Pariah

“You laughing at me?”

He pulled on his dick harder. That face of hers. That deadpan fucking face. It was almost worse when it showed a glimmer of personality. Personality that mocked him.

“You fuckin’ laughing at me?”

Maintaining eye contact she slowly shook her head, pressing herself against the pedestal and washbasin. Her fingers snailed their way along her bare upper thigh toward her underpants until they made contact and lightly curled around the elastic waistband.

“Oh no you fuckin’ don’t.”

Eddie lunged at her and she juked toward the door, unable to run with her pants half-mast. His arm shot out and grabbed her, and as he yanked the small girl toward him, he backhanded her across the face. She stumbled backward, raising her hands in self-defense. With zero mirth, Eddie laughed, the ugly sound echoing in the tile- covered tight quarters.

“That’s hilarious. Your mojo don’t work on me, toots.”

Ten minutes later, wiping his hands off on his pants, he stepped off the escalator and made for the sunny street.

The street.

The crowded street.

The street chockablock with zombies.

Oops.

He turned to fetch Mona.

More teeth on flesh.

Not immune.

Not just his shoulder.

Should’ve worn a shirt.

Bony fingers gripping.

The drugs.

Not immune.

Flesh tearing. More blood. So much blood.

Why didn’t she say something?

As he came apart Eddie whispered, “Ellen would’ve struggled.”

41

“You can’t be serious,” Ellen sputtered, following Alan past the barricaded front entrance and down into the musty basement. She was still feeling like they’d had some kind of breakthrough by the window and now here was her inamorato psyching himself up for a quixotic, most likely suicidal undertaking.

“Of course I’m serious. You think I want to be doing this? I have to. If there’s no more Mona there’s no more us. She’s our lifeline. So, I have to.”

“Can’t we give it a little more time?” Ellen pled. “It’s only been-”

“A day. A whole day. It’s like Ten Little Indians, Ellen. We’re down two men and Mona. Plus, Abe, Ruth, and who knows what became of Gerri.”

Alan placed the camping lamp on a stack of crates and looked around the room. In all the months since the pandemic began he’d been down here only once or twice. There were a couple of cage-style wire mesh lockers for tenants near the boiler, one rented by the Fogelhuts, the other unoccupied. Alan approached the Fogelhuts’ locker and gave the combination lock a yank.

“Figures,” he muttered. “I’d suggest looking for the combination in their apartment, but that could take forever.”

“I’d suggest you abandon this, period.”

He wanted to. He really did, but this was all there was to do. He wasn’t about to go to Dave or Dabney. Both were borderline basket cases these days, Dave going through cold-turkey withdrawal from both Eddie and the drugs, and Dabney recapturing the days of wine and roses. No, no outsourcing this time. Time to man up, even if he wasn’t necessarily the man he wanted to be.

Alan dug around Mr. Spiteri’s tools, which lay in a haphazard array on and about a crude wooden worktable by the stairs. There were several toolboxes, which he rummaged through until he produced a thick, heavy-gauge pipe wrench. He took several vicious whacks at the lock, the only result being the bones in his fairly delicate hands being rattled.

“See? Futile,” Ellen said, a manic smile splitting her face. “Okay, you gave it your best shot, so-”

“Not that easy,” Alan said. He fetched a thick pair of rubberized work gloves off the bench and returned to the locker, smashing not the sturdy lock, but the lightly rusted fitting through which it was looped. That broke away from the locker after ten focused whacks and with a creak, the door swung open. Alan grinned, pleased with his mettle.

“This is the worst idea, ever,” Ellen said, panic rising. “Ever.”

“You ever read Swift’s ‘A Modest Proposal’? If we don’t get Mona back we’re looking at the longest short winter of our lives and a very limited menu.”

Ellen rubbed her still-flat belly, absorbing Alan’s comment. “That’s in very bad taste,” she said.

“Maybe so, but this is all I can think of. It worked for Abe. How many times did Abe suggest one of us young bucks-” Alan made air-quotes “-do this? Dozens. ‘If an old fart like me could do it, what’s your excuse?’ ”

“It worked for Abe because he did it before things got so bad out there. There were countless morsels besides him for the ghouls to eat. They didn’t need to pick a well- insulated geezer.”

“I suppose.” Alan knew she was right.

“You recall anyone else trying this ploy and succeeding?” she added.

Alan couldn’t because no one had. Back in April that Venezuelan from 2B had been shamed enough by Abe to make an attempt and was devoured in plain sight within yards of the building. But he hadn’t donned Abe’s gear, assuming enough of his own would suffice. It hadn’t. Alan pulled the boxes out and ripped them open. Inside were Abe’s improvised armor: the Baby Sof’ Suit^® infant winter onesies and the XXXL pair of Bender’s Breathable Sub-zero Shield^®Sooper- System^™Weather Bibs. Leaving the bib down-as Abe has described in detail many times in the prior months-Alan began stuffing onesies down the pants, padding himself from the ankles up. When he’d reached maximum density he pulled up the bib, heaved on the matching camouflage parka, and stuffed in more onesies. With the hood of the giant parka cinched tight around a scarf and wearing a pair of snow goggles, Alan resembled a camouflaged Michelin Man.

“So,” Ellen said, a hint of worried derision in her tone, “how are you going to get upstairs now, Stay Puft?”

Alan cursed under his breath. He should have suited up in the apartment. Already he was self-basting in perspiration. With his gloved hands he gripped the railings and hauled himself up the narrow flights of stairs to 2B. By the time he reached the window with the rappelling line he was soaked with sweat.

“I think we really had a moment, there,” Ellen said.

“I know we did.”

“I think we really have something, period,” Ellen said.

“I think so, too.”

“I shouldn’t have ever busted your hump about Mona. I know you were loyal. I guess I just needed some drama to pass the time.”

Alan laughed, not with disdain. With affection.

“I deserve your mocking,” Ellen said.

“Don’t be such a drama queen,” Alan said. Shifting the scarf and balaclava and goggles he smiled at Ellen and