TOOTHLESS LION

TOOTHLESS LION

ROAMING THE LANDSCAPE ALONE, HE'S WITHOUT A PRIDE, WITHOUT HOPE OR A FUTURE.....ALL ALONE. HE HASN'T EATEN IN DAYS, HASN'T SLEPT IN A WEEK AND STILL NO SIGN OF ANOTHER....NOT IN THE WIND,NOT ON THE HORIZON, THERE'S NONE OF THEM LEFT........THE ONLY TRACE HIS GREAT RACE EVER LIVED IS NOW THE SMELL OF DEATH .....THE LAUGHING CHATTER OF THE ANIMAL KINGDOM. THIS KINGDOM ONCE RULED BY, NOT HIM,BUT HIS KIND.....THE MIGHTY LION. DO THEY NOT UNDER STAND THIS GRAND TRAGEDY? HOW THE BALANCE HAS BEEN UPSET FOREVER? IT'S AS THOUGH THEY CELEBRATE HIS LONELINESS, HIS TERROR GLAD THAT HE IS THE LAST.HE IS THIN, TOOTHLESS LOST EVERY CHANCE FOR A MATE, A LOVER, A FAMILY.......OFFSPRING. IN SOME WAYS THE SOLITARY LIFE HE LIVED SAVED HIM FROM THE PLAGUE, THE VIOLENCE WHICH WIPED OUT THE MIGHTY PRIDES. IT STARTED 12 MOONS AGO.....THE FIRST DEATH. HE WATCHED FROM A DISTANCE, THE PRIDE WAS MOURNING THE LOSS OF THE GREAT LEADER TO SOME KIND OF BITE. FOR THE FIRST DAY THE PRIDE SLEPT RIGHT BE HIS SIDE,LICK HIS LIMP BODY, PROTECTING IT FROM THE DOGS AND VULTURES........THEN AFTER A DAY THE YOUNG BECAME VIOLENT FEARLESSLY ATTACKING THE ELDERS. STUPIDLY THE ELDERS LAUGHED OFF THEIR BITES AND SCRATCHES, TILL THE CUBS BEGAN TO TEAR EACH OTHER APART, BUT BY THIS TIME ......IT WAS TOO LATE......IT HAD STARTED. THEY WERE EATING THE FLESH, BABOONS CHEERING, DOGS LAUGHING, ZEBRAS SINGING AND THE ELEPHANTS TAKING MENTAL PICTURES..... THEIR WAS PLENTY OF FOOD. THIS SCARED THE TOOTHLESS LION TO THE BONE, SO HE RAN AND RAN AND RAN, BUT EVERY WHERE HE WENT THAT SAME LEVEL OF CARNAGE FOLLOWED. WHY HAD HIS KIND RESORT TO CANNIBALISM? HE TRAVELED GREAT DISTANCES TO FIND ONE THAT WAS NOT INFECTED BY THIS DUMB LUST FOR FLESH, BUT FINAL REALIZED THAT THE FURTHER HE STAYED AWAY FROM THE INFECTED PRIDES THE BETTER CHANCE TO SURVIVE.

AND NOW, AFTER A GREAT TIME HAS PASSED HE FACES THE JUDGEMENT AND WRATH OF THE KINGDOM. THE FEAR THAT STILL WALKS WITH HIM THE ANIMALS DON'T SEE OR SMELL, THAT SENSE OF DANGER HAS BECOME DORMANT AND DOMINATED WITH A PETTY REVENGE SHARED BY ALL....... THIS IT! HE IS THE LAST OF HIS KIND AND ENEMY NUMBER 1 TO EVERY ANIMAL AT THE WATER HOLE ............ BUT HE NEEDS WATER. SO HE SITS DOWN AND BEGINS TO WONDER HOW THE LION, NOT HIM, NOT THE TOOTHLESS COWARD HE HAS BEEN ALL HIS LIFE, BUT THE GREAT LION, HOW SHOULD THE KINGS BE REMEMBERED? FOR THE FIRST TIME EVER HE STOOD WITH OUT FEAR AND STARTED TOWARDS THE SMALL POLE OF DARK WATER SURROUNDED BY PREY...... TO ATTACK IS SURE DEATH, HE IS NOW OUT NUMBERED, THEY WON'T RUN BUT FIGHT BACK... SO HE CONFIDENTLY STRIDES DOWN THE DRIED DIRT RIGHT TO THE WARM WAKE OF MUD. TAKING A SIP HE DOESN'T MAKE EYE CONTACT WITH ANY OF HIS FELLOW DRINKERS. BUT AFTER A FEW MOMENTS HE REALIZES THAT HE'S THE ONLY ONE SIPPING ,HE LOOKS UP TO SEE THEIR EYES UPON HIM . HE LIFTS HIS HEAD LICKING HIS LIPS AND SAYS "I AM THE LAST KING AND WISH PEACE TO OUR WILD KINGDOM. I'VE SEEN A GREAT DISEASE DESTROY THE PRIDE OF THIS AND MANY OTHER LANDS, I CHASED IT DOWN TRYING TO FIND REASON FOR IT'S TEARANY UPON MY KIND. ALL I FOUND WAS DEATH AND LONELINESS. MY DEATH IS THE DEATH OF MY GLORIOUS RACE AND THE END OF MY REIGN WILL NOT DRAW BLOOD...... WELL NOT BY MY CLAWS THAT I PROMISE. I AM AT THE WILL OF YOUR MERCY AND MY AND MY KINDS FATE HAS BEEN SEALED, I WISH FOR NO MORE VIOLENCE I'VE SEEN TOO MUCH ALREADY............." HE IS THEN INTERRUPTED BY A PACK OF LAUGHING DOGS FROM BEHIND HIM, BUT BEFORE HE COULD TURN ABOUT THE ANIMALS OF THE WATER HOLE SURROUND HIM...IN DEFENCE AND CHASED THE PACK AWAY. WHEN THEY TURNED THEIR ATTENTION BACK TO THE TOOTHLESS LION HE WAS LYING IN THE MUD PANTING. IT WAS APPARENT THAT THE STRAIN OF THE PAST 12 MOONS HAD TAKEN THE LIFE OUT OF HIM AND THAT LITTLE BIT OF RESPECT SHOWN WAS ENOUGH LOVE FOR HIM. HE DIDN'T NEED A MATE OR CUBS THE ANIMALS OF THE KINGDOM WERE HIS CHILDREN, AND A MOMENT LATER AS HE BEGAN TO EXPIRE THE BABOON STARTED DIGGING AND THE ELEPHANT S COLLECTED ROCKS......... AND THAT DAY THEY BURIED THEIR KING. THE KING OF ALL KINGS.

