“If you say so,” said Dara. “Pronouns were never much my thing.”
I nodded and patted his back. “Sorry, Ricky. Yes, that’s correct. But can you find the spot?”
“Can you stop calling me Ricky?”
I shook my head. “Sorry, sugar. The name’s already stuck. Besides, it could be worse.”
“How, exactly?”
I didn’t have the heart (literally) to tell him that his name could be Lester. So, instead, I changed the subject. “Look, the sooner we find the spot, the sooner we get out of here. And where we’re going there are no zombies.” I pointed once more to the milling, groaning, stinking throng.
“Apart from us,” interjected Dara, pointing at the two of us.
“Right. Apart from us,” said I. “And with our makeup know-how, it’s almost impossible to tell that we’re even zombies to begin with.”
He sighed. Sort of. “Uh huh.” Then he pointed outward and slightly up. “There.”
I squinted into the distance. “Bitch can fly?”
His sigh turned groan and he looked at me skeptically. “Really?”
“Sorry,” I apologized. “It’s been a long day.”
Dara nodded. “Tacked onto a few hundred years.”
And I nodded. “Seriously.”
But still he pointed up. “See that clock tower?”
Again I squinted. “Yes. And?”
“When this person who commanded me spoke, it was like a light had been flicked on, dim though it was. And though I still didn’t have free will, didn’t have any real consciousness, I could, suddenly, I don’t know, somewhat feel, could hear and see and smell for the first time in ages and be aware of those sensations.”
Which meant that at last we had some hope, dim, as he put it, though it was. “And what you saw was that clock tower?”
The sigh made its third and final appearance—for the time being. “Took you long enough.”
“Don’t be fresh,” I cautioned. “I might not control you, but I still control all of them.” Again I pointed outward.
He stared down at his withered, cracked, purple hands. “Trust me. Fresh I ain’t. And sorry. In any case, yes, when this person commanded me, I saw the clock tower, locked at three, both then and now.”
Dara stared at me. I stared at her. Ricky stared at the both of us. And we then in turn stared out at the sea of undead. What if we did find this person now? What if he, she or it had an entire army at their disposal? Would I start a war? Could I start a war? Was I even dressed for war? More importantly, should I wait for the humans in the morning, for reinforcements?
“Well?” asked Ricky.
“Yeah,” said Dara. “Well?”
I gulped, or at least made a concerted effort to. “I suppose a little recognizance couldn’t hurt. Much.” And so I led the charge, though shuffle was more like it. Still, I wasn’t taking any chances. In other words, we needed guards. “Everyone who can hear me,” I shouted once we reached the beginning of the alleyway, “surround us as soon as we enter the street!”
All in all, it sounded really swell on paper, though not so much in real, um, life. “Oomph,” grunted Dara a moment later. “Too close! Too close!”
“Nonchalantly surround us!” I quickly amended with. Which was about like telling a sheep to go and shear itself. In other words, nuh uh, wasn’t going to happen, not without a whole lot of bruises and scrapes. Because a nonchalant zombie brought us back to the whole pinball analogy, like undead bumper cars without the much-needed bumpers.
“That didn’t help!” Ricky shouted above the groaning din as the horde both surrounded us and simultaneously knocked into us. “Try something else!”
I nodded and bellowed, “Surround us, but keep a couple of feet away!”
Phew. Well, that pretty much did it. And then, at last, we started walking toward the clock tower. The zombies followed on all sides, creating a human(ish) shield. Yes it looked odd, to say the least, but it was protection, just in case.
That is, had the enemy attacked from where we were expecting them to attack from.
***
It was slow going to the tower. Three zombies were sluggish, at best, but a gaggle of zombies—a new phrase for me, and one I didn’t necessarily delight in—was more like a caravan of snails, replete with slime trails. So by the time we made it to our destination, it was already getting dark out. And darkness was not our friend, seeing as the buildings were fairly tall and all we’d soon have to light our way with was moonlight, which would be fairly blocked by said tall buildings.
“This is not as fun as I imagined,” admitted Ricky.
“You thought this would be fun?” Dara asked, shuffling all the while.
He pointed on all sides. “Better than the alternative.” He stopped pointing. “If just barely.”
The clock tower stood looking out over a small square, long forgotten stores and cafés on all sides, a massive groaning throng dead center to it all. I stared up, the sky a darkening blue, all traces of lovely gay pink obliterated. It should’ve been an omen of things to come, but, sadly, we weren’t thinking that many steps ahead.
Though, we were quick to discover, someone else apparently was.
Cue the doom and gloom music.
“Um,” said Ricky, “what’s that? Looks like a light.”