“Are you traveling alone?” I asked.
He paused and glared at me for an uncomfortable moment, then took my empty glass and started mixing me another drink.
“I’m traveling with a loose group. We’re all lone wolves. We like to do our own thing, but we meet up from time to time and swap stories and women. We’re heading west, but we’re not in any hurry.”
“You’re not interested in settling down somewhere?”
“Hell no,” he said. “We’re nomadic.”
He pushed my drink across the table to me.
“Before the Seebees,” he said, “I had this poster in my room. It was a picture of all this badass gear like machine guns and big knives, and it said: The Hardest Part About The Zombie Apocalypse Will Be Pretending I’m Not Excited.”
“I remember seeing those,” I said.
“Yeah,” he sighed. “Then it really happened. It wasn’t what I thought it would be–”
“Yeah,” I said.
“–it was better,” he finished with a broad, goofy smile.
“Really?”
“Hell yeah. It’s like I woke up in a lucid dream only it was really real. I can do anything I want.”
“Yeah…I suppose, but–”
“The world is ours, my brother,” he said, holding up his glass for a toast. “Here’s to being and staying excited.”
I picked up my newly mixed drink and clinked my glass against his.
“This has been some fun shit, hasn’t it?” he said. “I mean this whole Seebees thing.”
“There have been moments,” I replied.
“I want to show you something,” he said. He left me and went into one of the bedrooms and returned with a gray, plastic tote box. It was the kind that the lid opened like two doors on hinges and interlocked in the middle. He put the box on the table and opened it.
“This is some military shit I found in a crashed helicopter last week,” he said and pulled out two small, rectangular packages in black plastic. On the outside of the packages, in yellow letters, it said: CHARGE DEMOLITION M112.
“C-4, I think,” he said. “I’ve never used the stuff, but I’m hanging onto in case one of my buds knows about it. There are only a couple of bricks in here. Then there are these things.”
He put the C-4 back into the box and pulled out two small, black devices devoid of markings. “I have a bunch of small ones like these, and a couple that are a little bigger.”
“Are they cellphones?” I asked.
“I think so. Look here,” he said, pointing to small reflective rectangles in the top. “They have little solar panels in them. They’ll power up, and the screen will light up, but I can’t get the display to give me numbers so I can call out.”
“Who would you call?” I said.
“I don’t know,” he said. “Whoever gave out the phones, I guess. There are LEDs on them too, but I can’t get them to light up. You can have one if you want it.” He offered one of the small ones to me. “Go ahead. I found twenty-two of them in the box.”
I took it. I didn’t see the point in having it, but I didn’t want to offend him. If nothing else maybe I could pop out the little power source and use it for something else.
“Where was the helicopter?” I said. “I found one some time back over by the school in Farmtown.”
“Yeah,” he said. “That’s the one. There was a big crate in the back. It had all this great stuff in it.”
“I wasn’t able to get into it.”
“Your loss. Check this out,” he said, reaching into the tote again. He pulled out a squat cylinder, about the size of a Christmas cookie tin. He grinned. “That, my brother, is a magazine for an AA-12. Do you know what I’m talking about?”
“No.”
He winked at me and said, “I’ll be right back.” He left the room and came back with an odd-looking gun. Then he took the canister and shoved it into place on the underside of the weapon. It made it look sort of like a bulky Tommy gun.
“Fully automatic assault shotgun,” he said. “Never in a million years would I think I’d get to shoot one of these. Now, thanks to the end of the world, I have one of my very own.”
“Wow,” I said. “Nice.”
“You should see it go to work on the goons. It’s like a meat grinder. Tomorrow, I’ll take you out and let you run a box of shells through it. It’s going to give you a hard-on.”
“Sounds like fun.”
He sat again and returned to his meal.
“I’ve come across all kinds of military shit,” he said. “I’ve played with some of it, and I’ve hid a lot of it. You never know when you’ll need it. I’ve got several caches of shit between here and Atlanta. I think it’s hilarious any time I come up on trucks or tanks or goon soldiers. Those fucktard jugheads and G.I. Joes didn’t have what it took to survive. I outlasted all of them. Now their toys belong to me…and their women.”
