Monster Burger: A zombie horror comedy (24/7 Demon Mart)

by D. M. Guay

  Chapter 14

  For the record, I did not get Kevin another combo meal. Even if I wanted to, DeeDee wouldn't have let me. She made Kevin go get it himself. Let's just say this turned his complaint dial up to eleven. Before he left, he did not let us forget the portal was broken, he had to walk, DeeDee had thrown the roller blade away, and Monster Burger had yet another line out the door.

  He only dragged one bag back this time, and judging by the squinty side eye he gave us as he pulled it inside onto the welcome mat, so out of breath he was wheezing, he would not be doing either of us any favors anytime soon.

  “Hey, dumbass. Give me a lift, will ya? I'm spent.” He bent over and put four hands on two knees—four feet on two legs? Jesus, I'm confused—while he caught his breath.

  I sat him and the bag by the register. When he had fully recovered, he scuttled over to the stereo, hit play, then scuttled right back across the counter straight into his Monster Burger bag. It ruffled as Kevin moved around inside. I could just make out yummy noises over the pounding of drums and the slide of an electric guitar.

  “Mmmmm mmmmmm. Oh yeah. Delicious. Come to daddy. Mmmmm.”

  The voice of a man singing something about wizards and selling souls boomed through every speaker in the store.

  “Is this Dio again?” It had to be. That dude loved to sing about wizards.

  “You know it.” Kevin poked his head out. “Stargazer. You're welcome.”

  He ducked back in. The bag rippled, and the edge of a burger inched out. “This one's for you, kid. I owe you one, remember?”

  Aw. My heart softened a little toward Kevin. He was actually paying me back!

  “Of course I am. I'm no deadbeat.” He pushed a small baggie of fries out, too. “I pay my debts. I'm not a freeloader like my freakin' roommates.”

  It couldn't have come at a better time. I was so hungry, I didn't care that the recipe had changed. My stomach growled as I laid out the food and hit it with some salt. I was just about to take a bite when angel eight ball rolled right on out from behind the cheap cigarette racks and onto my french fries, window side up. “Drop the burger.” The triangle turned. “I said I'd give you a free pass on Monster Burger for saving the world. ONE free pass, and I did. But you can't transform that sad dad bod into a physique worthy of a world-saving hero eating this crap.”

  “What? I didn't agree to that!” If God wanted me to get a hot bod, He was gonna be waiting a long time. I hadn't had a visible ab muscle since puberty.

  “You did agree to that.”

  “No, I didn't!”

  “Look. Deny it all you want, but you signed a blank check. You made vague, open-ended promises to God. You weren't specific, so your contract is wide open. Ergo, if He wants you to get fit, you get fit.”

  Nope. Screw you. I took a gigantic bite out of the burger and chewed, hard, making as many mmmms and yums and it's so delicious as possible, even though the new and improved Monster Burger wasn't really that good. It tasted like Caroline Ford Vanderbilt had infused every bite with bitterness and judgment.

  “Blech. How can you eat that?” angel said.

  I looked him right in the triangle and shoved a fistful of fries directly in my mouth. “It's delishush.”

  “Really? Is it delicious? You like the taste of maggots?”

  “Wha?”

  Angel eight ball's triangle flashed an arrow. Pointing down. At my food. Which was covered in maggots. Big ones. Undulating and blubbing around all over. Darting in and out of my bun. Pfffffffffft. No, that wasn't a roach fart. That was me broadcast spitting a mouthful of chewed up potatoes all over the counter.

  “What the hell?” Kevin took shelter under the edge of his takeout bag as the food bits fell. “You're cleaning that up.”

  “Aaaaaah!” Yes. I screamed, okay? Because I'd eaten maggots. I scraped my tongue with my hands, my napkin, anything to get the maggots out. I never should have eaten food made by zombies.

  “Okay, well that was easier than I thought it would be,” angel eight ball said. “Why don't you grab a salad out of the employee lounge. I saw one in the fridge when I was rolling through there. Oh, and Chef got loose. You might want to take care of that while you're back there.”

  I gathered up my food to throw it away. “Where did all the maggots go?” I looked up, down, all around. I had the creeped-out chills. Disgusting things. Where could they be hiding?

  “Relax,” angel eight ball said. “There aren't any maggots. I faked it. I stole that move from Lost Boys. Funny, right?”

