Our Undead (14 page)

Margaret:
All right, it's time to get you trained.

She reaches down, but
instead of grabbing her training tools, she reaches into her duffel
bag, shuffles around, and takes out a can of her favorite treat;
SPAGHETTIOS!!!

Margaret:
But first, I gotta eat something.

She grabs her clean knife,
stabs it into the can, pries off the lid, grabs her trusty fork,
plunges it into her food, chows down with no breaks, and slams the
empty can on to the floor beside her; fork rattling.

Margaret:
*BUUURP
*
Okay… Let's do this.

Margaret grabs her whooping
club, scoops up a dead hare by the ears, and takes her place at the
safe point.

Margaret:
Ready?

Abe gurgles and the
training begins with a leaning in of her torso.

All evening Margaret
pushes, not only what Abe's face can take, but her own endurance as
well. Time after time, and again, Abe swipes for both her and the
hare, but the persistent teen remains just as stubborn. She
switches up her swinging arm every thirty hits or so to balance out
the stress, but by the time the sun has half left the sky, both of
Margaret's arms feel like they are about to fall off. She can
barely even hold up the six-pound carcass. She grunts in tenacity
with every movement she makes; raising the rabbit, lowering it,
leaning it, dodging Abe, punishing him, repeat. Her breaths are
long and drawn-out.

Her opposition is just as
beat, in more ways than one. The sweet smell of her still plagues
every undead cell in his body, and her vicinity makes it worse,
driving his cravings even higher. It compels him to move, to attain
it. That is his purpose, to assimilate. It may be true that he is
moving at a slug's pace, and he may only be able to hear a
high-pitched buzzing from all the knocks to the head, but he must
reach, and his eyes never fail to return to their original place,
staring Margaret dead in hers. Any chance he had of catching her
had evaporated hours back, for anyone with a reaction time under
three seconds could dodge his attempts at this point, but it
doesn't matter. Who knows? If he keeps trying, he might get lucky
again. So he must keep reaching. He must have brains… but having
another rabbit might not be so bad either.

Margaret:
(heaving)
Abe, you idiot. Maybe
there really isn't anything going on in that head of yours after
all,.. stupid zombie.

She pants while Abe
continues on with his unending low growl.

Margaret:
This is it. This is the last time. I'm exhausted, and I think
I'm beginning to smell worse than you.

She sniffs at her armpit
and pulls away thusly from the musky odor she encounters, but Abe
remains unresponsive.

Margaret:
All right…

One more time, Margaret
tiredly raises her left arm and dangles the hare carcass in Abe's
airspace, and one more time Abe lazily tries to grab it out of her
hand. She doesn't let him.

Margaret:
Okay. That's good. And now…

One more time, she leans
the top of her torso into Abe's airspace and waits. Everything is
as usual. She stares at him with her regular, stern glare that
penetrates his eyes, focused and ready to pull back when that
expected arm comes floating up to attack her. She even has her club
already half raised by her side, ready to administer Abe's
punishment blow, but something is off this time. Usually, she would
already have had to dodge Abe's attempt at eating her face. She
would have seen that now familiar movement in her peripheral coming
from the right, but this time there is a delay. Even so, Margaret
remains focused, keeping still, and holding eye contact with Abe's
dead grey pupils. But still, she neither sees, nor senses an arm
coming toward her, no need to withdraw herself.

Suddenly, his low growl
jumps in volume, but only for a split second, making Margaret
flinch. She even breaks eye contact for half a second, checking
quickly to the right to see if his arm has moved, but nothing, it
was simply a growl and a slight readjustment of his body. Abe's
left arm remains where it is, and Margaret is in disbelief. Her
head has now been within Abe's reach for over ten seconds. She even
begins to feel her abdomen tighten, and then begin to tremble from
staying bent over so long. She feels she must be dreaming. She
couldn't have possibly trained a zombie, could she have?