FOUR MORE YEARS

“He should be fine,” Atkins said, “he sort of perked up around noon.”

“Good,” said Harrison, “we can’t exactly cancel the address now, can we?”

“No, sir,” Atkins said.

“So what’s he got,” Harrison inquired, “some kind of bug, or something?”

“Near as well can tell, sir, but no one really knows.”

***

“Stadium’s packed,” Atkins said.

“Wonderful, isn’t he,” Perkins asked.

“Scary,” Atkins answered.

Perkins adjusted her blue skirt, pulling it down to about mid-thigh level, “He plays the game better than anybody. How’s the cleavage? I got a TV thing right after he’s finished.”

Atkins checked double-long just to be sure, then said, “juicy,” in his most uninspired of tones. “Yeah, weird thing is, he’s been bed-ridden all week.”

“Well, the man’s a pro,” Perkins said, distractedly checking her cheek tone in her compact, “he could make speeches in his sleep.”

Atkins gave her a knowing look, peering over his glasses, “he couldn’t keep his lucky charms down. The man lost fifteen pounds.”

“Looks great to me,” Perkins glanced up from her compact and added with a little hook of a smile tugging at one corner of her mouth, “could serve as an inspiration to all the fatties watching at home.”

“Yeah,” Atkins said, a thousand miles away, in thought, “it’s almost like …”

Perkins closed her compact with a sharp snap and looked at him, expectantly, “like what? Spit it out.”

“Well,” he began, rubbing his chin, “it’s like, this stuff, the cameras, the speeches, the cheers. It’s his elixir.”

Perkins nodded her head once, disinterested.

“Or,” Atkins continued, “it’s an automatic response.”

Perkins showed signs of that smile again, “what? The president is on autopilot?”

“The man ran a hundred and eight temperature this morning.”

“He got better. Maybe from the crowds and lights and cameras, like you said.”

“Yeah,” Atkins said, rubbing his chin, again, distracted, “yeah. Could be.”

“Alright, perk me up, he’s almost done,” she said.

“Uh ... what?”

“Come on,” she said, pointing at her breasts, “don’t be shy. Be a man about it.”

***

“Did he say what for,” Atkins asked, pacing through the empty hallway in top gear.

“No,” Harrison said, blankly, “only that he wanted to see you.”

“He’s been seeing everybody around here lately hasn’t he?”

“Yes.”

“And you’ve been to see him already,” Atkins asked.

“Yes.”

“Not too busy around here today, is it?”

“No.”

“That’s odd. Anyway, the convention went well.”

“Yes.”

“Approval rating is through the roof.”

“Yes.”

“He’ll be re-elected for sure.”

“Yes. Quickly now.”

Atkins charged toward the oval office, nearly out of breath.

“This way,” Harrison said, holding the door to the office open.

“Thank you, sir.”

Harrison shut the door gently behind him.

“Mr. President --,” Atkins charged across the room, and stopped dead in his tracks about halfway through. Strewn about the room were the limp and bloodied forms of his colleagues and co-workers. Wet, red bones exposed on the limbs. Rumpled, smart business suits, caked in dark crust, emitted a foul, dark odor, like something fomenting. Perkins lay face up on a stack of bodies, still wearing a look of surprise, one cheek torn clean off.

“Oh my God,” Atkins brought his hand up to his mouth, trying desperately to keep his breakfast down in his stomach, where it belonged.

“I’m issuing a new policy, when I‘m re-elected,” the president said, voice full of gravel, chin red with blood, which made a stark contrast to his dull yellow pallor, “mandatory tours of the oval office for every man, woman and child in America. Come, let me chew your ear off …”

Atkins vomited. There was no time to scream, and no one left to hear him.

EW! WHAT IF WE HAVE TO REPOPULATE THE EARTH?

“It’s been three months,” she said, “I’m sure it’s safe to come down now.”

“It’s been three and a half months,” he corrected her, “and I’m sure it’s not safe to come down. Ever.”

They sat in their cobbled together tree fort, emaciated, collecting condensed water, one on either side, as it had been for three months and one week, actually.

The fort started as a do-it-yourselfer nightmare, and it had been some time before the effort resembled any kind of shelter. They built it with whatever branches they could find or break off and large stones for hammers. They had found a bucket of rusted nails when it all started and originally meant to use them for self defense.

“We’ve been through this a thousand times,” he said.

“But they must be all gone, now,” she said, “decayed, unable to move. How long can they really last, like that?”

“I don’t know,” he said, “I don’t know. A thousand times, I don’t know.”

“Well, we haven’t heard any of them go by in the last couple weeks. I think they’re all gone now.”

“They haven’t been by, because we’ve done such a good job of hiding. If we climb back down, we’d just be giving ourselves up.”

He leaned his weary head back against the makeshift wall behind him.

“I wonder what summer was like this year,” he said.

“I wonder what winter will be like,” she responded, with some purpose.

“Well,” he said, all energy drained from his voice, “the only way we’re going to find out is if we stay up here.”

“We’re going to die if we stay up here,” she said.

“We’ll die if we go down there,” he responded, “which way do you think is better, freezing? Or getting clawed and chewed on by those disgusting people?”

Twenty minutes of silence passed. Twenty minutes that seemed like hours. Hours usually felt like days, but the days all ran together. It felt like they‘d been up there for years, or days. There was nothing to contrast the experience of day-to-day life in the tree fort. There wasn’t much to do in the tree fort, except for survive. Which made her think out loud,

“Do you think anybody survived?”

