APOCALYCIOUS: Satire of the Dead (23 page)

             
21 noticed Daniel’s hands shaking and grinned malignantly. “
I don’t want any trouble,”
he mimicked, in a whiny sing-song voice, and then looked around to make sure everyone was watching. His smile wilted when he saw 47 lift his large girth from the bottom bunk and stood to the right of Daniel. He didn’t say a word, but only stood and looked placidly at 21.

             
“Dang it 47, this isn’t about you. This is about me and
him
,” said 21, thrusting a finger at Daniel’s chest. Again Barnes didn’t say a word; he just continued to look directly at 21’s eyes. There was no sense of anger in that stare only one of matter of fact resolution.

             
Daniel turned to his bunkmate. “It’s alright, man there’s just been a misunderstanding,” he said to Barnes.

             
“It’s gonna hurt, Dannie,” whispered Barnes, then shook his head once with the ghost of a grin on his lips and sat back down on the edge of his bunk.

Daniel turned back to 21. “OK, it looks like we got off on the wrong foot, man. I’m Daniel Tyson,” he said and held out his hand to 21.

              21 looked at the outstretched hand for a minute then started laughing. When he regained his composure he wiped his eyes and said, “I don’t care what your name is. I don’t like your face.”

             
“Well it’s the only one I’ve got, so it looks like you’re gonna have to get used to it, man,” said Daniel in typical smart ass fashion.

             
The next two seconds seemed to stretch out into minutes. He watched frozen, as 21’s expression changed. A huge vein emerged beneath 21’s tattoo on his forehead as Daniel stood there and watched the man’s hands ball into fists, his left foot moved forward as his right fist shot up and outward, he watched as the fist grew larger and larger as it raced toward his jaw. Daniel didn’t flinch, didn’t duck, didn’t roll with the punch, he didn’t even tuck his chin; he just stood there awash in his own amazement until the fist connected with his jaw. Daniel staggered backward against the bunk and fell, spinning in a half pirouette as he sprawled on the concrete floor with a smack of skin on cement. 47 had been right, it did hurt. It hurt
bad
, but it hadn’t hurt nearly as bad as he had always thought a shot to the face would. Blood and spit ran from his mouth and he spat a wad of it onto the floor. He heard laughing and was embarrassed. He felt his face flush; this had been his biggest fear all these years. It was the reason he had never gotten into a fight, even when pushed and bullied. It had never really been a fear of the physical pain; it was that fear of being made to look like a punk in front of people, it was a phobia Daniel had lived with since kindergarten.

Daniel heard Barnes from somewhere above him say, in a low voice, “Get up, Dannie. You gotta get up.”

              Daniel moved into a push up position and eased himself slowly from the cold cement. He wobbled then stood up straight. He turned back to 21, who was enthusiastically receiving high fives from his fellow douche bags. One of them pointed over 21’s shoulder and 21 turned back to see Daniel on his feet.

             
“Your face looks better, but not quite good enough,” remarked 21. “Let’s see what we can do about that.”

Daniel spit a mouthful of blood on 21’s bare chest. The pink blood and spit mixture dripped down onto the waistband of his worn blue jean. His face became enraged again.

             
POW!

             
The punch came quicker this time and Daniel tucked his chin and took the shot on the left side of his forehead. The punch made him stagger backward again, but he remained on his feet. He looked up and saw 21 shaking his fist, as if that action would decrease the pain in it, then he began to rub it with his other hand. There was a look of pain etched onto his gaunt leathery face. “There, you look better now, boy. Maybe I’ll fix you up some more tomorrow.”

             
Daniel spat another shot of pink slime onto 21’s chest and smiled gravely. 21 didn’t get that enraged look on his face this time. This time he looked unnerved. To save face, and to save his broken hand another pounding by Daniel’s face he spun on his heel and pushed his way through the crowd behind him saying “I gotta clean this fag’s blood offa me before I get AIDS or some shit.” The crowd laughed, but it was sporadic and forced this time.

             
Daniel felt a large hand on his shoulder. “You did good, but next time you might want to use your hands to kick his ass instead of that hard-ass head of yours.”

             
Over the next couple of weeks Barnes had taught his friend how to throw a proper punch and how to avoid being hit. They sparred every night after chow and Daniel found that he might have made a pretty good bouncer himself, that is, if there had not been a zombie apocalypse.

             
Later, Daniel had used the knowledge he had learned on 21. It wasn’t personal, it was out of principle. 21 had suffered a broken nose, had lost four teeth and had been walking around looking much like a raccoon for about a month. Better still, 21 had apologized to Daniel,
publicly
. Daniel had accepted the apology and had in turn apologized himself. Everything was cool. It had to be. Daniel, Barnes and a skinny black fellow named John Walker (AKA Good Times AKA Ahmed bin Muhammad AKA 16) were planning their ‘Great Escape’. They didn’t know how long it would take; they weren’t going to rush it. They wanted to do it right the first time. They were well aware that there would be no do-over. The General had a reputation for executing anyone that was caught attempting to escape and the dirty bastard would even do it within eye shot of the barracks, so all the remaining prisoners could watch.

             
                           
Chapter 22 - Don Quixote Seems Pretty Normal

Parkersburg
, West Virginia 

             
The knight awoke inside a strange chamber. He found that his armaments of war had been removed and he lay covered in soft white sheets. He groaned as he felt the bandages covering his forehead with his right hand. “Yah,” he whispered.

