Yep, all we had to do was park that sucker, aim the cannon and let the water flow and flow and motherfucking flow. And no amount of withered flesh can withstand that. Nope, cleared a path dead (pun intended) ahead, as, it seemed, it had many times before, judging by the wall of bones on all sides.
“Yuck,” said I.
“Times a million,” added Dara. “And there but for the grace of God go I.” She grinned. “I used to know a drag queen by that name. Grace O’God. Oh the things that queen hid beneath her habit. One time—”
“Later, hon,” I said, patting her back. “We have work to do.”
And there again was one of those gross understatements. Emphasis on the gross. In fact, as soon as we deboarded we were assaulted by the stench of it all: from the newly rekilled right on through to all the past-kills and beyond to the zombies held in place by the wall of decay. Sadly, there were swarms of them, too, however held back they were, because, while zombies can surely trudge, we can’t hop, skip or jump—at least not without tripping, falling and promptly writhing. And, trust me, writhing for all eternity would truly suck, big time. Like being George Bush. Number one or two. In any case, we pretty much had a clear path from the boat to the stadium.
Um, pretty much.
Close but not cigar. See, there were gaps in that pile-of-mangled-corpses wall. And a zombie is nothing if not determined. Literally. Nothing. Throw three juicy humans into the mix, and determined transforms into bound and determined. As in bounding our way.
Flo and Ginger and VaVa lifted their weapons up high as the moans and groans and scraping of feet against concrete filled our ears. “Wait!” I shouted. “Let me try first.”
“Huh?” managed Flo. “You gonna wow them with a floor routine, sugar? Because, don’t take this the wrong way, but I don’t exactly think you have it in you.”
Dara grinned. “Wanna make a bet?”
“Double or nothing,” whispered I, my hands held up high, throat clearing (to whatever degree it still could). “HALT!” I then bellowed, body trembling from the exertion.
And, though it had been a while since I last commanded any new zombies, this lot of them turned out to be just like the ones back home. Which is to say, they halted.
“Holy smoke,” said Ginger, eyes wide.
“Yeah,” coughed VaVa. “What she said.”
To which Flo added. “My bad.” And then lowered her weapon.
“Never gets old,” I commented, with a grin.
“Ever,” said Dara. “Now let’s go, before they change their minds.”
“Or sneak in from the rear,” said VaVa. “Which normally I don’t mind, but—”
“Got it,” I said, leading the way, all eyes now on me, just as they should be.
Sadly, though, others things were not as they, too, should be. Sure, the stadium was there, but the side door the queens usually used was unlocked, the chain a tangle on the cement floor. “How?” croaked out Ginger.
“Better question: why?” said I, a short while later.
As in, why were the freezers all turned off, the contents within destroyed, gas-powered generators smashed to bits, cases and cases and cases of perishables nothing but rubble now? As in why now, after all this time? As in, why do this to the few-remaining humans?
And, while we were at it, who was doing it all?
Though, of course, Flo had the biggest quandary to face: the what. As in, “What am I going to eat when my chocolate runs out?!”
VaVa patted her on her broad expanse of back. “There’s still plenty of tomatoes and cauliflower back on the island.”
Flo broke out into sobs. “Kill me! Kill me now!”
Which, as it turned out, wasn’t the smartest thing to be shouting, all things considered. And, no, not because of the millions of zombies outside the stadium so much as the dozen or so within, all of them trudging our way, jaws unclenched, hands outstretched, moans at a fevered, hungry pitch.
VaVa poked me in the side. “Now would be a good time for an encore, sweetie.”
I nodded and lifted my hands into the air. “Halt!” I shouted. But still they kept right on trudging, mouths even more agape, the volume of their groans notching up. I planted my feet and held my hands up higher. “Halt!” I shouted. “Cease! Desist! Stand the fuck still!” But no. Nada, nil, zilch. It was as if they had cotton in their ears. Or just didn’t appreciate a good act when they saw one.
“Our turn,” said Ginger, gun held up, with VaVa’s and Flo’s quick to follow, all three unleashing their rounds, all three taking down the zombies in about two seconds flat. Ginger looked my way and smiled. “See, we’re more butch than we look.”
“Damn,” said VaVa, gun now at her side, free hand held up to face. “Broke a nail.”
Ginger shrugged. “Or maybe not.” She lowered her own gun. “In any case, care to explain why this batch of undead failed to heed your command?”
Dara moved to my side and whispered in my ear. “Yeah, hon, what gives?”
I walked over to one of the newly dead undead and leaned down as best I could. They looked like the other zombies, smelled, blech, like the other zombies, and, no, no cotton in their ears, so, yeah, what gave? “Not a clue,” I replied. “That’s never happened before. Zombies have always listened to me. Always.”