He thought about it for a minute. A smile crept slowly up his face as he said,

“Only if they were smart enough to build a totally fabulous tree fort to survive in.”

They couldn’t figure it out. Those … things. Those dead things would run at you, punch through car windshields and walk up and down stairs but for some reason, they hadn’t yet mastered the difficult concept of climbing trees. Even cats could climb trees. But no cat climbed their tree, which was a real shame. A cat would have been a welcome addition to the ‘family.’ Might even have brought home a bird or two.

“I wonder if they ate them, too,” he said, delirious.

“Who,” she asked.

“The Zombies,” he said.

“No,” she said, “ate who?”

“The cats.”

“Oh yeah,” she said, sadly.

She thought about it for a minute. If felt like a mean thing to say, but she said it anyway,

“I would love to eat a cat right now.”

She put a long emphasis on the ‘o’ in love, “I would loooooove…”

“You’re sick,” he said, trying hard to laugh, but only ending up coughing.

She closed her eyes and smiled wryly, then another long silence ensued. There were so many of those.

“But seriously,” she said, “do you think they’re all gone? The people. The regular people I mean.”

“I don’t know,” he said, despite not wanting to talk anymore.

“What if,” she said, timidly, “what if we have to repopulate the earth?”

“Ew,” he said with newfound energy, “you’re sick.”

They tried to find the energy to laugh some more, but just coughed. If they hadn’t, they might have heard the sound of a siren just barely within earshot. One of the many sounds of society, which had recovered from the strange attacks a couple months before, while they were shacked up in the trees, and continued on without them, just a few miles away.

KID NOBODY in: HEAD FER THE HILLS! - Pt. IV

Pepper had fought and scrambled her way up the platform and made short work of the knot of rope around Nobody’s wrists. Nobody got his own neck out of the noose.

“Come on,” she said, “we can jump off the back, here!”

“Wait,” he said, and he took in his arms, about to kiss her, “where’s my money?”

“I already spent it,” she said, partially stunned by the question.

He shoved her over the edge of the gallows and into the crowd with all his might. Before he turned and jumped off the back side he snatched a glimpse of her being swallowed up by scampering feet and biting jaws.

He jumped off and landed with a thud. A couple seconds after impact his feet stung. He took a moment to walk it off. The dead Indians regarded him through the support beams of the gallows, but paid little interest. He got the feeling he could have waltzed on through and been untouched, but the Kid wasn’t brave enough in years to find out.

He ran for the hills with no boots, no gun, no money and no horse.

***

Exhausted, he saw a light in one of the caves in the hills and made his way over to it. It was going on nighttime, the indigo sky had nearly sucked all the sun’s deep red blood from the clouds. It had been a long while since he’d last heard the screams of Creighton in his ears, behind him, and even longer since he’d looked back.

Looking back now, from the hill, he saw no movement, no signs of life or struggle. Just an untrustworthy kind of calm.

Even before he was eyelevel with the cave, he heard the pops and cracks of a fire. Sparks floated up and hugged the ceiling of the cave and escape into the night sky as gray smoke against the navy blanket, obscuring stars.

The black outline of a man sat facing the entrance. Kid Nobody’s eyes took a second or two to adjust to the glow of the fire. When they did, he saw a white man eating a tin of beans. He had expected to find an Indian. Off to the side was a mostly air-filled sack, loose and folded atop a stack of damp firewood.

“You from Creighton,” Kid Nobody asked, warily.

“Nope,” the man said, simply, “beans?” and the man offered up his tin.

Kid Nobody grabbed the tin silently, but gratefully, and spooned up a couple mouthfuls in quick succession, which had given the man just enough time to reach around and grab his gun.

“Those are some mighty fine duds you’re sporting there, partner,” the man with beans and the gun said, “I’ve been needing me a brand new wardrobe.”

***

Somehow, and with great effort, the Kid had made it back to Farthing, around San Alberto, over Ha’Penny Hills, and through Merryweather and Golding with no boots, no gun, no money, no horse and no clothes and made it in one piece. Refurbished after a quick stop at his apartment, he met the old wizard outside the train station. When Kid Nobody got there, the old wizard was begging for change and scraps of food, or a quick hit from a flask.

“You did good,” the old wizard said.

“Yup,” Kid Nobody said, not wanting to mention the remaining survivor from the cave. He had failed in all aspects of his job, but somehow, through the wrath of God himself, the town had been all cleaned up. Excepting the man in the cave, the sole survivor. Kid Nobody had a hard time deciding if that was an important detail or not. “I sure did take care of that town for you! Cleaned up that mess real good.”

“So I see,” the old wizard said, “there wasn’t one person left to believe in the zombies.”

“Zombies?” Kid Nobody had never encountered the word before.

“The dead things that eat people,” the old wizard answered.

“Oh,” the Kid said, “yup. I certainly took care of that.”

And Kid Nobody finally knew what his job was.

***

(roll credits)

KID NOBODY in: HEAD FER THE HILLS! - Pt. III

Kid Nobody stood, warily on the gallows, noose around his neck, hands tied behind his back, peering down at the crowd of laughing faces. The man wearing his boots, held them up, lifting his right leg by his right calf, laughing. They were all elbowing and poking each other, having a real good time. The round old man, galloped awkwardly around a corner on Leroy and smiled a broad smile, staring at the Kid. Laughing.

The only face he saw that wasn’t laughing, was the woman who took his money, and she was sneering.

“Do you, Kid Nobody,” the Sheriff stated grandly, from the gallows, “have any last statements or requests you’d like to make to the people of Creighton, before we, the people of the town, execute your sentence for the crime of Stealing the Boots Off a Dead Man? Maybe make an apology?”

Kid Nobody could taste his bile rise, his testicles ascended and shrivelled. He was too scared to be outraged. He did have one request:

“The horse,” he said, through tight vocal chords, “let him go.”

The people of the town began laughing before he could finish.

“Let him run free.”

