'Til Death Do Us Part

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Mike Journal Entry 5

“Oh, man, pass me a joint,” I told John as I sat up. “I don’t know which hurts more, my body from sleeping on the ground or my head from the acid and beer.”

“You should have slept on a cot,” John said, looking down at me from his Army-Navy surplus green canvas cot.

“I didn’t know I had the option,” I told him. I didn’t know how long I had slept, but it was long enough that I was no longer tripping and that was fine by me.

“You should have asked,” he said as he swung his legs over and reached into a little bag to produce a pre-spun joint.

“John, how would I know to ask? Should I just randomly throw questions out there and see which ones stick?”

John’s eyebrows were knitted together as he thought on my words.

“Okay…for instance, do you have a helicopter?” I asked him.

“Of course.”

“Wait, what? Are you kidding me?”

“Why would I do that? Kid, I mean. I have a Safari two-seater kit helicopter.”

“Okay I’m going to try and hit the pertinent points all in one shot. First, does it work?”

“Yup.”

“Second, can you fly it?”

“Yup.”

“Wait…real quick…so you don’t have a license to drive your van, but you have whatever license it takes to fly a helicopter?”

“A lot more people on the roadways than in the air,” he answered.

“Got me there. On to the bonus round where the right answers are worth double.”

“Excellent I love the bonus round,” John said excitedly. “So how many points are we talking about?”

“The sky’s the limit!” I said, going along with his madness.

He paused for a moment. “I get it! Because it flies!”

“That’ll work, hey, John the Tripper, can I shorten your name up to Trip?”

“Is this still the bonus round?”

“Added bonus maybe.”

John’s lip started to quiver a bit.

“You alright, man?” I asked him.

“That’s what my wife calls me. I miss her, man.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to bring up any bad feelings.”

“Naw, it’s cool,” he told me. “You can call me Trip, it helps me to remember.”

“She’s not really in Washington is she, Trip?”

“No.” He buried his face in his hands. “It’s worse.”

“We’ve all lost people we love, Trip. There’s no shame in showing it,” I said, standing so that I could rub his shoulder.

“She’s in Philly,” he sobbed.

“Trip, what the hell are you talking about?”

“My wife, she’s not in Washington she’s in Philly.” His wails started anew.

“I’m confused, man,” I told him.

“The City of Brotherly Love, how can you not know about it?”

“I know about Philly, and I’m not sure why that’s such bad news. It’s actually good because she’s that much closer.”

“She is? I figured Philly was another country, you know ‘PA’ for Panama.”

“It’s more like ‘PA’ for Pennsylvania.” I hastily drew a rough representation of the United States and the states in question. John’s face was beginning to register the new information. I desperately wanted to get home, but his wife was not entirely out of the way and I would feel better if he had company. I shuddered thinking of him stopping to ask some ‘funkies’ for directions.

“Want to go get her?”

“More than anything, followed closely by seeing Jerry Garcia.”

I didn’t tell him that our odds were better of seeing Jerry than his wife. “Let’s do it then, back to the helicopter.”

“Bonus round,” he sniffed.

“Bonus round,” I echoed. “Can we get to it, or is it in Philly or D.C., too?” I asked, trying for some levity.

“Asheville Regional Airport, it’s about twenty-five miles from here.”

“So not Philly then, that’s good.”

“What’d I win?” he asked expectantly.

“An all expenses paid trip to Rocky’s hometown.”

“The squirrel?”

“What? No not Rocky and Bullwinkle. Rocky the boxer.”

John was slowly shaking his head from side to side.

“Sylvester Stallone, famous series of movies.”

“Never heard of them.”

“How about the home of the Cheesesteak?”

“Who puts cheese on a steak?”

“You’re killing me. The City of Brotherly love, man, we’re going to go get your wife.”

“Wow, that’s awesome! What a great prize to win!” he said, clapping his hands.

I had to admit, it was nice to not be the craziest person in a group, but I wasn’t really sure what footing that left us on…if any. “We’re going to need another car. Any chance you got one waiting somewhere?”

“No, and it’s not much fun going out the other side.”

“So that hole does lead out then?” I asked, pointing to the other side of the cavern.

“It longer and narrower than the one we came in from.”

