Anything but Zombies: A Short Story Anthology

by Gerald Dean Rice

  Jonah didn’t know where to begin, so he said nothing. He knew Paulo and he was a great worker, but he didn’t think he’d be crying anytime soon. Jonah didn’t think there was anything wrong with him, but he clearly wasn’t as emotionally vested in the other employees as maybe he should be. He would be the sympathetic ear.

  Mandy wiped her eyes and blew her nose into a tissue from her purse. “I just came by to say I don’t think I can come back to that place. I can’t stop seeing his face get bubbly and pop.” Of all of the awkward talks Jonah was expecting to have, the topic of quitting hadn’t entered his mind.

  “It’s a terrible tragedy for all of us, Mandy, but I don’t want you to make any rash decisions. I think you could have a long career at Burgeropolis. You just need a little time to consider your next steps.”

  Mandy looked incredulous. “A man just died in our store. I may never eat fries again.” She burst into fresh tears. She hadn’t been working at the store very long, and while Jonah didn’t think she was really Burgeropolis material, he certainly wasn’t going to turn away hard workers for the sake of an ideal.

  “Maybe the store could hold a memorial in his honor,” said his mother from behind him. “We could hold it here, in fact. He would have liked that, don’t you think? Then you can all sit around and talk about what a great guy he was and how he’ll always live on. What do you think, dear?”

  Jonah certainly didn’t know what to think. “Sure. I’ll make some calls this afternoon and we’ll meet back here tonight. It’ll be nice.” He didn’t really think it would be nice at all, but if he wanted to one day connect with future employees at his very own store, he needed to act like he cared, and he was going to need some practice.

  He led her to the door, thanked her for stopping by, and closed it behind her. He hadn’t made it halfway up the stairs when a knock sounded again. Jonah took a glance at the living room, thinking maybe Mandy had left something behind, like a key ring or a tissue. He opened the door again to a tall man in a white crisp shirt, blue bow tie, and starched black pants. He wore a ball cap with the Burgeropolis logo and looked as grim and green as Jonah had ever seen him.

  “Hello, Michael. This is an unexpected surprise. Please, come in.”

  “I won’t stay long. I went right to the store when I heard what had happened. I couldn’t reach your manager so I came right here. It’s a terrible, terrible tragedy.” Michael gave Jonah a look that said he’d never be happy again as long as Jonah was unhappy. “On behalf of St. Augustine, we send our deepest condolences and if there’s anything you need, some extra crew, why, we’ll step right up with a smile and a prayer in our hearts.”

  Jonah inwardly winced. St. Augustine had its share of holy rollers and they did a brisk business after morning vespers, but that crew didn’t enjoy working at the #1334 location, either. No such trade would actually happen.

  “Thank you, Michael, and I do appreciate your thoughts. We’ll be open in a few days and I’m sure we can cover Paulo’s shifts until we can find a permanent replacement. This doesn’t affect the contest, we’re still on track.”

  “Jonah, a man just committed suicide in one of your fryers. I’m not sure I could even work in a store where a man died, much less be expected to run it properly. What if you find brains in the fryer?”

  “New fryers, probably. I don’t know how these things work exactly, but there’s probably a rule or something.” Jonah made a note to look it up.

  “I just couldn’t do it. The sorrow, the sadness, the restless spirit. The specter of that poor man, wandering eternity in your store, unable to find peace. I wouldn’t be able to work there.”

  “Well, in that case, Michael, you’d better go along to your own store and work as hard as you can. I sort of understand why you would do things differently—you don’t run our store.” He opened the front door, as confident as ever: a man about to entice someone to leave without saying another word.

  On the front step was the large German shepherd. He looked from Michael to Jonah and wagged his tail.

  Michael froze. “Is that your dog?”

  Jonah said, “No, I think it belongs to a neighbor, but he hangs around a lot. I like the company.”

  Michael sidled past the dog, onto the front porch and onto the walkway. He replaced his hat and quick-walked it down the front walk. “I can send over one of our priests to bless the new fryer.”

