Show Time

        Val was afraid.  He wasn’t so much afraid of being murdered as much as uncertainty if he would be that troubled him the most.  No, that would be too easy.  He was making excuses again.  Plus he had made it this far already wondering if the next day or even the next minute would be his last.  He was more afraid of the betrayal, being played the fool- suckered by a pretty girl.  Still he couldn’t shake the feeling that he was like a lamb being led to the slaughter.  And why should he not feel that way?  He was at the Coliseum after all and he could hear the frenzied cheers of the crowd down the long hallway leading to the field.  He didn’t want to show it, but he was very afraid.

He wondered if all the events leading to this exact moment were just a long play his newfound friends were doing for their enjoyment.   HA HA the sucker human.  Everybody’s fool.  Way too much was swirling in his head right then.  Memories of his brother.  Memories of his son.  Thoughts of the hand under the salad bowl.  It was too much for him, but he had an appearance to make.  All this was for him.  For the savior.  For him.  What the hell was in that joint Candy-O just gave him?  

        Candy-O was just ahead of him a few paces, occasionally looking back and smiling at him.  At one moment he paused, bent his knees, hunched over and vomited.  The bitter coffee was probably just too much for him, he needed to smoke one more joint before continuing.   She urged him on saying that they shouldn’t miss the show.  Well, if they were going to tear him to pieces he still needed to be high, sort of like a dead man’s last meal.  The coffee and the taste of bitter bile in his mouth were not going to be his last living memory.  Val could no longer hide his extreme apprehension.  He began to sweat profusely.  His hands shook uncontrollably and he began to hyperventilate. What the hell was in that joint Candy-O just gave him?  He felt like he asked himself that very question an eternity ago.  

        Candy-O turned quickly and came to his side putting one hand on his shoulder and with the other caressing his cheek.  She whispered that everything was going to be okay.  He was not so sure.  “This is all for you.” she repeatedly whispered in a soft soothing manner.  Without even asking she procured a joint and lit it for him.  Inhale.  Exhale.  Repeat.  He immediately felt that this was an even more powerful strain of medicine.  It did not make him cough, on the contrary it felt smooth and cool and just as relaxing as Candy-O’s words.  He couldn’t finish it, so she extinguished it and put it away in a little metal case.  With a quick glance Val did notice that there were a few more joints just like it in the case.  No more clove and whatever ones though.  

         Val thanked her because he felt much better for the joint and more specifically for her kind words.  She always knew what to say even though she’d only been speaking to him for the last few days.  He was also thankful that he regurgitated the coffee and got it out of his system, because at that moment an overwhelming and very strong odor poured down the hallway.  The powerful dose from the joint was definitely helping him with his nausea, because that smell seemed to not only go in his nose and straight to his brain, but it seemingly crept into every one of his pores.  It was more than a stench: it was an obscene mixture of feces, raw onions and death. Val somehow got it together and continued walking down the hall to the field.

         Both he and Candy-O entered the field at the same time.   The sun was bright and hot.  Every single zombie in the Stadium stopped cheering simultaneously.  Nothing could be heard at all- as if God pressed the pause button and every eye that was still in its socket turned to them both.  As abruptly as they stopped they all continued their cheering and drumming.  

         Like a deer in headlights he froze and tried to maintain his seemingly confident and composed demeanor.  He looked around the Coliseum surveying everything, instantly pinpointing where he once sat for the concert and a USC football game.   He suddenly remembered the underdog UCLA team won that day and ruined the home team’s season and shot at the national title.  They had no fear of the underdog, that’s why they didn’t survive.  What made him think of that just now?      

Every single seat was filled with zombies cheering, hissing and ridiculing the lone person who was kneeling with hands bound on the platform in the middle of the field.  Val was relieved that it was someone else on the platform and not him.  Thick crowds of zombies mulled around the platform and throughout the entire infield. Perhaps even more than 100,000 zombies were there in attendance.  If it could fit that may people, then why wouldn’t it be able to fit that many corpses?  One of the friends made her way to him through the crowd.  

“You’re Val.  Please come with me- we have a special place for you.”  She smiled at him with what was left of her face.

  Clutching his hand the friend lead him to a raised stand that had a few seats on it.  He was afraid a special place was a euphemism and his apprehension returned when he pondered if he’d be next on the platform.  He thought that he was completely at their mercy so he might as well do what they said.  He grabbed Candy-O’s hand and like three kindergarten children they skipped to this platform.

          The platform had a large bench seat from an old Cadillac for Val and Candy-O to sit on.  Two’s company, three’s more fun, but not right now.  From this higher vantage point the Coliseum had a very different look.  He could see zombie cheerleaders in their outfits cheering with their pom-poms doing their cheerleader dance thing.  His eyes were initially drawn to the one person on the platform in the center of the field, but now he could clearly see that around one of the goalposts something was swarming.  As if on cue Candy-O then handed Val binoculars.  Where she was hiding them he didn’t know.  Peering through the binoculars to his astonishment he could see what looked like millions of flies joined together in one large curtain.  