“You’re kidding, right?” But I already knew the answer. John wasn’t much of a kidder. Right now, asking the ‘funkies’ to move seemed like a better option. “Maybe we could widen it,” I said.

“It’s carved through rock, that one’s natural.”

I was already starting to breathe heavily and we weren’t even in the damn thing yet. “Trip, I don’t know. I have this thing about tight places.”

“It’s just like being born.” He smiled.

“I don’t remember what it was like to be born, Trip.”

“You don’t? I thought everyone did. Well it’s just like it! No sense in thinking about it… you ready?”

“Not fucking really,” I said, starting to work on a world class panic attack.

“It’ll be fun,” he said as he went over to a large plastic storage bin. He pulled out a small drum-shaped container.

At first I couldn’t register what he was doing; my legs were bobbing up and down so fast I couldn’t focus on anything. Then he started to grab big handfuls of the white substance and starting at his tin foil hat, began to apply liberal amounts over his whole body.

“Can you get my back?” John asked me.

“What are you doing?” I asked.

“Lard, it simulates the fluids in the placenta.”

“I think you’re taking this a little too far,” I told him.

“First time I went through there I almost got stuck. As it was, it took me four hours to get through. It goes by a lot quicker with the lard.”

“Trip, I can’t be in that hole for four hours! I’m bigger than you, how am I going to fit? Just go, get your wife, I’ll stay here until the zombies leave and go back up through the cabin.”

“That’s probably a good idea.”

Relief flowed through my system, but co-mingled with it was despair. I would be alone.

“Let’s have one last lunch together,” John said as he wiped his hands clean of the heavy lubricant and dipped back into his storage bin; he grabbed a couple of MRE’s and some chemical packets to heat them up. Within a few minutes, my packet of corned beef and hash was piping hot. I grabbed the closed (and sealed) packet from him before he had a chance to open it.

“If you don’t stir it around some it of stays cold.” He said as he popped a soda and handed it to me.

“I’ll do it,” I said with a shudder, his hands getting entirely too close to my food, even if there was nuclear safe material between him and the sustenance. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” He grabbed his food, stirred it around, and began to eat heartily.

There was a comfort to the food, not in the taste mind you, that was more like rat stew, but it was the breaking of bread with a friend.

“Want some hot sauce?” he asked.

“No, I’m almost done.”

“Good stuff?”

“Edible,” I answered honestly. “I’m going to miss you, John the Tripper.”

“I wouldn’t worry about that too much.” John took longer than normal to eat his meal, almost savoring every morsel; even stopping for long moments to examine his Spork.

“Man, I’m tired.” I yawned.

“I bet,” John said. “Want some crackers?” he asked, splitting the packet open.

“No, and why would you bet that?”

“Valiums have that effect on people.”

“What?” I tried to ask with excitement, but I just couldn’t get enough adrenaline flowing.

“I put a few in your pop.”

“Dude, you have got to stop drugging me without at least taking me out for dinner,” I said sleepily.

He grabbed my now empty can and shook it in front of my face.

“Right,” I replied. “So now what?”

“I’m going to wait until the pills kick in completely, then I’m going to take off that awesome poncho you’ve got and cover you in lard, then I’m going to drag you through the birth canal,” he said as he popped a handful of crackers into his mouth.

“I’m scared, Trip,” I admitted.

“No need to be, yet. Wait until we’re in the helicopter…then you’ll have good reason.”

“Fucking swell,” I told him.

We sat there a few more minutes as he poured a mini bottle of Tabasco over the last couple of crackers and washed them down with some red Kool-Aid-looking drink.

“Wouldn’t that be awesome if the Kool-Aid man just came and knocked a hole in the wall for us?” I asked John, looking longingly at the spot I sincerely hoped that would happen.

“Does this Kool-Aid man have anything to do with Rocky Stallone?” John asked.

“Where are you from, Trip? Those are national ricons.”

“Up,” he said and motioned. “You just slurred. I think we’re ready.”

“I’m scared, buddy,” I repeated as I got up and started to pull the poncho over my head, and then I couldn’t remember in which direction I needed to pull to get it over my head.

“No problema, your life is in my hands.” He laughed as he finally got the heavy material off of me.

John dropped about a pound of the lard on the top of my head smashing my hat down onto my head; it felt like a damn runny ostrich egg as he spread it around my face and shoulders.

