Scattered rays of sunlight broke through the overcast skies intermittently in a vain attempt to brighten the subdued atmosphere hanging over the seemingly deserted building with the boarded up windows and the once immaculately maintained landscaping that was now overrun with weeds and untrimmed shrubs.
“So it’s come to this,” the man said somberly, carrying a duffel bag over his shoulder as he walked towards the rear entrance of the group’s headquarters. Rubious had received a message requesting his presence at a memorial service for LA, who had been missing for over a year and was now presumed deceased.
The newcomer knocked on the metal-framed doors. A small slot opened to reveal a pair of indigo eyes. “What’s the magic word?” a feminine voice asked.
“Mahalo,” replied Rubious.
“Welcome,” the voice said as the doors opened wide to allow the former SZS leader entrance into the hallowed headquarters of the Sassafras Zombie Squad. Lyn’da, the greeter, wore a black-and white cropped top, hip-hugging Capri pants, and platform sandals. Her blonde hair was worn in a French braid. A polite nod of recognition and a warm smile welcomed the inactive adventurer who had retired from their ranks two years before. “They’re waiting in the Roster Room,” she indicated.
“Is it still in the still place?”
Lyn’da responded, “Yes, follow me, please.”
Rubious paused, soaking in the surroundings where many memorable events had occurred, including numerous battles with the Coven of the Cauldron. A group photo of the SZS taken in the weight room of a San Diego hotel when they were on a mission infiltrating a convention brought a fond smile. “Those were the days, but we can’t return to the past,” he observed while passing by portraits of past and present members from Menshevik and Colorado to Doc Stasis and the late Jake Creed.
The guide rounded a corner and stood by the entrance to the Roster Room, which had served as the nerve center for SZS operations. The room had been stripped bare of its equipment when the group’s headquarters had been transferred to the Skull Cave. With the appointment of the Spyder as the new SZS leader, the group would function from an Iowa farmhouse.
“We’re still waiting for one more person to arrive,” Lyn’da explained before leaving to return to her post.
“Hmm. I wonder who it might be,” Rubious pondered as he glanced about the room. Several rows of folding chairs that bore the stamp of the Muldoon Mortuary were lined up in front of a lectern. Soft jazz versions of ‘80s New Wave hits played in the background over the sound system. The people in attendance stood about the room engaged in quiet conversations.
Menshevik and Doc Stasis were hunched over a table, playing a game of strategy involving laying down black and white round stones on a square game board. The newcomer blinked his eyes, dismissing the idea that he had seen a smiling spectral form in a lavender robe and tall black cap hovering near the men as they played. [1]
Silverstaff and Temporal Man discussed the merits of the latest batch of science fiction films and were debating the possibility of “Chamber of Secrets” being a failure if it didn’t match the ticket sales of its predecessor. The female mystic’s brown hair was braided and she was clad in a flowing white gown, her rune-carved staff lying at her feet. The winged time traveler held a camcorder in his hand to record the upcoming memorial service.
After picking a plate of appetizers from the buffet line that had been catered from the Food Court at the Sassafras Mall, Rubious renewed acquaintance with long-time associates as he moved around the Roster Room. He shared a chuckle with Sunset over the unimaginative scripting of pro wrestling. S-man updated him on Lynnstrel’s health and the whereabouts of his vampire bodyguard Aaron Blood.
A couple, a bespectacled brunette and a dark-haired woman with twinkling brown eyes, waited for him to stop by their table. “Rob, how’s it going?” the man called out.
Smiling at the pair, Rubious replied enthusiastically, “Pretty good. I’ve done some traveling since I saw you last fall. I ran across Vash the Stampede. He mentioned he loved your wife’s donut fritters so much, he wants the recipe.”
Whisper’s face glowed when she heard the compliment. “Thanks,” she said appreciatively.
“What’s new with you two?”
“This,” the woman said proudly, holding a small puppy in her arms, “Nubbin is the latest addition to the household, but you have to keep an eye on him because he gets into everything. Between that and studying college chemistry for my degree takes all of my time.”
“And the school where I teach just switched grades on me,” JC remarked.
“Have you heard anything from Moonbeam?” Whisper asked.
“The last I heard was that she was researching the Saiyuki style of cooking and it involved a journey to the west,” Rubious explained the whereabouts of the former SZS deputy leader.
“And the other anime fan?” inquired JC.
“Well, Jeddite is now known as Sevarem. College and work take up all of her time, so I guess her adventuring days are behind her.”
“Did you see Spirited Away? James and I saw it and we were impressed,” commented the gourmet.
“Not yet. I heard it had positive reviews, but it was showing in only one theater in the area. Its limited run ended before I had a chance to see it. I guess I'll have to wait for the DVD.”
