Original Stories Fan Fiction ❯ Mechanical Affection ❯ Chapter 3 ( Chapter 3 )

(Less amusing, but necessary…)

Mechanical Affection- Chapter 3

I'm not sure how long they left me hangin' there in the woods, but eventually they pulled their heads out of their asses and came to let me down. It was a little too late for my taste because all that swinging and unnatural upside-downness brought my lunch right back up. I was surprised at how black it was when it came back up and by how much of it there was. I think they were too, but mostly they seemed sickened. It probably smelled as bad as it tasted. I hoped they enjoyed that little treasure. Jerks.

When the time came to let me down they were, unsurprisingly, real pricks about the whole thing and just cut me down like a coconut from the tree. Didn't even try to catch me and I landed on my head, which was no picnic. I should probably also mention that I landed right in the black and bloodied vomit, which was equally as unpleasant. A crick in my neck and covered in something even I found revolting. Thanks, guys…

Once down, they grabbed me by the legs and hauled me out of the mess. I'm pretty sure both of them swore to their hearts content while doing so. Then Mr. Trident jumped on me, which I was excited about for about two seconds before he wrenched my stiff arms behind my back and tied them together. That explained why they'd left and then come back for me.

Once my arms were done, he slapped a shiny new necklace around my throat, and by necklace I mean collar. Like the kind a common dog wears, which I was concerned about considering I was no dog. Then he tied some ropes to that and hauled my ass up. Then it was back to his buddy-buddy act and he gave me pat on the back and a smile, “I'm going to take you home now.” Said Mr. Trident carefully with his hand still placed firmly on my back, since it was my front half covered in blood and black vomit. “You understand, don't you?” I stared. What did he want me to do? I had the vocabulary of a vegetable; it wasn't like I could answer. Fuck, if I could do that not only would I be the smartest zombie in the world, I'd be the only talking one to boot! And people would be less inclined to blow my brains out or bash my skull in.

The female with no particular distinguishing features rolled her eyes and said something quickly. She was apparently not too keen on the idea still but I was kind of warming up to it… You know, friends close and enemies closer shebang. As long as they didn't use me for target practice, which seemed unlikely since Mr. Trident grabbed hold of my rope with some bizarre amount of pride. I was a prize for sure, but I wasn't quite qualified to determine what kind yet.

With the girl on one side and Mr. Trident on the other, they kept the ropes tight enough that I couldn't veer off and give anyone a bite while they walked me through the forest. They were quite chatty too, unconcerned by the fact that I could not understand much of it. I caught some things here or there. Something about lonely and bad ideas… I didn't try hard to keep up with the conversation, I was just glad to be part of the group. Which, it seemed to me, was also a bad idea sprung from loneliness. Maybe they were more like me than I realized. A bullet could just as easily cure my loneliness and with a couple of breathers, it seemed like a likely scenario.

Speaking of bullets, our welcome was chillier than the nipples of a witch wearing a brass bra in winter. Even if I could count, I think I'd have trouble counting the number of guns pointed at my head the moment their little township caught wind of me. First impressions… Turns out, I'm not good at them. It may have helped if I hadn't been dropped into the contents of my stomach.

Some wall of a man got up in our faces, essentially blocking my view of the base so all I could look at was him. Leaning way far back, I teetered and gaped at him dumbly. I didn't quite like the looks of him and I was hungry again, thanks to dumb and dumber next to me. I'm not sure which was dumb or dumber. Either way, my guts were wretchedly empty and I was currently standing in front of a man buffet.

Big and beefy shoved his gun into my chest and I inhaled sharply as I bared my teeth to make a hissing noise. I pulled at my ropes to bite at him and he struck me upside the head. My world spun and I stumbled. I didn't quite fall though, thanks to my male chauffeur, who grabbed my arm to catch me. Righting me, he went back to rope duty and began to have it out with the large dark man. And by dark, I mean he was black, but I could care less what his skin color was as long as he tasted good.

The pair argued fervently, which was comical. I mean, Mr. Trident was shorter than I was and I was pretty damned short compared to the gorilla. I was sure he was gonna lose but then the whole gang seemed to get involved. There was no sorting out who was talking when. It was all going too fast and in too many directions for me to even think of keeping up unless they were waiving something accusingly in my direction. Then, all at once, it was over and they were all staring at me. I tried looking innocent, but considering I was drenched in blood I'm pretty sure I didn't pull it off. Also, I was a member of the undead, which pretty much denies me of all innocence.

The man-gorilla succumbed and held up a finger in front of Mr. Trident's face, “One slipup… Just one and I'll shoot the damned thing myself.” He said slowly to make sure Mr. Trident understood and I suddenly didn't feel great about being there. And, hey man, ouch. `Thing'? I was standing right there. A simple `him' would have sufficed. Jerk.

Lips back, I pulled at my ropes and snapped at him with my blackened teeth. Apparently, I was quick to ignore that one slipup and eating a bullet thing.

He pulled his gun and pressed it to my forehead. Mr. Trident yanked my collar to keep me out of the path of a bullet, “His name is Mitch.” He said pointing at my shirt and I looked down. Was that what that white patch had on it? I'm not much of reader either. I know, what can I do, right? The answer is: not much.

