Running with the Horde (15 page)

             
When I stopped and opened my eyes the lights disappeared and all of the zombies were doing jumping jacks in lock step. Perfect form, just like the ones in my head had been. They just kept pounding them out while I watched.

             
I let them go on for quite a while before I sent them an image of standing still. They complied immediately no one even breathing hard. No one breathing at all. I suppose that part shouldn’t have been all that surprising.

             
What came next was a series of silly dog and pony tricks as I tried to figure out a more efficient system of delivering commands. I learned quickly that I did not actually need to demonstrate a command with my body, only in my head. I had the zombies doing flips and somersaults and of course shadow boxing but the festivities culminated with thirty zombies doing a rather complex square dance I made up in my head.

             
It was a thing of beauty and I really enjoyed it.

             
So too did Daisy, who unbeknownst to me had made her way down to my little party to see what all the fuss was about. I first noticed her standing beside me clapping in time to the rhythm of the zombie dance beat.

             
She had such a joyous smile on her face that I couldn’t help but smile and clap along with her. She saw me smiling at her and gave me the internationally recognized palms up version of who the hell are these people and why are they dancing?

             
It was then I realized she didn’t know they were zombies. The smile slide from my face and I stopped clapping. She did too, her happy face replaced by a terrorized one as she looked at the undead and tried to interpret what she was seeing.

             
She let out an ear-splitting scream and ran for the house. That kind of ruined the fun for me. Everyone stopped dancing. I sent them a go away image which they obeyed. I headed up to the house to face the music. I was tired anyway.

             
Daisy was scared and pissed. I found her hiding in the basement behind a chair clinging to a long butcher knife. She was shaking like a leaf.

             
“What are you, George? What the fuck are you?” she hissed.

             
I hadn’t seen hatred in her eyes since the first night I met her. It hurt me to see her like that but I had no explanation.

             
“I don’t know, Daisy,” I said, “A zombie whisperer maybe?” I added with a little grin.

             
It wasn’t an appropriate time for jokes. I thought she might come at me with the knife.

             
“Fuck you! Fuck you! Asshole!” she shouted and stood to her feet.

             
“Daisy, I’m kidding, I’m sorry, okay? Really sorry. I have no idea what’s going on with me or what’s wrong with me. I wish I did…it’s all new to me. I promise I’m just as scared as you are.”

             
I wasn’t actually. I felt strangely at home with the undead. Which is fucking weird, I know, but there was no way I was telling Daisy that. I took a step toward her.

             
“Don’t!” she said, “Just leave me alone. I need to be alone for a while,” she muttered something I couldn’t hear but it sounded like a bad word.

             
“Fine,” I said, “But can I at least have the knife? I don’t want you to hurt yourself.”

             
She made as if to throw it at me, I put my hands up and made for the stairway.

             
“Whoa! I’m going. I’m going.”

             
That was a tough day in the old homestead. Daisy didn’t know what to think of me anymore. She still slept in my bed. We still coexisted but the dancing zombies had caused some major trust issues for her.

             
Looking back, I can’t say I blame her. Of all the possible things I could have made the zombies do, square dancing should have been near the bottom of the list.

Chapter 27

“Every Rose has Thorns”

             
With our relationship seriously frayed, we both needed space. I continued to go out each day, under the guise of scavenging, to work my magic with whatever zombies I could scrounge up. Daisy continued to read a lot and be very emotional about everything.

             
There was no denying it, I had something really strange in my head. It was part of something my father had done to me, something that connected me to the undead. My mind felt like some kind of elaborate computer program. Sometimes I closed my eyes and saw an actual three dimensional array of lights and data in my head. Other times it was just images I would send or receive.

             
It was terrifying and exciting at the same time. I couldn’t explain how it worked but I was becoming very good at using it.

             
I had zombies executing intricate instructions with split second images and changes. My skill at mental imagery improved daily. As much as I was testing their ability to be versatile and do precarious things, I was also putting myself through strenuous mental calisthenics trying to figure out to what extent I could control them.

             
I stopped screwing around searching houses, when Daisy or I needed something I went to a shopping mall or large store and had the zombies carry and load whatever I needed.

             
The next few evenings I came home were similar to the first. Zombies would be crowded around the porch trying to get at Daisy inside. Sometimes there were a lot and sometimes just a few but each time I turned the corner to drive up the street I sent them the go away message and they did.

