”
“Were training tomorrow? Really?” Oh no, Eric’s training sessions were hell on good days. When he was upset, they were straight damnation.
“Obviously Constantine didn’t brief you on tomorrow’s activities. Have him fill you in you. See you at six. Goodbye.” Eric hung up before I could even reply. Tomorrow’s session was going to be horrible.
“Well, any news?” Constantine was done with his quiche and was cleaning his face with his paw as he spoke. Moments like this, he looked like a very typical cat. Minus the talking, of course.
“Besides the warning that I’ll pay for interrupting, no, he hasn’t noticed anything unusual.” I walked over to the table and sat down again. “What are we doing tomorrow morning at six?” I was afraid to ask, but I might as well be ready.
“Cross-country training. We’re going to train at Ferguson Park. Should help everyone get focused again.” I hated when Constantine looked so happy about training. “Back to our small issue. The good news is if Eric hasn’t heard anything, it means most people in Texarkana haven’t noticed either. Great for damage control.”
“I’m glad there is an up to things.” I was not very optimistic at all.
The door to the kitchen slammed open, and Bartholomew walked in, looking angry and covered in more grease. Even his curly brown hair looked matted with the stuff. He was wearing some weird lab coat that had all sorts of wires sticking out its pockets.
“What could be so serious that you all needed to disturb me?”
Well, I guessed it was the night for me to inconvenience people. I looked at him in utter disbelief. What had happened to my sweet little Bartholomew?
“Oh nothing, really. Isis got attacked by a zo
mbie and almost died. Just wondering if you would care to help figure out who it was.” Constantine was spewing sarcasm left and right. He even said the Z word, which most likely did the trick, since Bartholomew’s face turned pale. Not a hard thing to do, since he is pretty pale to begin with.
“Zombies? Are you OK?” Bartholomew rushed to my side looking more like his usual self, a concerned little brother. Bartholomew’s hazel eyes were huge with worry. Constantine, on the other hand, gave me his most cunning smile. He was evil at the time, but knew every button to push.
“I’m fine. One attacked me at the golf course.” For only being twelve years old, Bartholomew genuinely cared for people—at least the ones he liked. He had a strange phobia for crowds and strangers.
“What type of zombie was it? Old school slow and sloppy, or the new kind, like in Zombieland, fast and agile?”
I had no idea why I was surprised that Bartholomew knew this stuff. I had to blink a couple of times to focus. How could one person switch his attention so quickly from one area to the other?
“I guess fast and agile.” At least the one that pulled my hair could move.
“Not good. This could be trouble.” Bartholomew sounded like Captain Obvious. Now that he was focused on actual work, I didn’t want to ruin his parade. “So what’s our plan?”
“Step one, we need you to track down all necromancers in North America. We need to know if any have made trips in our area.”
I had no idea what that meant, so I was glad Constantine was in charge. Bartholomew discarded his lab coat and headed for his command center.
“I’ll make us some hot chocolate. We might have a long night.” Bob made his way back to the fridge.
“Do we call Death, now?” If a group of her nemeses was in town, I wanted Death fully briefed before all hell broke loose.
“Not till we have confirmation. We don’t need any false alarms.” Constantine finished his sentence by making himself comfortable on the table. I guessed the only thing left to do was wait patiently.