Zombie Kong - Anthology (15 page)

“What the hell are you doing? Stop!” he screamed. “I’ll sue you! You’re endangering my life!”

“Keep yelling,” I said, with a smirk. “We’ll need your screams to lure the ape out of town.”

By this time, the huge gorilla had gotten to his feet and had taken a stumbling step forward. I started the car and beeped the horn. Right on cue, Warren screamed. The gorilla turned toward us and followed the noise in halting, shuffling steps.

With Warren baited on the back of the car and the primate stumbling after us, I called dispatch with one hand and drove with the other.

“Hey, Shirley,” I said.

“Hey, girl. Did you pick up that snazzy new ride?”

I heard her laughing on the other end of the line.

“Not yet,” I said. “Look, I’ve got a situation here. Are any of the extra-large holding facilities free? I’ve got a giant undead ape in tow.”

“Let me check,” she said.

I heard her fingernails clicking on the keyboard.

“Yeah, what’s your location?” she asked.

“Right down the street from the sleazy used car place. The one across from where the mini-golf place used to be.”

Glancing in the rear-view mirror, I saw the gorilla had gathered himself together and was gaining ground. I sped up; Warren screamed louder.

“What’s that noise?” Shirley asked.

“Just the bait,” I said. “Do you have anything?”

“Hold your horses, this ain’t rocket science,” she laughed.

“Hey, lady,” Warren shouted. “I think you’d better go faster.”

“Sorry.” See No Evil was gaining on us. I had to speed up.

I looked back. The gorilla was reaching for my car, trying to pinch the bumper with the fingers on his good hand. I pressed the accelerator to the floor. The car demonstrated another of my motivations for its replacement by jerking forward three times before surrendering an extra five miles per hour.

“C’mon,” Warren screamed. “Is that all this piece of crap can do?”

The gorilla groaned behind us.

“Here’s one,” Shirley said, surprising me. I almost dropped the phone. “It’s down by the docks. Is there a way you can bypass the center of town? You know the boss wouldn’t appreciate his view disrupted by your friend there.”

I laughed at the thought of Henry seeing us pass in front of his seventh-story corner office.

“Okay, I’ll try to go around,” I said. “Once I get to the docks, where do I go?”

“Just drive straight through the gates. I’ll call ahead and have the guys open them for you.” Shirley laughed again. “You be careful, and when you get that new car, you better let me borrow it.”

“Will do. Thanks, Shirley.”

I tossed the phone on the passenger seat and cursed as it fell through the hole in the cushion. I figured there would be enough change in that hole at least to make a down payment on another car.

I took the lumbering gorilla on a tour of the outskirts of the city. We passed the dump. Hungry gulls surrounded the gorilla. From my training, I knew the undead virus didn’t affect birds, so I wasn’t worried. When the flock circled back to their home turf, seagulls from the dock swarmed. I drove through the open gates and made a mental note to thank Shirley for her diligence. Several men in orange vests and hard hats waved me toward a large hangar.

“When you drive through the doors, go to your left,” one of the vested men said as he jogged next to my car. “When the ape gets inside, keep circling around the wall as fast as you can until you make it back to the front. We’ll close the doors when you’re out.”

I nodded, and he dropped back with the others.

The hangar bay was dark. I held my breath and flipped the switch for the headlights. Nothing happened. Ever since driving through a shallow river to outrun a zombie rhino, my car lights had been less than predictable.

“Hold on,” I yelled to Warren. “This might get bumpy.”

I squeezed my eyes shut to try and acclimate myself to the darkness before I drove inside. When I opened them, I had to squint hard to see the outline of the room. A desk chair went flying over the hood. Warren squealed. I tapped the brakes so I wouldn’t cause more damage than I had. I felt another bump and heard a crash. It sounded like a metal table had met its end.

“The monkey’s in,” Warren screamed.