             
I tried to imprint the command permanently but I couldn’t tell if it worked. Most likely I had only succeeded in sending those particular zombies on a never ending journey to ‘away’ wherever that was.

             
The first few times, Daisy was just as upset as she was that first night. But by the third day she must have accepted the zombies would come whenever I left but they couldn’t get in.

             
One late afternoon I arrived on my street expecting more of the same. This time my porch was mysteriously empty. No zombies in the yard or street either. I was worried about Daisy and rushed inside. She was quietly making dinner on the grill on the back deck, bundled up against the cold December air. She seemed fine, even smiled sweetly at me but something was different for sure.

             
She said she hadn’t noticed the zombie situation and wasn’t worried about it anymore. I accepted this even though it was out of character for her. She had, after all, made quite a few exceptions regarding my behavior. I owed her one.

             
Time marched onward. I was at home with Daisy at night. During the days I was out exploring the city for eight to ten hours a day. The zombies never appeared after I left again and Daisy seemed unconcerned with my coming and going. She was present in body if not mind.

             
I didn’t care as long as she seemed happy. I was preoccupied with my seemingly limitless power over the zombies and finding new ways to exploit it.

             
One morning while I was out replenishing the propane for the grill and tracking down more water for our always dwindling supply, my stomach started cramping up badly. I recalled with regret the can of sardines I ate for breakfast. I could tell things were going to get ugly.

             
When I am sick like that I always have to be in familiar surroundings or I can’t function. Sad this was true even after a zombie apocalypse but there it is.

             
Anyway, I aimed the minivan for home and drove as fast as the debris-filled road would safely allow. I didn’t think I would make it but fortune favors the bold and those with loose bowels so I did.

             
I slammed on the brakes, nearly ramming into the garage. I took the front side walk and the steps at a run and nearly broke my arm pounding on the door. When Daisy didn’t answer I fished my key out and nearly broke it off in the door. I got lucky. Daisy had forgotten to place the big wooden bar in the slots behind the door. I busted in and made a beeline for the portable commode I’d installed in the bathroom.

             
I won’t rehash what happened but it was awful. I will just note the cleanup process required some boiled water. I felt a little better but was still miserable. When I had put myself together as best I could, I called for Daisy.

             
She didn’t answer. I tried to remember if she was mad at me. I didn’t think so but I was forgetful where she was concerned of late. I called her name again but there was still no answer. I began an agonizing search of the house which turned up empty.

             
She was gone as were a good portion of the supplies.

             
The last place to check was the garage.

             
I tiptoed down the hall toward the garage with a growing lump of despair in my throat. I eased open the door. My car was gone! Daisy knew I loved that car. Hell, Daisy knew I loved her! There was no way she’d taken the car, a bunch of our stuff and bolted without me. This was a complete one eighty from the woman I’d come to know.

             
I was angry and had every intention to go out looking for her in the minivan but I was really dizzy. I sat down on the floor in the cold garage feeling light headed and heartsick. The room was spinning. Another bout of bathroom fun was also about to have its way with me. I wouldn’t be going anyplace soon.

             
The rest of that horrible afternoon passed in a methane haze. I was never far from the commode, choosing to sleep on the dirty living room carpet rather than climb the stairs to the bedroom. I was half asleep on the aforementioned carpet when I heard the low rumbling of my car roll up the street and stop in the driveway.

             
I was rounding out the more poignant portions of what was to be my feedback speech to Daisy as I listened to her shut the door and walked up the front steps. I knew I looked like shit and was embarrassed to have her see me that way. She had warned me about the sardines but I didn’t listen.

             
I propped myself up to a sitting position and ran a hand through my sweaty hair. I felt it stick up in place but had no time to fix it before Daisy walked in.

             
She strode over and stood in front of me holding a wicked looking submachine gun I’d never seen before in both hands. She looked ridiculously angry gazing down at me and way more gaunt than I remembered. I really hadn’t been paying attention.

             
“Where the hell did you go?” I stammered in a voice that sounded like a whiney, sick child.

             
She just stared at me with contempt. A wide toothy grin that didn’t reach her eyes replaced her angry grimace.

             
Oh hell…this wasn’t Daisy.

             
“You smell like boiled shit,” was the first thing Rosie said to me.

