Nice was not the first ghoul community Vic had heard of, but it was the first he’d ventured into. It wasn’t half bad once he got past the fact that it was, well, a ghoul community. The metal sheet buildings were solidly constructed or appeared to be (Vic wasn’t much of a judge on building integrity). The fact that it was situated underground gave it added protection, but the narrow halls and tunnels to the surface created chokepoints that would make any evacuation chaotic at best.
All that aside, Vic had no intention of staying there. Fuck Gene. Fuck Nice. Fuck the others, and fuck Long Haul Caravans. They could take their 75 caps per diem and shove it where the sun didn't shine. However, he wasn’t about to run back out into the wastes unprepared. He needed more guns and bullets. He needed another goddamned razor too. Also, he was hungry.
He plopped down on a ragged old stool sewn up countless times at what served as a bar in the settlement. He dropped some of his upfront payment on the counter, letting the caps rattle. “What’s there to eat around here?” Vic asked.
“Our rat on a stick is fresh and nice and toasty,” the ghoul server said.
“Sure. I’ll take some water along with it. The closest thing you got to clean.”
“Coming right up.” The zombie wasn’t kidding when he said toasty. The thing was black as charcoal in some spots.
Vic was two bites into his rat when a ghoul sat down at the stool right next to him. He was one of the patrolmen from earlier. It was hard to tell since they all looked like horribly disfigured burn victims with cheap, moth-eaten wigs glued on, but there was no mistaking the yellow armor. The ghoul didn’t order anything. He stared at Vic, unflinching.
“What the hell you looking at freak?” Vic said around a mouthful of rat meat. “You want some of my ass?” He waved the backend of the roasted rat in the ghoul’s face, but he didn’t move. Vic gave up and tore another bite out.
“You’ve got quite the collection of scars,” the ghoul said.
Vic spit out a little wad of fat. “What’s it to you? You want a piece of me instead?” If Vic didn’t know better, he could have sworn the zombie’s lips snarled into a grin.
“I wonder how many of those scars are due to that big mouth of yours.”
Vic dropped the rat and slammed his hand down on the counter. He took a long swallow of water, leaving the cup empty. “Those are fighting words where I come from, freak bag.”
“And what hole do you come from?”
“Don’t recall. It doesn’t matter. I’ll take your ass right here, right now.”
“Fists only, no guns, no blades.” His reply came without thought. The ghoul was either an idiot or . . . no. The ghoul was just an idiot.
“You got yourself a--” Hands grabbed Vic before he could finish. They threw him out of the stool and onto his back. The zombie stood up.
“Is that the best you can do,” the ghoul said, cracking his knuckles.
Vic didn’t move. He lay where he fell, staring up and considering for the first time that the ghoul wasn’t an idiot, but an extremely confident and talented close-quarters combatant. Like it matters! I’m putting this zombie in his place!
“On your feet,” the ghoul said.
Vic spun, taking the ghoul’s legs out from under him. Vic rolled and climbed back to his feet, but by then, the ghoul had already done the same. Vic charged, bringing his fist back to strike. The ghoul blocked and followed up with a jab to Vic’s ribs. The son of a bitch hit hard. That one hit set his torso ablaze with pain, but it was nothing he couldn’t keep up with.
Brute force wasn’t going to get him out of this one. Vic tried to calm himself down and remember what the guys from his old gang had taught him. Look for an opening. Wait for your opponent to strike first. Watch for the telltale signs of an incoming punch.
The ghoul’s left elbow flared. Vic brought his arms up to block, but at the last second, the ghoul switched and struck the side of Vic’s face with a right hook. It all went to shit from there. Vic instinctively held his arms up to block another blow to the head, and the ghoul launched a flurry of attacks to his mid section, knocking the wind out of him. He sank to his knees, hands clutched to his chest.
“That was disappointing,” the ghoul said. “I thought you’d be a challenge.”
But Vic wasn’t done. He hefted a punch at the ghoul’s torso, catching him off guard and followed up with an uppercut that caught him square on the chin. Vic staggered back to his feet, raising a middle finger. “What now, bitch? Uh! It ain’t over til I--” The ghoul got in another hard hitting straight to the head. His arm moved so fast it was a blur. Vic’s vision exploded into white. When it cleared up, he was looking at the ceiling again.
“Not bad, Fingers” the ghoul said, raspy voice tinged with amusement. That annoyed Vic to no end.
“What did you say?” Vic asked, still on his back.
“Fingers. You get to call me †˜zombie.’ So I get to call you something in return, don’t I?”
“They call me Vic, jackass. Not Fingers.”
“Ah, but Vic is what you want to be called. I do not want to be called †˜zombie,’ though truth be told, it doesn’t bother me as much as some of the others around here.”
“Then what gives, zombie?”
“We cannot choose what others call us.”
Vic was not in the mood for a lesson on racism at the moment. “Look, don’t take this personally. It’s just . . . I hate zombies. As a matter of principle, I hate mutants in general. I hate most people as well.”
“You’re a man full of hate.”
“Isn’t it the one thing not in short supply in the wastes? That and radiation?”
“Take it from someone who’s been around a bit longer. There’s more out there than that. If you’re an ass to everyone, they’ll return the favor.”
Vic said after a few seconds of silence, “Where’d you learn to fight like that anyway?”
“I was a boxing instructor before the war. Don’t get too hard on yourself. You really had no chance.”
“Oh, thanks. That really cheers me up, zombie.”
“We could use more men like you around here, Fingers.”
Vic sat up, wincing. “I don’t wanna hear it. I’m leaving as soon as possible.”
“There’s a plot of a land nearby called Central Park. We were looking to take it, but we need more able hands, and yours will do just fine, short on fingers as they are.”
“I said I’m not interested.”
“In exchange for your help, we’ll give you Gene.”
“How many times do I have to . . . continue.”