I sped up and turned the wheel toward the lit opening. As soon as the car cleared the door, the orange-clad men began sliding the giant doors closed. I saw the gorilla floundering toward the light as the door shut and the locks engaged. A muffled moan seeped through the barrier.

“She’ll be okay,” one of the vested men said. “Once the carrier docks, we’ll ship her off so she can decay with others like herself.”

“
She
?” I asked.

“Couldn’t you tell?” he laughed. “Why do you think you had to strap that guy to your car to get her to follow you? That is why he’s there, isn’t it?”

The man stopped laughing, tilted his head, and looked at me with questioning eyes.

“Of course that’s why he’s there,” I said. “Do you think I’d drive around with a used car salesman taped to my car for kicks?”

The man’s face lit up with a smile.

“I don’t know about you, but it sounds like a fun evening to me.”

I cracked a grin and turned back to the used car salesman.

“Well, Warren. What do you say to a spin around the block for old time’s sake?”

MEGAN R. ENGELHARDT

The Beast That Would Not Die!

In the rainy months of 1883, my brother George came to visit me on the Dark Continent. I had been in Africa for nearly a year, recovering from a slight disease of the brain in the warmer climate, and as George was in need of some recovery as well, especially from a bit of scandal he had gotten into, he put himself on a boat and shipped himself into my care. I did not want him there, having quite enjoyed being far away from my wayward and intemperate brother, but as I did not know he was coming until he showed up on my doorstep, I was forced to welcome him with open arms.

I had grown fond of the long hunting expedition for which the African bush is particularly suited, and so when we tired of conversation (as we quickly did, having very few interests alike), I suggested a trip to show my brother the local fauna, and to acquire what trophies we were able. He agreed to the suggestion, and after hiring a few hunters to go with us, we set forth. George never knew how to pack for things and insisted on buying a large wagon, nearly twenty feet long, in order to carry what he referred to as
the goods
––the ivory and other trophies he anticipated returning with. He also bought eight donkeys to pull the wagon. It seemed a ridiculously cumbersome thing to me, and I tried to talk him out of it, but he persisted.

We had been tracking a herd of springbok. On the third day, we found ourselves at the edge of some deep jungle that grew denser the more we tried to make our way out of it. After several hours of struggle, we came out into a clearing with a wide lake, surrounded on all sides by the thick forest. We could see the sky from that clearing, and I was surprised to note that the sun was nearly gone. Night was fast approaching.

“Well, George,” I said, “how do you fancy roughing it again?”

“Not well, Simon,” he said, “but I suppose if you can do it, so can I.”

This was not strictly true, for there were plenty of things I could do that my brother could not.

George might have been willing, but the hunters, who had been acting nervous since we had entered the clearing, refused to camp at the spot.

“Not here,” the hunters begged. “This is a bad place.”

“Come now, what do you mean by that?” I asked.

“This is near the home of a white monster,” they said. “We should not disturb it.”

I was curious about this ‘white monster’.

“It is tall,” the hunters said, “Taller than the mountains, and whiter than you. It will kill us all. We are mighty hunters, but this monster, no man can kill.”

“What manner of monster is it?” I asked.

“Like an ape,” they said, “but larger than any ape could be. It has a heavy brow and roars like a lion, and when it walks, it shakes the earth.”

“I suppose it
is
some sort of ape,” I told George, but when I questioned the hunters further they would say no more. I assumed it was just a story with no legs, and disregarded it as such. I do not approve of encouraging superstitions, so I refused their request and determined that we would camp there. It was an okay spot, and I did not relish stumbling through the dark searching for another place that was more acceptable to the hunters.

While we were setting up camp, George scared a flock of a sort of bustard and the hunters made quick work of them, laying low three brace. I dropped one as well, but George pulled a little high and missed his mark.

We roasted the birds over the fire. The fat falling into the flames made little pops and sizzles that were quite pleasing to me. We ate well that night and soon fell into that companionable, comfortable silence that comes from being full in the night air. Only the donkeys were restless, nosing each other softly and walking around and around their tethers.

