Badass Zombie Road Trip (36 page)

“No,” Jonah corrected him. “I said it took at the very least thirty-nine hours to make the trip.”

“Then forty should be a breeze.”

“Not with this knee.”

“You’ll be fine.”

“What about Jack’s men?” Candy asked.

All at once conscious of his bloody state, Dale wiped his crimson-stained mouth with the back of his hand. He succeeded in smearing the stuff across his face in a smile of coagulating blood. “I, um, took care of them.”

Candy attempted to ask more, but Jonah cut her short. “You don’t want to know.”

“But—” she tried to say.

“He’s right,” Dale said over her. “You don’t.”

“Okay,” she said. “You’re right. I probably don’t want to know. I mean, if I had my chance and I was a big, strong man like you, I’d tear them apart for shooting my best friend and trying to kill me, but I understand if you don’t want me to know how you handled ‘em.”

“Man,” Dale said, nudging Jonah. “She’s a keeper.”

“Shall we get going?” Jonah asked.

“Oh, Candy. I have something for you, too.” Dale sprinted to the door, disappeared into the hallway, then came back with a familiar piece of luggage.

“My bag!” Candy shouted. She yanked the thing away from the zombie, unzipped it and rooted around inside. After letting out a small gasp, her eyes lit with joy and she sprang on Dale, hugging the zombie tight. “Thank you! Thank you! Thank you!”

“You’re welcome.” The dead man held the woman awkwardly, as if he didn’t enjoy having her in his arms, something Jonah found very hard to believe.

Pulling away, Candy stared up at Dale and said, “I owe you big time.”

“Yeah, well, you can pay it forward to Jonah.” Dale smiled and nodded at Jonah. “I owe him more than enough as it is.”

Candy looked back at Jonah. “We both do.”

Jonah shook his head, but couldn’t bring himself to deny their claims.

Zipping up her bag, she slung it over her shoulder and thanked Dale once more with a gentle kiss on his bloody cheek. “This means a lot to me.” After wiping the smear from her lips, she added, “There’s a way out through the laundry room. If we hurry, we might be able to cut out before Jack gets here.”

Dale got to the door first, where he blocked the right side of the hall with his tremendous bulk, motioning for them to go the other way. Candy glanced past him for a moment, a grim look coming across her face, then she nodded and turned away, slipping off into the darkness in search of an exit. Jonah limped into the hallway, and against his better judgment, he also glanced in the direction the zombie was so obviously trying to block. All he could see was the edge of what appeared to be a kitchen, the tiled floor and cabinets awash with liquid red.

“Dale,” Jonah whispered. “What
did
you do?”

“What I had to do,” Dale said. His voice was flat and emotionless and made Jonah’s hair stand on end all over his body.

“Please tell me you didn’t …” He stopped there, unable to finish the thought.

“Give me a break, man. I thought they’d killed my best friend. I was pissed off.”

Jonah was warmed by the show of loyalty. There was no telling the level of carnage just around that corner, but knowing it was in his honor made Jonah feel a little better about it. Not much better, but a little.

“And I was hungry,” Dale added, with his typical penchant for full disclosure.

Jonah groaned. “Did you have to say that?”

“What? It’s true. And I’m finally full. For once.”

Bright side,
Jonah reminded himself. There had to be a bright side. “Do you think it will last you forty hours? Because I don’t think we’ll have time to stop for … you know.”

Dale rubbed his swollen stomach. “Yeah. I reckon I can wait awhile. If not, there’ll be plenty of rats along the way.”

“So, no more … um …” Again Jonah couldn’t bring himself to say the words.

“Naw. People are too much work. The way they scream and run around and stuff. Once is enough for me.” He punctuated the point with a healthy belch.

“Ah. Good.”

“This way,” Candy hissed from the end of the hall.

“After you, buddy,” Dale said.

Putting his back to the scene and his best foot forward, Jonah winced as he made his way to the exit, and tried to ignore the fact that Dale was now a full-fledged zombie.

