Wednesday, May 7, 2014


The average human body is 40% muscle. Not necessarily 'fit' muscle. Just 'muscle' muscle. So the pathetic, skinny kid trembling in Opal's tight embrace had maybe fifty six pounds of meat on him, not counting fat deposits, which almost everyone knows is where the flavor is.

Being brand new at this and fresh from her temporary grave, Opal can't eat all that meat. Scraping up through six feet of damp, heavy, gravel-laden soil did abrade a lot of flesh, but most tissue survived. After wolfing down enough to sate her hunger and denuding most of his carcass between jawline and nipples, she let the body fall and caught her breath.

Uther aus Ulm caught the still twitching entree and finished him off. Bit through the unbelievably  intact trachea (all gristle, but that Ulm got strong choppers) and chewed on the in situ heart till it stopped quivering. He wasn't very hungry either. Just let the body fall, though not into the recently vacated grave. That's zombie-making-dirt, after all. Don't know how they got there, the soil microbes and all, but they did, so shut your mouth. OK?

The sandy haired, uber zombie looked at the exhausted new flesh-eater and said - You can talk, girl?...... Opal sat slumped against a tree, chin on her chest, absentmindedly studying her dirt encrusted crotch area, as the blood dried on her chin like a funny beard. She didn't answer. He gently kicked the sole of her foot. She said - W-what?...... Uther goes - Yo, mall-bitch (obviously familiar with a bit of the vernacular), what kind of zombie you want to be?.... The still dazed young female goes - You mean like a Democrat or a Republican?..... He goes - No.... Girl goes - Gay or straight?.... He says - No...... Opal snorts and goes - Lemme sleep. Lemme sleep. Lemme sleep. So he bends down and scoops her up like Rock Hudson did Doris Day in them old Kennedy era comedies and carries her off through the trees..... She leans into his chest and belches. Let me tell you, zombie belch stink real bad. Like a dog what got into a spoiled, raw ham.

When Uther questioned her, he meant does she want to be a shit ass, cheap, regular zombie, or a popular, sleek, uber zombie?

Right then and there she just wanted to sleep. That was a good sign. Meant the flesh she ate was starting to fix things..... cover up her ribs.... reupholster them finger tips.... humanize her eyelids.... and God knows what else. 

Ralphie and Ezekiel watched from a distance. They saw the strange European zombie carry her off. They saw the small and not so small forest rodents make short work of the corpse. They saw it all.

Ezekiel whispered - Bet he has a car...... Ralphie goes - What makes you say that?...... Ezekiel goes - She's naked, flesh-drugged and superficially decomposed. What's he gonna do? Wait for a bus!?

Then they scramble back into the mall and their secret lair under the floor. The pathetic, pile of garbage that used to be Gary really stank, but zombies don't care. Look, it's not their favorite thing, but they deal with it.

Ralphie snuggled into his nest-o-blankets with an old, tattered National Geographic. It was hard to read in the dim illumination from the dollar store Easter lights, but he didn't care. The pictures were the main thing... old Incan mummies.  And you know, some didn't look half bad. Took his mind off the confrontation with that Uther bastid, at least for the time being anyway...

Ezekiel slumped in his chair... a half busted recliner dragged down from a furniture clearance room up above. He didn't need no magazine, or ear-bud radio, or nothing. Just sat (slightly tilted to one side, 'cause the chair was broken) and thought.

Opal was gone... Damn.... And he wanted a new, little sister too...


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