Cooking With Ted in the Apocalypse

This story is Ted Unger’s, but you must be made aware of why our expedition detoured, rather than proceeding directly to Marina Del Rey. We would agree to Isabella’s request, and even Jonesy would join us, the poor mutt. I bore a reluctance to even share what had transpired between Isabella and I, considering my momentary breakdown and our argument, but two things were necessary to communicate to you, the reader, the first being the acceptance of Jonesy the mutt as our ward, and the second, the origin point for what would become a fatal northerly trek.

So let us go now to the conversation with Ted Unger that soon followed. I walked through Boyle Heights, and hadn’t caught on to the fact that I was being followed. To be sure, there were a lot of people who made it a recreation to circle just inside the Boyle Heights wall, laughing and smiling while, undoubtedly, monsters pushed and pulled at the barriers next to them, made up of heavy metals, durable surfaces, passable welding ability, and some kind of epoxy-like substance. At some junctures in the walls, there were hooks that implied the wall could be lifted and freed, creating a modularity to the obstruction. At other places were gates, some rolling, for vehicles, and some swinging, for foot traffic.

Quite the interesting feat of engineering, particularly in its effective improvisation. So fascinated by the structure, and still fearful of compromises in the way it was built, I circled this great separator in meticulous study of it, which rendered me oblivious to Ted Unger trailing behind, watching as I stopped to scribble in my journal, or run my hand along the metal, or ask a passerby a question and receive an answer in English. It seems what appeared to be their monolingualism was simply a ploy, used to protect this society via careful ostracization of outsiders. Most of them did indeed know English, and I felt foolish once this came to light.

Upon completing a revolution and happy with this relaxed form of exercise completely lacking any real stakes whatsoever, I decided to go for a second turn to reappraise the wall. It was then I felt a tap on my shoulder, and turned to find Ted Unger there. He merits a rather intense description. I was struck immediately by his black gums and yellow eyes, and could not help jerking away from him. I regretted the action. You must know by now; black gums and yellow eyes are features of them. But Ted was alive, standing right here before me, smiling with perfectly white, gapped teeth. Hair oily, a wildness to the black in the very center of his brown irises.

“The cook.” I stated, which is not the most elegant of greetings.

“Yeah.” He responded. “Can I walk with you?” He was itching to release something and I could not tell what it was. So jerky he was, antsy, anxious, all expressed through fiddling, scratching, picking, prodding, pulling on himself in different places, hopping on both feet, and sometimes on one or the other. I wanted dearly to say no. That I had no interest in being anywhere near this pungent man, with odors musky, sweet, sickly, harsh. It was only for concern that I agreed to the company.

“Let us do another revolution. I have that in me.”

“Yes, lets. And after, I have a bottle of tequila we could share. It is my payment for cooking every night.” A generous offer, placed by an unhealthy and odd looking man. We walked, and had covered a third of our agreed upon distance in silence. The discomfort cannot be amply described. “You’re the guy who writes things down, right?”

“I am. My purpose is to document.”

“You talk smart. You did all the colleges and things back in the regular times.”

“Yes. And I would imagine these are the regular times now. It can’t do us any good to pine for what was. That may never come again.”

“I know. I don’t mind all this actually.” Did he say this to arouse something in me? Such a controversial statement, and I could not figure out if it was inane, ignorance, or insanity.

“What would compel you to say this?” I nearly stopped, wondered to myself, who he was to voice such a thing.

“I’m not gonna be unhappy about it. Look around you.”

“I spend months at a time seeing the real effects of this disaster.” I did stop walking now, poked a finger into his malleable chest, tried to ignore how deep my phalanges entered. This did not sway my sudden anger. “What you live in is not real, or representative of the state of the world. What is your name?”

“Ted Unger. Former warehouse packer. I’m a full-time chef now. Dreams do come true baby.” He had extended his hand for a handshake, but I left him standing where he was, turned away from the wall and directed myself towards my quarters. He was fast, was at my side no sooner than I’d made the decision to return to my temporary home. “What’s your name?”

“It does not matter.”

“Well, I’m Ted.”

“You have mentioned it.”

“You’ll want to hear this.”

“I think not. You make me concerned for this entire community.” I spat.

“I have a secret.”