“I’m not really liking the way this feels, John. Things will stick to me.”

“Naw, man, this to help from sticking,” he said as he slathered copious amounts of the white goo on my ass.

Wow! I’m looking back at the words I’m writing and I’m having a hard time deciding whether to keep them there, this is starting to sound like a porno. If I had a bigger eraser I’d rub those words out. Yes I could keep going in that vein, as a guy it’s actually pretty easy. But since my wife will probably one day see this journal, I’m going to swing it back.

“I don’t really like people touching me, Trip.”

“What? Put your hands over your head,” was all he said.

I complied, any more lard and he could have shot me through a straw. He patted down my legs better than any cop frisking I had ever had. I was afraid to move, so sure that I was going to stick to myself. I don’t even like the sticky feel of humidity—this was excruciating. I almost wanted to go through the damn hole now just so I could get this shit off of me.

“Okay, now do me,” John said as he put his hands over his head. He waited a few moments before turning around. “You said you didn’t like people touching you.”

“It goes both ways.”

“It’s this or four hours in the hole.” He smiled.

“Fuck,” I said as I grabbed a giant handful of the lard. “This is so gross, why didn’t you use vegetable oil?”

“Wore off too quick.” After a few more moments, John seemed pleased with his new uniform of rendered animal fat. He grabbed some rope and made a harness for me securing it together with a mountaineer’s clasp. He then did the same to himself, then tied us together with about a fifteen foot length of what I considered to be entirely too thin rope.

“This gonna hold? It looks like dental floss. Or maybe a super model’s thong.”

“I’d trust my life to this rope,” he told me.

“What about mine?”

“You’ll be fine, man, I won’t leave you.”

“I’m more concerned you might forget.”

“You ready?” he asked as he tugged hard on our connections. My body was so loose I almost fell over. “You look like you’re going to fall asleep. I’m sorry, we’re going to have to leave your poncho behind…that’s some rocking duds.”

“Maybe someday we can come back and get it,” I said, then took a big breath.

“Small breaths, okay?”

“Does hyperventilating count?”

He smacked my chest twice. “When I tell you to put your hands over your head, do it okay? And just relax. I’ve got this. Do you know what day it is?”

I shook my head from side to side. “No idea, does it matter?”

“About what?” he asked as he checked his gear again.

Panic started to force the corned beef back up. But then I pictured myself with the vomit sticking to my thick white coating and I thought better of it. I swallowed it back down. Without another word, John climbed into the hole. Not so bad, I thought as I got in.

We had gone maybe ten to fifteen feet on our hands and knees and I was actually doing alright, of course I think a big piece to that puzzle were the ‘mother’s little helpers’ that John had placed in my lunch.

Right up until John told me it was ‘wiggle time.’

“It gets fun now!” John shouted.

“I don’t think my idea of fun equals the same thing as yours, Trip.”

“You do know I was being sarcastic don’t you?”

“I didn’t, and that’s a damn shame considering I’m the self-appointed king of it.”

“You don’t need to put your hands over your head yet. Soon though,” he said as I heard him pulling away.

I traveled another couple of feet, I felt like I was on the inside of a bottle and now I was coming up to the bottleneck. The circumference of the hole I was about to ‘wriggle’ through seemed to halve itself. Valium-induced state of calm or not, my phobia was threatening to break through the chemical-induced calmness, with a vengeance.

I would have had great difficulty fitting a sheet of paper on either side of my shoulders. I was already beginning to rub off a fair amount of the animal fat. The rope pulled taut as I was frozen at the mouth. My hand was on my carabiner, I still had time. I could back up and return to the relative spaciousness of the small cavern. A putrid of zombies (seemed like a good name for a pack of them) was a far better option than slow suffocation by tons of dirt.

“You coming?” John asked as he pulled on our connection.

“I was thinking about going back and making some cookies.” It was all I could think to say.

“There’s cookies?” John asked.

I thought I could hear him coming back. “No, just fucking around. I’m coming, I guess.”

“You shouldn’t mess around with cookies,” John mumbled as our connection again got tight. He started to drag me, and if I didn’t drop down, I was going to bang my forehead on a low hanging rock.

My shoulders were beginning to scrape, I could feel the friction begin to tear into me. When I took particularly big intakes of air because I didn’t feel like I was getting enough my chest would also rub against the rocks.

