Keep Busy

50.

Jane was rushing over as quickly as she could, still chomping on a chunk of brain. She was looking wild-eyed and drunk.

"Frank!" she exclaimed.

"Present," he said.

"You fuckin' fuck," Emily said, slapping him on the chest.

"Ow, Jesus."

"You deserve it, fuck-face," she said, smiling broadly.

"I don't know, sounds like you're the one that wants to do the face fucking. The way you were touching my lips and all," Frank retorted with a little grin.

"Shut up."

Jane stood over them. Her chest heaving, fresh blood streaming down her chin to mix with all the sticky drying blood already coating her entire body. "Am I interrupting?" she asked squinting slightly.

Frank managed to sit up, his head still ringing and the pain, incredibly acute. He looked at Jane and attempted a weak smile. "You gonna share that?" he asked, motioning to her hand.

Jane looked down, her head swimming in the blood-rush and saw the handful of brains she was still gripping. She tossed it over her shoulder and smiled guiltily. The brains splatted somewhere unseen behind her. "Sorry," she said.

"It's fine, we've all got our vices. Speaking of which..."

"Are you seriously thinking about booze right now?" Emily said, sliding away from him, getting back to her chair where she'd left her assault rifle. She picked it up and laid it on her bare thighs just above the knees. She adjusted it, rocking it back and forth, finding the proper balance, like she was tending to a baby.

"Why? Do you have some?" Frank asked sarcastically, pulling out a smoke and lighting it.

"You're unbelievable."

"Frank," Jane said, looking serious but still wild-eyed. "Are you okay? Your head was like an open faucet. I thought you were going to die."

"Well... I feel terrible. Everything smells like maple syrup and there are six of you. But I think my skull is getting used to being a punching bag. Oh, also, I can't remember anything before the age of 25. But I think that was like that before."

"You make jokes when you're scared," Jane said.

"Do I?"

"Yes," Emily and Jane said in unison.

"No, no. I'm good. Besides, this is just some fucked up sitcom, right? None of this is real. We're all on an airplane watching the little screens in the headrest. It's the story of a guy who lives with his asshole little sister and a zombie supermodel that get into all sorts of mundane but outlandishly hilarious predicaments. Right? That's what this is."

"Asshole?" Emily said.

"Supermodel?" Jane said.

"Little sister?" Emily said. "So now you're into incest?"

"Don't start that shit again. I may have been pretty much dead there for a while, but I heard what you said. Nothing happened. Confirmed."

"Maybe so, maybe not."

"Again... I feel like I'm interrupting," Jane said, wiping her chin with the back of her hand. "Although, thank you for the supermodel comment."

"Well, you look like you're in some Avant-guard editorial spread, all skinny, tall and covered in blood. An artsy Vogue spread. Beautiful but controversial." He tried to stand but it wasn't happening. "Also, the no pants thing."

"Just stay sitting down. I'm sure you've got a concussion," Jane said.

"Probably," Frank agreed, pressing the heel of his hand into his temple. "Unfortunately, I don't think this is a situation where we can wait until morning and hope for the best. I'm pretty sure we need to get the fuck out of here before too long."

"We do," Emily said, standing, looking confident and self-assured. "We need to find Tristen then a car or truck or fuckin' something and get as far away from here as possible. Those army douchebags could be coming back here any second."

"Yeah, they said they were going to 'the hangar,' but that could be right next door for all we know." Frank managed to get up to his knees. Jane came over and helped him stand on shaky jelly legs.

"You good?" she asked.

"Yeah... but seriously... you gotta cover that thing up." His eyes flicked down.

"You scared it'll bite?"

"Scared that I'll bite it." Frank said.

"Speaking of which," Jane suddenly looked very alert. "If we're going, I'm going to grab a little snack for the road. I know it's gross and all but god... I seriously feel like a superhero right now. It's just so fresh and... delicious."

"A supermodel-hero," Emily said as she scoured the surrounding area looking for dropped weapons.

"I'll take it," Jane said as she began to walk back to the pens.

"Wait a second," Frank stopped her. "Look over there," he pointed to the slaughter area and the blood trough under the stainless-steal table. The human on top had received a bullet to the cranium during all the excitement—a lucky stray to put him out of his misery. "They've got blood bags over there somewhere. And probably something you could put your road-brains in."

"Oh good. Thanks Daddy," she said cheerily.

"But don't take too long, we gotta bolt pretty fuckin' soon," Emily said. "Right after I kill Roy."

"Daddy?" Frank said.