Perry Slough-bie part 6

by: benzo369

The walk to Horseshoe Slough was made long and arduous by the sloping march of Garry Perry. The Breadman had to stop himself several times and encouraged Garry Perry to catch up; much like one has to encourage a small dog to do so.

The search in and around Horseshoe Slough had been just as fruitful as the search in the strawberry U-Pick farm, meaning that there was no body and certainly no zombie. The absence of any evidence was also starting to wear on the Breadman but he kept to his nature as Garry Perry or any other man would – he kept on talking and encouraging the search. But no matter how much he talked-up the investigation, Garry Perry would not respond vocally, only letting out depressing grunts and moans.

“Wada ‘bout o’ere?” asked the Breadman.

“Uuuurgh,” Garry Perry responded.

“You lookie to the job-house?”

“Eeehuhgh.”

No matter how non-involved Garry Perry remained in the conversation, the Breadman continued to speak, though eventually he too grew sick of the sound of his own voice and decided that it might have been best if they split up to cover more ground.

Once alone, the feeling of helplessness overtook the Breadman. He wondered why they could find neither the zombie nor Clay Biffley’s body. Char McCool had always been a good source of information over the past year. She could not have been wrong could she? The surroundings were also intimidating as sounds seemed to plip-and-plop, here-and-there. Plip! A sound raced to his ears from the dark woods. Plop! Something had jumped in to the water. Plip! A sound was coming closer. Plop! A sound ran away. Plip-Plop! Plip-Plop! Plip-Plop! Plip-Plop! Plip-Plop! Plip-Plop! Plip-Plop! Plip-Plop! Plip-Plop! Plip-Plop! Plip-Plop! Plip-Plop! Plip-Plop!!!!!!!!! What was he accomplishing by being here in the darkness of Horseshoe Slough with his heart pumping a million miles-a-minute to the beat of sounds emanating from every corner of this shadowy and wicked territory of the damned? Surely he was mad. No it was a bunny rabbit.


“Ooh fug-a-loo, me a dum-a-lee, too,” he said laughing to himself. He walked over to the bridge ashamed of letting his childish fears get the better of him. He was the Breadman: the traveller of the streets, fearing no new adventure nor afraid of being the first to set upon such an adventure. If they could find the zombie they would make history. He could move out of Finn Slough just as Garry Perry was going to. In fact if he could find the zombie all on his lonesome he could keep the reward to himself, start a new life in a new place and live in an apartment rather than a former Wonderbread delivery truck. The Breadman was the best man and it was time to show it.

A moving thick outline of a man suddenly appeared off the entrance to the bridge. It moved in quick with a deep sigh. The Breadman leaned in to get a better sight of the on coming body.

“Garry Perry? Id ya?”

The body made no acknowledgement of the question and kept it’s pacing slow with intent. The Breadman moved backwards on his heels and felt for the railing which he used to balance himself as he kept the movement up.

“Garry Perry? Id a gotta be ya!”

As the body became more visible, the face that appeared was ancient, sombre and pale. The Breadman thought of what Char McCool said to him and Garry Perry and dropped the fishing net in to the creek below the bridge. As he turned to run, a stubby hand grabbed him firmly by the shoulder. A loud thud rung in his ear and he was sure a sharp bite was clamping down on his shoulder. His face flushed with fear, the Breadman’s eyes jacked wide open so that he might take it in.

“Wada ya do? Ooh nu!” screamed the Breadman. He had found the Zombie in his mist yet he could not have been less able to deal with it. “A Zomb-eya! A darnalee Zomb-eya!”

“This is the police, get down on your knees,” an amped voice called from somewhere in the dark trail towards Shell Rd.

“Ida killy-a-me!”