by Theo Vigo
LongBlondeHairedGirl: (sighs) That's enough for today.
Exhausted, she limps back to her bag and takes out her blankets. She uses one as a pillow and covers herself with the other. Before she lays her head down, she looks back over to her trainee. He can hardly be seen through the thick darkness
LongBlondeHairedGirl: You've made absolutely no progress… but I'll learn you. You better believe it. I'll learn you.
With that she rests her head down on her makeshift pillow and drifts off to sleep. She lies with her body turned away from our zombie, who growls and mouths off, without rest until daylight.
WHAT'S IN A NAME?
The next morning, the young girl with long blond hair is up and looking perkier than usual. She sits meditation style by her duffel bag on top of one of the blankets, eating one of her cans of Spaghettios with a fork while watching our zombie, who is still fighting the good fight with his jagged enemy of timber. If it wasn't clear enough before, it's certainly obvious now that his energy is depleting.
LongBlondeHairedGirl: (mouth full) Mmmmm.. my God, I love Spaghettios. They might just be the only good thing left in this world. You like Spaghettios? Ooor… did you like Spaghettios?… Of course, you must have. Who couldn't love this stuff!?
He moves back and forth in the door at half-life while the girl continues eating.
LongBlondeHairedGirl: Who are you anyway? How did you end up here? My family and I had been here for days until you showed and messed it all up… and there isn't anything around here for miles… except the sewers… but there's no way you could've come from there.
He responds, but in words she can't understand.
LongBlondeHairedGirl: Hmph, not talking huh? I'll just beat it out of you later.
She takes another fork full of Spaghettios and slurps some sauce up from the can into her mouth to compensate for what the fork can't hold. She continues speaking with her mouth full.
LongBlondeHairedGirl: My name is Margaret…(swallows food) … Margaret Sinclair. I huh, won't bother ask your name… But… maybe I should give you one?
The zombie continues to reach as Margaret takes another fork full of Spaghettios and a swig of sauce.
Margaret: Mmm! I think I know what I'm gonna call you. When I was a little girl, about four or five, I had the cutest, tiniest little Golden Retriever I'd ever seen. Ugh, seriously. It was disgusting how cute this puppy was.
She swallows her food and begins the regalement of her story.
<><><>
"Mom told dad and I that one of her co-worker's dogs had a litter of puppies, and she brought them to work that day to show off and give away. I had always wanted a pet, and mom couldn't resist the little guy when she saw him, so she "just haaaaad to bring him home". Dad was a little apprehensive at first, but when mom put him down and that little guy ran into my hands, dad saw how happy I was, and he couldn't say no. I knew we could keep it for sure when he asked me what I wanted to name it.
"I knew exactly what I wanted to name it. Around the same time, I was obsessed with a character on one of my favorite TV shows named Abe, a clown with good intentions who always seemed to get himself into trouble, so that had to be it. "Abe!" I told them. And from that moment on, we were pretty much inseparable. That was, up until about four days later.
"One afternoon, Abe and I were playing in the front yard. I was trying to teach him how to fetch. He was still a small guy, couldn't even bite down on a tennis ball yet, so I was using one of those super bouncy balls. Not small enough for him to swallow and choke on, but not too big that he couldn't get a good hold of it. It was fine, because it couldn't bounce anywhere on the grass.
"He was kind of like you, wasn't catching on to the idea very quickly. Every time I threw the ball out and told him to fetch it, he'd just run over to it and start gnawing on it and batting it around. I kept trying, but he would never bring it back to me, and I would always have to get up and bring it back myself. Abe would just follow me around, frolicking around my heels, all happy-go-lucky like he didn't even care to learn. It shouldn't have, but it was really starting to annoy me, and on the next, "FETCH!", the anger I was feeling put a little too much energy into my throw. I accidentally threw the ball too far, and it landed on the sidewalk, bounced into the street and came to a rest on the lawn of the house opposite ours. Not knowing any better, little Abe went off running for it, and when he tried to run across the street…"
<><><>
Margaret: … he got hit by a car. (takes in a fork full) I was devastated. I cried for hours. (swallows) I remember my parents desperately trying to calm me down, but it was no use. (chuckles thoughtfully) Mom was even telling me that she could just ask the lady from work for another puppy… but I didn't want one… After seeing what the car did to Abe,.. to his body… I couldn't risk losing another pet, and I've never had another one since then.
Margaret takes the last couple of pieces of pasta into her mouth and drinks off the rest of the sauce left behind by the fork, mouth to can. She swallows it all up and looks to our zombie.
Margaret: Not until now.
She puts the can, with the fork inside, down next to the rest of her stuff. Then rests her elbows on the sides of her knees, and her chin in her palms, staring at her new pet inquisitively.
Margaret: So, what d'you think about that name, huh? Abe? That'll be your new name.
OurZombie: rrrrrrRRRmmm… aaapAAooommmm...
Margaret: (picking up her big stick) Yeaaaa well, you're gonna have to get used to it,.. Abe.
Holding the stick in her right hand, Margret smacks the makeshift club into her left palm in a very intimidating fashion, and then starts getting to her feet.
