Badass Zombie Road Trip Page 9

  ‘A beautiful thing,’ his best friend had called it.

  Now here the same man was debasing him in front of a load of total strangers.

  Except that it wasn’t the same man. Not really. It was then that Jonah realized that this soulless Dale was indeed a morally depraved version of the live one. The living Dale would never have made light of Jonah’s shyness. Jonah’s timid nature. Jonah’s desire to wait. Sure, the man made jokes in private, underhanded jabs or lighthearted quips. But Dale never brought it out to be scrutinized by passing strangers. Dale had never, in all of the time they had been friends, mocked of Jonah for it in front of others.

  Jonah had nothing to say on the matter. He just grunted, then left the zombie alone with his filthy thoughts. Before he could reach the car, Dale was at his heels again.

  “Come on,” Dale said. “You know I was just kidding.”

  Employing a stomp that was not only righteous but very, very angry, Jonah ignored the corpse and fumbled for his keys. They were still a block from the car, but he wanted to be ready the moment he reached it. Ready to jump inside and lock the zombie out. The beast could look for his own damned soul by himself.

  “Come on, buddy,” Dale said again.

  “Don’t ‘buddy’ me,” Jonah said.

  “What? I didn’t say anything that wasn’t true.”

  “That’s not the point.”

  “You’re the one always going on about how proud you are of it!”

  “Yeah, between you and me. That doesn’t mean I want it announced to a street full of strangers!”

  “Why? Like they care. No one will remember that shit tomorrow.”

  “No. They won’t. But I will. You’re supposed to be my friend.”

  “Why are you being such a pussy about this? It was just a joke.”

  Jonah whipped around again and stared at the zombie. “A joke? I guess when you’re dead everything seems funny. I don’t know who you are, but the real Dale would’ve never …” His words faded away as his gaze fell across Dale’s shoulder and onto an amazing sight: a man crossing the street and heading toward the building just a few yards behind them.

  A very familiar-looking man.

  “Jonah?” Dale asked.

  “I’ll be a monkey’s uncle,” Jonah whispered.

  As if he could hear Jonah, the man stopped at the apartment door and looked down the street. His gaze fell on Dale. The man’s eyes widened, his jaw opened a bit, then the fellow looked away, and slipped into the building without a second glance. But it was far too late; Jonah knew who the guy was. He would have recognized the man anywhere.

  Save for a little age, and a little extra weight, the man was the spitting image of Dale.

  Chapter Eight

  Sacramento, California

  162 hours : 35 minutes : 25 seconds remaining

  Jonah pressed the buzzer a third time, but still there was no response. “I know he saw you. He had to have recognized you. You guys look exactly alike.”

  “Not exactly,” Dale grumbled, obviously insulted by the comparison. “I’m in much better shape.”

  “You know what I mean.” Jonah pressed the buzzer again. “Boy, the apple didn’t fall far from that tree, did it?”

  “Whatever,” Dale said, then yawned. “Hey, if you don’t care, I’m gonna wait in the car. Okay?”

  “What happened to the need to feed? Besides, now that he’s seen you, it might make it easier to talk to him.” Jonah laid on the buzzer. “Why won’t he answer?”

  “Ya think maybe it’s because he saw me?”

  Jonah froze with his finger against the button. “Oh, I hadn’t thought of that.”

  “Dumb ass.”

  “I wonder why he wouldn’t want to see you. I mean, he sent you that letter and everything.”

  Dale shrugged. “Don’t know. Don’t care. I hate to abandon you on your little Scooby Doo quest here, but I really need to walk around a bit more. My legs and arms are getting really stiff, man.”

  Before Jonah could warn him not to wander off too far—and for God’s sake, to keep away from women—the door behind them gave a soft click. Jonah looked to Dale, who only shrugged as if it were no big deal.

  “Three-eleven it is, then,” Jonah said, and went inside.

  Dale, either curious or bored into the act, followed Jonah.

  The apartment was laid out much like a hotel. ‘Three’ meant the third floor. ‘Eleven’ was the last door on the left, which they found standing open as they approached it. The pair of them paused at the threshold for a moment, Jonah gathering his courage to enter, and the zombie… well, doing whatever it was zombies did in this kind of situation. Jonah held his hand out to the door, signaling for Dale to enter first. After all, it was Dale’s dad they were there to see. But Dale furrowed his brow at Jonah, shaking his head in confusion. Jonah tapped Dale on the chest and pointed to the open door again. Dale stared at the door and then narrowed his eyes at Jonah, clearly unsure of what the signal meant.

  “You first,” Jonah whispered.

  “You first,” Dale whispered back.

  “He’s your dad.”

  “Yeah, but this is your fault.”

  A deep voice rolled out of the open door. “Just come inside, already. I don’t have all night.”

  After shooting one another a matching set of surprised looks, they did just that.

  The apartment was sparsely furnished, but what little décor was there looked expensive. Any single piece was bound to be worth more than what Jonah made in a year. Mahogany bookshelves. Leather-bound furniture. A state-of-the-art entertainment center. There was also a rack of top-of-the-line guitars. It seemed that the musical gene ran in the family.

