I looked down to the street.
Slovoth was beating the hell out of the goons with a big-ass wrench. The oafs were all on the ground, all on their faces, shivering in pools of their own filth, scalps dark and bloody. Slovoth was riding someone's back, sitting on them, hammering away at the back of their head. Slovoth looked exhausted, sounding like he had asthma. He heard Lynn moaning again as she tried to swim across the canal. He pointed his wrench at her and began screaming at her – screaming hateful things. A canoe filled with kids floated by the van. They were all on their cell phones, and I just kept thinking, Dammit. The cops!
Slovoth jumped in the water, and Lynn turned around, making her way back to the van. I went back down and opened the toolbox and took out a hammer. The holy psychic and the doctor were naked and doing normal things. They ignored me. I put the hammer between my teeth and reached up and climbed out. What I saw next shattered my insides. If this were the movies, the camera would've zoomed in fast on my face to showcase my horrified reaction.
Slovoth was strangling Lynn, forcing her head under the water. He cried while he worked.
I jumped down and swam toward them (amazing, because I didn't know how to swim).
Slovoth, blinded by his rage, by his strangling, didn't notice me come right up and swing that hammer upside his Russian head. I gave it all I had – ALL MY POWER – yelling out as I did so. Something flew out of his face, and I think it was an eyeball. I jumped on him and made a real mess of his face. Slovoth made a sound like a baby and splashed on the water, sinking, sinking.
I dragged Lynn to the street and gave her CPR, pumping her chest, doing all the things I saw people do in the movies. Tourists were on the sidewalks, staring. I yelled at them for help, but they just stood there, stupid. A legless woman on one of those motorized carts rode up.
“I just called the cops!” she was crying. “Oh, God!”
I said, “Thanks,” and held Lynn's head close to my ear.
Nothing.
I said her name over and over. She wasn't moving or anything. Her hands were cold...limbs lifeless. I did the thing where I checked for her pulse on her neck and wrist (both wrists), but I couldn't feel anything, couldn't feel a pulse. Was I even doing it right?? Her eyes were open, and that wasn't good. Police sirens again, getting close. I could see their lights. The itch to flee consumed me.
I didn't want to leave her side. I said something...whispered something.
Wish I could remember what that was.
When I went home, the place was swimming with cops. I hid in the bushes, shaking, scared. It was strange. All I wanted to do then was kill zombies. Just run away and kill as many zombies as possible. Nauseous. The police lights made me wanna throw up.
Two cops were holding a little girl's hands, walking her into a police car.
It was Shells.
She wasn't crying. In fact, she looked strong...confident.
I wanted to run over and steal her away, but my legs wouldn't work. I was too afraid. So I just stayed there, staring at her from behind those bushes, just looking, until – one by one – all those cops drove away and the sun started coming up from behind the ocean. Shells's car was the last to leave the scene.
She didn't even see me.
Figuring the condo would've been sealed off and all that jazz, I ran to the hills – ran and climbed back up to my old home: Todd's house in the woods. The place still held up pretty well. Water was still running, and my room was still in a good state. Cobwebs covered everything. I wiped them off my bed and went to sleep for a very long time. Some days I just stayed in bed, listening to the sounds of the woods – of birds singing and insects crawling next to my ear and various little animals doing whatever out by the window.
When got hungry, I went out and killed a rat or something and cooked and ate. When I got thirsty, I went down to the “drinking place” and drank. Todd had made this contraption that filtered rain water, turned it into the best damn drinking water ever. He was a bit paranoid about the government discovering his invention, so he hid it a little ways from the house. It was worth the walk; always gave me time to think.
And on those hikes up, I'd think about Lynn, think about Shells, Nora, and all those exorcisms I did. Sometimes, Slovoth would pop into my mind, and I'd get so angry, I'd punch a tree. The birds all up in them would cry out and fly away, and I'd always be saying sorry to them.
Days turned into months.
Months into years.
No zombies to be seen in those times up in the woods. At first I was crazy-lonely, but then, for some odd reason, I started getting used to it. I guess people just adjust. I never went down to town. I wanted nothing to do with them folks down there in the world. I don't know why. I just felt...embarrassed. Oh, and I was sure the cops were all looking for me.
Or were they?
Maybe they forgot about me.
Maybe they were too busy dealing with demons and gangster Popes.
One dark and stormy night, I heard a moaning outside my window. I sat up and came face-to-face with a woman! She had no eyes, and I realized she wasn't normal. She was a zombie – a member of the walking dead. She reached in – she was all slow – and tried to get me. I smiled and walked outside to greet her – walked out into the rain and thunder.
“Hi!” I said.
The woman had an arrow sticking out of her head. Reminded me of those joke hats you find in magic stores. Arms still in the window, digging around, she looked over her shoulder and groaned at me. Centipedes lived in her eye sockets. I walked closer...shy.
“Boy, so good to see another person up here. I've been so lonely, you have no idea. What's your name? Why is there an arrow through your head?”
The zombie walked towards me. I backed away.
“Don't you have anything to say?”
She groaned. One of her knees was busted. I picked up a stick and kept the zombie at a safe distance, poking her stomach.
