Weekly Side-Story, Ozzie 3 (Patreon)

Apparently, word of Ozzie’s untimely demise hadn’t quite reached all ears just yet. While the cops certainly knew about it, his landlord, thankfully, did not. Not that it didn’t make knocking on the man’s door in the middle of the night any less awkward. Wearing a hodgepodge of clothes and looking more than a little disheveled. Even so, after simply explaining that he’d lost his keys during a monster attack he’d been able to get one of the spares the man kept on hand. It was probably the most mundane experience he’d had since he’d woken up and it was more than a little surreal in its own way.

He trudged up the stairs, the hound and zombie thief following him in complete silence. They had less trouble climbing the stairs than he did and he wasn’t exactly sure why. The odd instinct that itched at the back of his head told him that it was because he was more conscious of his actions than they were, but he’d noticed that the zombie thief wasn’t exactly all gone either. The instincts and his reality weren’t quite matching up and that troubled him more than a little. The hound even more so, it seemed to be just as mobile and active as a living version if it’s kind. It even took the time to sniff around and examine its surroundings as they finally entered his less than beautiful home.

It hurried past him after a moment of consideration and darted to the weathered couch across from the entrance, hopping onto it and settling in without a second thought. The thief on the other hand just stood there, glancing around in mute confusion. It really didn’t seem to understand much of what was going on. Ozzie had considered leaving it where it had been uh… born… but after how easily the ‘condition’ had spread from the hound he didn’t think it was a very good idea. He didn’t want it, but this guy, thing, whatever he was, was now his responsibility.

It didn’t help that he could literally feel the link between them.

It was made even worse by the fact that he could understand the guy, to a degree. Not in any intimate sort of way. He didn’t have access to his memories or thoughts, not that there were many left anymore, but to be quite frank he objectively understood how the man worked. He wordlessly held out his hand and without prompting the man pulled his gun out and handed it to Ozzie. He looked at the weapon, it was heavy and cold, he’d never held one in his entire life even though he probably should have. He tilted it over in his hand and in a flash, disengaged and engaged the safety, dropped the clip into his palm, reloaded, and reached for the hammer.

“Shit!” Ozzie gasped, freezing and staring dumbstruck at the weapon.

He looked over at the thief with a bit of confusion, “Were you military or something?” He asked, not expecting much of a response.

He didn’t get much either, just a numb nod.

Ozzie sat down on his arm chair and held his head in his hands, barrel of the gun pressing against the side of his head. He let out a whine, “This is too much, man, what the hell? What am I even supposed to do with that? With you?” He threw his hand dismissively at the thief before setting the gun down and rubbing his eyes. “I have a job-”

He froze.

“I don’t have a job do I?” He squinted at the table. They’d be the first people to know about his death, wouldn’t they? After his utter lack of next-of-kin. He rest his head back and stared up at the ceiling, “The only thing I know how to do well is drive,” He glanced at the gun on the table, “And use a gun, now, I guess.” He added sourly.

He covered his face with a hand and tried to think, he wasn’t a thinker, or a planner, not really. He was a smart guy, he’d always thought so anyway, observant and good at gathering information. He’d had over a dozen news apps that he’d set up on his phone to give him access to the latest of what was going on in the world. It was something of a hobby and a way to break the ice with a client while he was driving. He hated driving in silence, it was beyond uncomfortable. When things got super awkward, he would pop in his earbuds and listen to an audio book or something.

There was no way he was getting his job back, and his death certificate was probably already signed by the coroner which meant that his identity was useless now. No possibility of a normal paycheck. He was so screwed.

“Could register as a hero…” He trailed off and glanced up at his zombie-minion-dude-thing. He frowned, “Yeah, no, no way, no one would be happy to see me.”

There were villains out there, maybe they could use a badass zombie making henchman? He snorted at thought as well, “Yeah and be the cause of the zombie apocalypse because my boss got trigger happy? No thank you, I like not being a herald of doom, thanks.”

He threw his head back again and groaned, “This sucks! Why is this so hard? When I see that guy who stabbed me I’m gonna give him a piece of my mind!” He groaned and then sighed again, “Unless he stabs me, again, not that it’ll last I guess. Still not cool.”

He took a deep breath and tried to concentrate only to get distracted, again, at the novelty of not really having to breathe but the soothing feeling of doing it. It was kind of nice. He shook his head and tried to get his thoughts in order, “I don’t need to eat anymore, I think,” He said thoughtfully, “Drink, piss,” He shook his head, “The chair feels good still so I can experience comfort which is nice. I guess I really don’t need money but…”

He pressed his lips together and glanced at the hound and the thief, “...but it would kind of be a shame not to figure out how to take advantage of this? Right? Yeah? That’s not wrong, is it?”

It was more for his own self affirmation than anything, he admitted, he already knew that he was going to try to figure out some way to cash in on what had happened to him. It was human nature after all to use an advantage given. Even so, it still stressed him the hell out. How was he supposed to take advantage of having a zombie at his command when most forms of business required face to face interaction? If he could drive his taxi again that would work, but-

He paused.

“Well… why not?” He said thoughtfully and looked at the thief. “Can you drive?”

It nodded numbly.

“Can you drive well?” He asked more specifically.

It hesitated and he felt his connection to the thing strengthen a little bit more. It was an odd feeling, like an invisible thread between the two of them becoming just a bit thicker. It tingled. After the sensation passed it nodded again in affirmation.

So it’s a two-way street. I get what it knows and it gets what I know.

He glanced at the hound and it just sat there on the couch, panting, looking as lively as well… a living dog. It acted like a dog, not a predator hound. Ozzie frowned and the realization finally hit him, it was emulating his image of what a good dog should behave like. It was nothing more than a puppet that he was subconsciously providing behavioral instructions to. The realization made him a bit uncomfortable but at the same time he was glad he understood more of what was going on now.

It hopped to its feet at a thought and hurried over to him, planting itself next to his knees. He reached down and scratched behind its ear as he mulled his thoughts over a bit more. He glanced up at the thief. My own taxi business, that might work, run with a… single… zombie.

He groaned, “That’s not going to work! And I am not going out of my way to make more of you guys, that’s insane!” He groaned, “It seemed like a good idea at first!”

That was when he heard the shouts outside.

He frowned, it was normal to hear violent people doing violent things in this neighborhood. People doing stupid things, causing trouble for the others just trying to live in peace. He glanced at the door, It’s not my problem, not like I can do anything about-

He paused and looked at the thief again, it stared back at him with a vacant expression. He swallowed, “Well… I mean…” He knew he was taking insane leaps in logic. He knew he was letting his new power get to him. But… he couldn’t help himself. “...it wouldn’t hurt to try, right?”