"Meat Cute" - 2nd round entry - NYC Midnight Short Story Contest 2022

Hello darlings! It's round two of the 2022 NYC Midnight Short Story contest. This is my entry, written in a hurry before a road trip commenced and submitted literally from a rest stop on the way. The assignment was romantic comedy (NOT my wheelhouse), dress-down day, and a handyman. Be kind, and I hope you enjoy!

-Dux

"Meat Cute" 

Why should a zombie apocalypse stop Jae from connecting with a new crush? 

______________________

By August, I’d resigned myself to celibacy. No speed-dating in the apocalypse, nobody worth dating, so I didn’t exactly expect to run into a hottie at the Piggly-Wiggly. I mean, if I had, I might’ve dressed a little nicer. You know how it is: no bra, Spongebob scrubs, ponytail collapsing, ALICE pack jammed with struggle meals, tampons sticking out the top. 

As it was, I turned the corner of the chip aisle, chewing looted antacid, and physically ran into this tall glass of water. I yelped, “shit, shit!” clubbing him with my bag. Tampons and TUMS flew. He staggered into a floor display of bean dip and nacho cheese jars and fell, still fumbling at his holster.

Both of us mumbled “sorry.”

I added, “Jesus, you’re twitchy!” When I’m frumpy, I’m grumpy. Besides, I longed for conversation that wasn’t just Futurama jokes.

He snorted. “You hit me, girl. But aight.” 

“Sorry. Didn’t expect you to fall for me so fast,” I wisecracked, goofy with relief, then winced. Jae McAllister, master of cringe; that’s me. I might as well honk a rubber chicken.

Mr. Surprise didn’t groan. He grinned. Perfect teeth. “’Course I fell. I’ve got a thing for fast women.”

I offered him a hand up. He took it, then bent to hand me a box of tampons that had fallen out of my bag. Oh, great. Kill. Me. Now.

“You’re in my turf,” I blurted. 

“Girl, how the Piggly Wiggly is your turf?”

I shrugged. “What can I say? I dig Mr. Pig!” 

He looked at me like I was from outer space. (Deserved! But it’s Piggly-Wiggly’s actual slogan.) Up close, his eyes were tawny golden brown. Tall. Cheekbones for days.

“Where’d you come from?” I asked.

Away from the windows, the interior aisles were dim, especially with night falling. His fashion sense was almost goth, tattered and gloomy, only the soles of his shoes neon green. No wonder I hadn’t seen him. “Downtown.” He looked evasive. 

“Jesus.” I winced. “Rough week out there, hm?” I’d heard helicopters.

He shrugged. “How ‘bout here?” He looked skeptically at my filthy, fuzzy, pink pajama bottoms.

I flushed. “Casual Friday, y’know?”

His laugh was gorgeous. “Aw man, I hated those dress-down days in school. Who’s got costumes laying around? That kind of shit’s why I work for myself. Hey, you want some of this bean dip?” He pointed at the display we’d destroyed.

The fridges and freezers had gone down weeks ago. They still reeked hideously.  The protein in them might even be too far gone for zombies. “Beans it is.”

He scooped up a bunch of cans, dumping them into my Army-surplus pack. “There’s lots.”

“No kidding. I guess that’s what happens when the world ends on Cuatro de Mayo.”

He grinned slowly. “Got a name, baby?”

“Jae. How ‘bout you?”

“Lemarcus.”

“Hey.”

“Hey.” Lemarcus reached past me, scooping another dozen cans into the well-stuffed black duffel he wore like a crossbody purse. “You with anybody, Jae?” he asked, a little too casually.

Wow. Red flags, much? Predators are everywhere, I reminded myself.

I pointed my thumb over my shoulder, taking a step back. “My brother’s crew, actually. I should be getting back—"

“He’s here?” Lemarcus asked, taking a step forward. Fuck.

“Yeah, he’s always watching out for me. Um, nice meeting you. I gotta go.” I backed up quickly.

He bent and scooped up the other box of tampons and wagged it at me. “You forgot—”

“It’s okay, keep ‘em,” I said awkwardly. “Um, guys can use them too, for bullet wounds—”

Lemarcus laughed low and soft. “Whatever, babygirl. See you ‘round.”

I dashed for the receiving dock, lugging ALICE with one hand and my taser in the other. You can’t be too careful, obviously. Just as obviously, I hadn’t been careful enough. 

