Grocery shopping for the undead is a bitch

It’s been a while since I, Paul Rierson, posted here so I thought I would talk about the undead shopping condition. With that said, here we go.
How to say this without sounding like a prude? I don’t like eating human meat. Okay, okay, I do like the taste but once you’ve been what you eat it’s hard to stomach the meal. I mean that figuratively, of course.
A lot of the stores around town used to have “combat kills” but since the war ended I’ve been dubious about the true nature of what’s offered. There’s skirmishes, sure, but not those are growing few and “combat kills” are at a premium and go for premium prices. Still, I don’t do human. I prefer beef as it’s close to the same taste for me.
So anyway. I went to the local grocer’s today to get some meat and I’m told that for an extra $20 a pound I can get prime US Army private. Yeah, I was a little shocked, too.
The conversation went something like this and I’ll type it out without the added effect of what we sound like. Here it is:

“Hey. Afternoon. Can I get 35 pounds of beef?”
“Bloody fresh or frozen?”
“25 pounds bloody and the rest in frozen, please.”
“It’ll be an extra $7.49 a pound for bloody.” Butcher-Man acted annoyed, like the cost would’ve put me out or that my being there was ruining his day-time television viewing.
“Don’t care, buddy. Just hook me up with the twenty-five in one and the ten in the other.” I smiled at the guy even though he had no business manning a meat counter. We’re zombies so it’s obvious that we’re decaying corpses. It’s gross to look at some of us and to look at this guy would’ve caused me to vomit if I could. Butcher-Man was missing his eyelids and the skin around his eyes and nose. Not sure I want to know how that happened. Like I said, it was pretty goddamn gross. I should’ve been civil and wrote an anonymous complaint. I mean, come on he should have been wearing freaking goggles and a mask or something. As chance would have it, that was the least of my worries.
With all that aside, Lidless-butcher-man then leans over to me and asks, “Would you be into some fresh ‘combat kill’?” The look in his eyes was something downright unsettling. Especially since he could move one eye independent of the other. Super-creepyville.
“Ummmm. No,” I said, firm in what I wanted. “Just get me the 35 total I need and I’ll be on my way.” What can I say? I was being nice. It doesn’t hurt to be nice even though my kicking him with my size seven, steel-toed combat boot might have hurt him. All I wanted was meat, nothing more. The order was for old fashioned, mother loving frozen and fresh cow meat. I have human guests and they’re not hot on unprocessed beef like I am so is it too much to ask for some freaking fresh and frozen beef? Come on, it’s not hard!
“You sure? It’s fresh. Just killed last night. Young tender, nineteen or twenty year old gi… er, soldier.” He started to drool then. Seriously. He started drooling and I started thinking about becoming the world’s first and only undead zombie. His Freudian slip didn’t help his case either.
“Nineteen or twenty year old gi… er, soldier, you say?” I don’t think my mocking tone did anything to him. He began grinning and I thought hard about becoming committed to eating veggies then and there. Admittedly, I was curious but not because I was in the market for what he was pushing. What? Don’t roll your eyes at me. Really, don’t. My closest friend is human and I love him like a brother. Seriously, stop acting like a stereotypical, zombie-phobic human .
“Come on back here, slick,” he said, motioning for me to follow him. Like a dumbass, I did.
The walk-in meat locker started freezing my joints almost instantly but I followed him further into the very back. There, hanging from a hook, in a most undignified way was a young human girl. And she wasn’t no mother fucking nineteen or twenty either. Sorry about dropping the “F” a-bomb but I was pretty well past PO’ed. The girl must have been every bit of fifteen, if a day. Fifteen. Nothing but a freaking kid.
I’ve said time and again that I’m not a saint. I’ve eaten humans, even while they were still breathing and screaming, I’ve eaten them. But I’ve never eaten children, pets or the elderly. That’s always been my self implied, standing order.
The poor girl went down scared and had her throat sawed from ear to ear and from behind. You can tell the difference between from behind and face to face. She’d been done from behind. No doubt about it.
I’m not going to go into the anger I felt or that I wanted to peel what was left of his face off with a rusty garden weasel but I did say, “Nah. You know what. I’ll be back for my beef in a moment. I have some other stuff I need to get. Just wrap my order up and I’ll be back in half an hour to pick it up. Okay?” I patted him on the shoulder when I really wanted to connect with harder blows to the head and left. I couldn’t even look at him. That was twenty minutes ago.
Oh, lookee there. A line of four military police Humvee’s just went by. They looked like they were heading to that market. Maybe they’re going to get themselves some nineteen or twenty year old gi… er, soldier. Wow. You know what? I just remembered. Martial law is still in effect, albeit very loosely enforced with the exception of those strict human meat laws. If memory serves the UZS military takes a hardline and dim view of killing human civilians. More so if you’re trafficking in their meat.

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About Jason McKinney

I'm a word slinging, werewolf loving, zombie wrangling, scare master author, husband and father of three. When I'm not writing, I'm blathering nonsense to the world or taking orders from the family. You have my thanks for stopping by and I hope you enjoy the madness and mayhem! Stay delicious, my living peeps!
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