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Planet Terror: The One with the Alien Reference
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When nothing came running at them, they moved quicker. Inside their room, the window lay open, letting in cool evening air.
Helena climbed out first, Bette close behind her. Still, the infected did not reveal their location.
It was not until they walked the perimeter that Bette and Helena found the ‘spokespeople’ for the zombies.
“Greetings ladies.” A well spoken young man, missing half of his face, bowed before them. The bright yellow lights scattered around the compound illuminated him clearly. Beside him, two others stood waiting.
“Where are the rest of you?” Bette asked, looking casually around.
“Gathering.” One of the others said. “Out there…” She pointed beyond the fences. “There are hundreds of us. You can’t kill us all.”
Bette thought it over. “No, I suppose not. But we can kill you.” The button on her flame thrower squealed as she turned it on. A small flame came from the end, but she did not press the trigger. “Any last words?”
“Just..that you’re all going to die….”
“but that you should join us! Dammit Jared, you were supposed to ask them to join us!” The third, who had been silent, waved at Bette and Helena comically. “We’re sorry…our bad…don’t kill us, k?”
Helena smiled. She and Bette unleashed their fire sticks, and made toast of the zombies.
Then Helena lurched quickly away, tears running down her face.
Around them, the dust of the recently dead (dead) rose.
Bette ran after Helena, grasping her elbow gently.
Helena twisted around, looking sadly at Bette.
“It smells like American hotdogs.” She wrinkled her nose.
“Hun?” Bette said quietly. “What’s up?”
Helena shook her head, looked around them. “This is our afterlife. This is it. We’re going to outlive our own child, and when we do die, we’ll smell like American hotdogs.”
Her voice hitched and she began to sob, pressing her hand against her mouth to stifle the sound. Bette had to be honest with herself—she was at a loss to comfort anyone with whom she shared such despair.
Helena looked at her then, and Bette looked back, moved at last by the sadness she saw there. She reached out, wiped the tears from Helena’s cheeks.
“I hate American hotdogs.” Bette said quietly. “I’m sure we won’t smell like that.”
Helena burst out laughing, then broke down crying again. She reached her arms around Bette’s waist and Bette grasped her shoulders and they stayed like that for a long time.
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I hope you’re not trying to imply that anybody else’s hot dogs are better. Granted, some hot dogs are VERY bad (Remember I told you I had dinner with my aunt the other night? She made chicken and it was awful.), but some hot dogs can be most satisfying. I didn’t say they were good for you. I’ve had hot dogs in Canada (yes! Canada!), I’ve even had them in a Parisian cafe, where they prefer to call them frankfurters if compelled to specify le type de saucisse, and found them comparable. So let’s not start getting snotty about American hot dogs, alright? HB, I think you’re letting evil doctors off the hook too quickly. First Block, then religious right what’s his face. They deserve to be roasted slowly. But flamethrowers are OK for the general zombie masses, just too many of them for individual attention, nor is it anything personal with them. It is quite a predicament with mushy ones reforming. Our girls better put their noggins together and think fast before they run out of lighter fluid. And thanks for mentioning Ripley even if she can’t make an appearance.
oh hb, when you mentioned BBQ-ing, I was thinking of some ribs..a baked potato, a nice salad…but instead it is just zombe flambe! I concur completely with the run of the mill offings of both evil drs…all Block got after torturing Bette was a little shooting? All Christian right/religious fanatic/homophobe/evil zealot got after torturing Bette was a fast beheading?? This is not sending the right message to evil drs who want to torture Bette, hb! I say, first make em eat hot dogs! Then alot of pain and torturing and dressing in unfashionable ways and what have you, prior to their slow and agonizing demises. I also want to point out that they seem to have been fighting infected for quite a while now,and dispatching them in a variety of ways, yet fire never occurred to them before now?? How is my little zombony hanging in? And again, this begs the question, how can they kill any infected if they are already DEAD!!! I say, give them the hot dogs too!!
Ok. Peggy saved from being munched on by infected: check. Evil Newt-job dead: check. Quick fix-it found for finishing off re-animating infected: check. Worry, laughter, anger, dread, fright, sadness: check. Me loving this story: check. Welp, hb. Seems like we’ve covered all the bases for the time being. Next chapter, please.
i’m going to make the next chapter not so scary for jackiee…:)
did she make chicken hot dogs? your aunt, i mean? or just chicken? poor your aunt, you should show her how to make a good maple glaze for that chicken. american hot dogs, hot dogs generally, are disgusting, but good…i ate one yesterday and i can feel the ill health growing within me…sorry bout the doctor, but he wasn’t really a doctor, coz bette kinda is…i fudged that one up anyway, he was more like an evil religious zealot coz of the whole church and state and science schism and…lol…i should get back to work and stop analyzing my own story
“Indeed, Bette dropped a pin off the desk, and it clanged rather loudly.” By far the funniest thing I’ve ever read. And the zombies trying to plead their case before getting burned to death (can i really say death if they’re already dead? *shrug*)…very funny. Glad that idiot doctor is dead, he deserved it…I knew something wasn’t right with that guy. And hot dogs (of any nationality) are gross…i sympathize with Helena. PPS
Given that her own vocabulary would make the proverbial sailor blush, Peggy’s objection to Helena’s “Eat this assholes” struck me as a tad hypocritical. Helena’s hotdog anxieties are more than justified: an inventory of hotdog ingredients (regardless of nationality) would sicken even the hardiest zombie.
Oh, good god no, HB, my traditionalist aunt wouldn’t even consider chicken or turkey hot dogs, and I really only threw her chicken in as part of a riff on bad food and faux nationalism. I’m not sure the maple glaze would have helped much as my aunt’s prep meth amounted to something like: go to the very back of your freezer to find a foil wrapped nugget that’s been entombed for months. Unwrap and thaw. Place in a roasting pan with at least an inch of water (for moistness), making sure the chicken pieces are sitting IN the water. Place in oven until doomsday or at least until I come back from walking her dog. The dog loves me for this, by the way. My aunt admits to having a diminished sense of taste (I’ll say!), but also assiduously avoids flavor adding elements and is visibly disturbed at the prospect of things like black pepper and garlic (that bit has made me wonder if she’s a vampire, but aren’t vampires supposed to stop aging?). But I agree, if you’re going to eat hot dogs you should never, ever think about what’s inside them.
Geez, thanks for the nightmares. I should make you stay with me instead of me being alone with my dog