When everybody gathered had stopped laughing, the Sheriff said, haughtily, “Boy, we’re a hungry town, cut off from our neighbors by the hills. Ain’t a horse that’s left Creighton in the past several months.”

“Don’t I at least get a trial,” Kid Nobody asked desperately.

“No trial,” the Sheriff said, mock surprised, “ain’t no need for a trial. I saw you do it.” He patted his deputy on the chest behind him, “we both saw you do it, didn’t we?”

“Yup,” the deputy said.

“Alright,” the Sheriff said, ushering the deputy down the platform, “let’s get this thing over with. Let's get a fire going, put him on the rotisserie once the hanging's finished.”

The Sheriff ambled, rocking back and forth, down the steps.

From the platform, Kid Nobody saw the shape of a man, stumbling toward the crowd.

“Look,” he cried, “he ain’t dead!”

“You stupid son of a bitch,” the Sheriff said, “I ain’t going to fall for that.”

The Sheriff grabbed the release for the trap door that would kill Kid Nobody, when someone from the back of the crowd shouted, “he’s right.”

The Sheriff made his way through the crowd, bewildered.

“It’s him,” someone else said.

The Sheriff walked right up to the man who’s boots Kid Nobody tried to steal and said, “now how in tarnation--”

And the man bit off the sheriff’s nose. No one moved to try and help him, not even the deputy.

The skinny ranting man, who Kid Nobody had only just realized was not among the crowd, ran top speed around the corner, shouting, “It’s them! They’re here! The Indians!”

The crowd, already shocked, turned to each other, confused.

“The Indians?”

“What, new Indians?”

“I thought we already killed them all.”

The vomiting man continued to tear giant chunks of flesh from the sheriff as he screamed, a high pitched pulse, one short yelp after another, followed by a long sustained one.

***

The vomiting man was just a warm-up, the Indians were in the thick of the crowd, gouging, biting, tearing. They had everybody from the town all gathered up into one neat little crowd, like cattle in a pen. And they were quite dead, too, the Indians. Some of them were missing ears, noses and whole faces. Their sickly bodies had been emaciated and bored through by itchy little maggots and worms. Ribs jutted out of most of their chests, and Kid Nobody was up there on the platform, watching it all go down. He was too frightened to feel a sense of justice, though. His hands were tied behind his back and the noose was still tight around his neck, after all.

True little dream

by: benzo369

Little Jessica and Tony raced up the fifth floor hallway like two stockcars finishing the Daytona 500. Their faces were red with enthusiasm and their lungs short on oxygen.

Sometimes Little Jessica wins. Most times it’s Tony. But what do you expect?

“He’s five million-feet tall,” Little Jessica likes to say.

Today Tony wins but it doesn’t matter because no one wants to get to this ending first. The door he stands in front of reads: Room 14 – palliative care. Tony stops in front of the door and he appears to ponder the way the door works...

“Is it a twist or a push?” he seems to say…

and moves slowly back from the door waiting for his little sister, Little Jessica, to catch up.

THUMP!

“Ow you jerk!” Little Jessica screams but immediately backs off for fear of arms that stretch a thousand miles. Like a little energetic mouse that has caught the attention of a big menacing broom, she backs off scurrying away to some corner of the ward, hiding her now white face. Exhausted she begins to count in her head…

1…2…3…4…5…

“Got cha!”

“AAAAAHH!”

“Children!”

Nurse Embers has seen it all and she has had quite enough of the happy little display before her for this is no place of smiles, no house of play. Her deep black eyes stare down upon Little Jessica more stringent then they did upon Tony, who walked away so easily.

“You should show more respect when you are in the company of the sick,” Nurse Embers says to Little Jessica, who then walks away patting Tony lovingly on his head and returning to whatever difficult, mean task she was performing before the kids announced their arrival.

Little Jessica thinks it’s curious how Nurse Embers always uses the word “sick” when she knows very well what is really going on in here. It was an infestation of the worst kind and Little Jessica knows about it and she also knows that Nurse Embers knows it. Little Jessica despises the way Nurse Embers talks to her as if she is a small child, as if she was only “Little” because she wasn’t full grown yet, as if she couldn’t put two-and-two together. She was plenty old enough to tell that the world was full of this infestation and she had read plenty of interesting things to back up her own instincts.

“Why do you think he’s that way?” Tony asks as they walk back towards the door. Tony is only three years older so he don’t know jack more then this little mouse and Little Jessica sets about setting Tony straight about the real reason he was in the ward and not the trumped-up, ballyhoo reason that big nurse bitter beaver says is the reason.

“He’s got the disease,” Little Jessica says.

“I know that, stupid,” Tony says.

Little Jessica blows her falling bangs up in to the stratosphere so that her blues can perform a perfect roll that Tony can see.

“No, jerk, he’ got THE DISEASE.”

Tony thinks about it for a second and then looks at Little Jessica who is standing beside him as if she was waiting for a repetitious cycle to end. She moves away from the door again, this time taking her big brother by the hand, and leads him to one of those uncomfortable chairs hospitals love to offer people who visit the sick.

“You see its been happening all over the ‘hospital’,” Little Jessica is crouching both index and middle fingers when she says the word hospital out of a habit she picked up the first day they visited the ‘hospital’. “The ‘patients’” yup, you guessed it, “are told that they are here for routine check ups and then – POOF! – they are suddenly stuck here moaning around the halls with stupid faces, which look like you when you wake up on Saturday for cartoons… come to think of it…” Little Jessica stands on her toes so that she can see in to Tony’s emerald eyes, “…no, you’re good – for now.”

Tony now has this scrunched-up face that looks like a pumpkin seven days after Halloween and he is some angry but he says nothing, even though he would love to shut his stupid sister up.

“Ever heard of a bokor?”

Tony shakes his head.

“They are like Voldemort but worse and they take control of the dead and sometimes the living. So what I think is going on here is that they are all making the ‘patients’ here sick with a disease that makes them slaves to the ‘hospital’ so that they can perform experiments.”

Tony thinks about it for a second, his face is still that very old pumpkin, and then pushes Little Jessica back.

