Badass Zombie Road Trip (10 page)

As he stood in line behind the few other customers, Jonah pondered his curious position. All things considered, and undead appetite aside, he supposed his situation could have been much worse. Perhaps Satan
had
done him a favor by reviving Dale’s corpse. The Devil was right about one thing: Jonah wouldn’t have gotten very far with a dead body on his back. And zombie Dale seemed pleasant enough, with the possible exception of the worrying hunger. Maybe this wouldn’t turn out so bad. Now, if only he knew where to start looking …

“Mr. Hammond?” a woman asked.

Pulled again from his thoughts by the mundane world, Jonah glanced down the aisle to the father-son team at the soda station. A tall, blonde woman now stood with the pair.

“Betty?” the father said, as he lightly embraced the woman. “How have you been? I haven’t seen you in a while.”

“Fine. I had to take some time out of school.” She dipped her head to the kid, who was rifling through the candy opposite the sodas, packing his arms full of sugary goodness. “Is that your son?”

“Yes,” the father said.

“He sure has, well,
grown
since last I saw him.”

“He’s a growing boy.” The father pulled the child away from the candy rack and twisted him about to face the woman. “Jack, meet Mrs. Johnson. She was a student of mine last semester.”

The woman held out her hand to the rotund child, saying, “You don’t remember me, do you, Jack?”

Instead of shaking her hand, the little chubster clung to his booty, stuck out his lower lip and announced, “I’m a big boy! I’m Mr. Hammond too!”

It clicked then, and all at once, Jonah understood. Like some chubby cherub’s sweet hosannas, the kid’s grinding whine made a perfect and glorious and blessed sense. Jonah tossed a ten at the cashier, which was a little more than he owed the man, snatched the bag from the counter, and ran back to the car. As he slid into the driver’s seat, he tossed the bag of jerky at the corpse.

“Dale, I need to know where your father lives.”

Dale ignored Jonah, instead unfurling the brown paper bag and staring at the contents with a frown. “Is teriyaki all they had? You know I like smoked.”

“Dale!” Jonah snatched the bag away from the zombie. “This is important. We need to talk to Mr. Jenkins.”

“Who?”

“Your dad. Satan said to ask Mr. Jenkins. He didn’t say Dale. He said Mr. Jenkins. I need to know where the elder Mr. Jenkins lives. Your father. Do you remember?”

The undead Dale thought about this for a moment, then shook his head as he announced, “Sorry.”

Jonah was surprised. He expected to wait for a few hours for the answer. He also hoped the answer was going to be more useful than an apology. “I know you guys haven’t spoken for quite a few years, but I was hoping—”

“No, it’s not like that. I mean, I don’t remember him at all, Jonah. I know I must have had a dad, and I can kind of remember what he looks like. But other than that, it’s just a blank. Like it’s been, I don’t know, wiped out or something.”

“’Or something’ sounds about right,” Jonah groaned. Of course, it wasn’t going to be that easy. “Satan must have blocked your memories to stall for time.” Jonah balled his fist and slammed it against the steering wheel, sounding the Focus’s horn with a sharp, angry honk. “Damn it! He promised he wouldn’t interfere.”

“Who?” Dale asked.

“Satan.”

Dale cut his eyes at Jonah. “Let me get this straight. The Father of Lies promised something, and you believed him? That sounds pretty stupid, man.”

Jonah groaned again. This whole thing was just plain stupid. Dale’s soul probably wasn’t even hidden in a reasonable place to begin with. It was probably sitting at the bottom of some lake in the middle of nowhere at the ass end of the U.S. Or down the gutted shaft of some coal mine that was condemned lifetimes ago because of its instability. Or in the nest of a rare species of raptor on some protected wildlife preserve. Jonah was a fool for thinking he could outsmart the Devil.

“What’s this?” Dale asked.

“What’s what?” Jonah asked.

“This?” Dale poked a wide envelope under Jonah’s sulking nose. “It fell out of the visor.”

Jonah narrowed his eyes at the letter from Clare, then at the zombie. “You don’t remember that, either? I guess I’m lucky you remember my name. Or your own name.”

