Badass Zombie Road Trip (5 page)

As he eyed the uniformed man, Jonah snapped back into a proper panic. “Sir, we are so sorry. He didn’t mean any disrespect. It’s just the way he is.”

“I know,” the officer said, his electric blue eyes twinkling in the afternoon sun.

“Of course you do,” Jonah smiled, made comfortable by the officer’s easy disposition. “He might seem like every other jerk on the road, but he is really a good person at heart.”

“Oh, I reckon I know all about Mr. Jenkins here.” The officer tipped his head to Dale as he squinted in the bright sunlight, smiling his bright smile. “Are you still going by that name? Dale Jenkins? Or did you drop that little moniker when you skipped town with my goods?”

Dale didn’t answer.

Jonah narrowed his eyes and darted a glance between the pair. “You know each other?”

“You could say that,” the officer said.

“Dale?” Jonah asked. “What’s going on?”

Keeping his eyes on the officer, Dale said, “I warned you, man. I told you I couldn’t come back here. I asked you to let it go. You promised. Now you’ve royally fucked me. Thanks a lot,
friend
.”

A punch to the gut could not have hurt Jonah more than the way Dale stressed that last word. He said it with such disgust, such hatred, such animosity, that the very intention of the word was stripped of all sentiment, leaving Jonah in a vacuum of utter shame. Dale said he had trouble in California, but Jonah hadn’t expected to be ambushed the moment they passed the state line. Who could?

“I’m … I’m sorry,” Jonah stammered.

“You sure are,” Dale said. He finally turned to face Jonah and snorted as deep as humanly possible. After clearing his throat, his sinuses, his every nasal passage, Dale hocked an impressive loogie at Jonah’s feet. “Go on. Get out of here! Go! I don’t need you anymore!”

Jonah stared at the wet spot, at Dale’s snotty sentiment baking in the California sun, unable to bring himself to speak.

“Get lost, you loser!” Dale screamed.

Like a scolded dog, Jonah flinched, but couldn’t move more than that. Guilt glued him to the spot, where he stood by his best friend as the man awaited whatever awful fate Jonah had driven him to.

“Just go,” Dale begged in a weak voice.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” the officer said. He looped his thumbs into his wide belt and rocked back and forth on the heels of his boots. “Don’t pull that Old Yeller bullshit with me. Besides, I don’t want him. I’m here for you.” He motioned at Dale.

“Jonah,” Dale said, and sighed as he covered his face with both hands. “Please, just get in the car and leave while you still can. This is going to get ugly. You don’t need to see this.”

“I’m not going to leave,” Jonah said. “This is my fault. I made this happen.”

“No,” the officer said. “He made it happen when he shitted me out of our deal.”

Jonah shook his head. “I don’t understand what the problem is. What deal? Does he owe you money?”

“Money?” the officer said, then laughed, loud and long. “There ain’t no amount of money gonna cover this boy’s debts.” He laughed again.

Jonah got out his wallet and said, “I can pay whatever he owes. I don’t have much, but if you give me time I might be able to organize a loan—”

“Save your measly pennies, Jonah Orville Benton,” the officer said.

Jonah stood on the side of the highway, wallet out and mind reeling. A river of traffic rushed past the three of them, stirring the exhaust-laden air, and at times almost knocking Jonah off of his feet. The sun pricked his sensitive, pale skin. Sweat beaded across his anxious brow and slid between his shoulder blades in cool rivulets. Jonah was sure he had misunderstood the man. The traffic was so loud—the honking, the revving engines, the shouted slurs of passengers. Certainly Jonah had heard him wrong.

“What was that?” Jonah asked, just to be sure.

“You heard me right the first time, Mr. Benton.”

“How do you know my name?”

The officer laughed again, deep rumbling guffaws that reminded Jonah of distant thunder or far-off explosions. Between laughs, the man asked, “He really doesn’t know, does he?”

“No,” Dale snapped. “And I want it to stay that way.”

“Oh, it’s much too late for that, boy. Why not let him in on it? Why not tell him what he’s done by bringing you back here?”

Jonah looked to Dale, more confused now than ever. “What’s going on here?”