  “You what?” So. Mad. Right. Now.

  “I thought it was funny,” Kevin said.

  “Thanks. Oh, wait.” His triangle turned. “Outlook not so good.”

  “Whatevs,” Kevin snipped. “We all know you're in there.”

  Apparently, that's when my maggot shock wore off, and it dawned on me that I didn't have to put up with this. I picked angel eight ball up and threw him across the store. He hit the glass door of the reach-in cooler then thunked to the floor. He lolled around on the linoleum for a minute, then stopped, stone still.

  I marched straight to the candy aisle. I was gonna eat a whole pack of something. Take that, angel. Just try to stop me. I found a big bag of Raisinets and ripped it open right there. I shoved a fistful into my mouth. “Take tha, azzhull.”

  Man. I really had to work on smack talking with my mouth full. Mmm. Totes worth it, though. Raisinets were like fireworks of fruity chocolate awesomeness in my mouth.

  DeeDee poked her head into the aisle. “Hey. I'm going in back. I think I hear Chef rattling around. Do you need anything? Wait. What are you doing?”

  “Nuffing.” I turned and fled, cheeks flushing hot. Great. Nothing said, “I'm the man of your dreams” like a fat dude's cheeks stuffed with candy.

  “Smooth. Real smooth,” Kevin shook his head when I walked back up to the counter. “We're gonna have to work on your moves.”

  Yeah. I know. “Want waaan?”

  I plopped the bag on the counter and it split, sending assorted bits of chocolate-dipped raisin heaven rolling all over. Man. I couldn't catch a break. I popped one in my mouth and bent over to pick up a couple that landed on the floor. Blech. This one must have gone bad. It tastes like dirt.

  Angel eight ball hit my foot. “That's not a Raisinet. That's pixie poop.”

  “Yeah right.”

  “No. That's pixie poop. For real.”

  Pffoooot. I spit it out.

  “Don't just stand there, kid. Help me!” Kevin yelled.

  “What?” I stood up and my nose landed in pixie butt crack. Seriously. My nose slid right in between a pair of cheeks like it was a bookmark.

  I swatted that pixie away at the same time it dug its feet into my cheeks to push off. She twisted her ginger head around and looked at me like I was some kind of super pervert. Dude! Neither one of us was happy about this! The pixie flew off just as Kevin roundhouse kicked the old grandpa pixie with the giant mole right in the groin.

  Aw, man. That had to hurt.

  “Uh, Kevin.” Pixies, too many to count, hovered in the air. They had us surrounded. He hadn't noticed. “Maybe you should dial it down?”

  That would be a no. He waved a french fry back and forth like it was a light saber as he stomped and yelled, “How did you pricks get out of the dumpster? I closed the lid and sealed the bag!”

  In response, a couple of pixies fluttered up off the floor, holding the shredded remains of Kevin's draw string trash bag. It just made him more angry. “How did you get back inside?”

  Grandpa pixie pointed to the heat vent in the ceiling. Of course, his other hand cupped his aching balls. A pair of red hands poked out of a portal above us. Kevin's red-armed demon roommate warmed himself while adjusting the heating vent.

  “Deadbeat!” Kevin shook his head. “You! Pixies! I told you once, and I'll say it again. You can't stay here. You go outside, we won't bug you. You come inside my store? It's war.”

  They chitted t
o each other like they were considering it. For a minute, it looked like we might have a truce. Grandpa directed the younger ones around. They dipped down and grabbed the corner of Kevin's Monster Burger sack and started to fly off toward the door.

  “Oh, hell no! That was not part of the deal. That's mine.” Kevin jumped up, trying to grab the corner as they flew up and away.

  “Dude. Just let them have the burger!”

  “No way, kid. MINE!” He screamed at the pixies, “Deal's off. Drop the burger and get outta here! Go on. Git.”

  The fat white-haired grandpa pixie—oh my God, I seriously could not stop staring at his hairy mole—raised two middle fingers and spat words at us. Fighting words. He had no intention of gitting anywhere, anytime soon, and no intention of leaving without Kevin's burger.

  “So that's how it's gonna be, huh?” Kevin sighed heavily and shook his head. Then he slowly moved his legs in circles and breathed deep. It looked like some sort of roach Tai Chi. He whispered, “I want you to be nice until it's time to not be nice.”