“Survival seems kind of random,” I said. “Men, women, old, young, big, small...”
“Well, all of that will get sorted out eventually. It’s not over by a long shot. You’ve got to be fit, and you’ve got to know how to handle yourself. Being young doesn’t hurt either, but it isn’t important.”
When he said “fit” my eyes fell to his oversized gut.
“How old do you think I am?” he asked, leaning back in his chair. Then he pointed at his face with both hands.
“I don’t know,” I said. “Thirty-two? Twenty-nine?”
“I am forty-one years old.”
“No way.”
“I’m a baby face,” he said, returning to his meal. “Grams always said that. One time, I went to the store to buy cigarettes for a friend of mine, and they thought I had a fake ID.” He pointed at his face again. “Baby face.”
“Maybe it was because of your name,” I said.
“What’s wrong with my name?”
“Nothing,” I said. “It just sounds made up. Like John Smith or McLovin.”
“My name is Bruce Lee. That’s my name.”
“I believe you,” I said. “Why didn’t your friend buy their own cigarettes?”
“He couldn’t; he was only fifteen. It’s a guy I play D&D with. Anyway, having a baby face isn’t great for getting with the ladies. They like a rugged man, you know? You might find this hard to believe, but I never really had a girlfriend before.”
I didn’t say anything. I wasn’t sure what to say.
“But now, I can be what I want to be. I have gotten so much ass since Canton B.”
“Really?”
“Hell yeah.”
“What about that one girl you were looking for?”
“Sara?” he grinned. “Yeah, she had a sweet ass and tits like you would not believe.”
I felt the anger welling up at that, but I stifled it.
“And?” I asked, hoping he’d give more information.
“And nothing. Stay away from her,” he said. “For one thing, she’s mine. For another, she’s a vamp.”
“A vamp,” I grinned. “I’ve always been attracted to vamps.”
“Fucking stay away from her!” he yelled and slammed his fist on the table. Then he composed himself. “Sorry. She…she really hurt me. I need to talk with her.”
“What happened?”
“I’d rather not go into it,” he said. “No offense, brother, but it’s personal.”
“Okay. Sorry.”
“I…I um…so what comic books were you into?” he said. “Probably nothing good since it’s Marvel.”
“Uh…well…I liked–”
“Hey, you know what?”
I stopped speaking and shrugged.
“Did you ever cosplay?” he asked.
“You mean dress up and go to conventions?”
“That’s what I said.”
“No,” I said. “I went to the Superman Festival up in Metropolis years ago. I saw some people doing that.”
“The guy that used to live here had some serious
cosplay shit. I only found one thing that fit me, but I’ll bet the other stuff is about your size.”
“I don’t think so. I really–”
“Come on,” he said, standing. “Let’s do it, man. Let’s open all those toys and comic books too. It’s not like they’re worth anything anymore.”
“I’m still eating,” I said. “Maybe later. Besides, I honestly haven’t read comic books in years. That stuff in the garage is really cool, but dressing up seems...” I didn’t finish the sentence because of the change in his expression.
“What?” he said, defensively. “Stupid? Childish?”
“No,” I said. “Nothing. Never mind.”
He sat heavily and gave me a cold stare. “Same old shit.”
“I didn’t mean anything,” I said. “I’m just not into it.”
“Bikers put on all the leather and shit and people say that’s cool. Those rednecks dress up in cowboy hats and boots and western overcoats and people say that’s cool. I put on my Star Trek the Original Series chief engineer’s uniform, and they say I’m an immature geek. There’s no difference.”
“I guess,” I said. “I never did any of that so–”
“What about wearing football jerseys, huh? For that matter, what about fantasy football? How’s that any different from D&D?”
“I’ve heard those arguments before, and I don’t really like football, so you’re preaching to the choir.”
“Fucking Marvel Comics,” he sneered. “I should have expected you to be a tool.”