  “Really not necessary,” Jonah said as he searched for the dog’s identification. There was no collar or tags. “Thanks, anyway, Michael. We’ll be fine.”

  When Michael drove away Jonah asked his mother, “Mom, whose dog is this?” She was in the kitchen removing hot loaves from the oven.

  “Which dog, dear—the Newfoundland? The one that looks like a bear? Avoid that one, dear, he looks dangerous.”

  “No, the Doberman. You said you saw a Doberman this morning. It’s still a German shepherd and now he’s on the porch.”

  “Is that what I said? I don’t remember, dear, but he probably belongs to a neighbor.” Her voice trailed off and Jonah knew she was probably headed to the basement for laundry or canning or whatever it was she did when she went down there.

  He thought about looking for a neighbor but decided for the moment to let the dog in and give him a bite to eat. “Want something to eat, boy?” Jonah led the dog into the kitchen. His mother was humming to herself in the basement, so he didn’t have to worry about being scolded for dirtying a dish for a dog. He reached for a saucer and placed baloney and cheese from the fridge in it. He set it down and watched as the dog ate a little and then curled up on a mat in front of the stove.

  The evening brought a steady stream of visitors from Burgeropolis, all employees, some in tears.

  “Hear, dear,” said his mother as she handed over small loaves of bread wrapped in foil.

  The small group gathered in the living room. They sat on the couch and in the two easy chairs. The piano bench was pulled out and three butts competed for space.

  “Will it be soon?” asked Bethany. She was a small girl with curly black hair and a piercing the kids called a Marilyn. Jonah supposed she fancied herself a Betty Boop lookalike, but then reckoned she had no idea who Betty Boop was. Bethany was elbowed hard by Chrissy, who was taller, paler, and had a haircut that made her look like a severely pissed off elf. Bethany mouthed, “Ow!” and rubbed her ribs.

  “I’m pretty sure we’ll all get paid,” said Jonah. “I mean, I don’t know this, it’s not my store”—yet, he thought—“but if I know our manager, there shouldn’t be any missed paychecks. I’m sure this closure is just temporary and you’ll probably be paid for the hours you were scheduled to work.” He felt weird speaking for their manager, but figured his seniority offered him that privilege.

  “Actually, Jonah, I think Bethany means it—the big thing we’ve all been waiting for.” Keith was a good-looking boy who might one day grow out of the acne-pocked cheeks and forehead if he were very lucky. He was one of the afternoon crew chiefs at Burgeropolis, someone Jonah felt could go far unless he wanted to pursue a college degree or vocational training as a mechanic. The other workers respected him, even liked him, and his shifts were always tight, well-run crews with minimal mess and waste, much like Jonah’s. “We all see the signs and we know it’s just a matter of time. We’re ready to step up and do what’s needed, like Paulo did.”

  Jonah was puzzled. “Why would you want to do what Paulo did?”

  Bethany said, “Because it prepares the Way.”

  Chrissy said, “Because it opens the Gate.”

  Ibram said, “Because it brings the Fire from the Sky,” in his thick Eastern European accent, making it especially ominous.

  “It’s time,” said Keith. “And we’ve been waiting so long. All we need now is for you to take up your mantle and lead us.”

  “In prayer?” Jonah felt very uncomfortable. “I’m not much for prayer, but if one of you would like to lead us in a prayer for Paulo, I wouldn’t object.
” He looked from one confused but expectant face to another. He watched them all unwrap their foil loaves and stand.

  “It’s time,” Keith said again.

  “I don’t know what any of you are talking about, and you’re kind of freaking me out.” The only sound was the crackling of foil and the shuffling of feet as people rose and began to walk toward him. “Look, guys, today was pretty tragic and I know I don’t ever want to see it again, but it was a onetime thing. No one is paving anything for anyone. It’s been a hard day, so how about you all head home and we’ll regroup in a few days?”