Margaret: But unlike Abe number one, you're gonna learn what I teach you.
She starts limping over to our zombie, to be known from here until the end of time as "Abe". The rabbit she had caught the day before still lays in a clump of fur on the floor in between them, and she picks it up as she walks over to him.
Margaret: I feel like today is gonna be a better day for you, Abe.
She stops at her safe point and waits.
Margaret: Right? Just remember, I am not a meal.
Margaret waits for a response again, and Abe gives his normal babbling reply. She knows that he probably has no idea what she is saying, but the feeling of having a normal conversation is one of the last things keeping her sane, giving her the sense that there is still something familiar left to hold on to. Looking even deeper, if she actually believes that she can train this undead creature, then she must also believe that there is a possibility that the beast can comprehend. But it doesn't matter. She will continue her training course until the zombie learns, or until it breaks out and kills her. Maybe it's because she believes he can learn, maybe it's because she has nothing better to do… Maybe she's lost her mind. No matter, she will train this zombie.
Margaret: Ready?
She pauses as if to wait for a response again, and then they begin their second day of training.
By midday, it seems as if Abe is getting nowhere, and Margaret is starting to get tired. She is sweating bullets, and her grimy blonde hair is soaked through. Interestingly enough, it looks like Abe is getting worn out as well. His left arm swings at both targets, but just barely. Maybe Abe might not be trainable after all. She tries one more time to see if he will attack her, and when she flaunts herself, his arm comes up. It comes sloppily and fatigued, but it comes nonetheless, and she is forced to give the undead creature it's punishment for disobeying for the umpteenth time.
Margaret: Aaargh!! You stupid zombie!!!! You're supposed to go for the stupid hare, not me!!! Ugh!!!
She pants and stares at her disobedient pet in disappointment, shaking her head at him, then she takes a deep breath and sighs it out slowly in an effort to calm herself down.
Margaret: But I'm not giving up on you yet…
She rubs her tummy. It's been three hours now that she has been trying to train Abe, possibly more,
and she had forgotten to feed herself.
Margaret: I am, however, going to get something to eat.
So she turns around and limps her way back to where her duffel bag has been laid. Beside it, she puts down her big whooping stick and the dead hare, and then takes her seat on top of the blanket she has set for herself to rest upon. She rummages through the bag to see what she has left. It's still quite a bit, as she is always sure to not eat more than she has to. For this meal she decides to allow herself a few slices of the first loaf of bread that is now about three quarters finished, but as soon as she takes the bag of bread out, she notices her dirty hands and the dead hare she had just been holding in them. She decides to wash up in the kitchen sink. Abe grumbles at her as she limps over and turns on the tap.
Margaret: Yea, yea, I know. It's the end of the world. I guess some old habits die-hard.
She finishes washing her hands and limps back to her spot.
Margaret: But wouldn't it be ironic if I died from something silly like salmonella, instead of the infection that happens to be.. or pretty much HAS destroyed civilization as it stands… as it stood.
She sits down and proceeds to take her three slices of bread out of their plastic bag.
Margaret: Gaaawd, I can't let that happen. I'd be the laughing stalk of… well… of myself. (takes a bite) I'd never be able to let myself live it down. Uh, that is until the salmonella actually killed me, then I would have no choice but to live it down, I guess.
She chuckles to herself about the little joke she cracked and takes another decent bite of her bread slice.
Margaret: But then I wouldn't be "ALIVE" to "live it down" now, would I? I guess I would have to "die it down".
She chuckles a little bit more, but it's hard even for her to sympathize with her bad joke telling capabilities. She stuffs more bread into her mouth, glancing up at Abe while munching and forcing out a few more contrived giggles.
Margaret: What's the matter? Don't get my humor, huh? I know, it's a tad grim, but if anyone can relate it's gotta be you, right? Meh… I've never been a comedian anyho-
Mid-sentence she takes a serious note of how sluggish Abe is becoming. He's still moving around in the door like a caught trout, but hardly. For the first time, it's deadly clear to Margaret that her pet is losing energy, much faster than she thought he would.
Margaret: You don't look too good. You must actually be getting hungry, huh? Mmmmm… Well, it has been a little over a day since your last.. (ahem) meal.
When she says this her head and eyes involuntarily look toward her mother's dead body.
Margaret: I guess… if there is any human left inside of you, it must be pretty hungry by now.
She sits for a minute and continues munching, then she sees the rabbit and thinks to herself briefly before speaking again.
Margaret: I really shouldn't do this. I mean, you haven't learned a damn thing since we've started your lessons, but…
She ponders a few seconds more, looking from the rabbit to the zombie, from the zombie to the rabbit and back again. Then she makes her decision.
Margaret: Aw, fuck it. This hare is bound to turn soon… or something. You might as well have it while it's fresh.
It may just be an excuse to fulfill her curiosity for wanting to actually feed him, see what it's like. Maybe she actually cares. Regardless, Margaret puts the last corner of her second slice of bread into her mouth, dusts the crumbs from her hands and picks the dead rabbit back up. She brings it back over to Abe, who perks up ever so slightly as she nears.