Bobby was waiting. “Hey, Jae. Good timing. Think I saw something round the corner.”

“Yeah. I ran into someone,” I told him, squaring my shoulders under the pack. 

“Maybe they wanna ride with us?” Bobby asked, wrinkling his sunburned nose.

I shook my head. “Later.”

His face hardened. “Muggers? Warlords?”

I shrugged and started to walk. 

He scrambled to catch up, peered into my open pack, and groaned. “Yikes. Just tampons and bean dip in the Piggly?”

“Shut up, I got lots of junk food.”

“Bugles?”

“Shit! Next time, Bobby, sorry.”

He grunted sourly, putting his hand on the gritty back of my neck, coup de grace to my ponytail. “Glad you’re safe, Birdy.”

“I’m fine, just shook. Lemarcus in there jumped straight to baby and I got spooked.”

“Lemarcus, huh?”

“Yeah.”

“So this is social anxiety, not existential terror?”

“Asshole. Is everyone ready to go?” Everyone included the two of us, Bobby’s derpy dog Potato, and his buddy Zapp, a video gamer with absolutely zero chill. 

There are reasons I didn’t introduce Lemarcus to my little brother’s crew, you know? My family is embarrassing. 

Also, we’re not exactly a commando unit. An urban group that had made it out of the militarized city cordons could probably roll us in their sleep.

Bobby said, “Zapp’s raiding GameStop.”

“Of course he is. Where’s the Spud?”

Bobby pointed at his titty-pink backpack. It had a cloudy plastic bubble in the front, designed for rich ladies to carry their cats. We’d looted a chichi pet store. The bag didn’t suit either Bobby or Potato, both hairy gingers, but beggars can’t be choosers.

The Poohuahua stared out from the bubble, tongue lolling sideways between snaggle-teeth. He looked like hungover Yoda, gremlin ears shivering. Not baby Yoda. Boomer Yoda. “He looks sick.”

“You look sick. He’s just fugly.”

Zapp ran out of GameStop like he’d set a fire in it, scattering a wake of game-swag candy. “YOLOOOOO!” he yelled.

“Why YOLO?” Bobby asked.

“Took a shit on Jackson’s desk!” He cackled, adjusting his too-big Oakleys.

I wrinkled my nose. “Yikes.”

“Gonna shit on the desk of every asshole manager I ever had. Goals.” Zapp put his arm around me. He stank of armpit. 

I glared. “You better’ve washed those hands.”

“I didn’t shit in my hands, Jaebird.”

“Get the fuck off me.” I shouldered him off.

“Aw, then how will we repopulate the Earth?”

“Zapp, listen up: I would not date you if you were the last available man on Earth.”

“But I am!” He mimicked Zapp Brannegan: “’We’ll write our own Bible, with less Sodom and more Gomorrah.’”

“No, we most certainly will not.” I elbowed free.

“What crawled up her butt and died?” Zapp continued aping his namesake. “And why wasn’t it me? Ow!”

Bobby said, “She ran into someone.”

“That’s great!” Zapp said. “Wait – are they dicks? They’re dicks, aren’t they?” 

“No,” I said over my shoulder. “I mean, I don’t know.”

Zapp skipped to intercept me. “Why’dya want to date other people, when you have me all to your very sensual self?”

“Can’t imagine, Zapp.”

We holed up in a car dealership and shared out our supplies. Zombies didn’t care about places like BMW dealerships. They were more interested in rotting meat, especially people-meat, so they’d mostly shuffled into the city where people had fled. Zombies were just bright enough to be pain-averse, and the remaining suburbanites were armed. Lately, though, it seemed like zombies had been a blip and the real threat was from feral humans acting predatory.

Zapp acted like the tampon box could burn him, refusing to hand it to me while I repacked ALICE. What a dork.

Later, we ate bean dip, stale Fritos, Slim Jims, and fruit leather: apocalypse charcuterie. Bobby made Satan’s own burrito, rolling it all together. I fed Potato a pouch of Purina Moist & Meaty. With no power, we couldn’t microwave anything, but the windows would let in daylight in the morning. 

Potato licked the bean cans clean. Bobby swore his purse-Poohuahua would guard us in case of zombies. I secretly thought it didn’t matter if I was faster than zombies so long as I was faster than Potato. Let’s face it: a real potato could beat ‘Tater in a fair race.  

