ZA Chapter 12: Zombie Bacon

Cam Sparks finished shaving in the cracked mirror and washed the gleaming edge of his combat knife. He checked his teeth in it, not because he cared at all about his dental hygiene, but because he liked to see himself grinning along the edge of a knife.

Spinning the blade, he shoved it into its sheath like he was stabbing a zombie. V said he was going to impale his leg someday, but V was a thinker. Cam couldn’t hurt himself. That would be silly. His body knew what to do and he didn’t let little things like thinking get in the way of that. Cam only had one thought: See zombie. Kill zombie.

Or was that two thoughts?

He frowned and moved away from the mirror. Falling onto the bed, he slouched against the wall and looked up at the single window above him. It was shattered, of course, from the first zombies that fuckin’ broke in and got fried. He’d kicked out the rest of it and shoved another window into the sill, one he’d gotten from a Home Depot demo, but it didn’t fit very well. Every time the wind blew it sounded like that creepy M lady sucking in a breath through her teeth.

On either side of the window was a thick, sharpened steel sheet. Inset on greased runners, the sheets were held in place by a thin latch that, if pulled, would cause them to slam shut like the legs of a female power-lifter.

Cam grinned at it. He’d built it himself, and it made him happy. Of course, he didn’t have any illusions about his own safety. The zombies would get in. The zombies always got in. But it sure would be a gas to watch the first head pop off like a beach ball.

Cam shrugged his shoulder, raking it against the blackened concrete wall. The itch was back, and he hated it. He’d have to go soon, find some zombies, and torch them. And hey, he thought with a small kindle of excitement, maybe he’d stop by Meg’s house. She always had cookies, and Cam liked cookies almost as much as he liked The Cleaning Lady.

But first things first. He stripped off his olive green T-shirt, exposing the bandage that covered his upper arm from from collarbone to the top of his bicep. The bandage wasn’t white anymore. It had darkened to a greenish black. Pulling his knife from its sheath, he cut that shit away to reveal the mottled black crust of his skin.

Cam grabbed the metal garbage can from the floor and set it on the bed next to him. With meticulous care, he shaved off the layers of black rot. It was like scraping the scum off the bottom of a pan after frying chicken, and he made sure that every crispy flake went into the trash can. At first, there was no blood. As he got deeper, that black-green shit oozed out, but he kept at it, carving one thin strip at a time until the blood ran red onto his blade. That was the trick, the blood. The fuckin’ thing had only been the size of a quarter when he’d first noticed it. But it had stopped growing when he cut down far enough to bleed real blood.

With a grunt, he levered himself to his feet, went to the sink, washed and dressed the wound again. He pulled his shirt on, sat back on the bed and set the trash can on the ground at his feet. The blackened curls of flesh twisted like the little undead worms they were. Cam pulled a bottle of Everclear from the charred dresser poured some into the trash can, then took a swig himself.

He took his lighter, Delilah, from his cargo pants, clicked open the cap and flicked the flame on. He took another swig of everclear.

“Die, zombie bacon.”

He spit a thin stream of Everclear at the trashcan. It turned into flame as it passed over Delilah and engulfed the squirming skin. Cam stared at it unblinkingly as it burned. After a time, he shook his head. He was definitely too pensive today.

It’s like I’m goddamned Virgil all-of-a-sudden, he thought.

Jumping to his feet, he threw on his utility vest and shouldered The Cleaning Lady. He was hungry. He needed him some cookies. Yeah, and then some Zombie BBQ. That's the ticket.

He left his cell and went looking for Meg.