“That was a really bad movie,” Bo said.
Natalie punched him in the shoulder. “Be nice. They’re just doing this for fun. Try to get into the spirit of things.”
The curtains parted, music swelled from above. The mood darkened with a creepy song by Marilyn Mansion. Six of the male Goes fronted by the six foot seven inch Cedrick began the dance of the undead. Each actor wore tattered clothing of mock filth and skin plagued with imitation rot.
“Hey, this looks pretty good,” Lisa said.
“I know. I hope Rod gets here soon,” Nancy said, taking a quick look toward the back to see if he had arrived.
The song came to a frenzied conclusion. The lights dimmed. Scurrying in the cover of darkness, six female Goes in zombie attire replaced their male counter parts. The dance of the undead continued.
The men waited behind the curtain for the song to end. Next, they would be joining the women on stage in a routine simulating zombie courtship.
Jean-Luc and his hungry crew arrived behind stage and attacked the unsuspecting dance members. What screams that weren’t drowned out by the loud music blended in as part of the act.
The zombettes finished the last lumber and shuffle of the routine at the conclusion of the song. The curtains closed. The lights dimmed once again.
“What’s holding the guys up?” Ashley asked.
“Goofing off behind the curtain is my guess. Let’s go get them. The song’s about to start,” Meaks said.
As she walked past the curtain, Meaks bumped into Joshy, her boyfriend. His arms were open wide ready to greet her. “What in the hell are you guys doing back here? Get your ass on stage!”
Joshy hungrily grabbed for her chest. She slapped his hands away just before contact.
“Not now, horn dog. We’ve got a show to perform. Wha—you’ve got fake blood all over your hands and now it’s on me. What’s going on here?”
Wrapping his arms tightly around her, Joshy hugged with a passion unlike ever before, cracking her ribs and smooshing her breath out. He began his first human dish by eating the lips he used to kiss.
The other women similarly fell to the onslaught of cannibal corpses, offering a sheer delight in every bite.
“Seems like the show should have started back by now,” Truett said.
“Probably wardrobe malfunction. Some of the women were about to fall out of their shredded tops. I wish Rod would hurry and get here,” Nancy said.
“Me, too. I don’t want him to miss a free shot,” Truett said.
From either side, filing out from behind the stage, two groups of cast members joined by a diving team mechanically walked toward the waiting guest.
“What’s going on now?” Lisa asked.
“Oh, I get it. They’re going to come out and pretend to attack the crowd as part of the act. Hey look, Cedrick is right there.” Truett stood from his chair. “Hey, Cedrick. Hey, buddy. Over here. Come take a picture with my wife.”
Lisa stood and waited. “Wow. He sure is tall. He’s such a good actor too. He’s almost making me scared.”
Lisa turned and posed as Truett focused the camera. Cedrick loomed from behind and bent down to bite her neck.
“That’s it . . . that’s it . . . got it. Wow. Perfect shot.” Truett looked up from the image captured on his camera to see Cedrick chomp down of his lovely wife’s neck. Blood rained down her chest like a crimson waterfall. Her scream weakened his knees. He stumbled forward to rescue her.
Chaos quickly ensued as the wave of undead cut through the crowd. The weak and the slow were the first to fall. Blood splattered in all directions bathing the dead and undead in a christening of gore and horror.
“What’s happening over there?” Natalie said, quickly clinging to Bo’s side.
“You two get back. I know how to handle this.” Ralphie rolled out his knife collection and selected a twelve-inch butcher knife and a clever. Before he could come from behind the table, he looked up and saw a zombie almost upon them.
Bo leaped into action with a front kick and knocked the creature’s head so far back the neck snapped. Ralphie was at his side in a heartbeat.
“Where’d you learn that?” he asked.
“Japan. I went to college in Tokyo. I didn’t spend my free time playing Pokémon. Ralphie, he’s still moving.”
Ralphie dropped to one knee and brought the clever down straight through the neck, severing the spine. “He’s not moving now.”
Another attacker came at Natalie. She raised her forearm to block the snake-like strike of his bite. His teeth could not penetrate the leather jacket she wore.
Ralphie’s twelve-inch blade went in one ear of the zombie and poked out the other. Another monster was down, but there was still a horde more to go.
“Hoo-ah!” Ralphie screamed from the top of his lungs and charged toward the turbulent crowd in the theater.
“We’ve got to get out of here!” Bo said, and then pulled Natalie away from the horrific scene.
“What’re we going to do?” she asked.
“I’ve got an idea. Hurry!” Bo led down the narrow concrete walk, the serenity of the lush landscaping a forgotten blur.
“Good! I see the boat’s still at the dock. Pray that we can make it there before any of them get us.”
The two ran down the dock unimpeded. The faint echo of their hollow steps mingled with the clam of the ocean waves below. Bo helped Natalie on the boat first, and then followed, making a quick check above for any surprises.
“It’s clear. I’m taking us out.” Bo started the engine, reversed course from the dock, and then turned to the open Caribbean Sea.
“Bo, can you come down here? I’ve got something for you to see,” Natalie called.
Bo fast stepped down the ladder to join her.