We settled down to rest with one of the hunters tending the fire. George fell asleep quickly, right in the middle of protesting that he would never be able to sleep. It took me some time longer to get comfortable. I had the feeling that something was amiss. The hunters’ warning loomed large in my mind and I couldn’t shake it, not even as the night wore on and we remained unmolested.

At first I thought it was just nerves, and berated myself for getting shook up by all that superstition nonsense. But then the moon rose and, in the shafts of silvery light that cut through the trees, I saw something glinting in the bush.

I turned over very slowly, so that I could get a better view. My blanket scuffed slightly on the rough ground and I froze. At that very moment, the lights in the bush blinked out and back on again, and I realized, to my horror, that the lights were
a pair of eyes.

I reached out my hand, my fingers groping for the rifle I kept at my side. The first set of eyes was joined by a second, then a third. They glared out at my sleeping companions, and I may be forgiven for ascribing a certain malevolence to their steady, piercing gaze. I suddenly felt very strongly that I should not be in that place. Never before in my time in Africa had I felt so unwelcome, so much apart from the natural rhythm of the land. I wished desperately that I had listened to the hunters and found another camping spot. But we were there now, and I pulled my rifle to me and determined to see it through.

“Simon!” George whispered. “Do you see it, or am I going as crazy as you are?”

I hadn’t realized my brother was awake.

“Keep still!” I said, sharply. “I see it. I don’t know what it is, but I don’t think it likes us much.”

“It is the white monster!”

The hunters had woken, too, and I spared a glance around to see them huddled together. One or two had had the presence of mind to take up their rifles or assegai. The spearheads reflected the same firelight that glinted in the eyes in the bush.

“It’s probably just a springbok,” I said, but I knew it was not.

“We should not be here,” one of the hunters moaned.

“Nonsense,” I said, trying to be tougher than I felt. I cupped a hand around my mouth and shouted into the bush. “You there! We see you… come on out!”

The brush rustled. There was a low grunt, a series of deep
uhks
and snorts. I could pick out three separate “voices”. They went back and forth, and then the bushes parted, and the watchers stepped into the light.

It was a gorilla… or rather, three gorillas. They were terribly huge, not a one less than fourteen feet tall. Their enormous fists pounded the ground, kicking up clouds of dust as they landed. They were all impressive beasts, but I confess I paid the most attention to the creature that led the way. The other two were black, but the third––he was a white monster, indeed. He was a devil of a beast. His hair was pure white. Not a single dark spot adorned his muscular frame. His eyes bored into me, pale pink, but deep and brooding. He flared his nostrils at us and curled his massive lip. I have never before or since seen an animal as impressive as that giant white gorilla.

“Hush,” I whispered, motioning for George to keep still. The gorillas, catching my voice, swung their large heads to look at me. I had risen to my knees, but I dared not stand. So I knelt there, staring up into the great pink eyes of the beast.

The theory has sometimes been advanced that animals are capable of emotions as deep and as varied as those that plague you or I. It was never as believable as when I was face to face with the white monster of the jungle. I must be clear that I saw no anger in his face––irritation, perhaps, that we were intruding on his place, and curiosity, and a sort of stern lordliness. That beast was more regal than any lion I had seen in my travels. But there was also something youthful about him, as if he were a princeling investigating for the first time the extent of his future kingdom.

Something passed between us in that moment. I felt a sort of kinship with the beast. Slowly I stood, gaining my feet, all the while keeping my eyes locked with the gorilla’s. When I had reached my full height, which seemed nothing compared to that of the creature before me, I reached out very slowly with my empty hand. I’m not sure what I intended by this gesture, but I was so drawn into that moment of communion with the beast that it felt the thing to do.

I truly believe that the situation would have resolved peacefully if it wasn’t for George’s big mouth. As I reached out to the white gorilla, my brother opened his mouth and said, quite loudly, “Ho, Simon! Watch it doesn’t bite your hand off!”