Badass Zombie Road Trip (14 page)

“I know so.” Jonah nodded, solemnly. “Dale, you can’t do this. Your soul would rather you die than kill someone.”

“Even a useless bum?”

“Even a useless bum.”

“And just how will my soul feel about eating nasty-ass rats for the next week?”

Jonah couldn’t help but laugh at that. “I think it’s safe to say you’d feel a hell of a lot better about eating a nasty-ass rat than killing some drunk in the gutter and eating his nasty ass!”

“Man, you are so gay.”

“I’m not the queer who wants to eat some dude’s ass.”

“Fuck you.”

“No thanks. Besides, we don’t have time for fucking. We have to find you dinner.”

The zombie grinned wide and weird. “Golly gee, Jonah. Ain’t you the master of foreplay?”

“What can I say?” Jonah asked as he grinned right back. “I learned from the very best.”

****

Colfax, California

161 hours: 55 minutes: 10 seconds remaining

Finding a place was easy enough. The very next exit was for a town named Colfax, which boasted a proud variety of gas stations and bars and restaurants. But Jonah wanted something more out of the way. Something private, with a dark alley and a quiet dumpster. They pulled onto a side road and cruised the local neighborhoods for the perfect spot. Within a few minutes of wandering the poorly lit back roads, a bright sign split the darkness, announcing Jack’s Fastmart: 24 hours of food, fuel and convenience.

And a dumpster out back the size of a U-Haul.

Jonah pulled the Focus into the lot and killed the engine. The pair of them sat in silence for almost a full minute before Jonah said, “I know this is going to suck—”

“I don’t think you do,” Dale said over him. “I don’t think you know at all.”

That was fair. Dale had every right to be angry. But, then again, it wasn’t Jonah who sold his soul to the Devil just to piss off Daddy.

“I’ve never done this before,” Dale said, his voice heavy with sarcasm. “What do you suggest?”

“How should I know?” Jonah asked. “I don’t make a habit of eating live rats from dumpsters.”

“You make it sound real appetizing, asshat.”

“Sorry. Just open the thing and dig around inside. I’m sure it won’t take long to find one. Then just do what comes natural.”

“What comes natural is not digging around for a rat in a dumpster.”

“You know what I mean.”

“And just what are you gonna do while I’m helping myself to this delicious feast?”

Jonah rubbed the back of his neck as he thought about this. “I might go inside and check the layout. Make sure there are no security cameras pointed at the dumpster. Stuff like that.”

The zombie scrunched up his face in uncertainty. “Why would they film garbage?”

“I don’t know. So bums don’t dig around in it or something.”

“Seems to me having some bum haul off half your crap saves trouble later.”

“Yeah, I guess so.” Jonah felt kind of foolish for thinking such a thing. But then again, the likelihood that they would select the only mini-mart in the town with a camera trained on its dumpster seemed rather high, all things considered. After all, what were the chances that returning to California would strip one of them of his soul and set the pair of them on a hellish cross-country adventure? “I’ll just check to be sure, though. And I’ll be sure to distract the cashier. Keep him busy, so you can, you know, do your thing.”

Dale scowled. In the sodium yellow of the streetlamp, his grimace was haunting—his dry lips taut across gritted amber teeth, his nose wrinkled to a withered knot of flesh, his sunken eyes sallow and filled with dread. The shadows of the low light played with his already fading complexion, leaving Dale looking far deader than he really was. Jonah hoped they could make it to North Carolina before Dale had a chance to fall apart.

“Jonah,” Dale said. “Let me assure you, my
thing
involves eating. Just not rats.”

Before he could finish his axiom, Jonah sighed and said, “I know. You prefer cats.”

Dale’s grimace changed to an expression of curiosity. “Cats?”

“You know. Cats?”

“Cats?”

“Yes. Caaats.” Jonah dragged the word out, emphasizing it.

The zombie still seemed puzzled. “Why would I want to eat a cat?”

At first Jonah assumed Dale was playing games. But it dawned on him that the zombie was genuinely confused. His undead state was playing havoc not just on his memory, but on a few cognitive skills, as well. Jonah was going to have to explain. “No. Not
cat
cats. Not real cats. You know. You like to eat …” he paused and swallowed hard, bristling as he finished with, “pussy.” It was a word he never, under any circumstances, said. Ever. At least not aloud.

Dale blinked once, then twice, obviously surprised by Jonah’s choice of words. Then the zombie laughed. A bona fide warm, soulful laugh. Deep and rumbling guffaws—only matched by the roiling grumble of his stomach—poured forth from the zombie. Jonah sat awash in this sudden mirth, relishing the sound of his friend’s amusement. A sound he wasn’t sure he would hear again.

“Man,” Dale said. “It might just be my dead memory acting up, but I don’t think I’ve ever heard you say that word.”

“There’s a time and place for everything, I suppose.”

“There sure is.” Dale undid his seatbelt and motioned to the store before them. “Come on. Let’s get this over with.”

Jonah undid his belt and scrambled after the dead man. “How long do you think you will need?”

“Give me about ten minutes. I think I will have had my fill by then.” The zombie’s stomach argued the point by burbling loudly. “I’ll wait by the car for you.”

“Sounds like a plan.”

They split paths as they approached the store, Jonah giving Dale a nod as the zombie slipped around back. Jonah then drew a deep breath, mustered all of his courage, and pushed open the door to the mini-mart. The store was well lit and well kept, if a little small. The man behind the counter—a mid-forties plumpish fellow with a receding hairline, a face full of acne, and a nametag that declared him to be Bob—looked bored out of his skull, with his attention focused on a comic book instead of his surroundings. He didn’t even look up when Jonah came in.

