Get Zombie: 8-Book Set (34 page)

Fernando
was getting scared. He wanted to turn back, but I kept him there by
touching his arm and telling him everything was okay – that I
needed him – needed his help. And it worked. That's the thing
about this guy: you touch his arm, and he's like putty in your hands.
Like I said, my kind of guy. One time at work he got drunk and got to
talking to me, started telling me how long he's been single, how much
he misses being hugged. I slapped him. I mean, someone had to man him
up. He started crying, but then I touched his arm, and he stopped. He
had his eyes on me that whole day. He even walked me home. I felt
like a teen again. I didn't kiss him goodnight. Not yet. Too early
for that kind of stuff. I have to wait a bit. Lead him on a bit. Wait
for him to get to the boiling point.

There
were ten rich cars parked outside of the church. We ran behind each
one, making our way closer to the open doors. Inside, people wore
everyday clothes, all standing up with their hands in the air,
chanting something in Latin, I think. Or it might've been French. I
don't know. Some dead language. The stench of wet dogs surrounded us,
and we coughed into our arms. The people in the church started
grumbling, moving here and there. Someone was screaming – it
was a little girl. Some kid. No one I knew.

I
told the guys let's move up to get a closer look, but they were
freaked out by what they saw next.

A
cage was lowered from the ceiling. In it was a big aswang – FAT
– the biggest I had ever seen. She was like half elephant. He
breasts went down to her knees, and she was stepping on them like she
didn't care. After that, the guys ran off. Just VOOT! Gone. They
waved me to follow them, but I gave them the finger for wussing out.
Others ran out from the church, screaming, disgusted. They jumped in
their cars and drove off. One lady puked out the window as she went
full speed. Threw up all over Fernando (now that was a laugh). The
priest or grandmaster or whatever he was told those remaining that
THEY were worthy to see the sacrifice, and that the others were weak
and stupid.

The
ground shook and a hole opened up. Long black things – black
strings – shot out and took hold of the cage. Everyone started
hollering. The priest told them to SHUT UP. More black strings flew
out from the hole, then the chain holding up the cage
broke, and the whole thing went into that hole.

Seconds
later, and the cage goes flying out of the hole, like it was tossed
out by the Devil herself. The cage crashed through a church window
and landed on car. The alarm went off. In the cage was the skeleton
of the aswang, and I was glad to see it...glad to see it dead. These
things think they can just come into our towns, eat whatever they
want, do whatever they want, didn't have jobs, didn't pay rent. It's
not fair.

The
priest yelled out to me to stay away from the cage, but I didn't
listen. I had to get a closer look. I wanted to spit on its bones.

And
I did.

I
had a talk with that priest.

I
think I might join in on their little club.

So
that's Mum's letter. After I read it, I made damn sure I put it back
the way I found it – between the right sticky pages. I heard of
that church before – all that weird talk about demons and
ghosts. But far as I knew, no one went there. They avoided it. Scared
of it. How to put this...it was like walking on private property, but
be careful, because the landowner was crazy. He'll shoot ya.

And
if you're wondering, that was the only strange letter I found. There
were others before it, sure, but they involved the usual love crap.
After that night, I wasn't able to find any more letters. Maybe she
caught on, I don't know. It was right about that time that Mum
started going out earlier and coming home later. Was she still
getting unusual with those army men? Or maybe it was with curious
church folk?

I
didn't understand what my mum had gotten herself into.

Honestly,
I still don't.

Fade
in...and now I'm 15 years young. I have an old scar on my cheek. When
I wake up, I am on the roof again, tied to my old pal Mr.
Antenna...and I 'm glad. I don't even remember what bad thing I did
to Mum this time, at least
bad
in her beefy eyes. I think I
dropped a pot of boiling chicken feet. In any case, she was PO'd, so
up to the roof I went. Good! Up there I was at peace. The alone-time
was good – better than being anywhere near Mum. I had time to
think. Plot. Scheme.
I had time to think of my escape.
I was
at the end of my rope. I was going to run away and never look back.
I'd sleep on the beach, find work at temp agencies, save up, and fly
to Yuma. Then what? I didn't know. Maybe I'd be a stunt woman. That
sounded fun. Maybe just walk into the Stuntmen & Women building
and just sign up for a job.