“What happened to you? What did you do before you became dead? What's your story?”
The zombie opened her mouth, and water come out, then dark goo. And it was like I could read her mind. I can't explain it.
Kill me, was what she was thinking. Kill me now...pleeeeeeaaaasssse, she thought. Save me.
That last part struck a chord with me.
Save me.
I never thought of it that way before. So, nodding, I ran up, grabbed her head, and yanked it free. The shoulders went up and down, like she was dancing. The body wobbled and tripped over its feet and fell into a mud puddle. Very loud lightning then, I remember. Bright flashes from the clouds, tearing the sky in two. As for the head, I banged it against a rock a few times. That did the trick. It cracked open like a coconut.
I got a sense that something...something invisible...something important...flew out of her open skull...flew up and away into the flashing sky. Somehow, I felt I had done a great thing.
I had the damnedest time sleeping that night.
My head was conjuring ideas.
I had plans.
In the morning, I took off my clothes, wrapped a yellow towel around my waist and walked to the stream to get all washed up. I stuck my toe into the water, but before I could get in, I heard chatter. It was a whole group of Filipinos. They carried spears, bows and arrows, and signs that read, “Zombies, go home!” and, “Kill all Zombies!” A few of them Filipinos, lagging behind, pulled a large cage on wheels. Inside were dead zombies and zombie parts. A sign on the cage said, “Troublemakers”. It was written in Papyrus font, which graphic artists would argue to be the world's ugliest font, but I digress.
They all walked up to me, and I expected them to speak in broken English, but I was wrong. Their boss shook my hand.
“Good evening, my good man,” the Filipino said with his Canadian accent. “Seen any zombies around?”
I smiled.
“Sure did,” I said. “Matter of fact, I killed one recently. She had an arrow through her head.”
&nbs
p; A man ran up to me and fell to his knees. He cried, hands together in prayer.
“That was my wife!”
I jumped back, ready to fight. The man crawled to me and held my hands – kissed my palms.
“Thank you for freeing her,” he wept. “Thank you, thank you!”
The boss nodded to me.
“You're a damn good man,” he said. “Most are too afraid to even get NEAR the walking dead, let alone massacre one.”
“It's no problem for me,” I said. “I'm a zombie hunter.”
Everyone whispered to one another. Their boss looked shocked.
“That is a delight!” he said. “Where have you been my whole life???”
“I've been living out here in the woodlands,” I says. “Been trying to get my life together; get my senses together.”
The boss seemed to understand.
“Ah, yes,” he said. “A little alone time is always good. Why, my life can get so noisy sometimes, I wish I could just pack up and skedaddle into a quiet land. You're a lucky one. I envy you.” He said that last part with squinty eyes.
I heard wheels squeak. The crowd parted, and a muscular man, shirtless, walked through. He was pulling a cart of dead people. A sign on it read, “Dead people”. People cried as the cart went through. The boss raised his hand, and the muscle man stopped and panted, hands on his knees. The boss walked over to the cart.
“These people were our friends.”
I looked into the cart. Their friends looked like they had been eaten. The boss sighed.
“They tried to fight against the zombies,” he said. “They didn't do so well. We're on our way to bury them somewhere. Not sure where yet. Maybe under a tree. Really, I have no idea. We keep finding bodies. It is a sad state of affairs.” He turned to me, and I knew what he was going to say, but I didn't stop him. “We could use someone like you,” he said. “Our forest village could use your help.”
I raised an eyebrow.
“Forest village?”
“Yes,” he said. “We live around back – on the other side of the mountain.”
“Hmm,” I went. “I didn't know anyone lived there. Is it a new village?”
“Been there for 3,000 years,” the boss said. “So, no. Not new.”
I thought about it for a bit, but agreed to help them.
Besides, I saw some fine ladies in his group.
They didn't smile at me, but whatever.
I'd prove myself later.
I spent a year there, in that forest village. It was called Triumphant Place. Population: 52. I didn't understand what the problem was with their women. Not one looked at me. It was like they were afraid. I once went to the grass shack of the village's resident psychic, and she said they could smell the stink on me. I asked, “What you mean 'stink'?” She said, “Yes, they smell your STINK. You STINK, boy. You stink bad. You did something very bad to a female.”
I was sitting at her wooden table, which was covered with creepy tarot cards.
She leaned back, looking like someone was aiming a dead kitten at her face.
“I can smell you even now. I know what they sniff.” She shot off another sour look.
I didn't fully understand what she was yakking on about.
“I don't fully understand what you're yakking on about,” I said. “I've never hurt a girl. I'm a nice guy, you stupid cow.”
Obviously, she was getting on my nerves.
She looked irritated.
“They smell your stink, boy! Don't you understand? You're cursed!”
“What??”
“Whoever you hurt, put some kind of mental stink-curse on you,” she said. And before I could interrupt and complain some more, she says, “Now get! You have insulted me a great deal. GET!”
She was a big, black woman, and she picked me off the ground and threw me out on my ass. Her grass door slammed shut. I walked away with my tail between my legs. The women pinched their noses as I passed by.