“Man this is harder than I remember,” John said up ahead of me.

“Everything alright?” I asked cautiously.

“Whoa who was that, man?” John asked. I could tell that he turned his head because some light from the small headlamp he was wearing was shining on a small curve up ahead.

“It’s me, John,” I told him in a near falsetto voice, trying my best to not succumb to my fear.

“I don’t know no Mejon? What are you doing down here?” he asked me.

“This is sarcasm right? Because I’m already almost freaking out, Trip.”

“Are you from the government? Because I have my medicinal marijuana card. I’m allowed to have up to forty-five plants. No wait maybe that’s only supposed to be three. Now I’m still working on getting my Medicinal LSD card, but that should be happening soon, I put a petition in to the governor.”

John’s delusions were going to send me right over the edge—at least I wouldn’t have far to fall. That was of very little solace.

“John the Tripper, I am not with the government, I’m Michael Talbot, remember? We’ve been together for like two days now.” I said in short, staccato bursts of speech.

I didn’t hear anything for long moments except the sound of dripping water off in the distance. “You the dude with the rocking poncho?”

“Yeah, yeah that’s me, man. They call me Poncho Via.”

“Weird name, what’re you doing here?”

“Waiting in line for Dead tickets, John.” I couldn’t help it; sarcasm is my last line of defense in stressful situations.

“You got your wrist strap?”

“I do I’ll show it to you when we get out of here.”

“Okay,” he answered, and then started moving forward again.

I began to crawl as fast as I could to try and keep up so that he would not question the drag on his momentum again. I needed to be out of this particular experience.

John didn’t say anything or give any type of warning as I came up on another shrinking of the tunnel. Although to call it more than a gopher hole at the moment was a stretch. There was still a couple of feet of slack in the rope, but a decision was fast approaching. I felt that to do anything that would distract from John’s task at hand would be detrimental to my rapidly fracturing psyche. I placed my hands inside the hole ahead of my body, and with my feet paddling like a landlocked fish, I wedged myself tightly in the opening. I tried to gain purchase with my hands; but where they were in front of me I had no leverage to use. I tried to hook my feet around something…anything…to pull myself back. It was useless, and worse yet, I was beginning to feel hopeless.

The rope pulled tight, first against my chest, then it pulled up on my chin and across the left side of my face. It felt like it was digging in for the long haul. I tried to move my head off to the side, but there just wasn’t enough room. I strained my neck muscles to keep my head as high as possible so the rope wouldn’t abrade against my eye. I could hear John’s labored breathing as he was trying to pull me through. My senses were so torqued up that I could hear the rope as it was stretched and minute tears began to form. I was certain the line was going to snap and I would be ‘the one that got away.’

Then it did tear but not the rope, my shirt at the shoulders tore—as did my skin. At least seven layers of skin in depth, because I could feel blood start to run down my shoulder and back in small rivulets. Tears of pain were beginning to form in the corners of my eyes as John strained to pull me free. The pain was excruciating, I felt like I was melding with the rock to become some new igneous-tissue hybrid.

“Ahhhh!!!” John screamed. It mirrored my own reaction perfectly. We were past the widest part in my shoulders, but we were far from through. John was pulling for all he was worth. His aggressive spelunking was shaking small rocks free from their moorings, and with a slight decline behind him, the only way they were going was towards me. From this angle, they looked like boulders. I moved my hands so they angled like a bulldozer blade in an attempt to stop them from smacking into my face. They were easily big enough to cause some damage and possibly break a few teeth if they caught me in the mouth.

“Shouldn’t have eaten that lunch,” John strained to say.

I had to imagine he was talking about me, but there still was a significant possibility he had completely forgotten I was behind him. I would be up shit creek if he undid his harness and just kept going. Between the lard, sweat, blood, and John’s extreme exertions, I finally came free like a long awaited turd from a constipated man’s ass. Graphic and gross I know, but I’d be lying if I said that wasn’t exactly what went through my mind. I was exhausted and I hadn’t done much more than worry about what was happening.

After some labored breathing, John finally asked me how I was doing.

“Not so good,” was my honest response.

“Got about another twenty feet to go from where you’re at.”

“Any chance you’re definition of feet is somewhat shorter than the American standard?”