Margaret: One more try for kicks, yea?
Margaret leans her head in passed the safe point, and right on cue Abe lazily swings his left arm for her face. She dodges it and sighs in disappointment.
Margaret: Oh, well. Here you go.
This time she extends her hand that holds the dead hare. Instantly Abe's left arm comes up, but this time, instead of being met with a fist full of air, his palm makes contact with the day old hare carcass. He rips it from Margaret's hand with an energy she thought he had run out of, and rams it into his longing mouth. The rabbit's guts begin to pour out as Abe withdraws his clamped jaws, full of fur and insides. Margaret wretches at the sight of it.
Margaret: Ugh… That's disgusting.
Forgetting to wash her hands this time, she turns around and hobbles back to take her spot on the floor so she can eat the last slice of bread that would complete her meal. She takes a bite and this time, for some reason, the bread doesn't taste as good. It's plain white flavor, that by this time is starting to get a little stale and hard, rubs itself into her tongue like a cat into a cushy rug. The more she chews, the pastier it becomes, and she finds it very dissatisfying.
Margaret: It's disgusting but… you're lucky. At least you get to eat some meat. I'd kill for a big, juicy burger right now… Oh my God, from Jake's Diner. (sighs) I miss that place.
Margaret swallows her tasteless portion and stares, almost jealously, at the rabbit currently having another bite taken out of it.
Margaret: I wouldn't even mind if it were a rabbit burger. I bet Jake's could make a delicious bunny burger if they wanted to.
She stares on with unblinking eyes at Abe continuing to eat the rabbit in his vicious fashion. It hardly looks like a rabbit anymore, just a clump of gooey fur held drooping in Abe's fist.
Margaret: Argh, what's the matter with me!?
She shakes herself back to reality and takes another bite of her mediocre midday meal.
Margaret: I'm getting jealous over a dead rabbit. I think I'll stick with my tasteless bread, thanks. It's cardboard flavored; delicious! OH! And it's got some flour flavor in there too. What flavors they are, dancing across my tongue in a gingerly waltz. Oh, how I do love this bread!
Abe isn't paying any attention to her sarcastic attitude, so Margaret continues watching him eat while eating, herself. As mentioned, there isn't much left of the dead hare, but the famished zombie still bites down into its skin and coat with an excited energy. It's surprising to Margaret, and a little appalling.
Margaret: Holy shit… There's nothing left of that thing. You must've really been hungry. As a matter of fact, you must still be hungry. I'm going to have to go out and catch you more training food. Heh. Actually you'd better enjoy that meal because when I come back, we get serious again. So yes, take your time, mister. Savor the flavor.
Abe takes a few more tearing bites of the dead hare, and then lets his left arm fall gently back to it's natural resting position, still clutching the thing. Looking directly at Margaret, he holds it momentarily then releases his grasp, letting the rabbit fall. It makes a plopping sound when it slaps against the floor.
Margaret: Oooh, so now you're finished, huh? …I guess I am too.
She puts the last of her third bread slice into her mouth and brushes her hands against themselves to dust the crumbs away.
Margaret: Okay, I should probably get going then, before it gets dark. It's not like I have anything better to do.
She takes up her big knife and heads for the door. Before exiting, she turns around to face Abe who has started swaying back and forth again, as if trying, but not really trying, to get free from the door. It's more like his body is twitching spontaneously, an automatic reflex, possibly from the disease and fatigue.
Margaret: Don't go wasting all of your energy, now. You're going to need it when I get back. Take it easy, Aaaaabe.
She bids him adieu and saunters out the door. Once again, Abe is left alone in the cabin, slowly and mindlessly, swaying to and fro.
<><><>
When Margaret returns, she returns with a bang. The cabin door swings open and slams against the cabin's inner wall.
Margaret: I'm hooooome! And check this out!
She had to kick the door in, and it becomes apparent why. Both of her hands are occupied, clutching two hares each by the ears, four ears a hand. Her big knife is nestled appropriately in the front of her grungy black shorts.
Margaret
: I'm really getting the hang of this.
She places the hares down by her bag and goes to the sink. Her hands are caked in mud, and she shakes her head at their filthiness as she turns the water on and begins to rinse off the dinge. When they get as clean as they're going to get, she uses them to rinse her mouth out, getting a good drink at the same time. She splashes some water into her face as well, and shakes some around in her mouth, then walks back to her stuff.
Margaret: All right, it's time to get you trained.
She reaches down, but instead of grabbing her training tools, she reaches into her duffel bag, shuffles around, and takes out a can of her favorite treat; SPAGHETTIOS!!!
Margaret: But first, I gotta eat something.
She grabs her clean knife, stabs it into the can, pries off the lid, grabs her trusty fork, plunges it into her food, chows down with no breaks, and slams the empty can on to the floor beside her; fork rattling.
Margaret: *BUUURP* Okay… Let's do this.
Margaret grabs her whooping club, scoops up a dead hare by the ears, and takes her place at the safe point.