The javarocks Revenge
by ANDRES KAHAR

About the author

Andres Kahar is a Toronto-based writer. Some of his finest friends and colleagues are zombies. Also, he might be on the cusp of his own second act.

His partner and fellow con artist lies dead only six feet away — the body’s twisted and mangled, two limbs torn off the torso. As Donald grits himself to a sitting position, he notices more dead bodies in the alleyway — they belong to two muscle-bound bouncers and an exotic dancer. The other three bodies are also broken and torn apart.

Donald has no memory of what caused the carnage. His head’s killing him — several migraines at once, each double-distilled. Someone had urinated on him. Worse still, he was missing hunks of flesh from his shoulder and thigh. And, despite it all, he was hungry, extremely hungry.

What in hell happened?

______________

An hour or so earlier …

Through pot-induced fog, Mott was lurching to the sense he’d just been screwed.

He’d been working a deadly quiet Friday night shift at the Javarocks coffee lounge. Which was nice: it gave him the chance to suck on a joint out back and ponder the weight of the universe, with no one bothering him. But then that priest, and then that cop, entered. Then there was that dramatic mix-up when the cop arrested the priest for trying to pay with a counterfeit $100 bill. That disrupted Mott’s peace.

But not only that:

When Mott counted the money in the till afterward, it was about $100 short.

Thus, Mott’s foggy conclusion: he’d just been scammed and screwed. He’d be fired for sure, and maybe accused of theft. Fuck. Maybe he’d better call the cops, Mott thought aloud, mouthing the words cautiously.

Mott was considering making the call when, suddenly, a mob of zombies burst into the Javarocks coffee lounge.

Zombies. As in, walking dead. Flesh-eaters.

The zombies were moaning and howling and knocking things over. They moved quite swiftly, and they moved in Mott’s direction. Mott figured his flesh was as good as eaten. But, as it happened, the zombies only took a couple of bites out of his shoulder and thigh.

The zombies were almost immediately distracted by the sight of teenaged girls outside on the street, some on rollerblades, and they shuffled out the door in pursuit of the girls.

At first, Mott experienced nausea — like several hangovers happening at once. Then Mott experienced unbearable pain — like his insides were devouring themselves (which they sort of were). Then Mott experienced inhuman clarity — sight beyond sight, you could say.

If there’s one thing that can kill any high, it’s a zombie bite. But, if there’s one high that beats any commonly known illicit substance, it’s zombie venom. And there was plenty of zombie venom flowing through what remained of Mott’s human innards.

About Mott’s sight beyond sight:

After his fast transformation into a zombie, Mott’s remaining mind was uncluttered by human detritus, like thoughts and emotions. His instincts allowed him to sense backward and forward, and well beyond the space he was in. And Zombie Mott was driven by base, violent impulses:

Kill. Tear. Eat.

Also: revenge.

Mott’s zombie impulses drew him to a downtown strip-bar called The Golden Pole.

There, he knew he’d find the priest and the cop.

______________

about thirty minutes earlier …

A zombie in a peeler bar is quite a thing. And so it was when Zombie Mott arrived at The Golden Pole.

Okay, so Zombie Mott bit a few customers, having a flesh-nibble here and there. He did a Scottish-Zombie jig with one of the exotic dancers up on stage, to tremendous applause. He had a beer or two.

Then, with zombie clarity, he remembered why he was there: to find that fucking priest and that fucking cop.

Zombie Mott questioned the bartender, who was quite helpful. The bartender told him how only a few minutes earlier the bouncers had taken two known con artists — one dressed as a church minister — out back to the alleyway dumpster. Zombie Mott appreciated the information, and tore the bartender’s arm off.

Sure enough, Zombie Mott found them out in the back alley — the priest, the cop, two bouncers, and one very tasty-looking stripper. Zombie Mott growled, howled and sputtered. The bouncers seemed to grasp Zombie Mott’s logic, and they explained how the two scared-looking scoundrels had just grifted several dancers.

What happened next was a blur of blood, body parts and spilling intestines. Zombie Mott’s instincts told him to take out the bouncers first — strongest and least edible. Then he immobilized the priest and cop. The stripper wasn’t as tasty as she looked, but she did the trick.

Zombie Mott, his chops dripping with human juice, turned to the priest and the cop, who were crying and clutching their broken legs.

The priest, who was apparently named Donald, began apologizing profusely — he clearly recognized Mott from the Javarocks coffee lounge. The cop was frozen mute with fear. Seconds later, the cop died of a heart attack. Zombie Mott shrugged, and then he made a brief meal of the cop, ripping off an appendage or two for dramatic effect.

However, in his final seconds before death, the cop whispered something inspirational-sounding about Islamic interest-free banking. To those words, Donald smiled and nodded, adding, “May that dream come true for you, old friend.”

That touching death scene must have somehow affected Zombie Mott, because his drive for revenge was suddenly supplanted by a certain generosity of spirit:

Zombie Mott decided to spare Donald the con-artist priest, and give him a second chance — albeit as a zombie.

Zombie Mott bit in. Donald screamed, then he passed out.

______________

presently …

So, Donald wakes up in that back alleyway feeling like bloody hell, trying to piece together what happened. He experiences nausea, immense pain, a whopping seizure — then clarity.

Who delivered us that quotation about no second acts in American life, Donald wonders, aloud.

Right there, amid the carnage, near his old friend’s mangled corpse, it dawns on Donald: this is his second chance.

After eating his dead buddy’s brain, Zombie Donald lurches his way into a bright zombie future.