             
“How you feelin’ big guy?” asked a young, well-built black man, with long dreadlocks that fell past his shoulders. He wore a t-shirt with a red dragon screen printed on the front of it.

             
“Like a Baluchiterium kicked me in the face,” said the knight in a hushed voice.

             
“A
what
?” asked the black man.

             
“Baluch…it is the steed of the Nephilim,” Regeliel answered.

             
The black man nodded uncertainly, having absolutely no idea what the giant of a man was talking about. “It sounds like an Italian motorcycle,” he said, then changed the subject to one less bizarre, “You’re lucky me and my friends found you, there’s been a sniper picking off survivors and that armor of yours just barely stopped that bullet,” said the young man. The man with the dreadlocks stooped and picked up Regeliel’s helm and showed him the huge dent in the side.

             
“My thanks, M’Lord; pray tell me what your name is so I can thank you properly.” The knight didn’t know what a sniper was, but he got the gist of it just the same; Regeliel began to sit up. The young man stood up quickly and put a hand on his chest keeping him from rising up. “Hey, easy… relax. My name is Malcolm…Malcolm Reynolds. Listen. You get some rest and I’ll bring you back something to eat, OK?”

             
“My thanks again, Sir Malcolm,” said the knight. He had never laid eyes on this young man before, but it occurred to him that if more people in this village were like this man, then he was in a safe place. “Where are your friends that I might thank them as well?”

             
Malcolm smiled “They’re out in the other room playing Yahtzee; you want me to go get them?”

             
“No, Lad. I think I had better rest some more before we get acquainted.”

             
Malcolm smiled, “Yeah, OK, just holler if you need anything; Mi Casa Su Casa.”

             
The knight regained his strength at an astonishing rate and within the next two days he had comfortably settled into the barricaded apartment building. He had quickly become friends with the young black man and his two other friends; one went by the name Ralph, who was almost as muscular as Malcolm, but about five inches shorter with long blonde hair and a patchy blonde beard and the other was Bobby, a man with a peculiarly smooth face and eyes that always looked sleepy, almost dreamy. Bobby was short and a little on the plump side and at first glance Regeliel had assumed him to be dim of wit, but upon talking to him found him to be a rather intelligent man with a fine heart. Malcolm was the tallest of them, though not as tall as Sir Regeliel, who stood at an even seven feet. The three friends were good people, they spent most of their free time playing a strange game where you used cards with numbers and faces and shapes that they called euchre. They taught Regeliel how to play the game and he thoroughly enjoyed it. It was a great diversion that did not require a lot of materials to play. They regularly beat the knight, but Regeliel thought that he was starting to get the hang of it. Their apartment was strewn with thick tomes and a hundred skinny ones that had glossy photos of scantily clad women on the front; modesty had obviously not been en vogue in this world. In exchange for his new friends hospitality, Regeliel taught them swordsmanship, how to use a shield and how to put on armor. The three were enamored with Regeliel; especially Bobby, whose favorite game was something called Dungeons and Dragons, which he often coerced the others into playing. Regeliel especially liked this game as it tested his tactical knowledge. To Bobby it was as if one of his Dungeons and Dragons characters had come to life.

Regeliel asked them wher
e they could find armor for the trio of friends and Bobby told them about the museum having an elaborate medieval display.

The Parkersburg Museum of Art and Science did have a display of arms and armor, but what really caught Regeliel’s eye were the skeletal remains of something he recognized, the Baluch.  On a large cardboard cut-out, beside the massive skeleton was an artist’s rendition of what the creature had looked like, and Regeliel had agreed that it was a fairly accurate description. It stood over eight feet tall at the shoulder and had the shape of a long-legged rhinoceros, with a long, muscular tail. Regeliel explained to his young friends that, in his world, a long steel horn was set upon its armored forehead and the tail was fastened to a flail or morning star as an extra weapon. The three young men had looked at him as if he was insane but they said nothing. After looting the museum, Regeliel had shown them how to make adjustments to the armor to fit them. Even though Bobby’s armor had been fitted, there hadn’t been a helm that would fit his head so Malcolm had taken some of the pads from inside his old football helmet and given it to him. The four, young men absorbed everything he taught them and they wanted to practice incessantly. Regeliel wished that he had a few more of these squires where he came from, if only his memory could recall everything. His recollection was still a little blurry from the concussion he had suffered, all but Mariel, his queen that waited for his return. City of the Grays and Graylocke castle; they were only words, but they were important none the less, of that Regeliel was sure. Regeliel named Malcolm his Sergeant at Arms. He had grown to think of him as a son in so short a time and the depth of their bond surprised even Regeliel. It didn’t matter though, for Malcolm would make a fine heir.

             
                                              
Chapter 23 – Target Practice

Parkersburg, West Virginia 

             
Hito watched silently from his rooftop vantage point, his eye peering through the scope of his sniper rifle. He was surprised at how well the small group of nut jobs fared against the relentless swarm of undead. They were dressed in armor that was highly polished and shone in the sun like beacons. Light flashed from their long blades in places where clots of rotted flesh had slid off. He heard one voice booming even from this distance, Hito couldn’t tell which one it was but he figured that it was the tallest of them.

             
“Yes, lads, you wield your steel like true knights!”