When I looked up they were staring and I didn't know why. I looked around and turned in a small circle to see if there was something behind me. Nope. Guess it was something I did and I looked down at myself again. I got preoccupied by the patch again until my rope was tugged and drew my attention back up, “I told you.” Said Mr. Trident confidently and I wondered exactly what he'd been telling people… But only briefly because someone was insulting me again.

“Well, it fuckin' stinks.” Said the gorilla as he waved the air and stepped away from us. I hadn't noticed a smell, but I suppose I wouldn't have. Anyway, look who he was talking too. What the hell did he expect me to do? Pick up a bar of soap and take a shower? I couldn't even fucking undo the buttons on my military greens, not to mention the shit-tastic time I'd have trying to tug off my belts. I gave another snap of my jaws at him and pulled at my ropes, “Keep that… Thing away from me.” He said before adding something else that was probably threatening and left. I tried to move after him, but Mr. Trident and generic girl pulled me back.

Frustrated, I turned back on them and had a little go at them with little luck. When that didn't work, I tried pulling away again and snapped at a couple of bystanders who jerked back away from me, “You've lost it.” Said someone in the crowd. I'm not sure if they were talking to me or not, I assume not because no one talked to me. No one but crazy Mr. Trident. Speaking of…

My head was suddenly yanked back, presumably by my short hair, and a hand gripped my face hard enough to force my gaze, “Mitch, stop.” Seriously? Did he just tell me what to do? He looked serious. Mr. Trident held my head in his hands and locked his gaze on my milky eyes and ordered me to stop. How weird. Masochistic or not, I kind of liked it. Or maybe I just wanted the attention because zombie days drag on like eons alone. Who knows, half my brain was mush.

Carefully, he let go and, for a moment, I really did consider being a good zombie. Then I remembered my empty stomach and bit at him. He jerked away quick enough and once he was out of range I shook my head. The motion turned into a strange seizure-like convulsion, I wasn't concerned considering it happened pretty regularly.

When I stopped shuddering, Mr. Trident walked me through the camp. It was a pretty nice set-up. There were tons of little tents that were surrounded by containers and chairs. Larger tents had crates in and around them. And near the outer edges there were pens of animals, I could hear them chattering away and it only fed the hunger growing in the pit of my stomach, if I still had a stomach. The whole thing gave me some sort of déjà vu feeling, possibly lingering and vague memories of temporary military instillations.

The pair led me away to a particularly secluded side of camp, where the tents were more spread out. There, they tied one of the ropes to a tree and left the other to guide me by. The woman said some things and left Mr. Trident to his business with me… Whatever that was.

He grabbed a wooden crate and pulled it up in front of me. There he sat and wrapped the rope around his arm so I had to stay close to him. He looked up at me and I stared back blankly, with my mouth closed for once. I attempted some level of telepathy, urging him to get me food, but I guess he didn't get the message.

Breaking his focused gaze, he bowed his head and rubbed his face. He said something into his palms and I leaned in to hear listen but I couldn't make out a word. Parting my lips, I let out a rumbling moan. Maybe he was a little better at telepathy because I kind of felt sorry for the poor bastard. What kind of desperate did a guy have to be to want a zombie? Even given my intelligence, which was not spectacular, I was inclined to believe I made a terrible wingman. I have this nasty habit of chewing off faces and apparently a stench that made me irresistible to the swarm of flies that followed me like the plague.

When Mr. Trident didn't look up, I gave a more forceful barking noise. Eyes on me again, I jerked my head and looked down at the patch on my shirt that I assumed said `Mitch' on it, or something to that effect. Mr. Trident just stared and I waited patiently. Christ, gotta meet me halfway. If he was losing it, why not just take that leap right off the edge of sanity and join me down in crazy town? Hell, it's a picnic compared to actually dealing with your problems.

He got the message, awesome, and went back to being bat-shit insane, the happy-go-lucky kind, “Private Mitchell Asbury.” He said, reading the tag below the lapel of my military green. Standing up, he grinned and pulled the rope tight. Hand on my shoulder, he met my eyes, “Mn-mttjsn- Jusallmtt.” Oh boy, fast speak.

Whatever you say, Crazycakes. Hm, I liked that better than Mr. Trident. Opening my mouth, I tried to tell him so but it came out in a gargle but he sure didn't seem to mind. Why did I ever doubt that this was a good idea?

Letting me go, he started yammering on about something real excitedly. Nice to see breathers these days actually having a good time. They were always such a drag. Shoot, run, cry, scream… No way to live. They say ignorance is bliss and when you're zombie-smart it just makes sense. It's practically a gift. Though, I suppose gifts aren't supposed come at such a high cost…

Well, once it's paid in full, it's not like I missed much and Crazycakes was doing a fine job at making up for what I'd been missing out on.

I don't know what he was saying but I tried to seem agreeable. You know, not being snippy and generally just going with the flow. When he'd stop and look my way, I'd say something he wouldn't understand but he'd nod like he did. I was rather enjoying this. As I recalled previous attempts at such back and forth banter had generally been lacking in response. Thankfully, Crazycakes was pretty long-winded. Whatever he needed to get off his chest, it was sure as hell a lot of shit. Maybe it was his life story, but for all I knew he'd just tried out this new great recipe for rat stew that kept him from hurling with disgust at the thought of the stew's contents. Hell, that would be something to talk about.

I was kind of glad I didn't understand, it was more entertaining for me to make up the words as we went along. That way the conversation never got old.