  “But darling, we really need to get started,” said his mother. She stood at the entrance to the completely disused dining room opposite the living room. A dark red curtain hung over the arch entrance, and Jonah suddenly couldn’t ever remember a time the curtain wasn’t there. It had never in all of his nineteen years ever occurred to him to pull aside the curtain and take a peek inside. She did it now and the room was lit by what appeared to be hundreds of candles covering a sideboard, the windowsills, and the top of a china cabinet Jonah had never seen before. The movement of the curtain released a wave of heat into the main room. Jonah could feel the warmth on his skin, and he broke out in a sweat. An oblong table stood in the center of the room, draped from head to foot in a deep red runner. Within the china cabinet, candles sat on plates and in goblets and the light flickered and bounced from the glass fronts.

  From behind him the German shepherd crossed into the room and, in a smooth leap that would surely leave gouges, landed on the tabletop and he lay down on the bloodred runner. It rolled onto its side and panted lightly in the heat.

  Jonah’s mother handed him a long knife with a wavy blade and a handle that felt warm and pulsing. She gave him a little push toward the room and the dog.

  Jonah turned, his mind swimming with the heat and fear and with his crew standing behind him. They were now eating their loaves of wet bread that looked soggy with red in the candlelight.

  “Prepare the Way. Open the Gate. Bring the Fire,” they began to chant. They closed distance to Jonah quickly in the small room, blocking the front door and the staircase to the second floor. Jonah was trapped. With no more room to walk, they pressed closer to him, pushing him toward the waiting dog.

  “Like this, dear.” His mother closed his fingers around the handle and raised it above his head. “Normally, we would just have you cut its throat, but this is a special sacrifice so you’ll need to remove its heart while it’s still beating. Just aim for the lungs and we’ll remove it from the abdomen.” Her hands were sweaty and her breath had a sweet but rotten smell. She was pushing his hands down toward the dog gently but with increasing force.

  Jonah couldn’t believe it. His life up to this point had been as uneventful as any American with middling ambitions. He’d been with Burgeropolis since he was sixteen, first tending grill and then lunch prep, moving on to the drive-thru next. He’d earned his crew chief hat and pin and worked hard in their management program. He knew one day he’d have his own store and then it was just a matter of time before he could own two or three as a franchisee. He could see all of it and it was a good life, like the one with his mother. Even now as he stole glances at the woman with the rueful grin trying to get him to murder a dog he’d only just met, he couldn’t fathom what the heck was going on.

  Jonah gave his mother a shove and she went sprawling. Tall tapered candles wobbled and fell to the floor, catching her apron on fire. She screamed and batted at the flames with the towel tucked into the pocket of the housecoat she always wore.

  Jonah whirled on the crowd of his employees. He waved and jabbed the knife at them trying to get them to just back off and give him some air. “I don’t understand what’s happening,” he said. Stinging sweat began to drip into his eyes and he wiped it away with an equally sweaty arm. His fellow employees, those trusted souls he considered his A-crew, stood in mute shock; Chrissy had already taken a bite of her loaf and her mouth was streaked with a thick liquid that looked both black and red in the candlelight.

  “All the signs are there,” said Chrissy, and as she spoke the masticated bread fell from her mouth. “It’s time for you to take your rightful place and we are here to witness your Ascension.” Chrissy looked at Jonah’s mother. “You were supposed to prepare him for this.”

  “I’m not his mother, I’m the damned babysitter!”

  Jonah realized he didn’t know (or couldn’t remember) her name. He’d never seen it on a check or a bill and it had never come up. Worse, it never occurred to him to ask. He didn’t know how that happened, but there it was. She was always just there and always answered to “Mom.” His mother began to yell, and spittle was thick at the corners of her mouth. “Do you see what I have to work with? He’s always talking about that damned store! How am I supposed to prepare for his Ascension with that nonsense?”

  “My what?” screamed Jonah and his confusion grew thicker in the heat.

  His mother picked herself up from the floor. Her housecoat was burnt away in places revealing the remnants of a charred bra and wrinkled, saggy breasts already blistering from the burns. She was angry in a way Jonah had never seen before, and her usually round pleasant face was twisted into a cruel grimace. She looked like she’d eaten something sour and mealy and pointed a rebuking finger at him. “You take your place at your Father’s side this instant. He’s waiting for you and has prepared your Ascension in His own Way.” The dog on the table raised his head and huffed in exasperation.

