The Creeping Dead: A Zombie Novel (7 page)

Vinnie loved summers at the Jersey Shore. It was as if anything could happen, and often did. The beach, the boardwalk, the rides, the clubs…he couldn’t imagine spending his summers any other way.

He eventually came upon the Jolly Roger Pub. There was someone standing in front of the bar, leaning on the wall, smoking, the person’s face hidden by the darkness and puffs of smoke.

A coal glowed for a moment as the smoker took a drag. “Hey, Vinnie. You’re out late.”

Vinnie knew that voice. “Hey, Mr. Blake.”

Billy threw down his cigarette butt and rubbed it out with his foot. “If I told ya once, I told ya a thousand times, it’s Billy. Mr. Blake’s my dad. You make me feel old callin’ me Mr. Blake.”

Vinnie smiled. “Sorry, Billy.”

“That’s more like it. Where you comin’ from this late? That teen night at the Shore Club?”

“Nah. I was out with a girl. On the boardwalk.”

Billy arched a devilish eyebrow. “A girl, huh? Who? Anyone I know?”

The question made Vinnie as uncomfortable as who was asking it and how it was asked, which were all related. “Some girl.”

“You get some?”

“It wasn’t anything like that. We just played some video games, went on a few rides, had some ice cream.”

“Oh.” Billy stood next to Vinnie and put his arm around him. His breath reeked of tobacco and beer. “Well, don’t wait too long. There’s a small window when you first meet a girl, and when it closes, there’s no way you’re getting in her pants. Make hay while the sun’s shining.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

“Why don’t ya come in and play me a game or two of pool?”

“I have to get up tomorrow to go to work.”

Billy waved a dismissive hand. “Don’t worry about it. I’ll tell your dad you were with me. He’ll let you come in late.”

“I’m pretty beat.”

“One game. Whaddaya say, kiddo?”

“Okay. One game.”

“Damn bar’s closing soon anyway.”

They walked in through the front door. Whitesnake played over the sound system.

“Look what this cat dragged in from the street,” announced Billy. Heads turned.

“Hey, Vinnie,” said Jenny from the bar.

“Hi, Jenny.”

Everyone else, all four or five of them, went back to their drinks and conversations.

Billy slapped a bill on the bar. “Jenny, get my friend here a cold one.”

“You know I can’t do that, Billy. He’s underage. Chief Holbrook’d have my ass.”

“That’s not true,” declared Billy, “because your ass is mine.”

Jenny rolled her eyes, but there was a brief smile.

“How ’bout a cola then, sweetheart?” Billy was crass and brash, but he did have a way with women. Somehow, he always managed to snag some tail.

“See, kid. That’s how you talk to women.”

Jenny slid a pint of cola over to Vinnie. “Don’t listen to him. You’ll die alone.”

This remark seemed to cut through Billy’s bravado and hit him where it hurt. There was a moment where he looked as if he was going to say something truly nasty back, but he held his tongue.

“Let’s go shoot a game, before Jenny’s charm wins me over.”

They walked over to the nearest table, a seven-and-a-half-foot bar table. The felt was torn in some places and stained in others. Johnny Wong stood beside it, leaning on his pool cue.

Billy sniffed. “Johnny, take a break. Vinnie’s going to play a game.”

“Hi, Vinnie,” said Johnny, backing away from the table and taking a seat next to the table holding his pint of beer.

“Hey, Johnny.” Vinnie really didn’t know Johnny very well. He knew who he was. Hell, he passed his broadcast booth every day on the boardwalk.

He was a bit older than Vinnie. Having just graduated this past May from college with his degree in Communications, this was his first paid gig. Vinnie imagined it didn’t pay much, but everyone paid their dues in the beginning.

“You’re out late,” remarked Johnny.

Billy popped in four quarters and released the balls, while Vinnie took a gulp of his cola and placed it on the small bar table.

“Quit breakin’ his balls, Johnny.” Billy winked at Vinnie. “Rack ’em, Danno.”

Vinnie didn’t get the reference (and neither did Johnny, for that matter), but he grabbed the rack from its holder on the side of the table and started placing balls in it. “What time do you open tomorrow, Billy?”

“Whenever I goddamned please, I guess.”

“You’re not worried you’ll miss customers?”

“They don’t buy my kind of shit first thing in the morning. They’re either sleeping in or hitting the beach, tanning their fine young bodies.”

“How ’bout you, Johnny?”

“My show starts at noon, which is right around when I wake up.”

“You’re lucky. I gotta be in by ten thirty to help fire up the ovens and help my dad set up.”

Vinnie finished racking the balls. He replaced the rack and went over to the cue rack to select a stick. He chose one with a good weight to it. He rolled it on the other pool table, checking to see if it was straight.

Billy grinned. “Good, Kid. You’re daddy taught you well.”

It wasn’t perfect, but good enough. All of the cues were warped at the Jolly Roger Pub. It was only a matter of degree.

“Break my balls, Billy.”

“You know I will,” Billy said, smiling. He leaned over the table and broke the balls. It was a good spread. He got a high ball in. Billy always liked high.

Vinnie took a sip of his Coke and placed it back on the table. “Sales going good?”

Billy shrugged and shot the thirteen ball in the corner pocket. “It’s been a pretty good summer. You should come by and hang out sometime. There’s lots of hot teen girls who come by to check out my wares.”

“I’m sure there is.”

“You have no idea,” said Johnny. “I reel them in from Billy’s shop on the fly. They love getting on the radio. Sometimes I let them do shout outs.”

Billy lined up a bank shot around the four ball and sank the nine in the side pocket, gaining excellent position for a shot on the eleven into the same side pocket. Billy always worked the sides. It was his jam.

“They’re a little young for you, you fucking perv,” said Billy to Johnny.