“Ha, ha, jackass.” Dale snorted. “I’m not that far gone yet. I just can’t remember my dad. I can picture him, I know I grew up with a father for a few years, but I don’t have any specific memories about him.”

“I guess that’s why you don’t remember this, then,” Jonah said, as he took the envelope from Dale. “You said it was from your father.”

“Huh,” Dale said. “Shame there’s no return address.”

“Well, there’s not one on the outer envelope … because … your … aunt …” Jonah slumped back into his seat as he stared down at the envelope. Five hours come and gone, and he had had the answer with him all along.

“Jonah?” Dale asked. “Dude? You okay?”

Jonah nodded without taking his eyes off of the cream-colored square before him. With trembling hands, he tore at the flap, opening the outer envelope and removing the contents hidden inside. Sure as sunshine, the living Dale had been right. A second envelope was tucked away inside the first, and written in the upper left-hand corner was the answer Jonah sought.

****

Sacramento, California

162 hours : 45 minutes : 15 seconds remaining

Hosannas and hallelujahs!

As it turned out, Dale’s dad didn’t live in distant San Francisco after all. Instead, he resided in the lovely city of Sacramento, which, after they double-checked Jonah’s map, they discovered was less than thirty miles from the very gas station at which they sat. At first it was as easy as jumping into the swift highway traffic, but once they hit the actual city, traffic slowed to a crawl. Jonah never liked big-city traffic. He regretted ever leaving the easygoing state of Idaho.

Then there was the problem of Dale’s ever-increasing hunger. The jerky was a no-go on the appetite front. It didn’t even serve as an hors d’oeuvre. Over the course of thirty miles, Jonah stopped at fast food drive-throughs, a couple of restaurants, and even a grocery store or two, feeding the corpse everything from fries to chicken to well done hamburgers to raw beef, but nothing seemed to placate the beast of his belly. Jonah was beginning to worry that perhaps the movies were right, that the zombie required more traditional fare, as in—and he couldn’t bring himself to say it out loud—human flesh. To make matters worse, the zombie’s stomach swelled with every bite, every chomp, every swallow. Neither knew if the undead body would eventually digest what it ate, or if it would just swell until it burst. The end result of neither option held much appeal.

The hunger was a problem, a big problem, but one they could address after they found out where Dale’s soul was hidden. Soul first. Soul food later.

Parking in Sacramento was more of a nightmare than traveling with a hungry zombie. The tiny Focus circled the apartment high-rise for almost twenty minutes before finally landing a space within reasonable walking distance. As Jonah brought the car to a stop, he glanced at his regular watch and flinched. It was later than he would have liked, but they couldn’t wait ‘til morning. This had to be done now. He only hoped Dale’s dad was home, and not out for the evening.

 
“This is it,” Jonah said, cutting the engine and unbuckling his seatbelt. “I’m going to go get our answer.”

“You mean we are,” Dale said, pushing several fast-food boxes to the floor as he undid his own belt.

“I meant me. You are going to stay put.”

“Hell no!” Dale shouted. “Not this time. I’m tired of waiting in the car like a damned dog.”

Jonah closed his eyes and rubbed his temples. He was afraid that this would happen. For the last three hours, he had been trying to think of a way to tell Dale that he didn’t really want to explain the whole undead thing to the man’s father. Asking where Dale’s soul could be found was one thing. But telling the man his kid was now a zombie? Jonah didn’t think he had it in him.

“Dale,” Jonah started. “I don’t know if facing your dad right now is the best—”

“Jonah,” Dale said over him. “Pal. Buddy. Dude. I know you are having a really hard time with this and everything, but I have been stuck in this fucking car for eight fucking hours. I’m dead, I’m horny and I’m stiff all over, and I’m still hungry as hell!” The zombie was seething now, foam gathering around his clenched teeth as he twisted the seatbelt strap between his fists. “If you don’t let me get out of this fucking matchbox and stretch my goddamned legs, I am going to fucking tear you limb from fucking limb!”

Jonah believed the zombie might just do that. Eyes wide with fear, he stammered, “Oh-oh-okay. All-all-all right. We can deal with this. Umm, we can both go, I suppose. No need to get upset. Okay?”

