Battle of the Network Zombies (7 page)

“‘Does it bother you?’ He motioned to the seat opposite him.

“I slipped in, our knees brushing under the table. I pretended it was the bar holding up the table and left my leg fitted right against his. ’Cause I’m sexy like that and, seriously, I was looking awesome…like I’m known to do.

“‘Of course not. I like it,’ I told him.

“‘I took the liberty of ordering us something special.’ Daniel turned the bottle of veino so I could read the label.

“‘Holy shit. A Lana Turner?’

“‘I’ve been waiting for this for a long time.’ Daniel’s eyes never waivered, his focus was deliberate and heavy-lidded with a promise.

“I began to wonder what he expected. It’s not like I date a lot. Other vampires seem to whore it up with each other but I’ve never been into the whole blood orgy thing. I really hoped Daniel didn’t have that in mind. Though, as I swallowed my first mouthful of Lana, and her warmth and ambition spread through me, I could have been convinced.

“‘I hope I don’t disappoint,’ I said. And then decided it sounded like innuendo. ‘I don’t mean…not sexually, we’re not anywhere near that, I’m just—’

“He shook his head. ‘You’ve already impressed me. The moment you opened up about your experience with Rolf, I felt like I knew you. I’ve never known anyone to be so brave in his vulnerability. It’s really quite refreshing. Especially these days when everyone you meet is closed up tighter than a drum.’

“‘Jesus, am I blushing?’ I asked.

“Daniel chuckled and leaned in to the table, his hand reaching past his glass to mine. He stroked the hills and valleys of my knuckles. I pulled away—pure reflex—but when he didn’t withdraw, merely cocking his head, a slow smile curling onto his lips, I acquiesced, slipping my hand into his.

“‘Am I moving too fast, Gil?’

“He totally was, but hey, a vampire has needs and I totally get that, but damn, if this turned into another Rolf situation, I was going to swear off men and buy a Fleshlight. It didn’t matter that Rolf disappeared over thirty years ago; you never forget your sire. Like a first love.

“So Daniel talked me into going for a walk on the waterfront, past throngs of tourists mingling with the homeless. He held my hand for a while and we talked about his childhood in England and it turns out we were sired right around the same time. I was surprised at how comfortable I was with the guy. It’s really not like me.

“He invited me back to his hotel room and when we got there, I was surprised to see another man sitting on the couch in the suite, a plastic cooler in front of him. I turned to Daniel. ‘What’s this about?’

“I was thinking we might like a nibble before…’ his voice trailed off.

“‘Before?’ I asked.

“Daniel ignored the question. ‘This is Chad.’

“The man on the couch stood, taller than both Daniel and I, though no broader. He didn’t extend his hand and I made no move in that direction myself, having no desire to clasp the ridges of scars I suspected I’d find there. Chad was more than obviously a tap. He wore the eagerness on his rugged face and in the rouge of his cheek. He dipped into the cooler for a beer, presumably—hard to say exactly because it had no label. I didn’t think much of it at the time, because of all the local microbreweries around town. He took a couple of swigs and then stood there, looking back and forth from me to Daniel.

“‘So,’ he said, voice as gravelly as the two-day scruff on his cheeks. ‘Are we going to do this, or what?’

“Daniel gestured for me to go first and the guy offered up his wrist, twisting it enticingly, the veins twisting just underneath the skin, a phlebotomist’s dream, so close to the surface and so full. I, of course, couldn’t resist. I snatched at him and latched on, drawing the blood in big warm mouthfuls, swallowing greedily. The same feeling hits every time a vamp gets a little life in him. Horny. Daniel knew it, of course. It had been his plan all along.

“I looked up to see him feeding from the tap’s throat. He’d torn a small hole there and was lapping at blood pooled in the hollow of Chad’s clavicle like a thirsty dog chasing ice cubes in a water bowl. The human moaned. His legs shook, weak and enthralled. One of us, I think it was me, guided him back onto the couch, where he massaged his junk through his jeans, a trail of saliva dribbling in a thin stream down his cheek.

“At some point, I took off my shirt and unzipped my pants, so turned on I could barely contain myself. Daniel had left his meal and was coaxing what little blood Chad still had into his stiffening prick, gripping it through the mouth of the prone tap’s fly.

“‘You want some?’ he asked, shaking the dick in my direction.

“‘No.’ I shook my head. ‘I want you.’”

“Hold on,” I interrupted, again.’ Cause I totally had to. What kind of story was this? “Are you about to go all gay erotica on us?”

“Shut up and let him finish.” Wendy elbowed me in the side. “It was just getting good.”