“Talk about the pot calling the kettle black,” said Johnny, the irony of Billy’s remark lost on him.

“Just cuz I look at the menu, doesn’t mean I order.”

“I’m the perfect age,” said Vinnie. “Both of you can live vicariously through me.”

Billy lined up his next shot. “Maybe you can pick up another girlie to take out for a night on the boardwalk.” He sunk the eleven and set himself up for a rail shot with the fifteen. He made the shot.

Vinnie smirked. “Are you sure you wanted to play me? It looks like you’re just playing with yourself.”

Billy smirked at the reference. “Your daddy know you talk like that?”

“I think everybody knows you like to play with yourself, Billy,” said Johnny.

Vinnie blushed a little. “Just shoot, Billy. You run the table and I’ll get to go home earlier than I thought. Then you can get back to sweeping the floor with Johnny, here.”

“Hey,” protested Johnny, “for all you know, I could’ve been wiping the floor with his ass all night.”

Billy leaned over the table, lining up his shot on the ten. He shot and missed. “Vinnie’s not as dumb as you look, Johnny.”

“You missed that on purpose,” said Vinnie.

“You wanted a shot, there you go.”

Vinnie scanned the table, sizing up his prospects. Billy was the type of player that you couldn’t miss with. If you missed twice, then he had you. He rarely missed. He wasn’t fancy, but he was consistent.

Billy took a straight shot on the four and sunk it in the corner.

“Nice shot, Kid. Just keep an eye on your cue ball control.”

“Yes, Daddy.”

Billy rolled his eyes and hollered over to Jenny. “Three shots of whiskey.”

“I told you, Vinnie’s too young,” she hollered back.

“Who the fuck heard me say anything about Vinnie?”

She shook her head and poured the shots.

Vinnie lined up a shot with the two ball. He’d have to cut it. He sunk it in the opposite corner.

“Nice cut.”

“Thanks.”

Jenny brought the three shots over and placed them on the table next to Vinnie’s cola. Billy slipped her a twenty and pulled her close.

“Billy!” She hit him on his shoulders, but he leaned in and whispered something in her ear. She struggled, but there was that smile again.

Vinnie shook his head and took his next shot, missing.

Jenny broke free. “You old perv.” She bustled back to the bar while Billy leered at her as she went.

“Your shot, Billy.”

Billy was still watching her, as if he could pinch her ass from across the room by sheer will. “Yes. Yes, I suppose it is.”

He approached the table, leaned over, and sank a ball. And another. He ran all the way to the eight ball. “Corner pocket.” He sunk it. “And that’s all she wrote.”

Just then, the front door swung open, and Chief Holbrook came strolling in. He nodded to Jenny.

“Hi, Chief.”

Vinnie was downing his cola. Johnny threw back one shot. Billy downed one, wiped his mouth with the back of his forearm, and then he threw back the second.

“Vinnie, what are you doing out so late?” asked Holbrook.

“He just got back from a date. I talked him into one harmless game.”

Holbrook eyed Billy with palpable disdain. “Well, it looks like that game is over. I don’t think your father wants you shooting pool at one forty-five in the morning with the likes of Billy Blake.”

Johnny, feeling awkward, looked down at his shoes.

Billy returned the glare. “Oh, Chief, if I didn’t know you so well, my feelings would be hurt.”

The two men never broke eye contact.

Vinnie downed the last of his cola quickly. The carbonation burned his throat. “I gotta run anyway. Thanks for the game.”

“Any time,” said Billy, still eying Holbrook.

“Later, Johnny.”

Johnny only nodded.

Vinnie hurried out of the bar, waving goodbye to Jenny. He took to the street, grateful to be released, and he was home in moments.

He let himself through the gate and then the front door. The house was dark. Thank goodness his father was asleep—one less awkward exchange.

Once in his room, he took off his shoes, pants, and shirt and threw himself on his bed. He was exhausted, the kind of exhausted from a good day and a sense of accomplishment. He was even too tired to brush his teeth.

He closed his eyes and thought about Dharma, but within minutes his thoughts turned into dreams. Vinnie was content.

***

Mike Brunello lay in bed, tossing and turning. He rolled over and stretched his arm across the bed. He felt his Ramona lying next to him. She was warm.

He snuggled close to her, feeling her body against his. It was a welcome feeling. He didn’t know why, but in that moment he felt so lonely.

He opened his eyes, and the feeling of Ramona next to him evaporated into the shadows of his bedroom. He rubbed his eyes as he realized his bed was empty, except for him. He looked at the clock. Two twelve in the morning.

Damned water pill.
He got up to urinate for what seemed like the fiftieth time that night.

***

Tara sat up in bed in the dark of her new bedroom. The room felt strange to her, but it was more than the room.
She
felt strange to her. Nothing was as it should’ve felt like.

She looked at the lump in the sheets beside her and felt a wave of anger and resentment at Marcus, though she didn’t know why.

She slid out of bed and padded into Tyrell’s room. She watched him sleep from his doorway, watching his little chest rise and fall with each breath. The anger rose up in her, and she lowered herself onto his bed, kneeling next to Tyrell.

He rolled over toward her, his mouth moving in his sleep. She reached down and placed her fingers lightly around his neck. She watched him breathe some more as the anger welled up inside her and burst into rage.

She closed her fingers tightly around his neck with a strength that felt strange, even to her. His eyes opened, and he tried to scream, but no sound was allowed to escape in her grasp.

He began to pull at her hands and then claw, flopping around the bed, but she held him fast. She was on auto-pilot now. No feelings, except rage. No thought except to end her son’s life…

Tara Bigelow sat up in bed, trembling in a cold sweat to the white noise of the air conditioning. She thought she might’ve screamed, but she wasn’t sure.

“You all right?” asked Marcus.