Dale’s feral look melted into a warm told-you-so grin. “Thanks, man. I knew you’d see it my way.” He left Jonah behind as he clambered out into the cool night air.

“How could I not?” Jonah squeaked. But still, there was that pressing father-son issue. Jonah climbed out of the car and hurried along the sidewalk to catch up with the long-legged dead man. “You know, your dad hasn’t seen you for a long time. Maybe he won’t recognize you, and … well …”

Dale stopped in mid-step to stare at Jonah, while the few people sharing the sidewalk skirted around them. “You don’t want him to know who I am. Do you?”

Jonah was wrong. Undead Dale was much cleverer than living Dale had ever been. “Yeah. Yeah, I think it might be hard on the man. You know? I went and lost your soul, but he doesn’t need to know you’re … you know.” Jonah nervously eyed the passing folks, wondering if anyone could tell what ‘you know’ meant.

Dale leaned in to whisper low, “That I’m dead?”

“Yeah.”

Dale leaned away again and shrugged. “No problem. It’s not like I can remember him, anyway. Hey, what is that delicious smell?” The zombie lifted his nose to the air and took a few steps toward the smell in question.

“Not now, Dale.”
 
Jonah jerked the zombie back on track by the collar of his shirt, pushing him against the thin flow of traffic, toward the apartment building still a few blocks away. “We gotta find your dad.”

“But I’m hungry.”

“You’re always hungry. You’re probably going to spend the whole of the next week hungry. But if we don’t find out where the Devil has hidden your soul, then you might never stop being hungry.”

“Okay, but after this I have got to find something to eat.” The zombie patted his distended belly with a resounding thud. “Maybe we can find some action, too.”

“Action?”

“Women? Oh, sorry, I know you prefer dudes.”

“Jesus, Dale. Will you try to curb your lust until we get your soul back?”

“Seems to me fucking around while missing my soul might be the best time to try some really nasty shit.”

Jonah barked a laugh. “Like there’s anything you haven’t already tried.”

“I’ve got my limits, man.”

“Like what? Wearing a condom?”

“Naw, I mean, you know, some hard core S and M. Or golden showers. Stuff like that. I always felt bad about pissing on some poor chick, but now it seems like a really sexy idea.”

The thought of what else the soulless reprobate assumed was a sexy idea forced a shudder in Jonah. “I hate to bust your lusty bubble, but I don’t think there is a woman on earth who is going to want you right now.”

“Why not? I’m not that bad off. I’m still in one piece, and rigor mortis seems to have set in at all the right places, if you get my drift.” Jonah couldn’t help but get Dale’s drift, because the corpse grabbed its crotch and lewdly waggled the clothed contents to a few passing ladies.

“Cut that out! You’re going to get us in trouble.”

The ladies, though, didn’t seem to mind as much as Jonah did. One even giggled as she sidestepped the zombie and his waggling, wrapped wang. “Nice ass!” Dale called out after her. “Come on, Jonah. Promise me we will find us some chicks after this. I’m so hard it hurts.”

Even from a side glance, Jonah could see what Dale meant. It looked like the zombie had a few rolls of quarters stuffed down his trousers. Or maybe half-dollars. What was bigger than a half-dollar coin? Poker chips?

“Man, this place has some smoking hot babes.” Dale wolf whistled at a passing pair of blondes, who also giggled in response. “Even the hookers are hot. Why is it we never came here before?”

“Because you could lose your soul? Remember?” But the zombie had a point. The women, even the less attractive ones, were, for the most part, very pretty.

“Loosen up, Jonah. It’s Saturday night. We’re a couple of free spirits on the prowl. Stop being such a downer.”

“I’m not a downer. I’m just focused.”

“You should try to focus on that, then.” Dale pointed Jonah’s attention to the next passing beauty.

Jonah had a weakness for redheads, but even if she had been blond, he would have gawked. The woman was tall, easily six foot seven, and wrapped in a sparkling tube of shiny white fabric that started at her ample cleavage and ended just beneath her thick hips, making love to every vivacious curve along the way. Legs that never seemed to end finally did stop at a pair of wicked stilettos that left her with a jaw-dropping sashay in her step.