Going Mobile The price for surviving his adventure at Mother Mary's was a bit steeper than Jon first thought. Once the adrenaline rush wore off the chickens had come home to roost, and right now they were pecking the s.h.i.t out of him.

His face felt like a microwave dinner. His eyebrows and a fair amount of noggin s.h.a.g were burned off, and his right leg made him mewl in agony every time it moved. On the plus side, the pain in his neck had disappeared. So, if you were a 'gla.s.s half full' kind of guy ...

With a grimace he popped the last of the Percocet into his mouth. How many did that make today? Three; he was almost sure it was three. Together with the two Codeine - breakfast of champions - the pills kept the pain down to a dull roar. He didn't want to think about what was waiting for him when the last of the meds wore off.

On the 'silver lining' front, the driver's seat of the black Escalade was a h.e.l.luva lot more comfortable than Lori's wreck of a car. He had pulled into the same Stop 'n Go on the way back and found the manager, Earl, according to his name tag, taking a lunch break. Smack dab in the middle of the food aisle, Earl was gorging himself on the remains of the Escalade's former owner, flanked by six-packs of Budweiser and Corona on one side, and various bags of salty treats on the other. Earl was down on all fours, his face buried in the owner's chest. The grisly tableau, accompanied by quiet sounds of chewing and tearing, didn't do anything for Jon's appet.i.te.

He didn't waste any time in introducing Earl to the business end of his .44. He put three bullets into Earl's head and one in his nuts for good sport. Certain Earl's reanimation days were at an end, but not one to take chances, he put a bullet between the main course's eyes before going through his pockets.

He fished out a wallet from the man's soiled blue jeans. Inside was two hundred and twenty dollars in cash - all twenties. The driver's license identified the meal as Ron Stoat from Camden, New Jersey. Mr. Stoat had brown eyes like Jon and was about the same height. Mr. Stoat was also an organ donor. Jon glanced at the mess on the floor.

"Guess so," he said flatly.

He pocketed the wallet, and whistling softly took out his own and removed a credit card. He tossed his wallet on the floor and did a more thorough search of the body. He didn't find any keys and guessed Mr. Stoat had been a trusting soul and left them in his car.

"Let's go shopping."

Twenty minutes later the Escalade was packed with Cool Ranch Doritos, several cases of Bud and Corona beer, a sawed off shotgun with two boxes of sh.e.l.ls which he found behind the counter, a few t.i.tty mags, three hundred and fifty dollars in cash, aspirin, and a full tank of gas. He started the SUV and drove a few hundred yards down the road before pulling over. He got out of the car and locked the door.

Some folks are more trusting than others. Limping back to the gas station, he noticed in pa.s.sing that not a single car had driven by the whole time. He didn't give it much thought. Lack of traffic did not earn a place on his list of strange occurrences. Not today. No, sir.

He limped over to Lori's car and opened the trunk. He'd already moved his tools of trade to the Escalade. Now he grabbed the bright red five-gallon gas container and headed for the pump. Swiping his own credit card, he chose Premium.

Nothing but the best for my new friends.

After filling the container, he took off his belt and tied it around the nozzle handle so that it remained in the 'on' position. He let the hose fall to the ground where it continued to pump gasoline in a rapidly expanding puddle, the hose slowly snaking back and forth.

Still whistling, he took the gas container inside the Stop 'n Go. He started with Earl and Stoat and then doused the surrounding food displays, walking backward toward the door. Once outside, he continued walking the can backwards to the pump, where a small lake of gasoline had already formed. Wisely resisting the urge for a smoke, and avoiding becoming the latest recipient for a Darwin Award, Jon waited for Lake Exxon to reach the sh.o.r.es of Lori's car. Slowly he made his way down the street. He took one of the t.i.tty mags out of his back pocket, fished out his trusty Bic lighter and lit the skin rag on fire.

Maybe a minute until the gasoline makes its way here.

Satisfied they'd burn long enough, he limped over to his new wheels. He slid into the driver's seat and had just shut the door when he heard a quiet woof. The gas pumps were blazing. A small line of flame raced from the burning pumps to the Stop 'n Go.

Imagining Earl just starting to twitch again, Jon smiled.

"It must suck to wake up toasted."

The fire quickly spread and in seconds everything was in flames.

Would have looked cooler at night.

Three hours later as he crossed over to New Jersey, Southside Johnny and the Asbury Jukes were blasting from the CD player. He'd turned off the radio back in Pittsfield, after learning that what happened back at the home was happening everywhere. He didn't need to listen to a bunch of radio heads panicking, reading bible pa.s.sages and tossing out one crackpot theory after another. What little traffic he saw earlier had come from the opposite direction, although in both ways the road was now eerily empty. He guessed things were worse in Jersey.

