Bob The Zombie (3 page)

"32 waist?" At my nod she led me over to a section of the store that was all men's jeans. She pointed out the section that would fit me best.

"I don't have long johns on. I can buy a pair to try the jeans on with, if you want." I was so embarrassed. I usually get my clothes from the Salvation Army drop off bin. As such, I've never really had to worry much about trying them on. I was pretty sure that nobody would want to try on jeans with the previous shopper's rotten flesh still clinging to them.

"No worries, Bob. Try on whatever you like. There's a hamper by the dressing rooms. I always rewash because those wolves can be pretty hairy. Get that on someone allergic to dogs, and whoa boy, have you got an angry customer." I had tears in my eyes at her kindness
, but I blinked them back and rummaged through the rack looking for a couple pairs of Wranglers. I figured I might as well get some pants that fit now, rather than wait for the Salvation Army raids with the guys and divvy up what was found. My mom kept a credit card open for me and I decided to finally make some good use of it.

When I had six good pairs of jeans in my hands I headed around to look at the tee shirts. My mouth dropped when I found a great selection of vintage concert tees. Rolling Stones, Aerosmith, AC/DC, and Steve Miller Band made it into my hands and back to the changing rooms. I noted the large hamper in front of them and headed in to try on clothes. I felt a bit like Julia Roberts in Pretty Woman, except rotting, male, and not a whore. Everything I grabbed fit like it was meant to be mine. I practically skipped to the counter to pay. "I'll take it all, but can I wear these out?" I pointed to the black jeans I was currently wearing. "Also, do you have a garbage for these?" I held up my ripped pants.

"There's a recycle bin behind you on the far wall. So glad you found some things you like." Jeannie grinned at me.

"Some
things? I don't want to leave, this store is amazing."

"Thank you, Bob." She blushed. It turned her more aqua than the light powder blue she normally was. I dropped the jeans in the bin, and went to pay for my new clothes. When I reached the register, I stopped. It wouldn't be right to get clothes and not grab some stuff for the guys.

"Can I have a few more minutes? I asked Griffin.

"Yeah, sure. Go nuts. I have to talk to Jeannie anyway."

I ran back to the concert tees and dug out several for the other zoms in the horde. I didn't know their jeans sizes, but at least I could get them some cool shirts. I took my new armload of clothes up to the counter and grinned as she rang up my purchases. The total was more than I had spent in a year. I put it on the card, took out my cell phone, left a message for my mom that I had bought new clothes, and telling her how much they had cost. Just in case the credit card company called her about suspicious activity.

She had given me a cell phone because
, although she couldn't stand to look at me, she did want to keep in touch. I think she just pretended I moved out of state for a job. It hurts, a lot, but I have no choice but to keep going. For a while I tried suicide. Having lived through being hit by a train, jumping from a fourteen-story building, hanging myself, shooting myself in the head with a .22, and one truly awful attempt at self immolation, I came to the conclusion that I was alive now, no matter what. Even if I wasn't genuinely alive and was actually more... undead. The train debacle had taken an awful lot of staples, no matter how depressed I get, I won't be trying that again.

It's not easy being a zombie. It's a damned hard life when you're dead but can't ever rest. It sucks when the people you once cared about look at you with terror (or worse, pity) in their eyes. Mom may have liked to pretend I was still alive, but I hated it. I rarely called her anymore, and wouldn't have called her then if I hadn't needed to warn her about the credit card bill. Before you call me a deadbeat, pun intended, you should know that I send money regularly to my mom. I don't get much, just what we find laying around
and earn through recycling. We have a bunyip (An Australian werecreature that looks human but changes into a frightening mish mash of a monster.) that works at the recycling center. He pays us for the scrap metal and wood we find. He even opens the place up for us after hours so nobody will see us. We made a killing in copper from the ruins of the plantation house. Like I said, not an easy life. I'd like to be a chef. I love cooking, but let's be honest for a moment, who is going to hire a decomposing man to cook food in their restaurant? I'm sure there are hundreds of health codes that would prevent me from ever even stepping foot in a kitchen, let alone preparing food in one.

Unlife can be just as unfair as life ever was. I took the bags Jeannie handed me, and after we said goodbye to her, we headed back to Griff's SUV.

"Thank you, for bringing me here." I hoped my gratitude came across as sincere.

"You sort of have a knack for getting into trouble don't you?"

"Not really trouble, it's just like the song says 'If it weren't for bad luck, I'd have no luck at all'."

"That's rough, you seem like such a nice guy."

"Well, we all have tests and trials in our lives. Mine just happen to be more ridiculous than most."

"True. Never seen a zombie lose a foot and then split his pants within seconds."

"Like watching a dark comedy isn't it?"

"Yeah, kind of is. Sorry you have to live like that."

"It's ok, Griff. I find it kind of funny now, and it's always nice to make other people smile and laugh. I cover a lot of my own pain with humor so I guess a Griswoldian life is the life for me."

"Griswoldian?"

"After Clark W. Griswold?"

"Oh, I get it now. Well, it sure fits you."

"Yeah, it does. It used to bother me a lot. I cursed my unlife because of it."

"And now?"

"I've come to terms with being a comedy of errors. I feel like there is something big coming up ahead that will make everything I've gone through worthwhile, you know?"

"Bob, you've got the heart of a wonderful person."

"No, I don't! I swear, I only eat animal meat." I winked at him and he chuckled and shook his head.

"I'm glad I met you." He smiled at me and looked down at the address in his hand when we stopped at a light. He looked back at me and sighed, "Here's hoping this witch will help. I'm thinking that maybe she doesn't know she has to call t
he ghouls every so often to rein them in and keep them from getting too wild. The alternative is, she's doing it on purpose to create mass chaos and eventually out us to the humans. If that's the case, the Council will surely have her tortured, killed, brought back, and tortured for eternity."

