“Is it dead?” Dave had his revolver out.
“One shot, one kill!” Bob boasted as they got closer. “That thing is stone cold!”
“Wow, he smells like he’s been dead for a while.” Dave had put his firearm away and was fanning his face.
“How do we dress out a gorilla?” Bob asked. He had to admit the smell of the beast was ripe, but he figured it was just dirty after he’d escaped or been abandoned by his handlers.
“I don’t know, dumbass. Just peel off the hair and scrape out the innards. We worked at a cereal processing plant. The hardest thing I’d ever done was use a can opener...before the zombies came, that is.”
“Help me roll him over.” Bob had lightly kicked at the gorilla’s side. Both men were bent over, Bob at Iggy’s shoulder and Dave at his hip.
“I think he moved!” Dave jumped back in alarm.
“I killed it,” Bob said, but he felt a niggling of fear run through him as he touched the gorilla’s arm, though he didn’t want his brother-in-law to know that. He pulled Iggy over so the gorilla was on its back. Iggy’s eyelids opened; the pale gray eyes burned with intense hatred and great yearning. They locked onto Bob’s terrified face. The man tried to back away but Iggy was too quick. He sat up and grabbed the man’s head, snapping it violently to the left, cracking his vertebrae. Left on his own, Bob would eventually succumb to his injuries; right now he was a paraplegic witness to the horrible events about to happen.
“Bob! He’s alive!” Dave turned and made an attempt to escape. Iggy got onto all fours and in two strides he leaped and landed on Dave, breaking three of the man's ribs and a femur as he slammed him to the ground. Iggy dipped his head down and tore into the screaming man’s thigh, pulling up a long section of meat. Bob watched in horror as his sister’s husband was eaten one piece at a time. Dave had stopped crying out after the third bite; the convulsions stopped after the fifth. Heavy tears fell from Bob’s eyes as he watched the monster gorilla finish, stand, and turn in his direction. His screams ripped through the day like Iggy did through his genitals.
Epilogue 3
Indian Hill has always been a special place for me. A place of discovery, of imagination and even solace. At times, it has even been a place for healing. Jennifer, the girl I had thought I was going to spend the rest of my life with, had just broken up with me. At fifteen, that’s torturous; it’s unfathomable at that age to think there could possibly be worse things in life. Ah, to be that naïve again. I’d waited until my mother had gone out to do errands to raid her liquor cabinet. Then, I grabbed a bottle of gin. Soon there would be two things in my life I did not like, one was Jennifer, and the other was gin.
I’d cut through Rusty’s territory, not giving a shit if the neighborhood bully showed or not. He didn’t. I crossed Plimpton Avenue and then the trestle, half hoping a commuter train would come barreling around the corner. Something, anything, that could take that savage stabbing pain from my heart.
“Kenny fucking Addison. She broke up with me to go out with that fucking geek!” I shouted from atop the bridge. I actually liked Kenny, we played football together. He was a pretty big kid, offensive lineman. Didn’t mean I wasn’t going to try and hurt him out on the practice field, though. In the end, I didn’t have to. He hadn’t even known about Jennifer’s crush on him and when she’d approached him, he’d flat out refused, knowing that she had been dating me. After that, she’d come back to see if we could get back together, but by then I associated her with gin flavored vomit and I wanted nothing to do with either.
I was taking large swigs from that bottle as I headed up the hill, wincing with each and every one. I climbed up the Great Tree and sat nestled in her boughs while I took heavy pulls from that bottle and whined a constant “why me?” By the time I was ready to come down, I more fell out than actually climbed. I landed with a heavy thud on the ground, a small cloud of dust rising up.
“Huh! Didn’t spill a drop!” I said, holding the bottle triumphantly high. The Great Tree stood alone in a vast field. Off to my right was a large hill with a huge rope swing and at the top was where we had lit many a bonfire; that was my next destination. I was looking forward to the exhilarating rush of air as I used the swing to sweep out over the hill. I’d no sooner stepped out of the field and into the woods when a spiking chill ran up my back.
“What the fuck?” I asked as I looked around. You know that feeling you have when you absolutely know someone is looking at you? Yeah, that’s what I had. I spun to look back the way I’d come. Really, the only place to hide in that direction was the Great Tree. Whoever was watching me was in these woods. At least there are lines of sight in Massachusetts woods. Yes, it is a sea of pine trees and nothing else; someone, or some thing would have a difficult time completely sneaking up on me, though that did little to ease the anxiety that was taking root in my body.
“Come the fuck out,” I said as bravely as the gin could make me. Two drinks later and still nothing moved. I couldn’t shake the feeling, however, even after two more swallows of the caustic alcohol. “Who drinks this shit?” I asked looking at the bottle. I was still peering at the older Scottish man adorning the label when a blur skirted across my periphery vision. I just caught the back of something impossibly large, greenish...or slightly brown. I don’t know if it was the liquid courage that was flowing through my bloodstream, but instead of running away I walked towards it.
This shouldn’t be considered flirting with danger; this was flaunting my arrogant ass at it. Whatever it was, was huge, and I was armed only with a half bottle of cheap booze and a bad disposition. I’d not caught another glimpse of the beast as I climbed the hill. All of that changed when I got to the top.
“Paul?” I asked. It was my best friend who had moved away just that summer. Well, it was and it wasn’t. He was older and in a uniform, as were the many men around him. They all had rifles and appeared to be getting ready for a battle. A knot formed in my throat when I caught sight again of what I had been following. The beast was huge. He was also carrying a weapon, though he was not firing at the humans, and they were not firing upon him. I was trying to piece all of this puzzle together when I nearly swallowed my own Adam’s apple. You think that is an impossibility until you nearly choke on the fucking thing.
I, or at least a very reasonable facsimile of me, perhaps a few years older looking, had gone up to the beast as casually as if we were drinking buddies. I started talking to it. Well, at least my mouth was working, yet I could hear no sound; nothing from any of the dozens of people walking around me, either.
“What the fuck is happening here?” I could clearly see them, but I was certain I was not part of their reality. I know that sounds bizarre, but more than a few had walked within inches of me and had not acknowledged my presence. “Whoa, who's the hottie?” I asked as a red-headed, camouflage-clad woman came right up to “future me”. We exchanged a few words and a brief kiss. I learned all I needed to from that brief encounter, they...err...we were in love.
“Guess Jennifer is out of the picture by this time.” I took another long swig, the world tilted severely on its axis, or more likely I did. All manner of food I’d taken in for the last few hours made its triumphant return. By the time I pushed up from the ground and away from my steaming pile of vomit, the vision, if it had ever been there at all, was gone. I never told anybody about my experience, and it wasn’t until years later after I’d married her that I had a dream about that day. It was then I realized camo-hottie had been a younger Tracy. It seemed that no matter what shit-fest I found myself in, I would always have this beautiful, strong woman by my side to help me navigate through. “Fuck you, Jennifer. Oh yeah, Kenny says fuck you, too.”
About the Author
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