Jailbait Zombie

by Mario Acevedo

  What did this zombie want more than anything?

  I whispered, “Brains.”

  His eyes crinkled with the teeniest of recognition.

  I repeated, louder. “Brains.”

  His mouth sagged open and pus-yellow slime dripped over the black stubs of his teeth.

  One more time. “Brains.”

  His free hand clawed the workbench. “Brains,” he gasped.

  “You want brains?” I asked. “Lots of brains?”

  Cowboy zombie took a short step toward me but kept his right hand on the switch handle.

  “See that knob?” I motioned to the rheostat. “If you turn it all the way to one side, it will fry me like a wienie if I try to escape. Dr. Hennison would be happy. He would reward you with more brains.”

  Whatever feeble juice powered his decomposing noggin, cowboy zombie labored to imagine another helping of brains. Drool trickled from his mouth and soaked his shirt.

  I described brains in revenant mouthwatering detail, as if reciting recipes from a zombie Rachael Ray. Yum-O!

  Cowboy zombie wiped his mouth. A thick scab fell from his hand to the floor.

  “You got the idea,” I said. “Now turn the knob.”

  Cowboy zombie leaned to one side and gripped the rheostat knob. He turned it full-on clockwise.

  Drool splattered on the switch handle. His right hand slipped, and when he grabbed the handle again, the switch nudged toward the closed position.

  The terror of being turned into the fried wienie made my back arch and my shoulders tense. “No, no,” I said, trying to sound calm. “That’s off, the other way.”

  Cowboy zombie’s eyes remained as dull as the shells of dead beetles. His left hand turned the rheostat knob back to half.

  “That’s good,” I commended. “Now keep going. Think brains.”

  He twisted the knob to the other stop.

  I made the okay sign with my fingers. “Perfect.”

  Cowboy zombie put both hands on the switch handle.

  “Bet you can’t wait for me to escape?”

  He answered, “Brains.”

  The sounds of gushing, drilling, the sparking of electric welding torches (and the burnt metallic smells), plus hammering came from the lower floor. Dr. Hennison didn’t once come upstairs for a break. Although he was conducting experiments so fiendish they would make Nazis wince—and planning to roast me in the morning—I had to admire his work ethic.

  My right leg was mended, but the effort fatigued me. I needed blood.

  Cowboy zombie kept his insect gaze on me. Except for wiping drips of pus leaking from the sores on his face, he made no moves—no blinks, no twitches, nada—to show he was sentient.

  I did a function check on my body. I flexed and relaxed my arms and legs and twisted my wrists and ankles. Quarter-inch bolts held the steel bands to the table. I should be able to tear loose. All I needed was to free one hand and my talons would rip through the table. Except for my right leg, all my limbs felt strong despite the torture and the lack of sleep and nutrition.

  The rheostat knob remained on the lowest power setting. Now to escape.

  I pushed my wrists against the steel bands. They held firm. I closed my eyes and put more effort into wrenching free. My muscles quaked and my hands trembled. The steel bands stretched and bit into my skin. The bolt heads groaned and rotated.

  I yelled at cowboy zombie, “Hey, garbage water breath, in case you haven’t figured it out, I’m trying to escape.” Go ahead. Close the switch. The wooden table creaked. In another ten seconds I’d be free.

  Cowboy zombie grasped the rheostat knob and spun it to full power. He slammed the switch closed and muttered, “Brains.”

  CHAPTER 44

  I came to with my face and the front of my body burning like an attack from fire ants. I heard a sizzle.

  I moved my arms and legs and more pain came from my wrists and ankles. Burns. That explained the sizzling noise. And the odor of charred meat.

  My thoughts filtered though a wall of suffering. I realized that I had been flung onto the floor of the lab. I pulled my right arm up, then the left arm.

  I regained my balance and slowly came to my feet. I brushed splinters and dust from my face and chest.

  Everything hurt and I wanted to curl into a dark corner and rest. But there was no time for a pity party, I was free of the table and had to scram.

  Smoke curled from the scorched and melted remains of the restraining bands. Sparks trickled to the floor. The electrical surge must have had too much power and blasted me off the table.

