Zombie Drive-In

Texas Rangers…the line between good and evil, live and die by a creed of honor…No man in the wrong can stand against a man in the right that just keeps on comin’… Highway 90 is a long, lonely stretch of flat hugging the Texas – Mexico border and the rusting tracks of the Southern Pacific Railroad. Sun-scorched, a wide open treeless sweep of scrub terrain with not much to relieve the tedium except for the occasional prickly pear cactus. Folks say that when the dust blows up in Mexico, they sneeze in Texas, and you’d be hard-pressed to find a man inclined to argue. Teardrop Texas…thirty miles to water..twenty miles to timber… two hundred sixty miles to Austin..and ten miles to Hell…boasted three churches, sixty bibles, two brothels, seven bars…and Samson Goodnight…Texas Ranger. The only sure thing in Samson’s life was Jackpot, a surly behemoth of an Appaloosa, sixteen hands high and weighing in at twelve hundred pounds His partner, confessor and best friend for over fifteen years. The air sang with the ringing of his hooves as they burned into the ground, heartbeat and hoofbeat in perfect rhythm. When Gabriel called the fire down from Heaven, Samson and Jackpot would be leading the charge.

……………Cheerful laughter died in her throat, muted by a distant blood-curdling howl that made her hair stand on on end. Adrenaline kicked in and she moved quickly to pull the doors shut. There was no lock. Jackpot whinnied and paced nervously, shaking his head. Crow crept closer to Delilah until he was sitting on her feet, then lowered his head and snarled. “Maybe it was just a coyote,” she whispered. Underneath the constant drone of the wind there was another sound, vague at first, but as it drew closer to the barn it intensified. An indistinct scratching, like claws across a blackboard, hundreds of claws. The blood drained from her face as she waited for it to fade. but it didn’t. Soon, there came a chorus a gnashing growls and the air was choked with the reeking stench of sulfur. Fear spread through her body like an infection when a light knocking at the barn doors echoed off the walls, and they began to swing slowly open. Her legs felt like rubber, she scooped Crow up into the crook of her left arm, curled the sweaty fist of her right into Jackpot’s thick mane and vaulted onto his bare back………………. Samson pushed back from the table drawing his revolver in a single fluid motion as the tranquil Texas night combusted into pandemonium. He hit the porch in time to see Jackpot and Delilah tearing up the landscape with a onslaught of beasts at their heels. “Colton..head for the pickup..now!,” he snapped, then silently raised his revolver and scanned the distance. Sheriff Colton inched forward to stand beside him, shouldering his shotgun. Chupacabras, a solid wall of them slithered from the shadows, closing in from all directions and cutting off any chance of escape. Minutes passed before Colton broke the silence.”Why are they waiting?” he croaked. Samson leveled the 44 Mag and shook his head, “I guess because they can.” The mournful waver of a soul crushing wail signaled attack and they dropped to all fours, bounding straight for their prey in a malignant surge of unchecked rage……

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Diffused moonlight skimmed the imposing gray silhouette of the chapel, rising like an impenetrable fortress against a bleak October sky. History and beauty saturated massive, ivy-sheltered stones washed in the tears and prayers of the faithful. What could possibly go wrong? It was an innocent church carnival and this was Saint John The Evangelist…….

Moonlight illuminated the faded carnival signs and the Butcher studied each with an unwavering gaze as he trudged through the crowd, pressing his boot-heels into the gravel with slow, deliberate steps. Celebrants, suddenly chilled as if all the heat had just seeped into the ground, instinctively cleared a path around him, minimizing the friction between him and the target. Abruptly, she stiffened, her skin crawled as warning needles gathered at the back of her skull. She didn’t bother looking back over her shoulder, without hearing a sound, she knew that he was coming. There, in the dim recesses behind the blinding glare of multi-colored lights, she thought she caught a silhouette moving resolutely toward her. She blinked to make sure it was real, raising a lump in her throat that made it impossible to swallow……. The Butcher grinned broadly, the head-start never failed to spice things up, always thinking they could get away from him. Of course, they never did. He followed close at a steady pace in the darkness, engulfed in his own shadow, past the wrought iron gates and well-tended gardens. A thin piping of wind echoed off alabaster statues lining the walkway like the fragile songs of martyred saints. Pausing at the heavy iron-bound chapel doors, he gazed up into the high arched windows of the bell tower and shook his fists,……