I'd
do anything. I just wanted to get away, understand?

My
hands ached. They were wet, and I assumed Mum tied the wire so good
that my hands were bleeding. My face hurt. I imagined that it was
swollen black and blue. My other cheek was blazing with pain. What
happened? I couldn't remember. I imagined hornets living in there,
giving me Hell, jabbing me with their stingers, laughing as they
worked.

It
was a cloudy night. It was a quiet night...and that was strange in
and of itself. It was
never
quiet in the projects, as we
discussed earlier. My ears picked up nothing but cool wind – a
nice whistle. There were no weepings and no beatings, no fists
smashing car windows, no nothing. Just whistling. Odd sensations.
Something was definitely in the air that night – an unseen
threat that even sent the gangsters to their homes. Maybe it was this
ESP (this internal warning system) that the psychic folks are always
talking about. Even thugs had'em. Or maybe the cops finally had
enough and said, “Now be good little boys and girls, you punks.
We have no problem shooting you and tossing your corpses into the
Halona Blowhole.”

A
sound high above me.

Wak-wak.
Wak-wak.

I
looked around, and each move felt like a knife digging into my face.
What was that sound? Maybe it was a bird?

Wak-wak.
Wak-wak.

It
was getting softer. Whatever it was seemed to have been flying away
from me. Little did I know that it was a
trick
.

There
was a sudden WHOOSH and my hair flew back and my eyes squinted. The
woman was ON me. I was too confused to scream. I kept making
“Ugh-ugh!” sounds. She was pulling on me, trying to get
me off the antenna. My hands felt like they were going to be ripped
out. I begged for her to stop, yelling, screaming. Bedroom lights all
around blinked on. People cursed at me to be quiet. My mum yelled at
me from her room to shut up, or
else
.

The
monster got close to my face and sniffed my mouth. The thing was like
a cross between a pit bull and an old woman and a horse's ass,
covered in mud.

Mum
shrieked.

She
was on the roof, on the ladder, frozen, screaming over and over
again:

“Aswang!
Awsang!”

The
neighbors yelled back, threatening to call the police. My mum slid
down the ladder and was gone....

When
I woke up, I was in a room that smelt like run-over cat. As a kid,
you see one sometimes on the grass on your way from school. A dead
cat with its eyes all bugged out, looking at you with that stupid,
wide mouth, like it's saying, “Can you believe it?” But
the smell always stays with me. Death always smells the same, be it
cat, dog, and I presumed even girl.

I
sat up and threw up warmth all over my stomach. It was without
thinking – just
blaaarrgghhhh
. The acid in the back of
my throat was no picnic. It was like wasabi that stung my brain.
Super vomit.

I
was cold and shivering. It was pitch black. For a second I thought I
had my eyes closed, and my wrists hurt big time. I stood up and
scanned the walls with my hands. I couldn't stop shaking. Maybe I was
in shock. My heart exploded in my chest. The wall was made of mud
that ran through my fingers. I was determined to get out –
confident that I would. Bad things didn't happen to good people. This
was a mistake. Someone messed up.
Home to my bed; home to my warm
bed.
I didn't care that bugs fell on my hands and head and
crawled down the back of my shirt.

Out.
Gotta get out.

I
imagined myself running through a nighttime field, running home. Home
to Kalihi. Home to stupid Mumma. Yayyyyyy. Whatever. I didn't CARE.
Then I thought of going over to my friend's house – to her mum.
Sherry. The idea powered me even more. I would run to
her
. I
would run
home
.

Something
was wrong with the “mud” on the walls...and another scent
crept up into my nose.

Rusty
pennies.

I
had my eyes wide open, as if somehow that would help me see through
the dark. I slipped on something like a dumbbell and hit the hardwood
floor. A heavy echo followed like thunder. I was still. If someone
heard that, I was screwed. Panic set in. I jumped up and ran around,
fanning my hands like they were on fire – thinking, thinking.
My steps sounded like tiny sonic booms. Be quiet. I had to be still.
There had to be a way out.