  The overhead lights flickered. The transfusion machine had stopped click-clacking.

  Cowboy zombie gazed at me. His orders had been to cook me with electricity, but now that I had escaped, he didn’t know what to do.

  I did.

  I leaped and grabbed him by the face, sinking my talons into the fissures of his skull. I threw him to the floor. I tore the table from its mount and slammed it over him. I jumped on the table, stomping hard as I heard bone crunch and flesh squish. I didn’t care how much this hurt my wounded leg, I kept stomping until trails of zombie goo ran from under the table. Too bad it wasn’t Dr. Hennison.

  Where was Hennison? He could’ve been deaf and still caught on to all this commotion. What was he up to?

  My priority was to escape, recuperate, and then return to raze this place. I limped across the floor to the transfusion machine. Its promise of sustenance was what kept me going. I’d guzzle the blood and break out of the lab, then head for shelter.

  One of the windows shattered and the curtain billowed open. Kimberly the zombie rushed in and swung an ax.

  I dodged her first blow, but on the backswing she swiped the transfusion machine. The ax blade tore through the bag and it burst in a water balloon splash of blood. The delicious aroma licked at my nose. My stomach jumped from the pangs at losing this meal. I wanted to dive on the puddle of blood and lap it from the dirty floor.

  Kimberly readied for another swing. I seized the ax handle above her hands and twisted. She held tight, ignoring the tearing sound from her shoulder. I gave another twist and her right arm tore free from the socket. I grasped a handful of her hair and cocked the ax back to sever her head. Her right hand let go of the ax and the dismembered arm dropped to the floor. It twitched and flopped.

  “Don’t move a muscle,” Hennison said.

  The dismembered arm froze.

  I turned.

  Hennison stood at the landing of the stairway. His aura undulated with anger while his gaze raked the room. His face tightened in spasms as if counting the hours and money needed to repair the damage.

  Another window smashed open and the curtain gusted the air as it fell. Papers and dust lifted from the floor. A zombie entered and he waded through the debris. He carried a long metal pipe with one end flattened to a pointed blade.

  Hennison smirked. His aura blushed with pleasure.

  What tickled him?

  I hefted the ax and guessed the distance from me to him. I was going to bury this ax in his face.

  Sonia clip-clopped into the lab on her bedroom stiletto pumps.

  The zombie Reginald entered next.

  Followed by Phaedra.

  CHAPTER 45

  Tendrils squirmed from Phaedra’s aura, signaling her terror. Spots of despair bubbled through her penumbra. Her right eye quivered in anguish.

  Reginald held a thin steel cable fashioned into a leash around Phaedra’s neck. A pink bruise the size of a fist discolored the left side of her face. Her hair hung in stringy tangles. Her parka and jeans were dirty and torn. Both of her hands were bound together behind her back. She appeared tiny and fragile, like a porcelain figurine.

  A red cloud of rage fell across my eyes. My kundalini noir beat against the inside of my chest. I was about to break off the ax head and throw it like a ninja star at Hennison’s face. But the odds weren’t good enough and I might hit Phaedra instead.

  My escape h
ad been halted as surely as if a tunnel had collapsed in front of me. I couldn’t leave Phaedra here.

  I threw Kimberly to the floor between us to stall for time. Her arm dragged itself to unite with her body. I backed up to the wall.

  The zombies could sneak up on me using that revenant collective consciousness. One could be ready to drop from the ceiling or bust through the walls.

  My skin prickled with desperate frustration. A minute ago I was on the edge of escape. Now Hennison had me trapped once again.

  Kimberly picked herself off the floor and set her arm into place.

  “What do you think of my new prize, Mr. Gomez?” Hennison draped an arm across Phaedra’s shoulders. “She will be Sonia’s new sister.”

  Phaedra’s eye blinked faster and she shrunk from the doctor as if he was a giant roach.

  Sonia lifted one of her feet. “We both wear a size six. We can share shoes.”

  I yelled, “How did you get her?”