“That’s kind of funny. Was that supposed to be?”

“That was the intention.”

“Don’t lose your bracelet or you have no proof how long you’ve been in line. That happened to me once, but my friend Scooter was able to get me a ticket.”

For a moment I was too wrapped up in my neurosis to grasp what the hell he was talking about, then it dawned on me he was referencing my earlier sarcastic comment. That’d teach me for being a wise-ass. “How you doing, Trip?”

“I’m a little tired, Ponch. Probably shouldn’t have taken the rest of those valiums.”

“What? You took them, too?” I asked in a panic.

“Yeah, this shit makes me nervous too, brother. Maybe I’ll just take a small nap.”

“No, no, no,” I said rapidly. “No naps, you can rest when we get out of here.”

“I’m really tired.”

“I can’t stay in here much longer.” I started to scramble for thoughts and then it hit. “We’ll miss the show, man.”

“Oh shit, the show. I don’t want to miss that! What if they play Fire on the Mountain!”

John redoubled his efforts and along we crept, I was starting to push a fairly significant amount of rocks ahead of me soon I would have created an impenetrable wall. A couple would occasionally slip past and catch. One stuck fast in the small of my back, the pain was excruciating as it was forced down onto my spine. Just when I didn’t think I could take it anymore, a small rise in the rocks allowed it to move down where it got neatly stuck between my ass cheeks.

“Great it’s not bad enough the whole world has gone to hell, but now I’m being rock raped.”

“I see daylight! Hey, man, where’s the show again?”

“Shit!” I said through gritted teeth as the sharp rock finally rolled off me and down the back of my legs.

“Where?” John asked again.

“Where do you want it to be?” I asked as another rock tumbled over my makeshift plow, that one drew blood as it nicked the top of my forehead. But at least it had the graciousness to keep on going.

“Red Rocks would be nice.”

My heart panged at the remembrance of the place I had been to so many times before. “Yes it would, Red Rocks it is, Trip.”

“Fuck yeah, I haven’t been there since ‘78!” he replied, adding, “I’m out.” With so little inflection I hadn’t even put the pieces together. “Hey, Poncho, wait…that’s not your name.”

“Don’t worry about it, you’re close enough.”

“It gets a little tighter, then you’re free.”

“Tighter than the last place I got stuck?” I asked. One does not understand the full magnitude of a claustrophobic’s biggest fear until you are living it. I was packed in so tight that I could not take a full breath, I could not move forward or backwards.

“Yup, definitely tighter.”

“Just get me out,” I begged.

“Uh-oh,” he said, then didn’t say anything else.

“John...John the Tripper? Trip!” I was yelling as loud as I could with the limited amount of oxygen I had to work with.

“Shhh, man, there’s some freaky people around, and it looks like they want to cut in the line.”

“Zombies, there’s zombies? Of course there is,” I said quietly so that only I could hear. “Get me out of here, man, and I’ll help you hold our spot.” I could smell the stench of zombie as it wafted down the shaft. My vision was dimming around the edges. I was in real danger of blacking out. Who knows, maybe that would be better.

I could hear some scuffling up ahead and John must have forgotten we were tethered as I was pulled quickly ahead six inches; my cheek bled as it was raked against a rock. The hole I was in was narrowing even more the further up I went. I had to turn my head to the side to be able to fit through. Then, as I was about halfway through the narrow gap, my movement stopped. My head was canted to the side and the valium had completely worked through my system. I was fucked and in a full on panic. Terror ripped through my body as I lay immobile. My neck was starting to scream in protest at the direction it was forced to be in. My shoulders were on fire and my chest was shuddering while I tried to pull in more air. A sardine had more room in its final tin resting place than I had.

“John, help me, man,” I said on the verge of tears. Nothing. “Please,” I begged.

I began to jerkily move forward, it didn’t feel right, but at this point I didn’t care if zombies had improved their motor skills and were now reeling me in like a hooked tuna. My ass was lodged in the tunnel, but at least I could now move my head and finally see the light at the end. Actually, I could see a small sliver of sky—which was comforting—yet I could not move to get any closer. From the tips of my fingers to the lip of the edge couldn’t have been more than six feet—or the way I was stuck, thirty miles.

“Get your own tickets!” I heard John screaming from a distance.

