In any case, we’re here, we’re dead, get over it.
Or into it.
Because zombie love has a lot going for it: one, we don’t get tired—it’s tantric sex on a whole new level; two, as long as we’re horny, our erections never flag—yippy for that snapping, crackling and popping radiation; and three, no sticky mess to clean up. I mean, our body fluids dried up ages ago. Ergo, no saliva, no tears and no come. Um, yes, we come, just not with come.
So I fucked her for hours and hours, some makeup remover used for lube, our bodies in perfect, if not a bit rickety, syncopated rhythm. The troubles of the day momentarily got wiped clean away, until, finally, we shot, if only in our heads, our bodies quivering and quaking in gut-wrenching and quite lovely ecstatic spasms. Not human sex, no; more like human sex 2. 0, the next generation.
“Wow,” Dara finally said, my cock gliding out of her stupendous ass. “That was—”
“Fucking incredible?”
She shook her head. “Incredible fucking.”
I grinned. “Lord knows I’ve had enough practice.”
Her shake turned nod. “And it does indeed make perfect.”
Though none of that helped us with our mission. Ego boost, fine, but mission boost, nuh uh. So back to the investigating we went. Um, after we put on our new frocks, of course. Because a good fuck deserves an equally good frock, right? We’ll go with right on that one.
“Too late to go tracking the invader’s boat again,” said Dara.
I looked at the solar-powered clock. It was, as she said, late. And there was no way for us to navigate the ferry across to the mainland. Plus, now it was even more dangerous to do so, knowing what we knew: that not all the zombies out there heeded my commands. Stupid fucking zombies.
I sighed. “Let’s head back to Ellis Island, to the museum. Maybe there’s a clue back there, in the history of this place.”
And so, in the black of night, we strolled through town, the only sound that of the crashing waves and the wind as it whipped across us. It took us a while to make it to Ellis Island, but we had plenty of time to, pardon the expression, kill.
Inside, the museum was eerily lit, shrine-like. Again I stared up at the mural, my friends brought back to life in 1D. “Huh,” I soon said as my eyes went from left to right.
“Huh what?” asked Dara, her eyes following mine.
I pointed at the mural, to my friends as they fought the zombie horde, weapons held up high: Destiny with a machete, Blondella with a pearl-inlayed pistol, and Kit, with of all things, a Snickers Bar. Bitches looked fierce, by the way. I smiled despite the inevitable outcome. Still, my “huh” was well-deserved. And so my finger kept pointing, from the mural to the cases around us. “Look again.”
She squinted at the mural and then at the cases, back and forth, back and forth. “Sorry, Creature, not seeing anything amiss. Though maybe Destiny’s shoes didn’t exactly go with her blouse, and that wig Kit had on, well, not to speak ill of the dead, but—”
“No,” I said. “And, trust, me, they heard plenty of ill in life in those regards. It’s just . . .” I walked to the case closest to me. In it were Blondella’s clothes, the ones she last wore. Again I pointed to the mural as Dara moved from the center of the great hall to where I was now standing, my voice slightly echoing in all directions. “It’s just, this wasn’t Blondella’s stuff.”
Dara scratched beneath her wig. Not because she itched, because zombies simply don’t do that, but because she was confused. Again she looked from the mural and back to the ratted and tattered clothes reverently encased before us. “It’s the same outfit that’s in the mural, Creature.”
I nodded. “Well, yes, it looks to be the same outfit that’s in the mural, but it’s not Blondella’s.”
“You lost me, hon.”
I pointed to the pumps first. “What size are those?”
She squinted and bent down as best she could for a better look. “I dunno, maybe a nine or ten, about my size. Why?”
“And what size pump do I wear?”
She didn’t have to look to know that answer because she always hated that we couldn’t share each other’s shoes. “Twelve, you big-footed queen.”
I nodded. “Blondella and I wore the same size. Same size shoe, same size dress.” Again I pointed at the case before us. “Same size pantsuit.” And, yes, I could remember all of that, even though it’d been several hundred years, because every last one of my brain cells, every last memory, had been locked in place at the same time that I had in fact been locked in place.
“Huh,” my partner huhed.
“Exactly,” I said. “Huh. As in huh, that outfit might’ve fit Destiny, but Blondella was a big girl, tall, like me. Now, that’s a nice pantsuit, but it isn’t Blondella’s. And it might look like the outfit in the mural, but, again, not Blondella’s.”
“Huh,” Dara repeated. “But why make it look like it was?”
Just then, we heard footsteps approaching. I turned, Dara turned, and the approaching queen stepped into the dim light.
“Couldn’t sleep?” It was Ginger.
I chuckled, as did Dara. “Um, sure, we’ll go with that.” I left out the three hundred plus years without sleeping thing, as it tended to make humans nervous. “And, I’m sorry, did we disturb you?”