“Excuse me. Could I bloody well talk to Rubious before the meeting starts?” a slight voice interrupted.
The former SZS leader turned around and eyed the young woman warily. Her brashness meshed well with the cool demeanor shown in her piercing green eyes. Clad in a black leather jacket that might have come from Midnight’s closet and jeans and carrying a katana, she waited for his answer.
Noticing her pointed ears, he refrained from speculating on her origin lest he be on the receiving end of the sword. “I’m Rubious. Who are you?”
Sheathing the katana, the woman introduced herself, “I’m Elf, the newest member of the SZS. I recognized you from the portraits in the corridor.”
Curious about the newcomer, Rubious asked, “How long have you been with the SZS?”
“Oh, I joined shortly after your retirement announcement in East Tawas. It’s too bad I didn’t get to go to the
anime con there.” *”The Uncanny Axemen” MZS April 2001
“Have you been on many missions?”
“Some, but mostly I got stuck on Monitor Duty. Not any more since we got that Starfleet geezer handling the communications position. He’s a horny bastard, always overacting, leering and muttering about Adrian Zmed.” Elf remarked.
“Back in the day Sunset was an ace at Monitor Duty.”
“I heard that,” the veteran said from across the room.
“It’s so bloody boring. I’ve had the opportunity to read all of the chronicles of the SZS adventures. I can’t wait for another undercover mission.”
“It’s good to see you’re enthusiastic,” Rubious noted, but a loud disturbance at the room’s entrance diverted his attention.
The grinning leather-clad Mississippian was rubbing his jaw after Silverstaff had connected with a solid punch. Cold Turkey stepped between the combatants to separate them. “What’s going on here?” the tall man said.
“Keep that pervert away from me,” the furious woman growled.
Turning to Silverstaff, Cold Turkey asked for her version of the events.
“I was picking up my staff when his lewd remark assaulted my ears. I’ve had enough of his crude behavior so I let him have it,” she stated, glaring at the offender.
“Who needs this shit? I need a beer,” Midnight said insolently as he walked off in search of alcohol.
Seeing his one-time Devastation partner rifling through the coolers in search of a beer, Rubious tapped him on his shoulder. “Some things never change. ”
Grinning, Midnight pulled the tab from the can of Coors and brought it to his lips. After taking a long swig, he wiped his mouth on his sleeve and belched. “Damn straight. What’s up, Morty? It’s been a while.”
“Don’t call me that,” Rubious snapped, observing that Midnight enjoyed getting under his skin. “Anyway, I’ve been doing the same old stuff.”
“Being a tax jockey for H&R Block isn’t my idea of fun.”
“It pays the bills, my friend.”
“Well, nobody tells me the fucking way to live my life. I do what I do when I want to do it.” Finishing his rant, Midnight drained the remainder of the beer and threw the can away over his shoulder absently. “You know he ain’t dead, right?”
“Huh?” Rubious replied to the mysterious statement.
>“Where’s the body? “
“Hell, it’s a damn conspiracy,” the man with the Silverline said.
“We’ll find out in a few minutes,” the older man commented.
A mournful bell rang, calling the SZSers to gather for the memorial service.
* * * * *
In the void between heaven and hell, a restless spirit wandered, longing to return to a tangible form. “Why did I choose to die?” It bemoaned its fate, despondent that the dream project of compiling the liner notes for “Their Greatest Hit”, an anthology of one-hit wonders, would remain unfinished with only the entries of Vanessa Carlton and Jimmy Eat World remaining.
“Aren’t you…” LA’s words trailed off in disbelief.
“No, I’m not Jim Salicrup,” the intelligent dog replied, chuckling. “The Foundation sent me to notify you that your comrades in Sassafras are honoring your memory today with a service in Camelot.”
“But I’m not…” the Californian replied, expressing the denial he felt that his colleagues were holding a funeral for him.
“Yes, LA. You are quite dead,” the dog said bluntly. Pushing his glasses up his nose, he continued, “After you drank the strychnine-laced iced tea on Mackinac Island, you were dead within an hour. Your body was disposed of clandestinely. In fact, I am here to take you to your final destination after you witness the service.”[2.]
“I haven’t made up my mind,” the ghost remarked in an indecisive voice.
“Allow me to clarify something. You won’t be able to return to a mortal existence. Rebirth requires the services of the Shrine Maiden of Life. She was unavailable at the moment needed to revive you.”
LA’s soul stared at the visitor and nodded, understanding which path it must follow. “I will not gaze into the soulless orbs of Charon. Where I stand now is neutral territory and I choose to remain here.”
