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

by D. M. Guay

  “Get her out of here!” DeeDee scream whispered and pointed at Mom. She ducked, trying to avoid Larry's projectile vomit. But there was no avoiding it. It was all over. All over the floor. All over the chip aisle, the wall, the slushy machines. Even all the little Larries dripped with slime. Pink slime. With thousands of black bug legs floating in it.

  My heart jumped so high so hard, it nearly hit my tonsils. What were we supposed to do? How could we possibly hide this mess? What would I tell my Mom?

  Angel eight ball rolled around the edge of the barf puddle. “Bear in mind that lying to your parents is a sin.”

  I kicked him. I didn't need a lecture. I needed actual help. The mop. I'll get the mop. Clean it up before she notices. Yeah. That'll work. Morty's smooth. He'll keep her occupied. Shit. Well, hopefully not too occupied.

  I spun around, ready to make a run for the mop, when a yellow light began to flash by the Mountain Dew pyramid. The white door opened, and the zombie cleaning crew shuffled out. No. Not zombies. Not now! Is the room spinning or is it just me?

  “Kevin!” DeeDee snipped. “Level one and two only!”

  “Whatevs,” he said. “I'm not cleaning that up. It's dinnertime. I don't want to lose my appetite.”

  A second later, those zombies were slurping up Larry barf like it was freaking ice cream.

  Vlurp. Disgusting. My stomach turned so hard it felt like a double knot.

  I looked back at Mom. Morty tried to wrap his arms around her, but she pushed him away. Phew, except she was smiling and giggling. A strong, sudden bolt of testosterone surged inside me. I was gonna punch that hell fiend right in the nose. Moms were hands off! I didn't walk into the beer cave and put the moves on his mom! Boundaries, people!

  I closed in on Morty, fists ready. Wouldn't you know it, that was also the moment the dirty pixie couple decided to stop humping in the snack aisle and start flying around. Just my luck. You couldn't wait ten freaking minutes until my Mom left?

  Nope. No, they couldn't. They flipped me four middle fingers as they looped through the air.

  “Hey, Mom.” I grabbed her and spun her around before she could see the tiny naked gingers. I also conveniently inserted myself between her and Morty. I couldn't let a succubus straight from hell seduce my Mom. Yeah. Read that sentence again and let it sink in. How did this become my life?

  “Can I get you a Snapple? You like Snapple, right? Do you want a Snapple? We have Snapple. Come on. Let's go get a Snapple. You can drink Snapple in the car. On the way home. Yay Snapple!” Apparently, my brain had snapped for Snapple.

  “Mmm. That does sound good, honey. That was my favorite drink in college,” she said. “I need a little snack to go with it, though.”

  She looked around, then whispered, “I think I may have had a little too much to drink.”

  “I think you've had just enough.” Morty took my Mom in his arms and leaned her back into a deep dip. She made a happy “oooo” noise as she went.

  “Watch out, kid,” Kevin said. “I'm not the only one channeling the Swayze.”

  Shit. I'm screwed. Dirty Dancing was my Mom's all-time favorite movie.

  Morty undipped her and twirled her around. She stopped face to face with the doughnut case. Her eyes lit up. “Oh dear. Is that a pumpkin spice fritter? Oh yes, please.”

  “What? Are you kidding me? I told Bob no pumpkin spice!” Kevin pressed his face against the case. “Wait til I get my hands on that fat old bastard.”

  She started for the little wax paper envelope and the tongs.

  “Welp. Here we go. No soccer mom can say no to pumpkin spice. That's why this shit is destroying civilization.”

  Geesh, Kevin. Hello! Bigger problem! My Mom was about to eat a cursed doughnut! I fwapped the little tongs out of her hand and closed the case.

  “Lloyd!” she yipped. “What are you doing?”

  “Technically, you can't stop her, kid. There's no rule against moms buying doughnuts.” Kevin stood next to the case, rubbing his distended belly. “Errrrrp. Excuse me. Mmph. That tasted like fries. Speaking of, I'm starving.”

  “What's gotten into you? You're acting awfully strange.” Mom looked at me, waiting for me to explain.

  “Uh, you don't want those, Mom. These are old. Stale. The fresh ones don't come for another hour.”

  “Oh.” Her shoulders slumped as she considered this. “I bet they're still good. They look good.”

