18
“So what do you want to do about Clark?” Gus asked me in a whisper, once we both got comfy. “I know you saw it, Dave, so did I.”
“Shee-it, I didn’t think you noticed that shit, man, you were so cool about it and all,” I whispered back. “Ice cold, you were. Played it smooth.”
“Trust me, I was scared shitless when I saw it, but I didn’t want you to do anything crazy.”
“Huh? Crazy? What do you mean?”
“I saw you take the safety off, Dave. You probably would have shot him, or at least forced him out at gunpoint. That would have been worse than just shooting him, because of the chance of being seen is worse than the chance of being heard. At least if they heard us in here, we still have walls and doors protecting us - and possibly muffling the sound, making it harder for them to locate where the sound came from.”
“Yeah, I probably would have shot him, more than once. This gun is really fun to shoot, it’s so quick. But I have a different plan for Mr. Clarky Warky in there; I want to wait till he dies, or whatever it is they do before they turn, and tie his ass to that fuckin’ chair and watch him become a zombie.”
“What?! Seriously?”
“Fuck yeah, man! Don’t you wanna know what happens - whether or not they’re really dead or still alive, and how long it takes for someone to turn? ‘Cause I sure fuckin’ do.”
“Well, I don’t know, Dave, I think we should just wait till he dies or whatever and just smash his head in.” He still had the ball-peen with him, and the hammer I had when I cleared the house was sticking out from between the couch cushions. “I think it’ll be a little dangerous to keep him ‘alive’, don’t you think?”
“Fuck no, I don’t think.” We both laughed a little at that, ‘cause we both knew it was usually true. “Trust me, I thought this shit out. I saw some duct tape in one of the drawers in the kitchen earlier. When he passes, I’m gonna tape him - securely - to his chair, and also gag his mouth somehow, maybe with a rag and duct tape, or his belt. I haven’t decided yet, though I do like the belt idea - it’s pretty clever, I must say. I’m gonna use so much tape on his ass, there’ll be no motherfuckin’ way he is ever gonna break free from that shit. Never! I guess I can even put some oven mitts on his hands, so he can’t accidentally claw one of us. Who really knows how this shit is passed from one person to the next? The bite is the only way we know of, so far.”
“Well, I still don’t like it, but if you’re sure everything will be okay, I guess we can go with your idea.”
“Cool. I’m not sure, though. Never am. I’m still kinda making things up as I go, you know. Been all my life… which, now that I think of it, might’ve been the wrong way to go. Oh well, too late to change now. You know, ‘you can’t teach an old Dave new tricks’.”
I was about to knock out some more one-liners from my repartee, when we heard a groan and a thud from the kitchen.
We ran in there, hammers in hand since it was only Clark, ready to re-decorate the kitchen in blood-red and brain-grey. Would’ve clashed with the floor and cupboards a little, but it still would’ve been a nice color combination.
Clark was lying in a heap at the foot of his chair, motionless, his complexion already fading to a lifeless grey.
“Okay, we won’t have to wait after all. Man, he was so fuckin’ polite, I almost feel bad for what we’re gonna do to him. You still with me?” I asked Gus as I reached down to make sure that Clark was indeed down for the count.
“Yeah, I’m still with you.”
“Cool. I can’t feel a pulse. I think he really is de…… wait a minute……. that’s weird… I feel a pulse about once every……. three seconds or so. Just ‘clump… clump… clump’. Feel his chest, it’s so fucking strange! If ya felt mine, you’d feel my heart racing, dude, like a birds, but Clark’s here… wow! His skins hot to the touch, too, like he has a raging fever, man! Fuck, he’s on fire! Okay, quick, let’s get his ass tied the fuck up! I’m fuckin’ scared of being this close to him. Let’s go!”
After we lifted Clark back into his chair, I told Gus which drawer the duct tape was in and asked him to get that. While he was busy doing that, I took off Clark’s belt (a nice one, too) and wrapped it under his jaw and around the top of his head, cinching that bitch tight, clamping his mouth shut - bite this, motherfucker!
