Jake smirked then, as Larry continued,

 

"He says, 'Hey, who do you think you are?'  I said, 'Shit, I'm Larry Davidson.' Then the fucker pushed me. And I just started slamming his greasy-ass head into the bar till somebody pulled me off him. And I ain't kidding about that greasy part. His head felt like he just pulled it out of a deep fryer at Long John Silver's."
 
Jake knew none of it was true. But he needed a dependable fishing buddy. He had to tolerate Larry's lies so he would have someone to fish with every weekend. But he didn't trust Larry. And he constantly searched for a new fishing partner.
 
Larry took a big gulp of his beer. Jake looked over at him. Larry went,  "Har-har-har-har-har..."
 
 * * * * * *
 
Larry turned down yet another dirt road, this one leading to the only pond they knew that was by a cemetery.
 
"You goin' to the one by the graveyard?" Jake asked.
 
Larry belched. "Yeah."
 
"Why?"
 
"Suits my mood. I feel kinda gloomy today."
 
"Didn't Gary say somebody dumped a bunch of barrels of toxic shit into that pond?"
 
"Just a rumor," Larry whined. "Nobody dumped nothin' in that water."
 
Jake couldn't believe him. Larry told too many lies. He never knew what to believe from Larry. "Well, I ain't eatin' nothin' I catch out of it."
 
"Whatever floats your boat."
 
Larry drove up close to the pond, his front tire hit the edge of the water. They got out and chose their lures carefully, went to different parts of the pond, started working their rods-n-reels.
 
It was calm and cool by the water. Jake rolled his head around on his neck and tried to relax the muscles in his arms and back. He let out a deep, peaceful sigh.
 
Larry was the first to pull in a bass, only medium-sized though, and he threw it back. He usually only kept the biggest one of the day. Because Larry was so competitive, Jake hated to see him get the first fish (proving that Jake was competitive, too).
 
Within seconds of Larry's catch, Jake had snagged something, only it didn't feel like a fish at all. He yanked and tugged, thinking he was only hung up on a large branch, but after a minute of pulling,whatever it was moved forward about half a foot, and he knew there was actually something on the end of his line.
 
"Havin' problems there, numbnuts?" Larry asked with a vile tone.
 
"Screw you, man. I'll get it."
 
Larry set down his pole, then his beer, and strutted over to Jake. Jake hated it when Larry tried to take over. He did it all the time.
 
A round can of chewing tobacco protruded from a pocket of Larry's jeans.

 

"Here. Let me show you how it's done."
 
"Get away. I've got it."
 
Larry jerked the rod-n-reel out of Jake's hands. He started pulling and bending the rod in half until it looked like it was going to break.
 
The head of a dead-looking human being broke the surface of the brown water, its greyish-blue flaky skin contrasting with the dull liquid surrounding it, and the head steadily rose out of the pond until its entire face was visible.
 
"What the fuck!" screamed Larry.
 
They watched a man with gaping green sores on his face, and blackish red liquid pouring from his eyes and mouth, stalk out of the water in slow motion toward them.
 
Jake could not speak.
 
He saw that his fish hook was lodged in the thing's right eyeball. Larry lowered the pole, putting slack in the line. The decomposing man slowly raised its gray arm, pulled the hook out with a sickening sucking noise.
 
Larry dropped the rod-n-reel, sprinted toward his truck, opened the door, and snatched out his 12-gauge. Jake ran to the rear of the truck, leaned down and grabbed the bumper, barely peaking over the tailgate.
 
The undead man still crept toward them.
 
Larry cocked his shotgun and it sounded like the reaper cracking his knuckles. "I got this butha," he said as he raised his 12-gauge and blasted into the thing's chest. Red bile sprayed out of itsbody when the shot hit; and the undead thing flew back ten feet, splashing into the pond on its back.
 
"Jesus!" yelled Jake from the rear of the truck. His voice was back now that he thought the thing was dead. "What the hell was that?"
 
"Don't know," said Larry calmly. "But here comes some more."
 
Jake ran around the truck to see better. About ten pairs of decomposing heads rose up out of the pond simultaneously. Both men and women, all undead, stalked out of the pond. Some were little more than skeletons with a few chunks of meat hanging over their yellowish bones. Their faces were dead masks of chemically burnt waste. Pieces of flesh dangled from their skulls like ripped burlap flaps where the fish and turtles had been chewing and tearing. Tattered brown and red rags hung from some of their bodies as clothes, most were just naked. The closest undead thing was mostly bones with part of its left quadricep still attached.
 
Larry grunted and cocked his shotgun and started blasting them down. Boom!! He fired again and again, blowing their corpses back into the pond, sending sprays of black pus and green bile into the water with them, the water starting to change color. But every time he shot one, another would rise from the pond. He loaded as fast as he could, but there were too many of them.

 

Jake stepped further and further away as he watched the slaughter of the undead take place.
 
"Should have brought more guns, goddamn it," yelled
Larry. "Jake! Get your ass over here and help me kill these fu-"
 
Larry didn't get the sentence all the way out before one of the undead creatures grabbed him and bit into his cheek. Jake stood panting as he watched the thing rip away the flesh of Larry's face. He saw more of the things come and maul Larry and take him down. Larry was screaming and kicking his legs and punching and trying to roll away. But he didn't have a chance against them. Jake tried to catch his breath as he watched them feed on Larry. He saw one of the undead rip into Larry's  stomach and start pulling things out. Jake couldn't take it. He knew he would be next if he didn't start running at that very second. He turned and sprinted up onto the dirt road, his boots pounding the gravel.

 

He ran toward town as quickly as he could, never running so fast since he left high school track six years ago. He glanced over his shoulder and saw the zombies staggering up on to the dirt road, and lumbering in his direction; their arms extended, their moans building in intensity...
 
     

©2005 Jason Earls