“Look who’s on board with us. A cute little kitten.”
The kitten sat listless underneath a bench.
Bo retrieved a flashlight from the console and shined its light over the kitten.
“It might be sick. Its eyes looked glazed over.”
Natalie reached down to pet the kitten.
“Ouch! The little bugger bit me.”
Bo examined the bite mark on her hand.
“Oh, well. Hopefully we’ll find land soon. We can get a doctor to look at it then,” Natalie said.
“Yeah. I guess if it’s a long trip we can eat the kitten,” Bo laughed.
Natalie giggled, and then felt a strange pain in her head.
“I hope it doesn’t take so long to find land that I get hungry enough to eat you.” Natalie didn’t laugh. In fact, the thought of eating Bo didn’t seem unreasonable at all.
Natalie’s eyes turned milky under the dim moonlight. Her mouth watered with anticipation.
*
Outside the small airport a mere three football fields away from Club Caribe, one hundred and twenty Frenchmen weary from a direct ten-hour flight sweltered in the noonday sun.
“Where are the vans to drive us to the club? This is an outrage!” an aging man said, his white shirt translucent from sweat. “This is my third trip to this resort. There are no Goes to greet us. There are no vans to drive us. I have paid many Euros for this vacation. I demand to see the Captain of the resort.”
A representative from the airport management, a young man in his twenties, stood in silent attention and allowed the upset traveler to vent. In the background, an old man strummed two chords on a five-string guitar, singing ‘If you can afford a vacation to my island you can afford to put money in my hat.’
“Sir, we have tried calling but no one will answer. You said that you have been to the club before. It is but a short walk to the reception area. It will take you not more than fifteen minutes,” the young man said.
The Frenchman threw his arms toward the sky and cursed. “Come, I will lead the way.” He grabbed his luggage and led the march forward.
The others quickly fell behind him. All were eager to check in and find respite from t
he blazing sun above.
The van ride to the resort took only three minutes. The trek on foot made the experience entirely different. The group passed an empty guard shack, which made the leader fume even more from the lack of management.
Nearing the reception area, the leader saw the awaiting Goes through the trees and shrubs gathering for their arrival. Each was dressed in bright colors of the day’s theme. Sweat rolled down his forehead and stung his eyes. His ire grew to the point he felt like his head would explode.
As he rounded the topiaries, Club Caribe’s entourage waited to greet him with open arms and open mouths. Barke and Chocki, the Captain and Co-Captain of the resort were in the front. Both wore teal sneakers with matching shirts. The swarm of Goes, many of whom he met on his trip three months before, were behind them. A large group of guests had also gathered for the new arrivals with unprecedented zeal.
The leader froze in his tracks and let his luggage fall to the ground. Gasps and startled cries erupted from behind him. Others joined by his side and laid eyes on the blood stained zombies of the resort.
A tradition of open buffet to greet newly arrivals was suddenly established at Club Caribe. The zombies filled their bellies on the guests, and eagerly waited for the next plane to land.
The End
Turning of Dick Condon
There were many things in life that annoyed Richard Condon. A seemingly endless train of anonymous occurrences worked in partnership to aggravate him throughout the day. Fate certainly hadn’t helped matters as his ancestry passed the surname ‘Condon’ to him. His last name invited opportunities for mispronunciation at a quick reading or inattentive listening.
‘Hello, Mr. Condom,’ was very common at an initial greeting. Of which Richard would just usually sigh and repeat his name correctly. Of course, most of his friends and business associates called him by the shortened version of his given name, Dick. Apparently, ‘Richard’ was too great a burden to pronounce, having two syllables instead of one.
“Remember, it’s your turn to pick up Rhonda from practice this afternoon,” Marge said, his wife of fifteen years, and the greatest pain-in-the-ass in his house of cards life.
The newspaper crunched under Richard’s tightening fingers. “Of course I remember.” There she goes again, testing me. “I’ll be there at five-thirty.”
“Five O’clock. Five-thirty is Jimmy’s Karate class,” Marge said.
There was no questioning Richard was a very intelligent man, but amongst the volumes of information and minutia in his mind, it was the fine details in his personal life he couldn’t keep straight. That damn woman is always right, he thought.
He apologized and went back to reading the newspaper.
An unusual story on page 16A gave a vague account of an incident where the clerk at a convenience store sustained injuries including bites from an attack by a diseased man. The situation ended when an on duty policeman buying a candy bar shot the ill man in the head. The clerk had been hospitalized and was still under observation. What kind of disease would cause a man to go that crazy? Rabies? Richard wondered. Damn illegal immigrants. Who knows what they’re bringing over here?
He glanced at his watch and cursed, threw the paper down on the table like it had insulted him, and told Marge it was time for him to leave for work.
Richard leaned over all puckered up for a kiss on the lips goodbye. Marge parried by turning her head at the last second. Instead of a nice moist kiss, he ended up with a taste of dry, bitter makeup foundation. Richard made a familiar scowl when he pulled away.
Marge said, “Didn’t want you to smear my lipstick.”
He grunted, and thought, That damn woman is always right.
So, he told her he loved her and would call from the office later.