Nothing new there.

Jon spied the hitchhiker about a thousand yards down the road. He eased his foot off the gas pedal and slowed to about twenty miles per hour.

"Looks like he might be a teenager," he mused out loud. "Fifty points easy."

Since going mobile he'd killed three more zombies, not counting Earl. The Escalade's front fender already bore the battle scars. It was dented on the pa.s.senger side and liberally decorated with bits of hair and blood. He was pretty sure he'd be able to get a new car whenever he wanted, but you never knew. This one might have to last a while. Jon was a quick study and he'd killed the third zombie nice and slow, going no more than fifteen miles per hour when he clipped her. That was plenty fast enough to send her flying a good ten feet. She was still twitching on the road so he put the Escalade in reverse and backed over her. Kind of like going over a speed b.u.mp made of silly putty.

"We're having a party ..."

The car drew closer to the hitcher, a young man, maybe twenty, walking backward with his thumb in the air, a leather backpack slung over his shoulder.

"Everybody's singing ..." Jon's voice trailed off.

Huh. Not a zombie, maybe.

"Nurssse," Jon whispered, and broke into a hiccough of giggles.

The hitcher waved his arms and took a step in the road, mistaking Jon's slowing down for a free ride.

Jon turned off Southside and slowed to a stop. His left hand dropped to his side, resting lightly on the nine millimeter wedged between the driver's seat and the door.

The hitcher jogged a few yards to the car and stopped opposite the door, his face framed in the window. He was indeed a kid. The few chin whiskers didn't do much to age him. He had sandy brown hair, not long but not combed either. Jon didn't need divine power to know that his breath smelled like day-old Wendy's and flat beer. Still, living-grunge here was a d.a.m.ned sight cleaner than Earl or any of Mother Mary's former residents. When it came to crossing Jon Tanner's path, however, being human didn't get you to a free pa.s.s. No, sir.

Jon smiled and rolled down the window.

"Where you heading, Sunshine?"

The young man tried to put on a brave face for about half a second but Jon could tell he was scared a good ways past normal.

"I um, just want to get out of here, mister, if you want to know the truth."

Jon's smile widened. "Oh yeah, why's that? Got a girl in trouble or on your way to getting one in trouble?"

The kid blinked rapidly, a look of disbelief on his face.

"No. No - don't you - Didn't you hear about what's happening?"

Jon kept smiling and nodding without listening. About fifty yards down the road something was shambling toward the car.

Well, would you look at that?

The kid babbled something about a diner down the road. People eating each other ... dead rising from the graves ... yadda, yadda, yadda. Jon nodded pleasantly. The corpse was about thirty yards away now and he could see that it was covered in mud. It wore a three-piece suit and was bare foot.

"They told us to stay inside and wait for the authorities. Then the cable must have gone out or something. Next thing I know Ms. Bachman - she's my neighbor - she's screaming ..."

I am seriously f.u.c.ked up, Jon thought. He should be s.h.i.tting a brick right now but he was calm as a stone.

"Must be the Codeine," he said out loud.

The kid gave Jon a worried look. "I'm sorry?"

Jon squinted at the thing, ten yards away and dressed in its Sunday best. It had the weirdest eyes ... He barked a laugh, startling the boy.

Pennies! The f.u.c.ker still has pennies on its eyes.

The kid finally stopped talking and looked uncertainly at Jon.

"Everything okay, mister?"

Jon laughed louder. "Everything is honky f.u.c.king dory, Sunshine." He hit the unlock b.u.t.ton. "Get in."

The kid fumbled with the handle. "It's locked," he said.

Mr. Pennies and the kid were separated by no more than an arm's length. Jon was laughing so hard he could hardly breathe. "Take your hand off the handle," he wheezed.

Sunshine let go of the handle and Jon hit the b.u.t.ton again, tears streaming down his cheeks as the boy fumbled with the door handle. A few eternities later, the door popped open and he hopped in.

"Thanks a lot ..."

"You might," Jon gasped, "want to put your window up."

Chapter 19.

Accidents Happen Twenty miles later Jon decided to kill Sunshine. The painkillers still made life bearable, but the Codeine and Percocet now took a back seat to the flash burn, bruises and battered leg; he was maybe five minutes away from a whopper of a headache. His eyes felt both raw and half cooked from the explosion and even the muted light of dusk felt like needles. Night had fallen, which was a mercy. But whatever relief it brought was lost in the incessant babble: "... Only until September. That was the plan. Work until September and then head out to California via the scenic route. We were all set. Camping gear, car, some gra.s.s. It was a done deal. She was supposed to meet me at the diner but she never showed ..."

