zombies of widgeroo – chapter five

chapter five – escaping the establishment, greetings from a goddess, the discovery of curses and the desecration of the dead.

and my body was on fire.

it floated on a river of molten rock and liquid metal. it disintegrated, becoming ash, becoming less than ash.

it swam through the burning fluid, nothing but a sea of disjointed particles in need of something cool to cling to.

and, when it found the mountain of ice, it flopped onto the shore and welcomed the cold which froze it back into a solid form.

“i’m alive!” i screamed. “i’m alive!”

and i was. i was so alive it was like waking from the dead. it was like clawing my way up from the earth, my fingertips breaking through the dirt, my lungs tasting clean air for the first time in millenia. my skull, my spine, my bones joined and moulded themselves into a proper shape. my flesh whipped about the bones until they foundtheir place of being, and then my skin crawled up my legs, slithered over my hips and ribs and slid into place across the plane of my face.

i kept screaming as the skin rounded over my lips then ran down my throat like liquid latex, slithering into place. and then, slumping to the hard ice, i suddenly realised how cold i was.

i needed a shirt.

i opened my eyes.

i was in a hotel room. my clothes were neatly stacked on a small table at the foot of the bed. i pulled on my shirt and a pair of boots and staggered out of the room.

the enforcers would be here soon.

there was no sign of the demonette.

i was in room number forty two.

a lucky number, i thought, squeezing the shooting pains from my eyes as they were assaulted by sunlight.

i had my insurances. i was insured. i could run, now. i had to go somewhere. had to be somewhere. i put my hands in my pocket and came up with the card i’d taken from johnno. it had fatty printed on it, but as i read, the words seemed to change. rubella, it said now.

i knew then the signs told me that where rubella was, fatty was there. and where fatty was, sempala would be close, and if i could find sempala, i would have no need to run from the enforcers.

sempala.

the name itself was a power word.

i thought on rubella, and images flowed into my mind.

a graveyard.

a vampire.

black rock.

i shuddered. there was only one black rock, and it was a place of insanity.

the black rock moves around. it’s never in the same place twice, which is the nature of small towns. you only know you’ve arrived there because you see, just before you come up its sole street, the luminous monument to its name. a giant rock, shaped somewhat like the head of a goanna.

i remember black fella once telling me that the black rock is the head of a goanna spirit who has grown too old to move. now and then, however, he rolls over and this explains why the town can move without warning.

“they’re on his back,” black fella had said. “they go where he wanna go. the dead, they bury in his brain. he remembers them all, dig?”

i shook my head to clear the remaining fog from the insurances, and found myself standing on the side of the highway. other than the small motel from where i had come, there was no other building in sight. the small neon sign which proclaimed it as the ten dollar motel, flickered in the dull light of dusk.

i sat down in the gutter and drew some signs as i waited for a ride.

first i drew the head of the goanna, and i surrounded him in the seven runes of tourism. next to the goanna, i drew a symbol of twin headlights, and i made these twin suns. i overlay the golden arches and split these in two with the coca-cola ribbon device. strong magic, this, and i could feel it working. it was like the symbols chewed through the earth and began rearranging the world to suit my purposes.

with a power word to bind them, i did not need to wait long.

the truck powered down and the explosions of gas and the rattle of engine combined with the screaming demands of the meat in the trailer. the driver leaned out and gave a smile of recognition. “hey! it’s you. wanna lift?”

“hi, bob,” i said, climbing in. “thanks.”

“where you headed?”

“the black rock.”

“don’t know i go that far, mate. these fuckers in the back have to be in jallingup tonight. i’ll take you as far as bindy. you can catch a lift from there to highway fifty-two. i hear the black rock’s been out that way lately.”

“thanks.”

“not a problem mate.” he started the heavy truck moving again, and i felt like jonah.

we went a few kilometres before bob spoke again. “hey, have you given any thought to what i said? macdonalds really could do with someone like you. i’m sure you’d go up the ranks like greased shit. could even make general manager.”

“i dunno, bob. i studied for a long time to be what i am now. i don’t think i can just change directions so easily.”