"Yeah, they're pretty reasonable like that." I nodded and
Griffin chuckled.

"Yup, about as reasonable as the Spanish Inquisition."

"Nobody expects that."

"What?"
Griffin looked puzzled.

"Nobody expects the Spanish Inquisition! Our chief weapon is surprise...surprise and fear...fear and surprise, our two chief weapons!" I did my best Michael Palin impression and hoped he had watched Flying Circus. Otherwise, I just sounded insane, and let's face it, rabid zombies don't last long.

"Oh jeeze!" Griffin burst out laughing and I sighed in relief. I was pretty sure he had to have seen at least the skit, if not the show, because it was fairly popular. "You know, Bob, you have a great sense of humor for a zombie. Most of the shamblers I've met are grouchy."

"Well, it's not easy being green." I shrugged. I never did take compliments well.

"I can imagine." He winked at me and I nearly facepalmed when I remembered I was talking to a green man. The smile he was wearing transformed into a frown "You zombies sort of lose everything when you're brought back, don't you?"

"Yeah. At first you think everything will be fine, but it takes a little while for the decomposition to begin. The magic that reanimates us holds it at bay. The stronger the necromancer, the longer we appear alive and normal. As their magic wanes, Mother Nature busts in to take what is hers. It's never a pretty process, and for those
people who love us I can imagine it is psychologically devastating as we turn from our normal living selves into a walking, talking corpse. Our eyes cloud over, our skin turns weird colors, our stomachs distend because of gasses, and mold starts growing here and there. Sometimes we get depressed and want to lay in bed with the covers over our head, but we can't do that because of the risk of maggots. We can't drown our sorrows in alcohol or drugs, we can't kill ourselves, it's pretty much just sit and accept that your life is over and this new hell has begun." As I spoke Griffin looked at me with a frown.

"Wow. That has to be heartbreaking for you. I may not be part of your horde, but if you ever need anything, please know I'll be there for you." I could tell he was being sincere, mostly because he was a nice, caring fellow. More humane than humans for sure.

"Thanks, man. I appreciate that." Awkward silence filled the truck. Griffin reached over and turned on the radio. 'Leroy Brown' was on and we both started singing along to it, breaking the silence and cementing our new friendship.

"We're looking for
622 Liszt Street." Griffin kept watch out his side and I stared out of my window, both of us belting out the oldie, but goodie.

"There it is." I pointed ahead to the sign that read
Liszt St.

"Good eye."

"Thanks." We went back to singing along and searching for the house. I couldn't see the address, but when a dilapidated old gothic Victorian emerged ahead of us, I was pretty sure we had the right place. The number on the sidewalk out in front confirmed it.

"Who the hell would live in a place like this?" Griff asked as he swung open the creaky, rusty, old iron gate.

"The Addams family? The Munsters? Bob Dole?"

"Bob Dole?"
Griffin raised an emerald eyebrow at me. I shrugged, and he chuckled. We headed up the broken, weed choked, cement path to the house. I stepped up on the bottom wooden tread and my foot went right through. The board was almost completely rotted away.

"Watch your step." I pulled my leg out and inspected it. Don't know why, not like I'll die if I get tetanus or anything.

"Thanks. Phew, this house is almost as decomposed as you are."

"I wonder if staples would work on it?"

"Probably just turn the place to dust and piss off the termites." Griffin grinned and gingerly stepped up to the porch. He reached out to touch the doorbell and jumped when it rang out loudly through the house and property. "Reminds me of the Addam's house even more now."

I half expected Lurch to open the door and so was surprised to see a young woman that was thin as a rail and pale as a ghost.

"Yes?" She didn't even appear to notice us, and as a zombie, standing next to a green man, it set off some warning bells and reminded me of my black days of depression.

"Hello, Miss. We're looking for a necromancer who brought a skag of ghouls back from the dead."
Griffin skipped the formalities and went right to the point. The young woman gasped, finally seeing us for what we are.

"Oh, sweet Jesus! You're here to kill and turn me, ain't you?"

"No, definitely not, we just need you to rein in your ghouls. They ruined my bar today."

"My ghouls?" She looked surprised and a bit addled. I wasn'
t sure she was the one we were looking for, when a sudden awareness shined in her eyes. "Oh, those monsters that followed me home from the cemetery. They're not mine. They crawled out of the ground and followed me home like puppies. I told them to leave but they wouldn't. You look like one. Are you one?" She looked at me quizzically.

"No, I'm a zombie. My name's Bob."

"Oh. What's the difference?"

"Well..." I trailed off and looked at
Griffin. I didn't know what to say. It seems she had no idea of what she was or what she had done. He sighed and nodded to me slightly, letting me know he was going to take over. Pretty sure they heard my sigh of relief all the way over in China.

"Are you Christine Whitaker?" He asked her gently.

"Yes. What does that have to do with the difference in these creatures?"

"Well, Christine, I don't think anybody has ever told you this before." He took a deep breath preparing himself for the task of shattering her world completely. "You're a necromancer. You have the power to bring the dead back to life.
To answer your question, the difference between zombies and ghouls is that ghouls need their necromancer to call on them occasionally or they run wild. They forget the person they were and become akin to wild beasts, attacking anyone who crosses their path. Zombies retain the full soul of the person who was reanimated, they don't need a sorceress to hold their consciousness together the way ghouls do."

"You think I'm a necromancer? That's silly, I'm no sorceress. You must be mistaken. I don't know why those things followed me home or what the deal is, but it's not my fault." She had the look of a frightened animal and I was a little afraid we'd scared her into bolting. I got my foot ready to stop the door from closing, should she decide to do so.