  Jonah pushed away the pangs of jealousy that the fancy household roused in him.

  Dale wasn’t as successful at hiding his awe. “Wow.”

  “I suppose I should say the same thing,” a man said.

  Jonah, who had been distracted by Mr. Jenkins’s things, now saw the man himself seated on the white leather couch. His feet were propped on the coffee table in classic Dale fashion.

  Dale’s dad stood and stared at the pair with a tired look. “Been a long time, son.”

  Jonah waited for Dale’s response, worried the zombie might say something that would get the pair of them kicked out before they could get the information they came for. Dale, however, said nothing. In fact, he wasn’t even looking at his dad. He was rummaging through the man’s DVD collection.

  “Dale,” Jonah whispered.

  Dale snapped his attention to Jonah. “What?”

  Jonah dipped his head in the elder Jenkins’s direction.

  Dale shook his head in confusion again.

  “Your father is talking to you,” Jonah said. He was worried that he had placed too much emphasis on the word ‘father’, because the elder Jenkins raised an eyebrow.

  “Hi,” Dale said, lifting his hand to his dad before he turned his attention back to the rack of movies.

  Jonah groaned. “I’m sorry, Mr. Jenkins. He’s… well… Dale.”

  “Don’t worry, young man,” the elder Jenkins said. “He never paid me much attention when he was younger. Why start now? Can I get you some coffee? Or do you want something stronger?”

  “Oh, coffee is fine, thanks.”

  “How do you take it?”

  “He likes his coffee like he likes his women,” Dale said without looking up from his crouched position in front of the DVDs.

  It was a favorite old joke between them, but it wasn’t the most appropriate punch line to air in front of an estranged man you were trying to befriend.

  “Not now, Dale,” Jonah hissed.

  “Okay then, how does he like his women?” the elder Jenkins asked, a smirk lurking about his lips.

  Usually, normally, on an average day when they were joshing and fooling about, the joke was funny. Dale would say the punch line in a Groucho-esque voice and end it with a little soft shoe shuffle to lighten
the terrible implications of the words. But today, tonight, in this veritable stranger’s home, the punch line was less of a punch to the funny bone, and more of a punch to the gut.

  How did Jonah like his coffee and, by extension, his women?

  Dale looked up to his dad and recited, “Ground up and in the freezer.”

  Dale said this with such flatness, such grim authority, that the temperature of the room seemed to drop ten degrees. The effect left Jonah nauseated, as if he had just borne witness to something awful.

  “I see,” Dale’s dad said. The smirk was long gone.

  “He’s only joking,” Jonah squeaked. “I take cream and sugar. Thanks.”

  “Anything for you?” The man looked to his son for an answer, but Dale ignored his father and returned to the stack of movies. The elder Jenkins let out a soft sigh, then said, “Make yourselves comfortable. I expect we have a lot to talk about.”

  As the older man disappeared into the kitchen, Jonah took the recliner across from the couch, leaving Dale to sit next to his dad. The zombie had finished inspecting the movies and had moved on to the rack of CDs. Jonah was appalled at the lack of interest the dead man was showing in the situation. “Dale.”

  “What?”

  “Come over here and sit down.”

  “Why? I’m more comfortable when I move around.”

  “Because the man opened his home to us. The least you can do is pretend to care.”

  Dale straightened. “And why should I care? From what I can remember, he cut me out of his life years ago. I don’t even remember him now. Why should I care?”

  “Dale—” Jonah started.

  “He has a point,” the elder Jenkins said, standing in the doorway of the kitchen, a steaming mug in each hand. “I haven’t been there for him.”

  “See,” Dale said, as he sat on the far end of the couch. “Daddy says I’m right.”

  “There’s still no need to be rude,” Jonah mumbled.

  “I wasn’t sure what to think when I saw you on the sidewalk,” Mr. Jenkins said, joining his son on the couch. “And now that you’re up here, I can’t help but wonder what this is all about.”

  Jonah floundered. He had sort of hoped Dale and his usually gregarious personality would just take over the conversation and fish for the info they had come for. But the zombie, who had spent the last few hours talking Jonah’s ears off about trivial matters, was eerily quiet. He seemed distracted. He rubbed his swollen belly and glanced back and forth about the room, as if looking for something.

  “Mr. Jenkins,” Jonah started.

  “No need for formalities,” the elder Jenkins said. “You can call me Mike.”

  “Okay. Mike, I don’t know what you think we are here for, but …” Jonah paused and ran his hands through his hair as he wondered what to say next. “I don’t even know where to start.”

  “Let’s start with names.”

  “Of course. I’m Jonah. Jonah Benton.” Jonah nodded to the zombie. “And Dale you already know.”

  Mike raised his eyebrows at Jonah’s name. “That’s quite a name, Mr. Benton. So, Jonah, what are you two doing here?”

  Without warning, Dale said, “Hey, I have a question for you.”

  Finally. Jonah was beginning to believe he would have to do this alone.

  “Yes?” Mike asked.

  “Where’s the can in this place?” the zombie asked.

  Jonah groaned. That wasn’t exactly the kind of assistance he was hoping for.

  Mike pointed to a door. “Through there, last door on the left.”