  “Easy. By using my zombies.” Hennison motioned to his undead subjects. “The psychotronic diviner pinpointed her as the psychic transmitter. But I did my homework first. Of the millions of people in America, why her? Does the Huntington’s facilitate her psychic abilities? It’s fascinating, no? I have my zombies. I have you. I have her. Soon I’ll control both the physical and psychic worlds.”

  “You’re going to make her a zombie?”

  “Not just a zombie, but my jailbait zombie.” Hennison couldn’t contain his roguish arrogance. “I feel so naughty saying it.”

  Sonia hugged Phaedra and patted the top of her head. “We’ll wear tiaras.”

  “She’s only a kid. Are you going to kill her and then put her into your zombie harem?”

  “Mr. Gomez, you make it sound so tawdry. So Phaedra’s a minor? Sixteen, for God’s sake. A hundred years ago she would’ve been an old maid by now.” He let that grin inflate into a triumphant smile. “I look forward to the opportunity. I’ve already told you that I can reanimate a subject—someone like her—into an almost human, rather, pre-undead condition.”

  A new rage pounded through me. My fingers pressed dents into the wooden ax handle.

  Kimberly rummaged through a metal toolbox, oblivious to the tension between Hennison and myself. She selected a carpenter’s hammer and a nail. She pushed the nail, through the shoulder of her severed arm and pinned the arm where it had been torn free. She tapped the hammer to sink the nail, then gave it a hard bash. Kimberly worked the fingers and, satisfied that her arm was functional, picked up another hammer. She stood with one in each hand.

  Someone clomped up the stairs and in shuffled a zombie wearing a green polo shirt with the logo of Super Cheesy Pizza Delivery. She stepped around Reginald and Hennison. Another zombie entered, this one in a bus driver’s uniform. They both carried clubs.

  Kimberly, Super Cheesy, and the bus driver spread out to form a zombie encirclement. Yet more footsteps clambered from downstairs.

  “Where the hell did all these zombies come from?”

  “You’ll be surprised how many people ride Greyhound,” Hennison answered. “After you get the hang of the process, animating the dead becomes as routine as an oil change at Jiffy Lube. Even Reginald could do it. I kick myself that I didn’t think of hijacking a bus before. The riders come from the social strata no one cares about. You know the story: put the wayward children on the bus, and if the family’s lucky, you’ll never hear from them again.”

  Minute by minute, zombie by zombie, the odds tipped further to Hennison’s favor.

  Heavy steps tromped from below.

  “That,” Hennison said proudly, “is my newest experiment.” He opened the cooler on the workbench and took out a Red Bull.

  The steps marked the passing moments with the cadence of a macabre metronome. What new monster had this fiend Hennison created? The zombies waited, as if expecting their champion.

  I sidestepped across the wall to put more distance between myself and whatever it was that emerged from below.

  The weighty footfalls arrived on the landing. A tall creature, half machine, half zombie, lurched into view.

  A metal breastplate covered the torso. Tubing and wires curved from the chest to a metal neck. The head was a steel dome with a human face.

  Gino.

  Phaedra screamed his name. Her aura boiled and shot sparks of distress and horror.

  A frame of pistons, metal rods, and pins surrounded each of his legs. The frame was hinged at the knee and ankle. His right arm was a long slender box fitted with gas bottles, actuators, and a slotted cylinder.

  “I don’t know what’s more repulsive,” I yelled at Hennison, “you or this monster.”

  “Hey, hey,” Hennison interrupted. “Monster? Don’t be so biased. It’s eye of the beholder, that sort of thing.”

  “Your creature’s disgusting,” I said.

  “Okay, the new Gino takes getting used to,” Hennison replied. “What’s the point of playing God if you don’t push the envelope?”

  He gave Phaedra’s arm a squeeze. “Don’t worry, darling, this won’t happen to you. Gino has one job, you’ll have another.”

  “As his zombie sex slave,” I said.

  “And you’ll be a real hottie,” he replied. “As for Gino, looks are not important. Let me show you what he can do.”

  Hennison signaled with a nod. Reginald stared at the Gino zombie.

  He raised his robotic arm. The end of the arm was the slender barrel of a shotgun with an aiming laser underneath.

  An actuator on the arm retracted and extended, causing the shotgun to chamber a round.

