Best New Zombie Tales Trilogy (46 page)

“What about lockin’ the door?” Nose Ring asked.

“Yeah, like
that’s
gonna keep ’em out,” Josh replied with a sneer. “Besides, Mrs. A took the keys with ’er.” He gestured to where the key ring lay on the sidewalk by her now fingerless right hand. Alvarez’s screams died away to a soft moan that rose and fell, providing some unsettling dining music for the rotting duo as they ate their fill. “Joey McGutsy” had gnawed Mrs. A’s left leg like a drumstick, right down to the bone, and was now working on the left arm. As for his buddy, the broken-neck corpse was bent low over the old lady’s pelvis, his angled noggin wedged between her hips in such a way it looked like…

Jee-sus God,
Josh thought.
Is he…actually eatin’ her
pussy
?
He felt the mini-donuts and beers he’d had earlier start racing up his gullet, and clenched his teeth to keep them from spewing all over his last clean shirt. What he couldn’t decide on, though, was which was more stomach-churning: having a mental image of the old lady’s used-up snatch bouncing around in his head, or watching Junior there cuttin’ himself a slice of poontang pie.

Just past the arcade games and gumball machines, an Exit sign glowed dimly above a battered metal door with a push-bar set across its width.

“I like that plan,” Josh said, nodding vigorously, grateful for
anything
that would take his mind off picturing Mrs. A’s private parts. He began herding Marisol and the hipsters toward the door, taking care to avoid slipping in Soul Patch’s puddle. “Let’s get the fuck outta here. If we’re lucky, the two out front won’t even know we’re gone.”

But luck, he realized, had very little to do with it as he glanced back over his shoulder. Truth of the matter was, the teen corpses were just too busy eating to pay the Drip ’n’ Dry customers any mind—until, that is, Marisol gave a hard shove to the back door push-bar and set off the ear-piercing screech of the fire alarm. Then the zom-boys became all too aware that their future meals were making a run for it, and, stuffed though they were on Fillet of Senior Citizen, they didn’t look happy about missing out on the next course.

Neither did the mob of walking dead that finally arrived on the scene. There must have been a couple dozen of Calvary’s finest residents crowded together on the sidewalk, all of them looking into the Laundromat like it was the display window for a butcher shop, all of them sizing up the cuts of meat to be found on the sides of beef standing on the other side of the glass. It reminded Josh of the time he’d been walking past an Ecuadorian bakery over on Queens Boulevard, and glanced in to see a couple of the workers carrying dead pigs into the back, the animals’ bellies slit wide open and emptied of intestines. It had struck him as unusual to see hollowed-out porkers being stocked in a pastry shop of all places, but damn if his own gut hadn’t rumbled hungrily in response. The sight of all that meat, coupled with the sweet aroma of pies and breads fresh from the oven, had made his mouth water like a goddamned faucet.

Kind of like the way the mouths of the starving corpses outside the Drip ’n’ Dry were watering right now.

Josh raised his right hand and held up his middle finger. “Yeah, well,
this
wittle piggy says, ‘Go fuck yerself.’ ” he said with a grin. Then he turned around to leave—only to find his three unwanted charges standing in the fire exit, frozen in the proverbial deer-meets-headlights scenario; Marisol’s hands were even still on the release bar. You would have thought getting away from the noise of the fucking alarm would have been Priority One for them—after all, it was just another dinner bell calling the damned to supper—but apparently they were too stupid to figure that out for themselves.

“
Jesus Christ, what’re you doin’?”
he bellowed.
“Run, you stupid shits! Run!”

That got them moving. They bolted outside, with Josh bringing up the rear. He didn’t bother to look back when he heard the front windows shatter.

When he stepped into the dead-end alley that ran the length of the block behind the stores and apartment buildings, he only found Marisol waiting for him. She pointed to the entrance before he could say anything.

“They jus’ kept goin’,” she explained.

Josh looked to the mouth of the alley, just in time to see the hipsters turn the left-hand corner. “Stupid fucks,” he snorted. “That’s just gonna take ’em back to the main street, where all the corpses are runnin’ loose.”

“Don’ you think you oughtta go tell ’em that?” Marisol asked.

“I
don’
gotta tell ’em
shit,”
Josh replied with a sneer. “Let ’em figure it out for themselves.”

