Derek Goodman - The Reanimation of Edward Schuett

Yes, this was most definitely not Stanford anymore.

The man from the tower smacked Edward on the shoulder. “Hey, don’t you go doing that.”

“Doing what?”

“I’ve seen that look before when some asswipe wanders up here from Denver or somewhere. That’s the look of you thinking the place you come from is so much better. Well it’s not, so fuck off.”

“I didn’t say anything like that,” Edward said.

“You didn’t need to. Just remember, you better mind your fucking manners around here. We don’t like fucking rude people, got it?”

“Yeah, I do.”

“Good for you. Now look here. I got to go run and have someone report to my super that you came wandering in here, but for now you can go get yourself something to eat and the boss will be by to talk to you in a while, got it? Just head on down Arena Street here until you actually get to the arena. Right across the street you’ll see a building with a sign that says it belongs to Stupid Jerry. You go in there and tell them Bert sent you in and you need the Dumbass Wanderer special. You got all that?”

Edward nodded that he did, not because he actually understood any of it but simply because the guy was starting to give him the creeps. He supposed that would have been rather funny, a zombie being creeped out by someone, if he didn’t think that mentioning the joke out loud would get him killed.

He followed the directions Bert had given him. Stupid Jerry’s turned out to be what passed for a diner in this town, and the Dumbass Wanderer special was something the establishment had worked out with the Laramie security forces. They would feed the occasional human that ended up this far out (almost never on purpose) and the security people would foot the bill. That didn’t mean the waitress at Stupid Jerry’s was happy to serve him, nor did it mean the food they served him much resembled food. The special consisted of some soft substance (possibly mashed potatoes) mixed with meat (rabbit was Edward’s best guess) and some kind of sauce (which was pretty much unidentifiable) all served on a ceramic plate which, through some miracle of previously unknown chemistry, was somehow rusty.

Edward did his best to force it all down as though he were exactly as starved as he had claimed. The potatoes threatened to come up, but the meat worked just fine for him. The sauce, which tasted like little more than maple syrup heavily seasoned with pepper, made him think that pretty soon he might recreate his early CRS pants accidents.

He was just finishing it up when Bert came through the door with a short but very muscular man in a duster and a cowboy hat. Edward had to look again to make sure he wasn’t hallucinating, but the man was real enough. The hat looked practically new, but the duster was ripped in many places and pretty well shredded where its too-long length dragged on the floor.

“Hello there!” the man said as he walked up to Edward’s rickety table. He had an enormous smile on his face and stuck out his hand for Edward to shake before he’d even come fully through the door. “Bert here told me your name is Edward. That correct? And he also told me you’re here from the C-R-S.” He said the three letters slowly, as though he were pronouncing them for the first time in his life.

“Um, yes, but I wasn’t really supposed to end up here.”

“Yes, yes, Bert told me all about that also. Tell you what, I’m going to join you and sit down. Do you mind if I sit down Edward?”

Edward was starting to think that he did mind, that there was something not quite right about the way this guy was going on, but he didn’t think it would be a good idea to say no.

The man took a seat. “I suppose I should tell you my name, especially since I hope we become really good friends, Edward. Name’s Billy Horton. I run security for a good chunk of Laramie.”

Edward nodded. “I’m sorry, did you say friends?”

“I did indeed, Edward, I did indeed. Would you like that?”

“Um…”

“Now, now, don’t go answering that just yet. Don’t go jumping the gun. I think I should like to talk to you a little bit first. Can we talk?”

The problem, as Edward saw it, was not whether or not he could talk but whether or not Horton could ever stop. Edward didn’t know quite what he was going to do yet, but he did know he needed to do it quick. He highly doubted Liddie could overheat in the van, and he was pretty confident she couldn’t escape, but the idea of her out there alone was making him nervous.

“Sure,” Edward said.

“That’s good. Real good. I’ll cut to the chase, because we don’t like wasting time around here, you know what I mean? Bert said something about you wanting a way back to Denver. Is that right?”

“Yes.”

“Well, I’ll tell you what. I’ve got a truck that maybe I can give you completely free of charge and you can get right on back there right away. You like the sound of that?”

Edward forced himself to keep his mouth from dropping open. That sounded perfect. Too perfect. “Yes, that would be so great. But…”

“But what, Edward?”

“It just seems to me that Laramie might be the kind of place that needs any vehicle it can get.”

“Well, every place is like that, isn’t it? But we’ll be willing to give one up maybe, that is if you can give us something in return.”

“I’m sorry, but I don’t have much. I’ve got some pay cards.”

“We don’t want your plastic pay things, Edward. No one real uses those things. But you do have access to something we need. You see, I’m not just part of the security forces around here. I’m also a business owner. I’m a thriving business owner. Too thriving. What I sell, people buy, but I don’t have as much to sell as I used to. And that’s where you come in, my very good friend. I think I could use someone who works for a place like the C-R-S as a, why don’t we call it a business partner?”

This wasn’t good, but Edward thought it couldn’t hurt too much to play along at the moment. He needed to get that truck, and the sooner the better.

“I’m listening. What kind of business?”

“I’m in the entertainment business, Edward. Did you see that place across the street when you came in?”

“Um, yeah. Bert called it the Arena.” He’d seen it, but he hadn’t been sure what it was supposed to be. From the outside it just looked like a big round building, about two stories high and taking up a whole city block.

“That’s what it is, all right. And in that Arena we keep people happy. They’ll pay the big bucks to go in and watch even when they don’t have the big bucks.”

“Some kind of sports thing?” Edward asked.

“Oh hell yeah, biggest and best sport in the world, Edward. Killing fucking zeds.”

Edward tried not to let any of his horror show on his face. “You know, I think I’ve heard of other places that do that.”

“But no other place is anywhere good as mine. You should see some of the setups I have. I have this giant saw I made, yes? And it spins around and around and drops down onto the zed. Great stuff, you’d think, yeah? Except the way I have it set up, it doesn’t cut all the way through the zed. It slices them all the way from groin to the base of their neck. Never touches the head, so they’re pretty much split in half but they’re still moving! It’s a classic!”

Edward felt the Dumbass Wanderer special trying to come up again, although this time he wasn’t sure he would be able to stop it. “I’m afraid I still don’t understand. What does this have to do with me?” He half expected Billy Horton to scream that he wanted Edward to be the next attraction in his show and jump at him from across the table. Edward was suddenly painfully aware of the grainy photo that most of America had seen. His only hope was that these people didn’t even have television, or at least were too busy watching their formerly living citizens get ripped apart to bother watching the news.