Bob The Zombie (2 page)

"Listen, you putrid monster..."

"Pot meet kettle. At least I bathe." I pulled my nose off and put it in my pocket to cheers from the crowd "Much better."

"I will tear you limb from limb you worthless c
reature!" The ghoul hissed, then he lunged at me. The next thing I knew, the rotting flesh of his fist met the decomposing meat of my face and his punch ripped a ligament in my cheek causing my face to droop on the right side where he hit me. I must have looked like a stroke victim. I hauled my own fist back and broke off his nose, at the same time I kicked him in the shinbone. Sure, it wasn't exactly gentlemanly, but neither was screwing with another man's game. He grabbed his injured shin and started hissing as he hopped up and down on his good leg.

I looked around the bar and saw that the ghouls and my horde were battling it out while
Griffin kept shouting at us all to stop. He tried to calm us all down using his ability to push emotions onto others, but the rage the ghouls experienced was blocking his efforts. It seemed as though their feeble disintegrating brains couldn't process all the information. It did have the advantage of making us zombies more effective fighters, as we felt calmer and were able to think more clearly. The big oaf came back at me, attempting to cold-cock me when I was looking elsewhere. I can't complain, I guess one cheap shot deserves another. I saw his fist heading my way and ducked, uppercutting him in the stomach on my way back upright. He doubled over and his "Oof!" could be heard throughout the whole bar. I stepped back and assessed the situation. He was bent over clutching his stomach and I could see a small amount of intestine bursting out through his fingers. That's the worst part of getting punched in the stomach when you're decaying, it often winds up in disembowelment as the flesh and that peritoneum sack-thing are no longer strong enough to keep your guts in.

The ghoul looked up at me and held up one hand, the other was busy trying to contain his innards. "Enough." I nodded at his concession, reached in my coat pocket and handed him my stapler. "Thank you." He looked like I had forced him to eat lemons (also known for causing projectile vomiting) and I couldn't blame him. After he had closed the wound to his belly he handed me the stapler back, I stapled my face back to normal, and we began stopping the other fights that were going on around us.

We beat the snot out of those ghouls, as well as earned a promise that they'd leave Martin's alone, after buying Griffin a new game. A collective cheer went up among my horde. Griffin had a tear in his eye as he looked over the ruins of his once cherry Donkey Kong as well as an utterly smashed Evel Knievel pinball game, one splintered foosball table, and several chairs that we had destroyed in the battle. He whipped out a calculator and came up with an amount. He then informed the ghouls they were to pay the larger half, as they had started the fight. It didn't go over well and I was worried for a second that another fight would start. Some extremely angry and downright obscene words from Griffin cowed them, and the ghouls agreed. They gave him a credit card which he then ran and forced the skag leader to sign. We all apologized, but I saw a bitter light in the eyes of the ghoul who had started the whole mess. I knew if I ever saw him alone we'd be fighting again. He didn't like being beaten by a zombie.

That very night, they began calling the incident 'The Undead American Brawl'. I'm embarrassed to say that's how it, and I, will be remembered by most of the patrons. After the ghouls left, I sought out
Griffin in his office.

"Hey, I'm really sorry."

"It's not your fault, Bob. Those ghouls are getting downright dangerous. Their witch hasn't called on them at all, they're starting to brag about it. I need to find her before they get too wild and start eating humans. If that leash isn't kept short they can easily run amok and start causing serious problems for us supers. I just know that Von Karolinas is going to hear about this, and give me hell for it." He sighed and rubbed his temples like a man fighting a big headache.

"Why didn't your mojo work on them?" I probably should have left, but I had to know.

"I don't know. It normally does. I wonder if there aren't other problems due to them never being called. I really have to find that witch." He then started mumbling and looking through the rolodex.

"What about the credit card they gave you? Us dead folks don't exactly have live accounts. It's possible she gave them a card in case they needed something." I shrugged and smiled an apology for interrupting him.