Dale turned away, unable to face Jonah as he said, “I owe him … something.”

“What? What do you owe him? Just tell me, and I’ll go get it and bring it back, whatever it is. I promise.” Jonah grimaced at the word, realizing how undependable his promises really were.

“No,” Dale said. “You can’t get it. No one can, except me.”

“Why not? Let me help. Whatever it is, I will go as far as I have to, across the world if need be. I’ll get it for you, Dale. I swear it. I’m your best friend. Let me help you.”

“You can’t.”

“Why not?”

“Because you can’t.”

“But I can—”

“Because he wants my soul!” Dale cried.

Jonah was stunned into total silence. Money. Drugs. Sex. These were the things he expected Dale to need. These were the things he expected to hear. But a man’s soul? There was only one explanation for it. Jonah crossed his arms as he stared hard at the asshole trying to make a fool of him. “Very funny, guys.”

“No,” Dale said. “It’s not funny. Not at all.”

“Oh, I reckon it’s funny, all right,” the officer said. “Seeing as how you dodged this bullet for how many years?”

“Not long enough,” Dale snarled, squaring his shoulders and widening his stance.

The officer squared off as well, setting himself up for a fast and dirty fight, as he gritted his teeth and said, “You have no idea what ‘long enough’ even means. When I get done with you, you’re gonna know what an eternity of pain feels like. Every. Damned. Second.”

“Enough!” Jonah cried.

The men dropped their dog-eat-dog stances and turned to face Jonah.

“Enough,” Jonah repeated. “This is getting old. I don’t know how Dale knew I would bring him here, but this is done. The joke is over.” Jonah shook his head at Dale, giving the man his best admonishing look. “Your soul? Really? Do I look that stupid?”

“In a word?” Dale asked. “Yes.”

The officer said nothing. He just smiled, put his hands behind his back and rocked on his heels again, as if the whole thing amused him immeasurably. Which it probably did.

Jonah snorted. “You set me up for this from the word go. Even back at the restaurant. All that boohooing about not wanting to return to California. I bet that waitress was in on it, too.”

“What are you talking about?” Dale asked.

“This!” Jonah waved at the officer. “This bullshit. Jesus, Dale. You’ve pulled some pretty bad stunts, but this is just … just … stupid.”

“Stupid?” the officer asked.

“Jonah,” Dale said. “I swear to you, this is real. But it’s not your fault, man. You didn’t know.”

“Geesh!” Jonah yelled. “Won’t you just let it go already? I’m not buying it anymore. This guilt trip you’re trying to lay on me. Him wanting your soul. God. This is the worst vacation ever!” Pulling his keys from his pocket, Jonah left the pair standing on the highway’s shoulder as he returned to his car.

“Where are you going?” the officer asked.

“Home.”

“How ya gonna do that?”

Jonah turned in place and jangled the set of keys at the mad man. “By putting this,” he gave the keys an extra hard shake to emphasis his words, “into that,” he paused to point at the car, “and driving it the hell out of here.”

“Talk about stupid. Those things will never fit that car.”

Jonah looked at his keys and saw just what the officer meant. Instead of his usual ensemble of keys—home, car, office, locker, and two keys that had long since lost their meaning—Jonah was holding a ring of brightly colored plastic keys. A child’s toy.

“Is the red one for the car?” the officer asked. “Or is it the purple one?”

Jonah dropped the ring, unsure of how the man had switched the keys without Jonah feeling a thing. And without moving at all. He stared at the plastic toy lying at his feet, and then glanced back up to the stranger. “Give me my keys back.”

“Take them. They’re right there.” The officer pointed at Jonah’s feet.

The toy key ring was gone, replaced by his real keys.

“What’s going on?” Jonah asked.

“You know,” the officer said. “I’m getting pretty tired of that noise. I can barely hear you boys.” The man snapped, and there came a deafening silence.

Cars continued to race along the freeway beside them, but not a single vehicle made a sound. Not a honk. Not a
vroom
. Not an angry word. The officer kicked at the gravel, which scattered in a ricochet of flying rocks, their clatter against the car hood abnormally loud in the sudden silence. Panic gripped Jonah again as his mind scrambled to understand what he was seeing and hearing. Or rather not hearing.

