Brains for the Zombie Soul (a parody) (8 page)
They ran to the edge of camp to meet their
compatriots, but were surprised to find many more soldiers than
they expected. Over the hill came a line of Nazi soldiers, their
wounds apparent, their exposed skin frostbitten, many limbs broken
to the point where the bones had found their way through the flesh.
The soldiers were clearly dead, yet continued to walk forward. And
in their arms, they carried the dead and dying soldiers the
Americans had left behind.
Most of the weapons had been left back at the
camp, but the guns they had were pointed at the approaching
figures. “Stop, wait!” one of the enemies called out. He set the
dead soldier on the ground. “Your comrade fought bravely. He
deserves an honorable burial. Let us help.”
“But you’re--” one soldier tried to say, before
depositing the contents of his stomach in a nearby snow covered
bush.
“Zombies!” another soldier finished.
The lead Nazi zombie put his hands up to show he
was unarmed. The zombies who still had arms mirrored his gesture.
“Please,” he pleaded. “This wasn’t our choice. You won this battle
fair and square. We will help you, then let us go on our way, and
you can continue with your mission.”
“Our mission is to find a secret structure in
these mountains.”
“And so you will. You are close, less than a
day’s walk over that ridge.” He pointed to the horizon. “But
tonight, you need rest. Your troops need tended to. We don’t have
supplies, but if you have shovels, we can take care of your men who
are not doomed to our fate.”
The Nazi zombies and allied soldiers worked
together to bury the dead. The undead hunted for food and roasted
the meat over a fire. Together they shared a meal.
When the sun rose the next dawn, the zombies
went on their way, leaving the American troops to their mission.
Unfortunately, neither group was heard from again. The theory is
that a group of zombies are frozen in place wearing the shambles of
Nazi uniforms, sitting around piles of rocks marking the graves of
the fallen American soldiers. Later, they were joined in their
vigil by zombies with the flag of the United States of America
embroidered on their torn shirt sleeves.
****
A Christmas Miracle
It was dark and snowy. His limbs were
freezing off. Literally. Without the blood coursing through his
veins, he didn’t have the body heat to stay alive.
The zombie hunters had been pursuing him for
hours. Luckily, the snow was falling so thickly that it covered his
blood splattered tracks in the snow as he ran away from the town.
He could hear heavy breathing behind him, and he realized the
hunters were catching up.
Up ahead, a light broke through the snowy fog
between the trees. If he was lucky, it was a barn that he could
hide in. If he wasn’t, it was a house filled with anti-zombie
zealots, ready to join in the hunt. Seeing no other alternative, he
took his chances and ran toward the light.
Soon he felt the gravel of the driveway beneath
his shoeless feet. He looked down to find that another frozen toe
had broken off sometime in the chase. Another piece of humanity he
will never get back. If it was warm enough for them to run, tears
would be falling down his cheeks.
Following the gravel towards the yellow glow,
soon he could make out the shape of a roof. It was a house,
definitely a residence. The curtains were drawn, but bits of light
escaped through the fabric at the sides. The owners of the house
were apparently still awake.
Next to the house sat two vehicles, one a small,
snow-covered car, the other something larger like an SUV or a
truck. There was no garage. In fact, he couldn’t even see a shed.
There was no place to hide.
He considered climbing a tree, but what would
happen to him if he slipped and fell. Even if he evaded the
hunters, he could break his back and be paralyzed yet still alive,
left to rot in the snow.
As he approached the house, he saw the
ramshackle state it was in. All the lights inside appeared to be on
because there was pretty much only one room. But smoke came from
the chimney, and he could almost taste the meal that he could smell
roasting inside. The aroma was distinct. His mother used to always
make the same meal for their Christmas back home, back before he
died. This family most certainly was roasting a goose. He inhaled
deeply. With mashed potatoes and gravy. Another whiff indicated
some green beans. And pie, a Christmas pumpkin pie.
Steeling himself for the worst, he knocked on
the door. Involuntarily, he cringed as it opened.
“My dear, you look awful. You poor thing. Come,
come inside.” The little old lady was holding only a towel. There
was no rolling pin in her hand, no cast iron pan above her head.