His daily grind included a fifteen-minute drive to work. As he anticipated, the usual gang of idiots joined him on the highway. Every morning he risked his life driving for others as he avoided their rolling two-ton battering rams of destruction.
Just ahead a woman yacked on the phone as she drove ten miles under the speed limit. To his right a teenage girl applied mascara. The young man behind him had a magazine spread across his steering wheel. Richard saw the cover when he lifted it to turn the pages.
Sometimes he would get the attention of the hazardous driver with a honk of his horn and follow with an index finger lashing. The gesture in response usually involved the middle finger of the other driver.
Richard made it to the office parking lot and pulled in slowly to avoid hitting a jaywalker munching on a jelly donut. He had to pass three empty parking spaces because the adjoining vehicles parked too close to the line.
He didn’t dare risk scratching the paint on his new SUV. It was times like these when he found himself longing for his 1983 Oldsmobile. It was heavy duty, equipped with real chrome plated steel bumpers, not this plastic covered crap now ‘protecting’ him. He imagined pulling the behemoth next to those selfish bastards so closely that the driver would have to enter their vehicle from the passenger’s side.
After exiting his vehicle, he considered keying the space hogs while sauntering down the parking lot. Damn security cameras, he thought as he headed straight to his first stop, The Café Coffee, for two hot cappuccinos.
Inside the Café, he was once again in a slow moving line, waiting on the single employee at the counter to serve the needs of the indecisive patron who had to have the whole menu explained or the office go-fer whose job was getting coffee for the team of thirty.
Each grueling second passed feeling like an hour of torture. Richard finally stepped up to the counter to take his turn. He found the young, freckly face girl taking his order cute in a trashy sort of way. He surmised from her gum chewing and vocabulary she had spent more time on her back with the soles of her feet pressed against a car’s headliner than in the local library.
The front door to the coffee shop opened letting road noises mixed with a low gurgling moan inside.
Richard spun about as a short and grossly obese woman lumbered her way toward him. Her skin was black from rot and her lips drawn away from her mouth, maintaining a perpetual ghastly smile.
A putrid smell assaulted his nostrils and forced him to gag as bile rose into his throat.
The front door burst open. Four police officers smashed into the back of the roly-poly walking corpse and sent her crashing straight into Richard.
Instinctually, he raised his right arm to protect himself, filling the wide gap of her open jaws with his forearm.
Her teeth clamped shut like a bear trap. Richard screamed to the top of his lungs, feeling bone about to break. He now understood how the wolf mustered the resolve to chew a trapped limb off.
Richard fell on his back with her on top. The zombie snarled in frustration while trying to get a mouthful of soft flesh. Her teeth were unable to cut through his thick, wool jacket.
While struggling to breathe, Richard felt each blow of the policemen’s nightsticks resonating through the body of his attacker. Dull thuds sounded over and over, not even ushering a whimper from the undead creature.
Richard collected enough air to find his voice. “Get her off me! Get her off!”
The police seemingly oblivious to his plight finally got the message and backed off. One of the officers pulled out a taser and fired.
The two metal darts carrying the thin metal wire traveled the short distance into the woman’s back. Fifty thousand volts then travel through the wires. The fifteen seconds of electrical discharge gave Richard time to free his arm from her mouth and roll out from underneath.
The policemen immediately pinned her to the ground, overpowered her arms, and finally cuffed her hands.
Richard pulled off his jacket and peeled back his shirt to examine the damage to his forearm as he stood on wobbly legs. Fortune was with him, his jacket and shirt had protected him from major damage by the zombie’s sharp teeth. He detected only the tiniest amount of red seeping through his skin
where her teeth left a ‘U’ shaped indention. The bruising of his arm was worse than the actual bite itself. It had already turned a nasty brown-yellow-green and hurt like hell.
“What is that thing?” he asked.
The police had the unruly creature on its feet and forced it toward the door, each wary of its thrashing head and gnashing teeth.
“Hey Bud, you okay?” the last policeman in line stopped to ask.
“I . . . appear to be so. Do you need a statement from me?” Richard asked.
The Officer shook his head and returned outside the coffee shop to his comrades.
Richard and freckle face stared at each other for a while, not knowing what just happened, or what to do next.
His gaze drifted from her face to her chest. “Well, Judy, was that a regular customer of yours?” Richard asked, trying to make light of the terrifying, surreal event.
“How’d you know my name?” she asked.
Richard tapped above his heart. “Name tag.”
“Oh. You okay, mister?” Judy asked.
“Sure. I’m okay. I could probably fart Zippity Do Da in French I feel so fine.”
Judy took a step backward and looked down at the counter.
Realizing Judy was upset over the event too, he decided to tune down the sarcastic humor. He shifted into salesman mode and forced an animated happy face. “Judy, why don’t you just comp me two cups of you famous cappuccino, and I’ll be on my way.”
Without saying a word, she mechanically grabbed two to-go cups and filled them with coffee, topping them off with frothy milk. Her eyes darted back and forth from her task to Richard, making him feel like some sort of intruder.
A Fistful of Zombies: 12 Zombie Tales Page 8