We were no longer tied together. If he were to die, or more likely forget I ever existed, I would surely die here.

“Pussy,” I said aloud. “You talking to me? I’m fucking cracking up, that’s what I get for hanging with John too long. Aren’t you like half Drac now? More like a quarter and what’s that got to do with anything?” Right now it had everything to do with everything. “You’re strong, Talbot, stronger than you should be. Fucking dig deep, Marine!” I screamed.

I pulled my arms in so that I could start to toss the rocks in front of me out of the hole. After a few missed attempts, I had them all out. Just that added bit of space comforted me, that or I had finally decided to pull my fate out of the hands of a man aptly named John the Tripper. I turned my hands outward, and with my finger tips, sought to seek purchase on the solid ground ahead of me. Simultaneously, I placed my feet against the wall and then I pulled or pushed as the case may be. Nothing! I was straining; every muscle I could use in the fight to freedom was being exerted to its maximum. Still nothing…then a sliver. I moved no more than a hair’s width, but I fucking moved! I redoubled my efforts.

Pebbles scrabbled past as I wiggled, writhed, and shook my way forward. I hadn’t moved more than six inches and I was bathed in a sweat that had a hard time finding a release from my lard-caked body. I felt at least one fingernail rip free from its moorings, I didn’t stop to mourn its loss, and I pressed on. Occasionally I could hear John’s screams, but the rush of blood through my ears made it difficult to ascertain how near or how far away he was.

My entire body was through the small channel. It wasn’t exactly voluminous where I was, but comparatively speaking, it was the damned Grand Canyon. Okay, maybe more like Brice Canyon, but a canyon nonetheless. My finger tips were at the edge, I gripped it and heaved. I fell out like a bowling bowl from the bottom of a defective carrying bag (with a solid thunk if the analogy wasn’t clear enough).

I stayed on the ground for a moment, reveling in my victory. I had completely torn off the fingernail on my left index finger. The rest would take expert ministrations from a team of Asian pedicurists to get back to something acceptable and I didn’t give one shit. I stood up and winced as I placed my hands over my head—this time to shout, “I’m free!”

John was at least a hundred yards away he was backpedaling as two deaders with outstretched arms were almost within grasp. I couldn’t tell from this distance what it was, but something tripped the Tripper and down he went. The zombies were nearly upon him.

I ripped off my tin foil hat and as I screamed it, I thought it. “COME TO ME!”

***

“What was that?” Tomas asked, wincing as he reached up and placed his hands against his head.

Eliza turned to the west in the direction the summons had come. She wiped her hand across the bottom of her nose and was surprised to see a droplet of blood.

“The game is afoot,” was all she said.

***

The zombies did not hesitate as they turned away from John and made a straight line right for me. I walked out to meet them as they got closer.

“Stop,” I ordered them as I grabbed each of the sides of their heads in my palms and drove their skulls together. The impact shattered the bone and echoed throughout the small valley we found ourselves in. They fell in a heap like the lovers that they appeared to have been once upon a time.

“The hat, man, put the hat back on!” John was shouting as he ran closer.

I was screaming to the heavens; anger, pride and satisfaction were warring with each other to become the dominate feeling. I turned and walked a few steps back towards the cavern opening, then fell to my knees. John raced past me and then came running back he hastily put my cap back on, making sure not to snap my face with the rubber band.

***

“He’s gone,” Tomas said. He was trying to stand back up having gone down after the scream. It had taken him a moment to realize who or what had shredded through his mind.

“Not for good I think,” Eliza said as she watched her brother struggling to get back up.

“Is that not reason enough to stay away and let him have his corner of the world, Eliza?” Tomas said as he finally got to his feet. He was shaking, but he felt sturdy enough.

“He grows stronger.”

“He was dead. How is this possible?” Tomas asked his sister.

“What about that bullshit you preach about no direct intervention?” Eliza yelled to the sky.

“Eliza?”

“Don’t you dare, Tomas! This changes nothing. If anything, it makes our ultimate destination that much more important. You should have let him die on that roof. I would have honored the agreement I made, at least for a little while. His family would have been safe, maybe for a generation, their lives flash by so quickly anyway.”

