Children of the Undead

CHILDREN OF THE UNDEAD

by

David Dvorkin

Smashwords Edition

Copyright 2012 by David Dvorkin

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CHAPTER ONE

Lily Morgenstern Flicker groaned. Christ, look at this place.

The sooner we start, Jerry Morgenstern said, the sooner we can put it on the market. You take the bedroom closet. I’ll take the hall closet.

You’re taking the easy one.

Jerry sighed. Let’s not argue, now that it’s finally over. Okay, we’ll switch. I’ll take the bedroom.

Wait a minute. That’s where all the valuable stuff is. Maybe I should take the bedroom, after all.

Jesus Christ.

Jerry was about to say more when he realized that his sister was looking with horror at something behind him. Her face was pale, her mouth was open, and her eyes were wide.

He spun around and found himself facing his father. Jerry’s expression began to resemble his sister’s.

The old man was dressed in the suit he had been wearing when the coffin lid was closed on him. The undertaker’s caked–on makeup still covered his face, but it was cracking and falling off in pieces. Or maybe it was his skin that was falling off. Jerry couldn’t tell for sure.

Still bickering, his father said. You kids will never stop. What are you doing in my condo?

Who are you? Lily asked.

I’ve been dead for a week, and already you’ve forgotten me? I’m not surprised. I told your mother it would be that way.

But you’re dead, Jerry said. You can’t be Dad.

"I was dead. Didn’t like it. Told them I was going home."

You can do that? Jerry asked. When you’re dead?

You think I was going to let them tell me what to do? What are you doing in my condo? he repeated.

Ignoring him, Jerry said to Lily, It’s some sort of scam. This guy’s pretending to be Dad so he can get hold of the condo and sell it.

Sell it? the older man said. Of course not. We’re going to live in it, just like always.

Lily looked around the place, her nose wrinkling. You call this living?

We? Jerry said.

I had to walk all the way from the cemetery, his father said. In my condition. Why didn’t you leave my car there?

We didn’t think you’d ever need it again, Lily said. We, um, we got rid of it.

You sold it? I bet you didn’t get enough for it. You always let people take advantage of you. Where’s the money?

We gave it away, Jerry said. To a charity. It was for a good cause.

You mean someone told you it was for a good cause, and you believed them, his father said. He shook his head from side to side. His neck creaked and cracked, and small bits of leathery tissue floated down.

Jerry was afraid the head would fall off. He was torn between an urge to leap forward and hold the head in place and an urge to run like hell.

You were always so naïve, his father said. Such a good brain, but so naïve. Brain, he repeated. I’m hungry. He turned away and opened the door of the refrigerator. The refrigerator was empty. Where are the pickled peppers?

Pickles? Lily said.

Piper’s Pickled Peppers. We always keep a jar or two in here. I love them. He turned back toward Jerry and glared at him accusingly. Did you eat them? Just because you work there doesn’t give you the right to eat up all the Piper’s Pickled Peppers.

I didn’t touch the damned things.

Watch your language when you’re in my house! Jerry’s father stepped forward threateningly.

Jerry stepped back. After you, er, after you left, there was a lot of old food in there. We had to get rid of it.

You threw away the Piper’s Pickled Peppers? his father roared. What’s wrong with you?

"I’ll get you some more, okay? Never mind that right now. You said we’re going to live here. Who’s we?"

The front door opened and a woman walked in.

She looked like their mother but less so than the old man looked like their father. He looked like a dead man fresh from the coffin. She looked like a dead woman who was very unfresh. Bone showed through here and there on her face, and the dress she had been buried in hung limply on her in a way that made Jerry suspect that she was mostly bone underneath it. If this was a scam, the makeup was remarkable.

I’m exhausted, she said. That was a long walk. She noticed the brother and sister, and her face contorted stiffly into what could have been an expression of pleasure.

Lily! she said. Jerry! It’s so wonderful to see you children again!

Before Jerry could react, she had stepped forward and embraced him.

He responded automatically by putting his arms around her. On one side of her back, he could feel her ribs and the spaces between them. The other side felt normal. Up close, the smell of decay was staggering.

He managed to escape and to step away from her. It’s not a scam, he said to Lily. They’re real.

Oh, Jesus. It’s not possible!

I read that there’s more solar flux in Florida because of global warming.

What’s solar flux?

Something to do with the sun. Maybe it energized them.

His father stared at Jerry’s forehead. You always were the one with the brains. He tore his eyes away. I don’t know how long you kids were planning to stay. Lily, you can have the guest bedroom. Jerry, you’ll sleep on the couch. You’ll have to find your own food. Except for those pickled peppers, your mother and I don’t eat in the old way anymore. His gaze drifted back to Jerry’s forehead.

