“What would you have me do?” Stafford asked.
“Let me be a test case. Let me prove to you—and everyone else—that I can act to the same level of responsibility as a Living. Let me prove I deserve equality.”
Stafford thought a moment. “Legislation has been favorable to the Sub Y class. You’re allowed driving privileges and a host of other rights. But it all comes down to pay and benefits when you’re talking about employment. Your benefits as a Sub Y, health care and such, are provided by the federal and state governments. Your wages are set by law. As a Non-Dead, you’re not even considered a full person according to the Constitution.”
Lisa’s fragile grip on her temper snapped. She sprang from her chair. “How dare you! I’m human! I’m no different than the mother who gave birth to you. This is America! Hell, illegal aliens have rights. I’m native born. I should have more rights than them.
“Doesn’t the Constitution say all men are created equal? How can I not be a full person? I was born a full person. Can a piece of paper take away that fact? Can a piece of paper take away my humanity?”
“I’m sorry, my dear, there is only one thing that matters—the law. I’m not permitted to offer you any job other than a menial service position, such as in the restaurant, or with the cleaning staff. I would be happy to set you up in one of those positions. I can only pay you the standard wage for Sub Y, though. It will take two months for you to save up enough to buy another pair of shoes like those you’re wearing.”
Lisa fought to hold back tears. “It’s not fair.”
Stafford slowly rose from his chair, pushing her application papers to the side as he sat down on top of the desk.
Lisa stared at the floor under his feet in uncertainty.
“Life’s not fair. So, sometimes, to get the things that we want . . . that we need in life, we can find other ways to achieve certain . . . goals.” Stafford folded his arms across his chest. His demeanor shifted subtly from plastic professional executive to smarmy weasel.
“You’re singing a different tune. Level with me. What are you getting at?”
“My, I do like your directness. It’s a shame you’re not human anymore. I could help you work your way to the top.”
“I am human, asshole.”
Stafford chuckled. “Not from where I’m sitting. And not from where the rest of the Living are looking down from. If you want to continue to enjoy the finer things in life, you’re going to have to work a little harder for them.”
“I’ll work seven days a week if that’s what it takes.”
“Admirable, but are you willing go that little extra distance to set you apart from the rest?”
“Spit it out,” Lisa said, eyes narrowed. Show me your real soul, slime bucket.
“Favors, you know. Sexual favors in exchange for money, in a mutually beneficial arrangement between two consenting adults.”
“I’m not a whore, and I’m not a slut.” But you’re a fucking slime bucket.
“Sluts give it away. Whores sell it on street corners. Mistresses and gold-diggers do it in civil deception, approved by society on a certain level. Sex for favors is not as dishonorable as you’re portraying it.”
“I’m not a fucking prostitute.” The words seethed from her mouth.
“Neither was the single mother of three who traded sex for her rent. Or the young girl in college who needed to make ends meet. It’s been going on since the dawn of time. A woman would trade her body for food or a shiny jewel. If you think about it, it’s not much different today in normal relationships.” Stafford reached down and unzipped his pants, exposing his semi-rigid penis. “Look, you’re not dealing with some unclean reprobate on the street. I’m a successful and respected man.” As he massaged his cock it continued to stiffen. “It’s not like you haven’t done this for your boyfriends before. I can be your boyfriend too—at work from time to time. Nobody has to know. It will be our little secret. And if you prove yourself to be better than the others, I can make it very worth your while.”
Lisa bit her bottom lip at the bitter truth of his words, and glanced around the room. With a sigh, she rose from her chair, and moved her face close to his. His eyes were filled with wanting, and his lips curved into a little triumphant smile. She was close enough to smell his sweet cologne, mixed with stale coffee, and cinnamon on his breath.
“What do you want me to do?” she said softly, deliberately stoking the fires of his lust.
“I want your mouth on me,” he confessed in a whisper.