“That’s stupid. You’re stupid,” he yells, to which Nurse Embers runs over to the two and grabs Little Jessica by her hand and drags her over to the nursing station.

“Listen you, stop bugging your brother.”

“I know what’s going on here.”

“What?”

“You can fool my brother – he might be older but he is stupider – you can’t fool me,” Little Jessica says defiantly and then crosses her arms.

“Listen, it’s all so complicated. You need to talk to your mother,” says Nurse Embers, whose tone changes to kind but Little Jessica sees right through it.

“You are turning the ‘patients’ here in to Zombies, admit it!” Little Jessica finally accuses and a feels a weight lift off her shoulder. Inexplicably tears are rolling down her cheek and she considers running away but Nurse Embers pulls her in close and pats her head lightly.

“Shhh, little one, Shhh.”

Little Jessica doesn’t put up with it and pulls herself from the nurse, the ‘hired help’ but Embers’ grip is tight. She doesn’t let go and she gently throws Little Jessica to a chair.

“Yes, darling. There are zombies. But they are inside your daddy. We didn’t put them there and we did all we could to get them out." Just as inexplicably, Nurse Embers starts to cry.

Having finished their moment, the two return to the door of Room 14-Palliative Care Ward. The door is open.

Inside Tony is standing by his father, whispering something in his ear, though daddy can't respond. On the docket by the foot of the bed reads the name of Little Jessica’s daddy Johnny Vergas, father of two.

“Come here baby,” Mrs. Vergas calls for her daughter. Little Jessica runs to her mother and holds her arm ever so gently, tugging at her hand like a wave that tugs at a loving beach. “I know baby. If you want to say something to your daddy, now’s the time to do it.”


Little Jessica walks over to the side of her daddy’s bed and examining his quiet head, she cups her father’s ear, whispering: “there are zombies eating you.”

KID NOBODY in: HEAD FER THE HILLS! - Pt. II

The woman had a room upstairs from the saloon. Her name was Pepper.

“How come they call you Pepper when your hair’s red,” he asked her.

“Well,” she said, “it’s a better name than Paprika.”

He didn’t understand what she meant and asked, “well, what about Cinnamon? Cinnamon’s a nice name.”

She laughed, one big burst of laughter, like she was getting her day’s supply out in one frantic yelp.

“Now,” she said, leaning back on both elbows on the bed, “put your money on the table.”

“Oh,” he said, pulling out his wad of cash and taking out a couple a crisp ones, “I didn’t think that, uh, you was, you know…”

“What do you think this is Mister,” she asked, “a free ride?”

She carefully removed her gun from her garter belt and said, “uh uh, sweetheart. All of it.”

He hesitated. She sat up and aimed between his eyes, her hand was steady, like a fresh ham in a display case. He did as she asked.

“Now get out of my sight,” she said, “before I change my mind about how cute I think your are.”

“Wait, but I thought we were gonna … well, you know…”

“I’m a business woman.”

“Well, I’ll just be grabbing my money and leaving, then.”

“Now you just forget about that money, Mister,” she said, walking over, slowly to grab the money, never once dropping the gun off target, “you know I’m a straight shot and I don‘t hesitate.”

He left the saloon altogether, without another moment’s hesitation, without his money.

He was still in decent shape though, he had some cash left down in his boots. With luck, the vomiting man’s body would still be in the alley and he could get his gun back.

He checked all around and saw the streets were mostly deserted, anyway nobody took much notice of him and he ducked into the alley. The body was still there. It wasn’t laid out neatly, it was hunched over, face in the dirt, one leg sticking out. Both guns were missing.

That’s when a man stepped out from behind the building and said, “well, look what I found.” He was holding the gun, Kid Nobody’s gun. “Say, those are some nice boots.”

***

Kid Nobody wandered out of the alley, bootless, gunless and moneyless. His head reeled, senses a jumble, his ears buzzed and his vision quaked.

Across the street a round man with glasses waved at him, uncertainly. He hurried over avoiding the mud puddles in the street, luckily there was no horse shit to step in.

“What happened to you, partner,” the kindly old man asked, “seems a fellow like you ought to have a comfortable pair of boots on his feet.”

“They took ‘em,” Kid Nobody answered, through clenched teeth, “took my money, too.” He avoided mentioning the gun. He didn’t want to scare the man.

“Boy, sure are a lot of cheats and crooks in this town. Here, let me fix you up. I run this here store,” the man pointed back grandly at the store with his thumb, “we’ll get some boots on your feet, real quick. Just step inside.”

Kid Nobody walked inside the store. Well stocked, everything a town could need. It was also empty, if he could get the man into a dark corner, he could cold-cock him and knock him flat on his back. Get enough provisions to make it out of town dead even, with no losses. Things were going to turn around real quick.

The storeowner hadn’t followed him in. Where the old coot, Kid Nobody thought and went to check outside. The door closed behind him with a thud.

The blood drained from his face. Across the street, his horse was gone, the old man nowhere in sight. What the hell kind of town was this? They got him again, but that was it. That was the last time. The town itself must be the mess the old wizard had sent him to clean up. Creighton turned out to be, by far, the dirtiest, cheatenest town he ever ran across.

At least, he wouldn’t have to wallop the old man. Well, not yet leastways, not until he found him. He went to get back into the store to grab some boots, steal what he could carry, and grab the money from the register.

He grabbed the handle but the door was locked.

***

Kid Nobody jogged across the street, back toward the alley where the body lay. It wasn’t going to be a total loss, the Kid was resourceful, he wasn’t above pulling the boots of a dead man, if he needed a pair that was. He was still dead broke, without a gun and now without a horse. He hadn’t seen a horse in town, either. He’d have to search the outlying ranches once he made it back over the hills on foot. But at least, he’d have some boots on his feet.
He knelt beside the dead vomiting man in the alley and checked the boots. Same size. He thought that maybe his luck was turning around. Until he heard a voice,

“Well look what he have here, an outta towner stealing the boots off one of our dead citizens.”