Dinner, Jerry said to his sister. Out. Now. He grabbed her arm and steered her out the front door.

On the balcony outside the front door, looking out over the lights twinkling peacefully on the waters of the bay, Lily said, You’ve always been such a damned bully. You’ve always pushed me around.

I’ve always protected you, Jerry said. That’s what I’m doing now.

"You’re protecting yourself. It’s your brains they want. They always preferred your brains."

That’s because I’ve always had more. Just like the old bastard said.

You shouldn’t call him that.

He’s a fucking zombie!

He’s still our father.

It’s the end of the world. It’s the Zombie Apocalypse.

No, it’s just Florida.

Yeah. It’s 99 degrees, 100% humidity, our parents are zombies, and this is the armpit of hell.

Oh, come on. That’s not fair. It’s not the armpit of hell.

You’re right, it’s not. Texas is the armpit of hell. Florida is the butt crack of hell.

What’s so great about where you live? Lily said. Arapahoe? You have terrible winters. You even had exploding cows a couple of years ago.

There were no exploding cows. That was something the media made up.

I saw pictures on the evening news.

It was exaggerated. One cow, Jerry said. Maybe two.

They showed a whole field covered with cow parts.

One cow makes a lot of parts. It was probably just something they ate.

Maybe it’s that awful weather you have.

Awful weather? Jerry said. You think the weather in Piketon is worse than it is in this hellhole?

It’s at least ten degrees hotter in the summer in Piketon than here.

It’s a dry heat.

And at least it doesn’t get cold here in the winter. Normally, anyway. It’s always cold in the winter where you live. Very cold.

It’s a dry cold.

Tell that to the exploding cows.

The cows only exploded that one summer. It hasn’t happened since then.

I bet it has, his sister said. I bet they’re just covering it up. Exploding cows! It’s because of the way you people up there treat our planet. Mother Earth is complaining, Jerry.

Oh, God.

Exploding cows, she repeated. She waved her hands, imitating something blowing up, and said, Psht!

You can’t make explosion sounds. You never could. It’s because you’re a girl. Girls can’t make explosion sounds. Only boys can do that.

She stuck her tongue out at him. You were always mean to me.

You always ratted on me to Mom and Dad.

There was no riposte. Instead, Lily smiled in satisfaction. Whether it was satisfaction at the memory of betraying him to their parents or at having gotten under his skin so thoroughly, Jerry couldn’t tell.

Her mention of exploding cows reminded him of another strange story from his home state of Arapahoe.

Not long after the exploding cows had been in the news, he had read a small item in the local newspaper about exploding bodies in a Piketon funeral home. There had been no follow–up stories in the newspaper or on television or online, so he assumed the story was false. It might have been repeated in out–of–state newspapers, though, and possibly his sister had seen it. If so, he didn’t want the exploding cows to remind her of the exploding bodies. That was a conversation he didn’t want to have, especially now.

Hey, Lily said. I just remembered another weird story from Arapahoe. Something about exploding dead bodies. Right after the exploding cows.

Jerry groaned.

You can’t say that’s because of something they ate, she said triumphantly. Dead bodies don’t eat.

You mean like Mom and Dad? They’re eating stuff, and they’re dead bodies.

You don’t know that they’re dead.

It was definitely time to change the subject.

What I do know, Jerry said, is that Florida is hell. The only thing that saves this place is the seafood. How about that place we went to last time? The Gourmet Pirate.

The place with the hot waiter? Sure! Lily said.

Hot waiter? Jerry had noticed the hot waitress and the hot bikini babes on the beach beyond the window that formed the restaurant’s west wall. Youth and beauty and sex on display. If his sister saw her version of the same thing there, maybe that would make her cooperative for once.

When they got to the restaurant, Jerry discovered that the hot waitress had been promoted to hostess since his last trip to Florida. She glanced at the two of them without any hint of recognition. Two for lunch? Would you like a table by the window, for the view?

Oh, I love the view, Jerry said, staring hard at her because he naïvely thought that that would pique her interest.

The woman smiled perfunctorily, picked up two menus, and led the way. Fortunately, despite her new job, she still wore one of the Gourmet Pirate’s waitress uniforms, which included brief, tight–fitting shorts with a giant red lobster painted on the back. The lobster’s tail and the rest of its body undulated separately as she walked in front of them.

Lily looked annoyed. She leaned toward Jerry and whispered, She’s way out of your league.

Thanks, sis.

Lily looked around and gave a disappointed hmph.

No hot waiter, Jerry guessed. Maybe he found someone in his own league, he said. Probably a guy.

As they were sitting down, with the wall of glass to Jerry’s left and Lily’s right, the hostess said, Would you like anything to drink?