  Hennison took a swig from his Red Bull. “To make life more interesting for the both of us, I reloaded the shells with silver pellets and garlic powder.”

  Silver and garlic. I wouldn’t survive those wounds.

  Getting out of here would be a desperate fight. One I wasn’t sure I could survive, let alone win. I had to let Hennison know the risks.

  I growled at him. “No matter what happens tonight, you will die.”

  He dismissed me with a wave. “I’ve unlocked the key to immortality. Slay this”—he thumped his chest—“and as long as this”—he tapped his temple—“remains fresh, I’ll be around long enough to see the sun darken to a cinder. Think of my savings. Compounded daily. I’ll be a rich man.”

  “Not if I run your head through a meat grinder.”

  “Fortunately I don’t have one here.”

  “What do you want in trade for the girl?”

  “Trade? You’re in no position to haggle. Besides, she’s too good of a prize.”

  Eight zombies now faced me. More scuffed their revenant feet on the deck outside.

  “Now, Mr. Gomez,” Hennison said as he finished his Red Bull. “Mr. Felix Gomez. You’ve given me the opportunity to say something I’ve dreamed of saying for a long time.”

  I had no idea what this lunatic was getting at. “Save your breath because I don’t care.”

  “Too bad, because I can’t wait to say it. Here it comes.” He raised a finger and thrust it at me, shouting, “Zombies. Attack!”

  CHAPTER 46

  Gino lead the zombies in a stiff-legged march. A red laser beam quivered from under his shotgun muzzle and searched for me.

  My mind raced for schemes to escape. Jump through the ceiling, break into the basement. I could get away, but what about Phaedra?

  Gino faced me and that enormous shotgun barrel trained on my head. The tendons connecting his arm to the shotgun tightened. The gun fired.

  I ducked. The pellets chewed the wall. Plaster dust and garlic powder rained on my skin, the garlic burning.

  Phaedra winced. She cried out to me.

  Hennison pulled her close. “We must be strong. Remember, this is for science.”

  I scooted to the left and found myself in front of the big mirror.

  Gino’s zombie eyes locked on me, metallic and yet cruel. Tendons flexed down the length of his bionic arm. The
shotgun cycled a fresh round. The spent shell spun through the air and clattered to the floor.

  The glass surface of the mirror felt cool against my back.

  Gino halted, like a circuit breaker had popped in his bionic head. His eyes flickered in turmoil. When I moved, they remained fixed on one spot.

  It wasn’t me he looked at but his reflection in the mirror.

  His mouth opened and let out a long pained drawl. “Ghaaawww.”

  His left hand groped at stitches across his face and at the metal chest plate. He fingered the tubing and wires. His hand moved as if searching for his treasured bling. He lowered the shotgun arm and advanced, left arm outstretched, and touched the mirror.

  Hennison yelled, “Gino, what are you doing?”

  Zombie Gino shuffled backward, still mesmerized by his reflection.

  His expression become puzzled.

  Then hurt.

  Then angry.

  Kill-everyone-in-the-room angry.

  He raised the shotgun and blasted the mirror. Shattered glass sprayed the air.

  His tendons flexed. A spent shell ejected from the shotgun and a fresh round was chambered. Gino swung around, his shotgun arm level.

  I ducked.

  Zombies dropped out of the line of fire.

  The red laser beam swept through the dusty air and across Phaedra’s chest.

  I sprang for Gino’s arm.

  The shotgun went off.

  CHAPTER 47

  Hitting Gino’s arm was like smacking a girder. It barely budged.

  I tried to tackle him, but with all the metal and robotic attachments, he seemed as heavy as a forklift.

  Phaedra squirmed on the floor.

  I yelled her name, convinced she had taken the shot.

  Hennison slumped against the workbench. His aura roiled with waves of pain. A dark blotch, big and red as a poinsettia, covered his chest.

  Zombie Gino marched closer toward Hennison. Gino’s face hardened into a scowl.

  I wasn’t a genius like Hennison but I knew Gino didn’t like being a zombie. Dr. Hennison hadn’t yet figured out all the angles of reanimation.