“Isn’t that better?” the officer asked. “Now we can chat without having to shout. Contrary to popular belief, I hate shouting. Unlike someone I know.” The man paused to turn his eyes skyward before he added, “But of course, if you live so removed from your creations, you have to shout all the fucking time. Don’t you?”

With this declaration, everything fell into some comical, maniacal, biblical place.

“Dale?” Jonah asked. “Is that who I think it is?”

“Yeah, dude,” Dale said. “He is.”

“He isn’t,” Jonah said.

The officer looked back to Jonah and said, “Oh yes, he is.” The smile reappeared, and this time Jonah made note of the unusual amount of teeth and their unholy glow. “Go on. Say my name, boy.”

Jonah swallowed hard, the echo of his gulp magnified by his fear.

The officer, or perhaps not officer, smiled wider and said again, “Say my name, son. You have no idea how much it pleases me to hear it rolling off the mortal tongue.”

“Y-y-you’re …” Jonah stammered. “Y-y-you’re the … the Devil?”

The smile slipped away as the Devil’s face fell into obvious disappointment. “’Devil’? For fuck’s sake, son. I have a million names that carry unspeakable power and wield unholy influence, and you go for something as plain as ‘the Devil’? ‘Satan’, ‘Lucifer’, heck, I would have preferred ‘the Fallen One’ over this ‘Devil’ bullshit. Dale, where in the hell did you pick up this turd?”

“Jonah’s a good guy,” Dale said. “Which is why he’s my friend. Let him go. He isn’t part of this.”

“You’re right,” Satan said. “He isn’t. But you sure are. Now let’s get going. I got a pot of beans on at the house, and all this is making me hungry.” Satan stepped toward Dale, his arms outstretched, his palms glowing with blue fire.

“Wait!” Jonah shouted. “You mean it’s true? He’s really here for your soul?”

 
“Yes.” Dale groaned. “Jonah, you’re supposed to be the smart one here.”

Jonah covered his mouth with his trembling hands and wailed through his fingers, “Oh God, Dale! I’m so sorry! I didn’t know. What happened? Why does he want your soul?”

Dale leaned against the hood of the car as he rubbed his temples. “It’s a long story.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” Jonah said.

“But I am,” Satan said, turning his wristwatch toward his unbelievably blue eyes. “Chop chop! Time’s a-wasting.”

“This is crazy!” Jonah ran his hands through his hair. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Tell you what?” Dale asked. “That I couldn’t come back to California because the Devil would take my soul? Would you have believed that?”

Jonah thought about it for a moment, then shook his head. “You can’t go.”

“I have to.” Dale gave a short laugh. “Funny thing is I actually have him to thank for our friendship.”

“Don’t say that, Dale.”

“It’s true. If I’d never gotten mixed up with him, I would have never met you.” Dale put a hand on Jonah’s shoulder, squeezing hard as he added, “I would have never made a real friend. Someone who just let me be myself.”

Jonah’s eyes welled with tears as the fifteen years he’d spent as Dale’s indomitable sidekick came flooding back. Before Dale, Jonah was adrift in a sea of monotony. After Dale, life had never been the same. Wild, unpredictable, not always what Jonah wanted, but never, ever dull. And it took the possible absence of the Dale-induced chaos for Jonah to realize how much he would miss it.

“Are you boys done sucking each other off?” Satan asked. “I’m in a bit of a hurry here.”

“No!” Jonah said. “You can’t go!”

“I have to, man,” Dale said. “Besides, you’re always going on about me owning up.”

“Oh, now you’re responsible?” Jonah pushed Dale’s hand away as hot tears streaked down his face. “Where is the asshole who won’t pay his share of the rent but always manages to find beer money? Where is the jerkwad who let my parakeet die of starvation when I was out of town for my dad’s funeral? Huh? What happened to the dick who taped over our high school graduation with soft-core porn? Now you’re responsible?” Jonah didn’t know half of what he was saying, and didn’t care. He just wanted Dale to stay. Dale was many things—an ass, a jerk, undependable, unreliable—but he was also Jonah’s friend. His best friend. His only friend.