A
way
in
was a way
out
.

The
gears in my head turned. Was something supposed to happen? I didn't
even know what I was waiting for. Then I lost it. A small sense of
doubt crept into my mind, that I would die, and I saw an image of me
naked with worms in my life-giving bits. And I wept. I begged to God
to save me (I mumbled it, so maybe he didn't hear me so good). Why
me? I was a little girl. A teenager, yes, but still...why was he
doing this to ME? Wasn't I nice enough? Charitable enough? Was this
all some sort of sick test? I held my sobs in my throat, wanting to
vomit that lump out.

Don't
be stupid. Think like an adult – like an adult! What would an
adult do? What would Jesus do?

That
realization was a zinger through my heart – that I wasn't
Jesus. I wasn't worth saving. I was just some girl in a bad spot. A
bad girl that thought of ways to kill her mother. BAD LUCK. KARMA.
Mum believed in those things, along with evil eyes, black cats, not
sleeping after showers, hats causing baldness, pissing under trees,
etc., etc., etc.

I
turned my sniffling into little growls, trying to “man myself
up”, as the alpha males always said, and tiptoed around with my
hands out, expecting to touch a ladder, a doorknob, a crawlspace,
anything.

This
is all because you hate your mum so much. You don't respect her.
Don't you know, girl? You broke one of the Ten Commandments! That's
bad juju. Tsk, tsk, tsk. Sorry. Can't be helped. This is all your
fault, and now you are in Hell.

Shut
up.

This
is Hell!

What?

HELLLLLLLLLLLLLL!

Tinkling
sounds filled my ears...something like little bells were all around
(and up above) me. A thousand little bells. Flies buzzed across my
face. I waved them away.

And
then I
remembered
the smell. You'd think God would spare me a
little mercy by forgetting the smell, but nooooo. The aroma of
rotting meat hit me a hundred times over. My mind backpedaled; my
stomach did cartwheels; my back felt like my front.
I
thought of Mandy's mum, Sherry, holding me, soothing me, laughing
with me, smiling at me, never hurting me. I gripped the sides of my
face and shut my eyes and shook my head.

Someone
was running. The door opened and hit the wall so hard it sounded like
a gunshot. I yelped and spun around. Hands grabbed my waist and
hauled me out of the room.

I
was dragged up a staircase dripping mud. A hatch opened; my eyes
burned from a sudden burst of light. The house flew by in snapshots:
Oil painted portraits of people from old days, rattan furniture,
flowers in pots with ribbons tied around stems, a couch covered in
clear plastic, large statues of animals just standing around, a VHS
collection of Bruce Lee and
Jean-Claude
Van Damme
movies, and little Jesus figurines...so many religious
figurines. This was a Filipino’s home. It was a small
home...very cramped. This wasn't a house; this was a trailer home. I
never saw such a thing before: a trailer home in Oahu, let alone a
Filipino
trailer home. It even had that Filipino smell that
old people on the bus reeked of – that jungle-oil that my mum
rubbed on me to “cure” my headaches and/or stomachaches.
She once dumped that stink on my head to cure me of my thinness
(because Mum believed her enemy put a curse on me to get back at her;
splendid).

I
was in the dining room, seated in front of a table. Other kids sat
too, all younger, all looking at me. No one dared to cry. The woman
took her sweat-covered palm off my mouth.

The
Filipino Granny put her hands on her hips. Her voice shook with age.

“Now
I don't wanna hear any damn crying, right?”

I
nodded. She was repulsive. Now I'm no looker myself, but when I tell
you she was ugly, I mean she was ug-LEE. Just, Ahhhhhh! Her face
drooped – looked like it was melting off her cheeks like cheese
on a sandwich. Her hair was long, white as toiler paper, but one side
was longer than the other. Cockroaches ran through her hair, hiding
behind her ears. I backed away in my seat, my chin digging into my
chest. I imagined centipedes in her panties. I'm sorry. It just
popped in. Just couldn't help it.