"Bob! You're a genius." He bolted up and ran for the bar. I smiled at his praise and slowly followed him, chuckling to myself how much the scene looked like a monster movie; him running away, me slowly ambling after him. I was chortling by the time I entered the main bar.

Face had put 'Highway to Hell' on
the Wurlitzer and I joined my squishy, rotting brothers on the dance floor. For me, it had been a great day. People had looked up to me and been impressed with my gaming skills. I'd also been able to showcase my ass kicking skills. I felt like I was 'The Zombie'. I danced like I had no worries in the world and when the song stopped I was breathing hard and grinning like an idiot. The people around me were also grinning. There was a thick undercurrent of joy running through Martin's that its owner was not responsible for. I had finally stood up for myself and my brothers and had done what was right rather than sit back meekly and allow someone to bully us, yet again.

It felt great. A part of me felt badly about the Donkey Kong game, but mostly I felt like I was alive again, for real. As a zombie, one of the things that overwhelms me is the fact that we don't feel emotions as strongly as we did when we were human. It can be a little sad, but for the most part it's just a fact of our lives we have no choice but to accept. Today, though, I felt as proud and happy as I had when I was al
ive. I was grinning like a fool, and for once, I didn't need a single staple to hold the smile to my face.

"Hey, Bob, can you give me a hand?"
Griffin hollered over the sound of 'Fortunate Son' by CCR. Without thinking, I ripped my hand off, (a few noses wrinkled with the wet sucking sound my flesh made, but thankfully nobody puked) and I tossed it to the owner of my new favorite bar. "Ew! Not what I meant, Bob." He tossed my hand to me and I stapled it back on.

"Sorry, I guess I got caught up in the fun."

"No apologizing. It was funny, just not what I needed." Griffin reassured me.

"What can I help with?" He pushed a shot glass filled with the beautiful amber ambrosia that is whiskey towards me. I gulped it down and nodded my thanks, appreciating the smooth caress of warmth and the slight aftertaste of vanilla and apricot. He hadn't skimped on me
, it was the good stuff.

"I need someone to go with me to talk with the ghouls' necromancer. I'm worried she could use my gift as an expath against me."

"How is that possible?" From what I knew, expaths emitted emotion that other folks picked up on. I had never heard of anyone being able to influence an expath.

"To be an expath is to also hold some empathic ability. I can feel other people's emotions pretty strongly. It's how I know when to emote...emit...whatever you want to call it."

"I think emoting works, and is cooler sounding."

"Thanks, me too. Anyway, being a witch, she would be able to influence my emotions through the means of a spell or even some herbs."

"Creepy. Must be hard being you." I felt bad for the guy. Being a green man he wasn't able to get out into public much either, and having to constantly fret about being influenced had to be worrisome. Made my problems seem a bit smaller by comparison.

"Not really, I think it would be harder being a zombie. You have to tell me about how that happened." I synopsized it for him and he sat back astonished, "Wow, having your mom bring you back only to boot you out had to be painful as hell. I am so sorry, Bob." He seemed genuinely sorry that I had been hurt so badly.

"Thanks. Mom is a great lady, but she brought me back hoping I'd be the same. When my eyes clouded over with death, and I began rotting and moldering, she couldn't handle the pain of seeing her baby dead and decaying. I don't blame her...well, maybe a little. I would have been happy being reincarnated. She couldn't let me go, and now I'm forced to live an eternity of a life with no life at all."

"That's rough stuff, buddy." He pulled my
shot glass closer, refilled it, and pushed the shot of Jameson Black Barrel back my way. I downed it and thanked him.

"Could be worse. I have a new life now; got my horde, found the coolest bar on the planet, and made some new friends. I think things are going to be ok."

"Glad to hear it, and thanks for agreeing to come with me."

"No problem! I'm just going to let Face know where I'm heading and that I'll meet up with him and the guys later." I hopped off the bar stool and fell on my face. I hadn't expected the whiskey to have such a profound effect on me.

Griffin came around the bar and helped me up "You okay?"