“Well, since your cock is being such a good little soldier, I guess it wouldn’t hurt for me to give it some special attention.” She pushed her application papers to the side with her left hand, placed her right hand on the inside of his knee, and slowly moved it up his thigh. Stafford’s cock throbbed in anticipation.
When her hand reached his crotch, she dragged a fingernail from the bottom of his shaft and up the head. “Are you ready?” Lisa said, oozing sensuality.
“Yes,” he whispered.
Her left hand returned with the spring steel paper clamp from her application papers fully open. She looked him deeply in the eyes right before she let it snap shut on the head of his dick.
Stafford let out a soprano yell so loud Lisa thought she would have permanent hearing damage. He reached quickly and jerked off the clamp without fully opening it, scraping off a layer of soft, sensitive skin.
“You bitch! You cunt! You undead piece of shit!” Stafford inspected his penis.
Lisa was already by the door, waiting to make an exit. “Thank you for the opportunity, Mr. Stafford. I hope the next time we meet it will be as equals.”
The door shut behind her. The muffled curses that followed her down the hall only made her wish she could have done more damage.
Chapter 17
Joe Blassco gave a quick wash to the remaining dirty beer mug, and then dipped it into a sink of clean water for a rinse. The American eagle clock next to the neon green Bud Light sign on the wall read a few minutes after 5 p.m. Workers from the day shift usually drifted into the Thirsty Cowboy around this time, seeking to knock the edge off, before facing the problems awaiting them at home.
A skinny man sat near the end of the bar, in front of the TV. He mindlessly nursed on a pale amber beer and munched on a bowl of snack mix. His suit jacket lay across his lap, catching salt, and crumbs from the mix.
At the jingle of an old-fashioned door chime, Joe looked up, grabbed a bottle of George Dickel from the shelf, and poured some into a tumbler.
The barstool squeaked as the wood scratched across the concrete floor. Andy Wells took a seat next to the skinny man.
“Joe, when you get a minute. A double Dickel and water, hold the water.”
Joe turned around and slid the tumbler filled with the rich goodness of aged Tennessee whiskey in front of Andy.
“Saw you coming. How’s it going, Andy? Tough day at the office?”
Andy chuckled. “Just another day in paradise. I drive the boys to the road site, count them as they get off the bus, tell them every fricking move to make, count them as they get on the bus, and drive them back to the Institution.” Andy sipped some whiskey and pulled his lips wide showing some teeth. The first taste always stung. “Same old shit, different day.”
“Tell me about it,” the skinny man said, eyes glued to the TV on the shelf in front of them—lost in his own world.
Andy glanced at the skinny man but didn’t recognize him, and returned his attention to Joe. “Well, I guess it ain’t all the same. I picked up a new member in my crew a couple of weeks ago that I ain’t mentioned before. You’d never guess who I got.”
Joe wrinkled his brow. “Someone I know was made a Sub Z and is working in your road crew?”
“You may not exactly know him, but you know of his brother.” Andy looked to either side as if to make sure no one was listening, and whispered, “I got me Byron Poundstone, the brother of Congressman Poundstone.”
“No way! How’d that happen?” Joe asked.
“I’m not entirely sure. I figure that for one thing, that Congressman didn’t want his brother getting any pre-fer-en-shal treatment. That might come back to hurt him on Election Day. For another, Byron is something special. I tell you that boy has more energy than a five D cell vibrator. They put him on the road crew right out of initial rehab because he got beside himself when he didn’t have enough to do. Not only does he need to keep busy, he’s smart. They told me to work him hard in what they called his readjusting period.” Andy winked and nodded his head.
“Did the plan work?” Joe asked.
“Not like they expected. Oh, I work him hard, all right. I load that boy up like a pack mule. He takes everything I throw at him and wants more. Hell, he’s making me work harder by finding him stuff to do. He works three times faster than my next-best boy. But it ain’t just the work he does—” Andy choked up for a second. “There’s . . . there’s something special about that boy too.” He took a quick sip of his drink and composed himself.
“Andy, you okay?” Joe asked.
