Authors: Erik Williams
"Sorry."
"Yeah, fuck your mamma. Stupid ass honkies. Give me another smoke."
Cas did.
"Tommy," Paul said.
Cas turned to him. "Tommy?"
"Yeah, he came by while we were waiting in the woods. Remember? He called us and wanted his money now. We said we'd have it by morning. He said he wanted to come see what we had planned."
"That's right. He showed up and we told him the plan. Then-"
"He fucking shot us."
Cas shook his head. "In the woods. He shot us in the woods where we were staking out the graveyard."
Wee-Bay started clapping. "Congrats, Bitchez. You figured it out. Now shut the fuck up."
"So we came back to life," Paul said. "And picked up where we left off before Tommy killed us."
"I guess so," Cas said. "But why did we come back to life at all?"
"Now that's a good question," Wee-Bay said. "Way I figure it-"
A woman screamed to their left. Cas snapped his head around and found a young Latina in a very tight dress and jacket staring at Wee-Bay, hand covering her mouth.
"Mi Wee-Bay?" she said, tears streaming down her face.
Wee-Bay smiled. "Mi Esmeralda."
"I don't understand-"
"Shhh." Wee-Bay walked over to her. "It'll all make sense soon."
"Who is she?" Cas said.
"One of my girls." Wee-Bay kept his eyes on her.
"I couldn't come to the funeral," she said around hitches. "Your wife-"
"I know." Wee-Bay put his arm around her shoulders. "You had to wait until she was gone. Had to wait to get some alone time with me. To say goodbye."
Esmeralda wrapped her arms around his waist and interlocked her fingers. "Is this some kind of dream, Wee-Bay?"
"I wish it was."
Wee-Bay plunged his face toward her neck and sunk his teeth into her flesh. Esmeralda screamed. Wee-Bay jerked back, ripping. Blood jutted. Esmeralda gurgled. Wee-Bay chewed.
Cas watched, enraptured. There was something about the violence. The way the blood flowed. The cries of exquisite pain. The consumption of...Esmeralda. Not at all horrifying or repulsive. Instead, Cas found himself feeling something quite the opposite. He was starving.
"Is it just me," Cas said between Esmeralda's dying whimpers, "Or is this making you hungry?"
"I've never wanted to eat someone so much in my whole life."
"I know right." Cas turned to Paul. His partner stared, mouth open. Drool coated his chin and the front of his shirt. "I can honestly say I want to eat the shit out of someone."
"We're zombies, Cas, not shit eaters."
"That's not the way I meant it."
"That's the way it sounded. Just saying."
"Fuck you." Cas turned back to the feast. "You know what I meant."
Wee-Bay stopped eating abruptly and dropped Esmeralda's chewed body to the ground.
"Why'd you stop?" Paul said.
"She's dead." Wee-Bay licked blood from his fingers. "We're not ghouls, remember?"
Cas nodded. His stomach rumbled as he looked away from the corpse. "Yeah, we're undead."
"This sucks," Paul said. "I'm so hungry."
"Back to that question about why we came back to life," Wee-Bay said. "I think I know why."
"And that is?" Cas said.
"It all depends on how long you've been dead. The newly dead rise faster than the older dead. You two rose before me. You'd been dead, what, a few minutes? Maybe an hour. I was dead a couple of days."
"If that's true," Cas said, "Then why haven't we seen more dead people?"
"Am I dead?" Esmeralda now stood, fingering the parts of her neck that were ragged and torn.
Wee-Bay pointed at her. "See. Just died and already back."
"Wee-Bay, what's going on?"
"I'll tell you in a few minutes, baby."
"Okay," Paul said. "That explains the timing of it. But why is this happening at all?"
Wee-Bay smiled. "End of the world, Bitchez."
"What?" Cas said.
"It's the zombie plague and it's coming to a world near you." Wee-Bay laughed. "Just like a stupid horror movie. The dead are rising and it's time to eat."
Cas rubbed his lips. "Judgment Day."
"Oh," Paul said. "That sucks."
"What do you care, motherfucker? You're already dead."
"Undead."
"Shut up."
"Wee-Bay?" Esmeralda said, still fingering tattered neck.
