“You can't run an empire with sloths,” she said. Everyone nodded, and went, “Mmm, mmm.”
Pepper yawned and tossed the baby into the hole in the ground. A demonic burp came out, followed by an offensive odor. She explained that she liked the Devil because he let them do whatever they wanted. Although, she said quite honestly, she didn't like how he was like a dad that's never home. Thunder erupted in the giant hole. The building shook. Pepper was scared.
“I'm sorry,” she said. “Please don't kill me.”
Right then, Jackson ran from the throne and growled and began tearing off many zombie heads and pulling off many zombie arms and legs and hands. He untied me. Jackson was a supelderly. He ran into the lab and knocked everything over and started a big fire. He jogged out, covered in flames. I screamed for him, but he just ran for Pepper with his arms out, ready to strangle her. Pepper looked around, confused.
“Shit!”
And then she started shoving zombies into Jackson's way. He brought his hands together like a spear and ran through each zombie and split them in two.
Jackson gave Pepper a bear hug, and she lit up right quick. They fought all around the church, setting things on fire. Jackson punched her IN the chest. She fell into an elevator shaft, way down there in all that darkness, trying desperately to scoop up and shove back in all the blood shooting out from the hole in her chest. I hit a switch. Pepper looked up, and the elevator made its slow way down. She gave Jackson a hopeless look. She jumped up and down over and over with her hands in the air, expecting him to grab her.
“Baby!” she said. “Save me! I love YOU!”
Jackson stood there, on fire, taking in deep breaths.
He smiled at her.
“...Get kilt,” he said.
Pepper's eyes lit up.
“You son of a...!”
The elevator eased on top of her...and she popped into a big, dark mess. I watched and enjoyed every second of her screaming. I'm not entirely sure, but I think I thanked God.
The place was going crazy. Zombies ran around in circles, biting their nails, not knowing what to do. The building was on fire. I was about to run out of the damn place, when I realized that Jackson wasn't with me. He just stood there, staring...waving bye. I yelled for him, but he didn't budge. He said that he was staying. It wasn't right that he was alive. He felt fake – felt guilty for cheating death. Right when he demanded that I “Go!” and “Leave now!” the ceiling gave way and all this crap fell between us. Smoke was in my lungs; breathing hurt.
I ran outside, coughing, and watched the place light up the night sky.
I didn't cry.
No time.
CHAPTER THREE
THE END
No more pills. The super elders turned into raging maniacs. Mad addicts. I jumped into a hearse and plowed through the crazies. Back in the city, I saw a slow supelder take out a bottle of Kilt, but it was empty. He looked around...and tackled a fellow supelder and ate him.
The meat made him stronger. He raised his arms up and flexed like a muscle man, and said, “I am invigorated!” And then they were all attacking each other. It was a gruesome sight. I ran through some and moved on.
Once I was home, and all locked up in Clair's house, I fell on her bed and knocked out. Jackson visited me in my dreams, instructing me to protect the island and kill all the leftover zombies – to make the island clean again – to make Oahu right again. In the morning, I woke up crying for him. I went into the kitchen and made a meal consisting of rice and Spam, grabbed a machete – washed it clean – jumped into the hearse, and went back down into the world. The city was quiet. I could hear only my footsteps on the street. Newspapers flew around. Cars and trucks and buses stood around, torn apart, many burnt, smoking. I walked around so many bodies and limbs and scalps and piles of smiling skulls. The surviving supelders lost all their energy. They were on their bellies and moved on the streets like depressed snakes. Limbs too weak, some dug their chins into the ground and inched their way forward.
It was hard for me to cut off someone's head, but Jackson's spirit must've possessed me, or something, because my hands just seemed to do the work for me. I chopped off their heads, and then I drove around the island to find as many dying elders as I could and sliced their heads off, too. After a while, it got easier. I felt nothing. Many of the zombies were in the Black Sands Coffee Company, all on the ground, struggling to eat bags of coffee. I cut their heads off and took home some bags of coffee.
So sue me.
It went on like this for days.
Once, I found a cannibal-boy eating the dead. I tried talking to him like I was talking to a stray dog, but it was for nothing. The kid found a Kilt pill on the body and ate it, and he exploded. I didn't even try to stop him. I didn't run. I didn't care. Another day, I visited the home and saw a supelder trying to stay alive by hooking itself to an energy drink life support system. I was impressed, but chopped its head off anyway – while the zombie cried and begged for kindness – and destroyed the contraption.
I live up in the hills now and exercise regularly, just like I used to when I was “younger”. I eat all the Spam I want, and I go hiking whenever I want. Sometimes a find a half-alive super elder in the woods, so I'm never without my machete nowadays. I have those nights when I wake up and feel like dying. I miss Jackson. It feels like my chest is on fire when I think about him. Nothing there but pain...heartache...loss. I have to learn how to be alone all over again. I don't recommend it.
Meditation helps a little – being calm and peaceful – one with myself...with the world. When I jog down the mountain, I look over to the city of Honolulu, and I'm amazed by the silence...by the blueness of the sparkling ocean way off in the distance. I focus on the sound of my breathing as I jog...on the sound of my shoes hitting dirt...of the birds singing all around me. Peaceful...so peaceful.
I don't remember the last time I looked in a mirror. Don't care anymore. I'm over it.
The exercise keeps me feeling real good.
I have more energy than ever before.
I feel younger than I ever did.
I feel alive.
The End. For now.
COMING SOON
Get Kilt 2
To Zombie, or Not To Zombie?
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Raymund Hensley is the author of Aloha Mannequins, Filipino Vampire, How I met Barbara the Zombie Hunter, and The Zombie Hunter’s Bible. He lives in Honolulu, Hawaii.
https://raymundhensley.blogspot.com/
https://www.youtube.com/user/raymhensley
https://www.bosshospital.com
https://www.facebook.com/BossHospital
ALSO BY
Raymund Hensley
Aloha Mannequins
A moving comedy, Aloha Mannequins exposes the more interesting face of Honolulu, Hawaii. From Mannequin Pornography to insane dolphin activists that wear full-body dolphin suits, Aloha Mannequins will open the eyes of any “outsider”.
“Aloha Mannequins is a very funny story of eerie
inner circles of Hawaii. Great story, great humor!”
-Sterling Knight, www.macabremenace.com
The Zombie Hunter’s Bible
Hunters young & old have now relied on Raym C. Hensley’s humorous hunting guide for vital information, ranging from killing a zombie, bathing a zombie, to eating a zombie when necessary. Easy to understand, friendly and inspiring, The Zombie Hunter’s Bible will empower you with all the knowledge you’ll need toward capturing – and understanding – the walking dead.
“The attention to detail is mind-boggling!”
-Staci Wilson, About.com
How I met Barbara the Zombie Hunter
Yes, there are zombies, even in Hawaii. A foolish writer learns this the hard way from a strange (and beautiful) woman who claims to be a hunter of the living dead.
Filipino Vampire
A popular monster from the Philippines, known as an aswang, terrorizes the island of Oahu.
The Filipino vampire leaves its legs behind and flies around rooftops, searching for children to steal and eat. Trapped in the aswang's trailer home, it's up to one little girl to put a stop to the beast's reign of panic.
“A unique tale by a fresh voice in horror.”
-Tracey Fleming, The Written Universe
BOSS HOSPITAL
A cartoon with nuns, aliens, zombies, and surgeries.
Watch at
https://www.youtube.com/user/raymhensley
Get Kilt: A Zombie Pill Page 7