Gus had come back with the tape as I was just finishing up with Clark’s gag, and handed it to me. “There you go,” he said as he stepped back a couple feet
“Oh, so I’m the bad guy if Clark wakes up and he’s not a zombie, huh?” I said as I was crouched down taping up Clark’s left ankle to the chair’s leg. “Eh, that’s okay. Just watch his ass, then, and bash his skull to mush if he wakes up and makes a move at me. Alright?”
“Yeah… yeah, Dave, but it’s not that… I’m just a little more scared of him than you are, I think. I really don’t want him in this house. I’m really freaked out here, man!”
“Hey, I’m so scared I just pissed my pants, see…” I showed him my crotch that had a wet-spot on it. I thought I was done soiling myself with my various bodily fluids, but I guess I was wrong. “Trust me… I am fucking scared. So, please, watch.”
“Okay. Just be careful.”
“Word.”
I finished taping up Clark’s legs and arms as quickly as I possibly could, and then went over them again, for good measure. I then got a rag from under the sink and taped it over his mouth, securing it tightly by wrapping tape around his head and the rag, numerous times. Once all that was done, I got out some oven mitts I had seen earlier and put those on both of Clark’s hands, securely taping those on, as well. By the time I was done, Clark looked like a shiny, grey mummy. Only one that I was deathly afraid of. I knew that there was no way he could’ve done anything to us - after all, I had used an entire roll of duct tape on him - but the fact still stood that he was one of those land sharks (I like that term) outside. Just one we had sitting at a table with us. How quaint. How lovely. How nerve-wracking.
I checked his vitals again, after I was happy with the restraints, and found that nothing much had changed: his skin was still grey (greyer, really), his heart was pumping less than the most skilled Shaolin monks, he was still unresponsive, and he was still the scariest thing I had ever seen. What a pussy am I, fuck you very much. The only thing that had changed was that his skin had gone from blazing hot, to near frigid like a girlfriend I once had (her personality, not her skin - she was a cold bitch).
Gus and I then sat back down at the table - well away from Clark - and began the waiting game. The clock on the wall said two o’ clock - last call for alcohol. Seeing that, I went to the fridge (still unplugged) and got Gus and I a couple more beers. Each.
19
I couldn’t fucking believe it! We both had fuckin’ fallen asleep, with a fuckin’ zombie sitting in the room with us! How fucking stupid! I was so nervous upon waking, that I puked all over myself. Again! I was really getting tired of that shit, but it seemed like it was something that was gonna happen whether I liked it or not.
“Gus! Gus! Wake the fuck up, man! We fell asleep, dude! Come on!” I said in a loud whisper.
Gus bolted out of his chair like he had been shot in the ass, his shotgun pointed at Clark, who was a little bit more animated than he was when I taped him to the chair.
“Holy shit, Dave, he’s a fucking zombie! How long has he been like that!” Thankfully he had not forgotten where he was at this time, and kept his voice to a whisper, as well.
“I don’t fuckin’ know, man, I just woke up myself. Last time I looked at the clock, it was around two oh five or so, now it’s……” I whispered. “Jesus fucking Christ! It’s fucking ten forty-five man!!!”
Unfortunately, I didn’t whisper that. It was more like a yell, or a bellow, or a loud exclamation. Either way, it was a big fuckin’ mistake. Of course, the pus-bags outside heard me yell, and proceeded to encircle the house, and began to pound on the doors and walls and windo
ws, looking for a way in so they could get to their next delicious, delectable meal - namely us. But I couldn’t fucking help it! We had spent over eight hours asleep with a goddamn zombie less than three feet from us. Closer for me, ‘cause when I woke up, I was curled up in a ball at the fuckin’ zombies feet. At least Gus stayed in his chair. I fucked up, and I knew it.
“Jesus, man, what the fuck, Dave?”
“Oh god, I know, I know, I’m so fucking stupid! Soooooo fucking stupid! Fuck, Gus!?! Ummmmm? Whatthefuckwhatthefuckwhatthefuckwhatthefuck???!!!”
By now, since we both had given up on being quiet and started yelling at each other, the zombies outside were getting worked up to a frenzy. They may not have been sure at first if there was anything to eat in the house, but they sure the fuck knew then.
