After a month hiatus, we're back with part 2 of the serial Rottin' Jobs! This is my part of my challenge to mari over at mari's randomities to write a story involving a zombified dragon. Make sure you follow her serial, starting with It's Coming.
I'm trying yet another approach to this story to to make it understandable while letting the characters...uniqueness shine through. Let me know what you think. Thanks for your patience, everyone, and enjoy!
Montague Mansion Log
Butler in residence: James Butler III
June 4, 2021
This is a continuing account of the “incident” in the primary underground vault that required the hiring of Mr. Timothy “Teeth” O’Mally and his crew of zombie hunters – or as they call themselves, “undead pest exterminators.” I left Mr. O’Mally and team at the entrance of the vault at precisely 11:23 am on Monday June 3, 2021. The following is my own account of the incident with aid from the audio and video recordings made by the vault’s security cameras that morning.
“What the ‘ell is that?!” exclaimed the leather clad twenty-something, his nail studded, blood stained baseball bat slung over his broad shoulders.
“I think…it’s a dragon,” murmured the red-headed teenager. Slung over his bony back was a bag near as tall and twice as wide as himself, it’s contents leaking in odd patches through the rough canvas. I can see him quiet literally shaking in his too large boots in the video. He holds his remaining arm behind his back, as if hiding it will keep it safe.
“Stop talkin’ crazy, Nom! Dragons ain’t real!” the angry man shouted. He used his bat to point at what was clearly a dragon, “’E’s probably just an ‘uge zom-bay-fyed lizard!”
“’Ush up, Brady!” Mr. O’Mally hissed at the angry man, presumably his son by their shared resemblance. “I don’t care what it is, but ‘elp me gods if you should wake it up.”
Indeed, Mr. O’Mally judged the situation wisely. The graying dragon had made itself at home, going so far as to sweep all of Mr. Montague’s treasures up into one pile around the 1/3 scale model of the Parthenon. At that moment he was fast asleep on roof of the half buried monument, using a gilded treasure chest as a pillow. With every snore he emitted greenish puffs of rotten air from his nostrils. His scales, red turning to gray-black with mold on the edges, were sliding off on his sides, neck, and tail to expose the rotting flesh beneath. I dare not recall the stench of the vault for risk of having to rush off to the lavatory. Again. How they could stand being in the same room with it…But I digress.
“What’s our move, Teeth?” The man in a broad rimmed hat and shaggy beard asked. He was tugging on the hat’s brim with one hand, the other resting upon the hilt of his machete.
“Standard procedure, me thinks,” Mr. O’Mally replied while tucking his necklace of human teeth strung like pearls under his worn t-shirt. “Wes goin’ fer the ‘ead, boys.” To illustrate his point, he drew his thumb across his neck.
“But first, doe-vide ‘n con-core.* Me ‘n Jake will go round the back ta sneak up on ‘im. Brady, you ‘n Nom go round the front. If the beast-ay wakes up, distract ‘im. Use the bait first, ya hear? I don’t want ya ta go chargin’ in there on yer own. Keep ‘im still fer Jake ‘n his machete. Are ya listenin’ ta me, Brady?”
“Yeah, yeah,” Brady said waving him off. “Wes can ‘andle it, Da. No need to Mam** us ta death!”
“Ya want us ta get closer,” Nom gulped, his knees knocking more violently than before, “ta ‘im?”
“No, ‘e wants ya ta go back up the stairs ‘n tell Montague ‘e’s a nutter.” Brady slapped Nom upside the head, “O’ course we’re gettin’ closer, ya dummy!”
The dragon gave a little snort in reply to Brady’s yell as it echoed through the room. The entire team went still, readying their respective weapons. When the dragon turned over, sending a cascade of rotting scales sliding down the side of the treasure pile, it was still asleep. They all breathed a visible sigh of relief.
“I’ve read ‘bout these monster types,” Nom insisted in a whisper. “Theys got these super senses so theys can tell when ya gets too close ta their fancies. Wes’ll wake it up fer shore if wes gets closer!”
“You ‘n your readin’!” Brady whispered fiercely, bending down to get in Nom’s face. “If I could knock off a zom-bay ‘ead fer every time ya say ‘I’ve read,’ I’d be the best ‘unter in the world!”
Nom snapped to attention while Brady gave his father an annoyed look. “Will ya shut your bloody gobs ‘n get a move on?!”
“Yessir,” they both mumbled. Brady, swaggering like a bulldog, took the lead with Nom trailing behind. Nom riffled through his bag, pulling out a handful of plastic bags that seemed to contain various animal parts. “Chicken livers, sheep brains, or cow ‘arts?” he murmured to himself in a distracted way.
O’Mally shook his head as he and Jake watched them walk off. “What are wes gonna do with ‘em, Jakie?”
“Ya worry too much, Teeth. They’ll be fine. Brady’ll keep Nom safe ‘n Nom will stop Brady from doin’ somat stupid.”
“Wes can only hope.” Mr. O’Mally gave his head a final shake. He shifted his taser gun, a monstrosity I’d heard him refer to as “Mr. T” earlier that afternoon, from one shoulder to the other and said, “Well, there’s no need fer us ta be lolly-gaggin’ ‘ere. It’s you’re show, Jakie.”
Mr. O’Mally took a step back to allow Jake to take the lead. “Knock ‘im dead.”
“’N take ‘is head!” Jake finished. “Slice 'n dice, brotha," he held out his fist and Mr. O’Mally knocked it with his own. My nephew has told me this is called a “fist pound.” Where they come up with these things…
And thus, they headed towards the far edge of the vault by the dragon’s tail just as Brady and Nom disappeared behind the mess of toppled terracotta soldiers closer to the dragon’s head.
So ends tape 2. I will continue this account with tape 3 after Mr. Montague finishes his afternoon tea.
*I believe he was trying to say “divide and conquer.”
**Perhaps “Mam” is some reference to mothering?