Pebbles: A Collection of Short Stories

Buckle Up

Once upon a time, I would have marveled at the clear sky of the August evening; perhaps lingered in a field staring up at the stars and allowed my mind to float away on thoughts of how small I was in the universe. But, once upon a time is not now. Now I am running like a madwoman towards the nearest car. Why would I race through such a charming evening? The answer is easy; zombies.

I know what you're thinking; zombies are a thing of movies and make-believe. How blissfully ignorant you are. I remember the warm safety of not having to protect my skull from a brain-hungry throng of what appears to be former college students, strippers, and the Canadian indie rock band Arcade Fire.

One of the first skills I picked up when the world went to hell: hot-wiring a car; this is a much-needed skillset if you are like me and don't care for cardio nor death. Of course, death is worse than cardio- but not by much. I was approaching my target vehicle: an early 70's Mercury Comet. Usually, when running from a mob of zombies, I wouldn't be picky. But even if I had been picky, this little beauty would have piqued my interest.

It wasn't until the window was rolling down that I realized they were blackened. It shouldn't have been my first thought. It's like Little Red Riding Hood, noticing grandma's big eyes and ears before the fact that grandma was a wolf. But that is neither here nor there; the windows were blackened, and one was being rolled down.

"Get in." A shadowy figure commanded behind Ray-ban Wayfarers, the sunglasses of Bob Dylan. I froze, inclined to join him based on the sunglasses alone, but the sunglasses, blackened windows, nighttime. Something was amiss. "You coming?" Impatience rattled his voice.

I climbed in; it was the only option, even if there was the slight thought that I was leaving a hoard of zombies for a lone vampire. Although vampires were still fictional... I think. The car peeled away with a squeal. I tried to look at him in my peripheral. I should be grateful as he undoubtedly saved my life, but something was off.

So, here are the fun facts of zombies: they're not slow, they're not rotting corpses, and they want to eat your brains. Let's break this down a bit further. They're not slow, but just like any other species, there are slow ones. The general rule of thumb, zombies have about 25% more agility and speed than the human version of said zombie. If you were a lazy human that barely moved, you are generally an abled-bodied zombie. If you were Lebron James, you are a zombie lion in a world of sloths. And they're not rotting. Sure, they have a greenish tinge to their skin and jet-black eyes, but there are no open wounds or easily detached limbs. Again, they look like their human version with perhaps a slight case of food poisoning. What did we get right about Zombies? They eat brains; healthy human brains.

"Let me save you the trouble of straining." His voice came coolly with the tone of boredom as he rolled up the sleeve of his white button-down, revealing the unmistakable green hue.

"Zombie."

"Try not to go all fangirl on me... I'm taken."

"A funny zombie in love. First time for everything." There was an awkward pause in the air. "I thought zombies had a one-track mind on..."

"Brains? Yeah, well, I'm an evolved zombie."

"Zombies evolve?"

"Well, maybe evolve is not the right word; Amabito No Moshio."

"Umm, is that an anime character?"

He let out a laugh. "No, it's a sea salt." He flicked his shades down to reveal his black eyes. "Very rare salt. And, it happens to give consciousness back to zombies."

"For real, why did I now know this?"

"Well, here's the thing; for most zombies, when they regain consciousness, it means they realize they're dead."

"Very self-aware, which would make you oblivious?"

Another laugh came out gruffly from his chest. "You're a delight. Has anyone ever told you that?"

"People have mentioned it before." There was a silence that hung heavy in the car. "So, assuming you're not a clueless brain-bot..."

He mournfully sighed as he reached into the pocket of his leather jacket. "This is the story of a girl." He flashed a vial of dirt in the glow of the moonlight.

"Dots not connected."

"You know for being around zombies all the time; you haven't spent a lot of time learning the lore."

"Sorry, the last time I was in a library, I was decapitating the librarian with a decorative samurai sword."

"Note to self, circle back to the library story. So, when a zombie regains consciousness, they are drawn to their grave. When a zombie touches the dirt of their grave- lights out."

"Ok, so the vial of dirt is from your grave?"

"Not quite. I have that in the glove compartment. This is the dirt of Ava's grave, but she is still a full-throttle zombie."

"OK, I am seeing where this is going."

"Find the girl, douse her in salt and dirt, and we both get to return to the dead. The way life intended."

"Intriguing. I'm in, and I'm Taylor, by the way."

"Sorry, this is a solo tour."

"Come on; you could use me. People don't take kindly to zombies gassing up at the local 7-11."

"Sorry, I think I'll be fine."

"Ok, how about this; if I can guess your first name, I stay. A little Rumpelstiltskin on your ass."

"My name." He thought to himself. "Fine."

"Great." I sighed as though I were flipping through all the names I could recall. Then, I purposely let a shiver run through me, banking on the gentleman beside me. Like a genuine Romeo, he tossed his jacket over to me. "Thanks." I immediately dug into his pockets for any scraps of paper. What I didn't imagine was a letter to Ava from Ryan. "Ryan," I absently whispered as I buckled up.

I hope you enjoyed this short! If you are interested in reading more, this story inspired a novella titled What Souls Are Made Of. Happy reading!