  She started to reach down to grab the serving tongs off the floor. “You might want to wash these, though.”

  “Mom. No!” I screamed and kicked the tongs all the way to the hot dog station.

  “What's your problem? Why are you so jumpy?” She dug her fists into her hips.

  “Uh. You don't want a doughnut. Trust me.” Man, are you hot? Because I'm sweating bullets.

  “And why not?”

  “We've got a pest problem. See? Roaches!”

  I pointed at Kevin, still leaning against the doughnut case. He froze. He looked at my Mom. My Mom looked at him. Mom recoiled. “Goodness gracious. I've never seen a roach that big! You really should call an exterminator.”

  “Way to throw me under the bus, kid.” Kevin shook his head and waddled away.

  “Maybe I'll try one of those drinks you like so much instead. A slurper? No, slushy. That's right. What's your favorite flavor? I'll try that one.”

  Mom turned around and went straight for the slushies. Which would have been fine, if there weren't twelve zombies licking hell plant barf off the floor and the walls. Never mind the naked pixies who just landed on the Salvation Strawberry nozzle.

  Larry was gracious enough to play dead once Mom turned around. She stopped when she saw the men in coveralls. “Who are these fellas? I didn't see them come in.”

  “Uh, that's the cleaning crew,” I said.

  “What is that stuff they're cleaning up?” Her nose wrinkled up. Yeah. It smelled bad. Thanks, Larry.

  “One of the machines is broken,” DeeDee piped up. “It spilled all over everything. They hold a lot more liquid than you think.”

  “It smells terrible. What are they doing to the floor?”

  “These three are plumbers. We have a broken sewer pipe,” DeeDee pointed to the zombies on their hands and knees licking the linoleum. “They're trying to find the pipe before they cut through the floor.”

  “But it looks like they're licking—”

  Oh shit. I grabbed Mom's shoulders and spun her around—again—to face me. “Uh, shouldn't you get going? It's late. Dad's probably worried, and Mrs. Miller's waiting. See?”

  She looked out over my shoulder. “They're all fine, silly. But you're sure in a hurry to get me out of here. You're awfully jumpy. And sweaty. You always sweat when you're nervous. Why are you so nervous?”

  “I'm fine.” I was so totally not, but that kind of lie didn't count, did it? “This neighborhood isn't the best at night. I'd feel better if you were safe at home.”

  And I don't want you to cheat on Dad with Morty. And there's a naked pixie flying through the air behind you. And it just landed on the shoulder of a zombie. A legit, real zombie. And the pixie just unbuckled his containment collar, then flipped me the bird. And...wait. Back up a second.

  “Uuuuuuuuuuuhhhhh.” The newly free zombie lurched and sniffed, looking for lunch. Human lunch. Uh oh.

  I yanked Mom forward and held her tight against me.

  “What's gotten into you?” She wiggled.

  “Nothing. I just want to hug you. I love you so much!”

  I squeezed her tight like a ketchup pack, and inched her away from the zombie, to the front door. DeeDee had her hands on the errant zombie's collar as it bit and moaned. She had it under control. At least until two ginger pixies landed on her face, and she had to let go of the zombie to pull them off.

  Gulp. We're screwed.

  “I love you too, honey, but you're squeezing too tight.”

  She wriggled free, so I grabbed her hands and held tight, fumbling for som
ething brilliant to say that would keep her distracted as the zombie stumbled toward us. “Uh. Uh. Uh.”

  “Honey, are you feeling all right? You look a little green. Are you coming down with something?”

  She put her hand on my forehead. While she patted my head checking me for fever, Big Larry opened wide and clamped down on the errant zombie. Seriously. That zombie went tonsil deep. Big Larry reared up, and the only visible zombie bits were two legs, from the knee down, dangling out of his mouth.

  Chomp. Chomp. Chomp.

  Oh, my God. Big Larry ate the guy! Whole! DeeDee jumped up and grabbed the zombie's legs and tried to pull him out, but it wasn't going so well. She swung back and forth as Big Larry chewed.

  Kevin crawled up on Mom's shoulder, grabbed a strand of her hair, and sniffed it. “Mmm. She even smells good. What is that, strawberry?”

  What are you doing, Kevin! If you hadn't noticed, we're in the middle of an emergency.