"Do you have weed?"

"Hmm ... well, no. She was holding it and ..." Sunshine kept talking.

Avoid the Christmas rush, Jon. Shoot him now.

He squeezed the bridge of his nose and closed his eyes. His foot pressed down on the gas and the Escalade jumped to sixty-five, not the smartest move, given the occasional abandoned car in the middle of the road. But sometimes he just felt like rolling the dice. Sunshine didn't seem to notice.

"We were supposed to meet at Spindle Top Diner. That's where I was when I found out about ... about whatever. I tried calling Kim but couldn't get any signal. No surprise there, right? I mean, when it rains, it pours. So there I am, sitting at the counter ..."

Shut up. Shut up. Shut up. SHUT UP!

"... long greasy looking black hair, wearing this torn up T-shirt and denim shorts. I mean she looked like a junkie's junkie."

Jon fished between the driver's seat and door until his hand found the 9mm. Just tightening his hand on the grip eased the pressure behind his eyes. Cold comfort, he thought as he smiled and brought the gun to his lap.

Should have left him to Pennies from Heaven. Eyes on the road, he clicked off the safety.

But why should the undead have all the fun?

Sunshine stared out his window, oblivious. He was one twitchy sonofab.i.t.c.h; hands drumming against his knees, head nodding up and down as if there were music playing. Jesus, everything about him put Jon on edge.

"She's just standing by the cash register, like some kind of zombie." Sunshine barked a laugh, setting off small explosions behind Jon's eyes. "No s.h.i.t, right? And the waitress walks over to her. Guess she was going to tell her to either hit the road or maybe go around back for some sc.r.a.ps or something. h.e.l.l, maybe she was just going to seat her. Who knows?"

Sunshine's fingers increased their drumming. His head rocked back and forth like a mean drunk at a revival meeting.

"But she didn't get a chance to say anything," he continued. "That girl, she just kind of fell into the waitress and started biting. She bit right into that poor woman's neck. I could see blood start to bubble around ... around that thing's mouth. Started pouring down like a faucet. That thing kept chewing and the woman kept screaming. I swear the next -"

"Sorry, Sunshine. Today just isn't your -"

The Escalade jumped the curb, grabbed some air for two eternal seconds and slammed back into the ground. Jon's head whipped back and forth like a jack-in-the-box and the last of the dull pleasures of Percocet and Codeine fled faster than ten Mexicans in a mini-van. The pain came roaring back with a vengeance, turning his whole world red.

"MOTHER FU -" And with those magic words, everything went dark.

He woke all too soon. His leg felt like someone was tapping it with a hammer. If it wasn't broken back at Mother Mary's, it sure as f.u.c.k is now. The accident seemed to have shut Sunshine up for the moment, but it hardly seemed a fair trade. The gun no was longer in his lap, and he wouldn't risk bending his head down for a look.

He heard movement and risked a glance over at Sunshine, who was fumbling with the lock.

"What are you doing?" His voice sounded flat and plain worn out. The boy kept half-heartedly pawing at the lock, his hand flapping uselessly against the door.

"Jesus Christ. What happened?"

"Don't," Jon hissed. The forest fire of pain had settled down to a steady throb and his vision cleared a bit.

"Just going to stretch my legs. You okay?"

"No." Jon leaned back, very slowly, and reached for the seatbelt release.

"You're hurt?" Sunshine asked worriedly. "Where? How bad?"

"No. I mean, yes I'm hurt, G.o.dd.a.m.nit! But no, don't open the door."

"I just want to stretch my legs -"

Something thudded against the door and Sunshine screamed.

Despite the pain Jon smiled. Screams like a little girl. That could make things interesting.

He turned his head toward the pa.s.senger door and paid the price as fresh knives of pain shot up his neck. The zombie banged into the door again. She was one ugly f.u.c.k. And not all of it could be blamed on her being dead. She had Barbara Streisand's nose and Sonny Bono's mustache. Her hair, or rather her wig, was dirty - filthy - blonde. She wore a sequin dress with f.u.c.king feathers sticking out everywhere.

Christ. She must be at least six foot one.

Sunshine's screams dwindled to a bearable mewling.

"Don't worry about Miss America there. Can you make out what that building is?"

The Escalade had stopped in some kind of parking lot. There were a few cars, pickup trucks mostly. He could make out a single story building about thirty yards away. Honky-tonk, probably, though he couldn't be sure. His vision was still blurry, either from the Percocet or the accident. There was a neon sign over the door that looked like 'Lomoan'.

That can't be right.

Sunshine kept looking at the zombie.