  “Thanks.” Dale wandered off in the direction of the bathroom.

  “Okay,” Jonah said. “I guess you’re wondering what we want. I… that is we…” Jonah exhaled an exasperated breath and rubbed his hands together. “I don’t know how or where to start.”

  Mike sat back and stared down his long nose at Jonah. “Then let me help by guessing that this has something to do with Dale’s soul.”

  Jonah started. “Yes. How… how did you know that?”

  “Because Dale is here in California. So his soul must be in the hands of Lucifer. As per the agreement. Yes?”

  Jonah blushed at his foolishness. “I wasn’t sure you knew about that.”

  A grin rose to the man’s lips for a brief moment before the stony look returned. “Let’s just say I know enough about it.”

  “I wish you’d tell me.” Jonah bubbled with a nervous giggle. “Because I still have no idea what is going on.”

  “Dale didn’t explain things?”

  “Well, truth is, he didn’t get much of a chance. And now,” Jonah paused to shrug. “Now he can’t seem to remember much of it.”

  “I see.” Mike leaned forward to place his mug on a coaster. When he leaned back again, he narrowed his eyes at Jonah. “Why don’t you start by telling me what you do know? And we can put together the pieces as we go. Tell me about my son.”

  Jonah did just that. He sketched a quick history, including Dale’s love of the guitar, which seemed to make the old man happy. Then Jonah detailed the morning’s events, skipping over the fact that Dale was no longer among the living. There was no need to trouble the man with that tidbit if they didn’t have to. Once Jonah was done, Mr. Jenkins whistled low.

  “That’s quite a story,” he said.

  “I know,” Jonah said. “But I swear it’s true.”

  “I don’t doubt it. This isn’t the first time I’ve had a run-in with Lucifer.”

  “I kind of got that idea.” Jonah gulped at his now-lukewarm coffee. “So, tell me, how did he get into this mess in the first place?”

  “Dale?” Mike fell quiet for a moment, thinking over his answer carefully before he said, “You know how kids are. Always pushing their parents’ buttons.”

  Jonah didn’t really know how kids were, since he neither had any of his own, nor did he have any plans to. “Yeah, but… selling his soul? He couldn’t have been much more than ten when—”

  “Nine,” Mike interjected. “He was nine when it happened.” The man stood and went to the window, staring out in silence at the city sprawled below.

  Jonah stared at Dale’s dad, wondering what to do now. He also wondered what in the world was taking Dale so long in the bathroom. Surely the zombie couldn’t… he wasn’t… Jonah switched his mind back to the man at the window rather than contemplate what the zombie was up to. By himself. In the bathroom.

  “He was just acting out,” Mr. Jenkins said. “Mad at the world because his mother had passed on.”

  “I don’t think I quite understand,” Jonah confessed.

  “He did it to make me notice him.” Mike turned to face Jonah, a look of profound sorrow on his aged face. Either that, or practiced grief. On a Jenkins, it was hard to tell the difference. “I’ve never been very good at playing the father. I never had time for a son, with the law firm and all.”

  A light went on for Jonah. “You’re a lawyer?”

  “Yes, and a pretty damned good one.”

  Jonah whispered in awe, “Good enough to get your son out of a deal with the devil.”

  Mike shrugged off the idea. “In those days, I had a very busy practice. I also had an angry son who’d just lost his mother. But I didn’t have time for his antics. Getting into fights at school. Destroying public property. He was a little punk. The more he acted out, the more I ignored him.”

  “Until he caught your attention.”

  “That he did. I didn’t believe it at first, of course. But when Lucifer came to collect his goods, I had to act fast. I asked for a few days to say goodbye to my only son, and Old Sentimental Scratch let me have them. Instead of spending my last few hours with the boy, I spent those days poring over the contract until found a loophole.”

  The pieces fell into place for Jonah, tumbling into a perfect picture with every word the man spoke. “The contract was only good in California.”

  “That’s what the Devil gets for using an earthly notary.” Mike
snorted at the idea. “The moment I realized Lucifer’s mistake, I sent Dale off to live with my wife’s sister and—”

  “Clare?”

  Mike grimaced at the name, his grief slipping into anger for a moment before sliding back into sorrow. “Yes. His aunt, Clare, took the boy with the understanding that she was supposed to ship him off to some of her relatives across the country. She had to get him as far away from California as she could, as fast as she could.” He sat again and added, “Which I thought she did. I was under the impression Dale lived far, far away from here.”

  All at once, Jonah was embarrassed for Dale. The man’s father went to great lengths to save his soul, and Dale ended up hanging close to the very state to which he couldn’t return, as if mocking his father’s efforts. Jonah felt like someone should apologize for Dale’s thoughtless actions. “I’m very sorry.”

  “Why should you apologize? He never listened to me. Hell, Clare never liked me, either. I’m sure they just ignored me out of habit. It kind of serves Dale right that all this happened.” Mike spoke with a tinge of hatred, as if he both loved and loathed his child at the same time. Which, after living with Dale for so many years, Jonah supposed he understood. Mike cocked his head at Jonah and asked, “Are you sure Lucifer said to ask me?”