Ambulance Masters

by Raymund Hensley

IT was good to stand in the sun. I had lived in the dark far too long in my tiny room back in Kalihi. I needed this light tan—this blast of heat. My skin vibrated and hummed. The line of trees swayed with a cool breeze. Which fruit shall I eat today? I thought. Later, I’ll stroll about my town with the town’s folk, but for now, a snack to jolt me with a bit of energy. I went for an apple, when I noticed that the nutmeg tree was looking rather odd. I walked over, apple in mouth. Someone, or something, pillaged the nutmeg tree.

  Why?

  What good was nutmeg?

  To the extent of my knowledge, nutmeg had something to do with honey. That was all. How do you eat and/or cook nutmeg? It was boring to me. Why someone would take the time to plant a single nutmeg tree was beyond my grasp. What a waste of time. The world needs more apple and orange trees. Nutmeg? Who gives a flying fairy about nutmeg??

  I was getting angry, for some reason.

  Remember your breathing. Remember how pregnant women do it. In, out, in, out. Short busts. Hee-hee-hooo…hee-hee-hoooooo.

  There was a chair behind the tree—from the dining room.

  I shrugged and went to Nightingale, chomping an orange. I had stuffed my pockets with so much fruit. Queen was still sleeping. Cakers ran around a field, examining its quality—ready to make yet another pentagram. This one would be twice as large as the other.

  “This one will be twice as large,” he told me, “and it will solve everything. I know it. I feel it! Oh, and sorry, but I can’t tell you what it is. You understand, don’t you?”

  “Of course,” I nod, and go on my merry way, toward the interesting line of fruit trees, taste buds twinkling.

  I grabbed the plank and slid it back over the moat and walked over. I scanned the scene. The town was hushed. The streets were bare. Were they watching me? From their tilted windows? In the dark? Waiting for me? Some of the houses had their lights on. I had them put in to aid me while I worked at night. Curious, I thought. Did I forget to turn them off?

  I strolled in…and the residents all shuffled out, ready to taste me. They had stiff knees. They had their arms held out—some to their sides. But it was the eyes that intrigued me. Their eyes. Something about them.

  They were awake.

  Forgotten fear shook me.

  Before they could get closer, I stumbled back over the moat and yanked back the plank.

  I ran toward the house as fast as my stick legs would allow—my mind, drowning.

  Cakers had the harness on him now, ploughing with determination. His face showed teeth.

  “Your own energy!” he said. The words came out in a struggle as he walked. “The secret to magic is your own energy, lad. This is how spells work. I get it now.”

  It felt like I heard all this before. It was hard to hear with all the blood rushing in my ears. I was struggling to breathe. The thick blade behind him snagged on a rock, and he threw the harness off and wiped his sweat.

  “Missions for the eye of a newt, the tongue of a dead baby, the ear of an eagle, the gut of a mongoose…it doesn’t matter. You can do a hundred jumping jacks—spin around and around for hours—and it’s all relevant. Whew!” he said. “I’m spent!” He raised his arm and sniffed his pit. “It’s good to stink. Now you listen to me, boy,” he said as I fought to breathe with my hands on my aching knees. “If all else fails, put some stank on it.”

  I nodded and waved him away, filling my lungs with so much air.

  Then I did this:

  “THEY’RE ALIVE!”

  And then I passed out.

  THE sun hated me when I opened my eyes. My face was melting off. Queen was fanning me, forcing a cold glass of water down my mouth via a straw. I spat it out all over her. She laughed.

  “He’s awake!”

  There was no response. Cakers was far off, ploughing like a crazy person. He looked over his shoulder and threw off the harness and came running.

  “What is it, boy? WHAT?”

  I bolted up. My hips cracked.

  “Alive, I tells you!” My eyes must’ve looked passionate. “Souls…alive…all of them.”

  Cakers put a sympathetic hand on my shoulder.

  “Who? Who is alive?”

  I leaned in and whispered.

  “The zombiiiieeeessssss.”

  Queen gasped, dropping the glass on Cakers’ dirty shoe. He shot up.

  “You lie to me now? NOW? When I’m trying to be so positive here? How dare you?!”

  I stood up, heated.

  “I’m telling you, it’s true…”

  “You’re a nearsighted fool, is what you are. Be gone with ye. I have work to do.”

  “Souls, damn you! This is important! Are you even listening to me??”

  He walked toward his plough-harness.

  “I don’t have to listen to this fat craziness.”

  “You will listen! You will stand there, and you will listen!”

  He spun around. His hands were out to me, as if begging for water.

  “What do you want from me? Huh?! What do you waaaaant?”

  “Just follow me,” I said, already walking away, and I could hear Cakers mumbling as we went.

  “Blasted loon,” he said. “Time is so important to me. I should not be wasted.”

  Nightingale.

  I pushed the plank over the moat and we all walked into the town. The zombies were in the church, sitting down, not moving. Cakers had one hand on his hip.

  “Well,” he said. “So they enjoy being all together. So what, who cares?”

  “Watch,” I said, and yelled out to the zombies. “Dinner time!”

  There was a zombie at the altar, moaning something weird. He looked at me and came our way. It—he—was a zombie priest in white robes. He walked toward us, slow, but not in a retarded body-is-unable-to-support-my-mass way. He was being careful. His arms were to his sides, back straight, eyes…WIDE.

  Cakers and Queen backpedaled.

  “Je-sus,” Cakers said. “This…was…a…bad…idea.”

  I stood my ground.

  “Wait for iiiiit.”

  The priest stopped in front of us. The zombies over his shoulder, in the church, stared back at us. They were sitting down. No one moved.

  The priest’s face shrunk and he shrieked at us, blowing back my hair. The breath was…fruity. Cakers ran forward.

  “Bad! Bad!”

  He jumped in the air to kick the priest, but I pushed Cakers and sent him down. He jumped up and took my arm.

  “You wanna fight me?! I will punch you in the mouth!”

  I brushed his arm away. Tranquil. “Look at his eyes,” I said. “You look into those beautiful eyes and tell me he doesn’t have a soul.”

  Cakers smirked.

  “Hmph,” he said, and then looked into the zombie’s face. The skull had an eye pushed far inside. There were worms all around it. The eye looked like a beach ball at a rock concert. The zombie looked sad. A tear ran down its cheek.

  Cakers slapped his hands to his face and wept.

  “No more! Too much! I can’t bear it!”

  He tried to run away, crying, but I took his shoulders and held him in place. My grip was fierce.

  “The eyes are like daggers,” he was complaining. He flung his head back and looked around like a blind person, eyes open and weeping, tears shooting out. “Daggers! It hurts!”

  I held his wiggling body in place.

  “I told you,” I said. “Now look again and believe that even a zombie has a soul. Look! I command you!”

  “Yes…” he was whispering. “Yes, yes, oh God, YES.”

  He took in a deep breath and leaned forward with large eyes, staring right into the zombie’s face. Queen had a hand over her mouth, nodding. I think she was smiling. Cakers and the priest stared and stared, reading and reading. The others in the church were up now and walking our way.

  Their moves were slow.

  Normal.

  I sighed.

  “Treat them like animals…and they w
ill act like animals.”

  Cakers fell to his knees, sobbing.

  The priest put a hand on his head.

  Someone’s half-eaten hand.