She wasn’t wielding a poker for the fire. Her smile was warm, and
she stepped aside to let him through.
“I’m sorry to bother you ma’am. I’m just so
cold.”
“Please, call me Edith. Edith Henderson.” He
noticed she didn’t try to shake his hand, but he was grateful to be
spared that awkward moment. He wasn’t sure if it was frozen, and
could only imagine the disgust she would have if she broke a finger
off. Then she would attack him for sure. “The fire’s nice and warm,
son. Go have a warm up.”
A big comfy chair sat next to the fire, and a
book was turned upside down on the seat to mark the place. He
avoided the chair for fear of losing the spot in the book and
wetting the fabric from his dripping clothes. Instead, he squatted
down on the rug.
It was so tempting to stick his hands in the
fire, but he knew better. He wouldn’t feel the pain, but it was
possible that he would dry enough to catch fire. He extended his
arms as much as he dared, and he thought he could feel a little
warmth.
Edith Henderson pulled some clothes out of a
drawer and handed them to him. “I know they won’t warm you up, but
they’ll surely do you more good than they’ll do me.” Folded
together in the pile was a pair of jeans, a white undershirt, a
henley shirt, and a flannel jacket. Like a cherry, on top of the
bundle sat a small white square of a pair of folded underwear.
He took the underwear off of the top of the pile
and held them up. “You don’t have to wear them if you don’t want
to, I included them just in case.”
“I’ll wear them. I couldn’t tell you the last
time I got a pair of nice, clean underwear. It’s hard to go
shopping for necessities like that when...” he trailed off. Surely,
she hadn’t noticed his condition, or she wouldn’t have invited him
in. He didn’t want to make her aware of it so early. Perhaps he
would have time to defrost before he ran for his life again.
Mrs. Henderson moved the book and sat in the
chair. “What’s your name?”
“Amal,” he said tentatively.
“I miss Mr. Henderson greatly,” she said. “Many
times I regret that I did nothing to bring him back. It’s probably
for the best, I see how many of your... kind? I’m sorry, I don’t
know the appropriate term.” He shook his head that it was okay. “I
see how you’re treated and hunted. And I know it ain’t your fault.
I could get in a lot of trouble for having you here. But it’s
Christmas, and there’s a place in this house for all kind
souls.”
Standing in front of the fire, Amal let the
tears flow. They were no longer salty, and tasted instead of muddy
water. “There’s a bathroom over there,” she pointed to a small door
at the far end of the room. “You can get changed and cleaned up,
and we can sit down for a nice Christmas dinner.”
He choked out, “Thank you. Thank you for all of
your kindness.”
The bathroom was warm from the heat of the fire.
He soaked a washcloth in hot water and ran it over his face. Layers
of grime and blood were wiped away. After depositing the wet, torn
clothes in the waste basket, he examined himself in the mirror.
Cleaned up, he looked almost human. He pulled on the clean white
underpants, and felt ashamed that he was being allowed this little
luxury. But when he pulled the shirt over his head, his heart sank
to hear a knock on the front door. He put his ear to the bathroom
wall to hear the conversation better.
“Good evening boys. Leave those outside, there’s
no place for them here. Put your boots over by the fire to dry out,
and I’ll get you each a cup of coffee. I’m Edith Henderson.”
“It’s a pleasure to meet you Mrs. Henderson. I’m
Joey Salzberger.”
“Mikey Granger, ma’am.”
Amal could envision the friendly handshakes.
“It’s a right state out there tonight fellas.
How are you going to find your way home?”
“Frankly ma’am,” he could tell this was Mikey
speaking, “I don’t know. We’ve come too far.”
“We’re stuck out here in the blizzard,” Joey
said. “If it weren’t for your house, I don’t know what we would
do.”
“You’re welcome to stay here until the storm
blows over,” Mrs. Henderson said. “I was just finishing up a
Christmas dinner for me and my guest. There’s plenty to go around.”
Then she called out, “Amal, honey. Supper is ready when you
are.”