“suit yourself,” he said, not offended in the least. “hey, have you heard the new tune by microsoft? it’s fuckin’ dreamy, man. should be on the top ten tonight. hope you don’t mind. i always listen to chart-stoppin’ ninety-one fm! where it’s nothin’ but the best, and forget the rest cuz it’s shit! with gary shannon, who’ll play us nothin’ but the best music from the sixties and seventies and tell nothin’ but the best jokes from the sixties and seventies, too! he’s the best, man.”

i told him i hadn’t heard the jingle, but he could put on his radio station if he wanted. it was, after all, his truck. i was merely his passenger.

“i like my passengers to be comfortable,” he said. “wouldn’t want you to be offended by my choice of station.”

“i don’t mind.”

“really? i had you pegged for a ninety-two point five man.”

“i’m a no-station man, bob. i don’t own a radio.”

“jeez, man. you should get a portable! i know a guy who can get you a sony.”

i was impressed. sony was a powerful sign. i watched the rain start to wet his windscreen. i could almost feel the echo of the word as it vibrated inside the cabin.

bob turned on the wipers and the water was pushed aside.

all i could see was the white light of the headlights as it licked the road in front of us.

“y’know, i drove past a blockade today,” bob said in a casual way. “they were looking for someone. they described someone just like you.”

“did they say why?”

“no. i don’t listen to enforcers anyway. but if i were the guy they were after, i’d hide in the desert. they did in this house. used to be a clubhouse for bikers. the enforcers hung them all from the trees, and let the dingoes eat their entrails.”

“oh.”

“it was fuckin’ weird. i had just picked up some chick a few minutes before i got to the blockade. the enforcers dragged her out of the cabin and nailed her to the road. they took a lot of pleasure in that. fuckin’ sick cunts. their leader whipped her some, then kept the road closed until she died. didn’t take too long, though. he helped her on her way when she gave him some cheek. he’d been trying to get her to suck his dick. she almost bit his balls off. i’m lucky the meat in the back don’t stop screamin’, or i’m shit sure he’d have heard me laughin’,” bob chortled as he dug his hand into his pocket. “she wasn’t a bad little thing. quite pretty. she said if i ever saw the guy the enforcers were after, to give him something.” he dropped a small package on the seat between us. “oops. damn, i dropped it. i have a terrible memory, you know. never can remember to give people shit. tell you what, if you take it off my hands, could you maybe give it to whoever she was yappin’ about? i mean, i don’t meet any asshole usually, so how’d i know who was who?”

i took the small package and put it in my pocket with a grateful smile. “thank you, bob.”

“hell, i should thank you, you’re the one doing me a favour by playing delivery boy, right?”

“right,” i said and we chuckled together.

“right. now howabout that jingle?” he turned the music up and we didn’t speak until bindy.

it wasn’t an uncomfortable silence. far from it. bob had a way of being respectfully quiet without seeming distant. a gift in a truck driver.

when we stopped at bindy, he asked me to mark his truck for luck, so i wet my fingertip and drew a few luck signs into the dust on the driver’s side. i also spoke a power word he couldn’t hear and wished him well.
“see you soon,” he said, waving as he put the truck in gear. “and tell the bastard that package belongs to to stay away from enforcers!”

i told him i would and headed toward the roadhouse for something to eat. i felt like some chips. with lots of salt. and coca-cola. coke is good for the senses. it wakes you up and strengthens your mind.

i needed some of that coca-cola type coke.

the guy behind the counter served me with a chirpy chatter and told me i could take a seat if i wanted to. “hitching?” he asked, barely interested but making an effort.

“yep.”

“should be able to get a lift with the milk trucks that pass through in a few hours. they’re always keen to keep a passenger or two.”

the counter guy was right. but i wasn’t in need of a lift just yet. i needed to go for a walk in the moon.

behind the roadhouse, the desert stretched like a piece of tattered leather. i walked upon its rough hewn flesh and held my face to the moon.

“it has been a long time since we spoke,” i told it. “but that should change nothing. if you wish to talk, now is the time.”

and i knelt in the sand, took a handful of dirt and cast it to the wind. as i did so, i spoke a word of opening and the door between worlds opened in front of me and she stepped onto the sand. i took her hand to provide balance and she smiled at the gesture. the smell of apples surrounded me.

“you’ve been busy,” she said. “the enforcers are after you.”

“i know. but they’re still behind me.”

“you’ve got strong warding about you. have you been playing with demonettes again?”

i grinned at her. “i can’t hide anything from you, can i?”