Soulless flesh-eating and all.

****

On the road again, USA

35 hours: 59 minutes: 59 seconds remaining

The United States of America is a grand, grand place. Wide open plains. Painted deserts. Beautiful mountains. Breathtaking coastlines. She is wild and organic, ever changing yet comfortably familiar at the same time. One can travel the entirety of the expanse between her borders, from north to south or east to west, many times over, and every single trip is guaranteed to bring even a seasoned traveler new surprises. New adventures. New experiences.

That is, if one has the time to stop and smell the proverbial roses.

As truckers and traveling salesmen will attest, when one must forsake reveling in the journey in favor of speeding toward the destination, then the U.S. becomes one long stretch of seemingly endless highway. Everything is the same on this road. Everything is blacktop and white lines and mile markers and freeway signs. No matter the changing scenery. No matter the varying states. No matter the difference in tollbooth prices. No matter the ridiculous billboard claims.

Jonah’s estimates panned out. It took just under forty hours to make it to North Carolina from Nevada. Well, thirty-nine hours, twenty minutes and fifteen seconds, to be exact. Thirty-nine long, highway-bound hours. Candy suggested they hop a train at her expense, but Jonah wasn’t sure whether a train would just bend the rules, or break them. And after so many renegotiations, Jonah wasn’t prepared to chance another run-in with Satan until they reached their final destination. So the open road it was.

This time, since the boys weren’t wanted for murder and Jack wasn’t hot on Candy’s trail, they were able to stick to the freeways and highways and interstates, making for a much faster journey. Forgoing the kitsch of the travel book in favor of an actual map, they plotted the straightest route possible. This well-planned trip, according to Jonah’s calculations, should have taken less than thirty-eight hours, but they ran into a number of holdups on the way—wrecks and traffic and just plain old bad weather.

The entire journey took them through nine states in all.

Nevada sailed by in a blur of sand and hot air.

Utah was much of the same, only with more Mormons.

Colorado drifted past with a whirl of greens and blues.

Kansas threatened to hypnotize Jonah with its impossibly straight roads that seemed to stretch into forever.

Missouri may have been the Show Me State, but who had time for that?

Illinois was nice, for the time it took them to race through it.

Kentucky sparked a brief argument about the origins of the word ‘derby.’ Which came first, the hat or the horse race?

Tennessee seemed like a lovely state. From what they had seen. Which wasn’t much, aside from the ongoing highway.

North Carolina finally welcomed them with Blue Ridge Mountains and Southern-fried hospitality.

Nine different states. Hundreds of different cities. Thousands of long miles.

Jonah and Candy shared the driving, taking six-hour turns, each ending in a fuel-up and switch. Six hours of driving, six hours of sleeping, with catch as catch can meals along the way. Much to Jonah’s delight, as well as the delight of his nearly broken bank account, Candy funded the entire trip.

“You really don’t have to pay for everything,” Jonah said, when they first stopped to refuel and clean up a bit.

“I want to,” she said. “It’s the least I can do.”

Jonah could think of a whole lot more she could do for him. And maybe, if they could make it in time, they would get the chance. “I’m glad you got your money back. With interest.”

“The money is nice, but I got something better.”

“Oh?” Jonah asked, kind of hoping the answer was him.

“The satisfaction of knowing I bested Jack. That’s better than any amount of cash.” She looked quite satisfied, too, wearing a smug grin that could match the Devil’s any day.

Jonah, however, was still worried. “You don’t think he’ll come after you?”

“Naw. If Dale left the mess I think he did, we won’t have to worry about Jack anymore.”

“He won’t want revenge? I mean, the man followed you across three states for money, part of which he stole from you in the first place.”

“Satan had a point about the man. He
is
a dog. And not the alpha male kind, either. Mess with his money and sure, he’ll bark. But bite him in the ass and he’ll tuck tail. He’ll reckon some other gang put out a hit on him and slink away to some hidey-hole ‘til he figures the heat is off. He won’t even dream we’re still alive, much less that we had anything to do with it.”