“You’re such a fag hag.” I poured the last of the sake and waved the empty container at the waitress.

“You both are, now let me finish. It’s seriously gonna get fucked up in a sec.”

“It better, I gotta get going soon. Packing and all.”

Wendy scowled at the mention of
American Minions
. As much as I’d have loved to have someone on my side on that set, it just didn’t seem possible. She’d have to settle for watching me on TV, just like everyone else.

“We left Chad on the couch to recover and hit the bed at a jog, only tripping once, I might add, so my game is getting better, you’ll be happy to know. Daniel was lithe and muscular under his clothes. We lay on the bed and I traced the bands of muscle lacing his back and pressed up against him from behind, searching around the flat of his stomach to his chest, where I got a bit of a shock.

“I’m a bit of a nipple guy.

“I like ’em medium-sized and hard as rocks, preferably set off against a backdrop of awesome pecs.

“Daniel’s nipples were…unexpectedly huge.

“Seriously. I’m talking like a couple of powdered Donettes left over from a sloppy binge. I think my hands spasmed away from the puffy nipple fat, because Daniel asked, ‘Is everything okay?’

“‘Ya-yeah,’ I stuttered, pretty sure I was about to bolt out the door. But just as I began to talk my way out of the sexual nightcap, a cloud of wooziness rolled in, like I’d stood up too quickly and gotten lightheaded. I settled onto the bed and the vampire started massaging my shoulders. He was good at it and I became more and more relaxed, drifting off to sleep at some point.

“I awoke to a swirl of lights and grunting echoes. Daniel was above me, presumably thrusting into me, or me into him, or some variation of sex that didn’t involve pleasure in any way. All I could really see were his nipples, only, in the miasma of color and sound, they’d become actual Donettes, alternating between chocolate and the powdered sugar varieties. They quivered on his pecs precariously, pulsing as though they were breathing and threatening to dislodge themselves and drop on my cheeks in soggy plops.

“If I could have screamed I would have. It felt like a third Donette was trapped in my throat.

“Thankfully, he rolled me over at one point and finished the whole sordid business. He was definitely an active lover. I can still feel him. Unfortunately, I can also feel those fat skin tags dragging across my back.”

“Gross.” I started to collect my purse.

“I thought you were a top.” Wendy eyed Gil suspiciously.

The story was a bit over the top.

Gil’s eyes narrowed in scrutiny, daring Wendy to keep going along that line. “I was drugged!”

“Seriously, Gil,” I said. “You need to learn to be more succinct. If you’re just telling us that you had sex with puffy nipple guy, then good for you, boner boy. But, I really have to go.”

He put his hand on my arm. “
Seriously
fucked-up stuff coming real soon.”

“Fine,” I huffed, pulling out a smoke. Wendy snatched one from my pack and we both lit up.

“At some point, I passed out, and when I woke up, he wasn’t in the bed, or the bathroom, or the living room. But Chad was still lying on the couch and white as a ghost and on his way to becoming one, if I didn’t do something about it. I ran to the phone to call someone, not sure who. It’s not like I could call 911, not with a body drained of blood in a hotel room not even registered to me. Never mind the fact that technically I didn’t even exist.

“Sitting next to the phone was a handwritten sign with an arrow pointing toward a flashing ‘message’ button on the handset. It read:

Check your messages, Gil.

There was a little heart dotting the “I.” It was with a shaky hand that I pressed the button. And Daniel’s voice came over the speaker.

“‘Gil, I can’t tell you how much I enjoyed tonight. Oh wait, yes I can. Tons. I enjoyed your ass like a fat lady enjoys a turkey leg.’ Odd how Daniel’s voice slowly lost the accent and took on more slang, I thought. The eerie feeling that came when I first met him rushed back. I must have met Daniel before.

“‘You’re figuring it out right now, aren’t you? It’s been thirty-some years, but you remember. Leaving me for dead in my apartment while you had your little tryst with Rolf. Well,
I’ve
never forgotten. I’ve thought about that night for years.’

“I dropped back onto the desk chair, shock rolling through me like a chill.

“It was fucking Chase Hollingsworth, date rapist and, apparently, serial dieter, having slimmed down everywhere and everything but his nipples. The last time I’d seen him he weighed three hundred pounds if he weighed an ounce. We’d met on the night of my transformation; he was there, in fact. I think I’ve already told you about him. He slipped me some drug and blew me on a floral davenport. Gross fucker. Rolf, on the other hand, was far from gross. He was my sire and my longest relationship, until he darted. I hadn’t thought about him for years. And blamed Chase for renewing my maudlin feelings about the whole rigmarole.