         He put the binoculars down momentarily and looked through them again in astonishment.  He turned them around, to see if the lenses were dirty but Candy-O had polished them to a brilliant finish.  He wondered if he was so stoned that he was hallucinating, but he could not hallucinate the buzzing sound crackling like bacon frying or static from an old radio.  He gazed through the binoculars for a third time and to his shock the sheet of flies began to form a face- a three dimensional face that began to speak and barked accusations in a buzzing hissing tone.

        “Col. Raines- you are accused of crimes against humanity, crimes against the awakened and crimes against the Earth.  You have no plea.  You have no defense.  You have no excuse.  Only God can judge you now.  We act only as her instruments.” the disembodied mass of flies said.

         On the other side of the field, the zombies had placed a large white tarp between the goalposts covering its entire area.  The tarp was empty except for a few colorful dots.  Then a few more dots appeared on the canvas.  Val then noticed a butterfly flew over his head towards the goal post, then another and another and another.   Then thousands of butterflies flew through the crowds towards the goal post.  Before long the entire surface of both sides were covered with butterflies.

         The disembodied voice began recounting the crimes that Col. Raines had committed.  The butterflies fluttered in unison making images appear on the tarp like hundreds of thousands of little colorful pixels recounting a story as the flies narrated it, as if it were a Jumbotron showing a replay.  But this was not a replay Val wanted to see at all.  He could clearly see images of the colonel ordering his soldiers to line people against the walls of freeway embankments, machine-gunning them en masse.  He could see images of soldiers with flamethrowers torching women holding their children, people in wheelchairs and sleeping people in their beds.  Some were disposed of in large pits; other corpses would remain in their uncovered graves for all eternity.

         Val was getting nauseated again, he couldn’t believe what was happening and since he knew his friends never lied, this had to be the truth.  Candy-O whispered into his ear that the best part was coming up as she handed him another joint, the one he couldn’t finish moments earlier.  He readily clutched it from her gentle grasp.  He kissed her first.  She then handed him a can of warm Coca-Cola and apologized for it not being accompanied with ice in a pint glass.  He turned his binoculars back to the first goalpost to see the face spout its continued righteous indignation of Col. Raines.  Candy-O pointed to the platform at the center of the field.

         The friends wheeled a crippled zombie onto the field.  The poor soul was clearly charred from severe burns all over its body, but could still muster the strength to raise its left hand up and point at the colonel.  The burns were so awful that Val could not tell if it was a man or woman.  Candy-O motioned for him to look at the butterflies so he could witness a reenactment of the exact moment the Colonel’s soldiers unleashed their flamethrowers on this friend.  It was a teenaged girl who was now bound to a wheelchair for all eternity.  

         Several zombies then approached the colonel, one cutting his bonds with a swift slice from what appeared like a butcher knife attached to a long rod.  They had erected some sort of pillory and secured his hands together within it, each one inches from the other.  The colonel struggled in vain to free himself.  The voice of the flies made one last parting accusation: “You will never raise your hand to harm another again.  You will never grasp a weapon of war again.  You will never bring hate and violence to anyone ever again.  You are in God’s hands now.”  The cheer of the throng abated into a low buzz that competed with the buzz of the disembodied face.  The same zombie raised his butcher knife spear and with one fell swoop effortlessly sliced off the Colonel’s hands.

         The crowd burst into an even more furious frenzy of cheering and delight.  Col. Raines remained kneeling staring at his two stumps, blood steadily flowing down his forearms pooling at his knees.  His mouth made of vacant “O,” his silent scream echoed throughout the stadium.  Several zombies swarmed around him, grabbing each of his arms as two more approached him holding red hot blades that had been heated in the metal trash cans that had been burning as bonfires at the corners of the platform.  They applied the blades to his wrists cauterizing the wounds as other zombies came to him and began kissing and licking the wounds and applying what seemed to be olive oil and other balms.  Others bandaged his stumps with cloth strips and duct tape.

        The zombie nurses withered into the crowd and left Colonel Raines sprawled on the platform kicking and screaming.  He struggled to get his footing and began to stagger towards the edge of the stage, passing another living soldier formerly under his command who was about to get the same treatment.  He saw that the zombies had placed his severed hands into a steel drum, and angrily he kicked it over.  The zombie who had cut off his hands approached and gave the colonel a swift jab in his back with the blunt end of the spear, knocking him off the stage.  Colonel Raines with great painful effort got up and proceeded to stumble out of the stadium.  

        Candy-O reassured Val as best as she could that this was for the best and that it was all for all for him, as she passed him another joint.  He asked how many more were going to meet this poor shmuck’s fate.  She did not know, but did tell him that she imagined at least until the steel drum was overflowing with hands.  It was at that point that she whispered in his ear that all of this spectacle and demonstration was for not only for him, but that this was also at his suggestion.  He glanced at her with a blank expression as the crowd roared again.  Val leaned back and asked for yet another joint.  No, not that one.  The clove one.