“Who doesn’t these days.” My steps were covering good ground now. I was savoring the fantasy of slamming the door in his face. Or getting one of my men to crush his frail and strange body with punches, and stomps, and blunt force weapons.

“Not like this. No one knows this one.” He stopped, and I slowed, halted my own steps to turn and face him, six or seven feet between us. I’d taken the bait now.

“Is it dangerous?”

“Very.”

“To whom?”

“Right now, nobody.” What was this confrontation? Why be cryptic and not just say it, if this is what he’d sought me for?

“Good then. This kind of thing you live in is fragile. Can’t have someone messing that up with their...secrets.” I spun from him, took a step, was interrupted by his shout.

“Hear me or die.”

There was no mistaking his words. I pivoted to him, slow in all movements now. A quick check of the area told me what I’d feared; I was alone. It seems I’d gotten far enough from the wall but nowhere near enough to this place’s center to be in proximity of a population that could save me. He had gotten me where he wanted me, and now I wondered if I’d misjudged his intelligence.

Hear me or die, he’d said, and as I stared at him, I saw how serious he was, with his body tensed, arms at his sides, yet ready to reach for my throat. I did not know how capable he was, but that was not something I desired to find out in this meeting.

“What is it you want to tell me, Ted Unger? What secret is this important?” Imagine a sneer on my face as I said this, and you may get close to hearing the manner in which I’d spoken. Before all of this, I would never have talked to another human this way, but as you know, the lives we now lead have changed us irrevocably. So, perhaps there was fear of him within me, but he would not know it, and if it came to blows, there would be a contest of strength, and not a wilting of courage.

“The secret of life.” He smiled at me. “Don’t you want to know it?”

“Speak plain!” I roared, stepped towards him, my body acting before my mind could catch my intentions. I was now a robot, slipping into the space where you can do anything, where social etiquette and contracts disappear, and there becomes only anger and the focus of anger. If he did not respond correctly, I would punish him for his threat, and for every other affront he’d flung at me with his disrespect and indifference in the time since he’d tapped me upon my shoulder.

“Is this plain enough?” You must pay attention to this moment. I will etch it in your head as it is etched in mine. Upon speaking this, spittle spraying from his lips, he planted both his feet, gripped his left sleeve, and yanked it high. There, a sight grotesque. I needed to step back, but could not, as I was equally attracted forward to the damage, wanted to witness every detail of it, scour it with my senses. Bite marks. Countless bite marks! Overlapped, some deep, and some a little more than superficial. Flesh still scabbed, flesh still missing, flesh and some bone, oh the terror!

He in turn lifted clothes, revealed different parts of his body. I will stop describing it, as your imagination will suffice. Understand, however, your imagination holds no flame to the reality of seeing a living man, in one of the creature’s bodies, and that body still trying to heal itself. How was he alive? Was this the secret of life he’d mentioned?

“What happened?” I asked.

“I was successful. All the failures are out there.” He pointed to the wall. “Each of them, got turned, got eaten, all of them, failures. But I succeeded. Nothing now will hurt me.”

“That’s your secret?”

“No. Everyone knows. They found me out near Downtown, and these people don’t want to kill people. They’d caught a gang of those bad boys gnawing away at me, and I could feel it, oh, like I was a chicken wing and they wanted to get into my bones. They killed them, brought me near the fence, and they waited for me to turn so they could kill me then. But I didn’t. Night was coming on and they couldn’t stay out there with me, and they couldn’t really leave me to die. So they brought me in here, kept me under surveillance while they nursed me back to health, and after I got some of my strength back, they let me cook, because, well, I can’t do much else right now. Not until I get a little stronger. How about that, huh?” He was very proud of himself.

“You were lucky. I’ve come across a few with immunity--”

“No, this is my secret. I wasn’t born with it.” He interrupted me. “I made myself immune, documenter. I let them attack me. I let them eat at me, so I could see if it worked, and it did...aren’t you curious about how?”

“I don’t think I want to know.” I lied to him and he saw right through it.

“You do, you really do.” The flash of his black gums as he smiled again. “It’s not even a far walk.”

“Your secret is not within you? Your secret is here?”