             
She was down on her haunches propping my chin up with the barrel of her gun. If she slipped I was wallpaper. I froze, fresh cramps doing the mamba in my lower intestines. A lone trickle of sweat dropped from my temple to my jaw.

             
“I’ve been sick today, food poisoning,” I said, “What did you do with Daisy?”

             
She leaned in and grabbed my shirt collar in one gloved hand while she dug the gun barrel painfully into the skin under my jaw.

             
“Don’t fucking ask about Daisy,” she hissed between clenched teeth, “You are done fucking around with my sister. Blink twice if you understand me, freak.”

             
I blinked twice.

             
“Good,” she eased off me and patted me gently on the check, “I’m glad that’s settled.

             
“So you’re not going to kill me?” I asked.

             
“Kill you? Why would I kill you? If I have a dog that shits golden turds, would I kill the dog because it bit me once or twice? No, dumbass, I wouldn’t kill the golden-turd shitting dog,” she let that soak in a little. “But I would beat the dog and definitely I would leash the dog. I would make the dog obey no matter what,” she said.

             
So it was nice to know she was still crazy, certain constants can be a comfort and gosh if Rosie wasn’t one of them.

             
“Stop looking at me like I’m the freak,” she said as she poked me with the gun again. “Daisy told me about your secret little relationship with the deaders. She spilled her guts when I told her what we had planned for you. Which was, yes, to kill you and not quickly, poor girl believes anything I say to her. I don’t know why but poor old Daisy has it bad for you. She never did have good taste in men.”

             
She sat down on her ass across from me as she spoke, gun still at the ready between her knees. I started to talk but she cut me off.

             
“Don’t bother, freak, I know you were just playing at being a hero that night but it doesn’t matter, you’re still responsible for the kidnapping of my sister and what happened to my dad.” At the mention of her father she choked up.

             
“I had nothing to do with that and I saved your sister’s life more than once,” I said.

             
“Oh I know you did, she told us all about it. She told us how you did it too, freak,” she said.

             
I was feeling worse and worse and it must have shown on my face.

             
“Gotta take a break?” Rosie chortled, “Go ahead and go,” she flipped her head toward the bathroom hallway.

             
I practically ran there with my hand on my ass. She was right behind me, there would be no privacy.

             
“Are you serious?” I asked as I yanked my pants down.

             
“Just fucking hurry up, I don’t have all day.”

             
She leaned against the door frame and smiled at me gleefully as uncontrolled fireworks erupted from my butt. It was one of the more embarrassing few moments I have ever spent with a woman. Mercifully, the smell as so atrocious Rosie couldn’t stand it anymore and left me to clean myself up in a somewhat dignified manner.

             
I sat there shivering and freezing in my own funk and sweat and wondered what Rosie and company had in store from me. I hoped Daisy was okay. I didn’t think her sister would hurt her but then Rosie was nuts so I couldn’t be certain.

             
When I rejoined Rosie in the living room I was feeling better and thinking the worst was behind me.

             
I didn’t know a whole lot about food poisoning.

             
She was reclining lazily in my favorite chair with one leg thrown over the arm. I sat down near her on the floor with my back against the wall.

             
“So what now, Rosie?” I asked as nicely as I could muster.

             
“Now, freak, you and I are going to wait for my crew to get here. Then we’re going trade you in to a new friend of ours who is looking for you, in exchange for a place in the city,” she explained.

             
“What the hell are you talking about? What city?” I asked.

             
“As if you don’t fucking know, zombie lover,” she sneered, “Let’s just say the chickens have come home to roost. Your days on the run are over.”

             
I had no idea what she was talking about but I was sure it was my dad’s fault.

             
“And if I don’t come with you? What, you’ll kill me?” I asked.

             
“No we already covered that didn’t we. But I will take Daisy away someplace you will never find them,” she said.

             
“Them?” I asked.

             
“Oh, you didn’t know? Daisy is pregnant, dumbass,” She retorted.

             
The air seemed to leave the room for a moment. Pregnant? How could that be possible? That was a dumb question, Rosie was right in her assessment of my brain power. Daisy being pregnant was not only possible but highly probable given our proclivity for a certain activity.

             
I was going to be a dad! That seemed like such an outrageous concept. Before the end of civilization I had thought of finding a girl and settling down from time to time just as everyone does. I had dated a lot, even had a serious girlfriend on occasion but my relationships always seemed to wither away eventually. It could have been my narcissistic tendencies but I wasn’t sure.