Kid Nobody turned around to see two large men with guns trained on him. It was the sheriff and deputy.

“That’s a hangable offense.”

KID NOBODY in: HEAD FER THE HILLS! - Pt. I

Kid Nobody rode over the hills and into the isolated town of Creighton on a dusty afternoon to clean up some kind of mess. He didn‘t know what kind of mess it was, but the old wizard had made it sound real important.

“I’ll meet you back in Farthing when it’s over,” the wizard told him, “and I‘ll be most interested to hear the results.” Farthing was five towns over, due north east from Creighton.

In between, he’d grifted his way through Golding, swindled by Merryweather, done a-robbin’ in Ha’penny Hills and got a bad reputation in San Alberto. Bad enough to see wanted posters with his face on them, they even printed his real name, too, instead of his handle, which he preferred to go by. Kid Nobody hadn’t spent a lot of time making friends, excepting his horse, Leroy, who he hitched outside the saloon.

***

The piano was tuneless and the women weren’t much on the eyes, but the place was plenty rowdy and well-stocked, so he sat contentedly with his pint of malt liquor, eyeballing the place, looking for a mark. Couldn’t be more than a couple hours after noon and drunken stumblebums were everywhere, plenty of marks to be found in a place like this.

One of the homelier gals gave him a shy wink from across the room. Maybe, he thought. Didn’t appear to be a lot of options, and a man can‘t be all business and no recreation.

The doors swung open. A skinny man burst in shouting about, “I have seen the face of God, and he is pissed! On account of what we done to the Indians.”

The crowd collectively bowed their heads and muttered guilty capitulations.

“Well…”

“Yeah…”

“Got a point there…”

“God’s fixing to punish us, but good,” the ranting man said. Then he ran out to tell the folks at Tibbett’s, the general store, across the street.

“Seems we’ve all done wrong to an Indian, one time or another, isn’t that right, old timer,” Kid Nobody asked the man at the next table, with a smile.

“Not like we done, stranger,” the man said, gruffly, without making eye contact.

Kid Nobody took a swill of his drink and left a decent tip, by his standards, as he got up to leave. He’d found what he was looking for. A man, stumbling for the exit.

***

Kid Nobody stood nerve steady on the boardwalk, watching the stumbling man vomit into the alley beside the saloon. The man held himself up against the wall with one hand, the other tucked into his wretching belly.

“You okay there, partner,” he asked, approaching the man from behind.

The man stumbled a couple steps into the alley. Too easy, he thought.

“Aw, you just need to find a bed to lie down in,” he said, patting the huddled man down for his wallet, “you’ll be right in no time.” Then he felt the barrel of a gun jab between his ribs.

“Whoo-hoo-hoo, too easy, boy,” the man said, wiping his mouth.

Kid Nobody raised his arms in surrender. He looked down and noticed he was standing in the man’s vomit.

“Old trick I learned,” the man said. He took a big gulp of air, swallowed it, and after a couple second began wretching violently, the vomit splattered thinly. He came up laughing, wiping his mouth.

“Gun,” he said, his free hand outstretched, fingers waving it in, “slow like. Seems you ought to know better than to flash your wad in unfamiliar territory.”

After he handed him the gun, the man said, “cash. Come on, now. Be quick about it.”

A gun cocked behind him, a woman’s voice, “it’s cocked and loaded. You scram, or I put a bullet between your beady eyes. This one‘s mine.”

The man with the gun said, “well I got two guns, n--”

She did it. Right between the eyes. The man fell in a heap. Kid Nobody’s ears rang like church bells. He turned in disbelief, arms still raised.

“You can stop surrendering now, handsome,” the woman said, tucking the gun into her garter belt. It was the woman from the bar, “I ain’t going to shoot you, less I have to.”

Dr. Z

The stryker saw cut neatly along the dotted black lines drawn around the crown of the head. R had no idea where Dr. Z had procured a body from, only that he had. Dr. Z cupped his left hand under the skull cap as the saw finished its work. He set it down on the examining table so that it resembled a bowl, or half a black coconut.

“Take this fellow for instance,” Dr. Z continued, “grade school drop out, could barely hold a job, and even then never made a decent living.”

“Is he a patient of yours,” R asked.

“Hm? Oh, yes, yes,” Dr. Z answered, getting back-tracked, “now where was I? Yes, yes, this man was clearly of feeble intelligence and an unworthy specimen as compared to professional men, such as you or I.”

Dr. Z set the electric saw down and grabbed the forceps to peel away and removed the dura mater of the deep pink brain that was now exposed.

“Yet,” Dr. Z continued, studying the forceps very closely, “and yet, this man was learned in at least one important aspect of life. He was good at one thing and one thing only, it appears. This man was married twenty six years to the same woman. And quite a happy union from what I heard. Incredible.”

“Perhaps,” R said, smiling, “he used all ten percent of his brain power on his relationship. The other ninety must have gone to waste, eh?”

“Actually,” Dr. Z said, setting the filmy dura mater inside the skull cap on the table, “that’s a perfect myth. Every part of the brain has a function and every part of the brain is used. Don’t you see, R? This man is no less a master of love as you are of criminal investigation, or I am of medicine.”

“I see.”

Z looked up from his work, “do you think if I were to check inside this man’s pineal gland, I’d find a little Cupid?”

The joke was lost on R, and he was losing his patience, “who authorized this autopsy, Z?”

Z was busy at work inside the man’s head.

“Because, I don’t think the coroner knows about this. I don’t think this man’s wife knows about this either, does she, Z?”

“What’s the name of that worm that eats other worms,” Dr. Z asked, “for the life of me, I can’t remember. It eats the other worm and gains its intelligence. If the one worm had learned a trick, the other will eat it and know the trick without having been taught it, for example. I can’t remember. My mind seems to be going. My God.

“Alright,” R said, “that’s enough. Why don’t you come with me down to the station?”

“I’ve always felt,” Dr. Z went on, “that I was unlucky at love. Dreadfully unlucky at cards too, I’m afraid.”

R brushed his overcoat aside, revealing his gun in its holster, “Z,” he said, “let’s go.”