  “I got bad news for you, kid. I was just in your Mom's pocket and her browser was open to 'seven signs your son's on drugs.' She highlighted paranoia, so you might want to play it cool. You're sweating. And your face is all twisted up. Relax.”

  Play it cool? RELAX? Considering the circumstances, I'm rocking this! Or not. I mean, Mom's worried wrinkle was nearly in Mariana Trench mode.

  “You should go home, Mom. These guys have to clean up,” I said. “And it smells terrible in here. I'm sure it'll only get worse.”

  Take that, angel. Still not lying!

  Mom huffed. “You're probably right. Can you get me that Snapple? And some Twinkies. Ooh. Yes. Twinkies. Here. How much is that?” She went for her purse.

  “My treat. I'll bring them out to the car. Does Mrs. Miller want anything?”

  “No. They didn't want to come in for some reason.”

  Mom turned to Morty, who was craning his neck trying to look down her shirt. Yep. I was gonna kill him.

  “It was so nice to meet you. Thanks for the lovely conversation.” Mom gushed. “I hope you find the girl of your dreams. I better get home.”

  “Don't leave me, beautiful.” Morty opened his mouth, locked eyes with my mother and moved in for a kiss. A french kiss. God help me. Nooooooooooo!

  I stood there in horror as time slowed down to a snail's pace. As the gap closed between my Mom and Morty's filthy frenching mouth, I watched Big Larry swing DeeDee off the zombie's kicking legs. She skidded across the floor. Big Larry bucked back and crunched the rest of that zombie down whole in a single bite. No sign of him left.

  Mom turned away from Morty, so his filthy mouth only managed to eat up her hair.

  “Well, I'll see you at home,” she said to me. “Oh. It looks like Monster Burger's still open. That sounds good. I'll take a rain check on the Snapple and Twinkies, okay, honey? I need something heavier. Something meaty.”

  Morty opened his mouth, surely about to make a comment about his meat. I glared at him.

  She made for the door. She stopped for a moment and said, “Never mind. The drive-thru is closed. Darn. Maybe I can talk the girls into White Castle instead.”

  And with that, she walked across the lot, crawled into Mrs. Miller's minivan and drove away.

  “You are an epic cock block,” Morty sneered.

  “That's my MOM!”

  “So? She's married, not dead,” he said. “And her vagina's had plenty of time to recover from pushing you through.”

  My jaw dropped. He did not even.

  “I'm the one who's suffering here. Now I have to go back to the bar and start all over again.” He slumped. “Oh well, you know what they say. If you can't get a ten, get five twos. Look out twos, here I come.”

  He straightened his crotch, kicked open the front door, and sneered at me as he walked back to the Temptations Tavern.

  By then, the zombies had licked the place clean. DeeDee must have found the zombie remote, because she pressed a button and all the zombies shuffled back into their cooler of doom in the back hallway without so much as a grunt. Okay, not all of them.

  The one that Big Larry ate? All that was left of Larry's late-night snack was a tan work boot lying on the linoleum. Oh, Jesus. It still had a foot in it. But it must have hit the spot. His stalks stood tall, no sign of droop or wilt. His healthy rosy red blush had returned.

  “Well, now we know what kind of supplement Larry needed,” DeeDee shook her head. “The book said C2H5OH. That's alcohol. There's some in the Spanish fly, but it must not have been enough. There's a lot of it in embalming fluid. That must be why he ate the zombie.”

  She rubbed her temples and groaned. “What am I going to tell Steve? We're short staffed now.”

  “Can't we just order a replacement?”

  She looked at me like I had two heads. “Uh, no. There's a limited supply. People don't turn into zombies every day, you know.”

  Chapter 17

  I pedaled my Huffy as fast as I could because if I slowed down, just for a minute, the sky turned into a fireworks display of thunder and lightning.

  “And because you're late. Again. It must be soooooo hard to be on time for work at TEN P.M.” Angel eight ball rolled his triangle at me. Did I mention he was riding in the cup holder attached to my handle bars? Lucky me. He was such a joy to be with.

  Useless angel. I still didn't know why God wanted me to go back to Demon Mart. So I could watch Morty hit on my Mom? Get assaulted repeatedly by pixies? Or sit by as Kevin ate so much Monster Burger he ballooned up to the size of a kitten? Was that really worthy of a divine plan? “Can you cut me some slack? You don't have to scream at me.”