Andy wiped a tear forming in the corner of his eye. “I was mully-grubbing out loud— just like my momma told me to stop doing—and Tooty overheard me. That’s the name I give him, Tooty. I was feeling kind of de-pressed, like I do from time to time, thinking about life, how I ain’t got no real friends outside of work . . . and this bar. That’s why I drink . . . .” Andy pressed the glass to his lips and remained silent. A few seconds passed.
“Andy?”
“Huh? Oh yeah, well, Tooty heard me say how I was lonely and wished I had more friends. He came up behind me, put his hand on my shoulder, and said, ‘I’ll be your friend.’ I ain’t been touched in the heart like that since that blind woman gave me a blow job.”
Joe gave him a moment. “He sounds real special. You get to meet the Congressman yet? Does he come by on the jobsite and check in on his brother?”
Andy broke from his trance, regaining control. “No, he don’t do that. But I hear he comes by on a regular basis and visits the Institution. He’s been real busy, I bet, with the upcoming election. Speaking of the election, I’ve been hearing a lot about that Spencer guy. What he’s been saying makes a lot of sense to me.”
A customer on the other end of the bar raised his hand. Joe nodded and pulled on a beer tap, filling a mug.
“Even though it would eventually put me out of a job, it seems like the right thing to do, to stop relying on these meat-robots to keep things going. Heck, Spencer even makes it sound like if we don’t, mankind will eventually go extinct. I think that’s laying it on a little thick. Although, if I need to do my part to serve my country further by offering myself up for stud service, I’ll drop my drawers, and say, God Bless America.” Andy paused as Joe raised a finger in the air for him to hold his thought. “What do you think about Spencer?”
Joe returned from serving the beer and filled Andy’s empty glass with more Dickel. “Ah, you know, Andy, I don’t like to mix business and politics. You never know who you might offend.” Joe shot a glance over at the skinny man.
Andy nodded and winked.
“I’ll tell you this,” the skinny man said, his words slightly garbled from snack mix crowding his mouth. “If people start having more kids, we’ll need to find a bigger carrot, or bigger stick, to make them work for a living.”
Andy scrunched his nose and widened his mouth, and then said, “I don’t catch your drift, amigo. We got more jobs than people now.”
“Oh yeah, we have jobs. Our problem is getting the lazy class off their asses and getting them in those jobs.”
Andy put his glass to his mouth and emptied it. “Well, if you’re talking, I’m buying. Another beer?”
“Why yes, thank you.”
“Joe, another round for me and a beer for my new friend . . . .”
“Manfred Wilkerson—call me Manny.”
“Another beer for my Man-ny,” Andy boisterously laughed, the delights of the whiskey loosening his tongue.
Joe served the drinks and propped his forearms on the counter, leaning in to listen.
“I work for the state government, Workman’s Comp fraud. It was bad having lazy good-for-nothings leeching off the system before The Dark Times, and believe it or not, it’s heading back in that direction.
“Oh sure, during The Dark Times everyone joined together and pulled their weight. But that’s because it was a matter of survival. Fifth-generation welfare bums were just as interested in staying alive as the rich guys living in mansions. The poor ate as good as the rich to the zombies.
“Even after we declared VZ day, there was a lot of work to do, and people from all demographics were willing to do it. When we started training the Non-Dead to do our dirty work, some saw that as an opportunity for growth. Others saw it as an opportunity to go back to a deadbeat lifestyle. Some folks are happier lying around, boozing it up, and watching TV all day.”
Joe shook his head. “So you’re saying perfectly healthy people are claiming disability? I had no idea that was a problem in today’s world.”
“It is, and it’s getting worse. I visit up to five cases a day. It’s rare I find one legitimate case of disability,” Manny said. “Give a man a fish, he eats for a day. Teach a man to fish, he eats every day. Give the fishing pole to a Non-Dead, you can eat the fish it catches, and spend all your time screwing off.”
“Somebody needs to put a foot up in that ass!” Andy said.
“Hey, buddy, not so loud,” Joe said.
“Sorry.”
