How I Met Barbara The Zombie Hunter

I asked Barbara if I could then watch her use the bathroom.

  She slapped me in the face with both hands and called me a sick pervert. She commanded that I give her ten dollars for her embarrassment. I apologized for my ignorance and gave her a twenty. She walked off with it. I didn’t expect change.

  After we had inflated the tent, we crawled under our blankets and said nothing to each other for almost an hour. When she said she had to leave to use the restroom, I hoped that she’d ask me to watch her so I could get over my fear of watching someone urinate.

  She never asked.

  Eleven.

  Roughly 2,000 people go missing in the United States every day.

  We had to keep moving to reach the hiking trails before sun-up – before the center opened – so no one would see us creeping around in the woods. It wasn’t long before Barbara yelled out in joy and pointed down to a brown lump on a patch of wet grass. I pointed my flashlight at it and stared.

  “Fecal matter?”

  “Yessm! This be not the dog’s or the buffalo’s – or the child’s! Are you listening to me?! This matter that is fecal belongs to the dead. Are you even listening to me?”

  “Yessm.”

  “Hrmm. You are listening to me.”

  She put it in a plastic bag and ordered that I sniff its stuffing. I was appalled, to say the least. She clarified that the hunter must not sniff for danger of injuring their nostrils – that when she was a sidekick she had to go through the exact same thing. It was a learning experience. She promised.

  Hugging myself, I shoved my face into the bag and breathed in the stench. I told her that it was still very much fresh. I was slightly disturbed by the fact that I didn’t throw up my stomach’s contents. Barbara smiled, then sealed the bag and labeled it “Smiles”.

  The sun rose at 7am.

  When we reached one of the hiking trails many early-bird hikers walked past us, smiling, which we returned in kind. I was so nervous that they’d report us.

  I was walking ahead of Barbara when she pulled on my hair and said, “Shhhhh!”

  She pointed up a hill, where the rising sun gave silhouette to a line of pine trees and a lumbering figure.

  Twelve.

  Barbara kissed me on the cheek and whispered, “This be zombie, O’child.” And then she kissed me on the hand and said, “What thou shall see, thou shall learn.” And then she kissed me on the belly and said, “Power.” I wondered if she was going to kiss me on the mouth next, but she didn’t.

  She proceeded to creep up the hill, reaching into her bag and pulling out a blanket. I did NOT follow. I stood my ground, shaking, urinating a little, later pacing back and forth while biting my nails and scratching my belly. Something told me NOT to go, NOT to go up with her. I didn’t want to die. But what if she were in need of help? This is what I’m here for, isn’t it? To help?

  The hunched silhouette staggered…and paused, sniffing the air.

  Had it sensed Barbara drawing near?

  My face cringing, I pulled out a wooden stake and followed Barbara, who was already tiptoeing behind the stranger. I began to worry. What if this was just some poor, lost fool? Murder was frowned upon in this country. I didn’t have the proper orifices to be in prison.

  She threw the blanket over the person.

  He YELLED out something to the effect of “Drawersss-blahhhrgezg230f!” and tried desperately to get the blanket off. He speed walked into trees and yet did not fall.

  Barbara whipped out a stake.

  Before I could yell out in protest – Barbara jumped on this person’s back.

  He was inarticulate in his screaming and his sentences were madly fractured. He danced about in a circle with angry hops, swaying Barbara here and there and everywhere – her legs swinging past me with a thick WOOSH each time.

  The man pulled the blanket off, and for the first time I got a good look at him.

  This “man” looked funny.

  His face was missing – nothing but a giant mass of hair. The man slipped and fell. His torso turned completely around. His back was now literally his front. Barbara was trying to drive the stake into his brain, but he wouldn’t stop shaking his head and spitting in her face. Barbara yelled out in frustration and punched the man in the chest a few times.

  He pulled on her hair and she yanked out his arm. An amazing stream of gore flew out and would’ve soaked her face hadn’t she ducked as quickly as she did. I was startled by the man’s reaction – he did not scream out from pain. He proceeded to tug on Barbara’s hair with the other arm, which she also pulled off at the shoulder. Now both his arms were shooting red in a loud SHHHHHHHHH – fountains that never wanted to stop. I was paralyzed with weirdness.

  My eyes were larger than usual – staring – my hands were clamps and my thighs were having seizures.