"In a minute."
"So now what?" Cas said.
"I tell you what now," Wee-Bay said. "Soon, there's going to be a lot of motherfuckers rising from the grave around here. And those motherfucking zombies are going to head for town. Know what that means?"
"What?" Paul said.
"Competition, honky."
"Competition for what?"
Wee-Bay shook his head and eyed Cas. "How do you put up with this stupid motherfucker?"
Cas shrugged. "Food, Paul. Competition for food."
Paul started to say something, paused, then smiled. "Oh, I get it. People are food."
"Wee-Bay?" Esmeralda said. "People are food?"
"In a minute, baby."
Cas picked up a shovel. "This had been fun and all but I'm starving and want to beat the buffet crowd."
Wee-Bay nodded. "That's right. Time to feast, Bitchez."
"That's right."
Cas swung the shovel hard and fast, connecting with the side of Wee-Bay's head. He grunted and fell, pawing at his cracked-open skull. Esmeralda screamed. Cas swung again, hitting her straight in the face. Her nose shattered and a few teeth flew. She dropped to her knees.
"Cas, what are you doing?"
"What do you think?" Cas smacked Wee-Bay a few more times. "Don't just stand there. Grab that shovel and finish her off."
Cas beat Wee-Bay until his head was nothing more than pulp. When he was done, he turned to find Paul had done much the same to Esmeralda.
"Why did we just do that?" Paul said.
"Besides that fact they were annoying?" Cas dropped the shovel. "I don't want any competition for food. The more we eat, the more of these things we're going to make. That means less and less food for us."
"That's a good point. How'd you think of it?"
Cas turned and headed for the gates. "In the movies, there's always a ton of zombies all trying to get like two or three people. That isn't a lot of meat to go around. I figure we need to flip that around. Two zombies going after a whole town."
"So we eat, they die, they come back to life, and then we kill them again."
"I don't think we have to wait until they come back to life. As long as we destroy the brain, we should be cool."
"No undead other than ourselves. Well, until the cemeteries empty."
"Yeah, but we have something these graveyard zombies won't have."
"What's that?"
Cas walked through the gates. "A car."
"That's right." Paul clapped his hands. "We are going to eat so well."
"Yes we are."
"Can I make one request?"
"Sure."
"Can we eat Tommy first?"
Cas paused. He turned to Paul and slapped him on the shoulder. "You know, that's the smartest thing you've ever thought of."
Paul beamed. "Thanks, Cas. That really means a lot."
"No problem." He turned and resumed walking toward the car. "Now let's go eat that motherfucker."
SILENT TREATMENT
SUNDAY
It's hot this morning. Sahara-hot.
"Gwen?"
Still asleep. And under the covers to boot.
Not like she'd talk to me anyway.
God it's hot.
The sheets stick to my skin as I climb out of bed. Gwen doesn't stir. Just keeps snoring like a bear hibernating in the middle of the Gobi desert.
It's that hot. I mean it's the kind of hot that makes you want to quit living.
The windows are closed. The thermostat reads ninety.
Gwen likes to keep the house around seventy-five in the evenings. But ninety? How the Hell had she managed that? Probably did it to piss me off.
"Damn it, Gwen, you cranked up the heat too high," I say.
No reply. Gwen's a master at ignoring me. The one talent God gave her she executes with a surgeon's precision, giving me the silent treatment every moment of the day lately.
I flick the heat over to a/c.
Gwen is still cocooned under the covers. Her internal thermometer tends to sit one hundred and eighty degrees out of phase with mine when she's feeling spiteful. If it's cold, she's hot. If it's hot, she's freezing.
Sometimes I wonder if she's got a medical condition. Maybe anemia. Maybe she's just crazy.
"Wake up, Gwen."
No response. Like I said, Gwen is a ninja at giving the silent treatment.
Jerking off sounds good. Maybe that'll get her attention, rouse her out of her slumber. Gwen used to get turned on watching me rub one out. Used to make her want it.
I sit on my side of the bed, focused on her ripe lips, stroking my rod. It doesn't work.
Other women flash through my mind, hotter chicks with better bodies and an undying desire to pay attention to me. They talk to me. My little soldier salutes.