“not for long.” she looked around, seemingly fascinated by the desert. “where is this place, my love?”

“they call it bindy.”

“it’s very dry. the sand here cries for water.”

“i’ll do something about that before i leave.”

“good. i knew you had a soft heart.”

“it’s been getting harder as i go on.”

“ignore it. the change must be made. do not falter in your quest.”

“danaya, when have i ever faltered? when they stripped the skin from my feet and forced me to walk on my belly down the mountains of peru, did i falter then?”

“don’t get insulted. it was meant in a comforting manner.”

i sighed and let her hand fall from mine. “i apologise. there’s a buzzing in my ears.”

“the demonette gave you something extra.”

“a curse?”

“did you expect her to forget to do so? you treated her harshly.”

“i couldn’t help myself. it won’t happen again.”

“i don’t expect it to.” she stepped close, her hair almost touching my face. i could smell summer between each dark strand. “but then i don’t expect you to be pure all your life. tell me, before i leave, did you like it? did you enjoy throwing her across the room like that? you hurt her pride, and that hurts a lot more than the pain caused by the hand.”

i bowed my head and stared at my feet. i thought i could see blood seeping out into the sand, but of course, the war was a long time agao, and skin always grows back. “i cannot answer that question.”

“next time we meet, maybe you will have an answer.”

i tried to think of a reply, but she was gone. she had stepped back into the black opening and the light of her smile went with her, but its echoes filtered through the buzzing in my ears.

jubei came to me one night in october. “i need her. i must have her. it’s not right that only you can summon her. why does she come only for you? helios has tried, but she ignores him! and durious, too!”

i wanted to tell him.

he was my master now. but how to tell him her lips had touched mine when she scorned his affection, saying she was not human so felt no such need for physical pleasure?

her lie drifted between worlds, and it was a burden on my back.

the mages were few. none left would speak against the second coming of the capitalist overlord. his word was law, his voice was profit.

i put my hand to my eyes, and the vision of a temple’s ceiling, decorated with faces, licked my thoughts.

each face angular.

each face alien.

each face whispering words of power.

“who are you?” i asked them, in my dreams.

they smiled.

oh, danaya. with lips so warm and fingertips like ice. sharp fingers tracing the line of my jaw, down my neck.
“i belong to jubei, my love. as it has always been written,” she whispered into my neck. “will you claim me?”

apple perfume.

“stupid,” i named myself. “stupid.”

i sat in the sand and prepared to identify the curse.

i drew a triangle in front of me. inside the triangle, i placed a single rune, which i kept in my jeans. it had a small sign of power scratched into its face, which glowed green. i then lay with my head in the triangle, cheek in the sand and mouth facing the rune. feet facing west. in my right hand i gripped a glass bottle of coca-cola. it was unopened. i whispered to the rune, minor words of power, found many years ago in the ruins of what had once been the largest city on this continent.

the curse remained hidden and my ears buzzed some more.

i repeated the minor words and added some more powerful words of power.

i spoke the name of amatil, and called upon the ceo to grant me insight.

the ceo was smiling on me that night, and with a fizzle, the curse revealed itself in the sand as flaming letters burned upward through the sand.

the curse was a strong one. it clung to my fists like a large python. the red letters crackled and i sighed on seeing them. i knew the curse well. i’d cast it about a dozen times myself.

it was powerful, and could never be broken unless you knew the trick.

i knew the trick.

unfortunately, i’d have to go to widgeroo to break the curse. and the demonette must have known a lot about me, because she knew what had happened last time i’d been to widgeroo.

“you now have a choice,” her voice laughed at me. “live the curse to its fulfillment, or go to widgeroo. choose well, fuckface.”

i looked up and she was floating above me, her hands glowing the same colour as my rune. her teeth glinted and the horns gripping her head looked harder than ever. she hadn’t bothered to ward herself, but the power in her hands was ready to destroy me if i should cast anything.