***

“Where’s your poncho?” John asked me as he placed his hand on my shoulder. “You look like shit, bad trip?” As he sat down next to me, he pulled a crisp white joint from somewhere. Even more impressive was the lighter. He lit it up and took a grand toke before handing it to me.

The birds chirped in the distance, a slight breeze blew from east to west across my body, the sun shone brightly upon my face, an ant walked across my size thirteen women’s shoes. I grabbed the bone, looked at it for a moment, and took a big hit, bathing myself in its calming smoke.

“Thank you for that,” I said to John as I exhaled.

“Nice mellow shit, huh?” John asked with a smile as he took the marijuana cigarette back.

“That too,” I told him as I let the buzz wash over my mind. “But I meant that.” I pointed to the sliver-sized opening in the small mound directly in front of us.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” John said as he took the rolled paper almost down to the halfway point.

I had a sneaking suspicion that he did, especially with the sideways smile he was wearing when he handed the joint back, but I guess that also could be attributed to the fact that we were now both stoned. What can I say, I’m a cheap date. We stayed there a while longer, me on my knees, John sitting Indian style (right, right, Native American style). Although I don’t really know if it’s still necessary to keep up with political correctness in this new age of man.

“Candy?” John asked as he split a peanut butter cup in two.

I ate it before he had even put his half in his mouth. “Rorry. Stress makes me hungry,” I told him.”

“Did you get the tickets?” he asked as he savored his half.

I shook my head.

“That’s alright. Maybe we can catch them next time. We should head for the airport,” he said as he arose, he extended a hand to help me up.

The events of the day had impaired me far worse than I had imagined. My legs began to instantly cramp and every scrape and bruise I had on my body was letting itself be known. We had twenty miles to traverse and I didn’t think I could make it twenty yards; this was compounded with the fact that, because of the weed, I was even thinking slower.

“Man I’m tired,” John said, echoing my thoughts. “Do you have a car?”

“Let’s go see,” I told him as we headed away from the motel that couldn’t have been more than a quarter mile, then I realized we were still in a bit of a lurch. My ‘broadcast’ for the zombies to come to me had been reached by anything within a certain range and then I realized they weren’t moving. I stopped to laugh, my gut started to hurt I was letting go so deeply. John had no idea why I was laughing, but he was not one to shy away from a good time, he joined in the merriment.

“What’s so funny, man?” John asked as he started wiping tears away from his face.

It was a few more minutes before I could compose myself enough to speak. “You see the zombies...I mean funkies?”

“Yeah, man,” he answered, looking over to the motel. “Hey, what’s the matter with them? They look frozen.”

I was laughing full tilt again. “They’re not moving because I told them not to.”

“They’re very well behaved,” he said in all seriousness.

“Don’t you see, man? We didn’t need to go through the damned cavern, Trip.” John was looking at me strangely. “Forget it, it’s over now. I hope I can forget it as quickly as you can. Let’s go get your van.”

“Oh yeah, I forgot that was here.”

We headed back to the motel. I wanted to kill the zombies, but it somehow seemed cruel to kill something defenseless. I know, I know, that’s an asinine thought; they wouldn’t think twice if the roles were reversed. I also had John to think about. He had to check each and every one of the frozen bastards out as we walked by. I know he wouldn’t have approved of my slaughtering them, and what he thought mattered, even if he would have forgotten by dinner.

He kept waving his hands in front of their faces. The only thing that moved on the zombies was their eyes and it was unnerving. Their eyes followed us like those of paintings in a haunted mansion. There were at least twenty or thirty zombies in the parking lot all oriented towards where I had called them from. And at least another half dozen were inside the cabin having not yet found an exit by the time my ‘stop’ command had been issued. I had never before controlled so many zombies at once, I was unsure if it was something I would even be able to do again. The range of emotions I had been feeling when I did it would be difficult to match.

“They’re like mannequins,” John said, waving his hand dangerously close to one of the zombie’s mouths.

“Maybe don’t get so close,” I told him.

“Are they playing some sort of game?”

“Not one that I want to play.”

“Me neither,” John said as he took one final glance behind him before getting into his van.

I don’t know if to this very day you could go down to North Carolina and see those zombies standing there but they hadn’t moved when I finally lost them in my rearview mirror.

“Want a beer?” John asked, reaching in to the backseat and opening the cooler.

“Sounds about perfect.” I told him.