Pariah

Catholic to the bone, because of my moms. But this shit?” Another nod to the undead. “Who could believe in God? So I wanna ask Karl, where’s his messiah now?”

Nothing. No reply.

“What? You into God, too? Sorry to offend.”

“I’m not.”

“Not sorry or not offended?”

“I don’t believe in God.”

Even though they were in agreement, for some reason her response annoyed him. She probably never believed. It’s one thing to lose faith; it’s another never to have had it in the first place. That was kind of arrogant. Eddie didn’t believe in God, but atheists were assholes. Just as smug as born-agains, but colder. Like they were better than everyone else. Better not to talk. Better to just scope that pear-shaped ass. With each footfall one buttock would jiggle, then the other. It was hypnotic. As he allowed himself to be transfixed by Mona’s tush, Eddie started humming, then quietly singing, “I see you baby, shakin’ that ass, shakin’ that ass…” Eddie used to dance like crazy to that song. He’d hit the clubs, make with the gyrations and then bring a hottie or two home for some pelvic mayhem. The more focused his reminiscences the louder his singing.

“ I see you baby, shakin’ that ass, shakin’ that ass…”

“What?” Mona stopped walking and turned to face Eddie.

Woolgathering over, Eddie stared back into Mona’s fish eye.

“Nothin’,” he said. “Just singin’. Remember that one?” Mona shook her head. “It’s a good one. Groove Armada. That’s whose song it was. Yeah. I used to get kinda nice to that shit.”

Mona turned away and they resumed their trek. The second her back was turned Eddie stuck out his tongue, then embellished the gesture by flicking it back and forth between his splayed middle and index fingers. He’d never been big on cunnilingus, but he wouldn’t mind noshing on the delicacies in Mona’s undies. Not undies. Panties. Maybe she wore a thong. Oh shit. Or a G-string. Daaaamn. Eddie didn’t care. It was all good. And that ass. That fuckin’ ass. As they trudged on, slowly, deliberately, he felt the insistent surge of blood into his groin. Yeah. Like Moses’s fuckin’ staff.

“I see you baby, shakin’ that ass, shakin’ that ass…”

Mona sucked her teeth in that gross disapproving way.

Don’t fuckin’ judge me, bitch, Eddie thought. I’ll fuckin’ rape that ass.

“I would, too,” he said. “Just try me.”

“Huh?”

“Nothing.” He fingered his necklace of zombie ears, ruminating on punishing that ass. But first things first: Karl needed some rescuing-the little wuss-so The Comet was on it. The zombie ears felt like suede. Or did they? Maybe it was his fingertips. His mouth tasted like the inside of his socks, the texture of his inside cheeks rough like terry cloth. And dry. So dry. Unlike Karl, Eddie had packed a canteen, and drank from it. As the water sluiced down his throat he remembered something from junior high.

“The brain’s fuckin’ weird,” Eddie said to the back of Mona’s head. He trotted forward and stood by her side as he continued. “You know? Like, I was just thirsty, right? So I guzzle some agua and what comes back to me? This fuckin’ book from when I was a kid, with this little baby Mexican or Indian. But I remembered his name: Coyotito. ’Cause as I was guzzling I remembered this line from the book, something about Coyotito’s little tongue lapping thirstily or greedily or some such gay-ass shit. I can’t remember what book, but I fuckin’ hated that kid and was glad when he got capped. That book sucked, but I remember some of it. ’Cept its name.”

“The Pearl.”

“Yeah. Fuck yeah, The Pearl. Holy shit, I can’t believe you knew that. That book sucked, am I right?”

“Mm-hmm.”

Eddie grinned thinking about that little brat taking lead in the cabeza. The more he thought about it the more that flooded back to him. In zombie movies head shots took care of everything. He looked at the throng as it held itself back, fighting its hardwired desire to tear the two of them to shreds. Eddie finger-popped an imaginary gun at them, each a rotting Coyotito just begging for a bullet-salad sandwich.

“And you know what else? Wow, it’s all coming back. That big Baby Huey retard and his little pal. Or was that a different book? Petting rabbits an’ shit. Same guy, though, right? The writer?”

“Steinbeck.”

“Yeeeeaaah. Him. Dude, he sucked.”

“Mm-hmm.”

“Steinbeck. Was he a fuckin’ Jew? Is that Jewish?”

“Dunno.”

“Sounds Jewy. No offense, I mean if you’re a Jew. Jews are all right.”

“I’m not.”

“Not offended or not Jewish?”

“Neither.”

“Cool.”

Eddie’s mouth still felt like felt, dry and scabrous. The water didn’t help. He was sweating like a pig. Did pigs sweat? Isn’t that why they rolled around in their own filth, because they couldn’t sweat to cool off? And dogs. Dogs panted because they couldn’t sweat. Did any animal sweat? Sweating was sweet. Eddie wanted something sweet. A bomb pop would be the bomb, but Mister Softee had stopped making his rounds. Mister Softee, with his friendly waffle-cone face and whippy-do vanilla swirl bouffant.

“Try as he might he can never get hard / his name is Mister Softeeee!” Eddie sang to the tune of the old ice cream trucks’ clarion. “Deedle-ee-deedle-ee-dee-dee-dee-de-dum-de-dum- de-dum-dummm. Remember that?”

Mona shrugged.

“Your loss, honey. Mister Softee was the shit.” Eddie polished off the water. Didn’t concern him. He’d pick up a bottle or five on the way home. “Yo, I’ve gotta take a leak. You mind?”

Mona shrugged, looking away. Eddie unzipped, aimed at the zombies nearby, and doused them. As they stood there and took it, Eddie grinned and shouted, “S’matta, your mamas never told you to come in from the rain?” No response. Not even wrath. Between the zombies and Mona… He shook off the last few droplets and tucked himself away.

“There’s a whole lotta shit we could steal out here in the world. Fuck, it ain’t even stealin’ no more. It’s just taking. Scavenging. It’s practically our patriotic duty.”

Mona shrugged.

The fuckin’ cooze was really chafing Eddie’s balls with her attitude. Was that all this was? Attitude? A woman shouldn’t ever come off attitudinal to a man. Even Eddie’s mom had agreed on that point, and when the occasion called for it, she didn’t protest a slap across the chops from Pops. Was that what this Mona bitch was begging for? Women liked it rough from time to time. Just a fact of nature. Eddie let himself lag just a little behind her again. He preferred her ass to her face, anyway. Plus, quiet from the ass is a virtue, especially on a woman. No one loves a gassy broad.

The Barnes & Noble loomed on the left.

“About time,” Eddie said. “We go in, find the little jerk. If he’s crippled I guess I’ll have to carry his worthless ass home. That’ll be great.”

A glint of light caught Eddie’s eye as they stepped toward the broken window. As Mona stepped over the verge, Eddie stooped over to investigate the shiny object: a new-looking satin-finished stainless Smith & Wesson 9mm. He felt that surge of arousal again. With Mona’s back still turned he surreptitiously slipped it into his pants pocket, fighting the urge to empty the clip into several nearby gristle puppets.

With Eddie away on his mercy mission-hard to fathom the word “mercy” in context with Eddie, but there it was-and Dave sequestered for the duration of his beau’s absence, Dabney comfortably resumed his station on the