That didn’t take too long; the high-pitched scream that echoed down the alley was proof enough. Josh wondered who’d voiced the nails-on-a-blackboard screech; might’ve been the girl, but for all he knew Soul Patch could’ve had a set of pipes like Donna fuckin’ Summer. The thought of piss-pants launching into a terrified rendition of “On the Radio” as zombies tore off his balls brought a wicked little smile to Josh’s lips.

Marisol glared at him. “You’re a piece’a shit,” she snapped.

“Yeah, an’ you’re a real charmer,” he replied dryly. “A mouth like that, it’s no wonder every guy in the shop wants t’bone you.” Before she could think of another four-letter comeback, he grabbed her hand and pulled her toward the entrance. “C’mon. Those things in the Laundromat’ll be bustin’ out here any minute, an’ I don’t wanna be stuck between them and their buddies around the corner.”

They raced past odorous piles of trash bags from the Golden Wok restaurant next door, scattering the swarm of flies and handful of stray cats that had gathered to share a late dinner. He hopped over mounds of discarded fliers and leaflets advertising the 99-cent store abutting the Chinese takeout, and stepped gingerly around smashed beer bottles and crushed soda cans and pieces of broken furniture dumped by people in the area for who-knew-what reasons. Along the way, Josh alternated between listening to his reedy, labored breathing—he
really
needed to lay off the goddamn donuts—and stealing glances at Marisol’s Playboy-decorated funbags as they bounced up and down. If she noticed the attention they were getting she wasn’t saying; given the circumstances, she probably considered some guy from the shop oggling her braless titties the least of her worries. That didn’t mean she wasn’t making a mental note of every peek he took, however, and knowing her like he did, odds were better than good she’d give him shit about his Peeping Josh act the first opportunity she got.

He wheezed to a halt at the entrance to the alley and pulled her over to stand against the wall. He held up a hand for silence before she could object. “Lemme…lemme take a look first,” he gasped. Marisol nodded, and Josh eased his head around the corner. He immediately wished he hadn’t.
“JesusMaryGod…”
he croaked.

The street was filled with zombies. Shuffling and stumbling on twisted, atrophied legs, crawling on their ruptured bellies if they couldn’t stand, they swarmed across both sides of the two-lane avenue in search of a living food. They smashed into a corner bodega and the front office of a private limousine service. They forced their way into apartment buildings and battered down the front doors of the small homes lining the next side street. Screams and shrieks and cries for mercy echoed through the neighborhood; occasionally there was the firecracker-like pop of a handgun being fired as a few well-armed residents tried to defend themselves against the undead intruders. And farther back in the distance they could hear the wail of sirens—cop cars or ambulances or fire trucks on their way to answer the frantic 911 call somebody must have placed. Or maybe the Laundromat’s fire alarm had alerted them—Josh could hear the damn thing continually blaring even from a half-block away.

As for the two hipsters, other than a quickly drying pool of blood and a few discarded body parts, there wasn’t much left of them after they’d been ripped apart and passed around like a plate of buffalo chicken wings by the dozen or so zombies that were hunched over their remains. A snapped-off jawbone decorated with a small tuft of hair under the lower lip was proof enough of Soul Patch’s messy demise. As for his lady friend, evidence of her gastronomic fate came in the glint of streetlight bouncing off the silver nose-ring that lay on the pavement—a ring that still had part of her left nostril attached.

“What’re we gonna do?” Marisol hissed in his ear, startling him.

“Get off the goddamn street, for one thing,” he replied. He looked over her shoulder in time to see that the zombies that had crowded into the Laundromat had finally discovered the fire exit. Light spilled into the alley as the door flew open, and a trio of corpses led by “Joey McGutsy” staggered out. They swung around in small, confused circles, but it wouldn’t take them long to figure out the direction in which their not-so-happy meals had run.

In spite of the danger, Marisol suddenly moved closer, pressing her right breast against Josh’s arm; he could feel the hardened nipple through the taut fabric, and a pleasant chill crawled along his spine. He forced himself to ignore it.

“Hey,” she whispered huskily, “din’ you say you lived right aroun’ the block? Maybe we could hide out there, y’know?” Her right hand touched his thigh, then slid around toward his crotch. “Bet you got plenty room for me in that big house, huh?”