Late in my watch, Potato took a break from farting, which he’d been doing since he’d eaten the beans, and started to bark furiously. 

I kicked my brother awake.

Bobby lurched to his feet, grabbing his shotgun. Zapp groaned and grabbed his 22. 

Tap-tap… tap. Someone knocked on the glass. I could see shadowy figures, at least half a dozen. Shit. 

I flipped them the bird through the window. “Go away! Fuck off! You can have the 7-11!”

“Jae?” a familiar voice said. 

“Lemarcus?” I asked cautiously. I thought I saw highlighter-green soles.

“Yeah, babygirl. Open up. We ain’t gonna cause any problems.”

“She’s not your babygirl,” Zapp growled protectively.

Lemarcus shook his head. “Whatever. We can pay if you don’t wanna team up, but my boy Milo’s been shot. He’s getting worse. Jae said she knows how to fix a gunshot.”

I looked at Zapp’s hostile expression, then at Bobby, who was clearly wrestling with his soft conscience. He almost got us killed last week being soft. I was about to remind him about that when Lemarcus said, “That’s a dope dog, my brother.”

Bobby opened the door before I could protest. “Ayy, that’s Potato!”

The group outside laughed. In person they didn’t look like would-be warlords; four tough-looking girls crowded in with the three guys. We all shuffled around awkwardly introducing each other.

Lemarcus’ cousins Monique and Devon propped Milo up on their shoulders, half-dragging him. He looked chalk gray. His pants were stained darkly scabby. 

“Holy crap! Get him up there!” I pointed at a sales counter.

“I used to work here,” Lemarcus said softly.

“I thought you worked for yourself?” 

“Not selling Beamers. I was the handyman. Fixed stuff. Built that,” he said, patting the counter.

“That could come in …handy.” 

Bobby groaned, “Jae. Stop.”

“Yeah. I know the neighborhood.” Lemarcus sniffed bitterly. “Didn’t know my boy’d get shot.”

“Who shot him?” I cut away the pantleg with the receptionist’s scissors while Lemarcus grabbed a first aid kit from the break room.

“Ol’ lady near the tracks.”

“Why’d she do that?”

Lemarcus shook his head. “Crazy, I think.” Then he sighed deeply. “Or crazy racist.”

“Shit.” They’d bandaged the leg pretty well with Ace wraps and tea-towels; it’d almost stopped bleeding. The shot had been just a graze. “You dragged Milo all the way out here injured?”

“The tracks ain’t safe, Jae.” Lemarcus’ golden eyes rested on my face. “Full of crazies and sick people.”

“Zombies?”

He shuffled. “I guess. You a nurse?” 

“Dental hygienist.” I patted Milo. “Sorry about this.” I washed the wound with bottled water. 

Milo was tough: he gritted his teeth and panted. “No problem, Jae. Gracias.”

“You really putting Tampax in the bullet hole?” Lemarcus grinned. “Buckle up, Milo!”

“Nooo.” I laughed. “He needs bandages, cleanliness, and bedrest.”

“Only that, hm?”

“Only that.” 

He shook his head again, mournfully. “Tampax’d be easier. Least I can fix the doors and stuff to make it safe, huh?”

“Yeah.” 

“We got you, Milo.”

In the lobby, Monique laughed. Potato danced in circles, begging for the jerky Monique dangled. Zapp’s caveman expression had been replaced by worshipful elevator-eyes.

Monique’s gaze fell on me. “Girl, the fuck you wearing?”

“Be cool, Momo. It’s casual Friday up in this Armageddon,” Lemarcus said, then turned back. “Before, you thought I was a zombie or something?” 

“Kinda. You did look at me like a steak dinner,” I smirked. 

“You do look tasty,” he chuckled. “But I won’t bite unless you ask.”

Bobby moaned aloud. “You two gotta stop if we’re gonna team up.”

I told Lemarcus, “Don’t inspire Zapp.”

“Girl, he been inspired.” We watched Monique and Zapp giving Potato jerky. Zapp offered her OneUp gummies and forgot to impersonate Brannegan.

Bobby asked, “So, we gonna team up or what?”

     Lemarcus turned to me. “Whatcha think, Jae? We could use some fresh meat.” Definite leadership potential, I thought. And cute. Very, very cute.