“Okay! I got it! Gus…… GUS!!!”
He was running from widow to window in the house, looking at the zombies that were most likely piling up all around the house, vying for a way in. I say most likely, ‘cause I hadn’t looked. I had more important things on my mind than just staring hopelessly at my would-be executioners - like Hannibal, B.A., Face, and Murdock (and sometimes the hot, fuckin’ Amy), I had thought us up a sure-fire plan for our escape, and for our imminent arrival at Gus’s. At least it was fuckin’ cool and solid in my head.
“Gus! Quit riling them bitches up and get the fuck over here! I need you!”
He slowly turned and shuffled over to me. “You fucking dick. You definitely fucked us now, Dave. Just how do you plan to get us out of this? Hmm? Do you have some master plan that is going to somehow get us past over a few hundred zombies and into my house? We are so close! And now I am going to die right across the fucking street from home!”
“Hey, I said I was sorry! Wait a minute…… no I didn’t. But I am, though! And, yes, I do have a plan! A good one! Seriously, though, I do…and I do need you, really, Gus. We can live through this, I swear, just help me out, please.”
“…Okay, what other choice do I have anyway? What’s the plan?”
“Well, it’s pretty simple, really. Fire and explosives. That’s my plan” He didn’t look impressed at all. “I cleared the basement earlier when I did a sweep of the house. It seems the people that lived here had remodeled recently, ‘cause there’s a shit-ton of paints, rags, primers, and gallons of paint-thinner down there. There is, and this is the good part, two five gallon cans of gasoline down there! Those, combined with the recyclable’s - those bottles in the laundry room? - we gots some fuckin’ Molotov Cocktails, man! My plan is to go down there, grab up the paints and thinners, toss that shit all over the lower level of this house, and run the gas, rags, bottles and some other odds and ends upstairs with our gear. Once we’re up there, we mix up some Cocktails, and toss those fuckers in the street at the zombies out there - clearing us a path. Then we get to the ground, and set this motherfucker on fire, ‘cause it’ll be full of zombies by then, and then we run to your apartment.”
“That’s your plan?”
“Hey, it’s that or a pointless shootout that ends up with both of us screaming as we get ate.”
“Fuck… let’s do it. Who knows, it might work.”
20
So far, so good. We doused the first floor of the house in gallons of various highly flammable chemicals, got our gear and the fully mixed Molotov Cocktails’ in front of a window that overlooked a lower (first-floor only) part of the roof, and were downstairs making sure we didn’t forget anything important, when the zombies exploded into the fuckin’ place from both the front and back doors and a couple of the windows.
“Gus, get up there, now!!!” He hesitated. “MOVE!!!” He ran. I waited.
Premature ejaculation is never any fun, and I didn’t want to bust my nut (so to speak) ‘cause I was too scared or too nervous to do what needed to be done right, so I had to make sure that there was a large enough number of zombies standing on the saturated parts of the floor before I tossed the wads of burning newspapers that I had quickly gathered up, set on fire, and was holding in each hand - one for the living room, and one for the kitchen. I had wanted to set the house on fire after we were on the ground and running, not before, so I had to improvise.
The fuckin’ house had filled up pretty good after about a minute - and was getting fuller by the second - when the fuckers had me backed up to the stairwell. I tossed the newspapers into the masses in each target room, and backed up to the top of the stairs, firing my shotgun (that I had propped at the foot of the stairs, just in case) into the faces of the few that tried to follow. I say few, ‘cause the rest were engulfed in flames as soon as the balls of fire hit the floor. Gotta love that fast burning shit!
I couldn’t help but stand there and watch as the zombies were turned into walking pyres: stumbling into those next to them that had somehow avoided the flames and setting them on fire, as well; their eyes popping in their heads from the intense heat; their skin, hair, and clothing being melted from their bodies as they eventually succumbed to the fire’s never-ending hunger and fell to death a second and final time.
It was fuckin’ awesome. And it smelled kinda good.