He gave her a small push back. “Are you fuckin’ comin’ on to me?” he asked incredulously. “Right in the middle of all this shit?”

She sneered. “Well, I din’ think you’d take my money, not the way you were starin’ at my tits. So if it means I gotta blow some fat loser just t’get a place t’hide—”

“I said you ain’t my type,” Josh said.

“Oh, no?” Marisol flashed a wicked grin. “Then what
is
your type, Joshie? You like the boys instead of the girls, is that it?” She chuckled. “Yeah, I always thought there was somethin’ freaky ’bout you.” Her eyes widened and she pursed her lips. “Or maybe you like the
little
boys…is that it? You can only get it up for the little—”

His hands tightened around her throat, and he slammed her against the brick wall. Struggling for breath, Marisol pulled at his wrists to break his grip; when that failed, she beat down on his arms, then reached out to scratch his face. Josh responded by squeezing even tighter. Her eyes bulged in terror while her mouth frantically opened and closed as she fought to pull in air.

“You fuckin’ whores,” he snarled. “You don’t know nothin’, do you? You think just ’cause you’re pretty every guy in the world must wanna fuck you, an’ if you run into one who don’t then they gotta be a fag or somethin’, right?” He leaned forward, applying greater pressure to her windpipe. Marisol’s struggles began to lessen; her arms dropped limply to her sides. “Well, there’s more t’life than just fuckin’, sweetheart. There’s a thing out there called ‘true love.’ There’s a thing out there called ‘findin’ your soul mate.’ An’ I just happen t’be the kinda guy who believes in that shit, all right? Stuck-up whores like you always laugh when a guy like me says it, but I
know
the right girl is out there somewhere. An’ one’a these days, so help me, Christ, I’m gonna find ’er.”

He gave her neck one last powerful squeeze. Marisol’s eyes rolled completely up in her head, until he was only looking at milky white orbs. “An’ in case you ain’t figured it out yet, bitch,” he whispered in her ear,
“you ain’t the one.”

He opened his hands and let her slide down along the wall to a sitting position. Whether she was dead or alive meant little to him; he was just happy to have finally dulled the edge on that sharp tongue of hers.

It took him a few seconds to regain his composure, and by then the Laundromat zombies were starting to close in. He grabbed hold of Marisol’s ankles and dragged her to the center of the alley, then rolled up her T-shirt to fully expose her stomach and breasts, to ensure the Carrion Crew would see all that fresh meat and stop for a quick bite instead of electing to pursue him. He thought again of the butchered pigs in the Ecuadorian bakery, and smiled as he gazed down at the woman sprawled at his feet.

“I bet
this
wittle piggy tastes like woast beef…” he said with a childish grin. Then he turned and ran, heading away from the zombie-choked avenue.

He was halfway down the block when he heard Marisol screaming. So he hadn’t killed her after all, he realized, just choked her into unconsciousness. Well, he told himself, like the old saying went, some people were just too mean to die. Unless you fed them to a bunch of hungry corpses, that is.

“Enjoy your meal, boys,” he whispered to the darkness. “There’s a lotta meat on that ass.” He laughed. “An’ don’t forget to try the Ginsu-tongue. It’s extra
spicy.”

* * *

By the time he tumbled through his front door, the neighborhood had erupted into full-blown chaos. People ran through the streets, pursued by ravenous chowhounds. Panicked drivers plowed their cars through both living and dead, littering the asphalt with broken limbs, crushed organs, and unspooled intestines. A couple of avenues over, a fire had broken out in one of the apartment buildings; from the way it was raging, it looked as though it would consume the entire block before the Fire Department ever reached it.
If
they ever reached it.

Josh locked the dead bolt on the door and switched off the porch light, suddenly grateful that it had been the only lamp he’d left on when he headed off to the Drip ’n’ Dry. A darkened house, he hoped, might increase the odds he’d be overlooked when the army of the dead came marching through his block. For good measure, though, he jammed a metal folding chair under the doorknob. Then he headed for the kitchen for a beer. Right now, he needed a drink—a
big
drink. Maybe a whole six-pack if the world was really coming to an end. And from what he’d experienced tonight, who’s to say it wasn’t?