He opened his eyes again. “Fine. You’re right. Now could you, uh, help me up? I seem to be . . .” He appeared to be searching for just the right word. “Stuck.” And that, indeed, was just the right word for it: stuck. Not living, not dead, but in a sort of stasis.
I grabbed one arm, Dara the other, and the two of us yanked until three stuck zombies were standing, surrounded by a whole slew of unthinking, unfeeling, uncaring, uneverything undead.
“Thanks,” he said.
“Don’t mention it,” I replied. As in seriously don’t mention it. Because now he was my responsibility too, and, trust me, I already had way too many of those to contend with as it was.
Way, way too many.
Ricky Shea
With our hands still gripping his arms, we managed our way through the throng and off to a vacant alleyway. There we had breathing room. Stinky breathing room, yes, but at least we weren’t playing zombie pinball anymore.
“I’m . . . I’m dead, right?” asked Ricky, right off the bat.
“Kind of, sort of, though technically—”
“Dead,” he interrupted me.
“Yeah. Dead. But with benefits,” I replied.
He sighed. Though it came out more wheezy rasp than anything else. “And you’re . . .”
Dara nodded. “Zombies.”
“Zombie drag queens,” I quickly corrected.
His lip quivered. “You’re joking.”
I poked Dara in the ribs. “Look, it’s a long story.”
“Really long,” Dara tossed in.
“Right. And we don’t have much time. Our friends are picking us up early tomorrow morning. Down by the water. Beyond . . .” I pointed to the undead masses out ahead. “Them.”
He blinked. “And these friends. They’re all zombie drag queens, too?”
I couldn’t help but grin. “Drag queens, yes. Zombies, no. In fact, we might be the only two zombie drag queens left.”
Dara pointed her bony finger my way. “Creature here is the queen of the zombies, in fact. Has a whole herd of minions waiting for her back in Utah.”
Again Ricky blinked. “Utah. Sure, that would be the place for them, right?”
I patted his back. “I know it sounds, um, weird, but you sort of have to take it all with a grain of salt.”
“Or a satchel of it,” Dara muttered.
“What was that?” Ricky asked.
“Never mind,” I replied, throwing my love a warning glare. “In any case, you’re sort of the key to a puzzle of ours, perhaps for all humanity, what little of it remains.”
“Me?” he asked. “And what’s different about me?” Now it was his turn to point to the ambling throng out ahead. “Compared to, well . . . them.” He grimaced. Or at least grimaced more than he was already grimacing. Truth be told, in the zombie repertoire of top ten facial expressions, grimacing comprises numbers one through seven.
“Look, Ricky,” started Dara.
“Lester,” Ricky informed.
I laughed. It was hard not to. “Told you so,” I said to her.
“I’ll never remember that,” she replied, looking his way. “Ricky is way easier.”
“Than Lester?”
She nodded. “Hey, when you’re a zombie, even one extra letter can be difficult. Besides, you look like a Ricky.”
If at all possible, his grimace sunk even further south. “Doubtful, but, be that as it may, why am I talking and thinking and standing still, and they’re not?” His hand was still pointing outside the alleyway. “And why and or how am I the key to your puzzle? You don’t even know me, as far as I can recall.”
I snapped my fingers, if only in my head. “Recall,” I replied. “That’s why you’re the key, you see.”
“No,” he said. “I don’t see. All I see are zombies, even if a couple of them are a bit prettier than the others.”
I blushed. Again, if only in my head. “You think we’re pretty?”
Poor Ricky. He wasn’t looking at all happy about any of this. Oh well. “Please just answer the question. Any of them. Even just one,” he pleaded, and I paused and Dara paused as well. “Anytime you’re ready. Now would be good, though.”
Dara spoke up. “Creature here, well, like I said, she’s the queen of the zombies. They all listen to her. At least, um, they all used to. You, however, wouldn’t. When you were . . .”
Again he blinked. “One of them.” And still he pointed.
“Right,” I said. “One of them. See, for whatever reason, which we’re still trying to figure out, there’s probably another queen or king out there, someone else the zombies obey. And this queen or king is trying to kill my friends, the ones that are picking us up tomorrow morning, and they’re just about the last of all humankind.”
“Apart from your minions in Utah,” he chimed in with.
I nodded. “See, now you’re getting it.”
He shook his head. “Not even close, but do continue, please.”
“Right,” I said, soldiering on. “Anyway, you obey this other queen or king, seeing as you don’t obey me. So, we figured, maybe you could—”
“Lead you to this queen or king.” Now his head was nodding, as best it could, considering that it’d been locked in place, until recently, for more than three hundred years. “And then what?”
“Then what what?” asked Dara.
“Then what happens to me?” he asked.
Ah, the million dollar question. Have I already said go figure? Because it’s worth repeating. I mean, go figure he’d ask that question almost immediately. “We’re . . . um . . . not sure.”