  “Your cat is still alive. That's plenty of slack.”

  I wanted to argue, but all that came out was, “Chhh chhh chhh chhh.” No. I didn't go full Friday the thirteenth. That was the sound of my teeth chattering, because I'm riding my bike after dark. In November. In Ohio. And it's fricking freezing outside. Apparently, God wanted me to get frostbite.

  “Relax. You've got plenty of insulation.” The triangle hovered there, like he was looking at me.

  “Did you just call me fat?” Again?

  “I watched you eat an entire row of fudge stripe cookies last night. What do you think?”

  “Every man is entitled to small joys.”

  “Lift your shirt. When I see abs, you can have some small joys. Holy cannoli! Watch out!”

  “What?” I looked up. Ack! There was a dude right in front of me. In the middle of the street! I hit the brakes, swerved, and skidded across the asphalt. My tire hit the curb. I went right over the handlebars and face planted into the sidewalk.

  Ow. That hurt.

  I rolled over. I had nearly hit him, but the guy bopped along like it never happened. “What the hell, dude! Get on the sidewalk before you kill somebody!”

  The guy stopped walking. Well, it was more like shuffling, and his head turned.

  “Yeah you! Get out of the road!”

  Angel eight ball rolled out from under a bush, streaked with dirt. “Yelling at strangers never ends well. Do you want to get beat up?”

  “He shouldn't be stumbling—probably drunk—in the middle of the street at night!”

  Yeah. I said it loud enough for the dude to hear me, but he didn't stop, didn't look at me, didn't react. He lurched away, down the middle of the street, moaning. “uuuurrrr gerrrr.”

  “Huh. Does that seem a little strange to you?” Angel eight ball asked.

  “No. But that does.” I pointed.

  That guy wasn't the only person wandering in the street. Up ahead, in the two blocks between me and Demon Mart, dozens more people milled around. On the sidewalk. In the road, each one of them shuffling in the same direction, toward the glowing Monster Burger sign at the intersection.

  “I don't like this one bit,” angel eight ball said.

  “Me either.” An icy cold ran over me. They couldn't all be drunk.

  “Hurry up and get to the store. You'll be safer inside.”

  “Yeah. I t
hink you're right.” Boy, I never thought I'd say that.

  I heaved my bike up off the sidewalk, popped angel eight ball into the cup holder and pedaled as fast as I could. Which wasn't very, and not because I was out of shape. (For once.) The closer I got to Demon Mart, the more crowded the street became. The parking lot was wall-to-wall people, so packed I couldn't even walk my bike through. I had to ditch it on the sidewalk.

  “Don't leave me out here alone!” Angel eight ball said as he rolled out of the cup holder.

  “I wasn't gonna.” Even I wasn't that cruel.

  I picked him up and tiptoed through the crowd to the door, trying to avoid any undue attention. It didn't matter. I could have been screaming, naked, and on fire. Those people wouldn't have noticed. They came from all directions, shuffling toward one thing, and one thing only: that glowing neon burger. It's like they were in some sort of trance.

  Crack. Thwack. Rurrrrrr.

  Lightning and thunder.

  I'm sorry! I'm sorry! What did I do wrong? I jumped, but it wasn't crackling over me. A black storm cloud, blacker than the night sky, squatted over Monster Burger. The cloud flashed and crackled with eerie blue and yellow light.

  “I think you're about to find out why God wants you here,” angel said.

  Something grabbed my shoulders. “Aaaah!”

  Something spun me around. Oh, wait. Phew. It was DeeDee. “Get inside. Quick.”

  She didn't have to tell me twice. She grabbed my arm and dragged me through the front door. She shut it behind us and locked it, then peered through the glass. “We've got problems. Big problems.”

  Gee. You think?

  She turned around and looked at me. Like really looked. Up, down and all around, like she was searching for something.

  “Uh. Are you okay?”

  She didn't answer. She put her hands on my cheeks and moved my head around. “How do you feel? Have you blacked out? Lost any time? Having any unusual cravings? Is a demonic force compelling you to do its dark bidding?”

  “Um. No?” Did this seem weird to you?

  Then she felt me up. Unfortunately, it wasn't sexy. It was a pat down. She opened my coat and ran her hands around all over my chest, then down over my love handles. Yeah. Maybe eight ball was onto something with the abs.