“Hm?” Z said, looking up from his work, “oh yes, yes, of course. I’ll go with you.”

Dr. Z removed his gloves and smock and walked toward R. R turned toward the door and began leading Z out of the room.

“Tell me, R, what do you know? What information do you have rattling around in that brain of yours, hm?”

Z bashed R across the back of the skull, and the detective fell heavy on the floor. His brow smacked against the ground and bounced once and then there was no movement.

“Hope we didn’t damage that brain of yours. I’ve had a busy day.”

Z dragged R’s limp form beside the operating table and turned the stryker saw back on.

“I wonder,” he said to himself, “if I were to eat a computer, would I gain its stored information. Ah, but I’m no geek. I’ve got my tastes. Where is my mind, these days. What’s the name of that worm again?”

Sticking to the Plan
by Alex Lachkevitch


“A what plan?’

“A zombie plan, bro! Oh, you gots to have one! That shit is for true.”

“You’re an idiot. Watch the road.”


Left on Valley Road.


“Naw, dude, seriously. It can happen like, a bajillion ways. Army experiment, alien invasion, asteroid from space, or, uh… just like, no one even knows. But they fuckin’ hungry fo’ brains!”

“Asteroid from space, huh? You’re an asteroid from space. Believe me, we got more serious issues to worry about- Africa is dying from AIDS, China is hosting the Olympics, our government is bombing anyone with a drop of oil, and you’re worried about zombies attacking us. It won‘t happen.“

“Yo, Evan, man? College is making you no fun, dude.”


Right onto Bridgeport.


“…and then you got your ride secured, and then you need to go get a piece. You know, bro? You ever scope out where the gun shops is around town? I have. I’ll get a gat in a hot minute, and start blowing away any evil dead fuck that tries to feast on my dome!”

“Oh, right. And then what, Ty? You’ll shoot every zombie in the world? You know, they taught me in college that you can’t shoot all your problems away.”

“They is stupid. Then I’m going to Wally-Mart, get me some survival supplies, and off to the woods, yo. Live out the invasion.”

“ Tyler, you’re from the suburbs. You cried that one time in grade seven we got lost in the park.”

“Fuck, dude, shut up! I just ran a red. Can’t afford more motha-fucking tickets. No pigs around, right?”

“I haven’t even seen any cars since we left.”


Over the King Street bridge.


“I can’t believe I’m even talking about this. Ughhhh. Well, I guess if there were zombies, I’d try to find out how and why, and see if there were any authority dealing with the threat. They‘re still people, right?”

“Ya, right, bro! You can’t talk to zombies, man, you gotta blast them! They sure as hell won’t talk to you, and if they attack, shit, man, it’s my right to cap bitches for self-protection. And I’m pretty damn sure the government, if they ain’t zombies too, would agree.”

“Alright, just calm down. We’re almost at the spot. I get nervous down here.”

“Chill, man, the ghetto is my second home. And Big E has the best shit down here. I don’t see any one out, though, man, maybe it’s too early morning.”

“It’s two.”

Right onto Morreo Drive, another narrow street between crumbling brick two-stories, and the little red Civic came to a holt, the gearbox making a terrible noise. The police cruiser blocking the street was on fire. One cop lay dead on the hood, the beam of the headlight filtering through the thick reddish-grey goo seeping out from fracture in his skull. Five tall teenagers stood close by, their blank expressions made into terrifying clown masks by the blood around their mouths. Another cop was sprawled out in the street with an old fat woman stabbing him over and over in the stomach with a long kitchen knife. A man was squatting beside her, dipping his hand in the pool of blood and wiping it across his mouth.

Tyler’s hands were frozen to the wheel. The sharp taste of something like cranberry juice hit the back of his throat. He saw Evan fumbling with his seatbelt and the door handle alternatively, with no success. Tyler slammed into reverse, but his feet and hands seemed drunk, and he backed at full speed into, or more under, a parked lifted Tahoe, wedging his tiny hatchback hopelessly.

“Get out! Get out, run! Run! Go!”

Evan wasn’t sure if he was screaming, or some one else. With trembling hands, he shoved the door open and began to run away from the burning cop car with its one bloody eye. He felt tears stream down his face, and wished he had worn runners today. Anything to be faster, to be away. Just as he rounded the corner, he began to hear the yelling behind him.

“Evan, wait! Wait, help!”

Tyler struggled with his door, shouting and crying, and then climbed over and out the passenger door. Falling face first on the pavement, he looked over, and saw the whole group in the street turn to him and start walking. Slowly. Even cautiously. The terror narrowed his vision to a tunnel, and in the end of that tunnel he saw his salvation- the cop’s gun belt had been torn off and thrown aside, and the handle of the revolver was within reach. He grabbed it, shaking loose the holster and belt as he scrambled to his feet. With the gun held in both hands too close to his chest, the barrel swinging nervously, Tyler began stepping backwards and shouting unintelligibly, as if trying to scare off an animal. The group advanced. He retreated, between parked cars, almost tripping over the curb, back, back, the barrel still shaking, still yelling, until his back pressed against a wall. The group advanced. He thought about the six bullets in the gun, stopped shouting, and started to run.

But in a few steps, halted. A tall man with a gold tooth lumbered out from the alley in front of him. Tyler raised the gun, and their eyes met. The barrel started shaking again. In the man’s eyes, he could see sorrow and determination, the eyes of a man who is forced into desperation, the eyes of a man who must do something he wishes he didn’t have to. In a few second, he saw Evan walk out of the alley with the same look, mouth smeared with blood. He put the gun down, and felt hands on his shoulders, and hands on his face, and soon he felt sweet acquiescence.

As the mob shuffled toward downtown, toward all the tall building and the department stores and the government offices, sirens blared. Helicopters circled above, and above them, jets cut the sky. At the bridge, the mob was met by a sandbag barricade, soldiers lined up behind it. As they readied their rifles and the first bullets tore through the crowd, Tyler and Evan and everyone else walked forward. They knew who the enemy was. They all knew to stick to the plan now.

