“At least an entire canister. Why, is that a problem?” I replied.
“We live on a small island, Creature,” she informed. “Everything is doled out evenly so that everyone has the same amounts, and even then we’re only able, as a community, to store in our homes what’s needed for at most six months at a time.”
I knew what she was getting at. “So you’re saying that you don’t have a canister of salt, that no one does?”
“I don’t even use salt,” she informed. “Leads to water retention. And my dresses are tight enough as it is.”
She had a point. “So where do you all keep your reserves then?”
Her gulp was telltale. “Remember the stadium we visited?”
If I could’ve echoed her gulp, I would have. “The one where everything was smashed to bits.”
She touched fingertip to nose. It landed dead on. Damn the living. “That’s the one.”
“And if we start going door to door now?” added Lola.
“Then we’re dead,” said Dara. “Or, um, deader. Because no way are they going to greet us with open arms, let alone give us their salt.”
“And if we’re killed or captured again,” said I, “then there’s no one left to battle Blondella.” I tossed up my hands. They went about two and a half inches high. “Suggestions?”
“Beat the bitch now,” said Lola. “Beat her now and get the salt in us later, even after we possibly turn.”
I looked at VaVa, who was now eyeing me uncertainly. Either that or one of her enormous eyelashes was wonky. “Can you do that?” I asked. “If we turn, can you get the salt into us later?”
“Get the salt into you?” she asked, those uncertain eyes now wide. “You mean hold four zombies down and dump salt into their mouths?”
I forced a smile. “Well, you did promise me that you’d return us to Utah. Good luck with that if we’re rampaging zombies.”
“Yeah,” said Dara. “Good luck with that.”
VaVa sighed, yet again. “Fine, let’s just, as you said, beat the bitch.”
“Beat the bitch!” shouted Lola.
“Beat the bitch!” shouted Ricky.
“And if we turn,” said I, “watch that you don’t scrape your hands against my incisors. Ten to one, you won’t be taking a dirt nap for a long time to come then.”
“A long, long time,” tossed in Dara.
VaVa squinted her eyes shut. “Oh goody.” Then she opened them again. “Now please, let’s just go already!”
***
Of course, now we had a new problem to contend with, apart from the fact that we had less than an hour to kill Blondella and apart from the risk of all of us turning and killing VaVa and apart from the island possibly blowing up at any moment. KAPOW! See, the problem was that four zombies and one drag queen in one small golf cart was next to near impossible to miss. Actually, we’ll just go with impossible, seeing as everyone we passed immediately spotted us, fabulous wigs or no fabulous wigs.
“Stop them!” we soon heard.
“Traitors!” came next.
“Kill the zombies!” Not surprisingly, that seemed to be a popular one.
And, lastly, “Who are you wearing?”
VaVa’s sigh returned. “We’ll have to stop teaching that in school,” she groaned. “Provided there are still schools to teach in.” She looked in her rearview mirror as we all in turn looked behind us. “And provided that the islanders don’t capture us first.” Which was a distinct possibility, considering that a few dozen were now giving chase. And, yes, it is easy to outrace a golf cart. Normally. Then again, when all few dozen were running in three-inch heels or better, well, not so easily as it turned out. Thank goodness.
In other words, we made it to the end of the island, back to Lady Liberty, with about a four-minute lead, give or take.
Up to the pier we drove, Blondella’s boat still on fire, belching black smoke into the air, Blondella herself fuming nearby. As to explaining why she had the explosives in the first place, it seemed, judging by the fact that she was still free, she’d convinced the islanders of her innocence. Given that she was their goddess, it probably didn’t take too much convincing. Which was indeed ironic because Blondella was many things, but innocent, nuh uh, not so much. Not three hundred years ago and certainly not now.