Page 35 of Desiderium
At point blank range.
It’s a fifty-fifty shot at this stage in the game.
I’m either immune... or I’m not.
And if I’m not, the answer lies steady at my side, locked, loaded and ready to be delivered directly to my brain.
Ok... it’s now or never.
I open my eyes and draw in a sharp breath at my fate....
Chapter Eighteen
Hawk
“AAAAAAAHHHHHHHHH! HOLY FUCKING COCK SUCKERS!” I scream at the top of my lungs. The screeching noise I make could rival any of those rock bands from the eighties. It’s high pitched, annoying as fuck and, much to my delight or dismay, fucking working. They’re on my ass like white on rice. Which is good. It’s what I came here for. But oof, if it doesn’t make my butthole clench… just a little bit.
I keep my pace steady, needing to lure them as far away from the property as possible. The last thing we need is for me to do a half-ass job and end up surrounded again. So I take my time but stay out of reach. A few of them lunge for me from time to time, quickening their pace in bursts, but like I told Jax, they’re no match for me. I’ve always been agile—quick reflexes and all. At least it’s being put to good use.
I try to maintain my positive outlook on my mission like I always do. Even though I could die at any possible second if I let my guard down, I can’t let myself focus on that. You end up getting tunnel vision, andthatcan be evenmore dangerous than the original situation. So, I do what I do best, and make the most of it.
Opening my mouth and drawing a deep breath, I set my pace to the cadence of the song playing in my head and belt out the lyrics as loud as I can. What can I say… it seems pretty appropriate for the current circumstances.
Run to the Hillsby Iron Maiden pours out of my lungs. My voice is going to be shot by the end of this but it’ll be worth it. The high octave and overall loudness of the song draws the undead closer to me with eager intent, exactly as I wanted. Let’s get this shit show on the road!
Unlike what Jax instructed, I don’t run immediately to the old Johnson house, but rather run further west for a bit. I know he said to get there as fast as possible but I don’t want them on top of me when I’m trying to lift a fucking boat into the water, either. Who do I look like? Superman? Ain’t gonna happen. Plus, I’m fast as fuck. Humility be damned. Once I get these assholes far enough away, I can sprint back over there in no time.
It's been about a half an hour since I caught their focus and had them chasing after me but I’m getting a little tired of the cat and mouse game. I decide to end it and make a quick turn down an adjoining street, leaving the zombie horde in the dust as I B-line it back over to the main lakeside road.
It takes a few minutes, but I eventually find a giant, gaudy fish mailbox in front of a green house. I think since it’s the only house matching the tacky description Jax issued, I can reasonably assume this to be the Johnson’s house. Theproperty is large and distracting but I find the willow tree and turn, running to the backyard before heading over to the shed.
That better fucking have a boat in it or so help me….
The old wooden doors creak as I pry them open. It’s so weatherworn that one of the doors falls right off its hinges. I pay no attention to it. Mr. Johnson won’t mind. People with fishy mailboxes don’t seem the type to get mad about anything. They have a fish for a mailbox for crying out loud! That automatically makes them cool as fuck! Not that I really have to worry about it, either way. Not too sure Mr. Johnson is even still alive to be butt-hurt about my breaking his shit. And if he is, I’m sure he has more important stuff to worry about than an old busted door.
The inside of the shed is large and pitch black, even with the doors wide open. It’s full of all kinds of dusty, musty shit. Cobwebs, spiderwebs, decorative Halloween webs. Like I said, all kinds of shit. And there at the very back, is the fucking boat.
Why in the fuck do I always have to tackle the hoarders? This immediately reminds me of the old couple’s house we scavenged at the southern end of the lake over the winter. I shiver at what we uncovered there. This shed better not be housing any fucking fake vegetables or there will be Hell to pay! Thank God I adjusted the plan and lured the zombies even farther away since I have to have a fucking yard sale to get the boat now!
I sigh, shaking my head, but get to it, chucking all manner of hoarder’s paradise out onto the lawn. An old tubetelevision. Gone. Golf clubs. Gone. Fucking ping-pong table. Gone. An original copy of The Goonies movie with the deleted octopus scene?!
Well fuck me sideways. I finally get a copy of this to prove to Jax that I was right all along—It does exist! —and now I have no tv or VHS to watch it…. Oh well…
GONE!
Gone. Gone. Gone. All out the door. There’s so much shit in here I’m sweating buckets by the time I reach the back where the row boat is. I drag the piece of shit out until it’s just by the shoreline, but cock my head at what’s missing.
Where the fuck are the oars?
White Snake’s, “Here I Go Again,” pops into my head as I trudge my way back to the NeverEnding Story of sheds. This shit just doesn’t fucking end. The leaning tower of junk I’ve created to my left is almost awe inspiring. I have no idea how he fit all of that stuff in there. All I have to say is that Mr. Johnson must have been awesome at Tetris….
I don’t see the missing oars immediately, so I walk along the sidewalls with my hands raised. It’s still difficult to see anything in here with the lack of light, but I do my best, feeling around in the mess for the long wooden shapes of the oars.
What I wouldn’t give to have Jax’s awesome fucking watch right about now.
“Guraaarrgagh…”
I’m halfway back to the doorway on the other side when the sound makes me stop and clench my butt cheeks.I’m almost positive I know what it is, but I don’t want to acknowledge it. I’ve had enough for today. I just want to find what I need and get the hell out of here.