  He said it over and over again.

  “Are you talking to me? Do you want me to be nice or do you want me to fight?”

  The pixies buzzed around us, chittering to each other, equally confused.

  “Shut up, kid. I'm Roadhousing. I gotta get in the zone.”

  “You're what?”

  “Roadhousing. You know. Channeling the power of the Swayze.”

  I blank stared at him.

  “Kids these days. You know nothing about the classics. Never mind. Moment's gone. You ruined it.”

  When I looked up, there were more pixies. Oh, so many pixies. Clean ones. Dirty ones. The naked old one. And every single one of them looked pissed. Naked and pissed. They'd started ripping stuff up and throwing it at us. Lottery tickets. Cheap cigarettes. A few of them grabbed key chain laser pointers off the display rack and zinged me in the eyes.

  Kevin stretched his legs, then declared, “Bring it!”

  He flew through the air, legs out, ready to karate chop right through a cluster of pixies, screaming like a tiny brown Jackie Chan.

  “What are you doing?” Had he lost his mind? We were outnumbered. By a lot. Like, a lot a lot. Kevin kicked a pixie right in the face, and the swarm descended on us.

  A dirty pixie jumped onto my shirt. I screamed and batted him off. He thunked to the floor, but that didn't stop him. He rolled over, crawled right up my leg, and proceeded to pull leg hair out by the fistful while sinking his fangs into my shin bone.

  “Aaaaaaaaaaaaaah!” Yep. I screamed. And flapped my arms and shook my leg. Because I was a totes cool cucumber ready for any crisis. Ahem.

  Kevin had a pixie pinned on the counter and punched him repeatedly in the face. Then he scuttled up onto the intercom. He hit the button, and his voice boomed across the speakers. “Drop the bag, scumballs!”

  The pixies flying off with Kevin's burger were nearly to the door. He was so fixated on dinner that he didn't see the phalanx of pixies that swooped in and grabbed him from behind. They each grabbed hold of one leg and pulled him up off the intercom and into the air.

  I tried to swat them away and save Kevin, but they flew out of reach. The rest of them descended on me. Sadly, coming to Kevin's aid had landed me the new top spot on the pixies' shit list. There were so many on my face I couldn't breathe. They started to suck up into my nostrils every time I took a breath. I tried to scream for help, and they stuck their dirty little legs in my mouth, choking me. I could feel the weight of them all over my head, pulling my hair, and scratching my ears. This was not going well. We were totally losing.

  “Oh, dear,” I heard a tiny sweet voice. Then kissy noises that sounded like someone trying to con a cat into coming closer. “Looky what I've got. Here, boys. Here you go, fellas. Oh yes. Good stuff. Yummy, isn't it?”

  One by one, the pixies lifted their fangs out of my face, let go of the hair they were pulling out of my scalp, and dislodged themselves from my nostrils.

  When I opened my eyes, a small grandma stood on the other side of the counter, staring into her huge floral-print quilted handbag. It took me a minute to recognize her. It was Henrietta, the owner of the Jesus Saves Discount Religious Supply store. She quickly pulled the zipper shut on her bag and looked up at me sweetly.

  “Good evening, dear,” she said. “Pest problems?”

  Her bag wiggled and writhed. Huh. Were the pixies in there? No. That's crazy. I looked all around, but didn't see them.

  “Is your manager here, young man?”

  I noticed she was disheveled. Her white orthotic tennis shoes were coated with black muck, like she'd been standing in a horse stall. She had a broken stick stuck in her white cotton ball hair, and the embroidered pumpkins on her sweater were streaked with mud.

  “Jesus Christ.” Kevin crawled onto the counter and brushed himself off. He turned to Henrietta and said, “Where's that case of Pixie Rid I ordered? If you hadn't noticed, the place is infested!”

  “That's why I'm here, dear. It's out of stock. The supplier said someone bought up every single can in North America. One big bulk order, nearly two weeks ago.”

  “Then import it from somewhere else!” Kevin snipped. “This is an emergency. They almost quartered me!”

  “I can't, dear. The factories can only make so much. It's barrel aged. What they have on hand isn't ready yet. It's not potent unless it ferments. I ordered an alternative for you. It hasn't arrived?”