I grew suddenly nauseous. My heart beat against my ribs, and my lungs felt weak and empty, as did the rest of my body. But there was not time to do anything by follow, as he waved his hand and walked away. I was not conflicted in following him as opposed to tossing him and his machinations away. It was an easy choice. I had to know. Through alleys, across streets, even through yards, we walked. We walked into a side street, and he stopped at what used to be a coffee shop, tucked into a residential area. Next to it, a barber had worked, but this was long ago, for now the two buildings were hardly standing at all, completely abandoned and mostly useless, the telltale signs of their ancient uses showing in dislodged signs, and faded posters..

“Inside,” he said conspiratorially. “Look inside. Don’t worry. I put their eyes out, and I stuffed their nostrils.”

“No,” I whispered. I could not reject this request either. I had to see. I had to know. “What did you do?” A step, and another step, and I peeked through the windows. There was a black curtain in my way.

“Find the crack. Or we can just go inside.” I ignored him, slid left, inch by inch, searching for the opening, and found it. Between the curtain and the edge of the window, I found where to see inside. But it was so dark. “Cup your eyes better. Use one eye. Let it adjust to the darkness.”

I didn’t need to, for there, staring right back at me was a flesh-clad skull, eyeless, with something stuck into each of its nostrils. It’s jaw worked up and down, and I could see its black gums and black tongue, I was so close. I leapt back, stumbled, fell hard, and he laughed.

“I destroyed their eardrums too. So, tequila?” The sick man. What was he doing? I stared up at him, and now knew something of great value, and of pure truth; so long as Ted Unger was around, there might be nothing as dangerous as he.

“How many are there in there? Did you trap them yourself? What are you planning to do with them?” More questions came, and I asked them, until I had to stop myself, and enter into silence before posing my final and most bothersome one. ”Why did you seek me?”

“Tequila. Let’s go.” Ted moved to me, extended his hand, and unlike the first time he’d done this with me, I thoughtlessly grabbed it, and he helped me to my feet. So weak he was. I followed him to where he wanted me to go, a parking structure that must have been used as a lookout point earlier in this disaster, but was now abandoned. Things like gloves, and kneepads could be found scattered around, but anything else that might’ve been proof of my assumption had been picked up and repurposed by children or teens, like the ones we encountered on the first level.

Ted took me to the top of the structure and we were all alone, covered in sunlight, but it was getting late. The sun, even now, was fast approaching the western horizon. We would finish our discussion before sunset, and it would be another night of festivities, and, also, my penultimate night there. While we sat and talked, we drank, and I was careful that we did not drink from the same vessel.

He had desired my aid with something. He would be the second of three people to ask for my help while I was here. I helped them all, even at great costs. For Ted, he wanted me to document what he had come to call the cure. He wanted to spread his cure the following day.

“What is your cure?” I asked him.

“It’s their flesh. Their meat.” He replied, with another drink, eyes over the rim of his cup, unblinking, yellow, dangerous.

“You’ve been eating them.”

“Yes. And you saw the results.” It explained everything. His eyes, his gums, his healing, and stench and immunity. “I want to feed it to everyone here. In fact, I plan on doing it for the festival tomorrow. And you can watch, and write down the results in that journal of yours.”

“I don’t think you should follow this course.” I advised.

“I know. I’ve been reluctant. Second guessing everything. But it feels like it’s meant to be. It feels like tomorrow is the day. This is what I’ve been waiting for.”

I held out my glass, and it shook slightly, but he didn’t notice. It was filled with more tequila, and I swallowed every drop, and didn’t feel the burn this time. I felt nothing in this moment except that numbness that comes when realizing how very small you are in comparison to something else, that pinch of tension in the part of the spine that sits center on the shelf of the shoulder.

I did not enjoy the rest of my stay at all. Neither of the coming evening or the next, or the morning on which we left. I had not wanted to know his secret after all.

With no desire for mingling this evening, I went home, avoided all people, ignored the knocks on my doors, the calling at my window, and pretended sleep had taken me. Unlike the night prior, I did not rest. I lay motionless and wide-eyed, all that fear I’d pushed away, now back in force to torment me for believing in safety once again.

What could I do? That was what my thoughts returned to. What could I do? Kill him in his sleep? Release the creatures? Tell the leadership? Tell Arnold?

It would have to wait. I was still a stranger in this place, and therefore did not want to raise any suspicions. Upon morning’s arrival, I will have landed on a choice and would see it through. I resolved myself to this, and it proved difficult, taking every moment of the night, and even a chunk of morning, to decide upon.