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Authors: Happy Hour of the Damned
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sweetbreads ?” Ricardo nodded. I gagged. He giggled, and motioned for me to take my glass. We settled into a cushy banquette. Gil hung from the end and lit a very thin cigarette—did it have to be an Eve?
“These are exciting times,” Gil said. “Parents are so freaked out about their children and so worried about fucking them up, they’ve become hypervigilant. That used to be a symptom of mental illness, you know. Now it’s a value. Kids growing up today expect to be protected. They’re weaker than ever.” A shudder rolled through him, as though someone passed a box of Girl Scout cookies under his nose, or in Gil’s case, a crate of actual Girl Scouts would be more evocative. “By the time this generation are adults, they’ll just line up for dinner.”
“One can dream.” Ricardo swallowed the remaining vodka from his glass.
“Well probably not to that degree, but it’s gotten easier every year. You’ve got to give me that.”
“True. So how did you die, princess?” Ricardo asked, swirling an olive around his martini, but not tasting it, just flavoring the vodka. Lesson two, well learned: food is a nono. Got it.
“First off, you two.” I pointed at both with either index finger. “You two must shove the pet names up your asses. Second, it’s Amanda Feral, and if that’s too difficult for you, then don’t refer to me at all.” I enlightened them about the fall in the garage and then waking up dead and fabulous.
“Nope,” Gil said. “That’s not it.”
“Something before that, maybe you’re forgetting.”
It had only been a few hours. I tried to remember. I fell because I was running. But from whom? It didn’t seem likely that Avery or Pendleton could create enough speed to break a sweat, let alone have reason to chase me. An image of a floating box drifted into my head 33 . Not the donut box. Was there something about an elevator?
“The memory just isn’t coming.”
“It will,” Ricardo said. “In time.”
“In time,” Gil mocked. But, his was a direct quote from the possessed girl, Regan, in The Exorcist , complete with demonic accent.
I rolled my eyes and swallowed the rest of my martini. It warmed all the way down.
“Well you’re clearly not a mistake.” Ricardo lit a cigarette. He shook another out of the pack and offered me one. I waved it off.
“Thanks, no. I quit years ago. So, was I murdered, then?”
“No, no, nothing like that. You see, there are two types of zombies, those who have received the breath, like you and I.
We are made zombies, we sometimes call ourselves ghouls or abovegrounders, but the term is inconsequential. The other kind of zombies are total mistakes, either the victims of a bite or a scratch from another zombie. You or I could go out right this minute and create one. They’re highly dangerous to both humans and the rest of the supernatural world, as they are not at all discreet and can easily expose us to the living.”
Gil piped up, “They’re sloppy and don’t give a damn about appearances. Most of them have visible injuries that make it obvious that they are dead. You see, despite a large population of supernatural beings, we have been able to go unnoticed. We work very hard at blending into our landscape, creating an atmosphere of trust with certain humans. It ensures that as a group, we’ll go overlooked. That’s what enables us to inhabit dwellings next door to our human cousins, and have places like this.” He gestured around the club. “The mistakes fuck with that balance.”
“And, you’ll have to watch out for them, as well,” Ricardo said. “They are incredibly violent and have a tendency to claw. As long as you consume human flesh, your own decomposition process will be stalled, but you can’t afford any damage or accidents on your person. Nothing that happens to you from now on is reversible. You will not heal. Do you see where a confrontation with a mistake can become a serious issue?”
“Absolutely.” I
“These are exciting times,” Gil said. “Parents are so freaked out about their children and so worried about fucking them up, they’ve become hypervigilant. That used to be a symptom of mental illness, you know. Now it’s a value. Kids growing up today expect to be protected. They’re weaker than ever.” A shudder rolled through him, as though someone passed a box of Girl Scout cookies under his nose, or in Gil’s case, a crate of actual Girl Scouts would be more evocative. “By the time this generation are adults, they’ll just line up for dinner.”
“One can dream.” Ricardo swallowed the remaining vodka from his glass.
“Well probably not to that degree, but it’s gotten easier every year. You’ve got to give me that.”
“True. So how did you die, princess?” Ricardo asked, swirling an olive around his martini, but not tasting it, just flavoring the vodka. Lesson two, well learned: food is a nono. Got it.
“First off, you two.” I pointed at both with either index finger. “You two must shove the pet names up your asses. Second, it’s Amanda Feral, and if that’s too difficult for you, then don’t refer to me at all.” I enlightened them about the fall in the garage and then waking up dead and fabulous.
“Nope,” Gil said. “That’s not it.”
“Something before that, maybe you’re forgetting.”
It had only been a few hours. I tried to remember. I fell because I was running. But from whom? It didn’t seem likely that Avery or Pendleton could create enough speed to break a sweat, let alone have reason to chase me. An image of a floating box drifted into my head 33 . Not the donut box. Was there something about an elevator?
“The memory just isn’t coming.”
“It will,” Ricardo said. “In time.”
“In time,” Gil mocked. But, his was a direct quote from the possessed girl, Regan, in The Exorcist , complete with demonic accent.
I rolled my eyes and swallowed the rest of my martini. It warmed all the way down.
“Well you’re clearly not a mistake.” Ricardo lit a cigarette. He shook another out of the pack and offered me one. I waved it off.
“Thanks, no. I quit years ago. So, was I murdered, then?”
“No, no, nothing like that. You see, there are two types of zombies, those who have received the breath, like you and I.
We are made zombies, we sometimes call ourselves ghouls or abovegrounders, but the term is inconsequential. The other kind of zombies are total mistakes, either the victims of a bite or a scratch from another zombie. You or I could go out right this minute and create one. They’re highly dangerous to both humans and the rest of the supernatural world, as they are not at all discreet and can easily expose us to the living.”
Gil piped up, “They’re sloppy and don’t give a damn about appearances. Most of them have visible injuries that make it obvious that they are dead. You see, despite a large population of supernatural beings, we have been able to go unnoticed. We work very hard at blending into our landscape, creating an atmosphere of trust with certain humans. It ensures that as a group, we’ll go overlooked. That’s what enables us to inhabit dwellings next door to our human cousins, and have places like this.” He gestured around the club. “The mistakes fuck with that balance.”
“And, you’ll have to watch out for them, as well,” Ricardo said. “They are incredibly violent and have a tendency to claw. As long as you consume human flesh, your own decomposition process will be stalled, but you can’t afford any damage or accidents on your person. Nothing that happens to you from now on is reversible. You will not heal. Do you see where a confrontation with a mistake can become a serious issue?”
“Absolutely.” I
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