Orthodontics in the Zombie Apocalypse

10. Zombie Baseball at the Dinner Table (2/2)

Before Angel gets out another word, the window above the sink shatters. A hand thumps to the ground with a squelch of blood. It continues writhing, though nothing is attached beyond the wrist.

I lean out the window to see the zombie--now just a torso and one arm--pick up another of its body parts and chuck it at us.

"Hell no," I say. I sift through a nearby linen closet and find a very convenient four-foot piece of white PVC pipe. Back by the window, I set myself up by the sink and wait for the next pitch. I swing the pipe at an incoming foot and listen to the squish and crack of exposed flesh and bone hitting at the same time. A toe doesn't quite make it back out the window, but the rest of the foot drives straight through the zombies remaining arm. The arm lolls uselessly from the zombie's shoulder, but the thing still tries to use it. It launches an elbow joint, which I hit back immediately.

"I guess you could say the situation is a bit funny." I wait for them to get the joke. "...but I guess my humor is just dry as a bone."

More body parts fly through the window; each one I hit right back to the source like a professional baseball player. That one year of softball lessons when I was twelve must have really paid off, I guess. But when a finger dripping black ichor smacks into my face, I draw the line.

"That's it!"

I stomp out the front door and around to the side of the house. I stand over the zombie, pipe raised, and hit it repeatedly until it can't even groan. Then I stomp back into the house.

"I need a new shirt. And pants." I glance down at the once cute outfit now spattered with black goo.

Shaniya gives Mikah a quizzical look. "Is that a common reaction of hers to zombies?"

"Yes, I suppose she does like to go for a pipe. But the baseball part is new..."

"Hm."

I flip the pipe around like a baton and wink at Mikah, but, as I do so, the pipe slips out of my hand and hits me in the head. "Ow..." I grumble.

"You okay?" Mikah asks.

"Yeah, I'm fine. I was just gonna say that I used to play softball."

With that perfectly okay end to a conversation that never began, we all sit back down to our now cold, burnt soup, and slurp it up. No more zombies dare distract us through this, so we slurp happily. I feel the sticky ichor rub against my skin as it soaks through the clothes.

"Tomorrow we head out," I say to Mikah after my lip catches on a pointy bracket. "The longer we wait, the more likely your uncle is in the same state as my old orthodontist. Or like the mess I just left out beneath the window."

Mikah nods solemnly as he gulps down the last bit of soup, shuddering at the taste. "Deal."

I glance at Angel and turn to Shaniya. "Do you want the pipsqueak?"

Angel eyes the woman sideways. Then her eyes flit back to me. "Are you serious? First you try to hand me off to some insane old man, and now you're trying to hand me off to some people that we just met who greeted us with guns?" She turns quickly to Shaniya, looking apologetic. "Look, I don't mean to be rude, you've been fun to talk to, but I don't get the feeling of home from you."

My jaw drops. I reply, "And you get that feeling from Mikah and me?"

Angel shrugs. "A bit, yeah...I guess."

I've never been so offended in my life. I hardly contain a gasp.

Mikah gives me an exasperated look. "It's settled. The three of us are off tomorrow. It's been nice getting to know you two, but we need to keep going on our mission. And Angel is a part of it."

I look at Shaniya and Sean and shrug. "Sorry we can't keep the token black dudes along for the rest of the ride."

"Seriously, what the hell?" Shaniya says, addressing Mikah. He just shrugs.

"This suburban white girl is on a mission!" I stand. "And I am only capable of picking up white companions that actually stick around!"

"I'm half-Pakistani," Angel says. "You can see it in my skin tone..."

"That's besides the point! We are leaving tomorrow!"