Pitcher of beer, Jerry said. It would wash away memory of the smell of his mother. He hoped.

I’m not having any beer, Lily said.

Just one pitcher, then, Jerry told the hostess.

After the woman had left, Lily shook her head. Dad always did say that you drink too much.

He said that to you? He never mentioned it to me.

Lily smirked.

Ignoring each other and the bodies baking in the sun just beyond the window, they both focused on the menu.

What’s the least kosher thing on here? Jerry said. That’s what I’m having.

Good God, Lily said.

"I don’t think anything on here is kosher. Great!" He put down the menu, turned at last to gaze out the window at the sun–blasted beach, and froze.

Lily noticed his movement. They’re all out of your league, she said. She looked where he was looking and said, What the hell?

It was a public beach, accessible via a pathway that ran beside the restaurant. Thanks to the oily sluggishness of the Gulf’s waves, there were no surfers, but it was popular with sunbathers, swimmers, parasailers, and young and beautiful exhibitionists.

At about the same time that Jerry and Lily were reading their menus, a group of the latter was walking along the path beside The Gourmet Pirate, on their way to working on their tans. The young people were flirting idly with each other, eyeing each other’s bodies, and planning ahead. It was too hot for very active flirting. Anything more vigorous would have to wait for air conditioned bedrooms.

The young man at the front of the group came round the curve of the path past the corner of the restaurant, to where he could see the beach. He stopped. Guys …

The others piled up behind him, like slow–moving, sleek, beautiful, and very expensive sports cars sliding on ice into a brick wall. He was rooted to the spot. The rest of them saw what he saw and stopped trying to push him forward.

There were no parasailers, no swimmers, no families, no gamboling young people. The beach — their beach! — was covered with bodies.

These were bodies very unlike theirs. These bodies were brown, but it wasn’t the brown of carefully tanned Caucasians. It was the brown of old, stained wood, of old, dried leather, of ancient people who shouldn’t be above ground. They lay side by side, row after row, covering the beach, the feet of those in one row almost touching the heads of those in the next row. Their feet pointed toward the water and their heads toward The Gourmet Pirate. Their arms were by their sides. They stared up at the sun unblinkingly. They were immobile. They were like an army that had fallen on its backs. Here and there, the brown was broken by the white of exposed bone.

One of the new arrivals, a young woman, said loudly, Gross!

At the sound, the army of baking ancients simultaneously turned its heads toward the young people. The army of mouths opened. A sound somewhat like a human voice but leathery, dry, raspy, and multiple, groaned: Catching some rays.

The beautiful young race cars shrieked in unison, backed up, turned around, spun their wheels for a moment, and then sped away.

The army turned its face back toward the sun in satisfaction. The hoarse, multipart voice spoke again: Soaking it up.

The thick windows blocked all sound. Jerry and Lily hadn’t heard the army’s words. Even so, watching the interplay had been unsettling. Looking at the ancient bodies motionlessly bathing in sunlight was even worse.

They’re all like Mom and Dad, Jerry said. Their bones are showing. They’re dead. They’re drawing energy from the sun.

It makes sense, Lily said. The earth is the Great Mother, and the sun is the Great Father. Together, they’re the source of all life. All the food we eat really comes about in the same way, she gestured toward the window, as whatever it is that’s going on out there."

I’ve lost my appetite, Jerry said.

A lot of folks say that. It was their waitress. They hadn’t noticed her arrival. She was even hotter than the one who had become the hostess, but for once Jerry was oblivious. She was looking out of the window, too. All those weirdoes out there are bad for business.

Weirdoes? Lily said.

They started showing up a couple of days ago. Just a few of them at first. Then more and more. All of them laying there like that, all day long.

Lying there, Jerry said.

Yeah, like I said. They show up around sunrise, and they stay there, just covering the beach, till the sun goes down. All the normal people stopped coming to the beach. Then the normal people stopped coming in here, too.

Jerry looked around. He had been too focused on the hostess during their walk to their table to notice how empty the usually bustling restaurant was. Only two other tables were occupied in the huge space.

Where do they go after sunset? Jerry asked. Back to the grave, he thought. Or to their condos, to freak out their adult kids who made a special trip down to hell to clean out all the old junk.

The waitress shrugged. All I know is, I’m scared to go out of the restaurant after dark now. Last night, after my shift, I made a run for my car. I know I heard one of them behind me.

Heavy breathing? Lily asked.

The waitress frowned. No, I didn’t hear any breathing. More like a shuffling sound. There’s a cot in the back. I think I’m gonna just stay here tonight. She pasted on a smile. You folks ready to order?

Brother and sister looked at each other.

We’ve changed our minds, Lily said.

Yeah, Jerry said. Sorry.