Joe doesn't understand poker. Or why the zombies are here.
The Black Void - Episode 2464
|
"I don't know thing one about cards." Joe said, leaning back on the
wood. "You weirdos just play or something. I got my Gatorade, all is
alright in the world." Mrs. Johnson cocked one drawn-on eyebrow at him. "Joe, all is not alright with the world, a bunch of goddamn zombies just ate most of the city." "It's called humor, Mrs. Johnson. Humor. Besides, this is really good Gatorade." --- Cards spun and flew like birds in a John Woo movie. Joe really might have been interested in learning the game, but the past twelve hours had involved images of skulls being cracked open, flaming zombies eating teenagers in a brothel, a dead monkey that would not stop bouncing and something that was twelve feet high and looked like Gilbert Gottfried on painkillers. Full House was, to him, a bad sitcom that he still watched anyway. (Was John Stamos a zombie?) The other people on the roof were taking it remarkably well. Joe knew that Mrs. Johnson had seen all her cats explode when a National Guardsman's grenade went awry. And Avery was found knee deep in blood, chainsawing his parents. Which wasn't totally traumatizing, they had died six months ago and his therapist, who was to his left, losing a lot of fake money, was really quite good. Avery, like all of them, had cleaned up good, because the employee break room had a shower. Of course, Joe didn't get a chance, he had drawn lasties and by the time the hot water had run out, the zombies had managed to somehow hit the door release lever and they had all spilled in. Joe and Mrs. Johnson had shot the crap out of all of them, then Avery had found the maintenince ladder to the roof. And it had a four foot gap to the 7-11 next door, which also had a maintenince ladder to a locked storeroom and someone's purse with a cellphone. Avery's therapist, Quentin Mitchell, had talked to some National Guardsmen out of Georgia and they had promised a helicopter in eight hours. Sunrise, probably. If the copter got there in time. The Guardsmen had cheered when Quentin had gotten through, seems not many people in the city had survived the zombie onslaught. Not many cities HAD a zombie onslaught so once the borders were secure... Mrs. Johnson had wanted to keep the cellphone on but it's batteries were low and the officers already had taken down the number. So hour one had passed. Seven more hours. And Joe reluctantly wondered where he was going to take a piss. Peeing off a twenty story roof onto the zombies still shambling below didn't seem like the best idea ever. And besides, it was disespectful to the dead. Some of them had sold him comic books. --- "So how did you survive?" Quentin said, as more chips appeared in front of him for whatever damn reason. "What who where?" said Joe. "Anybody. How did you make it to flea market so I pull you up here and you lived." "There was a lot of peeing my pants." said Avery. "That's disgusting." said Mrs. Johnson. Joe's eyes widened. "Ma'am, we all spent the last six hours blowing away the living dead who wanted to eat our brains. I hardly think a little urine in the pants is disgusting." "There should still be standards even in this new world." Avery sighed. "Only five cities, none of them major, got the zombies. It's not a new world." "People, people, people." said Avery. "I didn't ask the question to start arguments." He streched his back. Playing cards against the side of the second floor of an odd little building meant someone had to sit away from the wall. The few still functioning lights in the flea market below framed him like a parody of a religous portrait. "I just thought talking about it could release the stress." "My five minutes of running around screaming and crying on the roof of the 7-11 released a lot of stress." "True." acknowledged Quentin. "You also released a lot of vomit." smiled Avery, grimly. "Right into that open sports car. Fabric seats too. That sucker's ruined." "You scared me silly, young man." said Mrs. Johnson. "I thought you were going to jump." "I'd have made it, I've survived bigger jumps then the roof of a 7-11 before. Heck, I've jumped from the roof of a 7-11 before." Avery tilted his head. "Did you lead a life of crime?" "No. Well, yes. Well, no. More like two weeks of crime. Then I spent two weeks in county lockup with a homeless man named Ginny Barbarossa. He taught me lock-picking and Tai Chi. I still do it. On my last day, when the paperwork finally cleared up, he hugged me then slugged me in the eye and told me never to steal again. I had to wear a patch for a week and people called me Pirate Booty-Pants for months later." "Such a potty mouth." said Mrs. Johnson as she apparently won a hand. "Your life is very exciting." said Quentin. "Normal, to." replied Joe. "At least more normal then zombies. I didn't know this damn city had that many graves." "Seventeen." said Avery. "With a one point one million capacity." Everyone looked at him. "What? I am...was...a fan of zombie stories. I got interested. Made my own zombie survival plans." "Go on." said Quentin. "With all due respect, no way." said Avery. "I know your cues. I survived. If you want to know, buy me a beer when we get back and I'll maybe tell you." "You're not old enough to drink." said Mrs. Johnson, remembering the introductions they had had by the candle stand. Quentin smiled. "Ma'am, anyone who survived, somehow, a horde of thousands of zombies is old enough to drink in my book." "I'll buy him one myself." Joe heard himself saying, even though he wasn't old enough to drink either. But, even with the punch to the eye, Joe had kept some of his old bad habits and, in his wallet, was a fake I.D. that had fooled no less then seveenteen bouncers. And quite possibly twenty four but seven of them Joe had been blitzed already and hadn't even been sure he was entering a bar in the first place. "Nobody wants to share? Joe?" Joe waved his hands no. "Mrs. Johnson?" "Not me, Mr. Mitchell. I made it, I lost my three cats to an idiot with a grenade and I don't want to talk about it." "It helps to grieve." "I had them for a week, Mr. Mitchell, Fluffy still hissed when she saw me. And it was fast. Now deal the cards."
|
Lots42
8/4/2006 6:17:58 PM
Linking Enabled
Extending Enabled
1654669 episodes viewed since 11/21/2004 7:16:57 PM.