Joe spoke low enough for only the two patrons to hear. “You know how that talk show host, Larry Qing, went to the Bahamas and got that Resurrection Y treatment before his bad heart took him out?”
Both men nodded.
“He’s got a short-wave radio program that comes on around midnight. My sister has fourth stage cancer. She’s the one who told me about it. There’s a lot of stuff going on that’s kept out of the news.
“They’re experimenting with RY, trying to grow new body parts. Problem is that once they’re implanted, the virus takes over the whole body, and turns the recipient into Y class. If they ever learn how to kill the virus after the body part is grown, we may have something that’s worthwhile.
“Now, you may not believe what I’m about to tell you, but I heard it with my own two ears. The other night on Qing’s show, guess who he interviewed?”
“I don’t know, who?” Manny asked.
“Ned Williams.”
“Ned Williams? Neddy Ballgame? The Terrible Toothpick? The Greatest Batter Who Ever Lived?” Manny said in amazement.
“The same,” Joe said.
“Baseball legend Ned Williams has been dead fer years,” Andy said.
“True, but he was cryogenically frozen. His great-grandson snuck the head out of the country, and some jackleg doctor brought it back to life using RY. You wouldn’t believe the story that man had to tell,” Joe said.
“Qing had a talking head on the show? Fer real?” Andy said.
“Well, I didn’t see it. It was radio, you know. But Ned confirmed that rumor about his head being abused while it was frozen,” Joe said.
“I don’t know the story,” Andy said.
“Well, instead of freezing his whole body waiting for science to progress to the point where a cure could be found for what killed him, the grandson took the option to only save the head. I guess to put the brain inside a robot or something in the future.
“Anyway, they cut off Ned’s head, and then went to freeze it in some type of vessel. With the head being round, it didn’t want to sit up straight, so they put a tuna fish can on the bottom, and balanced his head on it before filling the vessel with liquid nitrogen,” Joe said.
“Did the can still have tuna in it?” Andy asked.
“Probably not. The head would have balanced better if it were empty,” Manny surmised.
“He didn’t say. When they took the head out a c
ouple of days later, the can was still stuck to the top of his head. Some technician thought he was going to be cute and knock a home run with the can by batting it with a monkey wrench. Problem was, he missed and smashed into Ned instead. After he and his buddies had a good laugh, he tried again. That time he hit the can, and sent it flying across the room with a piece of scalp still connected to the bottom,” Joe said.
“That’s just horrible,” Manny said.
“Did tuna go flying out of the can too?” Andy asked.
“He didn’t say anything about the tuna, Andy. Next week, he’s going to have that old college football coach on, Dick Seybin. Remember, his head was frozen too when he died.”
“Kinda gives a new meaning to the title of Head Coach,” Andy said, and then grinned.
“Andy, this is serious. Don’t you see how the world is changing in a way we never expected? This RY virus is out amongst us, and we aren’t ever going to be able to put it back in its box. It’s not just used to save people infected by the old zombie virus.
“My sister tells me that you can buy the RY drug on the black market. It ain’t cheap from what she’s saying. Would you do it if you had the dough? Buy the treatment, I mean, or would you rather go out the old-fashioned way?
“I was thinking, if you played your cards right, no one would ever know. You could move every ten years or so. Keep to yourself. Work enough odd jobs to put a roof over your head and food on the table. You could go on living for, well, I guess no one’s sure. Maybe forever. I wonder how many have already done that, and are living among us now?”
As if on cue, Manny and Andy raised their glasses and drank, and then returned them to the counter with a simultaneous clunk. Their expressions blank, and their eyes staring beyond the bar’s walls.
Chapter 18
The parking lot in front of the strip mall was unusually full, most of the stores had closed at 6 p.m. Lisa drove slowly down the street. The addresses weren’t well marked, and she didn’t want to drive past the NAAND office and have to turn around. Knowing she was close, and since the building did resemble Rebecca’s description, Lisa took a chance, pulled off the road, and drove into the lot.
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