I stopped chewing my Italian beef then nonchalantly let my hand fall under the table and to the grip of my pistol. He noticed.
“Hands above the table, motherfucker,” he said. “What’s wrong with you? What are you going to do? Are you going to shoot me over fantasy fucking football?”
I put my hand above the table and grabbed my fork. I started chewing again and shrugged, “Just being cautious.” Then I grinned and added, “I thought maybe some Han and Greedo shit was about to go down.”
He gave me a blank stare then that broad, goofy smile returned, “Shit…if anybody in this situation is Han, it’s me. It sure as hell isn’t you. And trust me, I will shoot first.”
I downed my drink and pushed my glass toward him, “Another one of those would be great. You make a killer…whatever that was.”
He took my glass then started measuring ingredients in the measuring cups. He acted like his feelings were hurt.
“Oh, what the hell,” I said flippantly. “What kind of costumes does the guy have?”
“Fuck you,” he said. “I don’t want to do it anymore.”
“Sure you do,” I said. “You’re already doing it. You look just like The Punisher or were you going for Steven Seagal?”
He grinned a little, “This isn’t cosplay; this is just me on a normal day...post-apocalypse, that is.”
“Well, you look like a badass,” I said. “Even if it is a Marvel character.”
“The ladies love this look,” he said. “I should have dressed like this before. Here’s your drink.”
“But really, what costumes does he have?”
“Nah, I know you don’t want to do it,” he said. Then he added in a sassy tone, “Besides, he’s all out of Captain Janeway uniforms, so…”
“I really do now,” I said, trying to sound sincere. “You’ve piqued my interest. What sort of costumes are there?”
He made a face like he was bored with the idea, “A lot of cliché shit. He has a red shirt uniform from the original series. He has the Luke Skywalker outfit–the black one from Return of the Jedi. He has Batman, but it’s the Adam West one. And there’s a Stormtrooper helmet, but it’s homemade and kinda lame. There’s a Klingon uniform, but it’s the only one that fits me, because it has adjustable straps so I’d have to wear that one.”
CHAPTER 26
The living room was lit with the flames of candles and lamps like a Klingon temple. One could almost hear the utterance of guttural prayers to Kahless. The Klingon warrior entered boldly with his bat’leth.
“Jee-KEHEKH!” he shouted.
Batman stood by the table in the dining room in his blue tights, cape, mask, and bright yellow utility belt with a drink in his hand, trying his best not to smile. On the table were vintage Planet of the Apes action figures and an AT-AT posed as if in battle. “There’s no room in Gotham City for the likes of you, Klingon.” Then uncontrollable giggles erupted.
“You must make room, hoo-mahn!”
Batman continued to giggle. He took a sip, swayed, and then pushed a button on his utility belt. A little grappling hook shot a few inches into the air then landed on the carpet, pulling a tangle of string out after it. This brought Batman to his knees with laughter, causing him to spill his drink.
The Klingon swung his bat’leth and ripped into the yellow sofa with the pink rose print.
“Yee-JATK-KKHO!” the Klingon bellowed.
Batman rolled to the floor, laughing.
The Klingon then swung his bat’leth a second time, hitting the ceiling fan and taking out a lamp and television.
“Stop, you’re killing me,” I yelled, in the agony of uncontrollable laughter.
Bruce stalked over and stood over me. His wig with attached forehead ridges wasn’t quite straight on his head. “You are drunk, hoo-mahn. Your species is weak.”
I couldn’t quit laughing.
Bruce’s arms dropped to his side. “Really, man, you’re super drunk. This isn’t even fun.”
“You have no idea how much fun this is for me.”
“Really?” he smiled. “See, I told you. I knew you would like it.”
“Yeah,” I said. “And look, my utility belt has a pouch for my new cellphone. I guess I should have loosened up some before the world went to hell.”
He helped me up, and we both sat at the table and poured ourselves another drink.
“I should have too,” he said, “especially with girls. There was this woman I really liked where I worked. I wish I would have asked her out while I had the chance.”