"Yeah, just a bit tipsy, I guess. Never had liquor affect me so much before, not since I was raised anyway."

"Ah, yes. The good stuff will knock even a werewolf on their ass."

"Must be really good stuff." I grinned at him rather dopily. After a few moments, the feeling of being drunk passed and I was back to normal...well, normal for me at any rate.

"It is, indeed. You head on over and tell your friends what's up. I'll see you in a bit, I have to talk to my bartender, Will." He gave me a small smile and headed into what I assume was the kitchen area, as it was behind the requisite swinging doors.

"Hey, Face! I'm heading off with Griff to check out the ghouls' witch. He wants to have a long talk with her. I'll meet you guys back at the bunk tonight?" We'd been staying at a bunkhouse on an old cotton plantation. The main house was in ruins, but the bunkhouse had survived, and with minor repairs, had become our home. We even had Dish Network and a big screen TV for playing videogames. Sure, most of our furnishings came from the dump and from garbage left out for collection, but it was home to me and my undead family.

"We'll wait up for you, brother." I could read between the lines and knew what he was saying. If anything happened to me, my horde would be coming after Griffin and that witch. For the first time, in a long time, I felt like I had true family again. Before this, Face and the guys were my friends, but tonight he proved he was my true brother. Happiness welled up in me and I smiled at my family.

"I'll be there, no matter what. Horde equals family!" I hollered it louder than I should, but it was true.

"Horde equals family!" They shouted back.

"You ready to jet?"
Griffin asked me as he approached.

"Yup, let's head out, Griff." He raised an eyebrow at the nickname, and let it go. I assume other people must call him that and he must be ok with it because I get the feeling he isn't the sort of fellow who backs down to avoid a fight.

I waved goodbye and headed out the door, following Griffin to his SUV. As I climbed in the blue Expedition, I lost my foot. Not like I slipped, but my foot actually fell off my body and down onto the sidewalk with a plop. I blushed, as much as I can anyway, and bent down to retrieve it, splitting my jeans in the process. It wasn't a tiny little rip either. Nope, it was a full blown, seam splitting rip and it was loud. I was so embarrassed and could only think to joke "Whoops. That's last time I eat Taco Bell that's been in a dumpster for four days." Truthfully I wanted to crawl under the truck and die, but I retrieved my foot, climbed in, stapled it on, and untucked my REO Speedwagon tee-shirt, grateful that it would be long enough to cover the rip. Yeah, I'm an REO fan, deal with it.

"You want to stop off somewhere and pick up a new pair of jeans?"

"That might be fun, both of us traipsing through Wal-Mart, terrifying the local gentry. Thanks, but I think I'll be ok."

"You sure? I know a thrift store for supers. We can run in and grab you a pair..."

"Really? That'd be great." I beamed him a thanks and we headed off to this super-store of a different sort.

We pulled up to a storefront in the middle of a row of car dealerships and I carefully exited Griff's car so I didn't split, or lose, anything else.

"Hiya, Jeannie!" Griffin's whole face lit up as he greeted the woman behind the counter. She was as blue as he was green. I had no clue what sort of creature she might be.

"Griff! How are you doing, old man?" She had a me
rry twinkle in her aqua eyes as she turned them to me. "Who is your friend?"

"I'm Bob, the zombie. What are you?" So, playing coy is not my strong suit. Then again, I always preferred honesty to trite social rituals. I smiled the second I heard her call him Griff, it's always nice to be right.

"I'm a mermaid, Bob." She laughed and it's the first time I could ever describe a laugh as tinkling. It reminded me of wind chimes, but not in an annoying way.

"Cool! You're the first Mer I've met."

"Well, I hope I do my race justice."

"So far, so good." I blushed. Of course, I've been dead a long time so when I say blushed, I mean I looked just a tiny bit less green.

"Pleasure to meet you. How can I help you guys today?"

"Bob needs a new pair of jeans." I flashed
Griffin a smile, thankful that he hadn't gone into detail as to why I needed the new pants.