Bob Fingerman - Pariah

Dabney watched, now swinging both legs to his side of the roof. “White boys want to get themselves killed, that’s their affair,” he whispered, ready for a hasty departure.

Eddie advanced on the strung-up twosome, one male, and one barely recognizable as female, any feminine characteristics eroded by living death. Eddie now used the line like a leash, jerking the rod to make them sit up and notice their captor. Distracted from their predicament, the zombies, upon seeing Eddie, began to hiss and slobber, thick ropes of opaque, grayish drool hanging from their slack jaws. Eddie laughed. “You think if I knocked all her teeth out she’d give me a hummer?” he asked, smirking.

“Dude, I don’t even…” Dave was at a loss.

“Maybe I should bone her till she snaps in two. Maybe I should just bust her up into pieces and see which ones keep twitchin’, then fuck ’em.”

“ Dude …” Dave’s lower lip quivered with dismay and disgust.

“I’m just messing with you, Davis. Chill. Like I’d ever in a million years slip it to a skeezer like this. These are desperate times, but not that desperate.”

Dave recalled Eddie’s encounter with the Wandering Jewess and wasn’t so sure. Eddie stepped directly in front of the zombies. The line had cut deep into the male’s throat and thick, nearly black grue seeped out. His flaking, sun-baked skin was puckered around the incision, the edge frayed and ratty. His eyes were gray and hazy, but their direction couldn’t be clearer. Both zombies were intensely interested in Eddie and to a lesser extent Dave, who’d retreated a few feet. Only if his help were essential would he advance. The zombies dropped their claws away from the line around their necks and recoiled from Eddie. “You see this shit? You thought the drugs was barking up the wrong tree? Look at ’em, Dave. They’re backing away. See?”

“Yeah, ’cause they’re scared shitless. Doesn’t mean you’re immune, Eddie.”

“Killjoy,” he sneered, then swung the hammer in a graceful arc and knocked the jaw clear off the female. “Bull’s-eye!” He guffawed as the female’s hands jerked up to her ruined face in astonishment. “There goes your modeling career,” Eddie scoffed, well pleased. “And so much for that blowjob, too. Although…” The zombie’s tongue lolled stupidly in the jawless opening between her upper teeth and gullet.

Dave turned away and heaved.

“Fuckin’ killjoy ,” Eddie repeated. He stepped over to the female and smashed out her remaining teeth. “Gummy bitch.” The male began to fight against the noose again. Brain-dead or not, he could sense what was coming and it wasn’t a tasty meal or fresh flowers. Eddie palmed the back of the female’s head and jerked it forward, severing the head altogether, giving the male more room to claw at the line. Eddie stepped back and watched as the male struggled to his feet and spat and growled.

“Gotta love this guy,” Eddie said. “He’s a fighter. A fighter who’s gonna lose, but still.”

The zombie stumbled back as it managed to free itself.

“Can’t have that,” Eddie said, and with a roundhouse kick sent the zombie spiraling off the roof back to its fellows.

“ Yoink, ” Eddie said, flashing his pearlies.

“Promise me you’re never going to do that again,” Dave said, straightening up from his puking position.

“Why make an empty promise, dude?” Eddie beamed as he popped open another brew. “I just found my new regular sunny-afternoon thing.”

Glancing at his lean-to and considering the vacant apartments below, Dabney contemplated a change of venue, thinking it might be time to move this party indoors.

“I want to go out with you,” Karl said, standing on the landing by Mona’s open door.

“On a date?” Mona stared at Karl, her eyes betraying no hint of derision, surprise, or even much in the way of general interest.

“No, no . Not on a date,” he stammered. “I want to leave the building with you next time you go out. On an errand.”

A passable facsimile of curiosity flashed across Mona’s face. “Why?”

“An experiment. I want to see if your zombie repulsion has enough juice to keep them at bay with a companion, if your umbrella of safety extends beyond just you. Remember the childhood game ‘Ghost in the Graveyard’?” Mona shook her head. “Okay, it was like a variation on tag, only there was a graveyard-the playground, your living room, wherever-and a base. The base was a safe zone. So, one kid is chosen to be the ghost. He’s out in the graveyard. Other kids are positioned around the graveyard and have to get back to base. If the ghost tagged you, you were the ghost. But the way we played it was if kids locked arms, or even tied clothing together, you could use ‘electricity’ and leave the base so long as you were tethered to it with a lifeline. The lifeline carried electricity. Not real electricity, you know, just the power of the base. So you could venture into the graveyard safely and taunt the ghost. Sometimes you all were on base and you’d mock the ghost mercilessly until he threatened to quit. Anyway, I want to see if your gift has electricity. You understand?”

“Bad idea.”

“Maybe so, but I need to know.”

“More like you need to die.”

Karl decided he didn’t like when Mona spoke in full sentences. He felt zoomy and his skin prickled. He actually felt electricity, currents flowing through his epidermis. His hairs stood on end. Maybe it was excitement. Maybe it was the drugs. The drugs. What were those drugs? All those years of living a “Just Say No” lifestyle, and now this. Now a lot of things. If Mona was taking speed she sure didn’t show it. Karl knew of a white-trash family near his town that cooked up homemade crystal meth. Hopped-up farm boys would roar out of that house in pickups and blast buckshot into neighbors’ mailboxes and anything else that didn’t move-and sometimes things that did. Big Manfred had pronounced them “doomed.”

“So, what do you say, Mona? Can I come?”

“Bring your Bible.”

“To stop the zombies? Like The Exorcist ? ‘The power of Christ compels you,’ ” Karl said, doing a bad impersonation of Max von Sydow.

“In case you need Last Rites.”

Karl definitely didn’t like when Mona spoke. Drugs. The Antichrist. Some folks were right, others weren’t. Mona fell into the latter category. How were they fixed for staples? To the best of Karl’s knowledge, all coffers were brimming. He wanted to put this to the test. Abe had mentioned wanting books. Was that call to leave the nest? Karl felt impatient and Mona’s impassivity exacerbated it. He wasn’t a violent man but he felt the desire to slap her, if only to see what reaction she’d have, if any. Would she get mad? Would she fight back? It was maddening, her demeanor. He wanted to punch her. Not in the face, though. In the stomach. He wanted her to wince and bend over. He wanted to force her to her knees and make her supplicate.

What?

“Mona, would you join me in prayer?” He offered his hands, which now trembled. He was so full of self-revulsion he thought he’d burst. If one could physically purge self-loathing Karl would be the human geyser, spewing from all available orifices. Was it natural madness? The drugs? Who could tell? Cabin fever? “ Please ?” he implored. Mona shrugged and looked uncomfortable- a recognizable emotion . Not the one he’d been hoping for, but human all the same. “It’s okay,” he sputtered. “I’m sorry. I don’t want to impose my thing on you. It’s okay.”

“Cool,” Mona said as she gripped the doorknob, closing the door.

“Yeah. Prayer is a private matter. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean-”