Jonah took advantage of this, glancing about the register area and breathing a sigh of relief that the only camera—attached to a small black and white television riddled with static—appeared to be filming the back of the store, pointed at the beer fridge. It made sense. Once again, the zombie was right. Why would they keep a camera on their dumpster? Jonah still felt like he should do something, considering the zombie was hard at work out back. That, and there was the fact that if he didn’t distract himself, he ran the very real risk of envisioning exactly what Dale was up to back there. He gave a shudder as his imagination began to connect the bloody, rat-shaped dots.

“Excuse me,” Jonah said.

The clerk looked up, but didn’t answer.

“Umm, do you have any gum?” Jonah asked.

The clerk nodded to the overflowing rack of chewing gum sitting right in front of Jonah, then returned his attention to his comic book.

“Right,” Jonah said. He picked up a pack or two, pretending to read the contents and labels. After a few seconds of this act he asked, “Excuse me?”

The clerk closed his eyes and gave a little sigh, signaling that Jonah was turning into an annoying customer. This was good. Jonah wanted to be annoying. He wanted this man’s full attention. After his dramatic sigh, the clerk looked up to Jonah again.

“I don’t suppose you can recommend one?” Jonah asked, holding out a pack that claimed to be sugar-free, explosive watermelon flavored. “It’s just that I’m not sure what an explosive watermelon tastes like. Do you think it’s safe to consume such a thing?”

“I don’t chew gum,” the clerk said, his words borne on a sickening waft of tobacco-scented breath that confirmed his statement with nauseating clarity.

“I see. But if you did—”

“But I don’t.”

“But … if you did …”

“Look, buddy,” the clerk snapped as he clutched the comic between his fists, “if you wanna buy something, then buy it and get out. I’m too busy for this.”

Jonah looked around the deserted store. It was times like this that he wished he had a little more initiative. A little more ambition. A little more courage.

What he wanted to say was, “Yes, the crowd seems to have you pinned down. I hope you find time for a break tonight. It isn’t good to work so hard.”

Or maybe, “I’m sorry it’s such a struggle for you to read. I mean, in this day and age, you would think literacy wouldn’t be such hard work. Need any help? Or are the pictures enough to get you by?”

Or even, “Busy watching your ass get wider, or just busy being an asshole?”

But instead, what he said was, “I’ll just skip the gum and have a soda instead.”

The man shrugged and went back to his comic book.

Jonah left the clerk to his reading and retreated across the store. The soda selection was small, but he didn’t want one, anyway. Not really. Just the knowledge that the clerk was busy was enough to satisfy him. Jonah checked his watch—his real one—and wondered what he would do for seven more minutes. He then checked his other watch—the one from the Devil—and cringed at all of the time lost already. North Carolina was so far away. Hopefully Dale would fill his belly enough to let them travel until they needed gas again. Jonah supposed he could stay up well into the morning, and they’d just fueled up a little while ago, so it was all systems go. It was North Carolina, ahoy!

Yet all of this was moot if the rat thing didn’t work.

Everything
was moot if the rat thing didn’t work.

Jonah had no idea what to do if the rat thing didn’t work.

The rat thing had to work. It just had to.

Of course, thinking about the rat thing had Jonah imagining just what the zombie was doing. Was he in full feasting mode by now? Gnashing and slurping on the furry wriggling bodies of his little victims with bloodthirsty glee? Jonah shuddered and tried to push the images out of his mind by perusing the out-of-date magazines. Just as he reached for a three-month-old
People,
headlights lit the already bright store to a nuclear whitewash. Jonah held his hand over his eyes, squinting out the window, sure it was Dale signaling him.

It wasn’t.

It was another car pulling in. Another customer. Jonah held the
People
to his chest and tried not to panic. He hadn’t counted on another customer. The plan didn’t involve the presence of other people. What if they saw Dale? What if they went around back and found the zombie eating live rats?

Jonah could almost hear Dale’s soothing voice assuring him his fears were unfounded. Why would they go to the dumpsters? It was a silly thought from a frightened man who was tired and hungry, and maybe, just maybe, they should stop for the night after all. Yes, that was the ticket. A good night’s rest and a hearty breakfast before getting back on the road in the early morning. He smiled at this thought as the new customer made her way into the store. Jonah set to wandering about, grabbing items at random, doing his best to blend in now that there was competition. It wasn’t until the new arrival stepped behind the counter that Jonah realized the clerk and the customer were wearing the exact same shirt, with the exact same company logo on it.

“‘Sup?” the clerk said.

“Sorry I’m late,” the woman said, as she dropped her things under the counter. “The old man and me got into it again.”

“Did you check the dumpster latches on your way in?”

“Shit, no. I forgot. You know I hate going out there in the dark. Will you do it on your way out?”

“No way. It’s a check-in duty, not a check-out one. I done my duty today.”

“Thanks a lot, big guy.” The new clerk grabbed up a flashlight before she headed for the back of the store.

“Back door is still stuck,” her co-worker announced.

The young woman huffed under her breath as she turned on her heel and headed for the front door. “I wish they’d get that stupid thing fixed.”

Panic rose again in Jonah, until he glanced out the wide storefront window and caught the silhouette of the zombie, in the shadows, waiting by the car, just like he said he would. He must have finished early, and not a moment too soon. Relaxed and pleased that everything was going as planned, Jonah approached the register with his would-be purchases just as the new clerk ducked outside.

The old clerk nodded at the smattering of merchandise. “That all?”

“And this,” Jonah said, tossing the explosive watermelon gum on top of a bag of chips.

“Change your mind, then?” The clerk smiled. It wasn’t nice.

Jonah bit back a sharp retort and waited with the patience of a saint as the clerk rang up his meager wares.

The clerk, despite his lackadaisical demeanor, was fire on the register. In a matter of moments, he rang up Jonah’s few choices and announced, “That’ll be—”