  “No it didn't arrive. Look around! We've been up to our eyeballs in pixies for a week now!”

  Kevin ranted, and she shook her head, declaring “oh my” and “oh dear” as he spun his tale of pixie woe.

  “It seems like everyone in the neighborhood has a pixie problem. At first, I said to myself 'Henrietta, it's just a bad season,' but when I went to the cemetery to put out a feeder for them, all of their burrows had been dug up. That's why they're nesting in the shops.”

  “Yeah, so? It coulda been a skunk or a raccoon or something. They dig 'em up all the time,” Kevin said. “They can rebuild.”

  “I don't think so, dear. They can't rebuild. The soil has been completely removed, scraped away. Like someone took a bulldozer to it. An animal couldn't do that. I'm afraid someone sabotaged the burrows.”

  “What? Who would be dumb enough to do that? Shit. No dirt? Really? They'll never leave.” Kevin held his head like it hurt.

  “There there, dear. But please be kind to them while we sort it out. Pixies do tend to hold a grudge,” she said.

  Did she say grudge? Uh oh.

  “I have a bad feeling. I sense a darkness over the neighborhood.” Henrietta shivered, then sunk one wrinkled hand into her pocket and produced a glass bottle. She slipped it to me—Kevin was too busy stomping and spouting pixie-related expletives—and said, “Just in case, dear.”

  The bottle was filled with what looked like lime green milk. The label said “Quita Maldicion Curse Breaker Floor Wash.”

  Doc stepped out of the beer cave. “Is the mean woman gone?”

  “Yeah. It's safe,” I said.

  Famous last words.

  “Hey. Loverboy. You're taking your sweet old time back there,” Kevin snipped. “You fix my gate yet?”

  “Bug man, I have examined the components. There is no error. The gate is functioning properly.”

  “What? Properly my butt!”

  The last word wasn't even out of Kevin's mouth when a wave of thick white puffy ooze blubbed up and out of the beer cave door. And it kept coming. It didn't stop until we were all knee deep in hell's marshmallow fluff.

  Chapter 15

  If you're waiting for me to tell you Henrietta snapped into psychic mode and gave me a magic poem containing the clues we needed to solve all of our problems, you can keep waiting. I sure did. With pen and paper, so I could take notes. But she didn't go into a trance. She didn't tell me Dwayne Johnson and Ronnie James Dio would save the world. Nope. Not this time.

  She bought
a tube of Rolaids, Doc pulled her free of the mysterious marshmallow muck, then she carried her giant quilted bag full of pixies across the street, back to the Jesus Saves Discount Religious Supply store like it was no big thing. We haven't seen her since. It's been seven days.

  Dude. You don't just slip someone a bottle of curse breaker if everything is hunky dory, then go about your daily life like nothing's up.

  Because something was definitely up. There was that weird white fluff, which was harmless but messy, and the result of yet another gate routing error. Then we had a hard time getting the zombies back in the cooler after they ate it all up. Those collars? Apparently, they were remote controlled. But no one could find the remote. It had gone missing.

  Last night, a portal opened by the boner pill display and some giant shrimp looking thing popped out and ate half the rack, pills included. His legs and antennae got so hard, we had to wait until they got soft again to poke him back through the portal. With broomsticks, because come on. No one in their right mind would use bare hands to touch a giant hell shrimp with a full body boner.

  Even without all that, the store's rhythm was completely off. Customers used to wander in to load up on beer and chips like this was any normal corner store. At least until midnight, when the Go Away charm flipped on. But now? We didn't have any customers to shoo away. None at all. Even Junebug, fresh off the day shift, said as much. Dead as a doornail. All day.

  No one had customers, not even Sinbad's. I'd been pulling demon strippers out of the beer cave every night. Butts and legs, and other random lady bits getting stuck in the wall was a regular thing now, because the wonky gate kept closing on them. All that trouble so they could go to work at an empty club.

  The only business that was hopping on this block was Monster Burger. A line of people three wide spilled out the front door and looped halfway around the block. You couldn't even see the patch of grass where poor Mr. Jimmy had died for all the people standing on it. Poor guy. Monster Burger never had a crowd like this when he was alive. And now Caroline Ford Vanderbilt was making all the money. Remind me again how life is fair?