Read Online Badass Zombie Road Trip by Tonia Brown - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Tonia Brown
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corpse’s request. His eyes bugged as he coughed and sputtered and squirmed on the hood of the Focus, until he finally gained enough composure to put forth a retort. “Calm down? Calm down? You were dead ten seconds ago, and now you’re not, and you want me to calm down?”
Dale scrunched up his face, wrinkling his nose and narrowing his eyes as he touched a fingertip to his chin and stared off into the distance. He stayed like this for what seemed to Jonah an unnatural amount of time.
“Dale?” Jonah finally asked.
“Shhh,” Satan hissed. “Can’t you see he’s busy?”
Jonah went quiet for a few more seconds, staring hard at the screwed-up face of his once-dead best friend. “What’s he doing?”
Satan nodded at Dale and said, in a very serious voice, “He’s trying to think.”
“Think?” Jonah asked, and with the question, he knew something was amiss.
More than anything, Jonah wanted Dale to be alive. He wanted this whole terrible affair to be over and done. And if he had been just a wee bit less clever, he might’ve assumed that that very thing had happened. He might have thought that the Dale standing before him, the Dale scrunching up his face and putting every synapse in his surely tired mind to work, was the old Dale. The regular Dale. His Dale. But even as he wished it, even as he longed for it, Jonah knew it wasn’t true—despite the fact that the man in question was scratching his ass with one hand while adjusting his junk with the other, both very classic Dale moves. But regardless of this characteristic ass scratchery and junk shiftery, one simple fact remained.
Dale Jenkins—at least, the one Jonah knew—didn’t think.
With a trembling finger, Jonah pointed to the glowing beer bottle in Satan’s hands and asked, “If Dale is still in there, then how can his body be all—umm—up and about?”
Satan laughed aloud, amused by Jonah’s confusion. “You ain’t gotta have a soul to walk and talk. I think quite a few mortals have proved that in the past.”
“No soul,” Jonah echoed, trying hard to understand what that implied.
“Yeah. But trust me, you’ll hardly notice the difference.”
The newly risen Dale ignored the pair and continued his deliberation.
“What’s taking him so long?” Jonah asked in a whisper.
Satan whispered in return, “Thoughts move much slower when one is dead.”
That was it, then. Dale wasn’t alive. He was dead. Jonah thought as much, but to hear it put in such final terms made it seem, well, final.
Final, but still unreal.
And still unbelievable.
“You’re telling me Dale’s body is still dead?” Jonah asked.
“Nope,” Satan said. “He’s undead.”
The words didn’t make any sense to Jonah. But then again, nothing made sense to him anymore. He was beginning to believe that he was in the throes of one very long, very silly nightmare. That, or Dale had slipped another hit of LSD in his apple juice and they were both still back at the house, tripping balls. “Undead. That’s preposterous. Either he’s alive or dead. There is nothing else.”
“Yes, there is,” Satan insisted. “There are sixteen states of being, son. ‘Alive’ and ‘dead’ are just party tricks compared to the others.”
Forgetting the dead-undead dilemma for a fraction of a moment, Jonah asked with genuine interest, “What are the others?”
“That’s too theological for me to get into with the likes of you.” Satan grinned and shook his head, obviously pleased at keeping such secrets to himself. “Besides, theology ain’t my bag. Ask the Man Upstairs. He just loves shit like that.”
Jonah decided to back up and try again. “Is Dale alive?”
“No.”
“Then he’s dead.”
“No, he’s undead.”
Jonah grunted. This was frustrating. Like some twisted, unholy Abbott and Costello routine. He lay back against the windshield of the car and heaved a long sigh before he spoke again. “Okay, from the top. That is a
Dale scrunched up his face, wrinkling his nose and narrowing his eyes as he touched a fingertip to his chin and stared off into the distance. He stayed like this for what seemed to Jonah an unnatural amount of time.
“Dale?” Jonah finally asked.
“Shhh,” Satan hissed. “Can’t you see he’s busy?”
Jonah went quiet for a few more seconds, staring hard at the screwed-up face of his once-dead best friend. “What’s he doing?”
Satan nodded at Dale and said, in a very serious voice, “He’s trying to think.”
“Think?” Jonah asked, and with the question, he knew something was amiss.
More than anything, Jonah wanted Dale to be alive. He wanted this whole terrible affair to be over and done. And if he had been just a wee bit less clever, he might’ve assumed that that very thing had happened. He might have thought that the Dale standing before him, the Dale scrunching up his face and putting every synapse in his surely tired mind to work, was the old Dale. The regular Dale. His Dale. But even as he wished it, even as he longed for it, Jonah knew it wasn’t true—despite the fact that the man in question was scratching his ass with one hand while adjusting his junk with the other, both very classic Dale moves. But regardless of this characteristic ass scratchery and junk shiftery, one simple fact remained.
Dale Jenkins—at least, the one Jonah knew—didn’t think.
With a trembling finger, Jonah pointed to the glowing beer bottle in Satan’s hands and asked, “If Dale is still in there, then how can his body be all—umm—up and about?”
Satan laughed aloud, amused by Jonah’s confusion. “You ain’t gotta have a soul to walk and talk. I think quite a few mortals have proved that in the past.”
“No soul,” Jonah echoed, trying hard to understand what that implied.
“Yeah. But trust me, you’ll hardly notice the difference.”
The newly risen Dale ignored the pair and continued his deliberation.
“What’s taking him so long?” Jonah asked in a whisper.
Satan whispered in return, “Thoughts move much slower when one is dead.”
That was it, then. Dale wasn’t alive. He was dead. Jonah thought as much, but to hear it put in such final terms made it seem, well, final.
Final, but still unreal.
And still unbelievable.
“You’re telling me Dale’s body is still dead?” Jonah asked.
“Nope,” Satan said. “He’s undead.”
The words didn’t make any sense to Jonah. But then again, nothing made sense to him anymore. He was beginning to believe that he was in the throes of one very long, very silly nightmare. That, or Dale had slipped another hit of LSD in his apple juice and they were both still back at the house, tripping balls. “Undead. That’s preposterous. Either he’s alive or dead. There is nothing else.”
“Yes, there is,” Satan insisted. “There are sixteen states of being, son. ‘Alive’ and ‘dead’ are just party tricks compared to the others.”
Forgetting the dead-undead dilemma for a fraction of a moment, Jonah asked with genuine interest, “What are the others?”
“That’s too theological for me to get into with the likes of you.” Satan grinned and shook his head, obviously pleased at keeping such secrets to himself. “Besides, theology ain’t my bag. Ask the Man Upstairs. He just loves shit like that.”
Jonah decided to back up and try again. “Is Dale alive?”
“No.”
“Then he’s dead.”
“No, he’s undead.”
Jonah grunted. This was frustrating. Like some twisted, unholy Abbott and Costello routine. He lay back against the windshield of the car and heaved a long sigh before he spoke again. “Okay, from the top. That is a
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