Sweat's rolling down my back and collecting between my ass and the mattress. I'm sitting on a soaked sponge of my own juices.
It's too hot to jerk off. Whatever energy all those adoring women created disappears. My rod dies a natural death.
"Wake up," I say.
Gwen stirs but doesn't wake. She burrows deeper into the covers.
She's trying to make me think she's actually cold. What a bitch.
Many might think our marriage is rocky. I'd probably agree, if I knew what had caused the rockiness in the first place. Gaining that little bit of knowledge would require Gwen to actually open her mouth and address me rather than her friends, the mailman, her cat, or even the television.
My body's covered with salt and sweat. The a/c will take a while to beat back this inferno. I think about kicking the bed, maybe even slapping Gwen's ass hard. That would get her attention.
It's too hot to argue. Gwen can have her quiet oven.
A cold shower awaits.
MONDAY
Gwen invites a bunch of her snobby friends over for wine and cheese. Does she tell me? Of course not. That would require talking to me.
I emerge from my basement office after a full day's work writing nothing to find my living room filled with all the sorts of people I hate. Gwen attracts people I hate with special pheromones used to piss me off.
No one seems to notice me. I walk around the room, looking people over, trying to act polite.
"Good evening," I say.
Stone faced.
"How's the wine?" I say.
Slurp. No response.
I'd shove the wine bottle up his ass but am afraid he'd enjoy it and the party would descend into a kind of Roman wine bottle penetration orgy.
Gwen's still performing wonderfully at ignoring me. She chats with some guy, sipping merlot, laughing at stupid jokes.
I stand next to her. She keeps talking.
God she's good. Even the guy talking to her is in on it, pretending like I'm not there. Hell, she's got everyone acting.
Fuck her and her friends.
I knock over a bottle of Shiraz, watching it shatter all over the bamboo floors. Several people jump. One girl yelps.
None look at me, though. They're all focused on the shattered bottle.
"Don't worry," Gwen says. "Probably just the cat."
The cat. The cat gets more acknowledgement than I do.
I head back to the basement.
TUESDAY
Another day of sitting in the basement with nothing to show for it. No new ideas. No inspiration.
I blame Gwen. Her performance last night only added to my growing frustration. Concentration on anything evades me like a girl in high school.
Thank God for the internet. No inspiration, no problem. Just find a few quality porn sites and let the time melt away.
Can't distract me from that, Gwen.
So many hot girls, looking at the camera, looking at me. Wanting me.
"Hey, Jill." I don't know her real name but Jill's good enough. "You look nice with your ass up in the air like that. Would you like to discuss the importance of global free trade?"
Why yes, I would.
My rod swells to mythic proportions.
Shit, my hands are cold.
It takes me a few minutes to dig a ski glove out of a storage bin.
My rod's still going strong. Jill still has her ass in the air and is interested in hearing my opinion on China devaluing its currency.
It feels like I'm getting a hand job from a snow bunny.
I'm looking at Jill. We're discussing cotton futures. I'm ready to shoot my wad.
Gwen's cat jumps on the desk. It arches its back and hisses at me. It must have hit a button on the keyboard because Jill is gone. My erection follows.
I think the cat has a psychic link with Gwen. It probably told her I was enjoying a riveting conversation with Jill and she sent it into action.
Gwen's agent, the cat, curls up on the desk and stares at me.
Where is Gwen anyway?
Well after midnight. Probably out with her asshole friends.
WEDNESDAY
Another wasted day. Didn't even have the motivation to look at porn.
It's a bad day when you don't have the energy for porn.
Gwen's still gone. Don't think she's been back since yesterday. Probably got sloppy drunk and passed out on a friend's couch last night.
The door to the house opens. I hear footsteps above me. Giggles. A man chuckling.
I emerge from the basement to find the guy from two nights ago, the guy who ignored me, buried between my wife's legs.
"Do it like last night, baby." Gwen arches her chest toward the ceiling.
Now most people might think we have a rocky marriage. At this point, I must agree.
"What the Hell are you doing?"
I stand next to the couch, looking down into Gwen's flushed red face. She moans. Probably so she can block out my voice.