“Chase continued. ‘You and that Rolf. Damn him for making me this way. Do you know how hard it is for a fat vampire? I had to seduce a lot of old women to ferret away the cash for the reaper liposuction. In the end it’s made me stronger. My revenge will be my closure. You see, Gil. I’ve evened the score. I’ve left you three gifts. I’m not sure you’ll like any of them, but you’ll have to deal with them. The first is Chad.’

“I looked over at the prone figure. Even now, his lungs sputtered a death rattle.

“‘Chad’s not going to make it and I’ve already called the police to report a death in that room. They’re on their way now. The second and third gifts, you’ll figure out in time.’

“Mortified, I ran to the door and checked the peephole. Chase wasn’t lying. There were officers moving down the hall. I looked back at Chad’s body and then the windows. We were on the thirteenth floor (or fourteenth depending on your level of superstition) and, as you know, I’m no fan of heights.”

Friday
2:00–3:00
A.M.
The Undead Epicurean

Gil continued, “I looked at my watch and of course, it was 5:30
A.M.
A mere half-hour till dawn and up shit creek. The police hammered on the door and started shouting.

“I panicked.

“Of course, I’m no stranger to a vamping, but this would be the first time I’d done it for free and to save my own skin. Chad’s face was so cold. When I opened his mouth a quiet sigh escaped. There wasn’t much time. I bit into the insides of my cheeks and pressed my mouth to his, filling him with a silent blood scream. He gagged and coughed and eventually swallowed and a moment later opened his eyes. I dragged him to the bed and stripped off his pants.

“Just in time for the police to break down the door.”

“Jesus,” I said. “What did the police do?”

“Nothing. What could they do? Chad wasn’t dead. There were no signs of foul play. They just chalked it up to a crank call and left. Though the judgment was obvious and overly dramatic, I think I smelled closet on one of them.”

As he would.

“What did you do with Chad?” I asked.

“He’s sleeping off the vamping and whatever drug Chase laced his blood with. I went back over his neck after the police left. He hadn’t been opened at all; Chase must have poured some blood in there to make me think Chad was clean. Asshole.”

“What are you going to do with him?”

“No idea.” Gil’s sighed, a wry smile dancing on his lips. “He is awfully cute, though.”

“Silver lining, maybe?” Wendy asked.

He shrugged. “Doubtful.”

“What were the second and third gifts?”

“No idea.” Gil looked back at the zombie pit. “And I’m in no hurry to find out.”

Gil barely finished telling his tale of woe—if that’s what you want to call it (how the hell one gets date-raped twice by the same guy is beyond me, of course we are talking about Gil and he does tend to moon, so…)—when the stone-faced hostess shuffled past, an unholy trinity shading her wake like an oil slick. Ashley, Kelley, and Casey weren’t top tier reapers but they had the requisite bitchiness and the smallest one did flick a butterfly knife like a baton, so you didn’t want to fuck with them.

I shoved Gil forward and slouched into my seat. “Oh, my God. Tell me they didn’t see me.”

Wendy looked over her shoulder. “The evils incarnate are too busy taunting their chef.” She angled away so I could peek around.

The poor guy stood his ground against an onslaught of snapping jaws and drunken catcalls. One of the reapers, Kelley, I think, though they all sort of bleed together—just slap a “y” on the end of a regular name and you’ve got a reaper—flicked her tongue at the trembling foodie lasciviously.

My understanding is this: they take a regular little girl, presumably some foul little brat—already adept at torturing her parents—and strip away what little humanity she has squirreled away beneath her retainer through rigorous bitch training in the reapers’ secret lair, aka The Pretty Princess Party Palace. I’m sure there’s more to it than that, but all you need to know is, they’ve got big teeth, clean up messes faster than a Jean Reno character and twirl their pigtails with razor claws.

Also that one of them was waving at me, nudging her pals and grinning.

“Damn it.” I reached for my purse and scooted off the chair. “Grab your shit, we’re going.”

“What’s the hurry, they seem perfectly happy to eat their dinner and leave you be.” He patted my wrist and his face was so calm I wanted to believe the words falling out of his mouth.

Our chef arrived with a rolling tray of carving knives, forks and metal shakers like Shinto arches marked with Japanese characters. They could have been spices, though that was unlikely—zombies couldn’t eat spices without the inevitable purge hitting. A trio of wine bottles filled with liquids of various darknesses. Blood, to be sure, but bile and what looked like a thick jaundiced mucus.