“No regrets,” I said. “Did I tell you I was with a stripper?”
“No shit?”
“Yeah, well…I didn’t know she was a stripper at the time, and I was the only one that didn’t get to see her naked.”
Bruce slammed his hand on the table and laughed. I joined him. I laughed until my sides hurt.
“She’s dead now,” I said in a sudden serious tone. “Her name was Jen.”
His expression sobered. “Sorry to hear that, brother. My girl’s name was Tonya. I have no idea what happened to her. She might be alive somewhere.”
“Maybe you’ll get your chance to ask her on that date,” I said.
“It’s good that we can sit here and drink like this,” he said. “Like men.”
“What’s more manly than Batman and a Klingon warrior?” I said.
He lifted his glass. “To men.”
“To men,” I said, lifting my own glass.
He took a drink and set his glass on the table. Then he took off his wig and scratched his head.
“If you’re desperate for a woman, there’s something you can do,” he said.
“I never said I was desperate,” I said. “It would just be nice, that’s all.”
“Well anyway…one thing you can do, and you might think this sounds bad, but one thing you can do is find a woman that caught the virus but isn’t full blown goon. There’s not as much of that anymore, but they’re still around. If you find one, you just have to make sure you tie her down good so she can’t claw and bite you and make sure you use a condom. They can be really good, and it’s not like it’s wrong, because their mind is gone anyway.”
I had memories of Corndog’s poor captive, tied to a bed. I frowned, and looked away. “I met a guy that did that,” I said. “I prefer my women to be in their right mind and willing.”
“Don’t knock it ‘til you’ve tried it,” he said. “The newly turned are re
ally warm because they have that fever. I think it makes it better. I had a different woman almost every day those first two weeks.”
I shook my head, “You’re killing my buzz.”
He seemed uncomfortable with my reaction to the conversation. He knew he’d crossed a line and shared too much.
“I’m not a weirdo,” he blurted out. “I’ve had healthy women too.”
“Okay,” I said. “Whatever. It’s just not for me.”
“I’ll bet I could change your mind,” he said.
“Doubt it,” I replied softly. “I think I’m gonna go crash. I’ll probably just sleep in my truck tonight.”
“Don’t be a fool,” he said. “Take one of the bedrooms. I was just trying to help you get laid; that’s all. That’s what friends do. You’re too drunk to go outside now anyway.”
“I’m not that drunk.”
He laughed, “Take the room at the end of the hall. You’re going to have a hell of a hangover in the morning.”
I stood, swayed, and sat again. Bruce laughed again and got up.
“Come on, Mr. Wayne,” he said. “Let’s get you into the Bat Cave.”
He lifted me under my arm and stumbled with me toward the bedroom. On the way, we passed a mirror. The sight of 1960s Batman being helped to bed by a Klingon was hilarious, but I didn’t have it in me to laugh anymore.
The hallway was almost completely dark. When we got to our destination, he propped me against the wall then opened the door. The bedroom was illuminated by several candles. Seated in the floor was Princess Leia in her skimpy slave girl clothes. I blinked twice, sure that the alcohol was causing a hallucination. She looked up at us then slowly stood. She was wearing a dog collar and it was chained to an eyebolt in the floor. Her hands were cuffed.
“What do you think?” Bruce said. “Every man’s fantasy, am I right?”
“Where’d she come from? Has she been here the whole time?”
“I told you I could change your mind,” he said. “She’s got the Seebees, but she’s not a goon yet. She’s perfect; there’s not a mark on her except for a bite on her ankle.”
If he hadn’t told me, I wouldn’t have guessed she was sick. “How did you get her into those clothes?”
“I found a tranq gun at the zoo in Memphis,” he said and patted the pistol on his belt, which I had mistaken for part of the Klingon costume. “It would probably kill a normal person, but it knocks them right out for a while. I took her down a couple of days ago up near Riverton, and as soon as I got her clothes off her I knew she’d be perfect for that Leia slave costume.”
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