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She had made this walk countless nights before and it would take more than a few jacked up juveniles to harsh her mellow. Okay, she paused mid-stride, senses on alert, maybe something like the ear-splitting mega-blast of Bose speakers pulsating from that ’69’ Barracuda, Blizzard Blue and waxed to cruise, screeching around the corner a few blocks up on Maple Avenue. Sam the Sham and the Pharaohs on steroids, “Hey there little red riding hood..you sure are lookin’ good…”, rattling darkened storefront windows and her newly-found sense of composure. Tires smoked as the ‘Cuda ground to a crawl, straddling the empty street. Glaring light from the full October moon ricocheted off polished chrome, briefly blinding her. The passenger door swung open and a deep voice rumbled from the driver’s side, “Get in, Red “. It was the kind of voice that made panties drop and grown men pay attention. Still, she was a bit surprised to find that she was actually considering doing just that. Should she wait for her ship to come in, or swim? Oh come on, who’s zoomin’ who? She’d still be swimming after they drained the pool. A small voice piped up in the back of her mind, “Unless, of course, the Earth is flat and you go over the edge.” Jess strolled slowly toward the car at an easy, even pace, rested a hand on the car door and leaned forward for a better look inside. “Holy jumping Moses!”, Jess gasped,slightly embarrassed by a sharp intake of breath . She was point blank staring at the face of an angel. Indecently mesmerizing, hair falling across his gold-flecked eyes like a gin house gigolo after a long night of dancing. X-toe boots, ripped jeans, garage tee rolled at the shoulders with a pack of Marlboro Reds tucked into the fold. He was quite possibly the most beautiful creature she had ever seen…….Around mile marker 166, somewhere between the cornfields and the crows, he veered off and followed an isolated dirt road for about a half mile before he pulled over and stopped. Pulling a Marlboro from the pack, he fired it up then stepped out of the car without so much as a glance in her direction. He stretched, then hopped up on the hood and leaned lazily back against the windshield, staring up at the brilliant canopy of stars.

Ah..Love..weightless and invisible…transcending time, distance…even mortality. No collection of stories would be complete without it. Still..a word of advice..should you happen to bump into our lovers on some dark, deserted street -Wolves and the moon…you always know where you stand…

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“Take your seats folks,” Grandma beamed, “Happy Thanksgiving!” When everyone had been seated, forks in hand, they were startled from their festive frenzy as the front door flew wide open and crashed loudly against the wall. There in the door frame stood Bessie, all two hundred and fifty pounds of her. No one said a peep as she lumbered into the dining room and took a chair between cousin Peg and her date, that scarecrow skinny clerk from down at the Auto Zone. “Surely someone knew why the bear was here,” they all thought silently. Nobody was gonna be the first to ask. Plates festooned from hand to hand, like a subplot in a Thanksgiving play. A few took turns at attempting small talk, but the bear don’t make the weather… just pass the mashed potatoes. Anxiety pooled at the far end of the table and they began to eat faster in self defense, as portions dwindled. Dust settled on gratuitous gossip, who had blundered into debt or gained a few pounds, who had gotten divorced. Eventually, all talk ceased entirely, except for a series of whistles and grunts to keep the bear happy. And Bessie did seem very happy to be there, sharing food and goodwill, all the things that bind life together.

Heads turned in unison to the back driveway as they heard a truck pull in and stop, tailpipes rumbling. “Oh, good lord,” they thought, “What now?” When they all spun around in their chairs to see how the bear would react to this new development, Bessie was gone…… …….Folks sank back into well-worn couches and lazy boys and turned attention to their respective electronics, football games, boyfriends, stock reports, while the smaller children sat cross-legged on the floor to watch the Wizard Of Oz on Grandma’s new sixty-five inch Sony that they had all chipped in on last Christmas. Grandma sat in a straight-backed chair against the wall, filled with love and gratitude. Somewhere between Munchkinland and the flying monkeys, the roofies kicked in……..

There are moments, when the stars line up just right and what goes down doesn’t always stay down. Dynamics may change…bears probably won’t. They make friends for life…make their own laws…and punish those who break them….

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