Jonah was floored by her casual tone. She spoke of several men’s deaths as if she’d planned the whole thing. It was eerie. “How can you be so calm about it?”

“Because if I don’t try to see the bright side, I’m gonna lose my tiny mind.”

He couldn’t fault her for that.

So there it was. Thirty-nine hours of shared, rushed, but purposeful travel. All in all, it was an easy journey, considering the trouble they’d faced up to that point. Jonah’s knee bitched and burned the whole way, but he did his best to ignore it with heavy doses of ibuprofen and positive thoughts. (He found it surprisingly easy to ignore a gunshot wound when he thought about losing his immortal soul.) The only real problem that arose along the way was Dale, and even then, the trouble wasn’t of his making. It was of his unmaking. Whatever magic Satan had put upon the zombie had finally worn off, and poor Dale began to fall apart.

Jonah noticed it first just inside of Utah, as a horrid, rancid smell woke him from his allotted rest. “Jesus, what is that smell?”

“I know,” Candy said. “I’ve been smelling it for about an hour now.” She sniffed the air and wrinkled her nose. “It was faint at first, but now it’s getting really strong.”

Jonah lifted his arms, checking his pits just to make sure it wasn’t him. “What is it?”

“It’s like, I don’t know. Like something’s crawled into the vents and died.”

They looked to one another, a silent understanding crossing that thin space between them, then Jonah turned around as Candy glanced into the rearview.

Dale, who had been uncharacteristically quiet in the back seat, stared up at the pair of them through milky eyes. “I think it’s me.”

As the breeze of his words curled to the front of the car, Candy and Jonah retched.

“Oh my God,” Candy said between gags. Easing the car onto the shoulder of the highway, she rolled her window down and stuck her head out into the fresh air. “That is the foulest thing I have ever smelled.”

Jonah had to concur. It was like the reek of a festering wound and a filthy slaughterhouse floor and an overflowing septic tank all compacted into a single, nauseating scent. He coughed and choked, lowering his own window and thrusting his face into the incoming gust.

“I’m sorry I stink,” Dale said.

“For Pete’s sake!” Candy yelled. “Shut your trap!”

“No!” Dale shouted. His anger and breath filled the car with an unbearable odor as he ranted and raved. “I’ve had just about enough of both of you telling me what to do this whole trip. Don’t eat the nice lady, Dale. Don’t try and get laid, Dale. Don’t look for your thumb, Dale. Now it’s don’t talk? What’ll be next? Don’t move? Don’t think? Or don’t save your sorry asses from big idiots with guns?”

“Jesus, I can’t take this.” Candy tumbled from the car and sprinted to the front, where she fell to her hands and knees in dry heaves.

“Dale,” Jonah said, holding the neck of his shirt over his nose, his eyes watering. “Please, close your mouth. Just for a minute.”

Dale complied, but didn’t look very happy about it.

Breathing through the filter of his shirt, Jonah said, “I know you don’t like to be told what to do and all, but seriously, you can’t smell that?”

Dale shook his head.

“I think … maybe … you’re starting to rot,” Jonah said.

The zombie furrowed his brow and asked in a whisper, “Will I be okay?”

Unable to take either the implications or the smell of this new question, Jonah fumbled with the car door. “Just let me talk to Candy. We’ll figure something out.” He burst from his side of the car and hobbled to the front, where he joined Candy in trying to get the smell out of his nostrils, his lungs, his very being.

“I don’t know about you,” Candy said once she had regained her composure. “But I can’t take two thousand miles of that smell.”

“I know,” Jonah said. “I don’t get it. He cleaned up at the truck stop. His clothes are fresh. His wounds are bound.”

“It’s not coming from his wounds. It’s coming from inside. He’s rotting, Jonah. After spending a summer scraping up roadkill with my uncle, I’d know that smell anywhere.”