“i came prepared,” she said. “you won’t ever get the chance to do that again.”

i knew what she said was probably true, so i smiled at her. “i’m sure you won’t accept it, but you have my apologies.”

she pointed toward the red writing on the sand. “oh, you have my forgiveness. if you survive.”

i thanked her and opened the coke bottle, spilling its contents into the sand and uttering a word of thanks to the ceo. where the coke spilled, it branched out to eliminate the red letters.

then i unzipped my jeans and pissed on the whole thing, thus completing the ritual and offering water to the sand which no longer cried for such.

i sauntered back through the dry weeds which impaled the sand like slim daggers, muttering to myself about the intricate niceties associated with disemboweling demonettes and goddesses alike. the roadhouse looked like a snail settled on a leaf, and its windows glowed in the dark, but only just.

i was almost at the petrol tanks when i heard the sound of sirens.

enforcers.

i ducked behind a small crop of weeds and buried myself in the dirt. i kept my head poking upward so i could see what was happening as the seven cars screeched to a halt outside the roadhouse.

two enforcers rushed inside while the dozen or so still remaining outside took aim at the small building.

after a few seconds, the two emerged, dragging the guy who had been behind the counter. “i didn’t fuckin’ do anything!” he screamed.

no one listened, but some of the enforcers chuckled.

i heard one say, “that’s what they all say, shithead,” just before he whipped the guy’s cheek with a pistol butt.

i saw hogan leaning against one of the cars. he was scanning the desert behind me for signs of life. the door to the car opened, and coogs stepped into the meagre light, flexing his gloved fists and looking more bored than interested in the excuses being offered by the whimpering guy on the pavement in front of the roadhouse.

he stepped up to the guy and looked around, probably searching for potential witnesses.

satisfied that only the enforcers were watching, coogs knelt beside the guy and whispered something.

the guy nodded, then pointed toward where i was buried in the sand.

coogs stared pretty much right at me, but i knew he wouldn’t see me.

i was insured.

a couple of enforcers turned their lights toward the desert and headed toward me. coogs offered the guy some gum, which he refused.

an enforcer passed right next to me, his boot scraping my cheek as he stumbled through the weeds. he cursed and waved his torch around. he kept moving.

the guy in front of the roadhouse was still sprawled on the pavement. he was bleeding badly from his cheek, which i assumed was broken. coogs was touching it with his fingertips, smudging the blood into little spiral patterns. he seemed to be humming.

the guy said something, probably impolite, and coogs looked startled by the suggestion.

he slapped the guy’s wound and reeled to his feet as the guy shook with pain.

“you fucker!” coogs screamed. “you fucker! how dare you fucking say that shit, you little fuck! what do you think you are? you’re just a fucking counterhand! you’re nothing! you don’t mean shit to this world, you’re useless! about the only good thing you ever did in your life was make coffee and donuts for fucking truckers! fuck you, you fuck!” and with that he began kicking the guy, stabbing his ribs with his toes and putting enough of his weight in to make the sand vibrate underneath me.

hogan stepped up, and put his hand on coggs’ shoulder.

coogs paused mid-kick. “what the fuck -?”

hogan shrugged. “i think you killed him ages ago.”

coogs blinked. “so?”

“so he can’t feel anything now.”

“that don’t mean shit!” and he kicked the body once more. “the little fucker deserved a couple of extras.”

hogan sighed and moved back to the car. he looked up at the stars, then out to the desert, his gaze almost meeting mine.

coogs stepped back and wiped the blood off his boots with the dead guy’s jacket. “messy,” he growled, and went back to his car. he paused before going inside. “make sure you find that asshole out there!”

after a few hours, the enforcers gathered at coogs’ car. some of them were of the opinion i’d already caught a lift. others thought i might have wandered too deep into the desert, in which case it wouldn’t matter. hogan said nothing, and coogs scowled at them all.

“he won’t die. this one’s tricky. he’ll live, alright, don’t you worry.” he leaned out the window of his car and stretched his gloved fingers. “but i’ll make him regret living. that i swear.”

they left just after that, their tyres squealing on the pavement. the smell of burnt rubber scraped my nostrils and i submerged below sand until the fog had lifted.

when i came up, i saw a girl stooped over the body of the dead guy.

she had a knife, and she was stabbing him, her face a mixture of rage and sorrow.

when i took the knife from her small hand, the girl looked up at me. she had a pretty face through the tears, and she wore a dress which seemed one size too small.

“you don’t have to stab him,” i said. “he was dead already. the enforcers came.”

she let the body fall from her arms, and wiped her bloody hand on her dress. “i was just making sure.”

Tags: discordian, zombies of widgeroo