The canine pondered the spirit’s decision. “Even here, he is as enigmatic as he was in life.” Turning towards the soul, he stated, “We must move quickly. The service is about to commence.”
In the Roster Room of Camelot, the people were seated on the folding chairs placed before a lectern where Colorado would deliver the eulogy. Hung behind the lectern were large photographs of LA in his civilian guises as a shock jock, crusading rock star, an androgynous chanteuse, and his last gig of hosting a game show on Comedy Central.
Arrangements of carnations and lilies that had been delivered by a flirtatious man, who didn’t succeed in scoring a date with Lyn’da, were placed on floral stands flanking the dais. A collage of LA’s SZS career that featured photos from his early days as a kepi-wearing adventurer to the armed-to-the-teeth persona of Kid South Central, stood on an easel off to one side. On the lectern was an enlarged poster for Lucasfest ’95 that featured a smiling LA with Death.
Sitting in the front row, Rubious whispered to the founder of Devastation Inc., “This is very eerie. The prophecy came true.”
Midnight peered from behind his shades. “Yeah, except there’s no casket and Lyn’da’s not acting like Vanna White.” [3.]
Sitting behind them,Whisper shushed the pair. “Have some respect for the dead.”
Colorado strode to the lectern, bedecked in a charcoal gray three-piece suit, a solemn expression on his face. He removed his Stetson and placed it beside the microphone. Clearing his throat, the original SZS leader began to speak in a slow and deliberate tone.
“I didn’t imagine this day would come so soon for our dear comrade, but LA is gone for good. We’ll never know the circumstances of his passing, but one thing is certain. LA will be missed.”
Colorado looked out at the audience. The assembled SZS had dressed for the occasion. Rubious had changed into a pinstriped suit that hadn’t been seen since his days as Mortuary Man. Silverstaff was garbed in an ebony gown. Even S-man had dressed up, though he wore a tuxedo-style T-shirt and pressed khakis.
“These many photos displayed of LA are only glimpses of the person he was. He was different things to different people. A trusted friend and ally. A quirky individual who was misunderstood. An adversary to his opponents and to even some of us.”
Pausing to take a sip of water from a cup on the lectern, the speaker continued, “LA chose his path as we must choose ours. It took the loss of one of our core members to reevaluate our purpose. We must awaken to the fact that today’s situations are too much for our finite resources. We must move into areas where our expertise can shine.
"Where is that? I don’t know, but we must follow that path whether it is the road not taken or something else entirely. We are not alone in doing so because LA is with us within our hearts and watching from wherever he is.”
Colorado sighed and put his Stetson back on. The elegy had been difficult to compose, but he believed it was a fitting tribute to his departed friend.
He walked towards where Rubious and Midnight were discussing the events. “Shit, my theory’s wrong now.” Midnight said.
“What’s that?” Colorado interjected, curious about the conversation.
“Midnight was convinced LA was gonna show up, walk through the front door, and surprise everyone. The whole setup was a fraud,” the accountant explained.
“Just like the WWE,” agreed the cowboy.
"You guys sticking around? Wanna join me for some beers at AFB?” Midnight asked. He’d had enough of the subdued atmosphere and was looking to party.
“What does AFB stand for?” Elf inquired, overhearing the question.
“Another Fucking Bar,” Midnight replied, a wide grin on his face.
“Oh, yes, getting drunk off my ass and praying to a porcelain god sounds like so much fun. I’m not old enough, Brain Trust. Bloody hell,” the young woman retorted.
“Too bad, darling. Maybe in a few years then,” the Southerner said, leaving in search of wine, women, and song at the nearest establishment.
Somewhere in the astral void, a wise canine and a restless apparition watched the proceedings wind down. Noticing the spirit’s expression remained unchanged, the dog inquired, “Was it what you expected?”
“Yes, it was heartening to hear that I inspired them. Now if only Mariah Carey would’ve listened to me,” LA’s ghost replied as a gospel-like rendition of a Def Leppard song was heard in Sassafras.
THE END
AUTHOR’S NOTES
[1.] The game being played is the ancient Chinese game GO, which is similar to Othello. I first came across the game in the anime series “Hikaru no Go”. The observer is Sai from the anime.
[2.] I am using my story, “Obsidian”, which appeared in MZS #160, October 2001, as the reference point for LA’s death. The story can be read here.
[3.] In MZS #50, Marson Fedrick and I did a one-pager called “Zine Wars: the Epilogue” that had Charlie Novinskie officiating at the funeral of Mark Lucas.
[4.] All characters are © the respective creators.
[5.] I’d like to thank Mitch Tart for his assistance in providing synopses for his SZS stories from the past two years and to Jennifer Bratcher for her insight on Elf.