Cat Curses and Cricket Farts

This is a work of fiction. No real people, places or events were used. Copyright 2011 Plot Roach.

Cat Curses and Cricket Farts

By Plot Roach

She ran from light pole to light pole, trying to remain in the shadows, should the zombies see her and take chase. The last of five humans to remain alive on the run from the Liberty Mega Mall to a little strip of stores which had been closed and boarded up before the Zombie Apocalypse, she searched the streets for any signs of movement before dashing across the street and breaking the front window of a guns and ammunition shop to look for a means to arm herself.

As luck would have it, the shop had already been pillaged of its goods. Damn rednecks and end of the world extremists, was all she could think as her eyes drifted over the nearly empty shelves and stray bullets that littered the floor. Maybe there’s a back room, she thought. She headed straight for the back of the shop, keeping an ear out for any sounds, should someone or something track her into the derelict building. The back of the shop boasted a steel lined door that looked more at home in a bank than in a dime store ammunitions depot. She reached out to the door handle, testing it to see if it was locked. She met with resistance and sighed. Of course it’s locked, you idiot. She told herself. It’s probably been emptied by the previous occupants long before the zombie outbreak. She turned away from the door, as her options raced through her head. I could stay here for the night. I could move on to the next shop and hope that there are weapons or at least some food and water. Or I could-

That was when the sound of a “snikt” alerted her to the door opening behind her. But how-? She asked herself as a blinding light filled the room and made her turn away until her eyes could adjust.

“I told you that she would come here, Henry. You owe me thirty credits.”

“I’ll pay you only if she walks through the door.”

“Please, young lady. If you would be so kind as to take shelter within our little establishment, and make me a richer man…”

“No bribing her.”

“Did I offer a bribe? No. I was merely asking politely.”

Her eyes finally adjusted to the light and she stood facing two men in suits that reminded her of old time gangster movies. One was lean like a thin tree and the other a small round blob like a human bowling ball. The small man smiled and gestured to the inside of the safe. She hesitated. Who were they and why would they want to help her? She asked herself. Then the sound of breaking glass and the unmistakable sound of shuffling undead feet made up her mind for her as she dashed through the space and jumped into the well lit room, the safe’s door closing behind her.

“Where am I ?” She asked.

“Forgive us for our lack of manners, dear child.” said the Blob. “You are at the Armageddon Armory. We offer a full service package to all post apocalyptic warriors in their search to rid the earth of inhuman hordes."

“Excuse me?"

“Perhaps a better introduction is in order.” said the Stick. “We are travelers from a different world that offer assistance to those who need it. Your world is in chaos by….undead?”

“The dead are back to life, yeah.”

“Were they dead before becoming zombies? Or were they infected with bites and such? Was it a virus? A nuclear bomb? Maybe a cursed artifact?” asked Blob.

“I don’t know… It’s just that I woke up and my neighbor tried to eat my face off. He was human enough last night, though he has a tendency to miss the toilet when he’s drunk, and act like a pig at parties…”

“Did he have any visible wounds?” Stick asked.

“On his shoulder and one side of his neck.”

“Were they flowing freely or had the blood clotted?” Asked Blob.

“Why does it matter? He was a freakin’ zombie!”

“Yes, dear.” said Stick. “But it helps us identify the type of zombie and which weapons would do best against it.”

"Clotted, I think" she sighed, holding herself in her arms, looking for a way out of the safe. That was when she realized that she was no longer in a little safe. She was in a large warehouse filled with shelves upon shelves of weapons, all highlighted by hundreds of banks of florescent lights. She looked about her, wide eyed and open mouthed.

“Ah… She realizes that she’s not in Kansas anymore.” said Blob, poking Stick in the side with an elbow.

“You mean California.” Stick corrected.

“No, I mean…it’s from a movie -oh, never mind!” blurted the Blob.

“Uh, how did I get here?”

“We let you in. We saw what had become of your world and know that you need the right sort of tools to set it to right once again. So we’re here to outfit you for your fight against the undead.” said Stick.

“You want me to fight…those things?”

“No one else will be better suited for the job, pardon the pun, once we are done with you.” said Blob.

“You can’t expect me to-”

“Not dressed like that, you can’t.” said Blob.

“What’s wrong with what I’m wearing?”

“Nothing, if you’re going to church group… but fighting the undead requires finesse.” said Stick.

“What do you have in mind?”

The Stick and the Blob smiled at one another, and her heart sank. They ushered her deeper into the warehouse. “Up first is wardrobe.” said Blob. She stepped into a small mirrored chamber and spent several minutes rummaging through the outfits offered to her. She exited the small changing area and exclaimed: “You’ve got to be kidding me! How am I supposed to protect myself dressed like this?”