Maturity

by: benzo369

“… well now Dimi, if that doesn’t take the cake!”

“I haven’t any reason to turn my back now on my brothers now in face of an invasion like this,” a teenaged boy said in a matured toned defiance towards his mother’s disgust. “To allow Terminal City to succumb to the infectious disease they bring on the tip of their teeth is treachery of the highest order and I for one will not allow them to be infected.”

His father led him to a private room, away from the worrying clutches of his mother, and sat young Dmitri Malouki down on the red wooden stool he had used so much as a child. Every Sunday he would sit down on that red stool and peek through the window to watch his father work on the family’s Mazda sedan or fix the bird feeders his dad loved so much – almost as much as the birds Dmitri loved.

“I hate it when she calls me that name. I am no longer her little baby!” Dmitri said moving uncomfortable on the small stool.

Mr Malouki looked upon Dmitri as he did when his son was four and eight and twelve. The soft respect in his father’s eyes did not please Dmitri, who at 15 thought himself very ready to be a man and not the child his parents wanted to protect. His work in helping the humans win the battle of East 1st had endowed in him the strongest sense of manhood, a sense he had never felt before but was sure that in fact he was authentically experiencing it.

Many of the experiences under the Skytrain had confirmed that he was now a man. There was the rye contestes with the Frankie Biggs, Ernesto Chow and Wilson Sebulsky. The three much older Anti-Terrifying Forces members would share manly stories of years ago when they hunted werewolves and survived the early days of the zombie invasion, instilling a spirit of tradition in Dmitri’s ATF soul.

Often they would share cigarettes when they told these stories and when Dmitri had offered Frankie a cigarette for the first time, a stick of Lucky Strikes, Frankie said: “now that’s my man.” Not boy – man. There was also the moment he shared with Stacy Berry, though he could not figure out if it was love or lust. Lost with each other in an empty room of an abandoned warehouse, while hell was being fought outside, they, as Frankie also told him, “got it on,” to which every present male member of the ATF shouted: “that’s our man!”

ROOOOOWWWWWAAIIIINNNNNNNNN!!!

It was just another false alarm. ATF members were trained to know that you needed three siren warnings before you could worry about a zombie uprising but Mr Moulaki did not see it this way and had ran to the door to make sure his family would be safe. There had been many false alarms since the win at East 1st. That was because people were still afraid and even the slightest growl was enough to send the zombie siren off. Fear in this Zombie era had a much tighter grip on Terminal City then the Werewolf era ever had. The Maloukis were not immune to that sentiment. Though the battle their son was involved in took place some distance away from where the Maloukis lived on Western Beach, it was close enough that they boarded up the doors and kept the lights off unless they needed them on.

During this time, Mrs Malouki rarely slept at night. She cursed Mr Malouki for letting her only child leave home and join the ATF in their endless war against the Zombies. She told Mr Malouki that there was no way to win a war like this. She asked how could you kill the undead, and how could HE let HER boy go, which to her was a kin to selling a cow off for meat.

“You served them another piece of beef,” she cried at night in bed. “My son will be eaten and either killed or turned and it will be YOU who is at fault. If that happens so help me I will never forgive you.”

“Hush my dear,” Mr Malouki consoled her. “He is no wimp. He will survive.”

And Dmitri did survive and when he returned to the house one month later there was only one noticeable difference – a strip of fur above his top lip. But that small touch of macho belied the still young features of his face that reminded Mrs Malouki of her baby Dimi.

However, under the skin much had changed. Dmitri was sure of this. He stepped around the house with more authority and, although his voice squeaked and changed at intervals, he used the words his father would say for most situations.

“Honey, get me the paper,” he would ask of Mrs Malouki in fictitious deep voice, to which a newspaper would be presented solidly across the back of his head – just like his father.

Sitting on the red wooden stool, he awaited his father to realise what he already knew.

“Just a false alarm,” said Mr Moulaki beginning to relax.

“Now son, I understand you are going through a lot…”

“Been through a lot,” Dmitri corrected his father.

“Yes, well that might be true however you are still fifteen and your mother and I have discussed it. You are not to take part in any further ATF campaigns.”

Dmitri slumped his head forward and then shook it slowly. Perhaps his father hadn’t heard the story of the slaughter. He could recount the night when he and eight other men walked in to what seemed like a forest of blood thirsty zombies, hunting them down in a derelict alley near Brand for Sale Place – surrounded by the most hellacious, thoughtless, brain hungry rabid creatures who had ever walked this fine earth – and fought them not with fear but pleasure for the sacrifice and the deed they had done was never to be equalled, according to Frankie Biggs.

“But… but, come on. I am a man now and like, you are going to have to accept it,” Dmitri argued, his voice rising to a rooster level.

“Son I have seen a great change in you but to assume that you flick a switch and CLICK you become a man is ludicrous. You must know how dangerous it is out there.”

Mr Malouki pleaded to his son’s fear for he knew that he would not win any war of reason with this teenager who had already seen more than he should have. He begged as a prisoner of love for his only child t not be rash in deciding what he would do next. To be a man, his father lectured, was more then just killing mindless beings that had to be killed. There was more to maturity then telling off you mother, more then smoking and drinking, more then even sleeping with a woman, he said with a wink and twinkle in his eye.

“You have to know when not to be rash, when not to kill my boy,” Mr Malouki said with a hopeful smile cutting above his stubbly chin.

ROOOOOWWWWWAAIIIINNNNNNNNN!!!

ROOOOOWWWWWAAIIIINNNNNNNNN!!!

ROOOOOWWWWWAAIIIINNNNNNNNN!!!

The sound of the sirens rolling down the street caused Dmitri to jump off the stool and run to the front door. Something was happening and his young heart beat rapidly in hopes to be part of it

“Where are you going Dimi?” Mrs Moulaki called out to her son as he turned the brass door handle.

“I’m going to a fight,” Dmitri said in a very juvenile voice.

Dmitri ran out the door and with a smile across his face, high-fived Frankie Biggs and marched off to a fight.