I was about to turn tail and run to Gus and get the fuck moving, when a hand fell on my shoulder, scaring me shitless - I should’ve known it was Gus, but I was entranced by the sight that was before me.
“Man, I just got really fucking hungry for some reason,” Gus said. “Weird. Hey, good job, Dave! Look at that shit! And they keep on coming in! Man, they sure are stupid! …I got all the shit on the roof, ready to go. You good here?”
“Yeah, but first, let’s take out these stairs so none of these fucks can get up here. Don’t want to have to watch our backs as we make our escape. Gonna be hard enough as it is.”
We blew the last four stairs and the railing into tooth-picks and saw-dust, making the second floor unreachable unless the zombies were able to jump over six feet - hopefully they couldn’t - and ran to the window and out onto the roof. Off in the distance, we could hear the tell-tale sound of gunfire. I wondered where it was coming from, ‘cause it sounded like it was kinda close.
After we got our packs on and our weapons ready, we crouch-walked to the edge of the roof with the Molotov Cocktails’, to see how difficult our escape was gonna be. The house was fuckin’ surrounded, with the swarm getting larger by the minute, but the zombies in the street had thinned out considerably - just like I had planned. There was still quite a few on the street in between “our” house and Gus’s, but it really looked like we would be able to get across, no sweat.
“Okay, check it out,” I whispered as I slung my AR (I switched back from the 870 for the way-larger magazine capacity - 30 in the mag to 7 in the tube). “You got a full load in that scatter-gun? (a nod) Cool, I’m gonna start tossing these motherfucking Tails’ into the street, making a path to your place, burning as many of those fucks as I can, too. As soon as I start, I want you to unload into those fuckers down there in our drop zone - and keep doing it. Perforate them fucks, dude! Just keep blasting away, reloading when you gotta, and I’ll blaze us a path from here to there. As soon as all these are tossed, I’ll join you in the fun. Cool?”
“Yeah, cool. But… just in case we don’t make it, Dave, I want to thank you for helping me get this far. Really, thanks.”
“Hey, what else would I be doing, huh? And besides, we are going to make it. ‘Cause now we know all this shit wasn’t for nothing.”
“What do you mean?”
“Look,” I said as I pointed to his balcony across the way.
There, on his balcony looking right at us, was Frank and Sue. Alive and healthy. And both holding beers in their hands. It was a sight for sore eyes - for Gus’s: Frank and Sue. For mine: the beer. It was gonna be the end of the line - for Gus, at least.
“Oh my god,” Gus said, his eyes tearing up. “Dave, there is no fucking way I am going to die right in front of my girlfriend and my brother. No. Fucking. Way. Get to tossing those Tails’.”
The roof was starting to get pretty fuckin’ hot by then, so I went at it like a mad-man, lighting and tossing those bitches so fast and hard I nearly fell off the roof with each throw. Gus took to his part just as quick, firing that 12-gauge so rapidly it sounded like it was a fully auto-matic shotgun, the zombies beneath him getting torn to fuckin’ shreds by wave after wave after wave of white-hot lead.
By the time my arsenal of Russian goodness had run out, I had us a three-feet wide nearly-clear path in between two rows of burning, dead-for-good zombies - I had a lot of fuckin’ Cocktails’ to throw, and Gus had pretty much all the zombies below us blown into a pile of quivering meat-chunks, and the zombies that were still “alive” were in no condition to pose any threat at all.
“Fuck yeah, man!!! Alright, check it out,” I said as I un-slung my AR and got it ready to rock. “Since this has been all for you, you can go down there first, and I’ll cover you from up here. Once you’re set, cover me so I can get down. Once I’m down, we make a run for it. I don’t see Frank and Sue, so I bet they’re in the garage waiting, so make a run for the little door. Got it?”
“Yeah, I got it.”
“Alright, ladies first.”
Gus jumped down, laughing, and landed in the slippery goo as I began firing at some zombies that I thought were getting too close, which pretty much meant any and all of them - and there was still a fuckin’ ton, believe me.
“Okay, I’m good!” Gus yelled up as he began unleashing hell upon the zombies that were within the maximum effective range of his shotgun, as well as those without.
Just Another Day Page 8