TYBEE ISLAND
By By Paul Paul Cales Cales & Becca
Continued from the Feb. 2020 Beachcomber.
Catch up @ http://tybeebeachcomber.com/magazine
CHAPTER 33
FRACTURED SANTITY
DAY 10.5
The sounds of the tank firing reach the American Legion Post 154.
Inside, Richie Dascall is sitting at the bar talking to Joe T, the bartender.
“Jesus Christ!” Richie exclaims with some excitement. It’s been the
first big thing to happen since the bombers flew overhead days ago.
“What the hell do you suppose that was buddy?” He takes a swig of
his warm beer and sighs. “Damn it man! I suppose I’m going to have to
venture out, ONCE AGAIN, and see just what kind of malarkey is going on
out there.”
Joe T, upon sensing the excitement in his company, cocks his head to
the side and looks toward Richie with hunger in his eyes.
“Don’t look at me like that, Joe T. It’s very noisy out there. I never
thought in a million years that I’d be Chief of Police… Yes, I know it was by
default Joe T, you don’t have to remind me. But I never thought I would be
Chief of Police and I never thought dead people could create such a gosh
darn ruckus.”
Richie takes the shot that is sitting in front of him and looks over at
Joe T. “I know, Joe T. I’ll be careful. I remember what happened last time
and I won’t let any of them follow me back here again.”
He grabs his shot glass and begins walking toward the inside of the
bar where Joe T is restrained. “I sure do wish I could untie you and let you
get me a shot before I head out. This whole ‘pouring my own drink thing’
kinda sucks. Dude, do you remember the days when I would walk in here,
sit down, and you’d get me a beer and a shot before I had to ask? Those
were the good times, buddy. Good times.”
As he gets closer, Joe T begins to strain against his bindings, more
weakly than one would suppose he should, and he lets out a snarl and
bites at the air in Richie’s direction. “What’s that?” Richie says, and cocks
his head at Joe T. “You’ll behave if I untie you? Yeah right! I’ve heard that
before,” Richie laughs and points down the bar. “Look at Jimmy over
there! Had to put a bullet straight through his forehead for misbehaving.
Don’t make me do the same thing to you.”
Richie pours himself another shot and looks around the bar without
taking it. In the corner, still in his bar stool is Jimmy, slumped over with
a bullet hole in the center of his forehead. Toward the back of the bar
is a tarp covering a small mound of bodies, dried blood on the floor
30 TYBEE BEACHCOMBER | MARCH 2020
ISLAN
surrounding it, and a few limp, rotting, and otherwise mangled limbs
peeking out.
Richie takes the shot of Jameson and his eyes pop open. His head
quickly swivels back toward Joe T as if he’s said something insulting.
“What do you mean judge, jury, and executioner? Believe me, if there
was anyone else alive, I wouldn’t have signed up for this job. So damned
judgmental you are. He TIRED TO EAT ME for Christ’s sake. What would you
have done, huh?”
He takes a breath and looks toward the door. “Listen man, not to
change the subject while we’re having a serious conversation, but what
do you think could have made that sound?” Richie looks at Joe T as if
considering the answer his friend is giving him… although all he is met
with are a few snarls and snaps of teeth.
“Ha!” Richie laughs. “Tybee Bomb you say? That thing is a hydrogen
bomb like the one they used on Hiroshima or Nagasaki. If it was the Tybee
Bomb we’d be vaporized, bud.” He grabs a warm beer from the cooler and
walks back to his seat on the other side of the bar across from Joe T.
“Hmmm,” He says, and pops open his beer. “Perhaps you’re right.
Maybe someone from the Tybee Island Bomb Squad found the bomb,
accidentally set it off, and now I’m in some sort of weird undead hell. How
do I know its hell you ask? CAUSE I’M STUCK IN HERE WITH YOU, THAT’S
HOW!”
Richie takes a sip of his beer and nods his head in agreement. “Yeah,
yeah, yeah. I’ll quiet down. You just get me so frustrated sometimes, man.
I didn’t mean it, really I didn’t.” He takes a breath. “I know… if I keep
making so much noise they’ll come back. Yada, yada, yada.” He leans back
in his bar stool and holds his beer close to his chest. “Maybe I don’t have
to go out there right now. Maybe I could wait a bit. I mean, it’s not like there
is anything I can do about whatever it is that blew up.”
He takes a few swigs of his beer and swings his head back in Joe T’s
direction. “Okay?” He snaps. “And what if there is a fire? So what Joe T?
Maybe the fire will attract the undead and they’ll all burn up. That could be
a good thing.”
“Of course, I don’t mean you!” Richie says, and looks at Joe T seriously.
“I’d miss you too much if you got burned up, buddy. In fact, I don’t think
I’ve ever had such deep and meaningful conversations with you before this
whole thing went down. Nothing like the end of the world to bring people
together. And no, I’m not saying that just because you’ve lost all your higher
brain functions. It’s just that you’ve become such a good listener… when
you’re not snarling and growling like a rabid dog trying to give ME orders.
I’M THE FREAKING CHIEF OF POLICE! For Christ’s sake.”
Richie takes a few more swigs of his beer, takes a deep breath, and
then chokes. “Oh, bud, I’ve been meaning to talk to you about this. You’ve
really started smelling bad here lately. At first I thought it was Jimmy over
there, but nah bro… it’s you.” Richie begins to peel the label off his beer.
“It’s always uncomfortable to have these kinds of conversations with your
friends. What? You don’t like me calling you stinky? If the shoe fits…”
He leaves a moment of silence before slamming his beer on the bar.
“You don’t think I know, dude? I’m not smelling too pleasant either, but at
least mine is just B.O. You smell like something that got hit by a car and has
been lying in a ditch in the middle of August for two weeks. It’s bad dude.”
Richie puts both hands down on the bar and pushes himself up.
“Alright, I’m going to head to the kitchen and get you a snack before I
leave. Would you like that? I owe it to you after that talk.” As he turns
toward the kitchen and is a few feet away he adds under his breath,
“Plus it’s the only thing that subdues that godawful smell.”
/magazine