“The cargo pants will hold all of your weapons. And as for the exposed flesh not covered by the chain-mail bikini, it will only serve to act as a diversion. For you see, the zombies will be too busy studying your flesh to see what you are about to do with your weapons, giving you the upper hand.”

“Now what?” she asked, rolling her eyes.

“Now for the weapons of your trade.” said Stick. They came to a long stainless steel table laden with odd bits and pieces of technology. “This is a called a ‘cat’s curse.’” he said, holding up a small glass orb containing a clear liquid. Etched upon the orb was the silhouette of a Halloween style cat, back arched and spiky furred. She rolled it around in her hand as Stick put a few of the orbs into a utility belt. “When broken upon the ground, they incite a fight between anyone within a ten foot radius. Like a cat fight.”

“It made of actual cat’s breath.” Blob said.

“Cat hisses, specifically.” corrected Stick.

“This” said Blob, holding up a small black ball bearing. “Is a cricket fart.”

“A what?” she asked.

“He means that they are called ‘cricket farts’ in the industry.” said Stick.

“As in, when you roll one of them down a street that you will be traveling, they mute the sound of anything in the immediate area to complete silence. So much so that you can hear a cricket fart from five miles away.”

“Why would I need this?” she asked.

“Because sometimes you need to sneak up on a group of zombies in order to kill them all at once. Or, maybe you need to sneak away before they can find you and do you in.” offered Blob.

“Do you have any Real weapons?” she asked.

“Oh, but of course.” Blob said. And ushered her to one of the copious shelves. She picked up a small handgun as Blob looked askance at her. He quickly took the firearm away from her and gave her a small silver boxlike gun of which she had never seen the likes of before. “Think of it like a futuristic Uzi.” Blob said.

“But where do the bullets go?” she asked.

“You let us worry about that.” said Stick. "It is called the Dragon Fire Overkill 3000. While you fire it, the bullets will automatically refill themselves from a separate location. Your job is to fire at the zombies, not worry about where your ammunition is coming from and if you’re about to run out of bullets.”

“But how is that possible?” she asked.

“Because the bullets are teleported there,” said Stick. He waved a hand against the wall behind them and another door opened. There hanging in neat little piles appeared an endless line of ammunition on long strings of transparent filament. “from here. And while the supply is not ‘endless’, so to speak, you still have quite a bit of bullets before you run out.”

“Wow, what else does it do?”

“It comes with a non jamming repeater, so you need not worry if the gun falls to the ground, is used to incur blunt force trauma, or is dunked into water -it will still work flawlessly. As well as ‘non friendly fire’ option.”

“What’s that?” she asked.

“When you encounter other survivors, you have the option of ‘friending’ them, just think of them with a pleasant feeling when holding the gun, and it will not fire upon them in an accidental manner. If, however, these ‘friends’ turn into zombies, you will have to recalibrate the gun before sending them off to their ‘final death.’”

“Wow. What’s all this going to cost me?” she asked. Both men smiled and again she had the unmistakable feeling that there was more going on here than they were letting on.

“We’ll settle up later, my dear.” said Stick. “Once you have vanquished your undead foes. Until then, we’ll send our little tracking device with you. It will let us know when your journey is at an end.” he released a small silver ball which hovered about her head and watched her with half a dozen little camera lenses. She thanked them and headed back outside the safe door, back into the ruined ammo shop, back against the flesh starved zombies. Blob and Stick closed the door behind her and waited for their next customer.

“When her ‘journey is at an end?’” asked Blob. “That’s a creepy way of putting it.”

“You don’t really think she’s going to make it, do you?” asked Stick.

“Not dressed like that… But still, you never know.” said Blob.

“I just hope the footage is good with this one.” said Stick.

“Hey, we sent our best camera with her. I’m sure what it transmits will be better than what we got from that ‘Ash’ guy.” said Blob.

“We’re going to need better than ‘good’ if we’re going to recoup our expenses.” said Stick.

“Relax, you know Hollywood blockbusters always pay off when it comes to summer zombie-killer movies. Look at how much we earned off that Alice chick. And the ‘realistic effects’ off this one will definitely be killer.” said Blob.

They both laughed at the pun as a young girl in a blood stained tank top ran into the room, slamming the door of the safe behind her. Her big blue eyes took in the warehouse, framed by her curly black hair. She panted, out of breath and her bosom proved to be more than ample beneath her soiled shirt.

“Definitely a heartbreaker.” said Blob.

“Let’s hope she breaks the box office as well.” said Stick.