The Happy Zombie Sunrise Home

Chapter 12 - Okie

The crazy thing was, after all the trouble we'd had, the easiest possible part was getting over the border. They were checking like hell on the other side, the people coming from Canada into the US – blood tests and swabs and all kinds of shit. But into Canada, looked like they'd just given up. Canada's a casualty of the zombie war – anyone with money is living in fortress houses up North where the cold slows the shambling dead down. And those who couldn't, or didn't get out in time... well, Canadians are resourceful. I'm just glad we're heading for England where they have it all under control on that small island. 

It was so good to see Grandma again. Just so good to eat her pie and be little Okie and sit as she stroked my hair and told me everything was going be OK, that she had a plan for me, and a plan for mom, and we were going to be on the first chartered aircraft out of here, and she had a friend in England who could host us for as long as we liked. We were going to the Happy Zombie Sunrise Home, and everything was going to be alright. I finally felt calm, for the first time in two days. That was, until Hughes started yelling outside.

I ran out to the front yard to see what was going on. Grandma followed, stately, behind me. Hughes was there, pointing and yelling at a blonde, bikini-clad skeletal-style zombie who was slowly stumbling down the street towards him. She was holding her hands out to him, palms upwards, wrists together, and at first I couldn't see what she was doing until I looked more closely and saw that, cupped in her palms, was a tiny, ringing, cellphone, its screen flashing with a photo and name of the caller.

“Jesus,” said Hughes, “Tiffany, Jesus, Jesus, when did this happen? I only talked to you yesterday...”

He was crying, a little bit, and his shoulders were shaking, and he hardly seemed to see me and Grandma.

“I used GPS tracking to find her phone,” he sobbed, backing away from her slowly, “thought it must be a mistake when it brought me back here...”

Grandma whispered in my ear: “You see, darling, just like I said.”

I didn't say anything. I watched Hughes, as the Tiffany-zombie hobbled towards him with the phone.

After a minute I said: “Do you want to put her upstairs in the tub with mom?”

He shook his head.

“I don't think she would've wanted that.”

When he shot her, the sound was really loud. Much louder than I would have thought. He did it cleanly, though. Just one shot, through her right eye, more gore and stuff coming out the back of her head than I expected. She fell to the ground, twitching, her hands still clutching at her little diamante-clad cellphone.

Grandma gave Hughes his money. He didn't say much, just wished us luck, and told us that Z-Line appreciated our custom and to get in contact if we needed the services of Z-Line again in future. Z-Line knows we have a choice in which post-apocalypse armoured full-package taxi service we use, and hopes that if we've had a bad experience we'll tell them, and if we've had a good experience we'll tell our friends.

I said: “But you'll come and say goodbye before we go?”

And he said: “Yeah, sure kid, yeah.”

Grandma said: “Certainly he will, Okie. I shall make another batch of rhubarb pies, young man, and you shall have three. Nothing like a pie in moments of uncertainty and fear. And to repel the zombies.”

And he agreed, nodding slowly, like he couldn't really hear anything that anyone was saying. He squeezed my arm, though, as he was leaving, and Grandma Clio said “no one can ever resist a pie.”

Later in the evening, when mom was full of mini-wieners and docile, I managed to get her out of her ripped, torn clothes – they were starting to smell and grandma had found some of granddad's old towelling pajamas for her to wear. Much better for a long journey. Mom didn't fight – she even helped me, like a kid getting ready for bed. Right foot in, left foot in, pull up over the tushie. She settled down, in the tub, growling softly. I put a pillow under her head. She reached out and stroked my arm.