One woman dropped her groceries and started getting the shakes, sounding like a cat trying to cough up a hairball, and fell to the mud. I tried helping her to her feet, but she kicked me away – literally kicked me in the belly.
She ran off, and I was embarrassed. The elders sat on their wheelchairs, shaking their heads at me in disapproval. I climbed a tree and tried offering them mangos, but it didn't make them happier. They just started throwing them at me.
Goddamn.
At least work was good. Since the village was built on an ancient, Hawaiian-Filipino burial ground, zombies kept climbing up and pestering the villagers and neighboring villages. Many jobs came my way – all zombie hunting, and I made a good amount of money doing it. Soon...I had enough to buy my own condo. There was no going away party or anything like that, which made me kinda depressed...unloved. But the boss – whose real name I never learned – was sad to see me go. He gave me a big hug...and kissed me on the forehead.
And then I left.
I ended up buying that same old condo.
They repainted the walls, but it still pretty much felt the same. It felt like home. On that first night, I slept on the carpet and cried. I missed Nora. I missed Lynn. I even missed those lazy-ass hippies. And, of course, I cried for Shells. Was she happy with her new family? Were they treating her well? Maybe they lived nearby.
So I got up and decided to look for her.
All I did was walk around – walk around the city at night. Maybe I'd just bump into her. I didn't even know what she might've looked like. For all I knew, she probably grew up tall and married young. Maybe she joined a biker gang and shaved all her hairs off. I wouldn't even recognize her. But the walk did me good. It was good to get some cool, fresh air in my lungs. It was nice being in the city again; being under the Honolulu city lights.
I walked by a wall covered in concert fliers. There were also zombie hunting fliers – but not mine. Seemed like others were getting into the business. There was Jackson “The Killer” Ooperson, Percy “Stinging” Hurrowsy, Dina “Fisting” Costello, Roy “Face Master” Gastone...and others. I was happy to hear it. A little competition seemed like fun. Maybe I'd make a friend or two?
That female zombie – the one that wanted me to “save her” – popped into my mind. Maybe it was time to start up again.
Maybe it was time to make more zombie hunting fliers.
After a month of posting fliers, clients started calling me up, started knocking on my door. And business was good. At one point, I even eased down on the drinking – cutting down to just five beers a day. Things were looking up. Many of us were kept busy. There were many zombies to go around. Weird. It was a sudden burst of activity. The great 2000's zombie boom.
I stayed single.
I drank; I ate...I killed aka saved.
Had many adventures: Fights with zombie hunters, ghost hunters, exorcists, fights with choking ghosts. I call that time Doom Business, because it was around then that all these paranormal extermination businesses started popping up: Zombie hunters, troll hunters, ghost hunters, Japanese ghost hunters, Indian ghost hunters, on and on it went with these guys showing up. But that's all for another book.
And then that ghost portal showed up, and all hell broke loose....
CHAPTER THREE
THE BIG CLEAN UP
Every now and then, I'd find some alcohol in a building or rundown store.
Time to relax. I was in an abandoned office building, way up above the city. The sun tanned my face. I always went up there in the morning to drink Jack Daniel's – just eased in a dusty office chair, my feet up on a messy desk, staring out at the ocean, listening to the wind whistle through the busted window. I remember seeing a boat, way off in the distance. It was frozen in the classic 'sinking position', nose up and aimed at the clouds. It was surrounded by smaller boats, all empty and surely littered with corpses.
My eyes grew heavy. It was time for a short, drunken nap.
A scream.
It was a woman.
I knew that beautiful sound anywhere.
I jumped up, fell out of my chair, and crawled to the window and looked down at the street of overturned cars and trucks. A woman stood with her arms up. Three ghosts were flying all around her. But she wasn't screaming out of fear. She was happy. Laughing. The ghosts flew into her and took her soul away – carrying it up to the clouds, to the ghost portal. I ran outside and leaned next to her body.
She was dead, but she was smiling.
Drunk, I stood up and shook my fist at the ghosts.
“Take me!” I begged. “Come back, you bastards. Come back!” I fell to my knees.
“Save me....”
But those ghosts, they just laughed.
My first effort in killing myself was an epic fail. Laughable, even.
It was pretty standard. I went into the woods, flung a rope over a branch and tried to strangle myself. I remember looking up at the sky as I put that badly-made noose around my neck. “I'm gonna do it. Might as well come on down, you ghosts,” I said, voice shaking. “Dinner's ready. Come and get it!”
I jumped...and the branch snapped in two, and I rolled down that hill like a damn fool. Hurt myself pretty bad, too.
The second time, I tried swallowing 100 headache pills, but I just ended up vomiting all over my legs.
Third time, I tried jumping off a building, but I panicked. I was too scared. A strong wind kicked up, and I lost my balance. Jesus Christ! Did you see that?? I almost fell! I had to save myself by grabbing onto the side of that window – broken glass and all.
“You bastards....” I said to no one in particular. “You dirty, rotten bastards....”
After much thought, I was sure I was self-sabotaging my efforts in some unconscious way. I didn't wanna kill myself. And it wasn't just because I didn't have the guts (and I didn't), but because I really did wanna live a little bit longer.