Margaret:
Umm… o-kaaaay…

Hesitantly, Margaret begins
to pull her head back and out of Abe's range.

Margaret:
You dying on me, Abe?

Abe doesn't answer, merely
continues purring and staring at his trainer, who looks back at him
with questioning eyes. She thinks to herself, could it be possible
the zombie has finally taken too many blows to the head? Perhaps,
but there is only one way to find out.

Margaret:
Well, if you aren't dying, you really deserve
this.

She brings the dead hare up
in front of Abe's face and waits for the result. She can hardly
believe it when Abe's disgusting hand comes up and snatches the
rabbit out of hers. The speed of it is shocking. It makes her jump
back a bit. She hadn't realized he had that much spirit left. The
hare immediately goes into his mouth, and he rips out a large chunk
of guts and innards. This time, Margaret doesn't seem to take
notice of the gruesome display of Abe gorging on the furry animal.
Instead, a smile dawns on her face as she watches him eat
it.

Margaret:
Heh.. heh-heh-heh… Umm… Good.. boy?

At this time in the evening
the sun has almost fully retired for the day, but Margaret is
invigorated with a new wave of energy. The darkness would have her
go to sleep, but her fatigue has vanished at having possibly
conquered her goal. She must be sure that the training has worked,
so she sets her oil lamp to a low burn in front of Abe, and stands
in her spot once more. Abe watches her every movement, all the
while chowing down on the hare like a furry, bloody granny smith.
Margaret takes a deep breath, and braces herself.

Margaret:
Okay, Abe. It's just me, now.

Cautiously, the curious
girl lifts her left hand, and starts it toward Abe's face. The
zombie doesn't take notice of it, or maybe he does, nevertheless,
his eyes never leave Margaret's steady gaze. Now, her fingers are
no more than an inch away from his face, so close to it that one
would expect to feel the warmth radiating from his skin. Half an
inch later and Margaret discovers why she felt no warmth. Running
her fingers along Abe's cheek, she finds that there is no heat
radiating from his undead body at all. Abe's skin is cold and dry,
completely the opposite of the warm and gooey that she
expected.

She is absolutely
fascinated, but it isn't just the fact that she is touching Abe's
face without him attacking her or that she seems to actually have
been successful in training him; it's everything in one. Looking
into Abe's eyes and caressing his cheek, she feels a certain sense
of completeness that she hasn't felt since this whole nightmare
started for her. Even during the past week, while her parents were
still alive, she hadn't felt this thrilling sort of serenity;
security, and she is lost in it, dancing on the inside but
perfectly calm on the outside. She chuckles to herself, a little
bit of the excitement escaping out her belly, and stays lost in
Abe's grotesque majesty for the rest of the night.

<><><>

When she awakes the next
morning, the room is bright with the glaring of the sun through the
cabin's front windows. If her eyes had a sound effect to accompany
them, they would probably sound like a pair of old door hinges as
they creaked slowly open, or a pair of grumpy old men, griping at
the daylight. They open up to Margaret's first sight of the day,
and the thing brings the smile from the night before, back to her
face. She sees Abe stuck in the doorway, and the rabbit she had
rewarded him last night, now, in a bloody clump on the floor. She
remembers that it was probably less than five hours ago that she
had been caressing the side of his face without any fear of being
bitten. She smiles about it, yes, but she wonders, is it still
possible today? Is Abe still trained? She would find out after a
quick breakfast.

The girl allows herself a
larger meal this morning, slightly because she feels like she
deserves it, but more so because she is extremely famished. She'd
barely been eating two meals a day, and those two meals were hardly
fit for a toddler, so this morning she feels it is okay to scarf
down a can of noodle soup and the rest of the first loaf of bread,
which consists of about four more slices. She takes the slices of
bread and dips them into the lukewarm soup. For her, it's like
gourmet cuisine, the best thing she has tasted in weeks, perhaps
months because of her current perspective. She can't wait to try
the bread in the Spaghettios. Sadly, she would have to wait until
her next meal.

