Read Online Xombies: Apocalypso by Walter Greatshell - Free Book Online
Authors: Walter Greatshell
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Saltines?”
Before Sal could reply, the door burst open. From out of the darkness, a large, skinned carcass slid across the checker-tiled floor, leaving a red swash. It was a deer—a big buck.
“There’re your hamburgers, Emil,” said former commander Harvey Coombs. He was wearing a coonskin cap and holding a propane gas cylinder on one shoulder. Following behind were Dan Robles and Phil Tran, both dragging sacks of foraged wild goods: potatoes, onions, carrots, various greens. There was a whole truckload of the stuff outside.
The dead animal shocked us—death of any kind was disturbing to those who could not die. I suspected this was one of Langhorne’s tests.
As the restaurant went silent, Emilio Monte stormed out from behind the counter, yelling, “I just waxed this floor!” Ranting about the mess, he slipped on blood and went airborne, crackers flying, and landed flat on his back. The pickle jar shattered, launching sliced gherkins in all directions.
Sal said, “That’s no way to make a buck!”
Everyone laughed and laughed. The new Xombies were slower on the uptake, but quickly caught on, screeching like hyenas. Then the laughter abruptly petered out. The scene was over, no point running it into the ground.
CHAPTER SIX
REBELS WITHOUT A CAUSE
S o the days progressed, emulsifying one into the next, until the habits of the world we were creating became ingrained. Not real … but at least routine. Many things needed to be scavenged, so the females were always begging the males to take them “shopping,” which was the pretext by which stores were pillaged for fifties geek-chic costumes and props, Xomboys cooling their heels while Ex-girls posed in outfit after outfit, store after store, with the boys teetering behind them under mountains of boxes and shopping bags. This was multiplied many times over, as there were many boys playing the same roles: nine Archies, for instance, and twice that many Jugheads (the girls were fewer, more closely matching the number of female characters, though Betty and Veronica were disproportionately represented). There were also Fonzies, Beavers, Opies, Charlie Browns, Lucys, Blondies, Flintstones, Jetsons, Bradys, Munsters, Mary Worths, Gidgets, Gilligans, Daisy Maes, Li’l Abners, Richie Riches, Little Audreys, Little Orphan Annies, and Little Lulus. Why the hell, I asked myself, wasn’t I a Little Lulu instead of a fucking Midge?
At the end of every week, the excess goods were distributed throughout the community in the form of gifts. Every Sunday was Christmas in Loveville. In short order, the town was cleaned up, spruced up, and lit up—Officer Arlo Fisk led a delegation of undead nuclear engineers to the nearby Calvert Cliffs Nuclear Power Station, getting the plant going at a small fraction of its capacity … but more than enough for the needs of the town.
On Saturdays, the entire population went to the beach, taking over a cove of the Potomac with our coolers and beach blankets and sun umbrellas. Archies danced around as if the sand was hot, and Reggies rubbed lotion on the girls’ backs. I suffered Ex-Lemuel’s oafish attentions, knowing I was expected to be his fictional “steady,” which was annoying because he took it all a bit too seriously, just as he did the Monday night football games—few of the players he tackled left the field in one piece.
Lemuel had not been the same since drowning in icy slush up at Thule; of all the Dreadnauts, he was always the least pacified by my blood. I would have much preferred spending more time with the aloof Julian Noteiro, but in the persona of brainiac Dilton Doily, he was always busy tending to the technical demands of Loveville. He actually avoided me—he shunned me … so I shunned him right back. But my annoyance grew as this silent treatment continued, until one day I couldn’t hold it in anymore.
“What is your problem?” I demanded.
Refusing to look at me, he said, “My
Before Sal could reply, the door burst open. From out of the darkness, a large, skinned carcass slid across the checker-tiled floor, leaving a red swash. It was a deer—a big buck.
“There’re your hamburgers, Emil,” said former commander Harvey Coombs. He was wearing a coonskin cap and holding a propane gas cylinder on one shoulder. Following behind were Dan Robles and Phil Tran, both dragging sacks of foraged wild goods: potatoes, onions, carrots, various greens. There was a whole truckload of the stuff outside.
The dead animal shocked us—death of any kind was disturbing to those who could not die. I suspected this was one of Langhorne’s tests.
As the restaurant went silent, Emilio Monte stormed out from behind the counter, yelling, “I just waxed this floor!” Ranting about the mess, he slipped on blood and went airborne, crackers flying, and landed flat on his back. The pickle jar shattered, launching sliced gherkins in all directions.
Sal said, “That’s no way to make a buck!”
Everyone laughed and laughed. The new Xombies were slower on the uptake, but quickly caught on, screeching like hyenas. Then the laughter abruptly petered out. The scene was over, no point running it into the ground.
CHAPTER SIX
REBELS WITHOUT A CAUSE
S o the days progressed, emulsifying one into the next, until the habits of the world we were creating became ingrained. Not real … but at least routine. Many things needed to be scavenged, so the females were always begging the males to take them “shopping,” which was the pretext by which stores were pillaged for fifties geek-chic costumes and props, Xomboys cooling their heels while Ex-girls posed in outfit after outfit, store after store, with the boys teetering behind them under mountains of boxes and shopping bags. This was multiplied many times over, as there were many boys playing the same roles: nine Archies, for instance, and twice that many Jugheads (the girls were fewer, more closely matching the number of female characters, though Betty and Veronica were disproportionately represented). There were also Fonzies, Beavers, Opies, Charlie Browns, Lucys, Blondies, Flintstones, Jetsons, Bradys, Munsters, Mary Worths, Gidgets, Gilligans, Daisy Maes, Li’l Abners, Richie Riches, Little Audreys, Little Orphan Annies, and Little Lulus. Why the hell, I asked myself, wasn’t I a Little Lulu instead of a fucking Midge?
At the end of every week, the excess goods were distributed throughout the community in the form of gifts. Every Sunday was Christmas in Loveville. In short order, the town was cleaned up, spruced up, and lit up—Officer Arlo Fisk led a delegation of undead nuclear engineers to the nearby Calvert Cliffs Nuclear Power Station, getting the plant going at a small fraction of its capacity … but more than enough for the needs of the town.
On Saturdays, the entire population went to the beach, taking over a cove of the Potomac with our coolers and beach blankets and sun umbrellas. Archies danced around as if the sand was hot, and Reggies rubbed lotion on the girls’ backs. I suffered Ex-Lemuel’s oafish attentions, knowing I was expected to be his fictional “steady,” which was annoying because he took it all a bit too seriously, just as he did the Monday night football games—few of the players he tackled left the field in one piece.
Lemuel had not been the same since drowning in icy slush up at Thule; of all the Dreadnauts, he was always the least pacified by my blood. I would have much preferred spending more time with the aloof Julian Noteiro, but in the persona of brainiac Dilton Doily, he was always busy tending to the technical demands of Loveville. He actually avoided me—he shunned me … so I shunned him right back. But my annoyance grew as this silent treatment continued, until one day I couldn’t hold it in anymore.
“What is your problem?” I demanded.
Refusing to look at me, he said, “My
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