  Then I did the unthinkable. As if possessed by some kind of heroic, idiot-ghost, I screeched a battle cry, “Aiiiiiiiiiiyaaaaaa!” and ran toward them with my stake held high in both hands.

  They both looked up at me in horror as I jumped into the air and landed on the zombie’s chest – my stake in its right eye.

  As I pulled it out, Barbara slapped her hands over my facial holes to protect them from the strong, warm splatter of gore.

  I stood up for some reason and said something like, “He has disturbed my intestines! Let us not forget to form a team, female-woman, and put threatening bruises onto these zombies with the vicious action in our karate feet.”

  And then I fainted.

  Somewhere, a baby cried.

  Thirteen.

  I awoke to Barbara’s shining face. I asked her a very important question, “Am I losing the wisdom of my thoughts?” She patted my head and fed me a cracker and said, “Thoughts accompanied by sounds are fetal compositions. Give birth.”

  “That's true.”

  I smiled and hugged her.

  She picked me up and carried me on her shoulder and then stood me in front of the zombie, which was bound to a tree by ropes. Apparently, I hadn’t killed it to death.

  Barbara wanted me to examine the beast – to analyze its movements and scrutinize its rabid odors.

  The thing was slow.

  I told Barbara that I was angry at the zombie for almost getting her killed and asked if I could yell at it. Barbara said, “Zombies are like babies. You have to spank them with your mouth.”

  I nodded and yelled at the beast with, “You’re a louse!”

  That helped calm me down a tad.

  The zombie’s extreme facial hair made me want to be sick. Did it have no eyes? No nose? No eating hole? Hrmm…but it must!

  I asked Barbara if I could cut its hairs, but she said no, for I would not be satisfied by what I might find. Of course this only fired my intrigue further.

  That night, as Barbara snored in her tent, I crept out with a pair of tiny barber scissors and sneaked toward the zombie. The moon reflected against the silver scissors. The creature saw me (I think), but didn’t seem to mind.

  Its racist odors insulted my nostrils. I wanted to go back under the warmth of my blanket, but due to my hatred toward mysteries, I began trimming its face-hair.

  The creature moaned and tried to bite me. I said, “Hush, child!” and cut some more. Little by little I began to see something – some kind of face…

  There was an eyehole.

  I leaned into the hole…and stared as the crickets around us sang.

  Something was moving around inside the eyehole.

  Just then Barbara ran out from the tent, screaming, “THIS IS THE bestial MOMENT WHITE ANGELS GASP!”

  To my horror a creature flew out from the eyehole and latched onto my face. I spun around shrieking and clawed at the baby squirrel. Its hands were like daggers. I tried biting it, but all that did was anger it more.

  Barbara chased after me and pulled on her hair in confusion while saying loudly, “I’m calling you out! I’m moving my legs! I’m moving my legs!”

  I ran int
o a tree – on purpose – face first.

  When I woke up, the squirrel was halfway in my mouth, a corpse – the head sticking out from my lips.

  I stood up and Barbara pulled the tiny cadaver out.

  She said that to learn was to listen. She said this over and over again, even when we ate.

  I couldn’t stop spitting for the next few hours.

  Everything I put in my mouth tasted like bewilderment.

  Fourteen.

  It was now my time to extract the zombie sample. Barbara watched – arms crossed over her clothed breasts. She was smiling.

  The zombie, with its exposed eyehole, growled at me and hurt my feelings. Barbara wanted its tongue. She was quite adamant about this – wanted to put it with her other trophies. I slipped on a pair of latex gloves and gripped my pair of barber scissors. Barbara clapped.

  “Good! Now approach the beast slowly, but surely.”

  “Shall I hold my breath as well?”

  “Now that’s safe and smart.”

  I put a finger on the zombie’s chin and it began biting the air nonstop. I looked to Barbara for assistance, but she was doing jumping jacks. She said that she was trying to sweat out her positive aura onto me. I told her that I could feel her aura traversing through my supple meats and that she shouldn’t stop.

  Filled with Barbara’s special spirit-juice, I pulled off the zombie’s jaw (accidentally) and its tongue flapped in a berserk manner. The tongue was engorged with dead blood and seemed bestial at best.

  I couldn’t get a good grip on it for it was so slippery with saliva. I washed my hands with dirt and sprinkled some dirt onto the zombie-tongue with my pinky raised. It was at this