I glanced at Wendy, whose face said it all.

Gross.

It’s one thing to take a whole body, but when you go at it in sections or break a body down into parts like a cut-up fryer, it’s somehow less appealing. That’s not to say that I wouldn’t tear into it, if I were hungry enough. But…well, you know.

Across the room, chefs turned away from the diners to face the stage. We did too. A gong rang out behind us and the hostess sauntered in, carrying a tray of cubed beef. She pointed her free hand at a disc in the wall and a door slid down behind her, sealing off the room with a loud clank. As she reached the edge of the stage, the round of metal sunk about a foot and then slid away from us slowly.

We heard the growling first. Low moans and the gurgling rattles of the dead.

It was no stage.

There’d be no floorshow or French circus clowns to terrify us. No gymnasts or ribbon acts or gibberish. Instead, a sunken central staging area revealed itself, crowded, not with living people, as the teppanyaki theme seemed to promise, but with a tangle of fiercely animated and groaning mistakes. The zombies tore at each other in their confinement, ripping deep grooves into green and gray mottled flesh, pressing moldy fingers into old wounds and being generally gross and unappetizing. They sniffed at the air and raised their heads to smell the living amongst the diners and staff. Not humans, but weres and a small contingent of witches at one of the far tables, who sat silently as church mice and took in the spectacle of an actual zombie horde. Most of them had never seen a pack this large. I had, of course, on a number of occasions, but not contained like this. In fact, it was my experience that they could never be contained for long.

As if they heard me, they moved as a single unit to the edge of the barrel, which after a low hum, began to spin like a centrifuge. The zombies were plastered to the walls of the drum, some howling, others mute with horror. I almost felt sorry for them and then remembered they were mindless feeding machines. I felt a little better after that.

Wendy’s mouth hung agog, as did Gil’s, as did the majority of the crowd’s, except for the staff, who scanned their wristwatches and set up their stations, with plates and cloisonné chopsticks and whiter-than-white linens. Waitresses arrived with warm bottles of sake and petite cast iron pots of warm blood that they lifted a couple of feet in the air and poured into china tea cups in thin syrupy streams, the crimson frothing from the aeration, tiny bubbles hugging the surface like rusty caviar.

Another gong sounded and a slew of vampire “handlers” marched in from an arch on the opposite side, the door clanking shut behind them, locks thrown dramatically.

“Why do you suppose they keep making a point to lock those doors?” I asked.

“Maybe it’s to show they’re being ‘safe and sound’ with the undead,” Gil offered. “Don’t want them shambling out into the food supply fucking up our shit.”

“It definitely adds to the mystique.” Wendy nodded.

Wendy and I both nodded. She played with the choker around her neck absently, as though she understood. The centrifuge slowed to a stop and the zombies dropped to their knees, their equilibrium already compromised simply from being dead—Lord knows it was tricky enough to stay upright in stilettos—add the whole living dead thing and it was near impossible.

They picked at the zombies with lengthy cattle prods and thick poles ending in loops of wire cording. Despite an obvious ability to regenerate and heal, the vampires wore a mesh of armor from head to toe and their faces were shielded by a flap of Plexiglas on a visor, the kind, I thought, they might use in welding. But what do I know? Each was specked with the brown and milky green projectile spit that accompanies a zombie scream. My mistake “cousins” know absolutely nothing about dental hygiene.
³²

Wendy clutched my arm. “Seriously. I’m not sure I’m into whatever this is.” She stared out into the hoard of previously human faces. “That one’s wearing a Betsey Johnson dress for Christ’s sake,” she mumbled.

It was true. I’d seen it on a mannequin in the little 5th Avenue store window. Cute. But not with the sash of dried intestines the mistake was sporting—that’s never a cute look.

Wendy slapped her hand to her mouth.

Near the edge of the pit, I saw another kimono-clad woman yelling to a muscley vamp in the pit. She was stabbing her finger toward the woman in the Betsey Johnson dress. He nodded and dropped the noose over her head. The mistake clawed at the metal cord, gouging her throat with the few jagged nails still clinging to their loosening beds and sending rivulets of pus down the crimson rose chiffon.
³³
He pulled the woman through the throng until she reached the outside of the circle, attached the end of the pole to one of the many eye hooks dangling from the ceiling and began to crank something below our site level.

The zombie’s eyes bulged as she was hoisted off the floor, twitching and kicking. Her toe caught in the empty cheek of another mistake and as she kicked to free herself, the thing’s jaw flew off. The nearby waitress snatched it from the air and dropped it onto the shiny metal preparation area. The diners, a curious crew of business-type zombies, not anyone I recognized from the late-night scene, let loose with a round of applause, some cheered.

