Angry Coatless Man

Of all the people Jennifer had to steal from she chose this guy. He stood with a chest like a prison wall. Under his left eye there was a tattoo of a skull and the skull was crying. He was more like a video-game character than a real person.

I’d like to say I squared up to him. But if I had done, I’d have only reached nipple height. Instead I stammered and sidestepped. And, as I stammered and sidestepped, he mirrored my movement. There was no passing him – to the left was the swimming pool, to the right the motel.

‘Sorry,’ I said, my mind empty of suggestions for what else to say.

Jennifer got to her feet, struggling to lift the package. Her face shook with shocks of pain. Without thinking I reached out to help, taking the box from her unsteady grip.

‘So let me tell you what I’m going to do. I’m gonna take these coats off you. And then I’m going to beat loverboy here so hard he’s gonna be swallowing eyelashes for weeks.’

‘Bite me,’ said Jennifer.

‘How about we just give you the coats back and you forget about it?’ I asked, smiling so he knew I wasn’t the bad guy. ‘There’s been a misunderstanding.’

‘You bet your Aussie ass there’s been a misunderstanding. You been misunderstanding whose coats you stole.’

Jennifer stepped towards him. I don’t know what she was planning to do, but whatever it was she didn’t get very far. He raised a hand and gently bounced her back.

‘Easy now,’ he said.

With the same hand still outstretched he beckoned me forward.

‘So how about you show me what’s in that box?’ he said.

You won’t believe it, because I can’t either, but I said ‘no’, adding, ‘It’s not yours.’

‘Them coats ain’t yours neither, buddy.’

He lunged for the box. As he did so, I turned my left shoulder. I didn’t step into his chest. It was more that he bounced off me. I must have really rubbery muscles or something.

But contact was made. Contact that forced him to stumble backwards. His feet got tangled – we’ve all been there. One second he was standing, the next he was swinging his arms to find balance. And if he hadn’t been back-stepping towards a swimming pool, he might have been successful.

His body hit the water with a rip through the night, his cap spinning off like a stolen Frisbee. Before I could process what had happened, Jennifer slapped my back.

‘Run!’ she called, flying past.

We left the courtyard, passed the reception and emerged into the parking lot. There was a coach, about three-quarters the size of the Greyhound, at the gas station. Even in the dull light of the forecourt, it was clear the vehicle had seen a few scrapes. Its facing side was undulated with bumps. A group staggered around it as someone stood at the rear filling up. I thought maybe it was a drunken party going home or even a group of old people with mobility issues, but as we jogged closer we saw what they were.

Zombies.

Jennifer’s pace slackened only slightly.

Clothes were ripped and skin was peeling. The zombie at the pump turned her head to the other zombies, calling instructions.

‘Don’t hold your arms so straight! Put your tongue away! Try dragging your feet!’

We ran towards the undead and Jennifer jumped up and through the coach’s door. As we were being chased by a mad, wet, angry man I didn’t think there was anything else to do but follow.

Inside, there was darkness but no passengers.

They must be all outside, practising their moves, I thought.

‘Hide in a footwell,’ said Jennifer. ‘Nobody ever sits up front. Quickly.’

I dived into the black space between two banks of chairs. My hands moved over crisp packets and disturbed a sharp stink of foot sweat. Jennifer disappeared in the corresponding space on the other side of the aisle.

‘Hey!’ A voice shook the outside world and echoed against the coach windows. Instantly the groaning stopped. ‘You seen two kids? Wearing big-ass coats?’

‘Sir, are you okay?’ came the response, a woman’s voice. ‘Do you need assistance?’

We should have dumped the coats.

‘We should have dumped the coats,’ I hissed across the aisle, but the darkness said nothing back.

The man roared his question again. ‘I said: have you seen two kids?’

‘I saw a pair heading towards the store,’ came a response from outside, another voice. ‘Running. I don’t know. Maybe you need to calm down.’

There was a moment of silence before a muffled banging came from the rear of the coach.

‘Guess that’s practice over,’ said the original woman and soon after the coach trembled with bodies getting on board.

I didn’t breathe. I closed my eyes as tightly as the lids allowed. I rested my head on the package, praying there was nothing explosive inside. Wrapping my arms round my chest, I found comfort in the soft padding of the coat.

The zombie passengers got back on and when the coach’s door hissed closed, I knew I should say something. Because I was a stowaway on transportation for monsters.

A pair of legs stood in the aisle, centimetres from my nose. They ended in a pair of Converse, dull in the night. Had I been caught? Or worse: was their owner about to sit on me?

‘We all okay? We set? Any more bathroom breaks?’ said the legs, a female voice.

‘This costume’s a nightmare to get off in the restroom,’ came a reply from the other end of the bus.

‘You should have worn diapers,’ said someone else. ‘Mia did.’

Laughter rippled across the seats. Laughter that came mostly from the rear of the coach.

‘I’ve lost a nose,’ said someone else. ‘Anyone seen my nose?’

I checked my nose. It was present. That was something, I thought, as I looked past the legs. Jennifer’s space was so dark it was like she wasn’t even there.

As the coach laughed and someone asked if there were any Doritos going spare, I hissed across the aisle. ‘Jennifer!’

There was no response. The legs spoke again.

‘I know it’s awful late but how about we try a go at “Tomorrow”, just to lift our hearts as we pull away? I know our driver would love it.’ There came some rumbling from the driver’s seat, a noise that didn’t sound full of enthusiasm. ‘You all know your parts, you total babes.’

The Converse walked off. The coach growled to a start. As it did, the passengers broke out singing. And the toothy sort that splits your skull because it’s so annoying, with the singers smiling like there’s a gun pointed at their family and they’ve been ordered to look like they’re having fun.

‘Just thinking about tomorrow clears away the cobwebs and the sorrow,’ they sang.

Okay, so we’d escaped a violent beating, but being trapped on a bus full of musical-theatre-loving zombies wasn’t, like, a huge improvement.

I dared stretch up, lifting my head so that my eyes were level with the bottom of the window. The seats hid me from being seen. Across the forecourt, I saw a figure in silhouette, the bright neon behind him.

It was the Cowboy, standing there, watching us.