He could feel the tension in the house. The
hunters were surely inspecting every inch of the room to find where
he was hiding. The bathroom had no window, the door was the only
way out. He was trapped. The reflection in the mirror looked back
at him. He couldn’t believe how he could have fooled himself into
thinking that looked human. They would know him at once. But what
else could he do? He combed his hair back, stood up tall, and
opened the door.
“Amal, do you like roast goose?” Mrs. Henderson
asked. She was holding a plate.
He licked his lips. “I do, it’s my favorite. My
mother used to make it every Christmas.”
She piled mashed potatoes high on the plate next
to a drumstick, and spooned gravy over the top. The plate was
placed at the setting next to her own. “I doubt this will be as
good as your mama’s, but it’ll do. Come and sit here next to me,
this one is just for you.”
He kept an eye on the hunters as he passed. The
first one, Joey he guessed, nodded to him politely, and Mikey
followed suit. He sat at the table, and waited as Mrs. Henderson
made plates up for the two other men as well as for herself.
The roast goose was the best thing Amal had ever
tasted in his afterlife. It may even have been as good as his moms.
As dinner progressed, they sat and talked together, all four of
them, without a bit of animosity. Mrs. Henderson set blankets out
for them, and they bundled up next to each other in front of the
fire and fell asleep.
In the morning, Mrs. Henderson bid the hunters
goodbye and sent them back to spend Christmas morning with their
families. Joey was on the front porch when he said to Amal, “It was
a pleasure meeting you. Go on your way, we won’t meet again.”
Mikey said, “The driveway leads to a road. We’re
going east, back to town. If you continue to the west, I think you
might find some friends.”
“Thank you,” said Amal.
Mrs. Henderson smiled and waved them
goodbye.
****
Love
Just Another
Bum
It was just another trip to the grocery store.
Nothing special.
I turned down the soup aisle and saw the most
beautiful man I had ever laid eyes on. Before seeing him, I had
never thought a man could be beautiful before. He was tall and lean
and dressed impeccably in a nice suit, but didn’t look pretentious.
He had a dark complexion, deep brown eyes that seemed to beckon me
like being wrapped in a big fuzzy blanket, and high cheekbones. His
facial structure along with his long dark hair, braided down his
back, made me think he had a lot of Native American descent.
I was so busy looking at him that I forgot where
I was and what I was doing, and my cart hit an aisle display
straight on. It was knocked clean over, and boxes of saltines
scattered all over the floor. Embarrassed, I dove into picking the
boxes up, but when I looked up he was gone.
I rushed through my shopping hoping to run into
him again, and only saw him again in the parking lot when he was
getting into his car. I debated following him, but what would that
get me other than a restraining order?
The next week, I saw him again, eating inside my
favorite restaurant as I was picking up take out. Over the next few
months, he kept popping up around town, just out of reach. I went
into the bank and saw him pulling away from the drive through. I
was leaving the laundry mat as he was taking his clothes in. He
passed me on his bike as I was walking down the street.
It got so awkward, all the times I’d seen him
and stared at him, that if I could get the chance to say something,
I didn’t know what I could say. Whenever he was around, I couldn’t
take my eyes off of him. He had to know that he was being stared
at, and I was probably, “that weird girl,” at this point.
So when he walked into the fantasy aisle at the
bookstore where I was looking at a book, and examined the shelf
right next to me, I got flustered. Trying to keep my cheeks from
going red, I finally said a casual, “Hi.” He was holding a book by
one of my favorite authors, and I said, “Oh, I love her work. Have
you read any of her stuff before?”
“Not yet,” he said. “I’m going on vacation and
was looking for a good book to take along. Thanks for the
suggestion.” And he walked away.
I floated through the rest of the day. I thought
of all the things I could say the next time I saw him. Of course,
as I did my errands around town in the following weeks, I kept a
look out for him. But I never saw him. I began to wonder how long
he was going on vacation. Was it an extended trip?
One day, I was at a stoplight, and there was a
zombie on the corner holding up a “Will work for food,” sign, which
was typical for a weekday afternoon. There were no zombie
discrimination laws in place, so once someone was turned into a
zombie, finding work was really hard. And none of the typical
resources, like shelters and community kitchens, would help them
because they were zombies.
