Zombie Macarena

Hell found me.

I let him find me of course. After all, he wasn't looking. I couldn't blame him after he saw the shells from that shotgun shred my t-shirt and rip me to shreds by the side of the road on the edge of the badlands.

But you know what he put on my grave marker?

He put. "This is Cordy. You might not think she was much but she was Hell Tanner's girl and I love her."

He'd never told me that. Yeah, I know you can believe that. Hell Tanner, the man who saved New York City, and emotional retard who never told his girl how he felt? So what else is new?

Me.

I just wouldn't lie down. Hell knew I always loved to be on top, or at the worst bent over that Harley of his. If he loved me like that, well I was damned if I was going to let death spoil a happy ending. Yeah, I was pretty much damned anyway but you know what I mean don't you?

I knew there was no way he'd settle down in New York City. The badlands was the place for Hell. So, I waited for him in a roadhouse in one of the festering slums by the Mrs Hip, that made up the remains of St Louis.

Tell the truth, I was bumping and grinding better than I ever could when I was alive. I guess the severed spine must have given me some extra flexibility if you know what I mean. Of course you do. So did the customers and so, when he arrived, did Hell Tanner.

I could sense him when he came into the Roadhouse. I was on the stage. Springsteen was playing and I was moving to Born in the USA. When Hell walked in the door, I was down to bra and panties and the basque I always wore to hide the mess the shotgun made. There were hands reaching out for me. Money appeared in creases and crevices and within my clothing. Other hands tried to grasp and grab, but I had 'em beat.

I tried to gaze into the audience and meet his eye but all I could see was the dazzle of the spots and the haze of the straws. I kept moving. That was my job but now I was doing it for Hell Tanner and it was not the half-hearted gyrations of a zombie chick trying to hold body and s... trying to hold body together. Hoo no, this was bump and guhrrrind, in the manner of some Egyptian concubine with an aching inside for the Pharoah's touch.

When the lights dimmed, I wriggled off the stage and bundled over to meet him with two moist lips and a bundle full of enthusiasm. "Hell. I missed you Hell."

"Didn't hardly think about you at all Cordy, what with you bein' dead an' all."

"I loved what you wrote on my grave Hell."

"Yeah, and what about what I did with that panty-waist New York rovergang?"
If I had anything pumping blood. Heck if I even had blood, I'd've blushed then. "Yeah that was kinda flattering too Hell".

"Well nobody messes with Hell Tanner's girl."

It was true of course. He was the last of the Hell's Angels and he had a reputation to uphold. Besides, he really loved me.

He unhitched the shotgun from his back and began to show me just how much he loved me. There was screaming and blood and folks running around and most of all, for a whole night, I wasn't even a little bit hungry.