TYBEE ISLAND
ISLAN
Continued from the June 2020 Beachcomber.
Catch up @ http://tybeebeachcomber.com/magazine
CHAPTER 35
FINGER FOODS
DAY 10.5
Richie pulls the police car up to the side entrance of the American
Legion. As he slams on the brakes, dust rolls past the cruiser and he
exits the vehicle. He walks around to the rear passenger door and opens
it. “We’re home, Crabber!”
“Can you PLEASE get these damned handcuffs off me?”
“I don’t think that’s a good idea just yet,” Richie says, as he grabs Brian
by the elbow and pulls him out of the car. “Let’s get inside where it’s safe
then we can discuss it, pal.”
“Jesus dude! We’re in the middle of the apocalypse and you’ve got me in
handcuffs.”
Richie guides Brian up the steps toward the bar entrance. As he
reaches for the doorknob Brian yanks his arm away from Richie and runs
back down the steps toward the police cruiser.
“Damn it, Brian! You’re going to make this harder than it needs to be!”
Richie shouts, and begins chasing Brian down. When he is within a few
feet, he lunges at Brian. His forearm crashes into the base of Brian’s neck
and sends him face first into the right quarter panel of the car. Brian falls
to his knees. Blood, pouring from his nose, pools on the ground in front
of him.
“Son of a… My nose!” Brian exclaims. “You broke my damn nose!”
“Well son, you shouldn’t have tried to get away. I’m the police!”
“Why the hell do you have me in cuffs anyway, asshole!”
“Now you’re in cuffs for resisting arrest and fleeing. You’re making things
worse for yourself Brian. All you have to do is comply!”
“Dude. There is no police force. There is no law. There is nothing left but
a bunch of damned zombies!”
Richie reaches down and helps Brian to his feet. “Just because there is
a bad virus going around, and people are looting, rioting, and going a little
crazy, doesn’t mean there shouldn’t be law and order,” Richie explains to
Brian. “And order there shall be!”
As they reach the top of the steps, Richie looks at Brian closely. “Damn
Brian. You really did a number on your nose there. You’ve made your face
look like a professional wrestler after a steel cage match. And your shirt!
It’s covered in blood. You’re a mess, Brian.”
Brian, realizing he won’t be able to flee in the state he is in says,
through gritted teeth, “If you take these cuffs off me, I could maybe clean
myself up a bit.”
30 TYBEE BEACHCOMBER | JULY 2020
By By Paul Paul Cales Cales & Becca
“In due time, Brian. In due time.” Richie opens the door, pushes Brian
through, then locks the door behind them. “Joe-T! We’re home!”
“Oh god!” Brian says, then gags. “What’s that smell? Jesus dude, it
smells like roadkill in here!”
Joe-T, still tied to his chair behind the bar, stirs in his bindings. When
the smell of fresh blood makes its way through the bar to him, he begins
to snarl.
“Oh shit!” Brian whispers. “Do you hear that Richie? There’s one of
those things in here with us. Untie me so I can help you take care of it.”
Richie looks at Brian, confused. “Nah, my friend. That’s just Joe-T.” He
grabs Brian’s elbow and guides him around the end of the bar so they
can see Joe-T in his chair by the beer cooler.
Brian gasps, “He’s a zombie! What the hell, man?”
“He’s my best friend and you’ll not refer to him in such a demeaning
manner.” Richie shoots Brian a stern look and then sighs, “You clearly
don’t understand what’s going on, Brian. He’s just got a virus. He’ll get
better. Everyone gets sick from time to time. When you get the flu, you just
need to take care of yourself while it runs its course. This will run its course
just like any other illness. I just need to keep him hydrated and fed and he’ll
get better. I even put Motrin in his food, so he doesn’t moan so much from
the pain.”
Brian’s eyes go wide as he listens to Richie talk. “You’re one sick…”
Before Brian can finish his thought, Richie smacks Brian hard on the
side of his face. “You’ll mind what comes out of your mouth, boy! A little
respect goes a long way.”
Brian takes a few steps away from Richie. “Respect? Dude are you
serious right now? It smells like death in here. You’re the one who doesn’t
understand what’s going on here. Joe-T is dead, or undead, whatever. He’s
snarling at us! You don’t see what’s wrong with this picture? He’s not going
to get better. You should put a bullet in his head and end his misery!”
As Brian finishes this monologue Richie, realizing Brian is not going to
come around to his way of thinking, unsnaps his pistol, pulls it out, and
tosses it in the air. Catching it by the barrel, he crashes the butt of the
gun into the side of Brian’s head and knocks him out cold.
Brian begins to come back around and hears Richie’s voice, “Wakey,
wakey…” Richie says.
Brian opens his eyes. When he tries to stand up he realizes he’s tied
to a chair behind the bar facing Joe-T. “What? What the hell man!” he
exclaims, and begins to struggle against his bindings. Joe-T snarls and
clacks his teeth in Brian’s direction. Brian’s arms are no longer cuffed but
are bound behind him with a rope. His legs are tied together and there is
a rope tied around his chest, securing him to the chair. Brian swings his
head in a circle and groans. “My head! Jesus, dude. Have you lost your
ever-loving mind?”
“No,” Richie says. “And you need to learn a little respect. You’re in our
house, Brian. Joe-T doesn’t like your language OR your attitude.”
Brian puts his head down and mutters under his breath in anger,
“When I get loose from this chair, I’m going to straight up murder this
sicko…”
Before Brian can finish, Richie spins toward him. “Excuse me, Brian.
What was that you’re saying? We can’t seem to hear you.”
“I said… Let. Me. Go!”
“I don’t think that’s a good idea considering how you’ve been behaving
since we arrived. Besides…” Richie claps, “We haven’t even had dinner
yet! While you were taking your much-needed nap, I was back in the
kitchen getting some grub ready for us.”
“I’m not hungry,” Brian says, then closes his eyes for a moment. His
head is still woozy from the blow from Richie. “I think I might puke.”
“Here, Brian,” Richie says, and brings a glass of water to Brian’s lips.
/magazine