All throughout this
breakfast, Margaret says nothing to Abe. She just sits, and the two
of them watch each other, as if locked in some sort of psychic
battle. Maybe the girl doesn't want to jinx things by saying
something stupid, but even now as she washes her food down with a
bottle of water, she says nothing. When she finishes chugging, she
gets to her feet, ties her hair back, grabs the second of the four
hares she had caught the day before, and limps her way over to Abe.
She may appear unsure on the outside, but Margaret must have some
deeply rooted faith in the process, for she either forgets or
neglects to grab her whooping stick.

Now in front of Abe, she
raises the rabbit, and the zombie instantly claws at it like
a
good
boy
. Margaret withdraws it, doesn't
let him have it yet. She must first see if the second, and frankly,
more important part of the training has been remembered. She braces
herself with a conscious breath, then slowly moves her head
forward. No hand comes clawing at her face, and she can still
hardly believe it. She waits for a moment, and Abe still does
nothing. She sputters a short giggle of delight, pulls her head
away, then raises the rabbit back up. Abe responds appropriately
and takes the hare away from her. This time Margaret lets him have
it, and her giggle becomes a chuckle, which becomes a boisterous
laugh. She laughs almost hysterically and hoots loudly at her
accomplishment, leaping and skipping around the best she can with
her bad ankle. She had done it! She has trained a zombie, and it
had only taken her a little over two days! She lets out one more
piercing and victorious,
"Wooooooohoooooo!",
forgetting how
important it is to be discreet in this new world, then finally
starts to settle herself down.

<><><>

In the deep woods, two
walking ghouls hear a faint sound in the distance and are drawn to
it.

<><><>

Back in the cabin, Margaret
pants as she usually does after a long training session, but this
time she breathes deeply due to the adrenaline rushing through her.
Plus, the jumping around didn't really help.

Margaret:
Oh,
wow!

Abe finishes the hare
quickly. He isn't as starved as he had been before, so he eats the
good parts and drops the skin to the floor. Excitedly, Margaret
grabs the second last hare and brings it back over to the deserving
beast. Just for kicks, she pokes her head in toward Abe and then
out again. And then in again and out again. Then repeats it one
more time. She giggles, seeing that Abe still won't swing for her,
then offers him the hare, which he gladly receives.

Margaret:
Oh, wow-wow-wow. You
CAN
learn. I did it… I actually
did it.

She extends her left hand
and gently caresses Abe's face again while he eats. She is reminded
of how cold it is, but she loves it. She rubs him on the crown of
his head like a mutt, ruining his already ruined hairdo, gives him
a pat and turns to get the last hair.

Margaret:
I might as well give this one to you too.

She grabs it, brings it
over to Abe and hangs it on the broken door within his
reach.

Margaret:
You can have it when you're ready. I'm going to go out and
get you more treats cause you've really made me proud of you… and
myself.

She limps backwards toward
her bag, finding it incredibly difficult to take her eyes off of
the phenomenon that is happening before her. She only realizes
she's reached her bag when she stumbles over it, and then takes her
eyes away from Abe, but only momentarily so she doesn't stab
herself while taking her knife out of it. She gets it and continues
moving backward in awe, all the way up to the door, where she opens
it and hesitantly exits the cabin.

On this, her third hunting
trip, Margaret has become a pro, and it definitely helps that she
is still riding off of the rush of accomplishing a goal she thought
was quite possibly impossible to achieve. She leaps from behind a
lush of bushes and plunges her blade into the first hare; then
again, she springs from behind another bush and bags herself a
second hare. The third time is a charm as well, as she stabs her
blade into another woodland creature. This one's squeal sounds
higher pitched than the others. When Margaret becomes five furry
dead animals strong and satisfied, she starts making her way back
to the cabin, hot, sweaty and ready for a rest.