It hit me then. After all that spectacle, it hit me.

Zombie teppanyaki.

I suppose the place fed into a certain Roman blood lust kind of thing, but, seriously, it was difficult enough to go for live food let alone dead and then chilled on top of that? Cold Stone Butchery?

My mouth hung open as the “Chef” strode from between to Picasso-esque tiki idols (the only thing in the room that was even remotely similar to the original concept). He carried what looked like a cleaver blade, attached to a thin axe handle.

I’d seen enough.

Wendy’s mouth hung open wide enough to catch bugs. I reached over and helped her close it. “And you thought sushi was a hard pill to swallow.”

Gil was already standing and buttoning his jacket. “I was going to call, but I didn’t think you’d believe me.”

“You knew?” I asked, momentarily disgusted and then let it slide. “At this point, nothing surprises me.”

“Except this,” Wendy added.

“Except this.”

The reapers got their pick and it was lain across the cold stone for some rapid fire slicing and dicing. The little girls giggled, cooed and clapped and caught chunks of wriggling zombie in their mouths.

“Disgusting,” I said, standing up in a hunch so they wouldn’t notice. “I’m outta here. You guys coming?”

Wendy looked green enough to vomit—though in all honesty, it could have been her foundation wearing down to reveal her natural skin tone. I hadn’t seen her clean for a few months; there was no telling how much farther she’d deteriorated.

I tipped our discouraged chef and sandwiched between Wendy and Gil. As we approached the closed door to the lobby area the hostess ran up and scolded, in a voice far too loud, “No leaving during teppanyaki, you must take seat now!”

“Shh!” I hushed and looked around her to find the reapers gawking in our direction. The one with copper hair up in pigtails and a herd of freckles grazing on her cheeks whispered to the others in that overexaggerated way they do, “Dammit!”

Kelley—though for our purposes, let’s just call her Pippi
³⁴
—plopped off her stool and skipped through the feasting crowd. Considering the rough times, it came as no surprise that most of the people avoided eye contact with the little reaper, instead scanning the rather bland ceiling for distractions or utilizing the entirely ridiculous hand wall.

I simply turned toward the door and dug through my purse for nothing in particular until I felt the inevitable tug on the back of my skirt. I spun around and gave the little devil a sparkling grin. “Why hello, little girl.”

Wendy slapped her palm across her mouth. Gil gulped audibly.

She looked me dead in the eye as she said, “Can I have a word, Ms. Feral?” Then slunk a short distance from the group and waited, hands on her hips and toe tapping in irritation. When I didn’t come immediately, she chastised. “Pick up the pace, I don’t have all night.”

I grimaced and crouched down next to the little demon.

“You got that money you owe us?” She accentuated the words by brushing pretend crumbs from my shoulder.

“Well…no. But I do have a potential jackpot coming my way,” I said hopefully. “The money will be flooding into the Pretty Princess Party Palace before you know it. Swear to God or gumdrops or whatever you little bitches swear to.”

“Listen.” She sighed somberly. “You know, I’m going to have to break something to show that we mean business. We’ve put up with your poverty act long enough.”

I held out my hands. “No. Please. My boyfriend threw my leg out of its socket just last night. Couldn’t we just say that you did that and be done with the shake down?”

Kelley covered her mouth and giggled. “Silly,” she lisped and then snatched my finger.

Wendy stepped up. “Does it help to know that he’s actually her ex-boyfriend and that she just had her car repossessed? It’s all very sad.”

“No.” Kelley’s eyes glinted with morbid glee. “Doesn’t help her out at all.”

My eyes darted between the reaper and my quivering finger pinched off at the base between her pincer-like digits. It would have turned purple if it weren’t for my little circulation problem. As I watched, Kelley relaxed a bit and I slacked with relief.

“But nice try.” She lurched forward, bending my finger backward until it snapped at the joint; my tendons tore with an audible shirr and coiled up under the loose skin of my hand like a bad carpet job. While I don’t feel a whole lot in my extremities, a bone breaking, much like my leg coming out of the socket, can be quite uncomfortable.

So yeah…I fucking screamed.

“Dammit!” I shouted and jerked my hand away, cradling it in the other like a crying baby. My finger hung loose and lolled the wrong way, completely disabling my ability to flip people off on the freeway.

She shrugged. “Tell you what I’m going to do. I’m going to give you a week to come up with some cash or we’ll come looking for you. And this time, it’ll be more than your finger that gets busted.”