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was a
bloody mess oozing with a mix of saliva and black goop Harold could only assume
came from inside Zork.  It seemed to be the slug’s blood, but he couldn’t tell
for certain.  It didn’t smell right, didn’t smell like blood to him.  Whatever,
it was probably bad for his hand and ripe with whatever bacteria the slug carried. 
Harold tenderly wiped his hand on the bottom edge of his black trench coat.  By
tomorrow evening it would be completely healed, but for now it hurt to hell.
                Next to him, the
slug groaned, rubbing its eyestalks against each other.  Large patches of the
slug’s skin now oozed the same black goop.  He could also see it coming out of
the slug’s mouth.  Definitely blood or something akin to blood.  Lucky for the
slug, he hadn’t managed to pop off those eyes.  Tough little thing, he thought.
                “Why did you jump
me?”
                The slug looked
at Harold with one eyestalk.  The other, it jammed into its mouth and sucked
on.  If it could have glared at Harold, he was pretty sure the slug would
have.  Its other eyestalk came out its mouth and looked at Harold too. 
                “Why were you
following me?” 
                They eyed each
other for a few moments as two cowboys in a classic western showdown might
before the final showdown.  Perhaps he should give the slug a few swift kicks
and run for it.
                Harold coughed,
“I was going to ask if you wanted to partner with me.  You know the buddy thing
Donald’s pushing.”
                The slug’s
eyestalks swiveled around each other right up to their round, black eyes. 
                “Why?”
                “Well,” Harold
glanced around the dark warehouse.  Except for the scuttling of rats and their
enemies the cats, the place had emptied out.  His right ear also told him it
hurt.  Harold reached up and gingerly touched the earlobe.  A large part of it
was ripped clean.
                “You ripped off
my ear!”
                The eyestalks
swished back away from Harold.  
                “It’ll grow
back.”  The slug muttered.  He considered trying to rip off one of the slug’s
eyes again.  An eye for an ear, since he couldn’t really see the slug’s ears. 
                It stuck its
eyestalk back in its mouth as if knowing what Harold was thinking.
                “Yeah, but if I
weren’t a vampire, it wouldn’t.”
                The slug’s skin
rippled in a shrugging motion.  It pulled the eyestalk out of its mouth long
enough to agree to be Harold’s group buddy. 
                “Let’s get the
fuck outta’ here,” said the slug, “I’ll show you the house.”
                The slug directed
Harold out of the warehouse into the dark night.  He could see a few others
from the group, retreating zombies mostly, tottering down the street ahead of
them.  They all seemed to be heading in the same direction, himself and Zork
included.  While the zombies moved unhurriedly, Harold was concerned the slug
might move even more slowly.  He almost suggested taking the car before the
slug zoomed out ahead of him and down the street on ruffling flanges.  Harold
jogged to keep up.  They moved a short distance and turned the corner into a
residential area filled with the houses of factory workers and forklift
drivers. 
                The homes were
large and striking, but not quite the beautiful painted ladies Harold knew from
his youth.  Instead of gingerbread and wedding cake trim, they featured missing
siding and particle board windows.  Yet these were family homes still filled
with children and the kind of warmth he hadn’t felt in decades.  Signs of wear
and tear on the modest homes from yesteryear reminded him how much time passed
since his last visit.  Harold tended to