  The woman leaped at Jonah, reaching for the knife, but he dodged her easily. Neither were trim or fit individuals, both having indulged in her specialty of meat pies and baked goods, but his time at the store lifting boxes of frozen meat and shifting racks and racks of buns gave him more muscle.

  His crew was chanting again. “Prepare the Way. Open the Gate. Bring the Fire.” It became harder and harder for Jonah to think and breathe.

  He saw his opening between Bethany and Chrissy, who had both buried their faces in their loaves, slurping and licking the foil with mouths that were streaked and covered in crumbs and mush. He barreled between them, sending them into the furniture and walls, and was out the front door so fast he nearly stumbled down the front steps. He ran into the cool night air, tossing the dagger into the street and running until his lungs ached and the stitch in his side doubled him over.

  The night all around him was both thick and cool and the sky had faded from the twilight of dusk to the color of a nasty rash. Thunder sounded in the distance, and when there was lightning, the shapes flying across the sky looked too long to be birds and the flailing shape behind them gave them the appearance of people—people in the sky with great wings. Jonah heard his mother calling for him and he knew exactly where he had to go.

  While a mile apart, as most Burgeropolises were by design, St. Augustine was the same distance from Jonah’s house as his own Shop #1334. It was only a matter of luck that he chose the shop to the south of his home instead of north. He ran north now, keeping to the shadows and dodging the large, plump objects now falling from the sky. One hit him on the shoulder and he stopped jogging to investigate. It was a large frog, now lying broken on the sidewalk. It was raining frogs, and the sky continued its steady progression toward the color of red. Burgeropolis, he knew, would be closed, so he pounded on the front doors of the actual St. Augustine Church across the street. Its heavy oak doors echoed inside and he pounded once, twice, three times before they swung open and Jonah toppled inside.

  Michael looked down at him with a patient but puzzled look.

  “Close the door! They’re right behind me!” Jonah shouted. The echo of his shouting sounded very loud in the sacristy and he let out his own cry of surprise.

  Michael closed the door and helped Jonah from the floor. “Jonah, what are you doing here?”

  Jonah gave his heart a few moments to slow down so he could gather his scattered thoughts. “Sanctuary. Please, I need sanctuary.” Michael led
him to a pew and fetched a paper cup of water.

  “I’m going to give this to you on the condition that you tell me what’s going on, though I already have a pretty good idea.” Jonah nodded and Michael handed over the cup.

  “Something is happening at my house. My crew came over and I thought we were going to talk about Paulo and the store moving forward and maybe sing a hymn, but then there was this huge black dog and they wanted me to kill it and they were eating bread and I think it was made with blood and I just had to run and get out of there so here I am.” He shook his head as if it would knock loose the craziness of the situation. “The woman I thought was my mother wanted me to Ascend but she’s not my mother and I don’t know what’s going on, so I came to the only place I knew would take me in.” His words came out in a rush and when they ran out, he took a deep breath and hiccupped.

  Michael looked at him for several long moments and Jonah knew the man was going to get up and call the cops. Instead he said, “So, it’s happening tonight? The Way has been paved?”

  Jonah choked on his sip of water. “Oh, c’mon—not you too?”

  Michael waved him off. “No, not me too. Well, kinda, but I’m not a part of that.” He gave a dismissive wave with his hand toward the door. “I’m the opposition. We’ve been working on this for months, getting our numbers up to fight. We were winning too, but I see others are forcing the issue before Deadline. Typical dirty cheaters.”

  Jonah was on the verge of tears. “I need someone to tell me what’s going on.”

  “Dude,” Michael said. “You’re the son of Perdition. You were supposed to amass your army and begin the Rapture. It’s written and everything.” He pulled the Employee Handbook from his back pocket. It was heavily annotated with sticky flags marking certain pages and highlighter marker throughout. “See, it’s in the section ‘End Times.’ ”

  Jonah looked at the page. “That says, ‘End of the Day Closing.’ ”